Filthy English (12 page)

I picked up the phone. I’d called him yesterday to see if he could find me a place to rent around campus and put a deposit on it until I got back into town.

There’s nothing to rent close to Whitman, but I found you an older house: 3 bedrooms, 2 baths, 2500 square feet. Even has a little patio out back. Seventy thousand and it’s all yours. Steal of a deal.

What the hell?

I didn’t want to buy a place. I wanted a place to crash until I graduated.

I FaceTimed him since it was free.

“Hiya, bro, what’s up?” I said as soon as he answered. His hair was wet as if he’d come fresh from a shower. It was eight in the morning there.

“Hey, man, what’s up with the black eye?” Rustling sounds as he moved into his kitchen.

I touched my face, seeing the ugly gray bruise under my eye on the screen. “You know me, always into something.”

He squinted at me. “Be careful. I still haven’t taught you all my moves yet.” A grin popped up on his face. “Not that you’d ever be as good as me anyway. I’m the best.”

“I’m the best at everything else.” I chuckled.

“Whatever, tosser. Just tell me how you’ve been.”

“Trust me, you’d be impressed. I run ten miles a day, work out and, sit down for this one, I actually read some books this summer. I’m just starting one you might be familiar with.
Pride and Prejudice
. It’s a little slow and there’s no sex. I pretty much hate it.”

He laughed.

I saw Elizabeth in the background, her blonde hair tied up in a messy bun. She waved enthusiastically.

I blew her a kiss. “Hey, love. I miss you.”

She blew me one back and called from across the room. “Miss you more. Come home soon, please. I need a shopping buddy. Declan refuses to help me pick out purses like you do.”

In my viewer, I watched Declan smile as he took in Elizabeth pouring a cup of coffee. He chuckled and turned back to face me. “I guess you got my text?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to buy a house. Or I could move my arse in with you guys, and then Elizabeth will fall for me . . .” I laughed.

“Dude. We barely have room for our shit.”

“Yeah.” I was mostly kidding anyway.

He continued, “I checked with the housing department for open dorm rooms, but got nothing. That number will change once classes get started, but that would put you living with Dad until they had an opening.”

Ugh. Dorms.

Even worse, though, was Father.

I groaned, picturing my father’s three-story mansion with fancy furniture, housekeepers, and my five-year-old stepsister. “No way.”

Declan grinned. “You could do it. Save some money. Hang out with the horses. Swim in the pool. Have family dinners.”

“And never have sex again.”

“True.” He laughed.

“You sound happy. Things going good with the gym?”

“Thanks to Dad,” he said, “and Elizabeth.”

He sent a grin to Elizabeth, who’d popped up to kiss his cheek. “Anyway, maybe you’d like to invest in an older home, live there, and maybe do some work on it, and then resell it. Or rent to college students. The real estate market is on fire, and you’d be good at it.”

I smirked. “Me?”

“Why not? You’re a smooth talker and handsome, so why not capitalize on those traits? I’ll help out with the business side if you need it, although I think you’ll be just fine.”

Hmmm. “Are you saying you don’t think I’m smart enough to graduate, and this is my fallback?”

“No, wanker, I’m saying this house is a steal for the money and you have that and more in the bank. Even if you don’t sell it, maybe it would be nice for you to put down some roots. That’s all.” He sent me a brotherly scowl through the phone.

Interesting. “Ah.”

We moved on to other conversation, mostly about the upcoming trial of Elizabeth’s attacker who’d broken into her apartment and attempted to kill her back in November. In the fray, he’d sliced the artery in Declan’s leg, and it had been touch and go for a while until we’d known he’d make it through surgery.

“He didn’t make bail, thank God, so he’s sitting it out in jail until the trial in January,” he told me.

“Any chance he’ll get off?” I asked. His father was a senator of North Carolina, but our father had deep political connections as well.

“I don’t know. Time will tell.”

That didn’t sound good, and I could tell he didn’t want to delve into the explanations with Elizabeth there, so we talked for a few more minutes until he had to leave for the gym, and then Elizabeth got on. We chatted for half an hour until she finally had to go take a shower.

Falling back on my bed, I stared up at the ceiling. Mulling. Brooding.

This summer I’d turned a corner; perhaps the day I’d driven out to the Hampstead Rehab Center to bring Spider home. He’d come out the front doors a withered version of himself, face gaunt, lines feathering out from his mouth. Drugs and being on the road had worn him down to a skinny whip of a guy. Even with the guiding compass of his bandmates, he hadn’t held his shit together.

And the thing that struck me the most—
he was alone
.

No groupies. No girlfriends. No parents that wanted him.

I knew the pain of being alone, when greedy people want something from you because you’re the son of a rich man or because you’re popular.

Remi had never been like that. She hadn’t kissed my ass when I’d treated her indifferently. Hell no—she’d strutted out of my room like she owned the place, sweater and all. Most girls would have gone along with whatever I said just to be near me, but not her.

She’d wanted a version of me that I couldn’t be at nineteen.

She’d wanted love although she’d never said it out loud.

I slipped on some jeans and walked into the large bathroom attached to my room. I washed my face and arranged my hair with my fingers, my brain running in all directions, mostly about what I’d do after I graduate. There’s not much out there with a degree in psychology if you didn’t go to graduate school.

What did that leave?

Bartend?
Maybe. I did have four years’ experience of drinking at the Tau house and knew a lot about mixing alcohol. Billy, the owner of Cadillac’s, had offered more than once. He claimed I brought people in the door.

Work at Declan’s gym?
I’d spent all last spring working out with him at his gym, and had really gotten into the fitness groove, but working for Declan? Mixing family with job responsibility is tricky.

Invest in the housing market?
Hmmm. I didn’t know shit about houses.

You could learn
. Maybe. The idea grew on me.

As if by instinct, my feet found themselves at my closet, and I reached up to the top shelf and pulled down a letter. It had been written from Mum before she passed away, and I carried it everywhere. Father had given one to each of us when we were thirteen years old: one for me and a different letter for Declan.

Letter in hand, I sat down on the bed.

Dear Dax,

This letter is goodbye, but please know I’m writing it with smiles not tears. I’m rejoicing because someday, when the time is right, you will read this, and there will be a connection, a gossamer thread that binds us together—you on earth and me in heaven. Perhaps a star will twinkle extra bright or a comet will race across the sky. Perhaps a dragonfly will land on your shoulder or a rainbow will be in your backyard. It’s me, becoming part of our infinite universe as I watch you grow.

I’m dying with cancer. There’s a slight chance I might live a few months longer with medication but it would make me very sick and tired. I don’t want to waste away in front of you. I want you to remember me as the fun mum, and with the time I have left, I want to spend every second with you playing Monopoly, making bangers and mash, singing “Hey, Jude” and “Here Comes the Sun.”

Am I scared as the hour of my death closes in? Yes. My heart breaks to know I won’t be here to carry you through the pain of losing me, the tumult of your upcoming teenage years, see you fall in and out of love, or experience the feeling of holding your own children.

But what I can leave you with is advice. You are young now, but someday I hope it gives you comfort to know that I too have been where you are, and I was far from perfect.

I got pregnant with you unexpectedly and married a man I’d fallen madly in love with but barely knew. You were both born, and soon he realized he’d never loved me. He wanted to go back to his home in the United States. It was not his fault. Please know this. Have compassion for him even though you barely know him. You can’t make someone love you and you can’t make them stay with you. But look at the blessings I received. YOU. If I could go back and change a thing about meeting your father and what happened, I wouldn’t, knowing you and Declan were waiting for me at the end.

I recall the moment you first saw the beach on holiday in Italy. You took my hand and we walked out as far as we could. You played for hours, and when the sun finally set on the horizon, you reached for my hand. “It’s like a painting, Mum,” you whispered, and I knew then your heart was special. You saw that we are but particles of dust on this earth and there are things bigger than us.

As a baby, you rarely cried and I often worried why, but as you grew into a headstrong yet kind lad, I realized God had sent me a child much like myself. Impulsive and fun. Full of joy. He knew I needed you. Your mischievous nature and giggles get me through my weepy days—even though you may not realize it.

“Your wings already exist . . . all you have to do is soar.”

My little darling, I didn’t write that quote, but I’ve said it to you since you were in my tummy. It’s our mantra, and every time you say it back to me, I have the assurance of knowing that, if anything, I will leave you with hope and a belief that you can be and do anything you want.

I Love You.

Margaret (Mum)

Emotion rode me like it always did when I read her words.

She believed I could do anything.

I was like her
, she’d said.

I swallowed. God, I wanted to be good for her. I wanted to succeed at
something.

A glass shattered from the kitchen.
What the hell?

I bolted from the room. Spider might be all cocky smiles, but underneath I sensed the darkness he harbored. He’d never shown any signs of hurting himself, but I was a worrier, and dammit I’d gotten used to the bloke.

Wearing a pair of Union Jack boxers and nothing else, his lean frame was bent over with a dustpan sweeping up broken glass.

“What’s going on?”

“Ah, so the princess has risen,” he said, standing to face me. He nudged his head toward the stove. “I made bacon. Eggs should be done in a minute.” He indicated the bowl of yellow liquid he had sitting by the stove. “Doesn’t that sound like a jolly time?”

As long as I’d lived here, he’d never turned on the stove.

“Uh, yeah.” I paused, scratching my jaw as I assessed him. “You doing okay today? Feeling any cravings?”

“Bite me.” His eyes veered toward me then bounced back to the pan he stirred. “Just got the shakes. Too much vodka last night.”

I ruffled his crazy sticking-up-everywhere blue hair. “Alright then, Chef Spider. I’ll make the coffee.”

He busied himself scrambling the eggs while I finished the coffee and scrounged around in the fridge until I found orange juice, jam, and butter.

“Want some toast?” I asked, eyeing the bread I’d picked up at the bakery a few days ago.

“Sure.” He shrugged, his shoulders still thin but more filled out than when I’d first picked him up three months ago. He’d also gained some muscle, about twenty pounds of it. It was a hell of a good start, and helping him figure out which sets and reps to do for the optimal results had been good for both of us. Of course, at first, he’d dragged his feet and said he would never be a gym rat, but I’d laid down an ultimatum: if he wanted to continue wagering with me, he had to show some incentive in taking care of his body.

A few minutes later, we sat down to eat. His eggs were a little over-scrambled, the bacon greasy, and the toast barely warm, but we wolfed it down.

“Spider?”

“Yes, princess?”

“I’ve been thinking . . .” I said, trailing off, trying to wrap my head around exactly what was in my gut.

“Uh-oh, your face is pale. Should I pour us a drink first?”

“No,” I smirked. “What do you think about me buying a house?”

Bacon fell out of his mouth. He blinked. “You’re asking
me
for advice?”

“Why not? You’re a homeowner. Why wouldn’t I ask you?”

“I’m flattered. Here? You mean I’d have some family in London?”

“No, man. Back home where I have to finish school.”

A shadow crossed his face and I sensed disappointment, but he grinned, albeit a crooked one. “Oh. Yeah. That makes sense. I mean, you do have a life, and you don’t need to be taking care of me all the time.”

“Dude. You’ve been clean of the heavy stuff for three months, and it doesn’t have anything to do with me being here. You’ll be fine once I’m gone and you get back on tour.”

He nodded, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I know. I know. It’s just, Mum is who-knows-where with some Italian playboy and Dad’s in New York—shit, you and Declan are the only family I see.”

“You can always pop in and see me in Raleigh.”

“Yeah.” His fork poked at his eggs.

“You know I have to leave soon, right?” I said the words casually, but watched his reaction carefully.

He shrugged.

I changed the direction of the convo. “Look, you’re older than me. I’d love your advice. Do you think buying a house is a good investment?”

He rubbed his hand across the black widow on his neck. “I listen to my gut when I can’t decide the big stuff. What does yours say?”

I exhaled. “I’d honestly never thought about it until Declan brought it up this morning. I suck in the classroom, but I love working with my hands—and the idea of taking care of my own place, like you do here, gives me a rush.”

“Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”

“Yeah.” Maybe I should call Declan back. “So what’s on the agenda today?”