Roustabout

  I remember the blood draining from my face.

  I remember seeing my step-daddy’s hairy white ass pumping away between a pair of creamy thighs.

  She looked up at me, her eyes impassive as her tits jiggled with every thrust. She watched me watching them.

  She didn’t say anything.

  She didn’t do anything.

  He groaned as he came and then pulled out roughly. Renee winced and closed her legs, but not before I saw his cum spilling out of her. Randolph rolled over and grinned when he saw me.

  “Nice piece of pussy you got there, boy. Not as tight as it was, mind you.”

  Ice cold, shocked and humiliated, I stared at my stepfather, and I didn’t know if I wanted to vomit or hit that motherfucker. I tore my eyes away from his grinning face and turned to look at Renee, waiting for her to say something, tell me he made her, something.

  Randolph narrowed his eyes.

  “I can tell what you’re thinking, boy, but me and Renee got an arrangement.” Then he jabbed her in the stomach. “Don’t we?”

  She lifted one shoulder in a callous shrug, then sat up to pull on her clothes. The crotch of her panties stained darker as his jizz leaked out. If she noticed, she didn’t care.

  “Same time next week, sweet thing,” he said, sticking a couple of bills into her bra and smirking while his eyes stripped her bare again.

  She brushed past me on her way out the door, and I followed, dazed.

  When the front door slammed behind us, I grabbed her arm.

  “Why?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

  She pulled her arm free and scowled at me.

  “You weren’t supposed to be here.”

  “Answer me!”

  “I’m saving up for college,” she said defiantly. “In a couple of years I’ll have enough to . . .”

  “A couple of years?” I roared. “You going to keep whoring yourself with him?”

  Her chin tilted up. “It’s nothing and he pays real good.”

  Nothing?

  I knew I sounded pathetic when I asked, “What about me?”

  What I really wanted to ask was, did it mean nothing when she did it with me, but I was too weak to ask—or to hear the answer.

  She shook her head. “Nothing has to change.”

  For the first time I could remember, I felt tears prick my eyes. “You think I could . . . when he . . . ?”

  She huffed impatiently.

  “Grow up, Tucker.”

  Then she walked down the road and out of my life . . .

  Tera covered her mouth with her hand as her eyes crinkled with horror and disgust.

  “She was . . . prostituting herself with your stepfather?”

  And probably both my stepbrothers, too. Renee hadn’t said and I hadn’t asked—but it explained a few things.

  “Yep, that’s about the size of it.”

  “Oh my God,” she said sadly.

  I looked up, seeing nothing but pity in her face.

  “I’m sorry you got hurt too, Tucker. I can’t imagine how . . . what drove her to make those choices. She must have wanted to get out so desperately. Why didn’t she apply for scholarships, a student loan? Anything but that.”

  I shook my head.

  “I don’t know. She never said anything to me. I didn’t know. If I had . . .”

  Tera reached out and took my free hand in hers.

  I’d made my peace with the past, and now my son needed money from the Duke more than I did. I could always earn a living—assuming my shoulder wasn’t too fucked up.

  I looked down at Tera’s hand, the skin paler than mine, although not by much, but way, way smoother. There were no scars or scabs to spoil it.

  I reveled in the feeling of her soft fingers stroking over the back of my healing knuckles.

  “Now she’s got her way out,” I said quietly.

  Tera’s hand stilled, and I wished she’d go on touching me.

  “What do you mean?”

  I glanced at my helmet, abandoned on my backpack.

  “Oh,” she said softly, leaning back. “Your bike. You gave her your Ducati.”

  I winced at the reminder. “Yeah, well, I sold it and gave her the money. Most of it, anyway. She’s taken Scotty and left. Dropped me off at the airport an hour ago.” I looked up at Tera and gave a thin smile. “She said that if I saw you, I should tell you that she was sorry.” Then my expression turned serious. “And me. I’m sorry too, TC. So damn sorry.”

  I could see tears gathering in her eyes, and hell, if I didn’t feel like crying myself.

  “You’re forgiven,” she whispered.

  Tera

  My emotions were in complete meltdown. Tucker’s grim story appalled me.

  I read the newspapers, I knew what happened when poverty and hopelessness combined, but it had never affected me personally. Until now.

  Tucker sat there and told me every part of his life story, holding nothing back. The beatings, the near starvation, eating dog food to silence the hunger pangs, stealing to survive.

  In some ways it was banal and pathetic, the mundane drudgery of everyday living, but the raw honesty in his voice cut me deeply. I kept asking myself, how could this happen? We had a welfare system, a society that was largely well-meaning. How did whole families, whole towns slip through the cracks like this?

  I had no answer, nothing easy to offer, but I looked at this bloodied, bruised man in front of me and wondered how he survived to smile, to laugh at the world? Yes, I knew that was his shield, but it seemed as if he’d simply chosen to be happy, in whatever way he could.

  And it also explained the string of one night stands: not getting serious meant not being hurt again. An easy equation.

  And yet . . .

  And yet the moment he’d heard about his son, he’d done the honorable thing.

  My flight was called and Tucker stood up at the same time.

  “You don’t have to see me to the plane,” I smiled.

  He raised his eyebrows, “Uh, that’s my flight.”

  “You’re going to San Francisco?”

  “Yeah, then I’ll get the bus to Arcata.”

  “Oh! You’re staying at the cabin?”

  He nodded. “I talked to Kes and he says I can stay there till my shoulder’s fixed.”

  I picked up my carry-on bag and Tucker frowned. “I’d take that for you, but . . .”

  I smiled. “I’m not a damsel who needs rescuing, Tucker. In fact . . .” I snagged his helmet from the table, “ . . . let me carry that for you.”

  It was so cute seeing him protest, but I winked at him and walked to the gate where boarding was about to start.

  “Where are you sitting?” I asked.

  “Um, 37C,” he said, studying his boarding pass.

  “Not for much longer.”

  Then I turned to the two air stewards.

  “Hi, I wonder if you can help my friend. I’ve just found out that he’s on the same flight as me, and as you can see, he’s badly injured. I’d be able to take care of him so much more easily if he were next to me. Do you think you could upgrade him? Oh, I’m a Gold Card Club flyer, by the way.”

  The stewards exchanged a look, then set their approving eyes on Tucker who was grinning from ear to ear.

  “It surely would be a kindness, ma’am,” he said to the woman, using a more pronounced version of his usual honey and molasses accent.

  I withheld an eye-roll as he seemed to be having the desired effect without any further help from me.

  “I’ll see what we can do, ma’am, sir,” said the man, glancing at Tucker from under his lashes.

  Ten minutes later, we were both seated in First Class.

  “What would you have done if they’d said no?” Tucker asked, leaning back in the comfortable leather seat.

  I shrugged. “I have a ton of air miles that I would have used instead. But I knew they’d take one look at you, all banged up and pathetic, and feel sorry for you.” Or the fact that
you’re seriously hot.

  And a father. He’s a father to another woman’s child!

  “I could get used to this,” he smiled. “But not if I have to use my face as a punch bag.”

  “Hmm,” I muttered, my mood darkening.

  “Hey, I deserved it,” he said quietly.

  “What? How on earth did you deserve it?”

  My voice was incredulous, but Tucker just gave me a rueful smile.

  “Your dad told me to stay away from you. I didn’t. Hell, if I had a daughter hanging with a guy like me, I’d want to beat the shit out of him, too.”

  “Wait, what? When did he tell you to stay away from me?”

  Tucker grimaced and looked down.

  “The first night in town, before we were supposed to meet for dinner. This guy was waiting for me. He said it was my first and last warning. I guess your dad was serious—the guy plays hardball.”

  All sorts of conflicting emotions were at war inside me: fury at my father, irritation that Tucker hadn’t said anything before, surprise that he’d stood up to the Senator, annoyance that he thought he deserved to be hospitalized, and a growing sense of joy that he’d wanted me enough to fight for me.

  “So . . . he really never tried to pay you to stay away from me?”

  “No.”

  “But you let me think that about you?” His gaze dropped. “Why?”

  Tucker sighed.

  “I knew you were better off without me. I didn’t want you to hate your dad because he was taking care of you.”

  Stupid, honorable fool.

  “You know,” I said conversationally, “I’m kind of pissed at you for only telling me this now. I’d have talked to my dad and told him to leave you alone. We could have avoided all of this,” and I gestured at his battered face and damaged arm. “I keep telling you I’m not a delicate princess—I don’t need to be protected. I’m strong. I can take it.”

  Tucker’s eyes were warm and his smile bright.

  “I know you don’t need protecting, but it doesn’t stop me wanting to.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Such a guy.”

  He leaned across so his lips were almost brushing my ear.

  “I thought you liked that about me.”

  “You have your moments,” I conceded.

  He grinned and looked around at the luxurious surroundings.

  “So, this is what first class feels like.”

  I smiled. “It gets better: wait till they bring the snacks.”

  A few minutes later, we were in the air and the stewards immediately offered us a glass of champagne each. Tucker’s eyes widened in surprise, but before he could say anything, I ordered him a soda.

  “You’re on pain meds,” I said severely. “You shouldn’t mix them with alcohol.”

  “Okay,” he said, smiling at me.

  “Okay?” I blinked at him in surprise. “You’re not going to argue with me? That’s a first.”

  He shrugged his good shoulder, but his cheeks were slightly flushed.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothin’.”

  “It must be something—the infamous Tucker charm never takes no for an answer.”

  He glanced at me sideways. “I’m not used to having someone look out for me—other than Kes and the guys, and now Aimee, I guess. I’m not going to argue when you try to do something nice for me. Again.”

  I was floored by his sudden honesty. All of the men that I’d been out with before would have argued that black was white just to make a point.

  “Don’t be mad at your dad,” he went on, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “He’s just looking out for you, sugar. Can’t blame him for that.”

  “No one has the right to brutalize another human being,” I said softly. “No one.”

  We locked eyes, but the moment was interrupted by the arrival of our food.

  Tucker’s eyes widened at the plate of baked salmon, steamed vegetables and potato au gratin. And then he proceeded to inhale it like a starving man.

  “Damn! You weren’t wrong about the food!”

  I laughed quietly. “It’s even better when you taste it.”

  He gave me a sheepish look. “Yeah, sorry.”

  I nudged his good shoulder gently and smiled.

  For the next seven hours we chatted easily. Tucker had stopped trying to charm me into bed and/or keep me at a distance with his jokes; and I stopped trying so hard to be the kind of woman he might want.

  It also helped that we didn’t discuss anything serious, only talking in general terms.

  In other words, we relaxed with each other, but beneath that, the pull of attraction still fizzed silently.

  Tucker napped for a while after dinner. He looked worn out. He’d even admitted that after the attack, he’d laid wide awake at the hospital until daylight, thinking about everything that had happened. The second night, he’d gone back to the roach-infested motel.

  I watched him sleep, his breathing deep and even, and I wondered again if we could have a future based on more than friendship. But the problems of distance remained . . .

  He stirred in his seat, and his eyelids fluttered. He started to stretch and then yelped as he moved his shoulder.

  “Are you alright?”

  He gave me a wry look. “Sure, except for the whole forgetting my-arm-is-in-a-sling wakeup call.”

  He struggled to get out of his seat.

  “Can I help?” I offered.

  He bent down so he could whisper in my ear.

  “Well now, seeing as I’m going to take a piss, I’m not sure what you could do . . . unless you’re offering to hold my dick, in which case . . .”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I growled. “Don’t open the wrong door while you’re there—you didn’t pack a parachute, and only angels and birds can fly. You, my friend, are feather-free.”

  He grinned at me and made his way along the aisle, exchanging a few words with the attractive brunette stewardess. And those few words certainly ruffled my feathers.

  By the time he returned to his seat, I’d made my decision.

  “I’ve been thinking . . .”

  “Uh oh, sounds dangerous,” he said with a smile.

  “Funny . . . not. Why don’t you stay at my place tonight? I have to go to work Thursday and Friday, but on the weekend, I’ll drive you up to the cabin.”

  He blinked, looking surprised.

  “You don’t have to do that, TC. I can take the bus.”

  “Tucker, you’re all banged up and you look like shit. Just . . . let me help you. Friends help friends, right?”

  He tilted his head to the side. “Friends?”

  “Never been friends with a girl before?”

  He chuckled quietly. “Not so much. Unless you count Aimee—and she gets violent on my ass if I leave wet towels in the bathroom.” Then his smile gentled. “If you don’t mind having me around, that sounds pretty great.” And as an afterthought, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The light came on to tell us to buckle our seatbelts—time for landing.

  I gripped the armrest tightly, my heart beginning to race.

  Tucker gave me an enquiring look. “Are you scared of flying, sugar?”

  “Nope, not at all. I’m scared of crashing and dying a horrible, flaming death.”

  His frown deepened.

  “But you didn’t look worried before?”

  “I wasn’t, but when it gets toward the end of a flight I feel like my luck is already used up,” I said plaintively.

  “Naw, my girl’s too brave for that,” he said, unclamping my fingers from the armrest and holding my hand, stroking my knuckles soothingly.

  My stomach lurched, a feeling totally unconnected with traveling at 500 mph.

  I gave him a weak smile and tried to ignore the sinking sensation and the buzzing in my ears. Maybe it was the airplane after all—it was hard to tell.

  Finally, we landed, and as we left the plane, the stewards all wis
hed Tucker a speedy recovery. If they noticed me, I couldn’t tell.

  We had to wait forever to collect our bags and it was a relief when we could climb into a taxi to take us to my loft apartment in Mission Bay.

  “Have you been here before?” I asked.

  Tucker smiled. “San Francisco? Yeah, although I was in Berkeley rather than this side.”

  “Oh really? Did you know someone who went to school there?”

  Tucker’s expression was amused, and I waved my hand dismissively.

  “Obviously a woman, in which case I don’t want to know.”

  He winked at me then went back to staring out the window.

  My smile slipped. Being friends with Tucker would be hard if I felt the stab of jealousy every time he so much as mentioned another woman.

  When we arrived at my apartment, Tucker let out a low whistle.

  “Nice crib, TC!”

  He gazed around, taking in the large living room and balcony patio, with views over the ocean.

  I looked at it from his point of view. Nine months of the year he lived in the RV with three other people, sharing 400 square feet. My apartment was just for me, I had over 1100 square feet, and the rent was $3,600 each month. He’d been right about my father subsidizing my lifestyle.

  The sense of privilege washed over me and I felt uncomfortable. Even though I’d always been encouraged to work, the family wealth was inherited.

  Tucker coughed. “Uh, TC, you only have one bedroom in your apartment.”

  My cheeks flushed.

  “Um, so, I didn’t exactly think this through,” I said, staring at him in dismay.

  “It’s cool,” he said, giving me a brief smile, “I can sleep on the couch. It’s still a hell of a lot better than sleeping in a Greyhound bus—trust me on that one.”

  “You can sleep with me,” I blurted out, my cheeks on fire.

  Tucker looked at me carefully.

  “You sure about that?”

  “We don’t have to have sex,” I said quickly.

  Tucker gave me a wry smile.

  “Yeah, I really don’t think that’s gonna work for me, TC,” he said, shaking his head. “Having you in the bed next to me, all soft and smelling so good, it’ll be pure torture not to be able to touch you. I’ll take the couch.”

  “You can touch me,” I said quietly. “I like it when you touch me.”