Heartless Player by R.C. Stephens
Five
Rebel
Thursdays I have a full day of class, then I head home for an hour before starting my shift at the Firken. Since it isn’t too cold, I decide to walk home from school instead of taking the bus. As I’m walking up Palmer Avenue, a car pulls up beside me. I don’t stop to see who it is and pray it isn’t a serial killer. When the car stops completely, my heart picks up pace and I’m forced to look.
I see Wolfe in an old black Mustang. The car is loud, but it isn’t one of those cars that’s in good shape either. For some reason, it’s a car I wouldn’t have expected him to drive. A lot of the hockey players on Westfall’s hockey team come from money and have nice wheels.
He leans over to crank the window down, proving that I was right about the age of the car.
“Hey, Rebel. Can I give you a ride to wherever?” he asks. I stare at his amazing eyes first and then my gaze drops to his wide shoulders. He’s wearing a Westfall Dragons hockey sweatshirt, but the memory of him in that white sleeveless shirt from this morning, working his arms, comes to mind and I’m no longer cold. The way his muscles strained… yum.
“Rebel?” he says, pulling me from my daydream.
“Thanks, but I’m good,” I say, just as the wind picks up. It's going to snow soon, I can tell. I hold my jacket closed, since I didn’t zip it up, and feel a shiver move through me.
“Come on. I promise I don’t bite. It’s freezing out there,” Wolfe says.
“Why are you being nice to me? We aren’t friends.” The words spill from my mouth before I can lock them down.
Mortification runs over me. He’s been nice every time we’ve bumped into each other. I shouldn’t believe rumors.
“I thought we were becoming friends,” he answers, but his lower lip pushes out. “I don’t get what’s happening here. Girls are usually dying to get in my ride.”
His words cause a flame to spark inside me. A burning damn flame. “Well, I’m sorry I’m not one of your floozy puck bunnies dying to get in your ride,” I say, imitating the way he said the word ride. “I’m just a simple girl used to walking home on her own, so you can take your big hockey player ego and move on.”
“Dammit,” he hisses. “That is not what I meant.” He deflates. “I liked talking with you the other day. I’m not interested in you in that way. I genuinely want to be friends.”
His admission stings like the time I went to the beach with my family and got stung by a jellyfish. A part of me wants to cry the whole way home too, but I won’t be that girl.
“Fine.” I open the passenger door and get in. He has the heat blasting and it feels too good. I warm my hands against the vent. “But only because I’m cold.”
He grins and looks at me like he thinks I’m cute. Obviously, in a friendly way.
“Where do you live?” he asks.
“I’m at 32 St. Clair Drive,” I say.
“Oh, that’s just around the corner from my place,” he says and puts the Mustang into drive.
“Cool,” I say, but I feel like I’m walking on eggshells because I don’t get why this guy wants to be my friend.
“Got any plans tonight?” he asks me.
“I’m working at the Firken,” I say drily.
“How come I never see you there?” he asks.
“’Cause I work in the back washing dishes. I usually don’t hang out in the front bar. Last time was an exception,” I say.
He nods and something dark passes in his eyes.
“I’m right here on the left,” I say, pointing to our little white house with brown aluminum siding.
“Do you rent it with friends?” he asks.
“No, I actually live here with my sister. I grew up in Westfall. It was my parents’ house,” I say.
“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to pry,” he says.
“It’s fine.”
“Are both your parents gone?” he asks.
“I thought you said you didn’t mean to pry,” I answer.
“I—shit, sorry.” He swipes a hand over his face like he’s embarrassed with himself.
“It’s fine. I’m just joking,” I say and watch him exhale. “My mom took off when I was young and Dad died my senior year,” I say.
“Sorry,” he says.
“It’s fine,” I say, not wanting the conversation to continue.
“So maybe I’ll see you at the Firken later,” he says.
“Probably not. I don’t hang out front, but thanks for the ride.” I shift my backpack off my lap and get out of the car.
“Anytime, Rebel. If you need a ride when the weather gets bad, just give me a call,” he says.
“Sure, thanks,” I say, because I remember all the times I trudged to and from school in a snowstorm. With my leg, it can be a real bitch. Blossom has a car, but she isn’t always home. I have my driver’s license, but I don’t like to drive and it makes sense for Blossom to use the car since she can’t walk to work because it’s too far.
He gives me a small wave and a smile and drives off. I realize I don’t have his number and I still don’t trust the guy. He has no good reason for wanting to be my friend. As I walk to the front door of my house, I see Preston’s bike parked right at the foot of the steps. I hope they’re both decent. I take the stairs slowly, using my right leg more than my left.
I unlock the door and the wind blows it open. There’s no sign of Blossom or Preston. Maybe they’re upstairs going at it again. I don’t remember what it feels like to have a boyfriend because the last time I had one I was seventeen and wasn’t missing a limb.
I place my backpack on the floor and hang my jacket on the hook by the door. My hands are freezing and I rub them together. I turn on the kettle for a cup of tea and see that Blossom has made her famous spaghetti and meatballs for dinner.
Score.
I’ll eat some before my shift tonight.
I head over to the bathroom on the main floor, noticing the lights are on, but when I turn the knob on the door it’s unlocked, so I assume no one is in there. I open the door, needing to pee badly, when I see Preston hanging over the counter. He jumps up quickly and his nose is covered in white powder. I should slam the door closed, but I freeze.
“Oh, damn. Rebel,” he says, wiping the powder from his nose.
I stare down at the sink to see a white line of powder on the blue counter. My heart gallops.
“Sorry.” I finally slam the door closed, but I know I saw too much. Holy shit. He’s doing cocaine in our house. On our bathroom counter.
I stumble dizzily toward the stairs and take them faster than I should. I head to my bathroom and lock the door. When the door is secured, I let out a breath. The first thing I do is pee because my bladder is close to bursting. I hear water running from the other washroom and figure Blossom must be in the shower.
Does she know Preston does drugs? I can’t believe she knows. She wouldn’t date a guy with a problem like that, not after Daddy.
I wash my hands with warm water, dreading to have to go back downstairs, but I need to eat and get ready for work. This isn’t a problem. I can go back down there. Get some spaghetti and eat in my room. Only, I’m shaking from the inside out.
“Rebel, go play outside,” Blossom says.
“No, I don’t want to,” I whine. I hate when they tell me to go play outside by myself.
“Don’t be a pain in the ass. Just go,” Blossom says, pushing me toward the door. She finds a ball on the floor and picks it up. “Here, play ball.”
“Only if you come with me,” I say.
“I got homework,” Blossom says.
“So do I,” I say. I don’t have homework, though. Mrs. Paret doesn’t give our first grade class homework.
Mama is cooking noodles on the stove and dancing to some song she has going on the radio. I go up to Mama. “Will you come outside and play with me?” I watch her long golden hair swaying across her back. She is so pretty.
“I’m busy making you kids food so you got something to eat,” she says and sways her hips while stirring the noodles. I stand beside her and dance too.
I turn around to show Blossom my moves, but she must have gone upstairs to her room.
Papa walks through the door. “Good news,” he says, and he walks over to Mama and puts his hands around her waist and lifts her in the air. “I got the job at Pete’s. I’m going to be one of their full-time mechanics.”
He places Mama down and she swirls around and kisses him on the lips and places her hands on his face. “That’s such good news, Earl.”
Papa walks over to the fridge and cracks open a beer. He takes a seat at the kitchen table and I take a seat with him. “What did you do today, Rebel?” he asks, and I’m so surprised he’s noticed me because he usually doesn’t talk this much.
“I went to school. Mrs. Paret taught us how to add, and I read a book—”
I stop talking when Daddy pulls a small bag out of his jeans pocket. He dumps it on the kitchen table and then uses a straw to suck it up his nose.
“Jesus, Earl, don’t do that in front of the child,” Mama yells, smacking him in the shoulder.
“Stop that shit. Do you know how much this cost me?” Papa says, smacking her hands away.
Mama flinches. When Papa finishes drinking up his nose, he has a wild look in his eyes. It scares me, so I run up to my room and slide under the bed. Papa becomes a monster sometimes, but under my bed is the safest place in the house. I once saw a movie about a kid who was scared of monsters under their bed, but I thought the kid had it all wrong because the monster isn’t under the bed, he’s my papa and he’s everywhere but here.
I headinto Blossom’s room and she’s still in the shower with the door locked. A part of me wants to break down the door and ask her what the hell she’s thinking getting mixed up with a guy like Preston. The other half of me wants to crawl under my bed and hide. Only, I think I’m too big for that now, and with my leg being the way it is, I’d probably get stuck.
I take a few slow breaths. I will never cower again. I will face my fears head-on. Preston can’t pull that shit in my house. My house. I repeat it again and again. I make the rules now. Feeling equally shaky and determined, I head back downstairs.
“Oh, hey there, Rebel,” Preston says, sitting at the kitchen table. He doesn’t appear to be angry, but who knows.
“Hi, Preston.” I fight to keep my tone even.
“Sorry about before. I should’ve locked the door,” he says.
He doesn’t seem anything like Papa. He isn’t angry or out of control, but I’m still on edge. I don’t trust people who use drugs.
I walk over to the kitchen drawer and pull out a plastic container. I fill it with some spaghetti and meatballs because I need to eat, and if there’s food at home, I’d rather not spend money outside.
“You should’ve,” I say. I don’t know why I’m engaging the conversation. Still, Preston has the decency to flinch.
“Look”—he runs his hand through his dark brown hair—“I really like Blossom, and I haven’t felt this way about someone in a long time. It’s important to me that you and I get along, because Blossom talks about how important you are and stuff,” he says, and he runs his hand through his hair again like a nervous tic.
“Does Blossom know you’re using?” I ask, because he doesn’t seem to be in a particularly violent mood and he seems to be genuine, despite the fact that his pupils are blown.
“About that,” he says with a nervous laugh. “Would you mind keeping it on the down low? Blossom doesn’t know, and I’m kind of on parole.”
My insides feel like I’m on the verge of combusting. I want to go up to my sister and tell her to wake up and smell the coffee. I love Blossom. She gave up so much for me. She didn’t go to college and she works as a waitress. Her self-esteem is shit, but I’m pretty sure that’s a family trait starting with our mother.
I close the steaming spaghetti in the container and throw it in a shopping bag with a fork. Then I grab my school bag and put my boots on followed by my jacket and a hat.
Just as I’m about to open the door, Blossom comes prancing into the kitchen in a pair of yoga pants and a heather gray t-shirt. Her wet dark hair is gathered in a lose ponytail.
“Hey, Rebel, I made your favorite.” She smiles. She passes Preston and presses a kiss on his lips. “You two are getting along, right?”
Preston eyes me with a deer in the headlights look.
Blossom seems happy, and I don’t want to rain on her parade, but I also don’t want to see her getting tied down with a guy like Preston.
“I have to get to work,” I say. I really have almost an hour, but I need out of here.
“I thought I would drive you after we eat.” She frowns.
“I’m all ready to go and you’ve got wet hair. We can’t afford for you to get sick. I’ll walk,” I say.
Truth is that my leg is already in pain and I haven’t even started my shift.
“Okay,” Blossom says, sounding resigned.
“I can give you a ride,” Preston offers.
My breath hitches. There is no way I am getting on the back of his bike when he is high as a kite.
“I’m good, thank you,” I say. I try to force a smile, but it doesn’t come. “You two enjoy the spaghetti.”
I quickly glance at my sister to see she is visibly frowning. How can she not see what’s going on? I should say something, but my bout of courage has melted like the sugar in my morning coffee.
I slip out the door, needing to get away from this house. I don’t know how Blossom is allowing herself to fall for a man like Preston, but I can’t let it happen. The question is, how do I break them apart?