Page 23 of Pieces of Me

Scott’s eyes were shadowed with emotion and fatigue, and he lifted his hand as if to stroke Rylan’s cheek. Right then Gavin sat up behind them and rubbed his eyes. He yawned. “I’m hungry,” he whined. “Can you make me some breakfast, Scotty?”

Scott climbed out of the bed and swung Gavin up into his arms when he reached for him. “Sure, buddy. I think we have some frozen waffles. Sound good?”

Gavin was all smiles, the scare of the previous night obviously erased by a good night’s sleep and the promise of food. Scott left the room with him, and it wasn’t long until the other little boys followed, scratching themselves and yawning.

Rylan lingered a while longer before making his way out to the kitchen. Scott was toasting frozen waffles, and Rylan poured them all some milk. Cara wandered in, trailing her tattered blanket and a stuffed bunny, and Rylan smiled as she went right over to Scott and hugged his leg. For all his stepbrother’s tough words about “not wanting to take care of kids,” he was doing a good job of it, and his half siblings seemed to love him.

“Want a waffle―” Scott started to ask him, and his lips tightened as Heather lurched into the room, her hair in a wild tangle and sticking straight up from her head, her T-shirt on backward and her pajama pants drooping.

“Make me coffee, Scotty?” she requested, her voice a hoarse croak. Not waiting for an answer, she stumbled out the door to the porch, where Rylan could hear the scratch of her lighter before the acrid smell of cigarette smoke drifted to his nostrils.

Scott’s face held a sneer, but he turned without a word to the coffeemaker and got a pot going. When it was done, Rylan poured a cup and took it out to the porch, feeling Scott’s eyes on him as he did so. Rylan scanned the yard, not seeing the black truck. He held the mug out to Heather, who was hunched over on the porch swing, her cigarette dangling from limp fingers. “Here.” He placed the coffee in her shaking hands.

“You gonna tell your daddy about all this, boy?”

Rylan froze. “I should,” he said quietly. “He deserves to know what goes on when he’s not here, don’t you think?”

Heather gave a pathetic sniff, trying to smoke and drink coffee at the same time. “I didn’t mean it, Ryan.” Rylan shook his head at her mispronunciation of his name, and she went on, “I swear I didn’t. I went over to Mason’s to show Tanya my new phone, that’s all. And this guy, Dillon, he was there, and he bought me a beer.”

Rylan didn’t say anything, only glared at her, his face stony.

“I had a lot of beers. Too many. I know I got a problem, Ryan. Dillon followed me to make sure I got home safe, and when I tried to say good-bye, he said some shit about your dad.” Heather leaned forward, her face earnest, and Rylan snorted.

“Yeah, right.”

“He did, though!” Heather insisted. “Said I was too much woman for your dad, and he couldn’t even stay home to take care of me! It pissed me the fuck off.”

Rylan took a deep, calming breath. “So you defended him and got in a fight with Dillon.”

“Yes! He got so mad he pushed me, and I pushed him back, but he tripped and fell. I―”

“Apparently he ‘tripped and fell’ right between your legs,” Rylan said crudely, and she pointed a finger at him, her eyes blazing.

“Don’t you get disgustin’ with me, little man,” she screeched. “He tripped and bumped his head, so I brought him in to give him some ice in a baggie for it. I swear that’s all I meant to do. But he started kissing me, and we―and we―”

“And you fucked him, in my dad’s bed.” Rylan’s voice was inflectionless. “In front of me, and all your kids.”

Heather’s face scrunched up and she started to cry. “I was so drunk I didn’t know what I was doin’. I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m sorry. Please don’t tell your dad. I promise it won’t happen again. I promise. I’m just lonely and stupid and needy. I miss him, and so I made a mistake. Please, Ryan!”

“His name”―Scott said suddenly from the doorway―“is Rylan. If you’re gonna get all pathetic and lie right to his face, at least get his goddamn name right.”

“Shut up, Scotty!” Heather yelled. “You fuckin’ shut up and stay out of this. It ain’t your business. Go back to your rich bitch whore and don’t talk to me! One thing’s for certain―” She pointed at him. “―the minute you turn eighteen, your worthless ass is out of this house and I don’t care if I ever see you again!”

Scott shook his head in disgust before turning away, and Heather called after him in a wheedling tone. “Bring me some whiskey for my coffee? I need a little hair of the dog, baby, that’s all.”

Scott reappeared holding a whiskey bottle, and he splashed some in Heather’s mug when she held it out to him. “Thanks, darlin’,” she rasped.

She drank it all down and leaned back against the porch swing, smoking, Rylan seemingly forgotten. He pushed to his feet and trailed after Scott back to the kitchen where he was stowing the whiskey up high on the top shelf.

“Dunno why I bother. She knows all my hiding places.” Scott braced his hands against the counter, his posture defeated, and Rylan resisted the urge to wrap his arms around Scott’s waist from behind and comfort him. This wasn’t the time, and Scott’s body language was forbidding.

“Is she always this―scattered?” Rylan asked. Scott’s back flexed under his thin T-shirt as he gripped the counter and took deep breaths. “Threatening to kick you out one minute, calling you ‘baby’ the next?”

Scott gave a weary nod of his head, his voice low. “Yeah. And when I was little, it confused the shit out of me. One minute she’d be all sweet, wanting to cuddle me, and the next she’d be screaming that I ruined her life and to get the fuck out of her face.”

“Damn.” Rylan couldn’t imagine that.

“I used to care,” Scott said flatly. “Now I don’t.” He pushed away from the counter. “I’m gonna go for a run.”