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He Calls Me Bug
ZOEY ZANE
Prologue
SKY
I have always heard the heart wants what it wants, and there is no use in fighting it. My dad is the first one I heard that from, and I’ve heard it many times over again throughout the years. That is why he married my mom. There was no one else for him. There never would be.
I saw the kind of life they have, and I knew that’s the kind of love I wanted; that’s the kind of love I knew I needed. But, as I started to grow up, I learned not everyone thought of love that way. Not everyone had the love my parents have, nor did they believe it would happen for them. My uncle, Davey, was proof of this — he was someone who wanted to be loved but only found all the wrong people.
Chapter One
SKY
NINE YEARS OLD
Not many people leave lasting impressions on a nine-year-old. The first time I see Uncle Davey, he is sitting on my favorite couch, in my spot, holding a beer in his hand. I walk into the living room and stop in my tracks, dropping my backpack.
“Who are you?”
“Sky, mind your manners.” My daddy walks into the living room with his beer. “Pick up your backpack, and come meet my friend.”
Without taking my eyes off this man — this stranger — I grab my backpack and hang it up. I slowly back up toward my daddy when the man chuckles.
“It’s okay, James.” He turns to look at me. “Hi, I’m your Uncle Davey.”
“I don’t have an Uncle Davey.” I continue to stare him down.
Uncle Davey smiles and puts his hands up in surrender.
“Remember the guy I used to work with back in San Diego? This is David Sullivan, my best friend,” my daddy states.
“But my friends call me Davey. We can be friends, can’t we, Bug?” Uncle Davey holds out his hand.
I take a few steps toward him and hesitate. Bug? “Sure, as long as you get off my couch.” I place my hand in his, and we shake. His firm grip sends tingles down my spine as he gives my hand a gentle squeeze.
He lets out a thundering laugh and stands up. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
The rest of the night goes on, and I cling to Uncle Davey’s side. He makes funny voices and yells at the TV when the ball goes the wrong way. By bedtime, I am laughing so hard my stomach hurts.
“Good night, Uncle Davey. I hope you come back.” I give a slight wave to Uncle Davey, hug my daddy, and head up the stairs.
Uncle Davey nods. “You bet. Good night, Bug.” My heart squeezes at the new endearment.
* * *
I woke up a short time later to get some water. It is one of the warmer nights we’ve had in a while. I walk into the bathroom and fill up my cup, but as I walk back to my room, I hear voices downstairs. Stepping over the top step to avoid any squeaks, I walk down a few steps. I stop before the landing, hidden by the wall, and settle in to eavesdrop.
“She’s just so infuriating!” a voice booms from below.
“What’s the problem this time?” My dad always tries to fix problems that aren’t his.
“She treats me like shit, James. Kristie would have a fit if she knew I was talking to you about this.”
My ears perk up. Who is Kristie?
“Kristie treats everyone like shit — has for as long as I’ve known her.”
