Page 12 of Kandie Shoppe

“I love you back, firebug.” I stretch out my closed fist. “Wonder twins?—”

“Activate.” She gives me a wild smile blazing like the fire she just set. She runs to the rescue and out of my life forever.

Chapter

Three

That night at the fair

Ulysses

Me:I can’t make it. Something came up.

Angel: Pussy?

Me: Not quite.

Angel: Tomorrow then. Don’t be late.

Me: Roger

Deleting the message, I tuck my phone in my pocket, trying to focus on the fancy book Kandie didn’t want me to touch.

So engrossed in the story it takes me a minute to realize the sounds reaching me are coming from her bed.

“No, come back,” she cries out in her sleep, kicking off the covers. After a few moments, she begins fighting with an intensity I’m all too familiar with. I’ve seen it hundreds of times,as my fellow marines relive their experiences on the battlefield. I’ve seen guys go into full combat mode, ready to take on all comers when they were in the throes of a nightmare that wouldn’t let them loose.

Quietly sitting the book down, I stand, moving on quiet feet to come and stand over her. Naked curves are exposed from the effort it’s taking her to fight off the demons riding her.

The sweet intoxicating scent of her mixes with the Remy Martin VSOP she prefers. I don’t question why the hell I even know what her drink is. For the millionth time, I wonder why I’m here. I could have called any of her fifty-eleven cousins to come and watch over her. Dr. Everything probably would have come, no questions asked.

Yet the same unnamable thing that had me turning around when I saw it was her seeming to stagger home, has me frozen in place watching her struggle naked in the sheets.

“Kerania,” she cries. “Come back,” she sobs, her voice sounding small, like her heart is breaking and damn if mine doesn’t right along with hers.

“Shh,” I say, bending over her. “It’s okay, sweetness,” I say, trying to ease her awake.

She stills as if she’s been stung. Her eyes fly open the same time she rears back, pulling the covers with her.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Looking around wildly, she turns her bloodshot gaze on me.

Clutching the covers tightly to her throat, she pins me with a knowing look. “How long were you standing over me before you decided to wake me? Before or after you looked your fill?”

“After. I had to see if you were going to reinjure yourself with all your thrashing.”

She screws me a look that says she’s this close to sticking her tongue out or throwing something at me.

Taking the carafe from her nightstand, I refill her glass, handing it to her.

She drinks, her thirst evident. In a few short moments, she finishes sitting it on the table. “What time is it?” she croaks out. This girl is so dehydrated, she doesn’t even realize it. Her little body is working overtime, trying to process all the alcohol.

Shit I thought I’d dealt with starts hitting me like an avalanche.“I’m alright, baby.”I can still hear those whispered words watching Mom trying to get herself together to start her day.

The grief I feel every day in watching her waste away from cancer is no different from the sixteen-year-old boy watching his mom suffer from alcoholism. Only with cancer you can’t get mad at the person for being sick; with addiction, it’s allowed and what’s worse, they feel like they deserve your anger.

“Four-thirty.” Using the moment I have looking down at my watch to get unexpected and unwanted emotions under control, I take more time than I need to.

“Oh, dang it.” She pops up, dragging the covers with her. “I need to shower and get down to the shop.” Taking two steps, she starts to sway.

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