Page 5 of Brash for It
“I didn’t ask.”
Her cheeks heat.“You’re an asshole.”
“Getting repetitive,” I remind mildly.“Door’s still open.”
Silence stretches.I move outside the door to help her get a clue.The air is crisp tonight, not chilly but not too hot.Out beyond the walls, eastern North Carolina hums steady—pines whisper in the dark.The life I know.The only kind I trust.
“I thought maybe…” She breaks, shakes her head.“Doesn’t matter what I thought.”
“It doesn’t.”
She lifts her chin one last time like she’s going to claw back into control with pride alone.“You’re gonna die alone.”
“Everyone does,” I state, bored again.“Ain’t no one else fitting in the casket beside ya.Some of us just tell the truth about it sooner.”
She flinches like I slapped her, then reaches me, she’s now standing in the door frame.Pauses.Looks back to the bedroom door we just left.“You won’t even remember me tomorrow, will you?”
I blow smoke toward the sky.“Tomorrow’s a long way off.”
Her eyes shine, quick, and then harden.She steps into night air.She rolls her shoulders back, head held high and makes her walk of shame back through the compound to her car.I watch long enough to make sure she actually leaves.She does.Good.She’s not safe here.This place isn’t for the weak.
I step back into the duplex and shut the door.The room snaps quiet again, just the muffled beat and my own breath.I stub the cigarette in the bottle cap I pulled from my pocket, grind it to nothing, then palm the little metal circle and toss it into the trash.There’s a mirror nailed crooked above the dresser.I catch a look at myself and almost don’t recognize the version the world thinks is me—the one with a mouth that doesn’t know how to curve without baring teeth.The one who stares hard enough to make most people look away.
I pocket the Zippo and head back outside and then into the chaos.The club breathes life around me.Tripp’s by the pool table, cue in one hand, a shot in the other.Boomer’s arguing with the bartender about the price of bourbon like it’s a personal insult.Everyone is in their element.
Crunch clocks me and smirks.“That was quick.”
“It was enough.”
He looks around for her.“She cryin’?”
“Not my business,” I retort.I’m lying.It was my business, in the sense that I made it happen.But I don’t borrow trouble.If she’s crying I can’t fix it.
“Man’s a glacier,” Red calls, grin sharp.“Cold and slow.”
“Slow?”I arch a brow at my oldest brother.
Red barks a laugh.“Okay, not slow.Just quick to bust his load.”
I take his shot, toss it back, set the glass down.Burn slides warm.“You finish that rack, you’re gonna cry, too.I’m about to clean you out.”
“Big talk,” Red singsongs.
“Big facts.”I chalk a cue, roll my neck, feel a nice pop.The noise here is better than quiet.I step into the game and let the geometry take over—angles, force, the physics of collision.White smacks color, pockets answer with thuds as they take their claim on the balls.
“Eight in the corner,” I murmur.It drops.Red groans.Tripp whoops from the other side, “baby brother takin’ you to school, son.”
That was Tripp, the Hellions President and my dad’s best friend.My parents Tank and Sass have four boys and we have given them so much Hell sometimes Tripp had to step in and beat us at our own games.His son, BW is my older brother Red’s best friend.They have been inseparable since birth.
I lean on the pool stick, breathing easy for the first time all night.The woman’s question floats back, uninvited.Do you ever think about something else?Like settling down.
I picture a porch somewhere near the White Oak River, soft wind running fingers through marsh grass, a dog at my feet, a woman in a dress that smells like clean laundry and sunshine.I picture the stillness.The way quiet could pull at me like undertow on the beach.The way I’d spend the whole time waiting for something to break.
My hand tightens on the pool stick.The picture splinters.
Good.
Red’s watching me.He knows when I go too quiet.“You good?”
