Michelle Mankin: Irresistible Refrain

He waved a piece of paper in front of my face. I pushed his hand back so I could actually read what it said. It appeared to be a brush off letter addressed to his mom. Before I could finish it, he yanked it away.

“She had it hidden in her jewelry box, folded up under a false bottom. It’s from my dad, Peter Fucking Frangella.” His earnest eyes met mine. “I looked him up. He’s some kind of big shot with his own law firm.”

He was so worked up I noticed his hands shaking as he bent over to pull his shoes out from under his bed.

“And he’s married,” War mumbled. “With two kids.”

Shit.

With War determined to confront him immediately, we rode the train to Bellvue. It took forty-five minutes and two transfers. The squalor of Southside gave way to tree lined streets, landscaped yards, and thriving businesses. Once we got inside his dad’s building, War bullshitted his way past the security guard while I waited in the lobby, stomach clenched with anxiety for him.

It didn’t take long.

A flurry of f-bombs echoed off the white washed walls as soon as War exited the elevator. His expression was darker than I’d ever seen it. He slapped a hand to throw open the glass door and I followed him out of the building. I glanced back behind us half afraid by the way he was acting that someone would come chasing after us. War pulled me into the parking garage. “What happened?” I asked a little out of breath.

“First, he tried to pretend the letter wasn’t his.” War raked a hand through his hair. “When he realized I wasn’t buying that shit, he flat out told me to get out. He even threatened to call security if I didn’t go.”

Seeing War so upset, I got mad right along with him, furious that we both had such fucked up fathers. That’s when I happened to notice the name on the assigned parking spot to our left. Frangella . I pointed it out. “That must be your dad’s car, right?”

Scowling, War glanced at it and nodded.

“Fucking asshole has a brand new BMW. It still has the dealer tags on it.” I slanted a brow. “Doesn’t seem right.” I rubbed my chin. That shiny paint job seemed to be taunting me, as fake and false as both our old men were. “Kyle showed me how to hotwire and cut the alarm on one of these,” I admitted, a question in my tone.

“Fuck yeah,” he returned without hesitation, his lips curving into a wicked grin.

Within minutes, I had the alarm disabled and the car started. War took shotgun, crazy ass grins on both our faces now. I steered the BMW out of eastside and took the entrance ramp onto the 405. We rolled down the windows. It was fucking awesome.

I didn’t have much of a plan. I just remembered a field trip we’d taken several years ago so I exited on SE 8 thStreet with a vague idea of heading to Kelsey Creek Park and hanging out. We never made it there. We had the music up loud. I wasn’t paying near enough attention to the road. I was fifteen and I found out real quick that a car was a lot more difficult to negotiate than a dirt bike. Long story short, our fucking good time came to an abrupt end when we rammed into the train trestle at a good thirty-five mile an hour clip.

Face stinging, my nose wrinkled from the unpleasant chemical odor that came from the deployed airbag I was buried in. I disentangled myself from the sticky material that didn’t seem to want to let me go and glanced to the side. War’s face was bright red like someone had bitch slapped him. I’m sure I looked exactly the same.

“I’m ok,” War assured me, his wide rounded brown eyes meeting mine. “Just kinda woozy and sore.”

That’s exactly how I felt. Without saying anymore, we released our seatbelts and unlatched our doors. As I got out, I noticed there weren’t even any skid marks on the road because I hadn’t reacted in time to apply the brakes. I looked at War over the roof of the car. “We’d better get out of here, dude.”

“And fast,” he added unnecessarily, looking more than a little freaked. We hit the ground running flat out, adrenaline high and breathing hard. But we weren’t fast enough. A couple of cops in a squad car passed by us, did a double take, and u-turned.

Shit.

“Let me take care of this Bry,” War hissed under his breath.

“What are you going to do?” I questioned low, my eyes having gone wide and my heart pounding hard as the cops pulled up beside us.

War gave me a serious as shit look. “I think it’s been established that I take care of my friends, right?”

My chin dipped in acknowledgment. It certainly had. He’d pulled my ass out of the fire plenty of times. Most recently taking the blame when I’d spray painted some choice obscenities on the bathroom wall at school.

I had a lot of anger issues since my old man had come back.

“You know that’s just me, but further and more important is that my mom won’t give a shit if I get in trouble, hell she probably won’t even notice, but yours will. You’ve got a good thing going with your mom.”

I nodded.

“We both know that if she found out you did something like this, it would wreck all that. So I’ll repeat. Let me handle this.”

As we stood there together side by side out on the rain slickened pavement and watched the cops approach, my fritzed out thoughts were all over the place. But above the static, what hit me big was what War hadn’t said, yet I understood, especially after the deal with his father today…

I was the only real family Warren Jinkins had.

I woke with my head pounding out a heavy bass throb. I glanced at my watch. Four fucking a.m. I’d only been asleep for a couple of hours. The bottle of tequila had obviously been a big mistake. My mouth tasted like sand. I needed a bottled water and at least two extra strength Tylenol.

I climbed out of my bunk, cursing when my toes came into contact with the freezing floor of the tour bus. The force of the winter storm wind rocked the forty-five foot long structure side to side and howled beneath the undercarriage. I pulled on yesterday’s jeans and grabbed a pack of cigarettes and my lighter before pushing the button to open the pocket door to the front lounge. A woman sat at the banquette with her back to me, but I’d recognize her anywhere.

Lace.

I froze solid. I wondered when she had come on board. It must have been last night while I’d been preoccupied with the twins. Mind quickly running back over the evening’s events, I realized that War had been conspicuously absent from the meet and greet. He must’ve been with her. The familiar jealous burn seared the inside of my chest like battery acid.

Her head turned slightly, eyes the color of expensive whiskey meeting mine. Her face was as captivatingly beautiful as I remembered, framed by honey blond hair that was much longer than it’d been the last time I’d seen her. She was thinner, too. Too thin. Her cheek bones more prominent, her complexion pale, even her wide lips seemed drained of their usual apricot color.

“Bryan.”

That breathy voice of hers shot right to my groin. Even hung over and recently satiated my dick came right to attention. Clamoring after what it could never have. What I could never have.

The woman War loved.

“Lace.” I took my time running my gaze over her. The black long sleeved Tempest t-shirt War had worn on stage last night hung down to mid-thigh on her. Knowing damn well what was underneath that shirt. Remembering the shape, the texture, and the taste of her, my hands started to shake so badly I had to shove them into the back pockets of my jeans so she wouldn’t notice.