Page 131 of On A Manhunt: Complete Series

MALLORY

“I need some shifts,” I said to my brother.

School ended at two-thirty, so I was usually done with paperwork and prepping for the next day an hour after that. That made it between busy times of lunch and dinner when I went into my brother’s bar.

I found him in the back storeroom, counting liquor bottles, clipboard and pen in hand.

He turned at my voice and offered me a smile, then wrote something down on the inventory sheet. “Hey. How come?”

I’d asked before, especially during college, to grab some extra cash on breaks or long weekends. I always had a job of my own, but often wanted a little extra and he made it easy for a quick shift pickup here and there.

“Saving up for the house.”

It was the truth. I was saving for Mrs. Jonsdottir’s place, but for now it was being redirected to Las Vegas.

No way in hell was Arlo learning what happened.

We didn’t talk about our sex lives. His actual one and my non-existent one.

Well, budding one since I’d done some obscenely hot things with Theo.

Things he wanted to do again since he’d texted me for another six o’clock get together.

I’d rocked his world with a blow job. No question.

It had been strange at first, having something so big in my mouth.

It was Theo’s responses, the sounds, tensing of muscles, tugging my hair, that spurred me on.

I might have been using my hooker friends’ tips as my only guide on what to do, but I’d felt powerful.

But he’d been called out and I’d gone home, the exchange over.

Maybe I was mixing sexy times with interest or growing feelings, but I liked Theo. Not just found his photo hot on his brother’s computer and made empty statements about marrying him when we’d never even met, but actual liking.

He was… nice. It was clear when he was with his brothers that they had a great bond. He was kind; no one fed a stray cat if he didn’t have a generous and concerned nature. He was devoted. He spent close to fifteen years of his life training to be a doctor to save people. Which he did.

He was also ridiculously introverted. Quiet. Closed off. Focused. Even a little… distant. Even when we were getting each other off, it wasn’t intimate.

I had to be cautious with him. I could fall hard, and he’d shrug and move on to his laundry or write a medical journal article or something.

Also, I didn’t want to get too close because he’d see the real me.

The one that hid behind her bold words and loud ways.

Who knew she wasn’t lovable enough to keep, or to love unconditionally.

There were rules attached with loving me. Boundaries. Expectations.

I was good to fuck. I knew that. Theo saw me as a task. A mission to get the almost-virgin some experience and orgasms. He’d be clinical and get me off and get his own pleasure, but nothing more.

That was fine.

Fine!

Why? Because I never stopped thinking about him licking my pussy. Or the way his fingers worked me to orgasm in record time. Or the few kisses we’d shared that had made me feel more than I should.

“Mal?” Arlo asked. “How come you need some shifts?”

I startled, realized I’d spaced out, thinking about Theo.

I couldn’t tell Arlo the truth. We might be close, but no guy wanted to find out his sister was arrested for being a hooker.

There was a line. Had to be.

“If money’s tight, you can move in with me,” he offered, although I knew he wasn’t serious.

I glanced up at the ceiling, as if I could see through it to his small apartment above the bar. “I’m too old to couch surf because that’s all I’d get.”

His place was a small one bedroom. He could probably afford something bigger and not live over his work, but he was a bachelor and worked a lot. He was content.

He put down the clipboard and tucked the pen behind his ear. We looked a lot alike. Same hair, although his was cut in the trendy style with the sides shorn close and the top longer. His blue eyes held more mischief than sass.

“Wait. Your mom’s not bothering you again, is she?”

“Cheryl?”

Arlo and I shared the same dad, but we had different moms. His died when he was young and a few years later, his dad started getting out there and fell for Cheryl.

They married because she was a gold digger and thought our dad would be a sugar daddy for her.

Except the money he’d had was from his dead wife–Arlo’s mom–and he drank his way through it, but only after my mother got pregnant with me.

Since she didn’t like to work, she stuck around.

Except neither of them really wanted to work.

Dad lost himself in the bottom of a beer keg and was content with his consistent but dead-end job.

Cheryl hadn’t been happy with any of it, and sank into a life of…

entitlement, without any money to go with it.

Arlo was eight years older than me, enough where he was really protective, but also hadn’t been around much after I turned ten. The day after graduation, he’d moved out. I didn’t blame him. I did the same thing.

Except Cheryl wasn’t his and he’d never liked her. She knew it, too. There was no love lost there. That was why she never asked him for money like she did me. Or let me forget the burden I was to her.

I didn’t answer his question, only looked away.

He groaned. “What now?”

Instead of telling him, I pulled my phone from my purse, found the text she’d sent during the school day.

The car needed more work. I told the repair shop you’d be in to pay the bill by Friday.

He swore under his breath. “Don’t pay it.”

“I can’t,” I admitted.

He studied me, understanding what I meant. I didn’t have money for her, or me. With a nod, he said, “If I give you shifts, you better not give her any of the tips. No way are you fucking working your ass off for her.”

I shook my head. I felt the guilt always associated with Cheryl, but she was bumped down on my worry list because of everything else in my life.

He scratched his head, which I knew was a gesture to keep his hand busy instead of strangling me. “What did you give her this month?”

I gnawed on my lip, knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer. “Rent.”

He exhaled, closed his eyes. “Fuck, Mal. She’s never going to stop.”

“Am I supposed to just cut her off?”

“Yes!” he huffed.

This was the same argument we got into again and again.

He came over, set his hands on my shoulders. “You will never make her happy.”

I looked down and sniffed. That hurt. The words and the truth behind them.

“Fuck, I don’t mean it like that.” He sighed, softened his voice. “You’re perfect. She’s a fucking mooch and no matter what you do, she will never be satisfied. A new car, she’ll say she expected four-wheel drive. A new coffee maker and it should have been an espresso machine.”

He looked down at the phone, swiped back through the older texts she sent.

“You paid the electric bill last month? Fuck, Mal, look at this text! She’s gaslighting you when you got upset about giving her a hundred bucks.”

“I know. I know! But she–”

He held up his hand. “No buts. You can’t give her money you don’t have. You work your butt off and should be tucked away in that little dream house of yours. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Tears filled my eyes because Arlo was more a parent than either of mine.

“But you’ve been giving her money for her rent and other shit and then knocking that you’re only a teacher and don’t make more. Like it’s your fault she’s a deadbeat.”

She said it was, that I was the baby she never wanted. That she wouldn’t be working a long line of deadend jobs if she hadn’t had me. I tried for her to love me. Tried all the time growing up. In college. Now. No matter what I did, it wasn’t good enough because I wasn’t good enough.

“She has to take care of Dad,” I offered, although the excuse was lame.

“Really? You’re going with that? You’re too fucking nice, Mal. Dad is a doormat, and you know it. He lost himself in a bottle when my mom died. The house could blow away in a tornado and he’d be content as long as he has his beer, cigs, and his recliner.”

That was completely true.

“You know I don’t trust her. Hell, I wonder why she even stays.”

I wondered, too. If she never wanted me, if Dad never turned into the money catch she’d hoped for, it was a mystery why she stuck around.

He shook his head. “She takes advantage. I have to wonder what she’s really up to these days. If you paid her rent and fucking electric bill, how come she doesn’t have money for the car? Is she really working even?”

I had no answer.

“Maybe it’s time to find out.”

I recognized that look, the determined gleam I often saw in my own. Not now, and never with Cheryl.

“Go for it,” I told him. “All I know is I want some shifts.”

When he eyed me like big brothers do as if trying to figure out if he was being fucked with, I added, “For the house.”

He must have believed me. “You can come to me for money, you know.”

I held up my hand. “We just had a huge talk about Cheryl mooching for money. I will not turn into her.”

He laughed. “Right. You could never be like her. Ever. You have a good heart.”

I wasn’t so sure, and I tried as hard as I could not to be. I worried, like an alcoholic with a bottle of whiskey, that once I started asking for money like she did, I wouldn’t be able to stop.

First Bridge for my ticket home. What next?

I didn’t take handouts. Not from Arlo.

“I’ll earn the money, big brother. Giving me the shifts is generous enough.”

He handed me my phone back. “Okay. Tonight will be too quiet to need you. Besides, don’t you usually do yoga on Tuesdays?”

I nodded. I didn’t go last week since Bridge and I ended up eating pizza next door instead.

“Work Friday and Saturday. They’ll be busy and get you good tips.”

I nodded, relieved. Relief made me smile. “Thanks, A.”

Maybe I’d have the money to get to Vegas after all.