~Rhys~
It was hard to ignore the death glare Uncle V was shooting into the side of my head as I leaned against the check-out counter. I even arrived early, a silent apology to him, because he knew I never did anything like that through words. I had prepared the back room for Emma to destroy it, and I hadn’t said a word, yet he was still pissed at me.
“Here,” Michaela stated crisply, throwing my apron at me. “Emma will be here soon.”
Right. So Michaela was also pissed.
Not to mention Emma wouldn’t exactly be flattered to see me.
I was just outnumbered, wasn’t I?
No sooner had I fastened the thing around my waist than Emma was strolling through the door. At least she had dressed the part, with old jeans and a t-shirt, her hair up in a bun. She smiled at Uncle V.
“Emma!” he exclaimed, grabbing her face and kissing both her cheeks loudly. Michaela did the same. “It’s so good to see you again!”
“You as well,” she replied happily. Her eyes trailed over and found me, and they hardened instantly. The smile dropped from her face. I was sure everybody noticed the menacing glare directed at me. I shifted my feet.
“Hi,” I mumbled. She sniffed, not answering. She looked at Uncle V again.
“Do I get an apron, too?” she asked. Uncle V nodded, smiling, and tossed her one identical to mine. She tied it around her waist.
“Rhys, why don’t you take her in the back and get started?” Michaela suggested with her back to mine, straightening the papers at her podium where she greeted and sat people.
I sighed, shoving off the counter and walking into the back. Emma’s soft footsteps sounded behind me. I didn’t bother looking back as I retrieved a bag of dough and emptied it onto the counter’s surface.
“Do you work at being an asshole, or does it just come naturally?”
I whirled around, not having suspected such a thing to come from her mouth. “Excuse me?”
Her arms were folded tight over her chest, lips pulled together. There wasn’t anything spectacular about her. Nothing I would even want to coax into the bed drunk. And when I was hammered I bedded anything.
She stepped up to the counter beside me. I kept my eyes on the side of her head.
“You make it your number one priority to bitch at everything that walks by,” she said, turning her head and looking at me. “You may think your devil-may-care attitude is hot and badass but it just makes you an unapproachable jerk.”
My eyebrows shot to my hairline.
“I waited for three hours for you to show up,” she ground out, jabbing me in the chest with her pointer finger. I would never admit it out loud, but, it kind of hurt. “And you never fucking showed up. So if anybody should be giving major attitude it’s me.”
“Emma—”
She slammed her hand down on the counter, curling her fingers into a fist. “I’m actually trying here, dammit!”
I smirked. “Are we done with the theatrics?”
She huffed, stomping her foot. “Listen, Richardson. I’m sorry you seem to hate everything. I’m sorry you have some personal vendetta against the world. But news flash; it’s not going away! And you being so damn pissy all the time won’t make it go away!”
I stared hard at her, working my jaw back and forth. “You’re new. Don’t pretend like you know everything about me, ‘cause you don’t.”
She lapsed into silence. I could feel the gears churning in her mind. I was ready for her to leave already. She had pinched a few nerves.
I dumped a pack of dough out on the table, showering it in flour when it was clear she wasn’t going to say anything. The last thing I needed was—
“My favorite movie is The Breakfast Club.”
I snapped my head up to look at her. She refused, yet again, to meet my eyes. “Huh?”
“The Breakfast Club,” she reiterated. “It’s my favorite movie.”
I had never heard of it. “Never seen it,” I mumbled.
Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. “Never seen it? Are you kidding me? It’s the best movie ever! And you’re just like one of the characters.”
Now that was intriguing. “Am I?”
“Uh, yeah. Blasé and defiant. Like twins. It’s almost scary.”
I snorted. “Ookay.”
She started pounding the dough with her hands. And when I say pounding, I mean beating the living shit out of it.
“You’re doing it wrong,” I quipped, pushing her hands away and remolding the dough into a sphere. She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, not happy with my accusation.
“Am I?” she replied.
I nodded. “Yeah.” I cupped my hands and started gently spreading out the dough. “You have to do it like this . . . And then roll it out, and then you can spin it.”
A glimmer lit her eyes. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” she whispered.
Hm. Heck of a dream to have. But to each his own, I supposed. “It’s not as easy as you might think.”
She practically tackled me out of the way to pick up her dough. “How do I do it?”
“Like this,” I said, picking up my own pre-prepared dough and twirling it through the air. When it was finished I set it on a pan to be doused with tomato sauce and toppings. Emma was gaping.
“That seriously just happened,” she breathed. “That was kind of freaking awesome.”
I was a bit frightened in that moment, for two reasons; the first being Emma’s drastic attitude switch, from murderous to amazement. The second was the fact that we had actually gotten along without a foul word or an argument for a consecutive five minutes. I guessed miracles did happen.
“Shoot.”
I broke from my thoughts, glancing over and seeing her pizza dough having landed on her feet, flour coating her legs. I snorted. “Try again.”
Her face was red, which I found hilarious, and she gathered up the dough into a ball and repeated exactly what I had done. The words would never be said aloud, but I was impressed.
God, listen to me.
Her spinning was a complete and utter failure, but the steps leading up to it weren’t so bad. She was workable, unfortunately, which meant she would probably be staying. And I would no longer be alone in the kitchen, just me and my thoughts . . . Though I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
“Rhys!” Uncle V’s booming voice thundered through the door, making Emma jump and cry out. “Customers are coming in! Get those pizzas cranking!”
I went on work-mode, muscle memory taking over. Emma may have been new but the customers weren’t going to stop just for that. Pizzas still had to be made to top quality and as it stood, I was the only one that could do it for now.
“What should I do?” Emma asked, off to the side.
“Just don’t get in the way,” I replied hastily, unpackaging dough and spreading flour everywhere. “I have a lot of mouths to feed.”
And wouldn’t you know it, I never had to tell her to move once.
“You know, you never told me your favorite movie.”
I was scrubbing down the counters, Emma mopping the floors. I paused at her statement. Truth be told, working with Emma hadn’t been as agonizing and insufferable as I originally thought. In fact, it was half-way bearable. But it didn’t change anything. Not a thing. When I looked at her all I thought of was what Rico and Mr. Matthew and even Uncle V were always saying, and that made me angry. Why did the new girl seem to be the source of my deepest issues?
“Rhys?”
I stopped scrubbing. “I didn’t know we were playing twenty questions.”
“Well, we’re supposed to get to know each other, and this seems the easiest route. I didn’t think you would go for a sentimental heart-to-heart.”
Damn right. That sounded repulsing. “Hm.”
“Seriously. What’s your favorite movie?”
“Why does it matter?”
She shrugged. “Maybe it doesn’t. Regardless, now I’m just plain curious.”
I sighed. “Taken.”
She nodded. “I like Liam Neeson.”
“Wow, that’s awesome.”
She straightened up. “You could work on curbing the sarcasm, while we’re at it.”
Who did she think she was, my case worker? I didn’t need her picking up after me. “You know what, I think we’re good here. You can go back home and make brownies or whatever you do in your free time.”
Emma didn’t look amused. “You’re so full of it, you know that?”
“Tell me.”
Her gaze hardened. “Are you kidding me right now? I thought we were actually semi-getting along fine.”
“Delusional,” was my response. “All in your head. You should go. Now.”
She huffed, throwing down the mop. “Well, Rhys Richardson. Maybe I will.”
She was so strange, unlike the other girls at Heart. Her reactions weren’t as predictable as theirs and I didn’t like it. It made her hard to read. “Nothing’s stopping you. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.”
I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t for her to blow me a raspberry. And that’s what she did. Stuck her bright pink tongue out and then stormed off. The bells chimed and the door slammed. All in all, it could have gone a hell of a lot worse. At least the furniture was still in the same place, and nobody was wounded.
I stooped over and picked up the mop, tossing it back in the closet along with the rag. I was exhausted. Working with Emma was tiring. You had to keep a constant eye on her or you would find flour in the most unlikely of places. I was sure for the next week or so I would be finding nice little surprises all over the kitchen.
“I assume by the lack of screaming and broken dishes that it went well?”
I glanced over my shoulder at Uncle V standing in the doorway. “If by well you mean tolerable, then yes. She’s tolerable.”
Uncle V rolled his eyes. “You are something else, Rhys.”
“Why thank you.”
“I’m not sure if it was a compliment.” He stepped forward. “It’s not always good to have a big head. Confidence is one thing, arrogance is another. Make sure you don’t get them confused.”
What was it about me lately that screamed “give me a life lesson”? Because I’d gotten too many for my liking. “Sure thing, Vit.”
My nonchalant tone was not very assuring to him. “May the good Lord help me,” he mumbled. “Where you’re concerned, I’ll certainly need it.”
I really hated where I lived. I hated everything about it, right down to the immaculate fake shutters. Who needed fake shutters? Who needed half the stuff rich people had?
If my dad wasn’t such an esteemed son of a bitch, he might not be half-bad. But his personality was tragically flawed and frankly just horrible, so no such luck.
Judy was still hanging around, not having had enough of my dad’s goods yet. And I meant that in every sense of the word. The house was quiet when I entered, the light on in the kitchen. I was fucking burned out from making so many pizzas and avoiding Emma and dealing with an inner apocalypse. I just wanted to hit the sack.
I grabbed a gallon of milk from the fridge and guzzled it down, spotting a paper on the table. I snatched it and scanned it over.
Rhys,
Despite what you think, Judy is becoming a permanent fixture here. So start acting a little more decent around her. Also, I would appreciate it if you would quit taking my Mercedes out.
-Dad
I crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the trash, swiping my wrist across my face after a hard swig of milk. Thinking about that asshole made my insides clench up, hatred burn through me. I just wanted to punch him a couple times, see if maybe that would knock some sense into him.
I marched the steps to my room, steps slowing when I started hearing strange noises. I neared the cracked bedroom door, distinctly remembering having kept it wide open. Realization dawned on me.
Oh, hell no.
Mustering all the strength I could I slammed my foot into the door. It flew open, banging against the wall and causing the two people in my bed to gasp. “Rhys!” My father exclaimed, cheeks reddening. Judy was quickly covering herself with blankets—my blankets—as I stood there seething. “I didn’t think you were supposed to be home for another hour!”
“Oh, my God, Dad,” I cried. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? It’s five in the fucking afternoon!”
“Stop shouting,” he ordered, but it was kind of hard for him to sound authoritative when he was naked with his girlfriend in his son’s bedroom.
“You couldn’t even make it to your own fucking bedroom?” I roared.
“Rhys . . .”
“Shut up!” I snapped, turning around. Disgust filled me. Repulsion. I needed to leave. “Just burn the sheets when you’re done and do me the favor of never talking to me again.”
I slammed the door behind me, heading back down the stairs. Why did my life have to be so fucked up? Who walked in on their father and his latest exploit doing bedroom gymnastics in their own freaking room? It wasn’t right! It wasn’t normal!
With one place in mind to go, I left the house and took my car at unsightly speeds to Rico’s. We hadn’t exactly left in the best of graces, but we had made a pact early on to be there for each other no matter what. And I needed somewhere to sleep with food to eat and a television to watch to erase the atrocities from my mind.
“Rhys?” Rico questioned, sincerely surprised at seeing me.
“Hi,” I muttered, still reeling from past events. I brushed by him and settled on the couch, dropping my face in my hands.
“Wanna talk about it?” Rico asked. I heard the door shut.
“Nope,” I replied.
“Want somewhere to stay?”
“Yep.”
He nodded and tossed me a can of soda. Not beer, I noticed, so he was still on his grand plan of morphing me into the next Mr. Rogers. “You know where all the food is.”
And that was what I liked about Rico. No questions, no rules, no obligations.
I settled into the couch, clicking on the TV. The Walking Dead was on.
I turned out the light and turned up the volume.