Page 9 of Pieces of Me

Rylan’s “It’s okay” was interrupted when Bob knocked and poked his head in the room. “Pizza’s here, boys,” he said jovially. “Come on.”

Rylan followed Scott out to the kitchen, where a mouthwatering odor emanated from a stack of boxes on the counter. Bob tried his best to get everyone to gather around the rickety dining room table to “eat as a family,” but Scott loaded up a paper plate and disappeared outside without a word, while the younger kids clamored to eat in front of the TV.

Bob gave up when Heather shrugged and dragged some TV trays over for them before turning on a movie…Cars from the look of it. The DVD wobbled and skipped, but the kids didn’t seem to care, stuffing pizza in their mouths as if they hadn’t eaten in a week.

Rylan sat at the table with his plate and soda, but had to look away when Heather plopped herself in Bob’s lap and wriggled around, cooing to him, feeding him bites of pizza. “I love the earrings you got me, baby,” she purred, pushing her blonde hair behind her ear to display the tiny diamond studs, “but what I really need is one of those BlackBerries.”

She ran her fingers through Bob’s hair, peppering his face with kisses. “You know why? ’Cause when you’re on the road, I should be able to call you every day. So I don’t miss you too much.” Rylan wanted to gag at the sugary-sweet wheedling tone, but Bob appeared utterly besotted. He nodded, and Heather squealed, kissing him full on, treating Rylan to the sight of their tongues and the sound of their panting breaths. Gross.

Rylan picked up his food and slipped out to the porch, lowering himself to sit by Scott on the sagging wooden steps. He picked at his pizza, his appetite gone. Scott’s plate was empty, though, and he patted his flat stomach and leaned back on his arms.

“Extra time at the gym tomorrow,” he grunted, “but that was worth it.”

Rylan held his plate out to Scott and shook his head when Scott raised his eyebrows in inquiry. “Thanks,” Scott said, accepting the plate and wolfing down Rylan’s pizza before letting out a satisfied belch. “Good stuff.”

They sat in silence after that, the hum of the movie drifting through the screen door. Rylan gazed up at the starry night and then over at Scott’s profile. He was bathed in the bright moonlight, his black hair looking almost silvery, the planes and angles of his handsome face standing out in sharp relief.

Rylan traced his eyes over him, remembering the hot, quivery feeling in his belly when Scott had turned the full force of his seductive charm on him, experiment or not. He couldn’t help but shiver.

The door opened and Bob stuck his head out. “Heather and I are putting the kids to bed and turning in,” he said. “Ry, I’ll get you registered for school tomorrow so you can hopefully start on Monday, okay?”

“’Kay,” Rylan murmured. “Night, Dad.”

“Night, son. Scott.”

Scott flapped his hand in acknowledgment, waited until Bob closed the door, and pushed to his feet with a sigh. “C’mon.”

“Where are we going?” Rylan asked, glancing at his watch. “It’s almost ten p.m.”

Scott smirked. “The walls in this fuckin’ piece of shit are paper-thin. And their bedroom is right next to ours.”

The memory of Heather and his dad playing tonsil hockey a few minutes ago flashed in Rylan’s mind, and he grimaced in disgust. “Got it.”

He followed Scott as he ambled across the weed-choked yard and out onto the dirt road that ran in front of the trailer. Hands in their pockets, they scuffed along, the unmistakable glow of neon on the horizon letting them know they were approaching the strip of fast-food joints making up most of Pace’s “downtown.” Scott didn’t head for the nearby Whataburger, but instead made his way toward a small seedy-looking bar with beer signs flickering in the windows.

“We’re too young to go in there, man,” Rylan hissed at him. “Do you have a fake ID?”

Scott chuckled, pushing the door open, the smell of stale cigarettes washing over them. “Ain’t nobody cares.”

Indeed, when Rylan followed Scott in, the few denizens perched on barstools peered at them over their shoulders and turned away without batting an eyelash.

“There’s my gorgeous boy.” A female voice with the rasp of a long-time smoker came from behind them, and Rylan saw a buxom redhead with an overly made-up face reach out to grab Scott up in a hug.

Scott pulled her into his arms and squeezed her so tight he lifted her off her feet. “Hey, how’s my favorite MILF?” he asked teasingly, releasing her.

“Hey, Jailbait,” she responded back, reaching up to pat his cheek. “I say it every time, but if you was only a couple years older…mmmm.”

Scott winked at her, and she fixed a gimlet gaze on Rylan, who tried not to flinch. “Who’s this, baby?” she asked Scott.

“Well, Donna, that’s a real interestin’ story,” he drawled. “This here’s my new stepbrother, Rylan―something.”

“Rylan Mahoney, ma’am,” Rylan said, sticking his hand out for her to shake.

She brushed his fingers with hers in a limp handshake. “Donna Meeker.” Then she put her hands on her hips.

“Stepbrother? You tellin’ me his daddy actually married your mama?” She rolled her eyes at Scott’s affirmative. “Lawd have mercy on us all.” Donna looked back at Rylan. “Don’t get too used to bein’ around, kid. Heather ain’t what you call marriage material.”

“What? Did I hear you say Heather Ashworth got married?” This from a beefy guy in a white wifebeater and holey jeans who was slouched nearby. “Ha! What a joke! That girl ain’t never been able to keep her legs together to save her life. Show her a little attention, and she’s spreadin’―”