Roustabout Page 7

  “You gonna carry on ignoring this?” he asked.

  I took another swallow, beginning to feel numb at last.

  “Yep.”

  Zef raised an eyebrow. “Real mature, Tucker.”

  “Yep.”

  He took the bottle out of my hands and took another long slug. “You never asked me why I was in prison.”

  I looked at him sideways. “None of my business, bro.”

  “Yeah, I used to think that was the reason, but it’s because you didn’t want anyone to ask questions about you, isn’t it?”

  I didn’t answer, but he didn’t expect me to either.

  “If I’d dealt with my shit earlier, maybe I wouldn’t have gotten arrested,” he said. “Maybe I wouldn’t have let down my little brother and gotten sent away when he needed me. Maybe . . .”

  “Is this your bedtime story now?” I asked, leaning back on my elbows. “And the moral of this story is . . . ?

  He replied evenly, “you’ve gotta sort your shit. Sooner rather than later.”

  He stood up and screwed the lid back on the bourbon before taking it with him. Douche.

  I rubbed my hands over my face and stared up at the stars, listening to the sounds of the sleeping carnival.

  Nearby I could hear one of the rodeo horses snickering quietly. Creaks and groans from wood and cooling metal sounded loud in the night. Smoke drifted on the air, our ritual bonfire burning the final embers. Somewhere I could hear a guitar playing, one of those sad fucking songs that Luke always liked. I guess that was because he knew his boyfriend Zach had a permanent hard-on for Kes. I didn’t understand why people did that—be with someone when they were in love with someone else. Being second-best sucked. Maybe I wasn’t the only person who needed to get their shit together.

  This was my home. This was where I belonged, where I felt free. But it wasn’t where I’d started out.

  My world had been small, dark and cruel and there was no fucking way I was going back.

  I wondered if it was Jackson or Jason who’d called, then decided I didn’t care. They were both assholes.

  I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I felt was the toe of Kes’s boot in my ribs.

  “Morning, fucker.”

  I squinted up at him and grinned. “I keep telling you my name is Tucker, but I guess that’s too complicated for you.”

  “Aimee’s making pancakes. Better apologize to her or she’ll burn yours.”

  I sat up slowly, groaning as my body protested at the hard ground and the two mean little men stomping around inside my head.

  I needed wake-up water: coffee, hot and strong.

  “Yeah, okay,” I said. “Sorry, man.”

  “Tell her, not me,” he said, shrugging as he walked off.

  I shuffled into the RV’s kitchen. From the stiffness in Aimee’s shoulders, I could tell she knew I was there.

  “My two favorite things,” I said, “a beautiful woman who’s cooking me breakfast.”

  She turned around and glared at me while I smiled back. When she turned away, she stabbed at the pancakes with her spatula. Yeah, I was going to have to try harder.

  I walked across and wrapped my arms around her waist, leaning my chin on her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, Aimee. You know me—if my mouth was any bigger I’d have a foot in each cheek at the same time.”

  “You’re such an asshole,” she said, but I could tell she’d accepted my apology.

  “But a cute asshole?” I prompted.

  “No, you smile too much,” she snapped.

  “I can’t help it. I was born smiling and they had to smack my cute ass to see if I really could cry.”

  “You’re so full of shit, Tucker,” she said, laughing reluctantly.

  “Run away with me, Aimee,” I begged, falling to my knees and holding my hands up in front of me. “Leave that loser behind and . . .”

  My throat closed up as Kes grabbed me in a headlock and wrestled me to the ground. He wasn’t being any too gentle either.

  “Hands off of my girl, fucker,” he growled.

  Seeing as I couldn’t breathe too well, I tapped out ‘uncle’ admitting that he’d won, and Kes grudgingly let me go.

  Aimee stood over me shaking her head and smiling.

  “You can take that as a no, Tucker.”

  “I know you want me really,” I wheezed, and Kes gave me an angry stare.

  “Just eat your pancakes,” Aimee sighed, throwing a warning glance at Kes.

  Zef arrived just as I was forking delicious hot pancakes with sweet syrup into my mouth.

  He tossed his cell phone on the table.

  “They’ve started calling me now, bro.”

  I didn’t have to ask who he meant. Suddenly the pancake tasted like old cheese and I had a hard job swallowing past the brick in my throat.

  Aimee sat down opposite me. “You have to go, Tucker. She was your mother.”

  Kes frowned. “It’s up to him what he does.”

  “This isn’t just about him,” she pressed quietly. “His family needs him, or they wouldn’t be calling all of us.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I said fiercely. “We’ve got a show tonight. The show must go on, right?”

  “We can do a two-man show,” Kes said carefully. “You guys did that all last season to save my ass.” He shrugged and met my eyes. “Just do what you gotta do, Tucker. We’re cool either way.”

  Zef pushed his phone toward me. “Call them.”

  I looked at his cell phone the way I might look at a rattlesnake.

  “I always wondered what an intervention was like,” I muttered, only half joking.

  Kes cracked a smile but nobody laughed. I sighed—tough audience today.

  “Fine, I’ll make the call, but you fu—” Aimee glared at me. “Um, never mind.”

  I picked up Zef’s phone to call the number, reluctant from the soles of my feet to the tips of my fingers. But maybe they were right; maybe I needed to deal with this shit once and for all.

  Or maybe this was the worst decision I’d made in a lifetime of bad decisions.

  I dialed and it was answered on the second ring.

  “Did you talk to him? Did you speak to Tucker?”

  When I heard a woman’s voice, I nearly dropped the phone.

  “Hello?”

  I strode away from the RV. I didn’t want anyone to hear this conversation. Hell, I didn’t want to hear it myself.

  “Hello?”

  I steeled myself so no emotion showed. “Hello, Renee.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath. “Tucker?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Jackson is in the shower, so I answered his cell. We’ve been waiting to hear from you . . .”

  She was with Jackson?

  She’d spoken rapidly as if she was nervous, but now her voice tailed off and we listened to each other breathing down the line.

  “How are you?”

  “I heard Momma died.”

  There was a pause.

  “Yes, I’m sorry for your loss.”

  I laughed harshly but didn’t answer.

  “I’m sorry for everything,” she said softly.

  I rubbed my forehead, the ache worsening with every word.

  “Are you coming home?”

  “This is my home.”

  She sighed. “Are you coming back to Tennessee? The funeral is on Friday. I . . . we . . . your brothers would really like to see you.”

  “Stepbrothers. And I doubt it.”

  “Please, Tucker,” she said quietly. “You need to come.”

  “No, I really don’t need to,” I bit out.

  There was another long silence.

  “For me?”

  I shook my head even though she couldn’t see me, but words wouldn’t come.

  “Please, Tucker,” she begged, her voice breaking on my name.

  She knew I hated that. I was furious to find it still worked.

  “I’ll
be there,” I said, and ended the call.

  I needed a minute before I faced my friends. It had shaken me to hear Renee’s voice after all this time. I’d never thought she’d still be living there, let alone answering my stepbrother’s cell.

  I slumped onto the bottom step of the empty carousel and leaned back against the black-and-white stripes of a wooden zebra, staring at the sun reflecting off gold hooves. His painted mouth seemed to laugh as he gazed at the short tail of the giraffe in front of him.

  “You have it easy, man,” I said, scrubbing my hands over my unshaven jaw. “You just got to stand there and look pretty, and . . .”

  “ . . . and travel in circles all day long with screaming brats sitting on your back.”

  I squinted into the sun as Jade stood in front of me, her hands planted on her narrow hips.

  “Were you having a moment with the zebra?” she smirked. “Because you might be in more trouble than I thought.”

  “Sweet cheeks, I was born trouble and just got bigger.”

  She grinned and sat down, stretching out her long, tan legs.

  “So, what are you doing talking to a wooden zebra?” she asked. “It’s not like you to be introspective.”

  “Intro—what?” I grinned at her. “Can’t even spell the word.”

  “Hmm,” she said, arching one eyebrow. “Seems to me like you’re taking life too seriously. What blew up your ass?”

  I gave her a shocked look.

  “You think I’m being serious? Say it ain’t so!”

  She laughed and pushed my shoulder.

  “That’s more like the Tucker McCoy I know. I could use a repeat performance tonight. I get so sick of guys who want to talk to me when I just want to fuck. At least with you I know you won’t want a conversation. Thank God. See you after the late show.”

  I opened my mouth to tell her I wouldn’t be around, but then she stood up and walked away, swinging her hips, her long black hair glossy in the morning sun.

  I shrugged. Jade wouldn’t care one way or another. If I wasn’t around, she’d find some other guy.

  Zef caught up with me in the RV as I tossed clothes into a bag and dragged an old quilt out from under the bed. I didn’t know where I’d be sleeping once I arrived in town. I’d bet a dozen quarters that the old motel was still in business, but I’d only stay there if I wanted to get bitten to death by bedbugs. I’d rather take my chances outdoors.

  Zef leaned against the door, his arms folded as he watched me.

  “This is your damn fault,” I grumbled, hunting down my toothbrush. “Being so chatty with a bunch of Butternuts.”

  He cracked a smile.

  “I’ve never been accused of being chatty before.”

  It was true: while I made the ladies laugh all the way to the bedroom, Zef just did the brooding thing. Whatever works—we made a good team.

  He continued watching me as I finished packing but didn’t say anything else until I was sitting on the Duke, everything I needed was stuffed into my backpack. The storage space was just about big enough to take a toothbrush. Yeah, I could have bought saddlebags, but you don’t buy a racehorse to pull a cart.

  “Easy on the bends,” said Zef.

  I nodded, raised my hand in a silent salute then pressed the starter button, loving the roar of the engine as I slowly released the throttle, bouncing over the uneven ground.

  The roustabouts had finished erecting the Ferris wheel and carousel, and were working on the fast rides. I watched Carl shin up the framework of the rollercoaster and my mind spun back into the past, to the days when I first joined the carnival as one of the small army of itinerant workers who made up the laborers, the roustabouts.

  The tents and kiosks along the midway were taking shape, the skeleton frames sharp against the clear blue sky, the faded canvases dressing the bones, like an old woman in her Sunday best. It was tricks and lies, all designed to part the rubes from their money, but it was honest, too. No one pretended it was anything more than a good time. Maybe that was why I fit in.

  I paused by the grandstand, watching as Kes did a walk-through, checking the ground before he took the bikes over it. Aimee waved from the bleachers, Bo clinging to her shoulders.

  Tera was standing next to her, arms folded across her chest, her face unreadable.

  Ignoring the twist in my gut, I glanced into my mirrors, a glimpse of yellow dust that followed my tires. The air shimmered with summer heat and I had to squint through my sunglasses as sunlight bounced from the straggling lines of silver trucks and trailers.

  Aimee was always going on about finding the magic here. I don’t know about that, but it never got old, not for me. The carnival was my home—the first one that ever meant anything to me. Twelve years ago I’d been a kid on the verge of manhood in Tennessee. If I’d ever really been a kid.

  And now I was going back.

  I was fucked.

  Tera

  I stood and watched as Tucker rode away. I knew he’d seen me but he didn’t show any sign, no acknowledgement. That stung. I thought we were at least good enough friends to . . .

  No, I was lying to myself. Tucker and I weren’t friends. We’d hooked up; it was fun. And I thought we were going to meet again last night, but both my calls had been ignored.

  I knew why now: Tucker’s mother had died.

  I felt terrible that I hadn’t been able to say something, to comfort him in some way, but from what Aimee said, he’d preferred to crawl into a bottle of whiskey instead.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, as we walked back to the RV together.

  “Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”

  She gave me a quick, penetrating look.

  “I don’t know. You seem . . . distracted.”

  “I was thinking about Tucker,” I admitted, hurrying on as she raised her eyebrows. “I mean, it’s terrible about his mother, isn’t it?”

  Aimee nodded. “Yes, and he was so weird about it, making all these horrible jokes. I’ve never seen him like that before. It was as if he was trying to prove that he didn’t care. Kes has known him four years and he’s never heard Tucker mention his family, ever.” She looked sad. “And now this.”

  “Do you think . . . do you think he’ll be okay by himself?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. I used to think Tucker was shallow: just drinking, biking, and screwing around with skanks.”

  Ouch.

  Aimee didn’t notice that I was cringing. Probably just as well.

  “But there’s more to Tucker, I know that now. But he wouldn’t even talk to Kes, and they’re closer than brothers. We don’t even know where he’s from in Tennessee.” She laughed without humor. “Until yesterday, I thought he was from Kentucky.” She shook her head sadly. “Poor Tucker. He’s obviously not close to his family, but this has to have hit him hard.”

  I spent the rest of the day with Aimee and my brother, but my mind was on Tucker. I wanted to help him, but I had no clue how. I doubted he’d even want my help, but no one should be alone and dealing with something like this.

  Tucker needed a friend, whether he knew it or not.

  Tucker

  Two days and nearly a thousand miles later, I slowed the Duke to a crawl as I hit the main drag through town. Boarded up shops looked gray and dingy against the sharp outline of the mountains behind. Sunny days were supposed to make things look better, although there are always exceptions. The town where I grew up being at the top of the list.

  I was surprised to see a bunch of flags crisscrossing the street. They looked out of place, just painting the misery in brighter colors.

  I had to stop when I saw a large crowd forming in front of the town hall and two police cruisers blocking off the whole area.

  I found a spot at the side of the road and pulled over to take a look. I’d planned to rest up in town anyway, fixing to get some food and maybe see about a room.

  I stood up stiffly, stretching to work the kinks out of my spine, thanking some good Italian eng
ineering and my decision to get the comfort seat rather than the race seat for the Duke. Even still, a thousand miles on two wheels was no joke, but at least the slip resistant surface had stopped the twins—my balls—from sliding against the tank on the twists and turns or whenever I braked sharply.

  I pulled off my helmet and gloves, running a hand through my damp hair. The heat was more intense now that I’d stopped, and not even the faintest breeze stirred the candy wrappers and scraps of paper lying in the gutter.

  I frowned at the thick dust covering the Duke, the red wheel trim almost black and the white engine casing a hazy gray. I’d have to clean that. Daisy was too pretty to leave crusted in dirt.

  I peeled off my jacket, relieved that I hadn’t worn my one-piece race leathers. In theory, they were more robust—safer—than pants and a jacket. I used the one-piece when I was performing, but not for a road trip. You come off of the road anywhere remote, and you could bleed to death while someone tries to get through the body armor and a quarter of an inch of leather.

  A woman with a baby on her hip, gripped another child by the wrist, almost dragging her along the sidewalk. She slowed as she approached, and I could see the hunger in her eyes as she stared at the Duke. She might not know what kind of bike it was, but she knew enough to guess it would feed her family for a year.

  Her eyes narrowed as she looked up at me, then her shoulders jerked back and her mouth went slack with surprise.

  “Tucker? Tucker McCoy?”

  I flipped through my memory, but nothing came to mind.

  “You know me?”

  Her teeth snapped together and she nodded once. “Mary Dunne. I was in the same year as Jackson and Jason.”

  I shouldn’t have been surprised that I didn’t recognize her. She was only two years older than me, but looked ten. Women’s lives were hard around here.

  Her kids stared at me with accusing eyes.

  “Sure, I remember you,” I said, smiling. “You were on the cheer squad.”

  It was hard to believe looking at her now, with the angry lines carved around her mouth and the permanent frown that hardened her once pretty face.

  “Heard your momma died,” she said, not attempting to offer condolences.

  I nodded my head at the crowd. “What’s going on?”