“I’m a big boy, Gannett. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” No part of that is a lie. I’m a six-foot-two wall of muscle, and the reason I’m covered in tattoos is because I needed them to camouflage all the bruises on myself, back when the terrors and sleepwalking were more active.
It was only when I got them that all the prying questions about my unintentional self-harm had stopped. It took me a while to find a tattoo artist that I trusted enough to ink me, however. Some guy out in an even smaller town than Ternbay, out in Briar Pond. His little parlor is a bit of a haul to get to—which is just how I like it, so I can remain anonymous—but it’s one of the best in northern Maine.
Gannett takes a moment to gnaw on his lower lip. “I just wish you’d let me help you somehow. You’d do—hell, you’redoing—the same for me.”
I sigh. “I don’t need your help.”
He shakes his head and opens his mouth to refute that, but I stop him. “Goodnight, Gannett,” I clip, hoping he’ll take the hint that we’re done having this little heart-to-heart.
He doesn’t get it. No one gets it. I’m beyond saving.
His eyes rake over me, and the expression on his face is one I can’t stand:pity. I don’t want anyone’s pity, least of all his. Not after the shit I did to his own brother.
“Night, Gordy,” he finally murmurs, slipping out of the room and shutting the door behind him.
Chapter Six
Istartle awake again, but this time it’s to some weird clucking sound coming from out on the balcony outside my bedroom window. I didn’t think that I’d be able to fall asleep after the events that took place last night, but I guess I must have once the adrenaline wore off. I yawn, sitting up on the edge of my bed, and that’s when I hear it again… the clucking.
“What the fuck is that noise?” I mutter to myself, groaning at the muscle ache that only comes from putting them to use again after some sleep. An ache I’m used to when all day, every day, they’re locked up and tense from being on high-alert.
Quickly, I throw on some sweats, since I regrettably now have a roommate, and peel back the curtain, searching for the source of the bizarre sound.
“Come here, you! Don’t be shy now!” Gannett calls out in a semi-whisper before chuckling. Then, I realize that clucking sound is coming from him, because he’s doing it again… attempting to feed a fuckin’ seagull from the palm of his outstretched hand. “C’mere boy! Youknowyou want it! Who doesn’t love a good muffin?”
The juvenile sea squirrel bobs and darts, obviously hesitant to get too close. I shake my head and lift my window, letting in a blast of arctic air. “The fuck are you doing, dude?” I grumble at him. “And… why aren’t you at work?”
“Storm’s supposed to come in later. Told the guys we better not chance it. Gave ‘em the day off to chill with their families before Christmas. Even if I can’t, doesn't mean they shouldn’t.” He shrugs. “And as for me and Gulligan? I like him. Look he’s got this little bullseye thing around his left eye. He’s cute as friggin’ shit. I’m teaching him how to muff dive.” He makes a few kissy noises. “C’mon, buddy, you can do it.”
“Gulligan?”
He chortles. “Yeah, like Gilligan. It was between that and Skuttle. You know, like the dingbat seagull onThe Little Mermaid? The dinglehopper dude?”
I don’t even have a response for that. I have no fuckin’ clue what he’s prattling about right now.
“Oh, come on. Give me a break! I have two girls whose personalities are Disney Princesses coded. We’ll watch it sometime, because I need your opinion on if I am Prince Eric’s identical twin or not. Evan says no way in hell, but I’m prone to think he’s wrong an awful lot. Like how he—ya know…” he trails off, looking lost in thought. “Huh, you know what? I can’t really think of an example right now, but it’ll come to me. Probably when I’m sitting on the john. That’s where some of my best thinkin’ is done.”
I take a step back and pinch the bridge of my nose, sighing with frustration. I wonder if all two of Gannett’s brain cells ever get lonely up there in that big, hollow head of his.
“Has your landlord gotten a hold of you yet to give you an estimation of how long it’ll be before you can go back?” I ask. The question, in no way, has any relevance to my rapidly deteriorating Gannett tolerance fuse—because, yeah, I was hoping that between his schedule and mine, we’d meet like ships in the night. Now that he’s giving up drinking, there’s really no need for him to go downstairs to the pub… unless he really isthatlonely. Which, by the rambling, he might just be.
“Yep. Met up with him when I ran out for breakfast. Remediation crew was already there. Said it might take about three to four weeks. They found some pre-existing mold when they peeled back the drywall.”
Fuck! I expected a few days to a week tops because the business is tied up in that building. Not a fuckin’ month!
He cocks an eyebrow up at me. “It gonna be okay if I stay here still?”
“Yep, it’s fine,” I reply, the lie slipping out all too quickly. It’s far from fine, actually, but I made myself a promise that I would do what I could for Wee-Waters, and I’m going to stick with it. Besides, if Evan ever caught wind of me rendering his little brother homeless in the dead of winter, I’m sure he’d drive here from across the state to personally kick my ass.
With both Waters boys being all brawn—and onlyonebrain, apparently—the end result wouldnotbe pretty. I’m stacked, but not at a two-against-one level of being ripped. Outside of bartending, the only real hobby I have is working out. Get jacked enough and people just naturally stay away from you—unless they have a fist-in-the-face fetish.
I guess it’s worked well, since on the rare occasion I venture anywhere other than the gym, people at the grocery store tend to give me extra-wide berths and furtive glances.
“Got you breakfast too,” Gannett says, tilting his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Didn’t know if you were a muffin lover or not, so I got a little bit of everything,” he adds with a smirk.
I roll my eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re evenawareof the innuendos you’re making or not.”
“Oh, I’m aware.” He snickers just as the skittish bird gets the cajones to pluck the last of its treat from Gannett’s hand. He dusts off the crumbs and stands up, approaching the window. “I just have a mind that owns premium real estate in the gutter.”
