Losers: Part I

When I first opened my eyes the next morning, blinking slowly in the golden light from the window, I immediately knew I wasn’t ready to get up yet. I was too cozy, too comfortable. My legs were tangled with Jason’s, my arm laid over his side and resting on Vincent’s chest. Manson was against my back, so I closed my eyes and snuggled into the pillows, dozing off again until the need to use the bathroom finally drove me to get up.

Quietly slipping out of bed, I noticed Lucas was already gone. I wasn’t sure whose oversized shirt I was wearing, so I pulled it over my nose and deeply inhaled — Vincent. Sour-sweet marijuana and citrusy brightness that left a smile on my face as I left the attic.

“Good morning, Jojo,” I greeted her at the base of the attic stairway, where she was sprawled across the floor. Her tail wagged lazily as I patted her side, giving a little sigh of sleepy contentment.

I finished up in the bathroom and felt a bit more awake with my face washed and some of the tangles worked out of my hair. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the house, beckoning me downstairs and into the kitchen.

Lucas was standing at the counter, pouring into his mug from a full pot. He was shirtless and barefoot, wearing only loose red sweatpants. God, he looked sexy. All his hours of work in the garage had honed his muscles and roughened his big hands. But his face looked softer in the morning, as if it hadn’t settled into his permanent scowl quite yet.

“Good morning,” I said, after leaning silently against the doorframe for several moments to admire him.

He glanced at me over his shoulder. “I was wondering when you’d say something. You’re not so sneaky, girl, I heard you come down the stairs. What were you doing back there anyway, staring at my ass?”

I snickered, coming to stand beside him. “Maybe. So what if I was? You have a nice ass.”

He raised his eyebrows at me before quickly turning his head back toward the cabinets. “Do you want some coffee?” he said, already pulling down a mug for me.

“With cream and sugar, please.”

My eyes roamed over his back as he prepared it. His elaborate back tattoo appeared to still be in progress; the outline was there but shading was absent. But the detail it already contained was stunning. A large tree was the main focus of the piece, the trunk following his spine, its branches sprawled across his shoulders.

“What inspired the back tattoo?” I said as he turned with both our mugs in his hands. He handed mine over, and I took a sip, the scent and rich taste instantly elevating my mood.

“Let’s go sit on the porch,” he said. “It’s not too hot out yet.”

The morning air was fresh and cool, but the clear blue sky told me it would be warming up swiftly. We sat in the shade of the porch; I took an old rocking chair that creaked slightly as I swayed, while Lucas sat on the bench seat beside me.

“Where I used to live, when I was kid, we had a big tree in the backyard,” he said, after several moments of silence. “It was a massive old thing. Huge limbs, and a lot of them were low to the ground so it was easy to climb up. My brother and I used to make these shitty, hazardous forts in the branches. Like we’d literally take old scrap wood and sheet metal, and heap it all together with some rope and nails. Not much of a treehouse, but…I love those memories. They’re good. I’m trying to focus more on remembering what was good instead of everything else.” He sipped his coffee, nodding slowly. “So that was what inspired the tattoo. Good memories.”

“I never knew you had a brother,” I said. “When you moved here, he didn’t…”

He kept his eyes focused ahead, but his hand tightened on the bench beside him. “He didn’t come with us when we moved, neither did my mom. Just me and Pops, a match made in Hell.” He shook his head, exhaling softly. “Pops really only brought me with him so he could have someone else to work and bring money into the house. Mama couldn’t handle me; she was too sick. She’s still in that same old house I grew up in. I send money back for her caregiver. She has to have someone come out and help her seven days a week.”

I tried to imagine my own mom allowing someone to help her around the house. She’d probably nitpick their every move, disgusted that nothing was up to her standards.

“Your dad was hard to get along with?” I said, knowing that was probably the understatement of the year.

“Yeah, he was a dick,” Lucas said bluntly. “He wasn’t the type of person who believed in having conversations with his kids. You either did what he told you or he’d fucking make you. And I was a difficult little shit so I spent most of my childhood getting my ass whipped every other day.” He stopped, then cleared his throat. “Anyway. Family seems to be more trouble than it’s worth in most cases. Manson got fucked over by his folks, Jason practically escaped a cult.” He glanced over at me. “No offense, but your mom sounds like a piece of work.”

“My mom can be a lot. I think she has my best interests at heart…maybe.” I sighed, settling back in the rocking chair. “She wants everything her way, always. And if not — damn, you’d better watch out because she’ll never let it go.”

“Struggles to give up control, thinks she’s the center of the world…why does that sound familiar?”

“Hey, watch it,” I said, stretching out my leg to kick at him playfully. “Don’t start comparing me to my mother.”

We both looked up as the door opened. Manson, Vincent, and Jason filed out, squinting in the sunlight with mugs of coffee in their hands.

“Mornin’ y’all,” Vincent said, plopping down heavily on the bench beside Lucas and slinging his arm around the other man’s shoulders. He jostled Lucas enough that he almost spilled his coffee, but Vincent didn’t seem to notice as he sipped his own down. “Beautiful day.”

“It’s gonna be a scorcher,” Jason muttered, sitting down on the steps.

Manson came over to my chair, carefully taking my mug and setting it alongside his own on the railing before he squeezed into the chair beside me. He pulled me onto his lap, settling me back before grabbing our mugs again.

“That’s better,” he said. He looped his arm around my waist and rested his head against the side of mine, his voice husky with sleep. “I woke up and you’d left. I don’t remember giving you permission to leave bed.”

I giggled. “You couldn’t exactly give permission if you were asleep now, could you?”

Jojo barked from inside the house, and Jason suddenly sucked in his breath. I looked over as Lucas slowly stood up, and at the same moment, Manson’s entire body went rigid beneath me.

Someone was standing at the gate — a tall skinny man with gray-streaked hair. The smoke from a cigarette slowly curled into the sky above his head.

“Oh my God…” My words came out in a disbelieving whisper. “Is that…”

Manson stood up, bringing me with him. The moment I was on my feet, he stepped in front of me, physically blocking me with his body. Vincent was on the edge of the bench, his face grim. Lucas’s fists were clenched as he stood there staring, and Jason was on his feet now too.

“Lucas, take Jess inside.” Manson’s voice was hard, his gaze fixated on the man at the gate.

“Manson.” Lucas’s voice was tense. “I don’t think I should leave —”

“Lucas, now.” The viciousness in Manson’s tone shocked me almost as much as the look on his face as he turned. I had never seen Manson look like that before.

Terrified. Completely terrified.

Lucas nodded, taking my hand and pulling me from behind Manson. “Come on. Stay close.” He kept his body between me and the yard, ushering me toward the door.

Blocking me. Hiding me.

“Manson?” I tried to reach back for him, fear beginning to spread through me.

“It’ll be fine, Jess,” he said, but the smile he offered was weak at best. “Don’t worry. Lucas…”

“I’ve got her.” Lucas’s voice was firm, his hold on me unbreakable as he opened the front door and pushed me ahead of him inside.