Make It A Double(13)

I’m not stupid. I mean, you can’t be stupid and get into medical school. So my high IQ and equally high common sense has kicked in, and my brain is telling me that I may have gotten her all wrong. I may have let my biases pre-judge her, lumping her into the same category of supreme evil that I put Stacy, all because they have one thing in common. They come from rich, entitled lives.

But as I watched her today, my prejudice started to falter. She showed up at Hunter’s wearing dirty clothes and no makeup, with sailor quality curses falling from her lips. She didn’t bat her eyelashes or use feminine charms on me to get her way. In fact, she didn’t ask for my help at all. She merely turned her back on me and stomped off to handle her problem all on her own.

That, in and of itself, caught my interest because, in my experience… those that come from her sort of background don’t do things on their own. They beg, plead, cajole, and simper to get what they want. If that doesn’t work, they buy their way.

Not Alyssa, though.

She hauled that fine ass off to her truck in an attempt to tackle her problems on her own.

And I respected her for it.

Now, as I sit on the bar stool in the back area of Last Call, I watch her in the mirror that’s mounted behind the bar. Taking a sip of my bottled water, I admire the way she efficiently helps Casey with the decorations, even after Casey growled at her for being fifteen minutes late with the birthday cake. Alyssa just growled back at her, stating she had something important she had to do back at The Haven and apparently, her tone of voice brooked no nonsense because Casey backed right down.

I’m betting the thing she had to do was swing by and check on Jethro. I may not know Alyssa well, but what I learned today? Yeah, she went back to go see that old dog again.

And that too makes me reevaluate my prejudice against her. And respect her more.

“What’s up, bro?” I hear just as Casey bumps her shoulder against mine.

“Not much,” I say, appraising my sister through the mirror. “Everything all ready for the big surprise?”

“All ready. Gabby and Hunter should be here soon. He’s going to call just as they’re pulling in.”

I nod, my stomach cramping slightly at the thought of this party. I wonder how long I have to stay and make a polite appearance before I can escape to the sanctity of my little apartment. Socializing is not high on my agenda, and although I know Jimbo would like to see me make more of an effort in stepping back out into the world, it just makes me feel uncomfortable… like I’m under a microscope.

“So, how’s it going, living on your own?” Casey asks as she rests an elbow on the bar and perches a leg on my barstool. Her eyes are bright and hopeful as she struggles to make conversation with her introverted brother. There’s also a hint of fear in her eyes that I will brush her off, like I have so many other times before.

As I look at this woman, who shares my blood and DNA within her veins, I feel a vice-like sensation in my chest as I realize in a stunning moment of clarity that I wasn’t the only one that suffered when I went away. Poor Casey was just eighteen when her family unit was damaged, and I never thought much about her struggles.

In an effort to make a connection with her, I turn slightly on my seat so I can face her head on. Giving her a smile, I say, “It’s pretty freakin’ awesome. I mean… you know I love Mom and Dad, but there’s something to be said about having my own space.”

Casey nods in commiseration. “I know. I’m going to start looking for my own place, too. I’m too old to be living at home.”

“Your job is going good?” I ask, truly interested in Casey for the first time in a long time. She’s just started working as a realtor and but I don’t have a fucking clue about much more.

“Yeah… I love it. It’s totally stressful relying on commission for my pay, but I’m doing okay so far. It’s peak time for the real estate market, but I think I can really make a go of this.”

“Good for you,” I commend, rewarding her with another smile, because she fucking deserves it.

“It’s nice to see a smile on your face, Brody,” she says sincerely. I feel my cheeks heat up slightly at the compliment, which is also a backhanded complaint that I don’t smile enough.

Before I can respond, Casey’s phone rings and she pulls it out of her pocket. She listens for a few seconds, and then hangs up. Turning away from the bar, toward all of the party guests milling around, she puts her fingers in her mouth and gives a shrill whistle that pierces my eardrums. “Okay, everyone… they’re here. It’s showtime.”