Fall Apart Read online

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  FALL APART

  S.E. CULPEPPER

  Copyright 2013 by S.E. Culpepper

  Smashwords Edition

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  For Sammy. In the midst of it all, you are with me. I’m so glad we are sisters and I’m grateful that you’re also my best friend. A world without Sammy is a dreary place. As Sandol Stoddard Warburg wrote:

  “Even if it was the nine hundred and ninety-ninth of July

  Even if it was August

  Even if it was way down at the bottom of November

  Even if it was no place particular in January

  I would go on choosing you

  And you would go on choosing me

  Over and over again

  That’s how it would happen every time

  I don’t know why

  I guess I don’t know why I like you really

  Why do I like you

  I guess I just like you

  I guess I just like you

  Because I like you”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Dale, as always, you come through for me, reading and re-reading to help me out, even answering emergency texts when I need your opinion, “Right now, please!!” You have become such a dear friend and I don’t know what I’d do without your encouragement during this process.

  Also, thanks must go to my mom, my sister, Krissy, and my long-time friend, Elaine, for reading the first draft and offering their input, which makes editing so much nicer to deal with. Thank you, darlings!

  Thank you, Chris, for the input throughout. Your opinion is priceless.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Damon’s neck and shoulders were screaming and it didn’t matter how badly he wanted to change positions, he couldn’t. Not when his body had been so meticulously arranged by his nephew to serve as the Hall of Doom for a league of super heroes about to save the world. One arm, draped upward over his head, served as a parking garage for hero vehicles. Any time the heroes decided not to fly to their destination, metal matchbox cars would rumble over his armpit to the mountain’s exit near his lower ribs, causing tremors to shudder through the foundations.

  “Don’t move,” Davey whispered in his most serious tone. “The Green Lantern will get crushed.”

  Damon tightened up and swallowed a groan. This was the most miserable game ever. He wished he hadn’t thought of it, but it was either lie down and become a mountain, or watch the show with the monkeys for the hundredth time.

  “How’s Batman? What’s he up to?” Damon whispered.

  “He’s taking the Bat Mobile to the city to help.”

  Shit.

  The car rumbled from “the garage” and down over his ribs and it took all of Damon’s concentration not to writhe. He was so fucking ticklish.

  “The City” was actually Damon’s lower leg—a metropolis sprawling from high ground at “Knee Point” and sweeping off into the sea at “Toe Inlet.” It was built on rolling hills and plains of denim with a seawall made of cotton sock. Iron Man was out there, busy fighting off a stuffed bear, and his situation wasn’t looking good.

  When would Damon’s relief arrive? His mom and sister were supposed to be done with sunrise yoga and taking over “Davey Watch” by now. His rescue would only come with a child’s order of French toast sticks and chocolate milk. Let them hurry.

  It looked like the super heroes wanted to save the world, but none of them wanted to do it by cutting down on their usage of greenhouse gas-emitting machines. All of them were roaring out of armpit garage in their rocket-propelled cars, forcing Damon to clench his teeth so he wouldn’t give his weakness away with twitches and girlish squeaks.

  Only when David had wedged two heroes between Damon’s toes “to show that they’re flying,” did Damon get his reprieve.

  “Guess who’s here and she brought food!” His sister, Jess, called out from the hallway.

  The Hall of Doom came down with a very loud grunt and a crack of vertebrae, but Davey raised no objections because he was already running for the front door.

  “Did you bring French toast sticks?” the boy hollered, his throat still rough from a cold he’d caught at day care.

  Damon lay on the living room floor until he felt his bones slowly shifting back into proper alignment. His armpit was raw and there were six, maybe seven, matchbox cars under his left butt cheek. He was simply too tired to care.

  The rehearsal dinner for his best buddy’s wedding had carried on late into the night and now here Damon was, semi-hungover and expected at Luke’s wedding brunch in an hour and a half. He hadn’t forgotten about babysitting Davey, but five tequila shots into the party last night, an early wakeup didn’t seem like a big deal.

  Davey had no concept of the toll taken by his mother and grandmother when they dropped him off like this every Saturday morning so they could become one with their chi. They were twisting themselves into impossible poses on the beach while Damon stared with bleary eyes at a game of Battleship, guzzled coffee, and manfully endured tickling as the super hero Hall of Doom.

  If Damon took five now, he’d be better rested for what was certain to be another great party at the reception, but he’d end up sleeping too long and show up late. That would piss Mandy off, which would piss Luke off, and on and on… Shower and shave he must. Plus, he had an almost forty-five minute drive from his house to the restaurant in Santa Barbara.

  What had happened to youth and vigor, to those days when only a couple hours of sleep could get him through some crazy shit? Was thirty-three supposed to feel like this? All Damon knew was that it felt centuries older than, say, twenty-five.

  “That was a good year, twenty-five,” he mumbled to himself.

  “Hey, you going to join us?” his mom asked from the doorway. “I brought pancakes.”

  “Davey’s actually eating?”

  “Two French toast sticks down and counting.”

  Damon sighed in relief. He never would’ve thought that the family mood would swing on a hinge pin of whether or not someone else ate a ration of French toast sticks. But it did. Jess was a frazzled bunch of nerves when Davey decided he didn’t want to eat anything but CrackerJacks for a week straight.

  “Are you aware you have a couple super heroes stuck between your toes?”

  Sitting up, Damon plucked the plastic men away and tugged his socks out from where they were jammed between his toes. When he stood up all the way, cars and toys fell from him like the detritus of a hurricane, and he stepped on the bat mobile on his way out of the room.

  “Don’t let Davey forget his stuff, okay?” Damon grumbled, cursing over the sting in his foot. “I can’t stay because I’ve got the wedding brunch.”

  His mom murmured a response as she looked him up and down, then she jumped into an enthusiastic conversation with Davey as she rounded the corner to the dining room. Somehow Molly Wright, his fifty-six-year-old mother, had energy that rivaled a four-year-old’s. The two had some sort of special language. Davey was also the only person Molly chattered with at all. Mostly, she was watchful and quiet. People teased that his dad was the strong, silent type and his mom was stronger and silenter.

  Davey smiled up at Damon as he came into the dining room. Syrup was all over his face and Damon playfully ran a hand over the little boy’s hair as his sister held a French toast stick out to him.

  “One for the road?”
/>   Damon shoved the whole thing in his mouth and Davey’s eyes bulged. “Mommy, he took a big bite!”

  “Yes, he did,” Jess agreed and glared at Damon. “Nice example, Day.”

  Damon grinned around his mouthful and ruffled her hair too. “I do my best.”

  Davey laughed. He loved it when someone, aside from himself, challenged his mom. “Uncle Day’s goin’ to Luke’s,” he informed Jess and grandma before promptly sneezing over his breakfast.

  “If you ask nicely, maybe he’ll bring you some cake from the wedding reception,” Jess winked.

  Davey’s eyes widened like this was a stroke of genius and turned on Damon with a hopeful expression.

  Guhhhh. Irresistible.

  “Yeah. Alright, kid.” He dropped a kiss on Davey’s brow, gave his mom a peck on the cheek, and left to shower and change into a suit. The tux was hanging beside it and he reminded himself not to forget it. He couldn’t afford an emergency trip home.

  Damon was pleased to see that he didn’t look as rough as he felt when he glanced in the mirror. The shower washed away the yuck from the night before and stepping out, he was a new man. The reddish highlights from the summer sun were fading from his hair—thank God—and he was once again in that happy medium between brown and auburn. There was nothing that could be done about the sparse smattering of freckles on his nose. He knew they weren’t that noticeable, but he thought they made him seem too young. They gave him the look of a surfer without any cares in the world and he was a man full of cares. Damon couldn’t embrace freckles.

  He ran some sort of styling cream through his hair that came in a container so colorful it could induce seizures, and then shaved. His suit fit like a sexy glove; the only allowance to be made was that his wallet had to go in the jacket because there was no way his pants would contain it. Folks would be able to read his credit card number through the fabric if he forced it. It was the only suit he owned and it was brand new. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, but he loved the way it made him feel. Like he wasn’t the same run of the mill guy he was every other day.

  Davey was singing a song in the dining room about lizards in trees, an original composition, as Damon took everything he’d need that day to the truck, including his tux and gift for the bride and groom. He’d considered bringing his nephew along to the festivities, but with the cold that wouldn’t go away, and the attention span of an excited fruit bat, the kiddo would have more fun with his mom and grandma. Grandpa was manning the shop alone today and probably enjoying the solitude. His dad didn’t appreciate his family hovering.

  Back in the dining room, Damon opened his jacket like a runway model and spun once in a circle. “How do I look you guys? Do I pass inspection?”

  Davey paused his lizard song and gave him a long look. His sister and mom waited for the verdict.

  “Come here,” Davey ordered.

  Jess tsked at him. “Say, ‘please.’”

  “Please?” Davey’s ls still sounded like ws.

  Damon crossed the room and crouched down in front of his nephew’s chair, smiling.

  “You smell like a million bucks,” the little boy whispered, mimicking the words his grandma said whenever she hugged her husband and son.

  Damon laughed and held out his arms. “Hug,” he ordered, and then turned his cheek for a kiss. “Kiss.” Davey awarded him with a smack of syrupy goodness on his right cheek and his mom offered him a wet paper towel to wipe it off.

  “Stay out of trouble and be good, got it?” Damon gave his nephew a severe look.

  “Got it.”

  “No alcohol or loose women.” Damon smiled and his mom shoved him out of the room the moment Jessica started to whine. “I’ve got my phone, so if you need anything, just text or call.”

  “Give our best to the bride and groom,” Molly said. “Tell Luke again that we’re sorry we can’t make it.” She acted as if she wanted to say something more, decided against it, and then asked anyway. “Is Andrew going to be there?”

  Ah, there it was. “He is Luke’s cousin, ma. Works for Luke’s dad, too. I think he kinda has to be there.”

  “Watch the tone with me, Day,” his mom warned. “Don’t let him charm you.”

  Molly allowed another kiss to her cheek before Damon hit the path to the driveway. “Don’t worry about it! And tell Jess to lock up when she leaves this time!” he called over his shoulder.

  As Damon pulled from the driveway, Davey appeared between the curtains in the front room and waved. He honked the horn for him and laughed when the little guy jumped up and down.

  Molly didn’t often let Damon and Jess know when she was worried about something, so asking about Andrew was a big deal. She had the charm thing all wrong, however. Andrew wasn’t charming. He was provocative and agitating. There was no such thing as sweet allure with him; he was all about tactics. He had a maddening way of making statements that made it almost impossible to ignore him, even if Damon was furious with him.

  That was the point. Andrew didn’t care if someone was angry with him. Yelling and drama didn’t bother him. His purpose in seeking someone out was never to apologize or make amends. He sucked people in with a comment they couldn’t resist arguing, and it was when they rebutted that Andrew made his move, sucking them in deeper.

  In that guy’s world, anger was simply two doors down from passion, and passion just a skip away from sex. The sex always led to a time of estrangement and then the process began again when he approached the next time. It could even begin with a simple text saying, You mad? or You ignoring me?

  Much more difficult to brush off than it seemed. Especially when loneliness came knocking.

  Damon secretly hated Andrew and he hated himself more because he’d fallen into that trap three times. He didn’t want to see Andrew again. He didn’t want to be used. The onus was on him, though. When Andrew came his way, which he most certainly would, Damon had to keep his mouth shut and escape.

  The restaurant lot was packed and it took him several minutes to find a spot he could squeeze into. His truck looked out of place amongst the luxury sedans stretching out in silver and black lines in every direction, but it’s not like he could haul gear and camping equipment over mountain roads in a Benz.

  Damon was still a good distance from the entrance when he spotted his only friends in the wedding party waiting outside. Franco was smoking and Todd was on the bench behind him, somehow giving off the impression of extreme boredom even across the parking lot. When Damon was closer he waved and Franco stubbed out his cigarette to jog forward and meet him, his brown, styled hair gleaming in the sunlight.

  “You should see the groom,” he laughed and shook Damon’s hand, slapping him on the back as they turned toward Todd. “He’s pissin’ his pants.”

  Todd nodded and raised his eyebrows simultaneously by way of a greeting. “How many mimosas do you think I can safely drink at this thing without being completely inebriated for the service?”

  “Four,” Damon and Franco answered together after a shared look of deliberation.

  Todd gave a very put-upon sigh and turned to go inside. “I hate weddings.”

  Damon stepped up beside him and grabbed his shoulder with a staying hand. “I saw you leave with Valerie last night. Something tells me you don’t hate this that much.”

  Franco gaped in disbelief. “Valerie? The Maid of Honor? The glacier with facial expressions?”

  Todd held his hands out like What? and took a few more steps forward before pausing and looking back over his shoulder with a smirk. “I said I hate weddings, but I happen to enjoy the occasional bridesmaid.”

  “Valerie?” Franco hissed as Todd abandoned them in the lobby. “Really?”

  “That’s our Todd: Disenchanted Lady Killer, The Melancholy One. His saga continues.”

  Never was a man more blasé—even about getting laid—than Todd. He gave the illusion of a Ghandi-esque calm when it came to companionship, but Damon suspected he was just sorta tired. Years
ago, his friend stopped putting energy into anything remotely romantic. If a woman was around and she was interested, okay…fine. Todd wanted sex, but he wasn’t going to break a sweat chasing it. Cynical was his shtick and it was really working for him. The world-weariness was somehow attractive to women and few understood that it all stemmed from a thoroughly crushed heart, courtesy of his college sweetheart, Ella.

  “Damn,” Franco frowned, almost certainly picturing the Maid of Honor in her ice queen mode. “Sandra hates Val, you know.”

  “Everyone knows.”

  Franco’s wife, Sandra, didn’t believe in wishy-washy emotions. Extreme reaction, one way or the other, was a medium she could really work with. She was tough as nails and the scariest woman Damon knew. She ran her home like a 1920s prison warden might and even Franco was terrified of her. In a loving way.

  “Does she know you were out smoking?”

  “Hell no,” he answered with a shiver. “She thinks I quit.” As if the question reminded him, Franco popped a breath mint. “Don’t tell.”

  Damon raised a brow in agreement and peeked through the doors leading into the private hall reserved for the brunch, trying to see where everyone was seated. The bride’s family was grotesquely rich and this wasn’t a wedding so much as an event, and not so much an event as it was a weeklong extravaganza. It was a super high-class, yet less fun Lollapalooza. Oktoberfest without the cheerful people.

  There had been a golfing expedition for all of the men in the wedding party—paid for by the bride’s father, Percy Thackerey—a spa day for the women, a bridal luncheon, an evening of cigars and brandy for the groomsmen, the wedding brunch, the wedding, the wedding reception, and whispers of a wedding gift in the form of a BMW 7 Series. The Thacks, as Damon referred to them, were practically hemorrhaging cash for their little girl’s big day.

  Luke’s family was by no means rubbing elbows with the middle class, but even his parents looked on with wide eyes at the gargantuan display of wealth that their son’s nuptials were turning into. Somehow, their soon-to-be daughter-in-law had managed to avoid the usual pitfalls associated with a well-off young woman born with a silver spoon in her mouth, and they thought she was wonderful in every regard. And actually, they were pretty much right. Mandy was really cool.