A Little Complicated (2 page)

I di
dn’t want to think about that. Especially now that he was going to be dating my sister again. Good lord. It was fucked up that all this time later he had me so mixed up and I didn’t even know if he looked the same. He probably had a pot belly and a sad, frumpy face after dealing with all of the stress in his life.

Right, like Ellie would date him if he’s turned into a slag.

Fuck.

As I was leaving out the front entrance I noticed a girl I’d seen a lot of lately, pushing herself up the wheelchair ramp on the sidewalk. I smiled at her when she saw me and she returned my smile, only twice as bright and much less jaded. Even in a wheelchair at I assumed was around fourteen-years-old she was open and bright and I envied her natural cheer.

“Well, good afternoon, Miss Lila. How are you today?” I asked as I pressed the unlock button on my keyless entry, pointing it at my Jeep.

“I’
m awesome. Just got a mile in eight minutes. I mean, that’s not great, but it’s progress.” She was breathing heavily, face flushed from heavy exercise.

“You’ll be Paralympics bound in no time.”

“It’s the goal!” She smiled brightly, giving me a thumbs-up. I reached in my messenger bag and pulled out a cold bottled water I’d grabbed for myself before leaving, but she seemed to be in more need than I at the moment. She huffed and puffed a
thank you
when I passed her the water.

“Well, I gotta get to work. Be careful out there.”

“Thanks for the water!” She yelled at my retreating back, obviously having found her voice again. I was super impressed with the kid. She’d shown up recently working out to prepare for wheelchair racing. She hit the sidewalks and the park by my apartment building every other day around the same time. I only wish I was that determined. Or that damn chipper. If she could have that attitude being wheelchair bound at her young age, I should be able to get my head out of my ass.

I made it through my shift, which was a typical Saturday night in a Decatur, Georgia, restaurant. Drunk kids from the local college (doing my alma mater so proud) and locals who rarely tipped. I didn’t mind it, though. Like I’d said, I don’t do sitting still. I’
d worked as a bartender at Lucky Star since I was in my final years of college. After I’d gotten my degree in computer science I’d gotten a nine-to-five job working for the state tax commission on their tax software.

My day job sucked the life out of me, but the money was awesome an
d afforded me great benefits. The day job also helped me pay for my badass apartment in Midtown Atlanta. I couldn’t really complain. My bartending gig, though, I love. Several of the wait staff and I have been there for years and know each other well. The restaurant is an awesome environment, all of us complimenting each other’s abilities and getting along like family (yes, I mean the ups and downs). It was about as close as you could get to a dream job in our humble branch of the food service industry.

When I got home my sister had left a pile of clothes on my couch and make-up all over the sink. I rolled my eyes fondly before ti
dying up a little then showered and changed so I could get the smell of beer and wings off of me. I hadn’t been vegged out on my couch long when my sister wandered in, sighing wistfully.

“Why, Miss Scarlett, did Mr. Ashley sweep ya off your feet?” I asked in my best
impression of a southern belle, which I was often told I could do a bit too well.

“Oh, stop it!” She plopped down on the couch beside me. “Ryan, he’s so much better than college. He’s all grown up and
manly
.”

“He always was.” I distinctly remembered just how manly he’d felt in my hands. I didn’t want to think on that, though, and saying any more would really not be wise so I stuffed my mouth with one of the tacos I’d brought home from work. I was always loyal to my sister, never lied to her
. (unless it was for her own good, like on days she
was
in fact too bloated to wear
that
particular shirt—I suppose that lie was good for both of our health but I digress) But this was not something she’d get. Hell, I still didn’t get that night all those years ago. Part of me wanted to go knock on every door until he answered one of them so I could punch him for misleading her. He’d kissed
me
. He’d touched
me.
Wasn’t it dishonest to get involved with my sister? I didn’t think he was that much of an asshole. Had I really been that wrong about him?

“No way,” Ellie said, pulling me out of my inner
dramatics. “He’s aged like a wine, baby. That man has filled out in all the right places and he’s still so humble and nice. Such a gentleman, too.”

I stood from the couch and went to the kitchen to throw away the last of my carry out. I couldn’t listen to this anymore and I
had definitely lost my appetite.

“Gentlemen don’t have their dates home at—
” I looked at the clock “—two in the morning, Ellie.”

“What? Oh! No. He went home to his daughter around
nine and I was bored just hanging out here and there was
no
way I was going back home so I called Trish and we went for drinks at Atkin’s.”

Well, that made me feel better. They hadn’t slept together. I tried to tell myself I felt better because that gave me time to tell her that her boyfriend and I had hooked up all those years ago so she could make an inf
ormed decision. But secretly it was because the jealousy roiling in my stomach was giving me cramps and I couldn’t have handled them spending the night together. I felt guilty and disloyal, but I’d been in love with the guy since before I’d known him, before she dated him, and I still obviously was. Damn him for coming back.

“I’m going to bed.” I realized I
’d snapped and she looked at me quizzically.

“Grumpykins needs a nap,” she intoned
, using our mother’s most common quote when we were bitchy as kids. I smiled despite myself. It wasn’t her fault I was pissy and she sure didn’t know what was going on until I told her…

Tomorrow. I’d tell her tomorrow.

CHAPTER THREE

I woke up earlier than I’d intended for my only day off—Sunday. Sundays were the one day I worked neither job. Everyone needs at least one off day, even us workaholics. I usually spent the day sleeping in, but it obviously wasn’t in the cards for this weekend. I rolled over to look at the clock the first time I woke to see it was only seven-thirty. I tried hard to keep sleeping but around eight-fifteen I gave up the fight and put on some running clothes, tiptoeing through the living room where my sister slept on the pull out.

I had been neglecting my morning run for a couple weeks now so it was definitely needed. I did my stretches and headed out to the park that sat adjacent to my apartment building.
The park was smaller but the running trails were some of the cleanest in the city. The eco-kids from nearby Georgia Tech had led an initiative to keep this part of town clean. Some of them were very diligent. I wouldn’t complain since I benefitted from their effort.

I was just getting a good rhythm up, feet pounding the pavement, pushing out all the guilt trying to eat at me
—and all the fucking jealousy. Damn jealousy. I knew it was D-Day. I’d resolved to find a way to talk to Ellie. I’d take her for breakfast, maybe. There was a tea-room close by that served awesome brunch. She loved their mimosas. Yeah, that was what I’d do.

Until my plans got de-railed by one weeping wheel chair racer.

“Oh, my god, honey!” I gasped as I ran to where she was lying on the grass, her wheelchair having rolled down an embankment. Crawling down would have been unwise unless she wanted to be stuck down there, too.

She looked up at me pitifully and I squatted to check her over. “Are you alright? Anything broken?”

She looked at her legs. “Well, I hope not.” Her voice shook. She was crying lightly but that appeared mostly from injuring her pride. She had some scrapes on her hands.

“Do you mind?” I indicated that I wanted to check her legs. She nodded but looked away as I checked them over. Nothing appeared broken or mangled. “Should we call someone?” I asked.

“No!” I jumped when she yelled. She looked at me apologetically. “Sorry, it’s just that my nurse hates all this ‘racing business’. If she knew I was coming out in the mornings she’d flip out. She thinks I just go to the coffee shop on the corner.”

Oh teenagers.

“I’m sure she has good reason, hon.” I said, indicating the errant wheelchair. She scowled at me, her button nose scrunched in distaste. I put up my hands in the universal sign of surrender.

“I’m just saying,” I said. I made my way down the embankment, her glare burning through my back, and grabbed her wheelchair, pushing it back up to the path. I looked it over, as w
ell. “Anything look fucked up?”

“No. It looks fine,” she said, lifting herself in the chair. I dared not even ask if she needed assistance. I’d fucked up enough
by talking to her like she was a kid. How had I turned into that adult?

“Lila, what happened?”

She looked at my with her chin jutting out defiantly. “I spun around the turn too fast and flipped out.”

I weighed my words but decided to go with what she’d rather hear. “Sounds fucking gnarly. How fast you reckon you were going?”

She looked infinitely pleased with that response. How could I judge anyways? I didn’t even know the particulars of her paralysis so if she was well enough to be pulling off eight-minute miles I assumed she wasn’t new to all this. “I don’t know, but it was so awesome. I felt like I was flying.” Her face flushed with embarrassment.

“And then you were actually flying, huh?” I
teased.

She nodded. I petted her head like a dog. “It’
ll be okay, Princess.” She rolled her eyes grandly and I was cool with that. “So you live around here?”

She nodded. “In the Del Mar.”

“Oh, I live there.”

“Well, duh. I do see you come out, like, all the time.”

I chuckled. She had me there. “Well, Miss, would you like to actually go for some of that coffee so you don’t have to lie to your nurse and perhaps take it easy until she can make sure you’re not injured.”

“How do I do that? She can’t know I fell.”

“You suck at this,” I said. “You’re supposed to tell her you fell off the bed reaching for your cell phone or something.”

She eyed me like I was crazy. “Well, you’re not like a pervert are you? My dad says I shouldn’t hang out with strangers.”

“Well, your dad’s smart, but don’t let my butch exterior fool you,” I said, flexing my biceps. “I’m gay as a picnic in June on the inside.”

She laughed. And that’s how
Lila and I ended up with a coffee and her explaining more about Paralympics than I ever cared to know. She also told me about the diving accident that led to her paraplegia. Now, I know it was weird to take a kid for coffee, but I was most definitely gay for one thing and another she was a nice neighborhood kid who was shaken up and needed a friend to wind down with. I remembered being the loner, which I assumed she was since she never had anyone with her on her outings. The coffee shop was literally across the street, anyways, so I didn’t figure it’d hurt anything.

Plus, she was fabulous.

“So you’re really gay, huh?” She asked. Now this question sometimes surprised me. I had a subtle flame but people usually picked up which way my bread was buttered fairly quickly. When they didn’t I had to question if they had
any
gaydar. My parents even knew before I came out a fourteen. Least dramatic moment of this boy’s life. I worked myself up, cried, hid. Finally I tell them. What did they do? They shrugged and we all went on with our lives.

“No doubt. I have the extensive collection of Britney Spears records to prove it.”

“That proves nothing,” she snorted. “You could think she’s hot.”

“Honey, I own
Crossroads
. I cry when I watch it.”

She sniggered at me. “Okay. Gay. Though, my dad would fuss at me for stereotyping.”

“Your dad sounds very smart. I suppose I shouldn’t encourage it.”

“My dad likes both. Y’kno, like, he likes girls
and
boys, so I’m totally cool with it,” she said matter-of-factly. Her eyes slid around the room then back to me, slyly. I couldn’t help just looking at her blankly for a minute.

“Is that so? Well, there’s my random fact for the day.”

“I think you two would get along.” She winked at me.

“So now I know why you’ve been friendly to me. You’ve been trying to match-make for the old man.”

She snorted. “Well, you
are
cute. And gay. Seeing anyone?”

“Who are you and where did you come from?” I looked around with exaggerated turns of my head. “Am I being punk’d?”

Another grand roll of her eyes. Oh this kid. “Your sense of humor is about as dumb as his, too. You two should get along great.”

“Thanks,” I said drily. “I bet you even faked that little tear fest in the park.”