Loving Mr. Daniels

  by Brittainy C. Cherry

  Copyright 2014 By Brittainy C. Cherry

  Interior Book Design By: Integrity Formatting

  Edited By: Mickey Reed

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, brands, places, media, and incidents are either the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced to in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the permission of the above author of this book, except for when permitted by law.

  All Rights Reserved.

  ©2014 Brittainy C. Cherry

  To all of the Tonys of the world.

  I see you.

  I hear you.

  I feel you.

  I love you.

  And you are not alone.

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Epilogue

  To the Readers

  Acknowledgments

  Look for these other great reads

  ~ Twenty Months Ago ~

  I don’t know what to tell you,

  I don’t know what to say.

  I only know that caring for you brings on more pain.

  ~ Romeo’s Quest

  Absorbed in a stream of murky thoughts and annoyance, I parked the Jeep near the alley. I’d never been to this part of town. I hardly knew it existed. The night’s sky was drunk on darkness, the late winter chill affecting my level of irritation. My eyes shifted to the car’s dashboard.

  Five thirty a.m.

  I’d promised myself I wouldn’t show up for him again. His actions had created a vast crater between our relationship, destroying all that we used to be. But I knew I couldn’t keep that promise of staying away. He was my brother. Even when he fucked up—which he did often—he was still my brother.

  It was at least fifteen minutes before I saw Jace come limping out of the alleyway and holding his side tight. I sat up in my seat, my eyes locking with his.

  “Dammit, Jace,” I muttered, hopping out of my car and slamming the door closed. I moved in closer, allowing a streetlight to shine down on his face. His left eye was swollen shut, his bottom lip sliced open. His white shirt was stained red with his own blood. “What the hell happened?” I screamed in a whisper, helping him to the Jeep.

  He groaned.

  He tried to smile.

  He groaned again.

  I slammed his door shut and hurried back into the driver’s seat.

  “They fucking stabbed me.” He wiped his fingers against his face, only spreading more blood across it. He laughed once, but his appearance showcased the significance of the situation. “I told Red I would have his money by next week—”—he cringed—“and he sent his guys to handle me.”

  “Jesus, Jace,” I sighed, pulling away from the curb. Dawn had broken, yet it somehow seemed darker than before. “I thought you were done selling.”

  He sat up, and his one opened eye found me. “I am, Danny. I promise.” He began to cry. “I swear to God, I’m done.” It was clear that he wasn’t only selling, but he was back to using, too. Shit. “They were going to kill me, Danny. I just know it. They were sent to—”

  “Shut up!” I screamed, feeling the idea of my kid brother dying sink into my head. I grew haunted with a chill and an unearthly fear of the unknown. “You’re not going to die, Jace. Just shut the hell up.”

  He sobbed and whined from the pain, a deep sound of lost and confusion filling his tears. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to drag you back into this.”

  I eyed him and sighed heavily. My hand landed on his back. “It’s okay,” I lied.

  I’d gotten away from his trouble. I’d focused on my music. I’d focused on school. I was in college, one year out of making something of myself. Yet instead of preparing for my exam in a few hours, I would be bandaging up Jace. Perfect.

  He fiddled with his fingers, looking down to the floor. “I don’t want to mess with this stuff anymore, Danny. And I’ve been thinking.” He looked up to me before his gaze faltered and fell again. “Maybe I can get back in the band.”

  “Jace,” I warned.

  “I know, I know. I’ve screwed up—”

  “Fucked up,” I corrected.

  “Yeah, right. But you know. The only time I’d been happy after Sarah…” He flinched at his own words. His troubled spirit shifted in the seat. I frowned. “The only time I’d been happy since that day was when I was on stage with you guys.”

  My stomach flipped, and I didn’t reply to his comment. I changed the topic. “We should get you to the hospital.”

  His eye widened and he shook his head back and forth. “No. No hospitals,” he said.

  “Why?”

  He paused and shrugged. “The cops might get ahold of me…”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Are the cops after you, Jace?”

  He nodded.

  I cursed.

  So he wasn’t only running from people on the streets, but he was also running from those who locked up the people on the streets. I wished this would’ve surprised me.

  “What did you do?” I asked, annoyed.

  “It doesn’t matter.” I gave him a cold look and he sighed. “It wasn’t my fault, Danny. I swear it wasn’t. Look. A few weeks ago, Red wanted me to move a car. I didn’t know what the fuck was in it.”

  “You moved drugs?”

  “I didn’t know! I swear to God I didn’t know!”

  What the hell was he talking about? Had he thought he was moving fucking candy canes?

  He continued. “Anyway, the cops got ahold of the vehicle when I pulled into a gas station to fill up. By the time I walked out of the station, the car was surrounded. One cop saw me walking quickly away from the car and yelled at me to stop, but I didn’t. I ran. Turned out us running track in high school paid off.” He snickered.

  “Oh this is funny? You think it’s funny?” I asked, my blood boiling. “Because I am having a fucking ball here, Jace!” He lowered his head. I sighed. “Where am I taking you?”

  “Take me to Mom and Dad’s,” he said.

  “You’re kidding, right? Mom hasn’t seen you in a year and the first place you want to go is there? Beat up and bloody? Are you trying to kill her? And you know Dad’s health is bad…”

 
“Please, Danny,” he whined.

  “Mom takes her morning walks by the dock around this time…” I warned.

  He sniffled and ran his fingers under his nose. “I’ll just wait in the boat shed and get cleaned up.” He paused and turned to the passenger’s side window. “I’ll get cleaned up,” he whispered again.

  Like I hadn’t heard that before.

  It took us twenty minutes to get to our parents’ house. They lived on a lake a few miles out of Edgewood, Wisconsin. Dad had promised Mom a lake house some day, and it had only been a few years ago that he was able to buy her this place. It was a fixer-upper, but it was their fixer-upper.

  I parked the car behind the shed. Dad’s boat rested inside, waiting for winter to pass. Jace sighed and thanked me for bringing him. We headed inside the shed, the morning light shining through the windows.

  I moved over to the boat and climbed inside, grabbing some towels from below deck. When I came back up, I saw Jace sitting and looking down at his cut.

  “It isn’t too deep,” he said, pressing the palm of his hand on it. I pulled out a pocket knife, ripped one of the towels, and pressed it against his wound. Jace glanced at the blade and closed his eyes. “Dad gave you his knife?”

  I stared at the metal in my grip and closed it, sliding it back into my pocket. “Borrowed it.”

  “Dad wouldn’t let me touch the thing.”

  My eyes fell to his cut. “I wonder why.”

  Before he could reply, a shriek was heard from near the dock. “What the hell…” I muttered before rushing outside with a limping Jace following close behind. “Mom!” I shouted, seeing her being pulled by a stranger in a red hoodie with a gun pointed toward her back.

  “How did they find us?” Jace muttered to himself.

  I looked back to my brother, confused. “You know him?!” I asked, disgusted.

  And pissed off.

  And scared.

  Mostly scared.

  The stranger glared up to see Jace and me, and I could’ve sworn he smirked.

  He smirked before the gun was fired.

  And he ran as Mom fell down.

  Jace’s voice rocketed through the sky. His sounds were thick, filled with anger and fear as he charged to Mom’s side, but I beat him there.

  “Mom, mom. You’re okay.” I turned to my brother and shoved him hard. “Call 911.”

  He stood over us, tears streaming down his face from his bloodshot eyes. “Danny, she’s not… She’s not…” His words were fumbling, and I hated him for thinking exactly what I was thinking.

  I reached into my pocket, pulled out my cell phone, and shoved it into his hands. “Call!” I ordered, holding Mom in my arms.

  I looked up toward the house and saw Dad’s face the moment he realized what had happened. The moment he realized that he had, in fact, heard a gun and that his wife was, in fact, lying motionless. His body was pretty broken down from his health, but he was running our way.

  “Yes, hi. Our mom… She’s been shot!” Just hearing the words fly from Jace’s lips made my own tears shed.

  My fingers ran through Mom’s hair and I hugged her body as Dad rushed over to us. “No…no…no…” he muttered, falling to the ground.

  I held on tighter. Holding on to both him and her. She looked at me with her blue eyes, begging for answers to the unknown questions. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” I whispered against Mom’s ear.

  I was lying to her, and I was lying to myself. I knew that she wasn’t going to make it. Something inside me kept telling me that it was too late and there was no hope. Yet I couldn’t stop saying it, I couldn’t stop thinking it. And I couldn’t stop crying.

  You’re okay.

  ~ Present Day ~

  Death isn’t frightening, it isn’t a curse.

  I just fucking wish that it would’ve taken me first.

  ~ Romeo’s Quest

  I sat on the pew in the far back. I hated funerals, but then again, I believed it would be weird if I loved them. I wondered if there were people who did love those kinds of things. People who showed up just to breathe in all of the sadness as a sick form of entertainment. You know what they say—you can’t spell funeral without fun.

  I’m okay.

  Whenever people walked by me, they took that breath of hesitation, thinking that they were, in fact, staring at Gabby. “I’m not her,” I whispered to them before they would frown and keep moving. “I’m not her,” I muttered to myself, shifting around on the wooden pew.

  I was sick when I was younger, in and out of the hospital from ages four to six. I guess there was a hole in my heart. After too many surgeries and too many prayers, I was able to go on to live a normal life. Mom had thought I was going to die back then, and I couldn’t help but think that she was disappointed that Gabby was the one gone now, not me.

  She’d started drinking again after she found out Gabby was sick. She had done her best to hide it, but one time I’d checked on her in her bedroom. She was crying and shaking in her bed. When I climbed next to her to hold her, I smelled the whiskey on her breath.

  Mom had never been good with hard situations, and alcohol was always the way she dealt with her issues. It hadn’t made for the best outcome when Gabby and I had to go stay with our grandpa during her rehab visits. After her last one, she’d promised to put the bottle down forever.

  Mom sat in the front row with her boyfriend, Jeremy—the only person who was able to make sure she was getting dressed every day. We hadn’t spoken much since Gabby went all selfish—dying and stuff. She’d always liked Gabby more. It wasn’t a secret. Gabby had been into the things Mom was into, like makeup and reality television. They’d always laughed with each other and would have a ton of fun while I sat in the room on the couch reading my books.

  I knew parents always said they didn’t have favorites, but how could they not? Sometimes they got a kid who was so much like them that they swore God had made them in his own image. That’s what Gabby had been to mom. But other times, you got a kid who read the dictionary for fun because, “Words are cool.”

  Guess who that was?

  She loved me enough, but she sure as hell didn’t like me. I was okay with it, because I loved her enough for both of us.

  Jeremy was a decent man, and I secretly wondered if he would ever be able to bring back the mom I had before Gabby had been ill. The mom who used to smile. The mom who could stomach to look my way. The mom who loved me but didn’t very much like me. I really missed that mom.

  Chipping away at the black nail polish on my fingers, I sighed. The priest kept talking about Gabby as if he’d known her. He hadn’t known her. We’d never gone to church, so the fact that we were in one right now was a bit dramatic. Mom always said that the church was inside us and that you could find God through anything, so there was no reason to go to a building every Sunday. I thought that was just her way of saying, “I’m sleeping in on Sundays.”

  There was no way I could stay inside the church for a second longer. For a place of prayer and faith, it sure held a feeling of suffocation.

  I turned my head to the church doors as my ears were hit with another hymn. Ohmygosh. How many hymns are there?! Pushing myself up from the pew, I walked outside, feeling the summer heat slap my skin. It was hotter than the previous years. A few specks of sweat started rolling from my forehead before I even reached the steps. Tugging on the black dress I was obligated to wear, I tried not to teeter around on the unfamiliar height of my heels.

  Some people would probably think it was weird that I was wearing the dress that my dead sister had picked out. But that was Gabby. She’d always been a bit morbid like that, talking about her death before it had even arrived, before she had even been sick, and wishing me to look my best at her funeral. The dress was a little too small for me around the waistline, yet I didn’t complain. Who was there to complain to anyway?

  Sitting on the top step of the church, I rested my elbows against the sides of my body, tucking them in so
I could feel a slight bit of pain from the pressure I was applying. Funerals were boring. I watched an ant scatter across the top step, looking to be dazed and confused, running back and forth, left and right, up and down.

  “Well, it appears you and I have a lot in common, Mr. Ant.”

  I shielded my eyes from the sun and looked up to the blue sky. Stupid blue skies, all happy and stuff. Even though I covered my eyes, the sun burned down onto me, heating me up with remorse and guilt.

  My head lowered as I studied the cement steps, circling the tip of my heels in a redundant pattern. I wasn’t sure of it, but I was almost certain that loneliness was a disease. An infectious, disgusting illness that was slow to creep into your system and overtake you, even though you tried to fight it off the best you could.

  “Am I interrupting?” a voice said from behind me. Bentley’s voice.

  Turning around, I saw him standing there with a treasure box of sorts in his hands. He smiled my way, but he looked so sad in the eyes. I patted the spot on the steps next to me, and he was quick to accept my unspoken invitation. Gabby had dressed him, too. In a blue blazer covering his worn-and-torn Beatles t-shirt. People inside were probably giving him weird looks for his outfit of choice, but Bentley didn’t care what others thought. He only cared about one girl and her wants and needs.

  “How are you doing?” I asked, resting my hand on his knee.

  His blue eyes found my greens, and he chuckled at first. Yet we both knew it was a chuckle of suffering. My lips turned down. Poor guy. It wasn’t long before he placed the box next to him and his shoulders slumped down. His hands found his face, and he huddled up into a tight ball on the steps. I gasped lightly, almost feeling his heart breaking into pieces. I’d only seen Bentley cry once before, and that was when he’d scored tickets to see Paul McCartney. These were very different types of tears.

  Watching him break down made me feel so helpless, and all I wanted to do was soak up all of his pain and send it into outer space so he would never have to feel that way again.