Call Me Crazy by Quinn Loftis
I nodded to Pepe, the owner, and winked at Mesha, the wife of the owner. She giggled behind her hand, and so our day began just like every other day. Pepe owned a feed store and the guy had muscles the size of tangerines. So, that was my job description. In fact, on occasion, he even called me that instead of-
"Hey, we need muscle up here!"
I shook my head. "Yep!"
I trotted up front to help the dude in duds load thirteen bags of chicken feed. It wasn't a glamorous job by any means, and the pay was caca, but it kept me fit and busy. That was what I needed. If I had to up and leave, I wouldn't be leaving the guy in a jam because guys like me were a dime a dozen.
The day wore on and at punch-out time, I felt a familiar hand reach across my back. Slither was more like it. "Hey, Jude."
"Mesha," I mumbled back without turning and rolled my annoyed eyes. Were all women the same? They never wanted me for anything but a good time and then see ya later. Which was great for my life, but dang did it get old. Especially since the tune never changed.
"Pepe's playing cards tonight." The insinuation hissed from her lips in what I'm sure she thought was a sexy whisper. It made my skin crawl.
"That's great for him." I grabbed my metal lunchbox and turned the other way, the long way around the back, but it was worth it to evade her.
"That's it?" she practically yelled. "I thought you'd jump on it?"
I stopped. Dang. She just caught me on a wrong day. I turned. "Why? Because of what you've got between your legs? Honey, there's a hundred girls on speed dial. Sorry. I'm a busy guy."
And wait for it..."You're such an ass, Jude! I was just testing you anyway!"
I waved above my head and kept going. Women. Typical.
I threw my lunchbox through the open truck window and prayed the truck would start as I climbed in. She sputtered, but held out, I'll give her that. I tapped and rubbed the dash. "Come on, girl. Come on."
She cranked and I drove straight to the auto parts place. I popped the hood and waved away the heated smoke. I sighed and closed my eyes. Mother...this was going to cost a paycheck to fix, which I didn't have to spare. I went inside and priced a radiator. I almost punched the man in his teeth when he told me the price. "Are they made with titanium now and I'm just out of the loop?"
"Economy's bad for everyone, son."
I held the counter with both hands and hung my head. "Well...dang."
"Look, uh, I might need a little help here tomorrow. If you come help me for the day, I'll take half off the radiator, all right?"
I looked up, unable to stop the incredulous look. People didn't do good deeds for nothing. It just wasn't the world we lived in any longer. But I looked up into the older man's eyes and saw that he was serious. There was a story there. A son, maybe, a nephew, he was trying to make up for. I didn't want to know. I didn't want to get attached.
"You serious?"
"Dead," he countered.
I spoke slowly, "OK. I can be here at around two when I get off from my job. That all right?"
"Yep. I need some help stocking the shelves, so that's perfect. I'll work you a full eight hours," he warned.
"It's worth it." I swallowed and hesitated. "Thank you."
"Sure thing, son."
I nodded and turned to head back to my busted truck, not real sure what to think. But for now, I'd take it.
As soon as I got home, I showered and threw on some clean jeans with my boots and a button-up. The party was going strong by the time I arrived. Zander met me in a flourish at the door, the non-stop host. He offered me smokes and dopes and every kind of liquor under the sun. I waved him off and took a soda from the fridge. I never had been a drinker, and taking things to make me disoriented and off my game wasn't smart for someone who needed his head on straight at all times. I hopped up on the counter and nodded my head to some of the guys that always hung around Zander. "Hey, man."
"Jude! Didn't think you'd make it," he yelled over the music and bumped my fist. "Dude, the honeys are in full force tonight." He grinned this calculated little grin. "Zetas are here, dude. Zetas."
I laughed. "I thought this was an anti-frat party?"
"Fraternity, no. Sorority, yes!"
I shook my head as he took off laughing. "Idiot," I muttered under my breath with a laugh.
"Who, me?" I heard the sugary voice and dreaded looking up. I didn't even know why I came out. I didn't think I had the energy to play this game tonight.
I lifted my face to find one of the party circle regulars. She wasn't one of those awful girls who slept with anything that hit on her and purred all over you. She was a harmless flirt and a pretty sweet girl. Which was why I always tried to steer clear. Sweet and harmless meant I'd just hurt them instead. I couldn't do it. "Hey, Lila. How's it going?"
She sipped her red Solo cup and shook her head in a cute noncommittal way. "Ehh. There's way too many girls here tonight." She peeked back and laughed at Zander trying to keep up with someone on the dance floor. "See? How can I compete with that?"
We both watched as the clearly intoxicated girl fell all over the place in her gyrations. "Yeah," I agreed. "All right. See you later."
"Wanna dance later, maybe?" I hated the hopefulness in her voice.
"Nah, not tonight." I hopped down and left without a backwards glance, calling over my shoulder. "See you around, OK?"
They were playing Eminem and I was so over it. This whole scene...just over it. Maybe it was time to start looking for a new identity. Instead of college towns, maybe I could try a farm town or something. I was young, but been forced to grow up too much, too fast, too soon. I just wanted quiet and peace, even if for just a small amount of time.
On my way out, I waved to Zander so he would know I was gone. Just as I turned back, lightning struck up my spine. Daggum....it was her.
The girl who crashed into me.
My feet made up their mind before my head did and I was walking her way. She was leaning against the hall wall by the stairs and was currently being cornered by a guy with two red cups in his hands. She was trying to politely wave him off while simultaneously looking for someone in the crowd. Or maybe that was just a decoy move to make this guy go away.
Before I could think, I found myself helping her with that problem. "Beat it."
END OF PREVIEW
You can find information on Shelly and her books at her website
http://shellycrane.blogspot.com/
Now please enjoy this excerpt from
Raine Thomas
New title
For Everly
Chapter One of For Everly by Raine Thomas
Cole knew when he hit the first curb that he’d had too much to drink. He cursed as he jerked the wheel to bring the car back into the correct lane, nearly swiping a garbage can on the dark residential street. Pain shot through his shoulder as he righted the wheel, generating a more vicious curse.
You dumbass! The thought penetrated the haze coating his mind. Don’t ding the Maserati.
Focusing intently and clutching the wheel until his knuckles went numb, he registered he was less than a mile from home. He wanted to get there before he ended up with a DUI. Management would likely bench him for half the coming season if he screwed up like that.
His marinating brain decided this meant he should go faster. Get home quick before getting caught. He picked up speed, weaving along the back streets leading to his house. Thank God the downtown Atlanta nightclub was less than five miles from home.
Just as his driveway came into sight, the glaring lights of an oncoming car pierced his windshield. He slammed on the brakes and swerved to avoid the collision. The Maserati hit a patch of ice. The world spun as the other car passed without impact.
The last thing Cole registered was the large bulk of a magnolia tree speeding toward him and the fleeting thought that his beloved car was about to get much more than a ding.
A persistent beeping sound brought him back around. He slowly opened his eyes. A s
“Cole? Cole, honey?”
He glanced over at the sound of his mother’s voice. She sat on his left side holding his hand. The moment he looked at her, she gave it a tight squeeze.
“Can you hear me, honey?” she asked. The tears in her brown eyes tugged at Cole’s conscience.
Before he could answer, his dad’s rumbling southern drawl filled the room. “‘Course he can hear you, Brenda. He only has a concussion, for heaven’s sake.” He moved closer to the bed, towering over his wife. He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and caught Cole’s gaze. “Crash sure didn’t help his god-awful looks, though.”
“Rick!” his mom gasped.
Cole found himself comforted by the normal banter. He hadn’t yet looked down at his body, afraid of what he might see.
Lifting a corner of his mouth, he said, “Yeah, Ol’ Man. You’re scarring my sensitive psyche here.”
His dad guffawed at that. “Well, at least she didn’t call me Richard Dale Parker. Then I’d know I was in real trouble.”
“You two,” his mom censured, shaking her head. Her bob of sable-colored hair waved around her pretty face. She focused on Cole. “How are you feeling, honey? Do you remember what happened?”
“I remember,” he replied, adding a private sort of. “And I feel fine, actually.”
The answer surprised him. It had been a while since he last remembered being pain-free. For a terrifying moment, he feared he was paralyzed. But he moved his fingers and toes and felt the blanket and sheets against his skin. Lifting his arms, he tested for injury.
A movement just outside his room’s door caught his eye. He spotted his brother Wyatt talking with someone wearing a lab coat. Though he tried, he couldn’t read Wyatt’s expression since he was mostly turned away from him.
“We told Avery not to worry about making the trip out here,” his mother said. “The doctor assured us it wasn’t serious, and I didn’t want her to have to worry about Sam.”
“Of course,” Cole agreed, grateful his older sister wasn’t hauling his five-year-old nephew across town at the crack of dawn. “I’ll call her later. No need for all of the fuss.”
“You’re one lucky son of a buck,” his father said, the words drowning out the machines in the room. “If you’d been going even a little faster…”
The guilt resurged. Cole prayed that wasn’t moisture he saw in his father’s gaze. His dad never cried.
Wyatt saved him from responding when he entered the room. After looking between each of them and quickly assessing the situation, he said, “Mom, Dad, why don’t you have a word with Dr. Rosen about Cole’s aftercare? Then grab a cup of coffee and a muffin or something. Put it on my account.”
As a cardiologist on staff at the hospital, Wyatt would make sure their parents were taken care of, Cole knew. They nodded and Brenda bent down to kiss Cole’s forehead.
“You’re my baby, you know,” she murmured. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that.”
He winced. “Sorry, Mom.”
She ruffled his hair and let his dad lead her from the room. Wyatt closed the door behind them.
Seeing Wyatt’s expression when he turned back from the door, Cole groaned. “Don’t start with me.”
“Don’t start with you? That’s asking an awful lot when you’ve been a complete dumbass.”
Cole glowered at Wyatt as he settled into the chair their mother had abandoned. It was the only chair in the room and sported a tilted round seat and an off-center, triangle-shaped back. Somehow, Wyatt managed to sit in it without his long legs ending up in his ears.
“What the hell is that thing?” Cole wondered.
“Our hospital’s failed attempt at becoming more ‘hip and trendy,’” Wyatt responded. “Don’t try and deflect from the fact that you ended up here with a concussion and bruised face because you were driving under the influence.”
“What about my face?” Reaching up, Cole gently prodded his cheeks. He didn’t feel anything unusual.
“The airbag nearly broke your nose,” Wyatt explained, his sandy brows drawing together. “You likely lost your grip on the steering wheel before impact or you’d probably be suffering from a broken arm or two, as well.”
Cole considered that. “I don’t feel bruised.”
“You don’t feel much of anything. You were given a hefty dose of Codeine shortly before you woke up. Mom was carrying on about how much pain you’d be in, so Dr. Rosen allowed it.”
“Remind me to kiss the doc on my way out.”
“Cole, get serious for a minute,” Wyatt said sharply. “I’ve managed to keep your intoxication out of the official records. Fortunately for you, the guy who made you swerve into that tree was conscientious enough to see if you were all right, and he happens to be a fan of yours. He kept rambling on to anyone who would listen that it was all his fault. Between that and you being my brother, no one tested your blood alcohol level.”
“Then why do you think I was—?”
“Don’t even go there, Cole. You reeked of alcohol. You still do.”
Raising his left arm, Cole gave himself a sniff test. Then he shrugged.
Wyatt pushed up from the chair and leaned over the bed. Cole knew his brother nearly matched his own six-foot, three-inch height, and his hovering position had a dominating effect.
His voice was much quieter when he said, “Cole, for God’s sake, you could have killed yourself. You could have killed someone else—a kid. What the hell were you thinking?”
The combination of Wyatt’s posture and tone made another dent in Cole’s conscience. He’d always sought his older brother’s pride, and he knew now that he had disappointed him.
“I’m sorry, Wy.”
Whatever Wyatt read in his expression must have convinced him he was sincere. Sighing, Wyatt returned to the chair-like contraption.
“What’s going on, Cole? You don’t normally drink yourself stupid when you go out with your friends.”
Cole considered blowing his brother off. He could easily say it had been a one-time slip and it wouldn’t happen again, blah, blah, blah. Then he’d go back to living his life.
But he had to tell someone.
Rubbing a hand down his face, he asked, “Can I talk to you under the doctor-patient privilege rather than brother to brother?”
“Cole…”
“Wyatt, this is important, okay?”
After a pause, Wyatt nodded.
Cole took a deep breath. “Okay. The truth is, I think I’ve blown out my pitching shoulder. I’ve been drinking and taking pills to relieve the pain.”
The quickly-issued confession didn’t make Cole feel any better. If anything, it made his non-physical pain that much keener. Still, it did help a little to share his burden. He was facing the possibility that his pitching career was over at the age of twenty-four. It had seemed more than he could bear before this moment. Now, he had hope.
He had Wyatt.
“When do you think the injury occurred?” Wyatt asked at last.
Grateful for his brother’s unshakable calm, Cole replied, “I experienced twinges several times last season when I pitched. It got worse in October. Once the season ended, I tried to work it out, but it’s been a few weeks and the pain isn’t going away. It’s getting worse.”
“Have you spoken to your team doctors or—?”
“Wy, if I tell anyone I’m having issues in my throwing arm, it’ll be all over the news. My contract comes up for renewal at the end of this coming season. I have to be in prime condition…no rumors about pain or treatment or surgery.”
Wyatt frowned. “You can’t continue on without an evaluation, Cole. You have to see what’s going on. It could be something treatable without surgery.”
“I want you to treat me,” Cole said. “I can trust that you’ll do it secretly and the press won’t find out
Wyatt was shaking his head before Cole finished. “If this was a heart condition, we might be having a different conversation, but—”
“Then one of the doctors you know. Get them to treat me off the record so it stays quiet.”
“You’re asking me to go to my colleagues and ask them to risk their medical licenses to treat you without properly documenting it?”
That made Cole frown. He wasn’t about to put his brother in that position.
“Look, it’s only the first week of November. You’re still months away from spring training. Assuming you don’t need surgery and you start rehab now, you should be fresh and ready to go by the time you report.”
Cole rolled his eyes. “Sure. I just have to figure out a way to get the rehab I need without the public finding out about it. That means it has to be done outside of a center and not by anyone bogged down by licensure and professional ethics. How the hell am I going to get effective treatment with all of those restrictions?”
Wyatt leaned forward. “I’ll make you a deal. If you stop drinking it up at the clubs and downing pills, I’ll figure out a way to make this work.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
There really wasn’t any other choice. He nodded. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Stalk Raine at http://rainethomas.com/
Please enjoy this excerpt by author
Laura A.H. Elliott
Winnemucca,
a small-town fairy tale
By Laura A. H. Elliott
PROLOGUE: The Ripening
The truth of how the music and I came into the world may never be known. Shaped in blood, and over vast journeys, conquerors passed the instrument to the conquered as easily as they all had a hand in fashioning its name. Sehtar. Citar. Kithara. Chitarra. Guiterne. Guiterre. Guittarre. Guitarra. Guitar. Named by the world, it can bubble up the world inside. A person’s fears and dreams. Alegría. And so it found me, one in an ancient line.