Killer (Savages 2)

"She's the prettiest girl in town but won't give any of us the time of day," a voice said from behind me. "And believe me, man, some of us have put some real work into getting her attention. You're back in town for a day and you got her out to lunch and so frazzled that she trips over her own damn feet walking away from you." His voice sounded amused and teasing and I turned to find a familiar face.

"No fucking way," I said, shaking my head, a smile spreading across my face. "You never got yourself the fuck out of this place, Dade?"

He looked different. Of course he did; I hadn't seen his face since we were fifteen. When I left, he was still all arms and legs, gangly and gaunt despite eating enough food to supply a small village. As a man, he was a good six-three of solid, unyielding muscle. His face had filled out, his sharp jaw covered with light blond stubble that matched the buzzcut on his head. His light blue eyes had slight crows feet beside them from, no doubt, squinting up at the sun all day.

"Nah, man. Dad got sick, couldn't work anymore. I took over things at the ranch. Got myself stuck here. Never fucking thought I'd see you again." His voice showed a hint of emotion that I felt tug at me inside.

Dade was the only person I had in this bumfuck town. He was the only one who looked at my surly-ass antics and thought he seems like a good friend. He wasn't wrong. We had a bond that most people never managed to hold onto. That was until I took off one night when I was fifteen and never said a word to anyone around town again, including my only friend in the world.

"God, I'm such a fuck," I said, shaking my head at him as his face spread into his usual carefree grin.

"Yeah, yeah you are that," he agreed with a shrug. "Didn't think I held that against you, did you? Knowing what the fuck you were dealing with with that old man of yours."

"Still a shit move. I should have gotten in touch. 'Least let you know I was alive."

"That woulda been kind of ya. But shit happens, y'know? Bygones and all that. Moving on... how the fuck you get her to smile at you like that?"

"Always were jealous of all the tail I got," I said with a grin.

"I've never known anyone else that the entire town disliked so entirely but could somehow make all the panties drop."

"Wasn't my fault you were so fucking ugly, man."

"Fuck you," he said, shoving my shoulder in an old, familiar way. "I do just fine now. Except with Amelia. Every man who has tried has struck out. Even that rich dick who owns that building of hers."

I tried to keep my tone casual. "Rich dick?" My hometown had a couple rich families, the ones who lived in the huge, old houses on the outskirts of town. But they were all as old as dirt.

"Yeah. He moved here 'round two years ago. Got sight of her, started sniffing around. She'll go out with him every now and again. Though I 'spect it's more to get him off her case than it is about genuine interest. He takes her out to some fancy ass places out of town then drives her home. Word is, he's never even been in her apartment. Why the poor fucker keeps trying is beyond me."

"You've seen her," I said dismissively, not liking even saying it. True, she was gorgeous, but she was more than that. She was a whole package. It went without saying that I wasn't the only guy who saw there was more to offer there than just her looks. "So how's life? The ranch? Your mama?"

"Ranch is good. Pulling in more profits than ever before once I got the place out of the stone age and put up a website and shit. Mom is okay. Taking dad's death pretty hard still..."

"Fuck man," I half-groaned, feeling like the biggest dick in the world. "Sorry about your old man. I had no idea."

"Been five years," he said, waving a hand like it was water under the bridge. He paused for a minute, looking off across the street before his gaze went to my face again. "It really is good to see you, Johnnie. I always wondered where you ended up."

"A little bit all over the place. I travel for work. But I live up in Jersey. Got a nice little life set up."

"If anyone deserved a nice life, man, it's you after all you went through..."

I felt myself shrug. "Long time ago," I said, knowing I wasn't fooling either of us. There were some metaphorical wounds that never fully healed, not unlike the literal ones - like the deep soreness I still got in my left arm when it got rainy outside from the time I was ten and my dad grabbed it and pulled until it snapped.

"Look I gotta get back to work, but you and me, we need to have a couple beers before you head back out of here."

"You got it," I agreed and he shook my hand hard while clamping the other one on my upper arm, before turning and running off to his big, late model red pick-up truck.

I hated to admit, even to myself, that Dade had been a time-blurred memory for me for a long time. So much time had passed; so much shit had happened. But back in the day, he was the only comfort I had when my dad was on a bender and saw my young body as a punching bag and my grandmother would tell me when I showed up at her door, scared and hungry, that my place was at home with my father. His house was the only one that would accept me, let me in and give me a square meal, then send me back in the light of day when my father was either sleeping off a hangover or at work being a pain in someone else's ass. He was the only one who didn't look at me with pity when he saw the welts and bruises. He was the only one who tried to take the sad little outsider and make his life reasonably better.