Kristen Ashley - Creed

He put the box back, grabbed his shit and left the room. He dumped it on the floor in her wreck of a guest bedroom, climbed into the double there and settled on his back.

He shoved one hand between his head and the pillow. He lifted the other one and traced the scar on his cheek then through his hair, his fingers pressing deep, feeling the ridge along the skin under his hair, over his skull until it stopped.

The memory played in his head like it did thousands of times before, his voice coming back, pained, weak.

Promise me.

The bastard promised.

He’d lied.

Creed rolled to his side.

He didn’t cuddle Chelle. He gave her that until she fell asleep and then he set her away.

He’d fucked her over, huge. He’d tried but a dead man felt nothing. Creed had nothing to give. He wanted to, she deserved it but it just wasn’t there.

He couldn’t sleep next to Sylvie, his Sylvie, and not hold her.

So he didn’t.

A cold, dark autumn night in Kentucky, twenty-six years earlier, Creed is thirteen, Sylvie is eight…

Bootsie yapped and I opened my eyes.

Darkness.

Silence.

Then I heard it, like a tap on the window.

Oh boy. This had never happened before.

I threw the covers back, jumped out of bed, ran to the window, threw it up, stuck my head out in the cold and looked down.

Tucker was standing in our side yard.

Wow! This never happened before!

I waved then pointed to me and down. He nodded and started walking toward the backyard.

I pulled the window down and ran to my closet. It was cold and I went to Tuck’s once without mittens and a hat and he got mad at me. So even though I had to be quiet, I pulled on socks, boots and my coat over my nightgown then added my mittens and a hat.

I bent down to Bootsie. “This is different, Bootsie. You don’t get to come this time.” She whined a bit and I put my mittened finger to my lips and said, “Sh.” I dropped my hand and continued, “I’ll be back real soon, promise.”

I gave her fur a ruffle, kissed the top of her head then super careful but as quick as I could, I dashed down the hall, the stairs, through the house and outside.

Tuck was standing at the partially opened back gate.

I ran across the yard and when I was close enough, he reached right down, grabbed my hand and pulled me through the gate. He closed it slowly behind us then he moved, real fast, dragging me with him through the woods.

It was then I knew this wasn’t fun. This wasn’t like meeting him at the lake. This wasn’t like when I went to his house with the squirt guns, got him out of bed and we had a squirt gun fight at night, in the dark, in the woods.

This was something bad.

When we were well away from the house and no way Daddy could hear, I asked, “Tuck, what’s the matter?”

He let me go but he didn’t stop walking. He walked to a tree, slammed his opened hand on it then slammed his shoulder into it and turned around. He then slammed his back against it and slid down to his behind, pulled his knees up and dropped his head.

Oh yes. This was something bad.

I rushed to him and got down on my knees beside him.

“Tuck, what happened?” I asked.

“Sheriff brought Mom home.” He told his lap, stopped then kept going, “Again.”

I got it then. His Mom got drunk all the time and she got pulled over for driving that way. Tuck told me they took her license away. Now she had to walk, take a bike or get a ride everywhere. It put her in a bad mood and she took this out on Tuck.

I got closer and put my hand on his knee. “Oh, Tuck, I’m sorry.”

His head came up, turned and his eyes came to me. “She lost her job, Sylvie. Two days ago.”

I didn’t know a lot about these things but I knew that wasn’t good. They didn’t have a lot already. I knew, Mrs. Creed without a job, now they’d have less.

“Tuck,” I whispered.

He shook his head. “Not Tuck. Creed.”

“What?”

“Sheriff’s deputy had a partner. They got Mom in on the couch but I heard ‘em talkin’ outside. Said they didn’t get it. Said she was a mess. Said she always was a mess. Said, ‘cept her bein’ pretty, they didn’t get why Dad liked her. Said she was trouble. Too much. Not worth it. Even too much for Brand Creed. Said she was good for nothin’. Said they hoped her boy, me, was more like Brand than her.”

He stopped talking so I whispered, “Okay.”

“Mom gave me the name Tucker,” he told me. “Dad used to tease her. Said she was crazy, namin’ me Tucker. ‘Least I gave him Creed,’ he’d say, laughin’, grinnin’ big at her, makin’ her roll her eyes right before she’d giggle and give him a hug. So that’s who I am. I’m not what my Mom gave me. I’m what my Dad gave me. I’m Creed.”

“Creed,” I agreed.

He looked away and muttered, “Done bein’ Tuck. Done bein’ crazy, drunk Winona’s boy. I’m Brand Creed’s boy. I’m Creed.”

“You’re Creed,” I told him.

He turned his face further away and I had a feeling he was trying not to cry or not to let me see him cry so I gave him that. Boys did that and I didn’t know why but I did know it was important.

I sat next to him though, got close, shoved my shoulder into him and started wiggling it so he had to put his arm around me. When he did, I pressed even closer. He got kinda stiff for a second then he relaxed and his arm curved tight around me so I rested my cheek against his shoulder.

But I didn’t say anything. Sometimes, when I was trying not to cry and someone said something, it’d make me cry.

So I just pressed close.

We stayed this way a long time. It wasn’t comfortable but it was warm and it still felt good.

Finally, he said something.

“You know, I lost him too.”

“I know Tu… I mean, Creed.”

“She acts like she’s the only one.”

“I know.”

“It’s been years and I still find her drunk, smellin’ bad and passed out on the stupid couch with a stupid bottle, booze drenched in the carpet, his picture in her hand.”

I pressed closer.

“I lost him too,” he whispered.

“I know, Creed.”

He pulled in a loud breath.

Then he said quiet, “You gotta get home.”

I didn’t want to but I agreed, “Yeah.”

We got up and he took my hand as we walked back to the gate. He stopped me like he always did outside. Then his eyes dropped to my throat, his hand let mine go and he lifted it and twitched the pendant there.

He looked back at me and grinned. “You’re always wearin’ one ‘a those.”

I nodded.

“Even if they don’t match your outfit,” he kept talking.

I grinned back. I liked it that he noticed. It felt good.

“I like them,” I said. “And they’ve never turned my skin green.”

He shook his head, still grinning and told me, “You’re a goof.”

I shoved his shoulder and told him, “You’re a goof.”

He shoved me back and replied, “You’re a bigger goof.”

I smiled big and said, “Yeah.”

“Go to bed, goof.”

“Okay. You go home, goof.”

He shook his head again then opened the gate for me.

I started to slide through but turned back and looked up at him.

“Creed is the best name ever,” I whispered. “I always thought so. Always. I’m glad you’re Creed but you always have been, you know.”

I heard him pull in another breath.

Then he whispered, “Go to bed, Sylvie.”

I grinned up at him. “Okay, Creed.”

I slipped through the gate, hearing it latch quietly behind me.

Then I stole through the yard, the house, took off my warm clothes, changed my nightgown that had mud stains on the knees and seat, hid the dirty one under my mattress and I went to bed.

Present day, four days later…

My eyes opened and all I could see was Creed’s tattooed back in front of me.

The last four days I woke up alone to Creed making breakfast in the kitchen. Clearly, he was an early riser. I was not but did it for Charlene, though I got up at the last possible second.

Last night, though, we went out. I got a shade past tipsy and when we came home, I attacked. It had been energetic, or more energetic than usual. It had lasted a long time, or even longer than normal. And it only stopped when we both passed out, or when I did.

I must have done him in. Now, he was out.

Sleep slowly leaving me, recent memories moved through my head.

These were mostly about working and spending time with Creed. Learning he wasn’t good at his job, he was very good. He was a good partner, communicative, amusing, alert, sharp. Working with him was a lot like working with Ron, my dead partner. I could trust him because he knew what he was doing. We worked shit through, planned our moves, broke stuff down and when we did, he listened to me. I wasn’t just another gun, someone he was putting up with or a liability. I was a colleague. He treated me with respect, wasn’t overly protective and never acted like I was a girl.

A couple of nights ago, he’d shared in my back room over beers, takeout cheeseburgers and onion rings that he’d had more experience than me, falling into the work within months of moving to Michigan. I’d shared that I’d started my training with Ron when I met him at a gun shop and range when I was buying my first gun about a week after I moved to Denver. I also shared that Ron offered to teach me how to shoot and, shortly after that, he took me on, we became partners and he’d taught me everything I knew.

I further learned about Creed that, whatever happened sixteen years ago, he was a decent guy or good at playing one.

He went with me every day to Charlene’s, even over the weekend, and there were no more donuts or Cocoa Puffs. Eggs and bacon that he made. Pancakes. Oatmeal. He was good with the kids and especially Adam.

I knew this when, two days before, Adam had broken a figurine, kinda went weird about it and before Charlene or I could wade in, Creed did, calming Adam and then going so far as cleaning up the figurine.

He also took them to lunch on Sunday then to the park while I went to Ron’s grave giving Charlene the house to herself to clean and then relax. It was a cool thing to do. They had to be a hand full but they came back excited and intact and Charlene called me that night to say they all were dead to the world within seconds of their heads hitting the pillows.

With all this, and more, it was coming clear there was a lot to this new Tucker Creed.

He did dishes. Put his towel on the towel rail. Rinsed out beer bottles before he recycled them and not only took out the trash but asked when trash day was and hauled the bins to the curb. He even went beyond the call of duty and, Saturday, took time out to mow mine and Charlene’s lawns.

Truth be told, I was a little worried about this. Worried Charlene would get used to the extra help and then Creed would go to Arizona and there’d be no one to fix her car or mow her lawn.

If I admitted it to myself, which I didn’t, I also worried about the fact that I really liked working with him and more, I liked having him around. And, needless to say, I freaking hated mowing my lawn so I liked not having to do that.

I missed Ron. I didn’t mind working jobs alone but there was no denying it was better to work them with someone else. It wasn’t the additional brainpower and firepower, it was the company. Knowing you weren’t in it alone even when you were separated. I missed that. I’d been alone a long time and the only times since Creed left I didn’t feel alone had been when I was working with Ron or spending time with Knight or Charlene. It was cool to wake up knowing your day would include someone else in a way that was integral to life.

Creed read all my open case files, sat down with me, made suggestions, we planned and we worked my shit together as well as Knight’s. Work got done and it shifted easily from me on my own to us working together. Life fell naturally into an order that was solid, comfortable. It was good. Too good.

Last, it was also good getting it steady and abundantly and it was better since that “it” was so fucking great.

I liked sex once it was about what I wanted and not what someone was taking from me. I lost myself in it. I was able to move total concentration to the good shit my body was feeling which meant I had no space to concentrate on the bad shit that was always at the edge of my mind.