FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Episode 4: Wounds

Back of, Front of, House – II

I've learned to never truly enjoy days off without Candace. I tend to get lazy, although today I have a plan of action so I'm already wandering around town, bouncing from shop to shop.

Candace has been at work for an hour and she's likely doing the 'boring shit' part of her job: setting up the front of house work rota, making sure the numbers going into the week are as they should be. Service doesn't start until eleven for lunch and runs until ten, but Candace is the one who gets things rolling, the other serving staff turn up at ten and the chefs have been there since eight to get everything all prepped.

That said, she's off tomorrow and I'm working instead, so it all works out.

I asked for today off because my dad, the self styled 'renaissance man' Lewis Bailey, is due to arrive by late afternoon. That's certainly what he tends to call himself when asked what he does for a living, which is just his witty term for the fact he's had about twenty jobs in more fields than it's worth going into; good at a lot of things, he's just never had a true calling.

Considering my meandering after college I guess the apple really doesn't fall far from the tree. Shit, even at Shiproof House, and despite my ongoing struggle to find my feet there, I've already changed jobs once from waiter to junior chef (commis chef, Mr. Jackson likes to insist). If Mr. Jackson wasn't a good guy to work for, or if Candace didn't work there, I'd have moved on, but they both give me compelling reasons to stay. Otherwise I've worked at a gas station, a janitor job at a school, worked at a factory that made sandwiches and did a brief stint at a call centre.

I borrow the vitriol I've had rub off on me from Candace when I remember the call centre. Fuck that fucking job.

So yeah, my dad's jumped from job to job most of my life and well before it, although it was his time as a bus driver (one of those famous double decker red buses you see whenever London shows up on TV) that he met mom, who was working for a year as an apprentice for a very successful wedding planner. My mom's nice, if direct and no-nonsense, but most of my memories of her usually involve brief moments of her racing around on the phone and deep in dealing with about fifty companies she knows that cover anything and everything needed to plan and enact a wedding.

Between that and dad being in and out of work a lot, it's no wonder dad's the one with whom I'm closer and why I'm now searching high and low for a set of special ingredients for an equally special dish.

Steak, Stilton and Guinness pie. I know I can get many of the basic ingredients and even close equivalents of the ale and blue cheese at that mega-mart, but fuck that; I'm going real deal premium. This is the first time I'm gonna see my dad since I left home a couple of years ago. Sure, I've called my parents and they've called me, but actually having my dad as a guest? If this pie doesn't make him get all nostalgic for home, I'm quitting my job. Shit, I'm hoping to try and sell Mr. Jackson on this thing. I've been planning the recipe on the side since dad called about the visit.

I've got six bottles of proper Guinness Irish stout beer. I only need one for the pie; me and dad will likely drink the rest (although I'm curious if Candace would want to try some). That would have been expensive, but thanks to a legit brewery being built a couple of years back, it's pretty easy to find.

Royal blue Stilton is something I had delivered today and it wasn't cheap; it's the genuine article imported all the way from Nottinghamshire, England. The beef was easier; it's the best stewing chuck steak I could get at the delicatessen.

Eighty dollars for a home cooked meal for three may seem excessive, and holy fuck if that doesn't add some pressure into making the most of these ingredients, but it'll be worth it.

I make sure everything's secured into my backpack, I swing it on my shoulder with a dull clinking of bottles and make my way home. With nothing but a half hour walk ahead of me, I flick through my phone for something to listen to and notice 'Love Rat' by The Murids. I usually only hear it in small chunks, so I figure now's as good a time as any to remind myself why I chose it as my ringtone. Also considering that phone call was what kicked off this whole deal, with dad calling me, it seems appropriate.

I put in my earbuds and hit play. The heavy bass guitar pulses in an even, medium pace and I get walking.

She was hot, she was cool,

and she was nobody's fool,

but to her I'm just a tool,

and yet I love her when she's cruel.

This was no great revelation,

just a basic observation,

I was wrapped in the elation,

she's my world, my gravitation.

No one else would ever put up with a girl like this,

but I was clay within her hands after every single kiss,

she was fury, she was fire, she was passion and all that,

I guess I'm just addicted to my love - rat.

I was weak, I was dumb,

to her spite I'm truly numb,

I'm needing mercy, just a crumb,

as I'm crushed beneath her thumb.

I stand nothing but to gain,

an aneurysm in the brain,

my drug, injected in the vein,

and I'm addicted to the pain.

To anybody else they'd ditch a chick like her,

but I'm paralysed with lust at the feeling of her fur,

I'm the dirt, I'm her slave, I deserve to be stomped flat,

In the grand ol' game of life I'm the rodent to her cat.

You can throw me a cell and toss away the key,

it don't matter; she'll find a way to dig her claws back into me,

lost causes would know better, when to just turn tail and flee,

but ask me if I'm masochistic and I'd have to just agree.

No one else would ever bear being crushed beneath her heel,

but I'm bowing at her feet like it's the only thing I feel,

she has power, she's a queen, deserving worship and all that,

I guess I'm just a pawn to my love - rat.

Oh, right, that's why I picked it as my ringtone; it fucking rocks. I tap to replay the track and let the music guide my tempo home.

* * *

There are times I hate being front-of-house manager. Don't get me wrong, there's a lot to like; the undeniable thrill at being a boss, for one. I guess I'm beneath Mr. Jackson, but I've known him for years and we get along great; he hired me because of my ability to deal with people (in the less 'bust their nose' way, but the snappy response one) and he understands my... my 'deal' I guess. The fact he trusts me this much (ignoring the first time pass-up for management) is pretty invigorating and drives me to be better. Also, most of the staff here are super awesome and don't need too much guidance, although we have a new guy who's giving me some concerns, but I'm sure he'll come around.

What I don't like is all this sitting at the computer and fucking around with schedules, spreadsheets and shit. It's boring, but it's gotta be done.

I feel my phone vibrate, so I slip it out and look at the screen. All of a sudden, things don't seem so bad; it's Max.

'Hey pinkie. Hope today's going okay. Make sure you have a light lunch'

Max hadn't exactly been clear about what he was making today, but knowing his dad, it's probably something old fashioned (or 'classic' as he'd say).

Old fashioned meaning at least 30% pure fat, possibly deep fried. Good old fashioned British food.

'am I gonna need a stomach pump 2nite?'

“Lol pump'

'omg grow up'

'scratch that youre gonna refer to your dick again'

'srsly max, youre all kinds of pervy on the phone and i dont mean that as a bad thing'

'Relax, you'll work it off easy.'

'I still say you weren't eating enough before we moved in together. Strong body needs fuel.'

'you do realize im classed as overweight right?'

'Sure by BMI. Fuck that, pinkie. You're just strong and I swear you're getting stronger.'

'What are you benching these days? 130lbs?'

'that was way back like a year ago, before you worked at srh'

'and ok, fine, ive only just increased it again recently. its 150 now'

'still dont wanna get too bulky'

'and im not fucking with you. last time I went to the gym someone asked if im taking roids'

'I'll love you no matter what you look like, but right now you're sexy buff and still have that booty. I'll be the first to tell you if you're developing a man-ass.'

'I don't want to sound sappy but the body is second to just how great you are as a person. Never change.'

'Well, not unless you really want to and Dr. Ashton's advice.'

'On that note I'd better get dinner going. Gotta cook that beef for a long time and get the place ready for dad. Smooches. Text me when you finish and I'll come meet you halfway at the taxi place.'

'sure. love you max. see you later'

I feel the good vibes tingle. People have called Max a bit slow, a bit plain and shit like that. Fuck'em real hard. Max is perfect. Everything I do for myself that people don't like, he's there to spin it into something good. And not like a blowing smoke up my ass kind of way; he's always thinking shit through. Giving me confidence and strength on the inside while I work on both of our outside.

The office door opens and Mr. Jackson walks in. He's looking tired and unkempt, complete with his fancy shirt untucked and no bow tie.

“Good morning, Candace.”

I slide my phone back into my pocket, thankful for the cover of the table, and smile at him as I say, “hey, Mr. Jackson. Good morning. I didn't think you were due in until four.”

His whiskers twitch and I see a brief frown cross his brow. “Yes, well, there was something I needed to talk to you about. I was going over the numbers last night and noticed some discrepancies in the last few weeks. I confess I only noticed them by chance but I haven't yet joined the idiomatic dots, as it were.”

I open a new browser (and close the Squeaker page I have open; Mr. Jackson isn't a fan of social media, much less at work) and access the business webpage we use for accounting; it's a barely understandable pile of spreadsheets and shit, but I've learned most of it. I bring up the takings as Mr. Jackson leans down and points a well manicured claw at the entries.

True enough. Takings logged at the POS, the sales computer where all the transactions are set in stone once the orders are saved, are higher than the amounts cashed and sent to the bank. It's nothing drastic; fifty bucks here, twenty there, but there's one entry with two hundred that happened yesterday on the Sunday shift.

“I won't stand for this, petty larceny or not,” Mr. Jackson says as he smooths his whiskers. He's trying to keep calm, but I know the guy well; he's pissed but trying to maintain the gentleman act. “The fact such a brazen theft happened during the lunch service yesterday is a harder blow than usual, what with the limited service we run and how it was done under my nose. I'm just not entirely sure how they are getting away with this.”

It's funny; I swore I'd never become a cop, but the idea of busting someone sparks something inside my head. I can feel my tail twitch as I start thinking and plotting.

“Well, it isn't likely the kitchen staff; they have almost no opportunity to get into the cash register, not to mention only Remi has a sign on code for the POS system as the head chef because of that emergency shift run he had to do a while back.”

Mr. Jackson tuts and I can hear him brux his teeth. “It's not Remi; on top of being a personal and professional acquaintance of mine as head chef for over ten years, he was in the kitchen all day and only stepped out while I was with him to meet a few customers at their behest to give their personal thanks.”

I know it certainly isn't Mr. Jackson pulling some bullshit either; he's plenty wealthy, the restaurant makes good money and he owns the damn place. He's taken cash before, notably to pay for emergency ingredients when the regular deliveries have fallen short during busy service (something I've been told to do if the need comes up), and even then he gets that shit sorted by the next day.

I look at the clock; it's getting near service time and I need to inspect the restaurant proper.

“Leave it with me, Mr. Jackson. I'll check into this as soon as I have time.”

“Good. Please keep me informed. I will consider this a personal favour, Candace, just as much as these thefts are a personal insult. I don't want you to involve anyone else until you have looked into this and have some ideas, even at the expense of the restaurant and this includes Max.

“And no police for the time being; I want to ensure this fiend is caught dead to rights and backed up with evidence so as to avoid any sort of legal backlash, however falsified or desperate, and having the police come sniffing about for a prolonged investigation will disrupt the restaurant, if they even bother to turn up for these small sums. Now, I had best be off for now.”

“Sure thing. I'd best get service started anyway.”

Mr. Jackson leaves and I keep a stern expression. Inside though?

Yep. I'm looking forward to nailing this fucker.

* * *

The Old Bailey – I

The pastry's done and ready to roll, the meat's stewing and I've got all the vegetables prepared for cooking later.

I'm in my element as I listen to music while I cook, yet I'm still nervous. It's just gone one in the afternoon and my dad's due at any time. It's been too damn long and the more I think of him, the more I realise I've missed him and that these few days, even if I'll have to work tomorrow, should be a blast.

I head upstairs, double check the spare room and everything seems fine. We found a solid sleeper sofa pretty early after moving in just for the room. It's otherwise been used mostly as storage so I've moved a few boxes into me and Candace's bedroom and brought my old-ass TV and DVD player from my old apartment to help decorate it.

No sooner than I head back downstairs, I hear an unfamiliar engine approach. It's a big, bass sound with a rumble like thunder, and nobody in this cul-de-sac has a car like that, so I look outside; it's him. My dad.

I can see him in the drivers seat of a goddamn muscle car. I don't know cars, but it's a really nice looking thing; cherry red with a black stripe down the middle with the shiniest chrome bumpers and hubcaps. He switches the engine off and climbs out and stretches, clad in his well aged, brown pilot jacket and jeans. I open the door and head to meet him.

Dad's a wiry rat rodere, a few inches taller than me, with deep grey fur although there's patches of paler shades that have spread since I last saw him but that's not a surprise since he's fifty next January. He turns to me and there's an explosive shine in his brown eyes. The biggest smile spreads on his face, big incisors exposed and his ears flare out as his tail wriggles.

“Mills!!” He calls out to me with his arms outstretched; he never was a fan of the name Max, but he wasn't gonna argue with mom, so he sticks with a part of the full name; the Mil part of Maximilian. We hug and he pats me firmly on the back. Warm, familiar, comfortable; it's like I'm sixteen again and I'd broken up with Hazel for the second time and... after the bad stuff happened. I felt so betrayed, but he cracked wise and tried to cheer me up by finding the good out of the bad, like how I was obviously good enough that she went back to me after the first time, so I must have been doing something right. He even said I should call Candace. He always liked her. Everything to get my mind off of what happened.

The less said about my mom's position on Candace the better, although I haven't really heard her opinion on my girlfriend now that she's a manager and big on the mental self improvement path, but she was always scared she'd be a bad influence on me but I wasn't great at making friends; too quiet, too introverted.

Now's not the time for that, though, since there's a sizeable cherry red elephant parked on the curbside. “Nice wheels. You buy it like that or is this one of your restoration jobs?”

He looks back at the car with some honest as hell affection and says, “the Judge? Yeah, picked 'er up for two hundred dollars as a junker and I've been tinkerin' with 'er since not long after you left. Obviously I've been doin' the usual appliance and computer repair jobs on the side to keep some extra cash comin' in, but I finished this beauty just three months ago. Anyway, that's beside the point. 'ow are ya? Lemme get a look.” He pulls me back and gives me the once over.

I let him study me and just say, “it's great to see you, dad.”

“Same! Same. You look good,” he says as he slaps my shoulder. I've missed his accent too; something he calls 'estuary English'. It's still strong, despite the fact he's lived in America for half of his life.

“Oh, yeah. The second we moved in together, Candace's been making sure I do my daily exercises with her. Surprised you can see any improvement yet.”

Dad laughs and shakes his head. “Nah, not that. You look healthy, sure, but I could'a told ya Sweets would do that; the girl's relentless and you've always been more than happy to follow wherever she ran. Nah, what I mean is you look... whassit...” He flops his hand about as he bites his lip, then snaps his finger. “Sure of yourself, right? Like you're where you're supposed to be.”

“I guess? Gotta thank Derek for that; he paid for the place, or at least the upfront.” I turn and gesture to the house.

Dad chuckles again and sighs. “Candace's old man? Wha-?” He shakes his head and submits to... whatever I said wrong. “Heh, that's my boy; always missin' the forest for the trees. Whatever, though. Gimme a hand, son,” he gestures to the car, “got some housewarmin' prezzies.”

I'm hardly surprised; he's been hinting at bringing something when he was going to visit well before the phone call announcing it. “You didn't need to do that, but thanks, dad.”

“'Course I did. You're gonna love 'em.”

He leads me to the trunk and opens it. It's a couple of large cardboard boxes, but the obvious standout is a basketball hoop and backboard, and dad opens one of the boxes; a brand new basketball.

It was never my sport, but I grin all the same. “Oh damn, Candace's gonna flip; she was saying just a couple of weeks ago she hasn't had a chance to play since college, and even then that was just for fun. She hasn't played competitively since high-school so I was thinking of getting one for her birthday.”

“Great minds think alike, eh?” Dad nudges me and ruffles my hair. “As soon as you said you 'ad a concrete patio out back I put two and two together.” Dad picks up the largest box and nods to the rest. I follow suit, lift out the hoop and hook it over my shoulder, then lift out the backboard and the ball. With everything in hand, dad fusses with closing the trunk, locks the car and I lead him inside.

“Cosy lookin' place, by the way. I know you said it was simple, but a place to yourself's nought to sniff at. Less upkeep as well.”

“I mean, there wasn't anything wrong with my apartment, but after that thing with Candace...” I let myself trail off; I'd told my dad everything a day or two after it happened.

We reach the door and I push it open, but I let him get inside first. I put my side of the gifts down by the front door, but dad keeps hold of his as I bring him into the front room.

His expression sinks and his nose wrinkles. “Yeah; seriously, what kind of cunt shoots at a woman? Or anyone? Or tries to kidnap a fuckin' kid? Good on Sweets for kickin' his arse.” His serious tone suddenly shifts as he chuckles, “fuck, you know know I'm gonna miss ya mum as I always do and all but it's nice to let loose for a bit. I miss swearin' the walls blue like back in the homeland.”

“Wait, mom still complains about cussing? I thought that was just a 'not around the kids' thing.”

“If only. Anyway, check this out,” dad says and places the box on the couch, produces a multitool, cuts the tape then opens it and steps away.

I'm a little taken aback. “You got us a laptop? I wouldn't have called that but hey, super cool, thanks! Thinking about it, we're pretty low tech besides our phones here.”

There's a glint in my dad's eye as he lifts it out; there's a few cables and a second, smaller box inside that he opens and reveals a couple of external hard-drives. “Okay, sure, not the fanciest reveal, but this is the real shit. I spent a good week getting you some of my old favourite TV series' all downloaded and slapped'em in these. Including the very best of British TV.”

The desire to snark was overwhelming; I really was treating the house as a similar boost as Candace and dad's one of those people who enjoys the banter just as much. “Wow, so like... five series', maybe three seasons at six episodes each. Cool, what's on the other 90% of the space?”

“Cheeky bastard,” dad says but smiles. “Nah, you're not wrong but it's a 'alf as long, twice as bright thingamajig. Trust me, though, you won't be bored for a while. Got everything installed on the laptop itself so all I'll need to do is plug it into your telly and I'll get you to change the password. Oh, and lastly...” he digs under the cables and produces two familiar fist-sized black jars, each with a yellow lid and label.

Familiar and very welcome.

“Marmite? Hell yes!” I give one of the jars a once-over. You can get it here, but it's not exactly common, nor cheap. Ask anyone who's had it without growing up on the murky, dark brown stuff and they'll think you're eating absolute garbage, but for a brewing by-product packaged off as a foodstuff that looks like a by-product, it's amazing stuff. You just need to know how to handle it, and not like the idiots you see try it on dry bread or even a spoon by itself on TV or on the internet.

“Figure now that ya gettin' all chefie, maybe you'll be able to get Sweets to like it. If not, not a big deal; I just improved your breakfasts for a few weeks.”

Oh yeah, Sweets. An in-joke right there, and one I'm shocked Candace either never caught on to or she just didn't care. “I can't believe I've only been able to call Candace 'Candy' for a half a year, yet you've been cheating and technically calling her that since as long as I remember.”

“Nothin' wrong with a little colloquialism trickery, Mills,” dad says as he unpacks everything from the box, then his nose gets twitching, complete with his whiskers standing on edge. “What's on the boil? Smells good.”

“And ruin the surprise? No deal, although since you'll be poking your snout in the kitchen anyway, I'm sure you'll piece it together quick enough. I can make us something to tide us over in the meanwhile, but I want to make sure Candace is here for dinner so we can have a meal at the table for once and catch up properly, too.”

Dad taps his chin, looks at the jar of marmite in my hand and says, “cheese and marmite toastie?”

I nod and lick my lips. “Damn right.”

* * *

Fuck, piss and assholes!

I haven't left work this fucking angry in literally fucking years (both incidents with Greg, the asshole who got the management position before me and his attempted fucking rape of Renee, left me depressed and stressed, agitated but fulfilled respectively). Oh, the shift was fine; customers were cool, my guys and girls were on point and service was smooth. So smooth I decided to check into the money issue.

I might as well have been sitting with my tail up my ass. Whoever's lifting shit from the register is gonna fucking get it; make no goddamn fucking mistake. Whenever I had the chance, and due to how easy going the service was tonight that was often, I was rolling back camera footage from yesterday, running it at normal speed whenever anyone got near the register.

I have a couple of names; I cut down the list based on when the money went missing, but because people generally ask to work together on certain days I'm still going to have to check into three people. All three are waiting staff who used the register, besides Mr. Jackson, but I couldn't see anything out of place.

It was either some sleight of hand shit like a stage magician or something they were doing en-route between the table and the Point Of Sale system itself. It didn't matter now; my shift was over and I didn't want to keep anyone waiting at home, especially with Max's dad there, otherwise I would have stayed on.

I step outside the restaurant, leaving Mr. Jackson to finish service, and zip up my coat; it's fucking freezing outside. I put on my open-claw-tip gloves, take a long breath to get used to the air, and start heading home.

This area's nice and safe; there's still plenty of people wandering around, some are a little drunk and noisy but the streets are well lit and it's the fancier area of downtown; wine bars skirt the outer edge of a central park which always makes me dread how much the restaurant is worth, because it's gotta be a mint.

I check my phone, but no messages besides some Squeaker notifications. Max said he was gonna meet me halfway, which usually ends up being the taxi depot. The chill to my ears is getting to me, so I pick a route that lets me jog there. It'll give me something to do and with any luck I'll get there at the usual time. Besides, hopefully the exercise will let me burn off the worst of the anger while I focus on the annoyance; be mindful, Candace.

Through town I zig and zag around the streets in short dashes, slowing for the turns, planning my route every corner and dashing again but can feel the negativity fade with every few steps as I narrow down the emotion and recognise staying angry will only make finding the thief harder. Besides coming back fresh in two days time will give me a chance to try a new approach.

Between my internal distraction and the jogging, I make it in what feels like no time at all. There's a clock on display outside the Bulldog taxi firm building and I'm dead on time, but I don't see Max. I figure he's late and force down any worry; the route from home to town is not only well lit, but the police station is pretty close on the path too. I just need to be patient. This is the right spot and he said he'd be here.

I flinch. Surprise. Threat. Presence. Arms closing around. A shout.

“Gotcha, Swe-!”

I spin, grab a wrist, twist it over their shoulder against the joint. Drag them to the ground. Male gasp. He grunts as he lands firmly onto the ground. I raise a fist, ready to strike.

“C-Candace, stop! It's me!”

The old, pained but kindly grey furred face of Max's dad, Lewis.

“Lou? Oh. Oh fuck! Oh shit, I'm so sorry! Wait, lemme help you up...”

I let go of his twisted arm, reach for his other hand and help him to his feet.

“Jesus wept, girl,” he grunts as he grips the arm I used to wrench him down and moves it around to make sure it's working. “I guess I should'a let Max text you after all. Sorry if I startled you, Sweets.”

He doesn't seem too upset, but my heart's racing from the adrenaline and I feel like a total bitch.

“I know, I'm sorry, it's a reflex, I swear! Oh fuck, Lewis, is your arm okay?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Lewis says, stretches his arm and catches his breath. He then looks me over and bursts into a smile and a second attempted hug. My nerves are still shot so I barely hold back a flinch as he pulls me in and I force myself to relax and return the gesture. The positive energy floods the worst of how awful I feel away, but I'm still a bit shocked

“Heh, I see you finally stopped growin'... well, upwards at least.” He pats my shoulders then his eyes go wide as I feel him give one a squeeze and his ears perk up in surprise. “Damn, Sweets, I knew you worked out, but you're somethin' else! Threw me around like nothin' with those muscles!”

I can feel my face flush a little from the compliment. I guess I haven't seen Lewis for what must be about six years. I've always been fit, but I've done most of my strength training since then and it taps against the lingering self-conscious aspect having someone besides Max mention the fact I'm a bit bulky. That and it's hard not to hear a little bit of Max is his dad's voice and, strange as it sounds, there's a lot of the same... auras? I guess? Max takes after Lewis in a big way.

Probably just as well considering Max's mom, Katherine, didn't like me when I got into my teens. Lewis was always supportive of us hanging out. Probably hoped we'd get together the most out of anyone.

“Oh... well, y'know; technique's a lot of it, but-”

“Ah, I'm not shamin' ya girl; be proud of it! Don't be afraid to show off even,” he says and wraps an arm around my shoulders as he starts us on the way home, “and I bet Max wouldn't complain much neither.”

I giggle as the nerves from attacking Lewis completely fade. “I guess. I'm still not exactly over the stares and everything, though.”

“Let'em. Folks'd stare at me all the time when I was bein' me. Let'em judge. They were starin' when I streaked across Piccadilly Circus for a dare. They stared when I yelled at my boss for being a cunt when I was fired from my job at the garage.” His hug gets tighter. “They damn well stared when I recited my shitty poetry to Katherine on the bus, in front of everyone I was meant to be drivin' and made everyone late. Didn't fuckin' matter; I hooked her and was married in six months. Big girl like you, full of piss and vinegar, oughta be struttin' like she owns the world.”

Holy shit, that was a lot to unpack. “Full of- ew?”

“Not familiar with that one? Like... fire and fury and anger.”

“Yeah, I'm trying to stop being like that, Lou. It's caused me enough trouble.”

“Really? Oh, right, the shrink. Bah, what does he know.”

“She,” I correct and try to hold back the annoyance, but I can feel my tone shift as I continue, ”and Dr. Ashton's stopping me becoming a total idiot and maybe abusing Max, so I take it pretty damn seriously.”

Lewis looks me in the eye and his energy seems to fade a little. “Didn't mean any offence, Sweets. I'm just sayin' that Max fell for you for being you. Anyway, let's get ya home; Max has outdone himself with supper.”

“Although you're totally not gonna tell me what it is, right?”

Lewis chortles. “As an apology for jumpin' ya, I guess it can't hurt. Beef, cheese and ale pie with butter sautéed veg.”

Fat, fat and more fat. I start planning an exercise routine.

* * *

Candace had grumbled under her breath at the pie and stacked vegetable medley when I placed it in front of her. She poked and prodded at the shortcrust pastry top. She even started with the greens before she finally took the smallest bite of pie possible to start.

Now I watch as she scrapes the plate for the remnants of the sauce on the end of her last slice of carrot and savours the final bite. She licks the fork, sits back, burps into the back of her hand with an immense look of satisfaction and leans back as she rubs her belly beneath her shirt.

“Excuse me... Whew. Damn, Max. I'm gonna explode if I have another bite, but that was the best goddamn thing I've ever eaten,” Candace says as she swigs a mouthful of water.

Candace isn't the fussiest eater in the world, but I know her lifelong drive for fitness makes her sceptical of anything that isn't nearer to 'low fat, good flavour'. The fact I went so heavy with this one and she looks about as satisfied as I've ever seen her.

Well, besides certain private moments, but I get my head out of the gutter; dad's around and I don't want to let my mind wander.

“That was the mutt's nuts, abso-bloody-lutely,” dad says in agreement and finishes his bottle of Guinness, plants it back on the table and sighs with contentment. “You sure you're not ready for head chef? They need their 'eads checked if they ain't pushin' for it.”

I finish my final forkful of pie; just an ocean of deep, rich, tangy and opulent sauce, the tender and melt-in-your-mouth steak complete with a soft, flaky crust. It compliments the buttery, sweet vegetable medley and I also take a sip of the Guinness; a malty, gently sweet and bitter ale which is almost creamy on the finish that, despite the presence in the pie already, helps wash any stodginess down from what I'll admit was a heavy dinner.

Didn't matter; I enjoy the light meals me and Candace usually have with the occasional unhealthy treat and this was the heaviest one I've personally ever made, but the contented expressions of the two closest people in my life make it all worth the price and effort.

“I'm not going to say I can't cook, I'm not in denial or anything,” I say and consider my next words carefully. “I guess I just feel... I... like I'm the bottom rung in a field of really talented people, you know?”

Candace frowns. Not out of anger but she just looks frustrated for me, rather than at me. “You're still learning, you're imaginative and you really think about what you're making, Max, I keep telling you. Give it time.”

“Right? Sweets should know, Mills,” Dad nods to Candace, then looks at me. “Just pressure, that's all. You're gonna knock'em flat soon, I guarantee it.”

Suddenly I remember one of my annoyances with my dad; he's painfully supportive and optimistic. Candace is always supportive too, but now I've got two people railing on me at once and I grit my teeth; it's scrutiny, no matter how positive. “Right, so I just get a job at a place filled with all sorts of extremely skilled people, get boosted because I can cook a few things and thanks to Candace, and now I feel like a damn fraud because I can't even make one dish consistently. One that's been drilled into me over and over and I'm burning cash for the restaurant. At some point I've got to just face up to the fact I have my own shit to deal with.”

My girlfriend leans forward and that frustration starts switching and becoming more direct as her ears flatten down. I feel some pride that she stops, takes a clear second to think about what she's about to say, which lets her ears rise and relax, then says, “Mr. Jackson didn't put you in the kitchen because of me, Max. It's because he knows you're a good cook. He hired me because he saw I could deal with hostile assholes and stop incidents from kicking off but I had to develop my service skills from there. He helped me a shit load and at least let me be more civil after being a bitc- uh, a bit troubled as a kid.”

Dad gives Candace a warm, buck-toothed smile and says, “tons of kids act up, Sweets, you shouldn't let it get to ya.”

Even I start getting involved while the pressure isn't on me; I can't help but support my girlfriend, after all. “Yeah, you're fine now, 'Deece, and getting better all the time. I just wish I knew what I should be doing.”

He doesn't miss the opportunity, and says, “you're doing well too, Mills. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“You keep saying that, but,” I sigh and take another sip of stout, “maybe I've been avoiding my own issues? I always had you to rely on, Dad, and now I'm probably not helping Candace with how I've been acting. I'm dreading how things are going to go down at the family meet...”

“I'll tell you how things're gonna go, Max.” Candace grips the edge of the table. “We're gonna go there, ignore that asshole and his slut-ass bitch of a fuck-toy, and just deal with it.”

Dad clears his throat and his ears flatten. “Wait, who're ya talking about?”

I want to lie, but I can't; it wouldn't be fair. “James and Hazel,” I admit.

“Candace, Max,” Dad says, winces and wrings his hands, then switches to, “son. If I can be totally clear for a second, there's been bad blood in the family for too long. Ever since that... business, Katherine's been at odds with her parents. We thought it was gonna go away, but things between her and your aunt Iris almost always come to blows. I've been havin' words with the rest of Kathy's family in secret to try and get this whole thing together. I figured if you and James buried the 'atchet, maybe it'd make things right again...”

That was a lot to process. Too much. It's stifling. The thought of me being part of the ongoing cause of another major issue when I'm already letting Candace down is enough, but that this family get together has so much riding on it? And trying to patch things up with James?

Dark thoughts flood up like oil, exhumed after being buried so long. I feel my brow and wipe away the budding sweat.

Then another feeling; a hand on mine. Candace has reached across without me noticing and I'm glad for that deep connection that lets us know each other so much. At the same time, I can see the barely concealed anger on her face as her ears, whiskers and tail twitch. She even takes a moment to close her eyes and I watch as she chases away that inner-rage like it's nothing.

“Lou... we'll do our best, right Max?” Candace rubs a thumb over the back of my hand.

“I'm sure it'll be nothing for the two of ya,” Dad says and relaxes. “You've both grown up a great deal.”

“I get this is important,” I say and look at Candace; again we show the closeness as we both sigh and look a bit downcast. “And Dad, I appreciate the support, and I'm sure Candace does too,” I say and she nods, “but this isn't something we can just get over that easy.”

My heart feels like it's cracking as my dad slumps in his chair, his ears flop down and an oppressive silence sets in.

“Look, it's not you Dad. We've got these guidelines we need to follow from Candace's psychologist that's just pushing my worst shit front and centre-”

Candace grumbles and her hand tightens over mine. “At least try not to make it sound like you're blaming Dr. Ashton, Max.”

On a deep level I know it was my fault for wording it like that, but before I can control myself, I reply, “I'm not! I thought I knew what my deal was, but suddenly I'm making you worse? Maybe I'm not supposed to be great at anything. Now I've gotta deal with something like fucking Hazel? And James?”

I could feel my heart thumping and the longer we talked about this, the more likely I was going to snap at someone. I stand up.

“I'm going to bed. Just... leave the plates, I'll deal with them tomorrow.”

The most painful part is pulling my hand free from Candace's, and I hated that I felt better once I left the room, but it was an old wound from which I'd just never recovered.

* * *

The Feelings Left Behind - I

I look at the empty space where Max had been sleeping as my alarm triggers. I sigh and hit the button to stop the tune; I'd been awake for a while so I caught it in the first second.

I remember one of the things mom always taught me as a kid; never go to bed angry.

It didn't really work with me when I was a kid though. I was almost always pissed at something and it was just one of those things I had to deal with; staring at the ceiling and going over shitheads, perceived slights, old grudges and new hatreds over and over. Being too exhausted from exercise became one of my only ways of getting any rest; just fall onto the mattress, cover myself, try and ignore any bruises and cuts from whatever schoolyard fight I was involved in or how much I'd gone overboard with my exercises and not so much sleep as pass out.

For Max, though? I did my best last night. After me and Lewis cleaned up, despite what was said, I asked if Max wanted to talk, but he's never liked discussing what went down with Hazel. He had every reason to hate her, yet he never really seemed too angry about the whole incident and never told me exactly what happened.

I just heard about it from other people that she'd cheated on Max twice with his cousin James and that was all. Maybe I had the wrong idea, but I never liked Hazel for what felt like her stealing Max from me, and I'd let that feeling stew for so long, it's hard to break the bias.

The only thing that stopped me from worrying too much was he was open to just cuddling and talking about other shit. Max sometimes totally just clams up and that's when you know he's not happy, like the trip back from Dr. Ashton's; just grunts to confirm that I was gonna buy lunch and little else.

More than anything else, I really hope Lou wasn't too upset with us, or even blamed himself. I get it was kinda bullshit to treat this get together to drag all this old dirt out and try to patch things up, but that's the thing; if it helps bring Max's family together, and so long as we're both there together, I know we can make it work.

There's just one problem; I need to know what happened so I can go into this situation with my mind in the right place. So I'm not throwing false accusations and making things worse, and I can just use the knowledge to know what to expect from James or Hazel; forewarned and prepared. So, while I'm entertaining Lou today, I'm gonna have to try and coax the story out of him. It feels scummy, but it's gotta be done.

I finally get out of bed and stretch at the late (for me) hour of nine thirty and do my daily stretches and some light exercise. Max doesn't technically start work until ten but he's joining Remi, the head chef, to really knuckle down and try and get today's dish down as well as he possibly can.

I do my bathroom routine, although with the added weekly run with the rodere incisor buffer since I can feel the ol' buck-teeth are on the rise again; the bastards grow about a half-millimetre a day, and while eating and bruxing does some of the work, best to keep them in check. It's like an electronic toothbrush combined with a gumshield that only covers the big nibblers and does a high intensity brush with a coarse, specialised toothpaste.

Just as I finish getting dressed, I can smell toast; obviously Lou's up and about, and I could certainly do with setting up the day with him; I doubt he's gonna want to be cooped up here all day. The smell of coffee wafts up to me as I reach the bottom of the stairs, and I see Lou, dressed in his pajamas, stirring a mug.

I ask, “morning, Lou. Sleep okay?”

He turns and gives me a welcoming smile. “Yeah, we'wenough, Sweets, ta. You?”

My brain wasn't ready for the accent. I think he said it was okay? Shrugging, I reply, “besides being sorry to see Max leave early? Sure, I guess.”

Lou turns and places a large plate of toast on the table, but I'm not sure what I'm looking at; each piece is buttered, sure, but they're all covered in a dark brown, shiny substance. Some are thicker covered than others.

“What's this? Like Nutella or something?”

Lou places a coffee in front of me and he says, “brekkie'a'kings, that. Oh, and miwk wi'no sugar, righ'?”

I scratch my head and finally wrap my head around what the fuck Lewis is saying; it's like an audible clunk in my brain as I switch on the 'accent de-scrambler' part I haven't had to use for half a decade or more. Breakfast of kings, milk with no sugar. “Uh... usually with cream, but yeah, that's fine. Thanks, Lou.”

I take a sip; it's plenty good. Then slowly lift a slice of toast, albeit one with as little of the 'king's breakfast' spread, and sniff it.

Unlike some mouse rodere, I ain't no expert sniffer but my ears prick up, my tail stands on end, my hackles rise. It's like a Pariah response, but without the ability to fight. I can't describe it; it's just wrong.

“No, seriously. The fuck is this?”

He picks up one of the thicker coated slices and takes a huge bite. “Aw, quit bein' a baby, Sweets,” Lou says with his mouth full, “or keep bein' one, 'cause that's exactly how a baby has it.”

“I have a strict 'no tar or poison garbage' policy when it comes to breakfast, Lou. No offence. I'm gonna get some cereal.”

“So lemme get this straight; you can kick anyone's arse, face down people with guns and shit, but you can't take a little marmite? It's good for ya; full of vitamin B12 and such.”

Lou munches his toast ominously. Mockingly. Shit-eatingly (which seems appropriate as he wipes a little brown butter-mite mix from his patchy grey muzzle).

I huff and take a bite. The taste of the wholewheat bread, then the creaminess of the butte- OH GOD, THE SALT!

I cough and start retching. It's like really bad soy sauce, and someone just decided to mix in a fuck-load of salt. I grab my coffee and wash my mouth with it, heat be damned! Maybe the scalding coffee'll kill of my tongue in an act of mercy.

Lou takes my reaction as I'd expect any good, caring, long-standing and so close he might as well actually be a family member would; he bursts out laughing so hard he crumples in on himself and slaps his leg. The mocking burst of sound is a long, hard wheeze and I'd be kinda worried it sounds like it's straining him if I wasn't absolutely fucking pissed.

What's worse is that I don't know why I'm this angry, but it's an old anger. I drop the rest of the slice in the trash and leave the room with my coffee before I react.

“Wait, wait! Sweets! Candace!” Lou calls and follows, but I'm trying to stop myself from throwing the mug.

He reaches me and gently puts a hand on my shoulder. I bite my lip and try and use the contact to help force away the fury as he moves around in front of me.

“Something wrong? Aw, bugger. I'm sorry, Sweets. I didn't mean to laugh. It wasn't aimed at you, exactly, just,” he shrugs, “the whole thing, if you catch my drift?”

I take a deep breath and reorganise my thoughts. I need to make sure I'm not about to fly off the handle if I speak before I finally say, “no, I get it. Normally it would just roll off, but... listen, Lou, how much as Max told you about me and my therapy?”

“He said somethin' about it, but otherwise he's been kinda schtum- uh, tight lipped.”

I suddenly realise a heart to heart might work in my favour; if I give him my story, I could use that to get the details on Hazel. Oh, jeez, here comes the guilt at manipulating Lewis.

Fuck it; I need this information.

“You wanna hit the town? We need to catch up and what better way with a tour of the town?”

Lewis smirks, obviously glad the situation's cooled and says, “it's a date!”

* * *

Remi looks as nervous as I am as Mr. Jackson samples my final effort for today's dish. The older gentleman savours the bite of blackened salmon nicoise salad, closes his eyes and tilts his head. His ears flicker and twitch about before he finally swallows and Mr. Jackson suddenly looks at the plate. The two rat rodere give each other a glance and my heart stops for what feels like a goddamn minute as they give the subtlest of nods, then back at the dish, then at me.

Mr. Jackson finally smiles and says “most impressive, Max, I daresay you have taken your lessons today with appropriate panache if you can replicate this dish for service today. I trust that is within your capabilities?”

I can only reply with, “y-yes sir, Mr. Jackson.”

“Splendid,” Mr. Jackson turns to Remi, “I hope the tutoring hasn't put the kitchen behind schedule, Remi.”

“Of course not, Herr Jackson, all is as it should be,” in his usual gruff German accent.

“As you were, gentlemen. Here's to a good service,” Mr. Jackson says, toasting to us with a small glass of sparkling water to wash down my acceptable offering and heads into the main office.

The head chef squirts a little fur-holding 'cement' from a tube attached to his belt and runs it over his muzzle. That stuff's industrial strength hair gel that's pretty much a necessity for any catering or medical field rodere, on top of hair and fur nets.

He says, “get the plate washed up, Herr Bailey. Good work but do not forget your notes!” Remi scowls and thumps his finger twice against the table to punctuate the last four words. “I understand the pressures of the kitchen, but we believe the blackened salmon will be popular and most of the components are prepared ahead of time-”

“Which is why you picked it, I know, chef. I won't let you down.”

“Gut. Let us finish setting up. Take some water and be braced; you have ten minutes.”

I hurry through to the washup, discard the rest of the food, clean the plate and cutlery and do as instructed; I've already prepared most of the dish since most of it is just cooking the salmon and making sure the plate is tidy as I construct each dish. While getting that prep done Remi was going over the technique for cooking, then while I was getting my equipment, he was quizzing me on my recall and while I was doing some practice cooking, he was intentionally blind-siding me with random shit, trivia questions about the meanings behind catering related words to make sure I had it all locked in my head.

I was already stressed out, so the handful of calm minutes outside were a blessing. I guzzled down half my sports bottle of water and just listened to the distant bustle of late morning downtown.

In the distance I heard a deep, throaty engine rumbling and wondered if that was my dad's muscle car...

* * *

“...so yeah, I haven't told Max since I know he'll think I'm being silly, but now I'm hoping to get all my bullshit under control before our one year anniversary.” I've been spinning my yarn for a good while. After having spent some of the morning cleaning the house, forcing another slice of bullshit-breakfast down because Lewis couldn't quite eat all the toast and I hate wasting food, I was pointing him down and around the town.

Not that there's much to see; it's a pretty simple place.

Lewis looked pretty deep in thought, so I give him some time to process things as we cruised around in his Pontiac GTO, which he called 'The Judge' for some reason, and searched for a place to park. I told him about a couple of parking lots I knew of so he could really have a closer look around but he insisted on giving the car a chance to run before settling on one.

At last, he says, “sorry, Sweets, I kinda trailed off there for a second; gettin' old and senile. What happened after highschool again?”

I give him a glare as I wonder if he's being serious, but I see the smirk on his muzzle, so I snap, “I'm baring my soul and being dead fucking serious, Lou, please.”

He flicks his brown eyes to me and the smile fades as they return to the road. “Sorry, it's just my way. And I'm sorry you had to put up with all that, and the idiots who couldn't understand what you was going through. Make absolutely no mistake, Sweets, and no matter what you think; you're a good person and that's what matters. I know Max says the same and that's why you're his world, right?”

“I know,” I sigh, “but now he's caught up in the same problem; where the therapy made him think he's part of the problem, when Dr. Ashton was just trying to give us something to make our already decent relationship even better.”

“He'll come around. Sad to say, us Bailey's aren't known for doin' our best thinkin' upfront, yeah? He's just tryin' to make sure he doesn't make the same mistakes as before.”

There's my opening. “I guess it had something to do with Hazel, but he's never said anything. As if he's done the wrong thing with her and is afraid he'll do the same for me.”

I watch Lewis as hard as I dare, and while he doesn't respond in any big way, it's obvious he's having a long think with the way his whiskers tense back and forth or his ears twitch. He opens his mouth and exposes his long teeth as his ears fully flatten back, then he gulps and gives me another quick look.

“It's not that. What James- I mean, Hazel did to Max wasn't anything close to the issues between the pair of ya.”

“I just need to be sure.”

Lewis turns away from downtown again and before long we're just cruising out on the highway and we sit in silence. He waits until we're heading down a quiet stretch when Lewis turns to me, lets out a long sigh through his nose, and nods.

“You deserve to know, and I know it's gonna hurt Max whether you hear it from me or him, and he's never even talked about it with me. If you wanna let him know I told ya, well... on your head be it, okay?”

I nod and feel my heart ache.

Lewis says, “Hazel seemed nice. I know Max said she seemed out of his league, pretty girl like her, but I'm sure I don't need to tell ya, Max has always had a good heart and he's always been sensitive... y'know, in the good way, like,” he snaps his fingers and grimaces, then nods and continues, “empathetic, yeah?”

“Don't I know it. If we didn't know each other as well as we do and if we weren't as close, it would almost be creepy how well he can read me sometimes.”

“So yeah, while I kinda expected him to come home and say he'd maybe started somethin' with you, me and Kathy weren't disappointed when he said he was seein' Hazel. Max said she'd been put through the ringer with somethin' at her house; apparently her folks weren't the best of people and Max gave her a shoulder to cry on because 'e felt sorry for 'er.”

I smirk; a girl beaten down by something in her life falling for Max because he's a sweetheart? Sounds real familiar.

“I'm sure you know how things went for a while; they were two peas in a pod and all, and I still remember Max stumblin' and mumblin' over askin' for a rubber! And not the erasin' mistakes one, the... preventin' one.” Lewis chuckles, then sighs.

I knew this was coming, but it doesn't stop it hurting on the inside; that Max, someone who I wanted to be more than friends with since I barely even hit my teens, was with another girl and had sex with her. Shit, the jealousy even drove me to another guy; Jason. He was nice, in a jock sort of way and we had common interests in sports and shit, but we both agreed we would have made better teammates than lovers since he wasn't too mature and my heart still belonged to Max.

“So we 'ad the talk, just to make sure 'e had his head on straight about things. Mills was really careful and responsible and all, so I was real 'appy with how the new couple were doin'. Then James came over to stay while his parents were off at some arse-sniffing convention abroad; they called it business, it was really them pretendin' to be interested in some business venture and getting' a free holiday on some rich tosspot's dime. Anyway, you talk with James much?”

“I saw him like... once or twice, maybe? Snide piece of shit that switches his personality on a fucking dime when his mom or dad are around. I hated his guts from the outset.”

“The problem with James is he's not just really fucking good at pretending to be nice, but he tends to latch on to the way people act and emulate it, and he got really good at pretendin' to be like Max when he was here. The moment he took a shine to Hazel, I guess the other side of that little shit came into play; he's a tenacious fucker. Insidious and really pushy. I know Hazel was kinda relyin' on Max during some bad times and her bein' in school was a break away from her parents, but yeah... that's when it happened the first time.”

I was braced and the thought still made the fur on the back of my neck rise; that not only had Max been with someone else, but that the bitch cheated on him. This was what I needed; this was ripping the band-aid off as hard and fast as possible after pretending the old wound wasn't there, or a cold splash of water to the face after sleeping about the matter so long. I needed to know where Hazel being an easy bitch ended and where this James cunt started.

Like Lewis said, James is a manipulator, and a real good one. All pleases, thank yous and sweet smiles whenever there's someone around to get something out of them, and a dismissive little fucker the rest of the time. He's everything wrong with Max's mom's side of the family; always looking for that extra step up over everyone else. When all else failed, he'd get his parents to help him out and blame anyone he could for his own shortcomings.

“None of us found out about it until Max came home early from doing his chores for the neighbours to boost his allowance. He worked so bloody hard for every bugger in the area so he had cash to spend on Hazel, only to find out one of his usual 'employers' was off on a holiday and he came back to find James makin' out with Hazel in his fuckin' bedroom! We let her in the house to wait for him and James makes his cuntin' move, only for Hazel to also say they'd fucked before too!”

As chill as Lewis usually is, one look shows his lips parted and his long teeth showing. I put a hand on his arm and he relaxes.

“You're right, sorry, Sweets. It's old wounds, y'know? And you know it was a big deal since even Kathy, who's always been tryin' to keep the peace between me and her family 'cause they never thought I was good enough for 'er, had words with James' old man over the phone. Real harsh words. To their credit, James backed off, Hazel and Max split up and I hoped that would be the end of it.”

“And Max being Max forgave her, I'm guessing?”

Lewis shrugs. “Got it in one. And to be honest, I was the one who told him to do it, too. They seemed like they had a really nice thing between them and James really is a fucker who wraps people around his finger, and with his dad puttin' him on a leash, I thought we'd let bygones be bygones.”

I can't hold back the giggle. “You're an adorably soft touch, Lou, I ever tell you that?”

He smiles at me and the expression holds as he watches the road. “Maybe too soft, because...”

All I can hear is the heavy rumble of the engine and, after a few seconds, I glance at Lou to see if he's alright. The smile is still there, but the genuine side of Lewis is gone. It's like he's suddenly not himself. It's creepy; a mask covering pain, because his eyes and ears betray something's deeply wrong.

Fuck what I thought before about this conversation being the ripped band-aid... it's breaking a cast from a broken limb months too early; we're going into something that makes me wish I hadn't brought it up. Maybe it's not too late.

No, Candace, you need this, bad shit or not. For Max's sake. I let Lewis compose himself and keep silent.

After a few long sniffs, he says, “it happened again, only this time Hazel raked my boy across the coals instead of even pretendin' to feel guilty about it; she snapped at everything about him. About him not standin' up for himself, about him apparently bein' a creep to her for takin' advantage of her vulnerability, about him bein' a moron, bein' weak, threats to say he forced himself on her. Just fuckin' unloaded on him, and Max... well, he's never been great at that sort of criticism from people he cares about. By the end, Max thought he'd fucked up and just did what he usually does; he was just quiet.

“I heard the tail-end of the shouting when I came home. The fighting. Max is in tears for the first time in maybe a decade, and of course I try and sort things out; I yell at Hazel to get the fuck out and try and find out what happened from Max, but all silent in the corner is James.”

His knuckles go white as he grips the thin, stitched leather steering wheel.

“J- Just all quiet, but I know he's behind all of it. I can see him tryin' to force down the grin that's threatenin' to sprout on his smug fuckin' face as he tries to talk out of the room and says 'it wasn't his problem'. James just hurt my boy worse than anythin' I've seen before and I... uh...”

He slumps. “I turn from Max and slap that little shit so hard he falls over and cracks his head on a door-frame. He's knocked out for a moment but thankfully comes to a few seconds later but I've already called the ambulance. James is all over the place and a little confused and he calls his parents.

“The police get involved too and- and Max takes the fall, says he was the one who hit James; that fucker was too dazed to know what happened and Max knew if the police found out I hit James, since he was still a minor at the time, I'd be in the shit. Either way, Kathy's family knows one of us did it, regardless if the law saw it as kids drama and him crackin' his head on the wall was accidental. Doesn't matter, though; we were scum in the eyes of the Buchanan's... y'know, Kathy's family.”

All I can manage is to whisper “shit” as Lewis' ears flatten in and he nibbles his bottom lip shame.

“So yeah, while no charges were pressed, it's just been bile chucked back and forth ever since. Of fuckin' course not one week after the incident, I see Hazel hangin' around with James like they've always been together, arm in arm, all happy fuckin' families. I can't prove it, but I guarantee that little fucker put her up to it, probably bullied her and still is, because she's never left him and I heard she's almost never seen without 'im. Max just kinda shut up and kept his head down since, kept letting bullies get to him even worse and such.”

Lewis coughs and I notice his eyes have gone just a little damp. His ears are still folded down and curled up. Shit, I didn't realise he was so in deep with this. I've gotta try and salvage the situation.

I give him a pat on the shoulder and say, “still, one hit knockout? Impressive stuff, Lou. I see where Max gets his strength from.”

He manages a chuckle and seems to calm a little as his ears perk back up, then Lewis says, “so yeah, Kathy's mum's not long for the world from some kind've cancer and 'as maybe a year. Last thing she wants is to see the family back together before she passes away and talk to everyone one last time. Bloody 'ell, what a mess.”

“I'm sorry about making you drag that up, Lou, but I swear I'm committed to keeping the peace. Same with Max!”

“I don't doubt it, Sweets... I just know James is gonna try and pull somethin'. I might be a dumb old fool, but I just feel it in my bones that he's gonna try and drive a bigger wedge between us. Likely not out of spite, neither; just 'cause he's an asshole. Dickheaded, cocksuckin', pissant twat of a cunt.”

Once again, I'm having to be the voice of reason here against Lewis' emotions. He's been bottling this shit up for a while by the sounds of it and the way he's still gripping the steering wheel. “We'll deal with it. I'm getting better at ignoring, what, eighty percent of people all the time! I'm sure so long as we stick together when we attend that shindig... well, whatever you call a 'patching things up because someone's not in a good way' thing.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Fair enough, Sweets. Sorry for losing my rag there.” He takes a few seconds, clearly centring himself. “I'm always afraid of bringin' it up with anyone, right? I can't bring it up with the missus or Max for obvious reasons.”

Lewis looks over at me and says, “look, I don't wanna push anything, but... well, with the two of you together and all... and with Kathy in the weddin-”

I flinch and butt in, “okay, old timer, let's stop there. I know it, you know it, but I swear whenever someone starts talking about it, I swear thing're gonna go badly for some reason. We're doing great but we haven't even been together for a year. Well, for real, anyway. Give it time!”

Lewis snickers. “Aye, okay. Just sayin', havin' another member of the family with a good heart and a balanced head on'er shoulders would do me a world of good, if you don't mind me bein' selfish for a second.”

I roll my eyes and I'm just glad the heavy atmosphere is fading. I say, “jeez, you're still a hopeless romantic, aren't you? Don't think I've forgotten that time you delivered made Max deliver that box of chocolates because you bought 'too many'. You and Max are, like... the ultimate doofuses.”

Lewis smirks. “Guilty as charged, Sweets. C'mon, still got hours before Max finishes, let's hit town and return the favour for last night's dinner and me killin' the mood. Somethin' old-school I used to make 'im when I had a chance. Shakshuka.”

I wasn't sure what that was. Or if I even heard a word and not something else. “Gesundheit?”

He laughs. “Nah, had an old Jewish friend back in school, Gideon. Gid the Yid we used to called 'im. Heh, and before you say anythin', 'e was the one who thought of the nickname. I was called Lewser, on account of bein' shit at pretty much everythin'. But anyway, ol' Gideon's folks taught him how to make it for when we went campin'. Fuckin' delicious. Low fat too, so you don't have to worry about piggin' out two nights runnin'. Might need some ingredients though.”

“I doubt that; Max is always stocked.”

“And I doubt he'll have everythin' I need.”

I grin. “Try me.”

“Alright. Fresh, whole chillis?”

“Got a plant in the garden and the ripe ones he hasn't had time to use get put in a baggie in the freezer.”

“Well, he's gonna have eggs... tinned tomatoes?”

“Tinned? Oh, like canned? Yep.”

“...smoked paprika?”

I nod, and he starts rattling off everything as we finally turn back towards town.

* * *

It was like a heartbeat. The rhythm of the basketball hitting the concrete yard behind the house. Expertly palmed, shimmied and scooped back and forth between the sure hands of Candace as the we, the Bailey's, worked defence. It was an increasingly penetrable wall of amateurism against a lone mouse who could have likely gone pro.

I can only assume dad blinked, because suddenly she was on the attack. She juked towards the old rat and I moved to help block and assumed dad would take the brunt, only for Candace to throw the ball down between my legs and spin around like a dancer as she darted in pursuit. She bumps her back against me to make me stumble, slips around, collects the ball, bounces it once more on the straight-away and leaps. Just to really hammer the final nail in the coffin, she passes the ball around her back, lifts and finger-tip guides it up into the hoop.

“Twenty to twelve and that's the motherfuckin' game!” Candace false-crowd cheers for herself and retrieves the ball after one bounce.

Me and dad can't help but provide a wolf-whistle and a slow clap respectively, but then we share a look and just chuckle at the ridiculousness of the situation. Ridiculous, except this is, of course, Candace; the result was all within my expectations.

The sun's starting to set on dad's third day here, and he's going home tomorrow. Then it's two weeks until the get-together.

I look around the back yard; my herb garden takes up the main box planter since neither me nor Candace are into gardening otherwise, then there's a solid patch of grass and finally the concrete area by the house itself, with the hoop secured to the wall. Considering we installed that on the first day dad got here, things just kinda escaped us for the rest of the trip. It was only when I was taking out the trash this morning when I remembered we'd even set it up; too much distraction looking over the video library I'd been given on our new laptop and the drama from the last couple of days.

Candace was beyond hyped to shoot some hoops, hence the contest. Half of our score was likely because she was still warming up, but sure enough, she soon just ran away with the victory.

She winks at me for the additional cheer and dad finishes his applause as he sits down and takes a good few gulps of water.

“Not gonna lie,” he says between breaths, “I'm still confused why you didn't go for a sports scholarship. I bet you'd be in the big leagues by now.”

Candace replies, “I didn't trust myself not lashing out in a competitive sport. You've gotta remember, this was when I was all over the place about my attitude; getting old enough to start coming down from the big hormonal stuff but still too young to know I would get my shit together.”

Dad rubs his shoulder and winces. “Which just makes the whole road to customer service and management stuff all the more confusin', but I guess it all worked out, right? So long as you're happy there?”

Candace shrugs. “Yeah, like ninety nine percent of the time.”

Dad suddenly turns to me. He doesn't need to say anything; I catch his drift and answer, “getting there. Service yesterday went well, but I won't lie, I kinda cheated since the dish was easy despite how it sold like crazy.”

My girlfriend rolls her pretty red eyes. “I know we don't want to go down that conversation again, but I'm gonna keep saying it, Max; give it goddamn time! If you didn't have some honest talent and if he thought you were a lost cause, Mr. Jackson would have said so; he doesn't mince words. And even then, odds are we're all a bit distracted by the get together.”

Dad nods, “yeah, that's a whole 'nother kettle of fish, right? We'll be together, though, and remember; dress up nice, me and Kathy'll spend the night with you here the day before and we'll both drive you to and from Kathy's folk's place since you're closer; it's only a two hour drive instead of a bloody five hour run.”

Candace's ears flop down, “great, so I get a shot of judgement from Mrs. Bailey before the overdose of the Buchanan's watching my every fuckin' move.”

I know it's coming before dad says a word, because there's two things that make him snap; insulting or otherwise messing with his family and dissing Crystal Palace football club. To his credit, the flick of a frown on his grey brow, complete with the little wiggle of his ears and a flex of his whiskers as they all twitch, then give way to a reassuring grin. “Hey, missy, Kathy was worried about 'ow you handled your business back then, she ain't seen what a successful woman you've become. She's gonna love ya. Scouts honour, crossed hearts, et-cetera and so forth.”

He says that, but I'm not totally sure he was a part of the scouts.

“He's right, Candy,” I add and give her a kiss on the cheek, “you're a degree of magnitude so much more than you used to be, it's not even funny.”

Candace's blush is strong enough that it turns her ears red, so she tries to distract by tossing the basketball to me and says, “well, I'm gonna hit the shower before everyone else does. For real, though, it's my turn to cook, so I hope you're ready for mediocre garbage.”

“Hey, that's my favourite brand of garbage!” dad says with a wink.

“Best garbage you'll get this side of the hemisphere.”

Candace offers a middle finger despite both her blush fading with a budding smirk and heads inside.

End of Episode 4

* * *