Rooter (Double H Romance) (2 page)

“Move out,” he screams and pounds on my door.

“Leave me alone!” I scream back.

This isn’t the first time he has yelled at me to move out, but it’s the first time he chased me down to confront me.

“Mike!” Miranda yells. “Go to bed, dammit!”

“I’m not putting up with her shit anymore. She has to move out.”

“If anyone should leave it’s you,” she says. “So shut the hell up and go to bed!”

I hear a thump, followed by Miranda’s cry. Mike’s an asshole, for sure, but it’s the first time he’s ever laid a hand on one of us. I start to open the door but think twice about it. I can’t help her if he beats the shit out of both of us.

“Miranda,” I shout and lean on the door. “Are you okay?”

“Shut up, bitch,” Mike growls. “You’re next.”

“I’m calling the police,” I say and dig through my purse for my phone.

Both of them yell at me not to make the call.

Fear creeps up my spine as Mike kicks and punches my door. “Bitch, open this door or I’ll bust it down.”

I dial 911. He continues to scream obscenities and pound on my door while I tell the operator what is happening. The operator stays on the line with me until the police arrive. The moment they put Mike in cuffs he starts crying and says he’s sorry.

I file a report and the police take Mike into custody for the night. At Miranda’s urging, I don’t press charges. Rooter watches from his front porch as Mike is taken away in the squad car.

Once the cops leave with Mike, Miranda and I sit on the sofa in the living room. I glance at the old fashioned wooden clock on the wall. It’s two thirty. I rub my face, exasperated.

“This can’t continue, Miranda.”

Her shoulders are hunched and her elbows rest on her knees. “I know.”

“I don’t think you do,” I counter. “He’s been like this for almost a year. Now it’s turned physical. I won’t live like this.”

“He’s had issues ever since mom died. You know that.”

I roll my eyes. Here come the usual excuses. “Maybe so, but it doesn’t give him a license to attack us.”

She cocks her head. Her eyes are sad and tired. “What do you want me to do? Put him out on the street?”

Brother or not I can’t understand why she puts up with him. “Yes. That’s what I want. He’s a grown man who knows right from wrong. He needs to be held accountable for his actions.”

“I can’t throw him out with nowhere to go.”

I take a deep breath and sit up straight. “It’s either him or me.”

Her eyes go wide, full of shock and fear. “You can’t leave,” she begs. “You’re the only one I can count on. I can’t afford this house on my own.”

She says on her own because Mike rarely makes rent.

The house is her childhood home. Her mom left it to her when she died. Her parent’s had taken out a second mortgage out on it before her dad passed. The small inheritance her mom left behind, after burial fees, wasn’t enough to cover the entire loan. Miranda was left with a seven hundred dollar a month mortgage payment. She was a full-time college student who worked part-time when it happened. Now she works full-time and takes classes over the internet.

“It’s him or me,” I reiterate with crossed arms.

I’m putting on a good show, but I won’t leave. I can’t. I’m a full-time college student working part-time. I can’t afford my own place. I have no parents and I’ve never met my only brother. All of my friends are in the same predicament as me. I have nowhere else to go.

“I think going to jail will scare him straight,” she rationalizes.

For both our sakes, I hope she’s right, though I seriously doubt it.

Later that morning I sit on the sofa and drum my fingers anxiously on the end table while watching a lame B movie when Miranda walks in with Mike.

He looks at me with a contrite expression as he stands before me. “I’m really sorry, Soph,” he says.

I don’t buy it. “The only thing you’re sorry about is going to jail.”

“That isn’t true,” he pleads. “I had way too much to drink, which I’m quitting by the way. No more alcohol or pills.” He crosses his heart. “I promise. I really am sorry.”

Bullshit.
“For your sake, I hope you quit the drugs and drinking. You’re ruining your life. But as for your apology, I don’t believe a word of it.”

I snatch my soda from the table and go to my room. Not five minutes later, the doorbell rings, followed by a loud commotion in the living room. I rush down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Miranda stands in the far left corner screaming. Blood is smeared on Mike’s cheek as Rooter pins him to the wooden floor.

Chapter 2
Feelings & Accusations

“You think you’re a man?” Rooter growls and smashes Mike’s face against the grain of the wood.

Mike whimpers in response. A pitiful sound. I’m almost embarrassed for him.

“Real men don’t hit women!” Rooter roars and digs his knee into Mike’s back between the shoulder blades. “If you ever so much as raise your voice to either of these girls, I’ll hit you so fucking hard you’ll dribble for the rest of your life!”

In one swift motion Rooter yanks Mike up to his feet keeping a hold of his hands. I stand in shocked silence. I’ve never seen or heard anything so menacing in my life. Or sexy. I shouldn’t be turned on right now, but damn I am. Rooter and I lock eyes as Miranda continues to scream.

“Quiet,” Rooter tells her, still looking at me. “Apologize to them,” he snarls into Mike’s ear.

“I’m sorry,” Mike says, his voice trembling.

“Be specific,” Rooter insists and squeezes Mike’s wrists causing him to grimace.

Mike looks at Miranda. “I’m sorry I hit you.” Then he turns to me. “And I’m sorry for being a dick to you all the time.”

“Tell them it won’t happen again,” Rooter demands.

Humiliation swims in Mike’s eyes. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

When Rooter lets go of his wrists, Mike dashes to Miranda’s side.

Rooter looks at me. “You make sure to let me know if he pulls anymore shit on either of you.”

I nod and watch as he turns and leaves without another word.

I am breathless and my mouth hangs open as I stare at the front door with disbelief.
Did that really just happen?

Mike runs up the stairs and slams his bedroom door, jarring the entire house. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

Miranda looks at me, her eyes bulging from their sockets and asks, “What the hell was that?”

“I have no idea,” I lie. Rooter told me he’d be there if I needed him, but I hadn’t expected him to come along and handle the situation on his own.

Miranda darts up the stairs after Mike. I hear Rooter’s motorcycle roar to life followed by him speeding away. After several minutes of pounding on Mike’s door, begging him to open up and talk to her, Miranda gives up. A moment later she sits next to me on the sofa.

“He really is sorry, Soph. It’s all he talked about on the way home.”

Miranda is hands down, the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. She has an exotic appearance to her which most blonde’s lack. Her face is heart shaped with flawless tan skin, a button nose and full, pouty lips. The exact opposite of me, she’s short. Petite, yet curvaceous in all the right places. Men and women alike drool over her bust size. I call her a “mini Jessica Rabbit.”

I gape at her and wonder how she can possibly believe him. Her warm brown eyes plead with me to forgive Mike. Most of the time, her puppy dog face wins me over, but not this time.

I’m sure Mike vomited apologies on their way here. And he probably promised to change and be better and to never, ever attack us again. It’s what he always does. He’ll act nice for a few days and then
bam,
dickhead Mike will be back just like that.

She constantly defends him and I can’t understand why. I willfully gave him the benefit of the doubt when it first began. Both of his parents had just died unexpectedly, I’d rejected him when he admitted he was in love with me. But at twenty three he’s a grown man who should know right from wrong and be willing to take responsibility for his actions and for his life.

My life hasn’t been a cake walk by any means. In my opinion, his problems don’t even compare to mine, yet I don’t treat people like shit or attack them. What makes it worse is most of the time he appears to feel justified in his actions.

“I don’t care.” I don’t say it to be mean or to piss her off, I’m just unwilling to lie.

Miranda pulls her eyebrows together in a frown. “That’s a messed up thing to say.”

“But it’s honest. How many times are you going to allow him to lash out and get off with a simple apology?”

The afternoon sun leaks into the house illuminating dust on the old hardwood floors. I want to remind Miranda it’s her turn to clean them, but now isn’t the time. 

She sits upright and crosses her arms. “As many times as I have to, he’s my brother.”

I shake my head in exasperation. “Have you taken a look in the mirror?” I ask. The right side of her mouth is swollen and bruised. “I won’t allow him to do that to me and get away with it.”

She waves her hands in the direction of Rooter’s house. “Is that why that guy came here today? Did you send him here?”

My mouth falls open. How can my best friend of sixteen years think I’d do such a thing? She can’t possibly know me at all if she thinks this of me. “Of course not!”

Mike comes rushing down the stairs. He stops in front of the sofa and points at me. He must’ve been eavesdropping. “Bullshit!” He hollers. “Admit it. You sent that goon here to scare me.”

“No, I didn’t!” I protest. “But from the look on your face when he was here, I’d say you were pretty fucking scared.”

“If you didn’t send him, why was he here?” Miranda asks calmly.

My head twists in her direction. As I open my mouth to respond Mike interrupts.

“Because she’s fucking him!” He answers for me.

Miranda shoots me a questioning glance.

I stand and face Mike head on, infuriated by their accusations. “I am 
not
 fucking him.” My voice escalates with each word. “I don’t even know him.”

“Lie,” Mike growls and stares me down, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. “I caught you flirting with him the other day.”

Miranda’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of us.

“I wasn’t flirting with him.” I put my hands on my hips. “He wanted to make sure I was okay after you screamed at me.”

“Why would he care if he doesn’t know you?” He asks through gritted teeth.

I sigh, tired of this conversation. “I don’t know, maybe it’s because he’s a decent person who doesn’t like to see girls being bullied by guys.”

Mike throws his head back and lets out a boisterous laugh. “He 
is
 a bully! He’s Double H!”

He’s a master at deflecting. It’s just like him to take the fact I’ve just called him a bully and put it on someone else instead.

“That doesn’t make him a bully,” I counter.

“Right,” he snorts. “You’re obsessed with him so you choose to ignore all the stories about them.”

“That’s just it!” I yell and throw my hands in the air. “They’re stories. Rumors. We don’t know if they’re true.” I point at his face. “You on the other hand, 
are
 a bully. You’re mean to me and Miranda all the time. 
That
 is a fact!”

“Stop it!” Miranda wails. She puts her hands up in protest and steps in between us. “Enough! This isn’t helping anything.”

Mike points back at me. “I don’t want her here if she’s seeing that guy,” he commands. “He’s dangerous.”

“I think you’re dangerous,” I counter.

“I said stop it!” Miranda screams at the top of her lungs. She turns to me, takes a deep breath, and speaks calmly. “Please let me talk with Mike alone. Will you wait in your room for me?”

Fine with me. I’m finished with this conversation. I stalk up the stairs to my room and slam the door behind me.

My adrenaline surges. It’s impossible to sit still so I pace back and forth. How do I always end up in situations defending myself against things I have nothing to do with? I raise my shaking palms to my temples, fingers splayed.

The sound of Mike’s voice as he hollers grates on my nerves. After everything he’s put me through this year I’ve come to truly despise him.

Living here isn’t working out. It hasn’t been working out for a while. If Miranda wants to baby Mike and put up with his crap for the rest of her life that’s her problem. I don’t want it to be mine any longer.

I’d give anything to have enough money to stand on my own two feet. Maybe I can fit in another job. I wouldn’t have any life, but if I could afford my own place, it might be worth it. Miranda will be able to find another roommate. She has tons of friends and acquaintances.

I come to a halt and shake my head. Who am I kidding? At my current rate of pay, I’d need to work sixty hours a week to afford my own place. If I worked sixty hours a week and attended college full-time, I wouldn’t have any time to study. I’d be stressed all the time. I resume pacing and try to listen to what they’re saying downstairs.

Fifteen minutes later there’s a knock on my door. I know it’s Miranda because I heard Mike peel away in his Camaro a moment ago.

“May I come in,” she asks in a gentle voice.

I open the door and gesture for her to enter. She looks nervous as I close the door. She takes a seat on the bed and fiddles with her fingers. I recommence my pacing. God, I hate it when she acts timid.

“How can you believe I’d send someone here to attack Mike?” I beseech.

“I don’t necessarily believe it,” she explains, looking at her hands as she continues to fidget. “It was just a question.”

“I didn’t send him here,” I snap.

“Are you seeing him?”

I gape at her. “No. I’ve talked to him once. The day Mike yelled at me outside, Rooter saw it and asked if I was okay. That’s it.”

“Okay.” She looks up at me with pleading eyes. “I believe you.”

I come to a screeching halt. “Okay?” I turn to her. “No. None of this is okay! It’s not okay that I have to answer such questions. That I, yet again, am defending myself against something I didn’t do!” And I don’t stop there. “What would it matter if I was seeing him? It’s nobody’s goddamn business what I do.”

She holds her hands up in surrender. “All right. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

I don’t give a damn that she’s sorry. She’s always sorry. “I’m so done with this shit Miranda. I’m especially done with Mike.”

“I get it. I really do,” she speaks softly. “Will you give me a little time to figure out what to do?”

I throw my head back and groan. If I had a dollar for every time she’s asked me that I could pay my rent for the next six months. “What is there to figure out? He and I can’t live together any longer and out of the two of us, I am by far the better roommate.”

“Yes, you are,” she concedes and sits hunched over and grips the edge of the bed. “But he’s my brother. My throwing him out would be another rejection. Another loss. Can’t you understand at all why that is hard for me?”

“Of course I understand.” I take a seat next to her. “But Miranda, it’s not getting any better. Mike’s not getting any better. Time won’t change what needs to be done. You’re only delaying the inevitable.”

Miranda sobs into her palms. “I know.”

I take her into my arms while she cries. I rub her back in an effort to soothe her the same way she did for me after my rape last year.

After a few minutes, she looks up at me with sad, puffy eyes and says, “I can’t lose my brother too.”

Miranda explains that while she and Mike were downstairs talking, he broke down at her feet and cried. He claimed last night was a wake-up call for him and said he’ll meet with a therapist to discuss his anger issues. He begged her forgiveness and promised to never be violent with us again. She believes him, just as she always does. I’m a bit more skeptical. She thinks I’ll change my mind if I talk to him. I doubt there’s anything he can say to change how I feel, but she begged me to talk to him so I will.

After enough time has passed to calm my nerves I decide it’s now or never. If I don’t talk to Mike now, I won’t bother to at all. I stand and head to his room. Once at his door, I take a deep breath before knocking. I hear his bed creak and then he opens the door a crack.

“Can we talk?” I ask.
Please say no.

He opens the door wide enough for me to enter. Once inside his room, I stare apprehensively at the dark wood door as he closes it. He stands in front of me wearing a blank expression and doesn’t say a word.

“I guess I’ll start,” I offer and wring my hands together, nervous. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Me either.”

He’s standing a few feet from me, and yet I feel as though he’s right up against me. It has been eons since the last time I was in a closed room with him. This conversation has to happen, but this may not be the best place for it. What if he blows up on me? What will I do then? It’s too late now. We’re already here.

I swallow. “Then why do you start so many?”

He opens his mouth as if to speak and then shakes his head. “Sometimes, I can’t control myself.”

“Do you hate me that much?” I implore.

A pained expression crosses his face. He shakes his head in response.

“You have to stop treating me the way you do,” I assert.

He takes a small step forward. “You don’t treat me much better,” he accuses.

My heart pumps hard within my chest. I take a step back. “I’m only reacting to the things you say and do.”