Hence the reason Mark found me on my stepmother’s porch.
“Uh, let’s skip that topic, too.”
He grinned crookedly. “Okay. Enough with this. Let’s go do something.”
I was down. Whatever it was, I didn’t care. No Logan. No Mason. No Heather even. (Too soon after last night’s debacle. She would’ve broken down in apologies again.) I was in dire need of keeping my days occupied.
Maybe that was why I found myself making a suggestion as we got into his car.
“We should get a job together somewhere.”
SAMANTHA
Four hours later I found myself with a garbage stick, a trash bag, and a red vest over my clothes. I glared at Mark, who wore the same getup.
“When you said the local carnival, picking up trash wasn’t what I had in mind.”
He frowned over at the beer garden, the place he’d said we should try to get a job. “Me either.”
“Come on, you two. Unless you’re reading the midway, get your asses in gear. There’s trash to be picked up.” The guy who hired us on the spot, after a good laugh, pointed for us to get going. “Everyone starts at the bottom. And if you find some hooch, bag it separately. We recycle that shit.”
The guy wasn’t wearing a shirt. He was probably in his later fifties, and he had tanned and oiled skin with tattoos up and down his arms. A raggedy baseball cap was turned backward on his head, but his eyes were sharp. He skimmed the booths even as he turned to leave us, and a moment later he barked out, “Doggie, put that back. I don’t want to find your kick empty later on.”
The worker waved at him. “Stop blowing your pipes. I’m fine.”
They shared a couple more exchanges, but I couldn’t make it out. The words were jumbled together.
“Hooch?” Mark looked around at the ground. “They recycle alcohol? What the fuck?”
Another worker started laughing as he passed. “Slum.” He pointed at a piece of plastic on the ground and picked it up. “The really cheap shit. Keifer likes to be the definition of a cheapskate. It’s this crap he wants.” Brushing off some of the dirt, he handed over a plastic smiley face. Then he looked us over, taking in the trash picks and bags. “I would’ve marked you if you weren’t holding those things.”
“This?” Mark lifted the trash stick.
The guy nodded, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Just make sure he pays you at the end of each day.”
“Wait. What?”
The worker was moving on. He raised a hand in an absentminded wave before veering around a booth and into another one. Apparently, he manned some type of climbing game. People tried to climb up a rope ladder to ring a bell, but it kept flipping around, and they fell off.
Mark watched the same two people trying a second time and cursed under his breath. “Sorry, Sam. It seemed like a good idea.”
If I was being honest, finding myself picking up trash at a carnival seemed to sum up the last few weeks for me. What was I doing? Heather had a job. Mason had an internship. Even Logan had a new purpose in life: Taylor. And me? My purpose seemed to be more about avoiding Analise in case she tried to talk to me than doing anything productive.
I speared an empty paper cup. “Let’s do the day and see how it goes.” I grinned at him over my shoulder. “It’s not like either of us has anything better to do.”
“Uh.” He lifted an eyebrow, picking up some “hooch” and putting in a different bag. “I beg to differ. We have people to avoid. That’s why we’re here. It’s not like we have country clubs, private pools, or empty mansions to relax in. Nope. We don’t have any of those to take up our time.”
Private pools, empty mansions, and country clubs were exactly the places I wanted to avoid. I flipped him my middle finger. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not, so I’m just giving you this. I’m channeling my inner Logan.”
He laughed, scooping a bunch of napkins and cups into his trash bag. “Speaking of the sex machine, when’s he coming back?”
“Mason thinks a few weeks.”
I felt Mark’s eyes on me as he mumbled, “Bet he’d come back earlier if he heard about those bruises you’ve not mentioned to me yet.”
I stilled. I knew my cheek was red and swollen, along with some scratches on my neck. There were other marks under my shirt, but those weren’t any of his business either.
I jerked up a shoulder, turning my back to him. “It’s nothing. Something stupid.” That’d been my fault in the first place.
“Adam texted me. He said Mason’s covered in bruises and has a busted lip.”
Fucking hell. I whirled around. “That’s why you came over, isn’t it?” New understanding dawned. “That’s why we’re here. You’re not avoiding your girlfriend. You’re trying to get information out of me.”
When he shrugged, I knew I was right.
He kept picking up trash. “Would you have told me if I came out and asked?”
“No, and I’m not telling you now either. It’s no one’s business, and it’s over with.”
“Is it?”
I could only stare at him for a moment. There was something more to his tone. Mark was always the carefree, laidback one. He was actual friends with Logan—had been even before I started dating Mason and Mark’s mom started with my dad. He’d never been like this, trying to pry into my business or having something akin to brotherly protectiveness in his voice.
I didn’t know how to process this. “What are you doing here?”
He dropped his arms and gave up trying to work and talk at the same time. “I’m worried, okay? I know the type of trouble Mason and Logan get into, and I don’t know.” His jaw clenched as he was silent for a beat. “Maybe it’s because you and I are actually like brother and sister. Maybe it’s because my mom loves you so much. I worry. Okay? I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Nothing does.” But that wasn’t true.
“You were put in the hospital by crazy chicks because of Mason.” He looked over my face and neck. “I don’t think it’s a stretch to say those happened because of him, too.”
My neck grew warm. I gritted my teeth. “Back off about this, Mark. You’re going to ruin a relationship I was enjoying having with you.”
My message was clear: Push me and I’ll choose Mason. Every. Damn. Time.
After a moment he asked, “Did I tell you the crazy shit Cass wants me to do this summer?”
He’d dropped it. I should’ve been thankful, but I wasn’t. Feeling a weird sense of disappointment mixed with wariness, I just shook my head. I shoved that away. Mark was a good brother, or he was trying to be. That was all. I couldn’t get mad at him for doing what I’d do for him.
But as he launched into some story about Cass wanting him to join a walking club, I listened with a knot in my stomach. The previous conversation wasn’t over. It had just been dropped, for now.
A few hours later, we heeded the worker’s warning and made sure Keifer paid us. After he demanded to know who told us to request our money, he slapped some paperwork in front of us with a couple pens. “You might as well fill those out, if we’re going to make this legal after all.”
Mark and I shared a look.
Keifer noticed. “What? We’re not completely illegal here.” He tapped the papers. “I’ll get what I owe you for today, but if you’re serious about a job, come back tomorrow. Keep doing trash, and I’ll find something better by the end of the week for you two.” He paused, looking us over with suspicion. “I’m assuming you want to man a booth together?”
Mark lifted a hand. “I was hoping for the beer garden.” That was true. That was the whole reason Mark suggested a job here.
Keifer laughed, but stared at me. It was like an idea had come to him, and he nodded. “Maybe. We’ll see.”
Mark frowned at me. I shrugged in response. I didn’t know what that was about, but we left with money in our pockets.
We were nearing Mark’s car when the worker we’d spoken to earlier called to us. He raised an arm and veered around some vehicles with the same lithe athleticism he’d showed earlier when he jumped into his booth.