Baylee Breaking

Chapter 2

Chapter 2Chase stretched out on his living room sofa. The clock on the DVD player showed three in the morning, but he didn't feel sleepy. Normal, given that he'd gotten off work only an hour and a half ago. Working the club during prime time delivered a rush he couldn't deny, but it did take a lot out of him.

Looks like you're not as young as you used to be, eh, Chase? He grinned to himself.

He clicked off the television. It had been showing infomercials for the last half hour or more – since long before he stopped paying attention. He turned, flopping onto his back and propping both feet up on the arm of the sofa, the dirty off-white of his socks permanently stained from their contact with the inside of his chocolate-colored tooled-leather Ropers. The offending boots lay in a forlorn heap just inside the entry door of his townhouse. His matching Stetson rested on the entryway table, covering a small framed picture of his parents and the vintage Ford ashtray where he kept his keys. In this position, his belt buckle cut into his belly, and he unbuckled the silver oval, sliding his belt from the loops on his black Wranglers and dropping it to the floor. It landed with a loud clunk and Chase winced, hoping it hadn't scratched the pine.

He still felt uncomfortable. His Wranglers, though well broken in and all, weren't meant for lying down in. He thought about his bed, which waited for him just up the stairs. All he had to do was get up. That was all. But 3:00 a.m. was fast catching up with him. No way, Chase. Move your a*s. Don't fall asleep on the couch.

He hauled himself to his feet, suddenly feeling every one of his thirty-two years… doubled. Groaning, he hobbled, heels and arches aching, through the bedroom to the bathroom where he quickly brushed his teeth. He had just enough energy left to strip down to his gray boxer briefs before stretching out on his bed and crashing like a doused candle.

* * *

Shelby Cole opened her kitchen door to a soft knock. “Baylee? Come in, darlin'. Look at you. What are you doing?”

“Is Shane home?” Baylee entered Shelby's immaculate, rooster-decorated kitchen with the flinching air of a beaten puppy.

“Nope, my old grouch took both kids to his mother's, so I'm on the loose. What's up with you, Bay?” Shelby glanced at her friend, dismayed to note that Baylee looked even more fragile and wasted than before.

“I hate to ask it…” she started, and then trailed off, looking away, her cheeks turning a delicate pink.

“Ask away, Bay. I'm here for you, honey.” Baylee closed her eyes. She seemed to be fighting tears. Shelby gave her a little hug. “Whew, girl. I'm sorry to tell you this, but you smell.”

“I know I do,” Baylee burst out. “I… my shower is… not working and I… Oh, God. Can I please borrow yours before I go pick up Dylan? I'm sorry. I don't know what else to do.”

“Of course,” Shelby said, wondering what the real story was. Baylee's keeping way too much to herself these days. While she'd been a bit moody when the girls had met four years ago, in the last couple of months Bay seemed on the verge of breaking all the time. “Come on, girlfriend. Let's get you in the shower. Maybe once you're cleaned up, you'll feel better. Better enough to come out with us next week.” Keeping her arm around her friend's shoulder, she led her down the hall towards the guest bathroom.

“I… I appreciate the invitation, but…”

“No buts, Bay. I'm not taking no for an answer. Here.” She opened the linen closet outside the bathroom door and retrieved a sage green towel and a forest green washcloth. “Soap and shampoo are in the shower. Help yourself.”

“Bless you, Shelby,” Baylee muttered, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

A short time later, far too short, a key clicked and rattled in the garage door. Shelby's husband Shane, tall with a shaved head, his handsome face resting in a habitual grumpy scowl, stalked into the kitchen. Their two small sons, David and Jonathan, sped past their father, intent on the television.

“Hello, Shel,” he said, planting a wet kiss on her lips. She wiped the moisture with the back of her hand.

“You're home early,” she said in a cool, neutral voice.

“What's up?” he asked, instantly on the defensive.

“Nothing,” she replied quickly, twining her arms around her husband's neck and looking up at him with soft, seductive eyes.

He squeezed her plump bottom appreciatively and when he spoke, there was amusement in his voice. “Okay, now I know something's up. What is it?” At that moment, Baylee walked into the kitchen. The shower, it appeared, had restored her somewhat. On the other hand, it put Shane immediately into orbit. “No wonder. What is she doing here? I told you I didn't want her here anymore.”

Baylee froze beside the black granite countertop. Her posture reminded Shelby of a rabbit trying to look invisible. Her eyes widened to huge pools of undefinable emotion.

“Be quiet, Shane. Baylee is my friend. I will invite her to my house if I want to.”

“She's a b****y mooch. It's my house too, and I don't want her here.” He glowered at the girl, his menacing expression even frightening to his wife. “And why's she all wet? Did she come here to talk? To offer to babysit? To bring a gift for our anniversary? No. She came to use our shower. To take from us again. And you just let her. What's wrong with you, Shelby? Can't you see she's using you?” With every word Baylee flinched more, drawing in on herself.

“That's enough!” Shelby yelled, stepping between her husband and Baylee.

“No, he's right,” said a wavering voice behind them. Both spouses turned to look at Baylee, who had straightened to her full height–a tiny 5'2”–and spoken. “I shouldn't have come. I'm sorry. I won't bother you again. Thank you, Shelby. You're a great friend. Please, don't argue on my account.” She passed them on the way to the door.

Shelby grabbed her arm. “No. Now listen here, Shane. You're acting like a big bully. Yes, Bay is going through some kind of hard time right now. I don't know what it is, but I want to help, because that's what friends do.” She half-turned towards her husband, poking a finger into his chest. “Life is uncertain. Someday I might need to ask someone for something, and I would hope they wouldn't say I was too selfish to deserve it. Now get off your high horse.” Dropping Baylee's arm, she took a step towards Shane, crowding into his space. “Baylee is welcome in this home any time she wants to stop by, and you, mister, can sleep on the couch until you've learned to get over your bullying ways.”

Shane visibly paled. Shelby smirked. It wasn't a card she played often, but when she wanted his attention the threat of the couch remained potent even after six years, two kids, and fifteen pounds. Apparently, my grouch still desires his wife.

“Now, Baylee, don't worry about Old Grumpy here. I'll set him straight. Come and visit any time. And I meant what I said about coming with us when we go out next week. You work too much.”

“Shel…” Shane interrupted.

“Quiet, you. You're in the doghouse with me. Will you come, Bay?”

Baylee shook her head sending her long brown hair tumbling. “I can't. I can't afford it.”

“My treat. And my mom will be watching David and Jon, so you can leave Dylan here. Dylan's such a good kid, I know she won't mind. Please say yes.” She squeezed the arm she was holding.

“We'll see,” Baylee replied, gently extracting herself from Shelby's grip. “I have to go. Thanks again, Shelby.” She slipped through the door and closed it softly behind her.