I know, I know... long time, no update. I'm sorry. I really am. There probably won't be many updates for a long time. I'm trying to work two jobs to put myself through full-time college right now, hold together a two-year-long long-distance relationship, family connections that are all long-distance, friendships long-distance and local... yeah, I'm having a hard time right now. Thank you all who have requested more, and who have watched this story from it's inception. Thank you all who want more. I shall try, just for you.
DISCLAIMER: see chappie one.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thank you for reading my story. To those of you who are regular readers: special thanks. If I could bake worth a damn, I'd send you all cookies. I'm going to try to head the story into some more action, so please let me know if something just isn't workin' for ya.
Vince was in the shower when Dom left that morning. He had deliberately lain in bed long enough to avoid him, listening to Leon and Jessie stumble around in sleep fog, making enough noise to wake the dead. He knew the minute that Dom was up—the man could be as quiet as a fucking panther. He was the only one Vince couldn't hear walking down the hallway or shutting doors. He had known Dom was up when after an hour of silence, the shower had suddenly sprung to life, rattling the water pipes above his bed. Someday those fuckers are gonna burst, and my room will be a fucking mess. God, just don't let it happen when I'm screwing! Vince thought as he lay languidly on top of his covers, already sweating, the ceiling fan providing no relief. And when the fuck are we gonna get central AC?
He peeled himself off the bed when he was sure Dom was out of the house. He beat Mia to the shower by minutes, making sure the water was ice-cold. God, he smelled like a fucking woman with that damned apple-orchard scented shit. Why, in the name of fucking GOD, could the women NOT understand IVORY SOAP. Was it simply not good enough for them? Was it some insistent woman thing, to make the men in their lives smell like FRUITBASKETS!
By the time he dressed he was sweaty again. He made sure he applied sunscreen—no use in getting fried and being lobster red. Girls didn't exactly find that attractive. And it made being a mechanic damned uncomfortable. He left his room, letting an irritable Letty cut in front of him so she could get to a cold shower. God knew you didn't want to piss the woman off when she was hot and on the rag. Those who did usually died horrible deaths involving lots of screaming.
Vince wolfed down a bowl of sugary cereal and a cup of coffee before heading out the door, keys in hand. He screeched out of the driveway, trying to decide how to ask Dom if they could afford Central AC yet.
Sarah immediately went back to cleaning the shot glasses when she and Brian arrived at the family pub. Brian took out a few more bags of trash. Together, they worked on getting the main floor really clean. In a matter of a few hours, they were both drenched in sweat, sore, and irritable again... but the hardwood floors gleamed, the walls were shown to actually be a warm gold underneath the grime they'd collected, and the tables and chairs were sitting in a jumble in the middle of the main room, sparkling. Sarah took a few minutes to walk out to the truck and bring back in two bottles of ice-cold water. Brian leaned on his cane, chugging the refreshing stuff, his throat constricting. Sarah took a few swigs, and went to tackle the restrooms, leaving Brian to make himself useful. He was confused when she came back into the room, a little paler than usual.
"There...th...There's a family of spiders in the men's room," she said faintly, "Could you please go and take care of them for me?" Brian felt a small pang of amusement. It was quickly gone. Without a word, he scrounged up a can of RAID, and extinguished the family of spiders in the men's room, and squashed the two he found in the ladies' room. He tossed the RAID at Sarah when he came back into the main room. She caught it just before it hit her head. She watched him carefully as he hobbled over to the bucket, scuffing it across the floor into the dance room with his foot, strongly favoring his leg.
Sarah went to the bathrooms with another bucket of strong disinfectant. She put on gloves, took up a scrub brush, and lifted her arm to start cleaning the walls. She took back her hand, staring at the wall for a moment, and tried not to cry.
Brian entered the dance room, pushing the bucket ahead of him with his foot. The room was dark, and the lights flickered a bit when he flicked the switch. He hobbled back into the bar room to grab a mop and the industrial-strength disinfectant Sarah had procured from the basement. He managed to get those into the dance room without incident. He sighed, feeling the weight of bad leg as he dragged it around. He resented that weight a lot.
He started cleaning the dance floor, a little area at a time, and quickly knew he had to revise his strategy. There was simply too much dirt on it. After much maneuvering that caused insistent twinges in his bad leg, he managed to upend the bucket onto the floor. The contents of it went crawling across the dance floor like an invading army. Satisfied, Brian began to swish the mop around. It seemed to work rather well. Unfortunately, that meant that he'd have to repeat the process with every section of the dance floor. He sighed again, and went back to mopping. It wasn't until later he realized that didn't make him angry.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry this was short, chickies... finals time approaches. Forgive me!