Jack Brewer Kickin It Novels & Stories

There’s a laptop in the middle, three beer bottles, and four half filled wine glasses. Killer’s shaking Kaleb’s milk bottle, partially bent over Dexter, looking at the screen. Brett is seated behind him, with Brandon next to him. Melissa is on the other side of the white granite counter, mixing what looks like mash. Diamond, Wyatt and Snake are making something. Killer turns his attention to us, walking over, to take Kaleb. He spares a quick glance my way, as he positions Kaleb on his arm, before putting the bottle to his mouth.

I asked in a low voice, curiosity mixing with confusion. Conor flashed a big smile, showing off his pearly whites—something I hadn't seen much of. He looked so large and at ease sitting on that barstool, and when our eyes met, I found his energy oddly entertaining. "So, there’s this beer called Stella Artois. And if you want to spice things up, you order a shot of Jack Daniels with it, which they call a Jack Backer. Whiskey, in my opinion, is just good for the soul." He drifted into thought, his gaze momentarily distant, as if he was pondering something beyond the conversation. "And what about the Surfer on Acid?" I asked again, my grin turning a bit crooked as I tried to keep up with him.

“Let’s get you some water.” --- By the time I got home, I was mostly sober, but my head still buzzed from the night. I slipped inside quietly, not wanting to wake anyone, but I froze when I saw Jake sitting in the kitchen. He was nursing a bottle of whiskey, his shirt unbuttoned and his hair disheveled. His dark eyes locked onto mine as I entered, and a smirk curved his lips. “So,” he drawled, his voice dangerously low. “You’ve been with him again.”

Nico “More beer?” Jake, my campaign manager and closest friend, asks. “Whisky,” I tell him, “I need it.” He smirks as he pours me a shot and slides the tumbler across the brass table in my home office. “You look like you need a shot or five,” he mutters, trying and failing to sound sympathetic. I sigh and grab the tumbler between two fingers and gulp it down. “Send it coming.” The last one week has been a rollercoaster of some sorts.

From today on, he's not getting any more snacks! Jack suddenly seemed to realize something. "We never gave Owen any allowance money. You're the one who bought him all these snacks, aren't you?" I ignored him and took a cold water bottle from the fridge to press against Owen's cheek. Only after the swelling started to go down did I let out a sigh of relief. Jack became even more furious at my silence and rolled up his sleeves like he was ready to take matters into his own hands. "Fine! If Simon won't, I'll teach you a lesson myself!"

Being part of their family had turned me into a people-pleaser, always putting my own needs last. But I used to be easygoing. I used to know how to live for myself. So I blocked all of them and never saw another message. Over the next month, I traveled around the country. When I got back, I found a new job. After work, Felix and I would get together and practice making street food, hoping to turn it into a side hustle.

Midge said in greeting. Jake nodded his head, and walked into the dimly lit strip club. He was never searched and he was always packing heat. A lot of the men inside that club were carrying and not all of them were good men, neither was he. “Wrath! Whatcha drinking?” Buzzer asked, as he stood up from the table and shook Jake’s hand. “I’ll have a Coke,” Jake said. He never drank during these types of meetings. He didn’t like not being in control of the situation, and drinking took some of your control away.

“But…maybe we shouldn’t be.” He nudges the drink towards me. “I think you need a drink. It’s quite light, I promise.” I release a shuddering breath and take it. What the hell. “Thank you, Isaac.”’ He nods. “Do you want me to introduce you to some of the other guys? Maybe you’ll like Jack. He’s chill, and he won’t hit on you.” I take a deep breath. Jack is the cute drummer. Not as flashy as Ashton or Adam, but definitely a heart-charmer. “No, thanks. I think I’ll just keep the barrier intact. It’s better that way.”

Trying to lighten the heavy mood I created with my question. “I would have, but I think it needs dry cleaning first, you smelled like a brewery last night.” His devilish smile melts the pain in my heart slightly, and I slide off the chair. Jake’s trying for the light easy humor we used to have, it’s a little warming and helps with easing my nerves.

I trade my shot glass for my water and take a big drink. “Want more?” Mason asks, giving the bottle a little shake. “No, thanks, but I am intrigued by this,” I admit with a laugh. “Who thought it was a good idea to make something this strong?” “It’s better than the peanut butter whiskey,” Jacob tells me, popping the top off a beer. “Which is shit too.” “That sounds even worse.” “It’s not as bad as you’d think,” Sam tries to convince me. “Says the guy who ate peanut butter sandwiches every day for lunch for four years in a row.” I raise my eyebrows.