Sodapop Curtis Novels & Stories

“You look like you’ve been dragged to hell, and even hell didn’t want ya and sent you packin’.” “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” I tease, rolling my eyes. “You’re a real southern gentleman, Curtis.” He waves me off with one of his huge, calloused hands. Curtis is average height and portly, but his strength is truly incredible. His stained white shirt is coated in sweat while he yanks and fumbles with the chainsaw, mumbling curses under his breath. I find his company comforting in a way I can’t explain. “Are there… big animals out here?”

I say, coughing and wiping mouth with the back of my hand. Luke’s laughing his ass off. “It’s supposed to. Puts hair on a man’s chest." He backhands my arm. “Take it slow. You’ll get used to it.” Curtis looks at the bottle. “God, I missed this.” He tips the beer back and brings it back down. “Ah. Good stuff." Curtis is older so he was able to experience drinking before we went into hiding. Me not so much. I look around the circle of guys. Luke urges. “Go on. Little sips.” He encourages.

“I think they invited me to join them.” “They would,” Aidan said. “They’re asking every woman who wanders past, so Jax sent Curtis over to keep ‘em in line.” “That’d do it,” Zoe muttered. “He’s mega-scary.” “Scarier than King?” Jo asked, slurping the last of her Cosmo. “‘Cause I can’t imagine anyone scarier than King.” Zoe considered her question seriously. “Hmmmmm. OK, no. Not scarier than King, ‘cause King is his own brand of terrifying. Curtis is terrifying-esque. Terrifying lite. But still a damn beast.”

“Tessa, you must’ve sucked up to Mr. Pedro if he spared you and beat up Zoe.” Curtis’ voice carried across the open space with that same biting sarcasm he had always used on her, but this time there was something else mixed into it; something darker, more unsettled. He stood a few steps away, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning her from head to toe as if trying to make sense of a version of her he no longer understood. Tessa didn’t respond immediately. Instead, a faint smile curved her lips, slow and deliberate, as though his words amused her rather than hurt her.

Curtis chuckled, his laughter low and warm, filling the empty spaces in the room. “I can’t say I’m surprised. I’ve seen you work magic with nothing more than salt and pepper.” I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the blush that crept up my cheeks. “Dalt and pepper is taking the praise too far, and I don’t know if it’s magic, but it helps. Keeps me focused.” For a moment, we stood in comfortable silence, the only sound being the gentle simmer of the oats and the clinking of my spoon against the pot. Curtis leaned on the counter, his gaze softening as he watched me.

Curtis sipped the wine again, rising from the seat and getting for himself a glass of icy water from the fridge. While he returned to his seat, Susan was still looking at him and every move he made. “I know your business is getting tough, but,….” She paused and walked to the fridge to get both of them some desserts, fruity podding. “I am stuffed.” Curtis sighed and only drank his water. Less half of the dish was remained…

His name was Curtis, and he was the opposite of the quiet ghost that had been her real father. Curtis was loud, flashy, and unapologetically himself. He had a booming laugh that could fill a room and a love for big gestures—gold watches, muscle cars, backyard fireworks on the Fourth of July. He wore leather jackets in the summer and always had a story to tell, even if you didn’t ask for one. He called Lissa “kiddo” from the very start, and somehow, it stuck.

There was nothing to be nervous about. "Let's get you another one of those," the Hispanic man said and signaled to the bartender. We began chatting as I sipped on another glass of alcohol. The man sitting on my left was a tall, thin black man named Curtis. He had gone to Columbia and was now an accountant by day. He was clearly very intelligent and witty, and confident in himself. On my right was Greg, who had gone to BYU as a baseball player and become a Mormon missionary before leaving and finding a new life as a high-school gym teacher. He had dirty blonde hair and light blue eyes. He was the shortest of the group, and also probably the most reserved.

I retorted, and Mason told him not to harass me. “Fuck off, runt,” Curtis growled sourly, and I shook my head as he went to the cooler and grabbed a twelve-pack of beer. Dropping it on the counter, he waited while I rang up his purchase, then looked at him for the payment. “Tell me what I owe you,” he huffed and I pointed to the total on the register and snapped, “I'm sure that you can read, well maybe not numbers.” Handing me the money he said firmly, “I hope that you're keeping my guard home clean. You know that it will be issued to me when you fail your training.”

It was indeed admirable beyond measure for a young man, who was not even thirty years old yet, to be able to develop to this scale in that kind of world where there was constant intensive fighting on the battlefield. So, Cadfan took the initiative to lift his wine glass as he spoke from the bottom of his heart, “Porter, I have never admired anyone in my whole life. Curtis Wade from the Wade family was the first person that I’ve ever admired, and you are the second. Here, let me give you a toast!” When Porter heard the words ‘Curtis Wade’, he had a slightly cold expression on his face as he looked at Cadfan and asked seriously, “Grandpa Schulz, was Curtis Wade really as powerful as legend has