Blondie Wannabe: A Billy Hargrove Fanfic

Hard Work

When I got home, I wanted nothing more but to go upstairs and bang my head against the wall, maybe sneak some more of my mom's painkillers, but stopped short when I saw Sal sitting on the couch watching TV and drinking a beer. He didn't just chill in the milieu very often, usually either at work, in his room, or in the kitchen eating while standing up, so seeing him there gave me pause.

"What's cooking, good-looking?" he asked, taking a sip from his beer, his green eyes twinkling.

"Nothing, I just- it was a long day."

 After a couple beats of pin-drop silence, he patted the cushion next to him twice. Hesitantly, I sat beside him, struggling to get comfortable. He was sitting directly in the middle of the sofa, knees a full two feet apart, and he didn't move to accommodate me. On the contrary, it appeared as though he attempted to take up more space once I joined him.

"What's your schedule?" I asked. "At Leila's I mean. I feel like your hours never seem to follow any pattern."

"That's cause they don't." He changed the channel to a political station, scoffed at Ronald Regan, and then changed it again to a sitcom I'd seen before but couldn't name. "I'm a double-time, part-time employee."

"I don't know what that means."

"Technically, I'm not hired full-time, I'm sort of like a temp, except they're hopelessly understaffed, so I end up working way more than forty hours a week. They call me whenever they need me, and I work until someone tells me to go home. That's why I'm usually sleeping, I never know when I'm going to have to go and be on my feet for two straight shifts."

Something about that seemed vaguely illegal, but I didn't mention it. In a life where working hard was optional, with my father backing my brother and me financially every step of the way, it was admirable to see someone go above and beyond, sexy even.

Sal relaxed into the couch, laying his arms over the back of the frame. I could feel the heat from his skin behind my neck. As his knee moved closer to mine, our thighs brushing, his limb sank lower, until I could feel his forearm on my shoulder, hand hanging off, fingers touching me below the cuff of my short-sleeved blouse. It was like we were kids in school. The fact that this big, handsome, thirty-something man was getting closer to me inch by inch almost made me laugh. Almost. I didn't because I desperately wanted him to hurry up, to kiss me already. I could tell he wanted to.

When the door opened and footsteps could be heard in the threshold, Sal quickly removed his arm from around me, shifting to left of the center of the sofa so we weren't so close. So he was flirting. Part of me thought it might just be me reading too far into tiny movements, but no, Sal wanted me.

The noisy, clunky footsteps, so inconsiderate to who they were disturbing, could only belong to Steve, and he came in, throwing his coat on the ground carelessly as he entered. God, he ruined everything.

"Hey kiddo," Sal said to my brother, voice even. Only I could see how his broad chest rose and fell rapidly, giving away his true emotions. "How was school?"

"Garbage."

"It can't have been that bad."

He came entirely into the living room, putting his hands on his hips, looking off into the distance the way he did when he was making some big, meaningless declaration. "Have you ever tried really hard at something, put all your effort into it, and yet you just keep losing? Over and over you keep getting beaten. Why does that happen?"

I struggled not to roll my eyes. What the hell had he ever worked at, I mean truly worked at?

Luckily, Sal was not as cruel as me. "I don't know buddy, that's rough. There's no real answer; you just gotta do right by you."

Steve looked him in the eye with a vacant expression until the phone rang. "I got it!" he shouted, even though everyone who was home presently was in a twelve-foot vicinity. He jogged over to the cradle, picking up the receiver. "Harrington residence." Pause. "Why the fuck are you calling me?" Long pause. "Deb!" he screamed loud enough to make my eardrums ache. "Billy Hargrove's on the phone for you."

"What the hell does that punk want?" Sal mumbled under his breath. How did he even know Billy? Maybe Steve had bitched to him about his mortal enemy. 

I took the phone from my brother, leaning against the wall. "What is it?"

"Where the fuck were you?" he barked. "When I got out of practice, your car was gone; we were supposed to work together today."

"Yeah, well, I didn't feel like it."

"You didn't feel like it?" he asked, his voice rising in pitch dangerously.

Gulping silently, I pushed on. "I'm a person too, Billy, I have needs, I'm not at your beck and call."

"I never asked you to be at my beck and call; I asked you to respect your goddamn commitments or at least let me know when you have to cancel. Am I not owed that basic decency? Isn't that how partnerships of every kind should be handled?"

"You're right."

There was quiet for so long, I thought he'd hung up. "What?" he said finally.

It pained me to admit I was wrong, but I was. He couldn't control the emotions he stirred in me, and he shouldn't be punished because of my weakness. Especially considering he was a student, and I was his teacher. I had a responsibility to him. "I'm sorry that I left, it was wrong of me. Do you want me to come over now?"

His breathing was heavy on the other end of the line, almost like a pant. "That's alright," he said finally, sounding oddly pleased with my response. "We'll pick it up on Monday."

He hung up before I could say goodbye, the simple action ripping a massive hole in my gut.