I took another drink. “Okay, if all that’s true, then what?”
“Then you date her,” Devlin said. “Spend time with her and see where it goes.”
“Basically what you’re already doing,” Bowie said. “Have you had the talk?”
“What talk?”
“If you don’t know, you probably haven’t,” Bowie said. “The talk about where things stand. If you’re officially a couple.”
“Girls like to put a label on it,” Jameson said.
“Jameson’s very sensitive, so he needed a label on it before Leah Mae did,” Bowie said with a smirk.
Jameson glared at him. “Gee, Bow, how many decades did it take before you finally told Cass you were in love with her?”
“It was complicated,” Bowie said.
“Don’t listen to this guy,” Jameson said, gesturing at Bowie. “Take it from me, if you see an opportunity, you gotta take it.”
“Just maybe don’t leave your truck running in the middle of the street so you can jump out and kiss her,” Jonah said.
“I stand by that,” Jameson said. “Best decision of my life.”
I was actually proud of Jame for that one. I gave him a chin tip.
“Just be honest,” Devlin said. “If you have feelings for her, tell her.”
“Maybe it’s too soon,” I said. “And it ain’t like she lives here permanently.”
“Jesus, Gibs, tell her,” Jameson said. “Trust me on this one. I didn’t speak up when I should have and I almost lost Leah Mae because of it.”
We all went silent and I stared at the floor for a long moment. The way they put it, it didn’t seem all that complicated. It wasn’t like I was thinking about marrying her. Yet. Maybe this was just how real relationships happened.
The silence went on long enough to get awkward. I cleared my throat again. “Get back to work, lazy-asses. I don’t want to be here all day.”
Devlin took his beer back to the spot he’d been painting, and Jonah started climbing one of the ladders. Bowie shook his head at me with a little grin on his face. Kinda made me want to punch him—but not too hard.
Jameson patted my shoulder. “She likes you too, Gibs. I’d bet my poker money on it.”
“Thanks. Now shut your pie hole about it.”
He slapped me on the back, then went back to work.
“Hey guys,” George said from the doorway. He came in dressed in an old t-shirt and torn jeans. “Sorry I’m late.”
“What the hell happened to you?”
George looked a little rough. His hair was a mess, his beard hadn’t been trimmed in a while, and he had dark circles under his eyes.
“It’s June,” he said. “She’s killing me.”
“Killing you how?” Bowie asked.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” George said. “She’s insatiable lately. I’m talking multiple times a day, like meals and snacks, only sex. She woke me up in the middle of the night last night and… well, I won’t go into detail, but suffice it to say, it was pretty great. But I’m exhausted. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in a week.”
“Slow your roll, George,” Bowie said, wincing. “Hearing about June is like hearing about our sister.”
“You better get some rest tonight,” Jonah called down. “We have an eight-miler tomorrow.”
“Ah, shit,” George said. He grabbed a paint roller. “What’s new with you guys?”
“Gibson has feelings,” Jameson said.
Everyone laughed, including George.
“Go ahead, shitheads, laugh all you want,” I said. “Next Cock Spurs game, y’all are gonna have to get your drunk asses on the bus to get home by yourself.”
We all got back to work and a couple of hours later, we’d finished. Place didn’t look half bad with some new paint.
Just as we were done cleaning up, the girls arrived, fresh from their spa day. Each of them, including June, darted for their significant others, jumping into their arms. Callie looked a little shy as she walked toward me, her tongue darting to the notch in her lip.
“Hey, you.” I slipped my hands around her waist and drew her close. “Have a good time?”
“Yeah, it was nice.”
I leaned in to kiss her—just a taste. But then kissed her again because it felt so damn good.
“I like it when you do that,” she whispered, brushing her nose against mine.
“That’s good. I like doing it.”
Her lips were so delicious, and so close, I decided I didn’t care that my sister was probably staring at us, and kissed her again. Scarlett knew I didn’t have to do this here. We were all in on the truth, so kissing Callie now wasn’t for show.
I pulled back and looked her in the eyes, ignoring everyone else. “Ready?”
“Sure.” Her phone rang and she pulled it out of her bag. “Hang on a second. I should take this.”
I nodded.
She held the phone up to her ear. “Hey, Cole. Are you still in the studio? How’s it going?”
Bowie caught my eye and whispered, “Cole? She isn’t talking to Cole Bryson, is she?”
I shrugged. Cole Bryson was a big deal—famous rock star with millions of rabid fans.
“Yeah, I know it’s hard,” she said, her voice soothing. “But you need to remember, you’ve done this before. Look at those platinum records on the wall. You’ve totally got this.”
Holy shit. Maybe it was Cole Bryson.
She paused again, listening, and her posture changed. Crossing her arms, she widened her stance. “All right, Cole, I get it. But if the album doesn’t feel right, is wallowing in self-pity going to fix it? No, it’s not. The only thing that’s going to fix it is you. So here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to peel yourself off the floor, grab that guitar, and get your ass to work.”
I raised my eyebrows. She sounded like a coach giving her team a fourth quarter locker room pep talk.
“No more excuses,” she said, her voice firm. “I’m serious, quit being a pansy. You’re tougher than this. If I have to fly out there to babysit you in the studio, you’re not going to like it. I will ride your ass day and night until you get that motherfucking album done.”
Everyone stared at her, including me. She made me want to quit being a pansy. About what, I had no idea, but her tone didn’t leave any room for argument.
She smiled and when she spoke again, she was all sugar. “That’s what I like to hear. It’s going to be amazing. I have faith in you. Okay, we’ll talk soon.” With a satisfied breath, she put her phone away. “Sorry about that.”
I stared at her in awe. She’d gone from sweetheart to hardass take-no-shit woman and back again in the blink of an eye. I was a fucking goner for this girl.
“Dang, you told him,” Scarlett said.
Callie just smiled and slipped her hand in mine. “Shall we?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
No one said anything, but all eyes were on us—or maybe just her—while we walked out.
We left the high school and drove back to my place. I thought about what my brothers had said. We hadn’t talked. I didn’t know where this was going, if anywhere. And the weirdest thing was, I wanted to know. I cared. A lot. And I hadn’t cared about anything this much in a long fucking time.
I parked in front of my house and we both got out. Before we went inside, I stopped in front of my truck and cupped her face in my hands. Kissed her, deeply this time.
“What was that for?” she asked.
“I like you.” I wasn’t ready to start saying the other word, even if I’d thought it a few times. “I know you haven’t been here long, and we aren’t sure what’s going to happen. But this means something to me. I want you to know that.”
A slow smile parted her lips. “This means something to me, too.”
There was that full feeling in my chest again. “So we see where this leads?”
“Yeah. We see where this leads.”
I leaned in t
o kiss her again, but the crunch of tires coming down my driveway interrupted us. Instinctively, I put myself between Callie and the car, gently nudging her behind me.
A compact maroon two-door with a dent in the bumper on the driver’s side pulled to a stop. A big guy with a dark beard got out and walked toward us.
“Are you Gibson Bodine?”
“Yeah. Who’s asking?”
He held out a manila envelope. “This is for you.”
I took the envelope and watched him like a hawk while he got back into his car and turned around. Didn’t stop watching until he’d driven out of sight.
“That was weird,” Callie said.
“Yeah. It was.”
The envelope had my name on the outside, typed on a white label, but nothing else. I ripped it open and pulled out a thick bundle of paperwork.
“What is it?” Callie asked.
I skimmed the first page, my brow furrowing as I read.
“It’s a lawsuit,” I said. “A wrongful death suit in the case of Callie Kendall. Your parents are suing my family.”
24
MAYA
The tension in Bowie and Cassidy’s living room was thick as mud. One of their cats had disappeared at the first sign of company. The other—a fat orange guy—hadn’t moved from his spot, curled up on a pillow. Jameson stood against the wall with his arms crossed, staring down at the floor. Leah Mae sat on the arm of a chair next to him, casting worried glances his way. Jonah had an arm around Shelby, his muscles bulging, the veins in his arms standing out.
Cassidy sat on the couch next to Bowie, rubbing circles across his back. She had her laptop open in front of her. Bowie leaned forward, elbows on his knees, reading his copy of the lawsuit.
Gibson alternated between standing with crossed arms and pacing. His jaw clenched tight, making the cords in his neck pop, and his face was dark with anger.
He and I had read through the paperwork back at his place. His father’s estate was being sued, and he and his siblings were all named. There were parts of the legalese I didn’t understand, but the bottom line was clear. The Kendalls were suing Jonah Bodine’s estate and its heirs for my supposed death.
It hadn’t taken long for the phone calls to start flying. The other Bodines had all been served. Bowie had told everyone to meet at his place. We were just waiting on Scarlett.
She burst in the front door like a tiny whirlwind. “What in the actual fuck is happening right now? Can you believe this?”
Devlin was right behind her, and put calming hands on her shoulders. “It’s okay. No one needs to panic.”
“Don’t panic? Do you hear yourself? The stupid Kendalls are suing us for a death that ain’t even happened.”
“Can they do this?” Jameson asked.
“Legally speaking, yes,” Devlin said. “Now that they supposedly have a body, she’s no longer considered missing. She’s dead.”
“So they’re suing the estate?” Jonah asked. “Let’s forget for a second that Callie isn’t dead. They can’t have enough proof to implicate him.”
“Do they know something we don’t?” Shelby asked.
“Not necessarily,” Devlin said. “This isn’t my specialty, but I read over the Complaint. It alleges that Jonah Sr. aided Callie’s disappearance and either failed to prevent or was complicit in her death. The burden of proof in a civil suit like this isn’t the same as a criminal trial. They don’t have to prove he did it to win.”
“And think about it,” Bowie said, ticking points off on his fingers. “There’s the sweater. Callie’s fingerprints in Mom’s car. Dad’s speeding ticket in New York putting him near the location of that body.”
“And they aren’t alleging he killed her,” Devlin said. “Which means they don’t have to prove that he did. Essentially, they’re alleging he helped her run away, and as a result of that, she died, putting him at fault.”
“It fits with their story that she had mental issues,” Cassidy said, then glanced at me. “Sorry, I don’t mean to talk like you aren’t here. My point is, they’ve always claimed you were depressed and unstable. Adding that you were a runaway means they don’t have to change their story. It all sounds plausible.”
I nodded at Cassidy—she was right—but my shoulders pinched with tension. Their story had clearly been designed to paint me as the problem and them as the poor victims of a depressed teenager. It made me sick.
“What’s their game?” Bowie asked, and I wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or expecting an answer.
“Are they trying to force her out of hiding?” Jameson asked.
“I don’t think so,” Devlin said. He squeezed Scarlett’s shoulders and stepped around her. “I know we don’t have proof, but if they’re behind all those incidents—the forensics report, Shelby’s attack, intimidating that retired teacher, even Abbie Gilbert’s death—they’re trying very hard to make sure the truth doesn’t come out. They want her to stay dead.”
“So why sue us?” Gibson growled.
“This is just my opinion,” Devlin said. “But I think it’s an intimidation tactic. I don’t know if their case is strong enough to win, but I doubt they care. A lawsuit could bury all of you in legal fees, not to mention stress, for the foreseeable future. If they have deep enough pockets, they won’t think twice about getting you all tangled up in the legal system.”
“I think he’s right,” Cassidy said. “I think they realize things are happening and there’s a chance the truth about Callie will come out. They’re trying to keep y’all from digging.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me if at least one of you gets a call from their lawyer or someone who represents them,” Devlin said. “I bet they try to get you to do something in exchange for dropping the lawsuit.”
“Something like what?” Bowie asked.
“Probably a public statement confirming their story,” Devlin said. “It would be a PR stunt. Something to make them look gracious and forgiving and get you all on record saying their story is true. Or I could be wrong, and they just want to ruin your lives by emptying your bank accounts.”
I raised my hand, like a kid in a classroom. “Can I say something?”
Heads turned in my direction.
“This isn’t really a problem. I’m not dead. I’m sitting right here. So all I have to do is come forward, prove my identity, and this lawsuit goes away.”
Gibson stopped moving and stood, his posture defensive. “Hold on.”
I put up a hand. “I know you’re worried about what will happen when the Kendalls find out I’m here. I am, too. I won’t lie, I’m scared. But I can’t let y’all get sued.”
“I’m with Gibson,” Jonah said. “We need to think this through and remember who we’re dealing with.”
Gibson tipped his chin to him.
“This is some messed up shit,” Bowie said, pushing the papers away. “But y’all are right—we have to think about what the judge will do if his dead daughter suddenly reappears.”
“We have time,” Devlin said and the professionalism in his tone was calming. “You have thirty days to respond, and then the courts move slowly.”
“But y’all are still going to have to pay your lawyer to file a response and start fighting this,” I said, only half aware of the y’alls I was suddenly dropping.
“Don’t worry about that,” Gibson said. “I’ll cover it.”
“We’ll all cover it, like we’ve been doing,” Bowie said.
“Speaking of, has anyone called Jayme?” Jonah asked.
“I did,” Bowie said. “I sent her a scanned copy. We’re supposed to call her. Are we telling her about Callie? Because I really think we have to.”
Gibson met my eyes and I gave him a short nod.
“Yes, tell her,” I said.
Everyone else nodded and murmured their assent.
Bowie tapped his phone screen, then set it on the coffee table.
“Bodines,” Jayme said. “Before you say anything, don’t pan
ic.”
Devlin nodded his agreement.
“No one’s panicking,” Bowie said. “Mostly.”
“Is everyone there?” Jayme asked.
“Yes, ma’am. And Devlin filled us in a bit on what this means.”
“Good,” she said, her tone clipped. “They don’t have a strong case, but they don’t necessarily need one. I don’t think they care if they win. They’re trying to put the blame for Callie’s death as far from their doorstep as possible. This is a good way to do it.”
“We’re also wondering if this is an intimidation tactic,” Bowie said. “Someone showed up in town and approached Gibson. Asked him about why he’d been taken in to talk to the sheriff. Seems like that could point back to the judge.”
“Why am I just hearing about this now?”
“There’s been a lot going on,” Bowie said, casting a wary glance around. “There’s another rather important development you need to know about. We know Callie’s not dead.”
“That’s not new,” Jayme said.
“That’s not what I mean,” Bowie said. “She’s here.”
The phone went silent for a few seconds. “Excuse me?”
“Callie’s here,” Bowie said. “In this room, right now.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jayme said. “Jesus. Get me her DNA.”
“Already working on it,” Bowie said.
“Good. And for fuck’s sake, tell me you’re all being smart and hiding her in a closet or something.”
Gibson raised his eyebrows at me, as if to say, see?
“She’s been living under a new identity, so that’s what we’ve been going with,” Bowie said.
“Okay. I’ll believe it’s her when we get her DNA results. Now, the judge is gearing up for his confirmation hearing, so we’re walking on a very thin wire. He has a lot to lose. If you really have his daughter sitting there, it obviously helps answer a hell of a lot of questions. But without hard evidence, we still can’t nail him for anything.”
“That about sums it up,” Bowie said.
“We’re trying to track down the lab tech who confirmed the dental match on the body in New York, but so far no luck. Just voicemail.”
Highball Rush: Bootleg Springs Book 6 Page 18
