by Lynn Lorenz
Showtime.
Jack stared at the mirror.
Oh yeah. He was looking rough. Shit. Were the bags under his eyes from only two nights of bad sleep or had they been there before? And he could have sworn the hair at his temples hadn’t been that gray last week. The light in this room sucked. Maybe he should switch to those new compact fluorescent lightbulbs.
He ran water into the sink, splashed it on his face, then shaved. No matter how slow he went or how careful he tried to be, he cut himself. Three times.
Glanced at his reflection. It should have been better. It wasn’t.
He searched for a steptic pencil, but no luck. He did the next best thing, knowing he appeared ridiculous with three small pieces of toilet tissue stuck to the cuts, dots of blood holding them in place on his chin, jaw and throat.
Running his hand over his stomach, Jack straightened and sucked in his gut. Turned to the side and exhaled. Still tight, thank God for that. There wasn’t a six-pack, but there weren’t any love handles either.
He leaned closer to his reflection as he evaluated his body.
“No no no.” A gray hair nestled, like a traitor, among the light covering of dark hairs on his chest. With a frown, he plucked it out and held it up. Squinted.
It was gray, all right. He didn’t need new lights to see the difference between dark brown and gray.
It was the beginning of the end. The slow slide into middle age. Forty-five loomed closer, mocking him.
He wasn’t ready for this.
Jack jerked away from the mirror, dropped the lone hair into the wastebasket and brushed his teeth without further scrutiny of his forty-three-year-old body.
He had thirty minutes to get dressed, have breakfast and get to work. He’d skip breakfast—he wasn’t very hungry. Hadn’t been since last weekend when Winston and Edward had flitted in and out of his life.
This was all Edward’s fault.
* * * *
“Morning, Chief,” Kristen said, then sipped her coffee.
“Morning.” Jack flashed Kristen a quick smile and ducked into his office, clutching the coffee he’d picked up at the drive-through so he didn’t have to stand in the kitchen and make small talk with her or anyone else.
He tossed his hat onto his desk, put his coffee down, sat and stared at the door. The last time he’d seen Edward had been when he’d stormed out of Jack’s office, furious and hurt. Jack replayed the scene in his head, right up to the moment he’d kissed Edward.
It had been the best kiss of Jack’s life. Not that he’d had that many, but still.
Edward had literally melted into him. Jack had felt his body give way, the tug of Edward’s hands on his shirt, the complete surrender as Edward opened his mouth and let Jack inside to taste him.
Jack groaned.
He had to stop thinking about it, but all Jack wanted was to feel Edward beneath him, feel Edward melt against his just as it had before. Jack wanted to taste Edward again—Edward’s mouth, his skin, his cock. Every inch of him.
That would be insanity.
Fuck. What Jack was going through right now was insanity. Not sleeping. Not eating. And this funk, this depression was sheer weakness. And he’d never given in to his weaknesses.
At this point in his life, it wasn’t the time to start. He was right where he’d planned on being. Settled in a nice town, living in a nice house, with a nice job.
Everything nice. Simple. Easy.
No complications.
Edward was the mother of all complications.
* * * *
Between taking Olivia all over town and even to San Antonio on Tuesday, Edward had hardly thought about Jack at all. He’d just been too distracted while running around with his grandmother and having lunch at her favorite Mexican restaurant on the Riverwalk in San Antonio. They’d each had two frozen margaritas, and both of them had flirted shamelessly with their young waiter. Edward hadn’t talked and laughed so much in months.
Then they’d spent the rest of the afternoon strolling along the river, peeking into all sorts of shops. Edward even bought Winston a new leather collar that had silver Lone Star studs all the way around it.
Olivia slept on the drive home. She’d been tired but didn’t seem exhausted. He couldn’t wait to see Winston and try on the new collar. He’d dropped Olivia off, settled her in the house then went back to the hotel. After showing Winston the new collar, Edward had fallen into bed. He hadn’t even remembered falling asleep.
Now it was Wednesday morning and he had the barbecue at Brian and Rush’s ranch in the evening. Dressed only in a pair of black briefs, he stood staring at the small closet where he’d hung most of his clothes.
“What do you think, Winston? Blue jeans or black?”
Winston lay on the bed watching the home decorating channel.
“No opinion?” Edward held each pair up against his body. “It’s sort of a casual affair. The blue ones. They’re sort of scruffed up.” He put the black jeans back in the closet and draped the blue ones over a chair. “Now the shirt.”
That would be easy. Definitely not the one with the fringe.
After pulling out shirt after shirt, he settled on a plain white button-down, always a classic with jeans, and his brown belt and brown boots, then put them to the side to change into later that afternoon.
That settled, he slipped into a pair of sweats and a T-shirt and took Winston for a walk, putting off the call he needed to make to his mother to let her know his progress. More than anything, he didn’t want to talk to her. She’d just go on about his inability to do even this one little thing for her.
Back in his room, he sat on the bed and made the dreaded call.
His mother answered on the third ring. “Hello.”
“It’s Edward.” He braced himself.
“Edward, dear. How is it going? Mission accomplished?” she cooed at him. That would change soon enough.
“No, Mother.”
“Why not?” And here it was, the voice he knew so well. Hard. Cold. Demanding.
“Well, we’ve been getting to know each other. I didn’t want to rush into it.”
“Look, I know you’re enjoying yourself, but it’s time to stop thinking about you and think about doing what I asked you to do.” She gave a long-suffering sigh. “Just do whatever it is you do and make her better.” He could just see her flipping her hand and rolling her eyes.
“Gee, Mother, I had no idea you cared so much for Meemaw.”
“Don’t be snide, Edward. She’s my mother. Of course I care.”
“Then why haven’t you come to see her?”
“Did she ask you to ask me that?”
“No. I’m asking you that. Why?” he pressed.
There was a moment of silence. “It’s between her and me. She knows why.”
“But I don’t know.”
“It’s none of your business, Edward.” Her tone said he shouldn’t ask more, but he ignored it.
“You kept me from seeing her when I was younger and when Father died you never did anything to encourage me to see her then. I think it’s my business. She’s my grandmother.” His voice had spiraled higher and, taking a deep breath, he brought it under control. It would only be more ammunition for her to hurl back at him.
“She’s my mother.” That tone said end of discussion. “Now, don’t dilly-dally there—get it done.”
Edward gritted his teeth to keep from saying his automatic ingrained response of “yes, ma’am.” Instead, he hung up.
He sighed.
Woof.
“You said it.” He rolled his eyes then dressed to visit with Olivia.
As he drove to her house, he thought about his power. He’d never done much with it, never tried to control it or test it. What if he could slowly bleed the sickness out of her, a little at a time? Make it safe for him and for her.
If he could just take a little of whatever it was or take some of the pain away, that might help. Might even extend the time she had to live. H
e’d have more time with her.
Which was so odd, because before he’d come here, he’d never really thought about her much at all. He’d lived almost half his life without her in it, so why did that prospect scare him shitless now?
Because if she died he’d be alone and no one would love him just for him.
If he thought about it, he’d been alone most of his life. His mother was right, in a way, it was selfish. But was it any more selfish than his mother’s motives in sending him? They both wanted Olivia alive.
What does Meemaw want?
Chapter Nineteen
Edward sat across from Olivia as they ate the light lunch he’d prepared, a tuna salad, tomato bisque soup and fresh fruit. He’d been trying to get around to explaining his power to her for the last thirty minutes but hadn’t been able to work up the nerve.
The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was crazy. If she rejected him, he didn’t know what he’d do. And that scared him almost as much as taking the risk to heal her.
He cleared his throat. “Meemaw. I want to talk to you about something important.”
“You can talk to me about anything, child. I hope you know that.” She gave him an encouraging smile.
“This is hard for me. I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of a nut.”
“I don’t think I’d ever think that.”
“Just wait until I tell you, then say that.” He chuckled.
She sat back in the kitchen chair. “Go ahead. I’m all ears.”
He inhaled, held it then let it out. “I have the power to heal, Meemaw.”
She just stared at him as if she were waiting for the weird part.
“Did you hear me? I said I have powers.”
“I heard you.” She nodded. “What about it?”
Edward’s mouth fell open. “What about it? I just told you I can heal people, and that’s all you say? Not ‘you’re crazy.’ Not ‘I don’t believe it.’ Not even ‘prove it to me’?”
“Edward. I’ve been alive for almost eighty years and I’ve seen a hell of a lot of stuff I can’t explain. Lots of people claim they can heal. I’ve even seen it once or twice.” She grinned. “Not saying I believed what I saw, but that don’t mean it didn’t happen.”
“Do you believe me?” He reached out and touched her hand. It was so important to him that she believed. She twined her fingers with his.
“I do. I believe that you believe it. Sometimes, that’s all that’s needed.”
“I want to try to heal you.”
She sat back, her smile slipped, and she stared at him. “Heal me?”
“Yes. Whatever you have, I want to help take it away. I can do it—I’m not just pretending.” More than anything, Edward wanted to do this for her. He wanted to save her, even if it was for selfish reasons.
She smiled at him. Indulgent, as if talking to a child. “That’s sweet of you, but…”
“But nothing. I can do it. Give me your hand again.” He held his out, waiting for her. He looked into his grandmother’s eyes, trying to see a sign of judgment. He’d beg if he had to, anything to make her believe he could do this.
She slipped her hand on top of his, palm to palm, and nodded once.
Edward closed his eyes. He had no idea what he had to do—he only knew he had to do something. Just enough.
And it was strange, but he wasn’t afraid.
Concentrating, he focused on the skin of her hand, soft and warm against his. Beneath it, he could feel the beat of her heart. He opened his mind to the power, his pulse matched hers and he breathed in time with her.
Edward opened the thin door between them and searched for the pain. It was buried deep, nowhere near the surface. Unlike Jack’s, it didn’t come screaming at him. Instead it hid, lurking in her body, as if it knew he searched for it and meant to take it away.
There was something there. Jack’s pain had been red and white and scorching hot, but this was quiet. Dark. Menacing. Waiting for him like a predator lurking in the woods.
More dangerous than anything he’d ever faced before.
If he didn’t do this right, it would kill him. For a second, he wavered, instincts for self-preservation almost overtaking him, but he dug in to his resolve and held it up like a shield.
And slowly pulled at the darkness. Wicking bits of it away. Absorbing strings, strands of the menace, into himself.
They passed through him, each one searching for an anchor in his body, a place to burrow into him.
He let them continue their journey, offering no anchor, no home, only a conduit.
More dark pieces came at him. The slow bleeding, once a trickle, now seeped. The dam that held them back threatened to burst.
It was time. Edward pulled away, separating himself from Olivia, until they were each their own beings.
Olivia shuddered and Edward opened his eyes.
“What did you do?” she whispered. She clutched at her stomach with both hands, her eyes wide with wonder, not fear.
Edward swallowed. “I took some of it away. Are you all right? Are you hurting?”
“I’m…fine. No, not fine.” She blinked and gazed down at herself. “I’m not hurting.” Then she glanced up at him and grinned. “Good Lord, child. You really did it.”
He nodded. “I did.” He’d never felt prouder.
“I never thought you’d do it. That maybe it was some kind of mind trick, like a placebo. But I know the pain I live with each and every moment, and it’s gone. Vanished.” She sat back and put her hand to her mouth. “Edward. Did you cure me?”
Edward bit his lip. He had to be honest. “No. But I took some of it away. Pain mostly.”
“Will it hurt you?” Her eyes reflected worry. “I’d just die if anything happened to you because of me.”
“No, Meemaw. I’m fine. It sort of flows out of you and through me, and then out into…wherever. I’m not sure where it goes, but it’s not in me.” He shrugged. “I really don’t know why or how, I just know it is.”
“How long have you had this power?”
“Maybe all my life, but I’ve only consciously used it…about the time Father died.” He gave her a weak smile.
“Edward. Did you try to heal him?” Olivia whispered as her eyes widened.
The memory of that day flooded Edward. His father lying in the bed, his heart struggling to work. His mother dialing nine-one-one, keeping her panic at bay, but Edward could smell it on her. Just as he could smell death clinging to his father.
He’d reached out to take his father’s trembling hand.
And his father had jerked away, refusing to let Edward touch him. Even as he lay dying, he couldn’t bear Edward’s touch. It had been the final rejection in a long string of rejections.
Edward’s eyes filled. He hadn’t planned on telling her. He’d never told anyone about his attempt to save his father. After all, it was easy to say, ‘I could have saved him, but he refused.’
The hard part was to admit, even to himself, he hadn’t tried hard enough.
“Edward?” She took his hand. He glanced up at her.
“No. It was after that,” he lied.
She sighed and her shoulders relaxed. “I’m sure you wish you’d been able to help him.”
“Yeah.” He gave her a quick smile. “I’m glad I could help you.”
“Me too.”
Edward paused. “If I could cure you, would you want me to?”
Olivia stared at him for a long time.
Just when he thought she wasn’t going to answer the question, she said, “Offering hope to a dying person isn’t the worst thing someone could do. The worst thing would be to do it at the expense of your own life.”
“I’m not sure what that means.”
“It means I wouldn’t save myself and damn you to this hell. I couldn’t live with that on my head.” She gave his hand a quick squeeze. “Playing God is a slippery slope,
child. Easy to slide down and almost impossible to climb
up.”
* * * *
Jack threw himself into his work—he even sat in on the shift change and gave a quick briefing on safety. Then he went back to his paperwork, looking over the warrants for the week. Picking one up, he read it over and grinned.
He picked up the phone and called Brian. “Hey, it’s Jack. I see you applied for a search warrant for Jimmy’s house to look for the baseball bat his wife used to wreck his truck?”
Brian chuckled. “Yeah. I went to see her the other day and she was shaking so bad she practically confessed. I’m sure she’s still got whatever she used hanging around the trailer.”
Jack frowned. “It’s a shame. He deserves worse than just getting his truck beat up.” The man was a low-life. Trailer-park trash of the worst sort, just like his parents.
“I know that, Chief. I could see bruises all over her. I know he beats her, but unless she calls it in there’s nothing I can do. I gave her that card you had made up about the women’s shelter in San Antonio.”
“She take it?” Jack had heard about the shelter from a cop he knew in San Antonio and had the cards made up just in case. She wasn’t the only woman around here getting the crap beat out of her on a regular basis. It was something that shamed him about Spring Lake, though he supposed it happened everywhere. He couldn’t understand hitting someone you were supposed to love, despite the beatings he’d had at the hands of his father, someone who was supposed to love him.
“Yeah. But I don’t think she’ll ever use it.” Jack could hear the resignation in Brian’s voice. “Jimmy’s not much, but at least he’s paying the bills. And she’s got two kids with him.”
“The sad thing is most of these women are too poor and too frightened to get out. Until it’s too late and someone winds up dead.” He’d seen it many times over the years in his job. Too damn often.
“If the judge signs it, I’ll pick it up later this morning and do the search before I go off-duty. You’re still coming out to the ranch tonight, right?”
Jack had forgotten about the poker game. “Yeah. Be there around six?”
“That’s great. Do you remember Mitchell and Sammi, my friends from Houston?”
