He raised his shoulders, mock innocence on his face. “What?”
“You know very well what. I already warned you that you need to be nice. He’s our guest,” she urged beneath her breath, like she could shield me from the clear irritation her father was feeling at my presence.
Thing was, he was the one who had it all right.
“Seems like Grand-Pop is the troublemaker to me. Why you troublemakin’?” Dillon asked.
“Mind your own beeswax,” the old man said with a tease.
Too bad Mal-Pal wasn’t here to skewer him for that one.
Seemed Dillon’s joke standards weren’t quite as high, considering the kid howled with laughter.
“I don’t got no beeswax!”
I stood there in the bedlam, attention pinging from one spot to the next, not having the first clue how I was supposed to mix.
Where I stood.
Hiding out by the kitchen door wasn’t exactly going to cut it.
Benjamin’s gaze darted between Izzy and me. Questions played out in those keen eyes.
Kid reading deeper.
Between the lines.
Clearly catching onto the fact that there was a whole lot more to this thing than some weird guy standing antsy off to the side.
Wondered if he knew that for me, everything was hanging in this precarious balance.
Time to suck it up.
I pushed out the strain and forced my heavy feet in the direction of the table. “How about I sit between both of you, then you both can sit by me?”
“Aren’t you the good guy,” Mr. Lane grumbled.
“Daddy,” Izzy chastised again.
“Fine, fine,” he mumbled, shooting me daggers before he sent his daughter a winning smile.
“Oh, great idea! See, Mom, we can totally share,” Dillon said, all too quick to vacate the middle chair so I could sit next to him.
I waited until Benjamin climbed into the chair on the left before I slipped into the seat in the middle.
Izzy took the seat directly across the table from me, hands shaking with her nerves, girl clearly feeling just as frazzled as me.
“I’m sorry,” she mouthed.
My head shook.
I wasn’t sorry at all.
She smiled. Smiled a soft smile that might as well have been an embrace. Her presence sure. Like fingertips tracing my skin.
My muscles ticked, flexing with ripples of need.
Hardening with want.
Desire fisted my guts while my mind whirled with questions and worry and possibilities.
Heart game but not quite prepared for this.
Scrambling to catch up, rushing double-time and somehow permanently lagging behind.
Mrs. Lane set a platter piled high with roast and potatoes and carrots in the middle of the table, following it by a big bowl of gravy.
Clearly, she didn’t want to send Dillon into a tailspin.
“There we go.” She squeezed my shoulder. “Eat up . . . blueberry pie is for dessert.”
“Bluuueberry pie is my favvvorite,” Benjamin said, shifting in his seat so he could grin up at his grandmother.
Emotion pulsed, and I was struggling to breathe, to make sense of all of this, trying to process how it was possible that I was there.
Right in the middle of something so amazing.
And again, I was feeling like an outsider, someone who didn’t quite fit in.
Desperate to be a part of a family but remaining an outlier.
Too fucked up to really belong.
Mrs. Lane eyed me, nothing but knowing. “Huh, what do you know, Benjamin. It’s Maxon’s, too.”
Seventeen
Mack
Nine Years Old
Mack heard something shatter inside the house. His spine stiffened, and anger came at him like one of those storms that hit from out of nowhere.
Full force.
“Where do you think you’re goin’, bitch?”
Prickles of hate crawled across his skin as he tuned his ear that direction, and he dropped the stick he was carving out over by the shed and tucked the switchblade in his pocket.
This building with the big padlock on it was where his mama grumbled that his daddy did all of his dirty work.
Mack didn’t agree.
He thought there were plenty dirtier things happening inside those shabby walls.
Sucking in a breath, he forced down the tremors of fear that made him want to run and hide in the forest.
He was no coward.
His daddy called him that all the time.
This time, he was going to prove him wrong.
He inched beneath the shimmery rays of light that streaked through the breaks in the dense trees toward the rickety cabin he called home.
Planks on the porch rotted, trash littering the yard that was almost completely closed in by overgrown shrubs and trees.
Ugly.
Inside and out.
His insides rolled with sickness.
That ugliness didn’t have a thing to do with what it looked like.
His old shoes scuffed on the dirt, and he heard a scuffle, his mama’s gasps of surprise and fear.
But that was the way it always was. They never knew what they were gonna get. A good guy or a bad guy.
His mama told him everyone was made up of a little bit of both, but Mack knew for certain he didn’t want to be made up of any of that.
“To work. Where I go every Wednesday,” he heard his mama say, though it was close to a cry, and Mack slipped up the wobbly step onto the tiny porch, hoping the wood didn’t creak beneath his feet.
Beside the front door, Mack pressed his back to the wall. He held his breath when he leaned around so he could peek through the mesh of the screen door.
His mama was in the kitchen, and his daddy was looming over her, wearing no shirt and his jeans ripped, hair matted from staying up all night. Beer cans littered the living room floor, and Mack could smell the stench of it coming at him like a warnin’.
Dread knotted through him, tightening his chest and closing off his throat.
He tried to swallow it down. To blink it away. He didn’t want to be afraid the way he used to be.
“Let me go,” she said, trying to yank her wrist from his hold. The only thing it did was make him squeeze her harder and tug her fast up against him.
For a beat, Mack squeezed his eyes closed, making a wish that he really was a dragon.
That he could fly.
That he could swoop up his mama and they could fly away to a better place.
“Told you before, I don’t want you anywhere around them. Fillin’ your head with that bullshit. Think they’re better than everyone.”
“And I told you, it’s my job. They pay me good to clean their house. Besides, they were kind to us while you were away. I’m not gonna just go and forget about that now.”
His mama’s face looked all pinched up. Eyes wide with terror.
A cruel sound came from his daddy’s mouth, one that Mack knew too well. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me, Dee? Whose fault was it that I got sent away in the first place?”
“Yours.”
Mack wanted to shout for his Mama to stop. Not to say a word. God, she knew better than that.
But sometimes his mama wanted to fight, too.
When his daddy reached back his hand and smacked it across her face, the crack of it like thunder in the air, Mack felt it like a need.
The fight.
The ugliness burning bright.
This bottle of fury that lit.
Maybe he couldn’t fly, but he was sure he was breathing fire.
His mama shrieked, trying to guard her face, but it was too late.
She fell to her knees, and his daddy knelt down in front of her. “Don’t fuck with me, Dee. You know what good that’s gonna do you.” He grabbed her by the hair, and she yelped as he dragged her across the dingy floor. “Told you to stay away from those rats. Know it was them. They’re g
onna get what’s comin’ to them soon. Soon as I take care of you.”
That was the last straw that Mack could take.
He bolted through the door, praying for courage. For strength.
If he could fly, he would be doing it then. He rushed his daddy, clawing at him, throwing kicks and fists. “You asshole!”
His daddy tossed him off like he was smacking at a gnat, and Mack’s butt hit the floor with a thud, his attack not even making a dent. His daddy only grinned.
Coldness crawled down Mack’s spine. A bucket of ice dumped down his back. He started to scramble back, shaking, though the words were coming free. “I hate you. Mama hates you. I want you to die. I’ll kill you myself.”
Laughter rolled from his daddy, pitch black. “That so, boy? Seems you need to be reminded of who you are. Of who you belong to. You actually think you’re somethin’? Somethin’ special? Those pig fuckers fillin’ your head with lies, too?”
His daddy snatched him off the floor by his shirt, and Mack kicked to get free, but his feet weren’t even touching the ground. “Get mad, boy. Show me that hate. That’s what I like to see. You are just like me.”
Mack was almost crawling along the lawn as he moved beneath the moon. His body screamed in agony, but he didn’t care. He had one place to be. Lights burned from the bottom-floor windows of the pretty white house, and he kept to the outskirts of the property, feeling like a dirty thief like his dad, but he didn’t care.
He needed to see her.
He got to the base of the tree, and he bit back the groans that wanted to rip up his throat as he began to climb. He got to her window.
Her light was on, and he could see her at her desk, talking to herself with a big o’ smile as she drew something in a notebook.
He smiled in return, his chest feeling light. Funny in a good way for the first time that day.
He tapped at the window, and she shrieked, her hands flying to her mouth before she was laughing and crawling to her window, setting it open wide. “Mack! What are you doin’, you crazy boy? It’s too late to play. I already brushed my teeth.”
“I just needed to see you.”
It was the truth.
He already felt better.
“Well, you better get in here.”
He wasn’t gonna argue. He slid through, glancing at the drawing she was making of a dragon and a bird. Somehow, it made his smile go sad. She flipped the notebook closed. “Whatcha wanna do?”
Cry.
Die.
Scream.
All of the above.
He flopped on the floor. “Just wanna lay here with you.”
She snuggled down next to him. “Want me to tell you a bedtime story?”
“Yeah.”
He jerked up to sitting when the door flew open. Mrs. Lane stood in the doorway, her hand on the knob and her eyes narrowed thin. Mack’s heart ran harder than it ever had. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be in that tree, let alone come in through her window.
“What in the world is goin’ on in here?”
Izzy grinned like they hadn’t been caught doin’ something bad. “I’m just tellin’ him a bedtime story so he can sleep better, Mama. He’s got bad dreams.”
Something flashed through Izzy’s mama’s eyes. Something soft and tender and sad. “You know he’s not supposed to come in through your window, Izzy Mae. We have a door.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Mack said, gulping, shaking, more scared than he was earlier that day. Last thing he wanted to do was make Izzy’s parents hate him. They were always so nice. Good to his mama. Good to him. And he was pretty sure they liked his daddy about as much as he liked them.
She sighed. “It’s okay. Just . . . use the door the next time, that’s what a real man does.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She sighed again. “Well, come on, you two, I just made one of those blueberry pies Maxon here seems to like so much. Guessed I sensed you comin’.”
His belly rumbled. He hadn’t had dinner, his mama in her room all day.
He climbed to his feet slowly while Izzy jumped to hers. “I already brushed my teeth, but I’ll do it again.”
Izzy flew out of her room and down the stairs. Her mama was in front of him, casting him glances as he slowly made his way down. His stomach was tight, his nerves scrambled, feeling like he wasn’t supposed to be there but wanting to stay forever.
They went into the kitchen, and Izzy’s daddy was at the table, reading something in the paper. He dropped it low, confusion at first, his eyes darting to his wife who sent him some kind of look that Mack couldn’t make out.
Only thing he knew was Izzy’s daddy smiled a soft smile. The kind his own dad had never worn. “Hello, son. You smell my wife’s pie from across the way?”
Mack couldn’t stop his smile. “I might’ve.”
“Get up here, get yourself a slice. Next time, though, use the door. Wouldn’t want to mistake you for an intruder.”
He should’ve apologized again, promised that he would, but he wasn’t sure if it was gonna be a lie. Instead, he sat down on the chair next to the man.
Izzy climbed into a chair on the other side of him, rambling about what they were gonna play tomorrow. Her mama dished them each a big helping, steam coming up, the scent hitting his nose.
Maybe he’d died after all, and he’d flown right into heaven.
Her mama ran her hand down his back. He tried not to flinch, but he couldn’t stop it, and he tried harder not to cry when she whispered at his ear, “You have a place here, always, Maxon. You remember that. You get scared or in a bad spot, you know where to come. You can always, always tell me or Izzy’s daddy anything. You hear?”
He nodded tight, but he knew all the things he wanted to say would never fall from his mouth.
Eighteen
Izzy
“What did I get myself into?” I whispered where I stood at my mama’s side at the sink, cleaning up after dinner. Maxon was with the boys on the far side of the room.
Benjamin had wanted to show him his reading nook.
Of course, he had.
Did I expect anything different? Did I expect that bold presence wouldn’t make an instant impact on my boys? As if they were not going to notice him walkin’ through the door.
Hardly.
From behind, Dillon tackled Maxon who was sitting on the floor on the rug. My son roared like a monster, laughing uncontained as he wrapped his little arms around his neck. “Sneak attack! I got you! I told you that was the best kind.”
Maxon roared back, dragging Dillon over his shoulder, flipping him upside down before he started to gently wrestle with him against his chest. Like he’d been doin’ it for all these years. “Oh, you think you’re sneaky, huh?”
Dillon howled with laughter as Maxon tickled him.
“Get himmmm, Mack,” Benjamin cheered from his spot next to the window.
There he was, already rootin’ for Maxon.
Just awesome.
“Well, whatever it is, it sure looks good,” my mama said so only I could hear, her words full of suggestion as she snapped my hip with the dish towel.
“Mama,” I scolded, sending her a frown. “This isn’t about me and Maxon. This is about my boys.”
Apparently, neither she nor Maxon were gettin’ that. He’d left me completely rattled the whole dinner, watching me with that intense stare, as if he were contemplating doing wicked, bad things.
A shiver trembled through me at the thought.
She almost rolled her eyes. “Tell me you aren’t fool enough to believe that. That started with the two of you.” She pointed at Benjamin whose face was shining pure joy. “Can’t take yourselves out of that equation.”
“Thank you for the reminder,” I said, words dripping sarcasm. “I’d totally forgotten where babies come from.”
Or maybe that was exactly what I needed. A reminder to keep my panties on and my knees locked tight. Maybe order myself a nice chastity belt. Anyt
hing to keep myself from falling into the arms of that man. God knew, it would be far too easy to do.
“All’s I’m sayin’ is you can’t ignore the past, Izzy Mae. If he’s gonna be a part of your son’s life, that means he’s going to be a part of yours. It’s going to come to the point where you have to decide what role that is going to be. Think he’s makin’ it plenty clear where he stands.”
I glanced back over my shoulder when my mama peered that way, and I wasn’t all that surprised to find him looking back, watching intently, that face so gorgeous and eyes filled with something I wished I could avoid.
Sorrow and regret and his own kind of hope.
Dillon took the opportunity to jump him again.
“Got you!”
Maxon let him completely tackle him to the floor.
I wanted to cry out for him to be careful considering I’d seen the damage that had been done, but Maxon didn’t seem to mind at all.
Or maybe he was just welcoming the pain.
Tearing myself away from the scene because it hurt too bad to watch, I turned back to my mama.
Her expression softened. “Would say tough for him if it was all one-sided, but I know my child well enough to know when she’s missin’ something. When she’s wanting something, but she’s too scared to reach out and take it.”
“There are a lot of things we want in life that aren’t good for us, Mama.”
“I guess that’s the problem I’m havin’. He was so good for you, and you were so good for him. Together, you were something amazing, right from the start. Had a bond like few people ever get to experience.”
I sent her a playful scowl. “I think you have a crush.”
She laughed a soft sound. “Wouldn’t call it a crush, but I guess your old mama is one of those hopeless romantics.” She looked over at Maxon who was listening intently as Benjamin read him something from one of his books. “Or maybe I’d just always hoped for something better for that man.”
Heaviness filled my chest when I looked back that way to see the way he was tenderly interacting with my boys. God, had I ever wished for that, too. That he’d have seen himself the way the rest of us did.
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