Beware Falling Ice [Suncoast Society] (Siren Publishing Sensations)

by Tymber Dalton

  Her jaw gaped. “See them? Who would want to see pictures of her like that?”

  He shrugged. “Dad. Other family.”

  “What family? The Manson family?” She grabbed his hand. “Put that damn thing away. What the hell is wrong with you? You cannot be this stupid. Seriously.”

  Horrified, she glanced over to see Andrew struggling not to burst out laughing.

  She gave him credit for trying, at least.

  Maybe, if this wasn’t her family, and someone hadn’t gruesomely met their death in the most ironic way possible, she’d be laughing her ass off, too.

  Morland actually looked hurt. “Don’t have to be a bitch about it,” he mumbled as he finally slipped his phone back into his pocket.

  “Morland. You cannot go showing those pictures to people! Show some respect for the dead. You need to delete those things off your damn phone!”

  “It’s not like I made her wreck. Besides, Dad wanted to see them.”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose and rubbed, desperately trying to stave off her impending tension headache. “Okay. I cannot believe I actually have to say this to a functional adult. It is not appropriate to take pictures of dead people and then go showing them around to the family of said dead person, much less to anyone else!”

  “The state troopers took pict—”

  “Are you a fucking state trooper?” When a few people glanced their way, she dropped her voice. “Unless you are a crime scene tech investigating a crime or an accident, no, it is not appropriate!”

  “I didn’t think you liked her anyway.” Now he sounded more like a petulant three-year-old than a man on the far side of forty and closing in fast on the home-stretch of fifty.

  “I actually did like her, and that is totally beside the point, Morland!”

  Andrew suddenly and suspiciously started coughing and turned away, but he wasn’t fooling her in the slightest.

  From the way his shoulders were shaking, she could tell he was trying not to laugh out loud.

  Well, there went pretty much what little chance I might have ever had of him possibly wanting to see me long-term.

  Sharing genes with a doofus who made the Voorhees family of Camp Crystal Lake look like the Broadway cast of The Book of Mormon was usually the fastest way to a swipe-left.

  * * * *

  Andrew knew that laughing during what was, he supposed, what passed for a funeral in this family would be bad form and probably upset Rachel.

  That was the only reason he was trying to hide it.

  This was fucking hysterical.

  Other than the accidental sanitizing, and the ball-tap, he’d never enjoyed himself more than he was at that moment.

  I need to remember to tell Lynn all this when we get back. Maybe she could use it in a book or something.

  If nothing else, she’d laugh. Hopefully.

  And that was something she hadn’t done much of lately.

  It would also mean a story to take the focus off Derrick’s dildo-triggered slip and fall.

  Morland had just sulked his way out of the kitchen when Justin reappeared. “Hey, Rache? Uncle George wants to say hi.”

  Andrew knew it wasn’t his imagination that her entire body stiffened, fight or flight responses at war.

  He reached over and caught her hand, pulling her in and kissing her. “I’m right here,” he whispered.

  She nodded, but looked like she was on the verge of tears.

  Justin led the way as they threaded through crowds of family into the back of the house where the living room was located. There, a man who made Jabba the Hutt look like the after picture for Weight Watchers spilled over a strained recliner.

  Andrew also didn’t miss how Justin stayed close to his sister, not that Andrew was now worried about the elder man trying to harm Rachel.

  George Gaele looked like the only thing he was about to harm was the creaky recliner struggling under his bulk.

  “There she is,” the man croaked, sounding like a former smoker. When Andrew spotted the vaping rig on the table next to the recliner, he realized the man was still a smoker. “How you doin’?”

  Rachel’s smile appeared more strained than the recliner. “Hello, Uncle George.”

  A momentary power struggle seemed to pass between them, but Andrew admired Rachel for not looking away and making her uncle look away first.

  “So what are you doing now? Justin said you’re a bookkeeper?”

  Andrew suspected only he spotted the strain in her smile. “I’m the head cost analyst and financial auditor for the second-largest independently owned electric company in the state of Florida.”

  The older man’s jaw worked. “Huh.”

  Andrew suspected Rachel was mentally shooting the guy a bird.

  Then George glared at Andrew. “And who’s this?”

  Andrew opted to kill the man with kindness, since it looked like a heavy coughing attack might do that job nicely anyway. He stuck out his hand.

  “Andrew Holt,” he said. “Rachel’s boyfriend. Sorry to hear about your sister.” He glared at the older man, refusing to even blink, much less break eye contact with him.

  He also made sure to vigorously shake hands with him, squeezing back when the uncle tried a bullshit move of squeezing hard, and taking some satisfaction in the fact that the older man finally winced a little and let go first.

  “Ah.” George Gaele looked away, toward where one of his sons was talking, unwilling to meet Andrew’s gaze again. “Glad you could make it. Isaac? Did you pick up that vaping juice for me like I asked?”

  Aaand they were apparently dismissed.

  Son of a bitch.

  After that little silent confrontation, there would be a talk between him and Rachel at some point that weekend, in private, about what she’d endured as a kid.

  * * * *

  Rachel watched the silent power struggle play out between the two men. At war within her, her memories of the standoff between her and her uncle, the years of mental and verbal torment that followed, and the truth of the current reality that no way in hell could her uncle ever try to hurt her again, much less succeed. In any way.

  She thought about the night when she was fourteen. He’d been more than a little drunk and her aunt had been at a church meeting or something. Justin had already gone to bed, and she’d been sitting at the kitchen table and studying.

  He’d stumbled into the kitchen for another beer, turning to stare at her while she tried to ignore him.

  Then he’d walked over and stroked her cheek. “Gonna have to keep the boys away from you. Keep you all to myself.”

  The shiver that had raced down her spine felt evil, cold, and prickly. Before she’d even realized it, she’d jumped up, snatched a butcher’s knife out of the drainer by the sink, and turned, stalking toward him.

  Even back then he’d been obese, slow, clumsy. When he’d tripped and fallen backward on his ass, she’d leaned in.

  “Aunt Wyndie taught me how to gut and field-dress a deer when we were at her place last month.” Her fear tasted sick and sour in the back of her throat. “Said I was better at it than a lot of guys. That I had a real talent for it. Wonder if I could gut you just as fast?”

  He’d apparently been too drunk to see how badly her hand shook, or hear how her voice trembled.

  It didn’t matter. The impression that she was more than slightly psychotic had overridden everything else in his drunken brain.

  “I’ll…I’ll—”

  “You say anything, and I’ll tell Aunt Karen and the cops that you got drunk and tried to rape me, you fat bastard. And if you ever try anything else to me again, I will gut you and they’ll call it self-defense.”

  She’d stepped back then, giving him plenty of room to get up and get out of the kitchen.

  Heart pounding, she’d picked up the beer bottle from where it had landed and fallen over, spilling its contents, cleaned up the puddle, and returned the knife to the drainer.

  Then she
’d sat back down. That’s where her aunt found her when she’d returned home twenty minutes later—studying.

  Innocent. Smiling at her aunt. Saying that she thought her uncle had gone to bed a while ago, because she hadn’t seen him for over an hour.

  He’d never mentioned the incident, either.

  From that point on, however, Rachel slept with her bedroom door locked. Her uncle never again tried anything like that, although he did start berating her and saying nasty things to her when they were alone.

  Like she was destined for failure. That she would probably end up failing out of school and becoming a welfare mom.

  That he hoped she failed so he could laugh in her face when she came begging him for help.

  But he’d never said those things around adult witnesses. Justin had overheard some of it. Not the worst, but enough.

  She didn’t care. Uncle George took great joy in all the love and affection he bestowed upon Justin, thinking he was torturing her even more.

  If Justin was happy and doing well in school, that’s all Rachel cared about, even if the evil bastard thought he was driving a wedge between the siblings.

  He wasn’t. He’d only brought them closer together without realizing it.

  * * * *

  That virtual pissing contest over, Andrew felt slightly smug over the look of relief on Rachel’s face as he draped an arm around her and they made their way out of Uncle George’s throne room. Justin followed. They ended up back in the kitchen, the three of them, nursing cups of coffee.

  “Can we leave yet?” Justin muttered.

  “Not yet,” she said. “Still an hour away.” At least they could leave sooner than the others, because they were driving Justin down to Vermillion and he had to be there early to line up. Meanwhile, more family had arrived, over two dozen of them. Justin had gone out to meet the latest round of arrivals before ducking back into the kitchen with Rachel and Andrew.

  “No fair escaping without me,” Justin said.

  Andrew liked the man. He could easily see the sibling resemblance, not just in appearance, but mannerisms.

  One of the cousins wandered into the kitchen in search of soda. “Hey, Jus. How you doing?”

  “I’m okay. Just wanting to get this over with.”

  “You didn’t bring anyone with you today? Girlfriend?”

  Justin’s face went pink. “No, I’m single.”

  “Ah. I got a friend in Vermillion I could fix you up with.”

  “I’m good. Right now, I’m busy with finishing up at work, and I’ll be moving when I get a new job.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  The guy finally left, and Andrew noticed Justin visibly relaxed.

  Interesting. “You think about moving to Florida?” Andrew asked.

  “A lot. But it’s not in the budget right now. Besides, I need to see if any of the jobs I applied for pan out.” He glanced around and dropped his voice even more. “Then I can get the hell out of here.”

  “You don’t actually live here, do you?”

  “No, I share an apartment with a friend of mine in Vermillion. I meant here in general.”

  “Ah. I’m tracking.”

  “This area is a great place to be from,” Rachel added.

  When Justin had to go talk to yet another set of arrivals, Andrew pulled Rachel in close. “You’re doing great, pet,” he whispered in her ear.

  Her voice sounded a little shaky, but relieved. “I feel sort of silly now. I mean, I could power-walk my way away from him. I really feel like I wasted a lot of years hating the guy when I look at him now. I could have had things a lot worse than I did back then.”

  “You were a kid,” he said. “That’s powerful stuff. Besides, we wouldn’t have had our close encounter of the sanitizing kind if I hadn’t come with you.”

  She started giggling.

  He loved hearing that sound from her and vowed he’d do everything in his power to keep her making it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The day grew colder and chillier, with light rain intermittently falling as the sky darkened from light grey to purplish steel. Rachel found herself keeping one ear out for warning sirens, something she’d had a hard time getting used to when she’d first moved to Florida.

  That there weren’t any.

  When the three of them were finally alone in the car, Andrew having volunteered to take the back seat, silence settled over them, for a moment.

  It was Justin who started laughing first, followed by Andrew, with Rachel eventually joining in.

  “We’re horrible people,” she muttered. “A woman’s dead.”

  “The Deer-inator,” Andrew said, which made Justin roll with laughter. “Die Hard 7: Bambi Gone Bad. Star Trek 23: The Wrath of Bambi. On Point: Rogue Deer Killers.”

  “Don’t encourage him,” she said.

  “Which one?” both men asked.

  “Both of you. Either of you.” Yeah, she smiled. It felt good to be with Justin again, and it didn’t hurt that Andrew seemed to share their dark sense of humor.

  “You cannot deny there is a poetic kind of justice in a woman who spent her life hunting deer getting killed by one,” Justin said. “Especially in this family.”

  “I cannot believe Morland took pictures!” She smacked her hand against the steering wheel. “And he was going to show them to everyone! What the hell is wrong with the people in this family?”

  “I wouldn’t ask that too loudly,” Justin teased, hooking a thumb and pointing at Andrew in the back seat. “Not if you’re trying to nail him.”

  She shot a glare at her brother, but his playful smile drew one from her in reply. “I did warn him ahead of time. I just didn’t realize how dire that warning would prove to be.”

  The sky grew darker the farther south they drove. “Glad this is indoors,” Justin said. “Would have sucked to get rained out.”

  “Guess this means we’ll all be stuck inside George and Karen’s house later,” she muttered. “Wonderful.”

  “Or, look at it this way,” Andrew said. “It could be an easy out. With everyone crowded in there, we’ll be able to sneak away.”

  “Greeaat,” Justin said. “Leave me alone with them.”

  “You’re the party boy,” she said. “You’re stuck. Sorry. But at least they like you.”

  His smile faded. “Sorry, Sis.”

  “Not your fault. We’ve talked about this before.”

  “Uncle George can be a real asshole to Rachel sometimes,” Justin said over the seat to Andrew. “I don’t understand why.”

  She caught Andrew’s gaze in the rearview mirror and held it for a moment, willing him not to say anything.

  He winked.

  Relief filled her. Yes, he was tuned in to her, in an eerily accurate way.

  I could easily fall head over heels in love with him.

  That wasn’t a bad thing, but she didn’t want to race through the obvious and logical stages of courtship just to get her ass handed to her later in a bad kind of way.

  Today, she wanted to focus on Justin and making it through the rest of the day without publicly lambasting her uncle in front of the family.

  * * * *

  Andrew really liked Rachel’s little brother. One other good thing about driving Justin to the graduation ceremony was that they were able to be there plenty early to get good seats after picking up programs at the entrance. The ceremony was being held in an enclosed arena stadium that reminded Andrew a lot of the USF Sun Dome in Tampa.

  “I wish Mom and Dad were here,” she softly said, even though the closest people to them were rows away. “They’d be so proud of him.”

  “They’d be proud of you, too, I’m sure.”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t get a Master’s degree and a doctorate.”

  “Yeah, but look at what you do for a living.”

  “Not like I’m going to save lives like he will. He’s going to be a cancer researcher. Help people like Mom.” She drew in a shuddering breath.
“Try to help other families not lose loved ones.”

  He draped an arm around her shoulders and held her close. “I’m sorry, sweetie.” Yeah, this day had to suck for her for several reasons. Her brother had been so young when they’d lost their mother.

  Rachel had been on the front lines of it, barely even a teenager, trying to help her parents out.

  She’d lived through it.

  “I’m so damn proud of him,” she said. “I love him so much. I just want him to be happy.”

  “I think that’s what he wants for you, too.”

  “I promised Mom before she died that I wouldn’t let him drop out of school. That whatever I had to do to make sure he got through college, to make it happen.”

  “Then you did good.”

  “Not really. I bolted when I got the chance, to get away from here.”

  “But you are a big reason why he’s here. Stop discounting what you did.”

  That was the extent of their private conversation, because, unfortunately, the rest of the herd had apparently followed only minutes behind them. Andrew heard Jill’s voice calling to them.

  “Rache! Andrew!” He looked to see her turn and call down to someone from where she stood at the stairs closest to the section of seats they picked. “Yoo hoo! I found ’em!”

  Rachel sank down in her seat. “Shit. I knew that was too easy.”

  Before long, the rest of the clan had taken seats surrounding them, Morland’s two young grandsons sitting in the row ahead of them and taking turns playing games on someone’s smart phone.

  At least someone reached over and silenced the phone.

  He felt Rachel’s tension ratcheting through her even though he didn’t spot her uncle, at first. Finally, he gathered from what someone else had said that her uncle, who couldn’t handle the stairs, was in a seat down on the floor.

  Andrew reached over and laced fingers with Rachel, gently squeezing her hand.

  It looked like they were just about to get started when Rachel started giggling. Puzzled, he followed her gaze to the row in front of them, where the two boys, maybe five and six or so, were playing their video game.