by Tia Fielding
With a frustrated sigh, Quinn got up and went to change into something a bit cleaner than yesterday’s travel clothes. He needed to go see Aunt Karen before she came looking for him, and he had to go get her a nice bottle of wine first. It would be the only way she wouldn’t give him grief for not waiting for her yesterday.
Aunt Karen was a force of nature, which was why Uncle Ian still called her mo chridhe even after decades together. They weren’t lovebirds by any means, but they were still very fond of each other and it showed. Now, how their only child had managed to evolve from a horny teenager into a serial monogamist—yes, Quinn’s mother gossiped sometimes—Quinn didn’t know.
Hell, in some ways, Jimmy could’ve been Robert’s son, they were that similar. Except that Robert had never been monogamous, as far as Quinn knew. He hoped the man would rot in his cell.
One of the things Quinn hated the most about Spruce Creek was the way the town reminded him that he had a father. It was easy to push the man out of his mind most of the time. Hell, he didn’t have the time or energy to think about Robert in his normal life. He had one parent and that was it. But being in town, all of it reminded him of the bastard.
By the time he stepped into the liquor store, he was frowning and pissed off at Spruce Creek, and he knew Aunt Karen would be able to read him like a book. She’d always been like that.
There was a guy in the store, someone with dark hair, crutches, and a pinned-up pants leg. Much like he should’ve, the clerk was helping him. Quinn expected a wait, not that he minded, but the clerk came to him anyway.
“Hey, what’s Karen MacGregor’s favorite wine?”
The clerk frowned briefly, likely at the name MacGregor, and then walked a few steps to pick up a top shelf wine. “This is the one she gets for special occasions.”
It was expensive, of course it was, but that didn’t matter. This was the money Quinn didn’t mind spending.
“I’ll take it. Thanks.” On his way to the till, he glanced at the guy with the crutches, but his back was still to Quinn. He didn’t seem familiar, and Quinn wasn’t one to ask the clerk, not like most of the people around here. The town was full of gossipers, probably because it was the only legal way to have fun in this godforsaken town.
* * * *
With his bottle of apologies, Quinn knocked on the door, wondering why the parking lot was so empty. Only what he assumed was Karen’s vehicle—because it was a dark pink Prius—sat by the side path to the house. His own beat-up, decade-old Chevy Tahoe looked like it had been through more than Quinn himself.
At least being alone with Aunt Karen gave him the chance to be candid with her. Well, and she with him. She’d always given the best advice, whether it was about keeping an eye on his dad’s temper or his biggest secret.
“There you are!” Aunt Karen pulled him into a hug as soon as she’d opened the door.
The familiar feeling of being squished against her ample bosom made Quinn laugh.
“Hey, Auntie,” he said, and kissed her cheek. “I brought you flowers,” he joked, handing her the bottle.
“Oh my, how beautifully do they bloom!” She smiled and ushered him inside.
She placed the bottle carefully on the wine rack in the kitchen and turned around to look at him. She didn’t have to say anything, he knew what she was thinking.
“At least one of us looks younger than their years, vibrant, and well put together,” Quinn quipped, making her roll her eyes.
She came to hug him again and this time held him close for much longer. When he relaxed in her arms, she patted his back and then let go. “There you are, my sweet Quinn.” Her eyes were filling with tears when she turned away again.
Quinn didn’t know what to say. He didn’t have the faintest idea of what he could talk about that would make the levity from a few minutes ago return.
“I love you,” Aunt Karen finally said.
“But?”
“But you shouldn’t have come back here.” She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, before gesturing for him to take a seat at the barstool by the island.
He sat and waited for her to bring him coffee—he still remembered the way she snapped at anyone who tried to serve themselves in her kitchen, even if it was just to grab a Coke from the fridge.
“What do you think he’ll do with the business?” Quinn asked, unable to keep his voice neutral. It sounded too sharp, but Karen wouldn’t mind.
She snorted. “I love my son, but he’s greedy. He doesn’t have the restraint his father does.”
“I assume Ian has been offered ways to…expand the business?” Quinn knew the answer already.
Aunt Karen smiled wryly. “Oh yes, more and more in the last five or so years. We’re in a good spot, an unassuming little town in a dried-up canyon in the mountains with several ways out of town,” she spoke as she went through the motions of putting on coffee.
Moments like these reminded Quinn of the fact that she might appear as unassuming as Spruce Creek and had this air of ditziness she liked to put on when talking to strangers, but she was still the wife of the head of the MacGregor “family.” It might not have been a mob or even a clan—although Robert had loved to call it a clan, he’d been big into their ancient Scottish heritage—but it was an empire in its own right, just a small one.
“Jimmy is too ambitious,” Quinn murmured.
“Yes.” Karen lifted off the dome covering some cupcakes on the cake stand that was probably older than Quinn, and picked two. She put them on plates and pushed one to Quinn. “I know you’ve been hanging with the big boys and I know you’d be perfect for the job.”
“But?” he asked again, picking up the red velvet cupcake she’d chosen for him—his favorite.
“You would have to go through my child to get there, and you don’t belong here anymore.” She poured the coffee. “You still take yours black?”
“Yup.”
Once she’d served them and sat down kitty corner from him, she sighed. “You were always meant for more than this,” she started, then held up her hand. “And no, I don’t mean whatever it is you’ve been doing in Chicago.”
He’d been in Chicago last, that much was true, but hearing that she knew a location made his skin crawl. There were things nobody here needed to know about his recent past with the gang he’d been in.
“What else do I have, Aunt Karen? Seriously? I was literally born to this, just like Jimmy.”
“You were the smart one, Quinn. You were supposed to leave town and go to college somewhere nice.” By that she meant somewhere with less crime. Her features tightened and she looked furious for a few seconds. “And then that father of yours fucked up three families at once.” She forced herself to take a sip of her coffee.
Quinn hadn’t thought about it like that, but it was obvious now. With Robert behind the bars, it was Ian who had been put in charge. “Uncle Ian was never meant to be the head of the clan,” he murmured.
“No, he wasn’t, and neither was Jimmy.”
“It was always meant to be me,” Quinn whispered.
“Yes. But your mother and I had a plan.” She put her hand on his and squeezed. “We wanted you to get out and then we would’ve found a way to keep you out. Jimmy, we would’ve tried, but you two are very different.”
Jimmy wasn’t into studying, whereas Quinn had always been a sponge for knowledge. It had served him well, even if things hadn’t turned out quite like his mom and Aunt Karen had planned.
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault, baby boy. Never, ever blame yourself for your father’s mistakes.”
But he did feel guilty. He still wondered if he could’ve done something different that night. If he was at least partially the reason for what had happened on Dead Bend, the dead-end road by the make out spot.
The subject changed to lighter ones. How the town was doing, who had left, and what kind of people had moved in. Who had divorced, married, remarried. Gossip. With Aunt Karen, it was less about fun
and more about not talking shop. She might’ve not been the shopkeep, but she was there every day, watching from the sidelines. In essence, she was every bit as dangerous as the men of the family, if not more, because you’d never see her coming.
When Quinn eventually left after he’d had dinner with Karen and Ian, she caught up with him at the door.
“Quinn,” she said, her tone serious. “You should go have lunch at the diner tomorrow.” Her tone was so pointed, that he just nodded dumbly.
“Will do.” He had no idea why this was significant, but he’d go anyway. She was the person he could rely on the most in this town at the moment, and he didn’t think that would change anytime soon, if ever.
* * * *
He parked his car by the trailer and wondered if he should invest in some proper lighting. There was a bulb attached next to the trailer’s door, but it didn’t work. Buying a new bulb to test would be cheaper, but then if the wiring was faulty, he’d still have to get a new one or have the old one fixed.
He walked to the door and heard a rustle somewhere nearby. Immediately, the hair on the back of his neck rose and he casually moved his hand to the small of his back where his Glock was.
He eyed the surroundings but saw nothing. It wasn’t completely dark, not with some of his neighbors having lights on.
Suddenly something brushed against his leg and he bit back a yelp, barely.
“Meow?” A slinky black cat stared at him from the cement slab that served as the singular step to the trailer.
“Holy shit, kitty…” He relaxed and leaned down to scratch the thing behind the ears.
He could hear someone walking down the dirt road between the tiny lots and soon enough, the scent of tobacco drifted to him, making him crave the nicotine hit.
The old guy living next door ambled closer, holding a small flashlight. “Oh, you’ve met Shadow.”
“That her name?”
“I don’t think anyone knows. She’s fixed and someone tends to put a flea collar on her every now and then. She’s everyone’s cat,” the old man spoke slowly. Then he looked at Quinn more carefully. “You Robert MacGregor’s boy?”
Quinn grunted. “If we’re using a very loose definition, then yes.”
“Ezekiel Oliveira.” They shook hands.
“Quinn MacGregor.”
“I was the janitor at the high school when the MacGregor boys were students there. Your father was an asshole, but that Ian seemed like a fair boy.”
Quinn snorted. “In a way, that’s a valid assessment to this day.”
Ezekiel huffed. “Well, I’m done with my walk and smoke. I do this most nights, helps me get to sleep later.” He turned to go, but gestured at the cat. “Just kick her out if she gets in and you don’t want her there. She eats most things, but prefers fancy cat food and fish. You can leave a window open for her if you want. I’ll keep an eye out for the closest trailers anyway.”
“Why?” If his dad had been an asshole to Ezekiel, why would he look out for Quinn’s place.
“You didn’t kick her. That’s what the last asshole living here did once. I bought some meth from a few trailers over, hid it in the kitchen when he’d left the door open. Called the sheriff on him.” Ezekiel spoke over his shoulder as he made his way back to his trailer. “The law isn’t the most reliable in this town, but Sheriff Henderson took him away. Haven’t seen the guy since.” Then, just as he got out of Quinn’s view, he called, “Good night!”
Quinn had a feeling buying fancy cat food was in his near future. Right after lunch at the diner. He hadn’t expected any of this shit, and on the other hand, it was Spruce Creek. He let Shadow in and closed the door behind them, wondering if, just for now, canned tuna would do.
Chapter 4
“You cooked?” Uncle Will asked suspiciously the next day when he turned up to find Aaron reheating leftover mac and cheese.
“Charlie did.” Aaron balanced precariously on his crutches as he took the plate out of the microwave. He’d burned himself more than once in the kitchen since having to work with his crutches. Not that he’d ever been much of a cook before. “Want some?”
“I already ate at the diner.”
“You didn’t tell me Charlie was working there.” Aaron set his plate down carefully on the table, then had to go back for a fork. It was painstaking how long everything took, but he appreciated that Uncle Will didn’t get in his way trying to help him. He just stood back and let Aaron get there in the end.
“I figured if I did, you’d find some reason to avoid the place,” Uncle Will said. He grabbed a soda from the refrigerator. “Didn’t want you starving yourself just to avoid an awkward conversation or two. Then it turned out you were never going to get your ass out of the house anyway, so keeping it from you was kind of pointless.”
“I’m managing.”
“You’re almost out of groceries,” Uncle Will said. “And I ain’t bringing you anymore.”
Aaron sat, leaning his crutches against the table, and dug his fork into his mac and cheese. “So you’re going to let me starve to death?”
Uncle Will raised his eyebrows. “You’ve got some beers in your fridge that you didn’t have yesterday. Seems to me that you’ve been getting around just fine when you need to.”
Aaron rolled his eyes.
Uncle Will snapped the soda can open, and took a seat across the small table from Aaron. “It’s called tough love, kid. Suck it up.”
“It’s called manipulation.”
Uncle Will grinned. “Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”
Aaron couldn’t stop his quick smile. “Fine, I’ll go get some groceries today.”
“And start on the wallpaper,” Uncle Will said, raising his eyebrows.
“Okay.” With a belly full of mac and cheese, the prospect didn’t seem as daunting as yesterday. “I’ll start on the wallpaper.”
Uncle Will reached across the small table to clap him on the arm. “Good. Better than just sitting here and wallowing. You’re twenty-eight, kid, not eighty.”
“Oh, so it’d be okay to wallow if I was eighty?”
Uncle Will snorted. “Well, I’m pretty sure that when you’re eighty I won’t be around to tell you to get your head out of your ass, so yeah, feel free to wallow away then.”
Aaron laughed. “Yeah, okay. It’s a deal.”
Maybe coming here hadn’t been a total mistake. Of course there would be things he had to confront about his past, and he’d known they would be painful. But there were good things too: there was Charlie and Uncle Will. Charlie had been his best friend forever growing up, and Uncle Will had sometimes felt like a second dad. If Dad was working and couldn’t make Aaron’s little league games, then Uncle Will had usually turned up instead. And, Aaron had realized once he’d gotten older, there had been a lot of times that Uncle Will had swapped shifts with Dad so that Dad could be there to open presents on Christmas morning, or to take Aaron to his first day of school, or help him make breakfast for Mom on Mother’s Day. Dad would have missed a lot of those occasions if Uncle Will hadn’t had his back.
Aaron had a lot of great memories of Dad, and Uncle Will to thank for them.
Had some pretty terrible memories too.
He could remember waking that night to Mom screaming, and stumbling downstairs to find her standing at the open front door, Uncle Will’s arms around her, holding her tight.
“I’m sorry, Grace. I’m so sorry! Jesus, I’m so sorry!”
And Aaron had known, even without being told, that something terrible had happened to Dad.
He shoveled another forkful of mac and cheese into his mouth, ignoring the pang in his chest as his gaze caught on Uncle Will’s uniform, and on his sheriff’s badge. He could remember being small enough to be carried around on Dad’s hip, his little fingers finding the shape of Dad’s sheriff’s badge every time.
“I saw Quinn MacGregor last night,” he said.
Uncle Will straightened up, his eyes narrowing. “He’s back in
town?”
“I didn’t know he’d left, honestly. But at the same time, I wasn’t expecting to see him.”
“Yeah,” Uncle Will said. “Right after…Right after everything. His mother took him away somewhere. I didn’t think he’d ever show his face in Spruce Creek again.”
That was a piece of strange symmetry, Aaron thought. Both their moms leaving town with them after it all happened.
“You and he were friends for a while, weren’t you?” Uncle Will asked. “I remember Charlie was dating him.”
“Yeah.” Will concentrated on his mac and cheese, not meeting Uncle Will’s gaze.
The one thing they’d both been sure of that summer was that neither of their families could find out. So Charlie had “dated” Quinn, which was enough of a reason for Quinn to hang around them. In practice, Charlie had packed a book whenever they took off together, and read it with her earbuds in until Aaron and Quinn were finished messing around close by.
Jesus. The dumb things teenagers did.
“My dad would kick my ass if he found out I was kissing a MacGregor.” He’d been in a teasing mood that day, sucking at Quinn’s kiss-bitten bottom lip while he shoved a hand down his pants to stroke his dick.
“Yeah?” Quinn had pushed him away, dry leaves crunching under his back as he’d rolled to his feet. “Well, my dad would shoot me in the back of the head if he found out I sucked dick.”
A hot summer’s day, but Aaron had felt a sudden chill as he’d stared at Quinn’s pale, angry face and the stubborn set of his jaw. Because Aaron had been mostly joking. Like, Dad would ground him, probably, and give him a hell of a talking to, but Quinn was serious. It was the most horrifying thing Aaron had ever heard, because he knew it was the truth.
When it had all happened, Aaron had been terrified to think that he and Quinn might have been to blame. What if Robert MacGregor had found out about them, but instead of shooting Quinn in the back of the head, he’d shot Dad? What if Dad had been killed just because Aaron hadn’t been able to stop messing around with Quinn MacGregor that summer?
He’d never come out to Dad. He hadn’t had the chance.
