Bruised (Brody Brothers, #3)

by Stacy Gail

  He nodded, because he knew that delineation mark all too well. “Go on.”

  “It always starts out so nice, because that was the last time in my life when everything was as it should be. Then I hear the yelling.”

  For just a moment he closed his eyes, before he again kissed her brow. “Yeah. We had that here, too.” Only the yelling that had happened in the house they were in now had gone on and on until he’d slapped his mother and killed his father’s will to live.

  That was the moment he’d murdered both his parents.

  Her face clouded, a heartrending mixture of anxiety and grief. “I hate those beginning moments of the dream, when everything is so wonderfully normal. I no longer really know what normal is when I’m awake, but in the dream I do. And when that cozy, happy normalcy trickles away, the loss of it is what hurts the most.” She scrunched her nose and looked up at him. “After years of having this dream, it’s like it’s made me conditioned to fear being happy, because I know it’s going to be lost to me. I just know it. Isn’t that crazy?”

  “No.” Again his arms tightened. “It makes perfect sense to me. What happens next?”

  “My parents are fighting. It’s been so long since I’ve seen their faces I can barely remember what they look like, but in the dream they’re crystal clear. My dad’s screaming, totally off the rails. He hits her, tells her he’s going to kill both her and him if she doesn’t get rid of him. He never says who, but I know who he’s talking about.”

  His jaw locked as anger sparked to life. “Des.”

  “I didn’t understand back then. We’d always been so happy, the four of us. My father loved us. He was our protector, our best friend. Then, like a switch, he turned into a monster who wanted my little brother dead. Didn’t he love Des anymore? Didn’t he love us, the family? How could he say those things if he loved being part of our family?”

  “He loved the hatred and the rage more than he loved you.” He slid a hand into her hair to cup the back of her head, and looked into her anguished eyes. “I know that’s a damn bitter pill to swallow, baby, but that’s how the truth often is. It was that way here with my mother, so I know what I’m talking about.”

  “He was screaming, Brody. Screaming at my mom to get rid of Des. Over and over, I hear it in my head. I start running, because if I can get to Des before anyone else can, I can hold onto him. I can hold our family together. Our world together. I can make it okay, if I can just find him.”

  He held her closer, hating the desperation in her voice. “Dallas. Baby.”

  “It takes forever to find him. You know how dreams are, when you’re searching for something in slow motion and the tension all but crushes you. That was how it felt like in real life when I found him—hiding in my room in the closet. My room was where he always went when he was sad or upset, like if he’d had a bad dream or one of his toys broke. I can’t tell you how many times I had to kick him out of there.”

  “He knew he was safe with you.”

  Her nod had a wealth of sadness behind it. “He was...until he wasn’t. He was so tiny, curled up in a tight little ball on the floor of my closet, hugging his knees and crying so hard. He could hear what Dad was saying, and his little heart was just so broken. Both our hearts were broken. How could the daddy he’d loved so completely turn around one day and just...hate him? How could that be?”

  “Motherfucker.” He said it quietly, so he wouldn’t upset her any more than she already was. “What kind of man takes his rage out on innocent children? Fucker was just as weak in his own way as my old man ever dreamed of being.”

  “He didn’t seem weak when he found us.” She shivered, and he held her tighter still, trying to protect her from an event that already occurred. “In the dream, it’s like a replay of what happened in real life. I get down on the closet floor with Des. I pull the door almost shut and get him onto my lap. I hold onto him as hard as I can, and I tell him everything is going to be all right. I rock him and say it over and over again, and I keep thinking that if I believe it enough, I can make it come true. Then the door snaps open, and there’s our dad looming over us. In the dream he seems huge, and his face is like a demon’s. Maybe it was that way in real life, too.”

  He didn’t doubt it. “How old were you when this happened?”

  “Eight. Des was—”

  “Five. I know.” Both too young to go through the trauma that the adults had caused. It had been their war, but the children—the Faircloths and the Brodys—had been the casualties. “Tell me what happened next.”

  “A family should stay together,” she whispered, and the faint tremor in her voice made him want to tear the world apart with his bare hands. “I was always supposed to look after Des. We’d go out to the grocery store or the park, and that would be my job—‘hold on to your brother, make sure he doesn’t get lost.’ It was my job to hold onto him, so I did. My baby brother wasn’t going to be lost to me. I would hold my family together if I just held onto my brother. But then our father reached down and tried to take him. Des screamed. I screamed. Des was jerked so hard I was lifted up off the floor. But I could feel how inseparable we were, so I knew I was doing my job. I was going to hold our family and our world together by holding onto Des, and everything was going to be okay. Then our dad hit me, and I... I let Des go. I didn’t mean to. Oh God, I didn’t mean to. But I let my baby brother go, and in that moment I broke our world.”

  “No. No.” His hand tightened on her hair, bringing her drowned gaze up to his once more. “You were eight, Dallas. Eight. An eight-year-old is an innocent baby who has to be protected and loved and marveled at, and that’s... fucking... it. No eight-year-old can hold a world together when the adults are bent on blowing it the fuck up. They’re the ones who chose to ruin that world, not you.”

  “I know that. I do, really.”

  “Logically, yeah. But if you’ve had nightmares about that moment for almost twenty years, and suffered all the way to your soul like I saw when I first walked in here, then you don’t know it. Not really. There’s some wounded part of you that’s never healed from that moment in your life to right the fuck now, and that’s got to change. I’m going to make sure it does.”

  A tear trickled out of the corner of her eye, and he brushed it away with a gentle sweep of his thumb. “How are you going to do that?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to make damn sure we both have a good time while I figure it out.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Come to find out, my friend Coe has a couple cars he wants you to look at.” Celia sat behind the wheel of a classic yellow and black Camaro-IROC speedster, its black leather interior smelling like a new car and the powerful engine purring like a happy tiger. With all that power under the hood, Dallas had assumed Celia had a lead foot and knew how to use it. But from the time they left the ranch, they’d been slavishly following the speed limit like a granny out on a Sunday drive. “I told him your budget, and that you were open to a form of car leasing, since we don’t know how long you’re going to be here. He doesn’t really need the money, so I’m positive he’ll work with you on pricing.”

  Dallas would believe it when she saw it. “I’m just happy at the prospect of not walking home from work tonight. Saturdays are all kinds of crazy at The Dive, and my feet are usually killing me by the end of my shift. It’ll be nice to sit behind the wheel of a car, even an old clunker with the muffler falling off, and drive a mile up the road to the ranch rather than hoofing it.”

  “A clunker?” Smiling, Celia turned onto a road that went by a shady, green town square with a bandstand and neatly kept walkways. “I think Coe might be able to do a little better than that. Generally speaking, he doesn’t do clunker.”

  “Really?” Dallas watched with interest as they approached a sturdy, red brick two-story building with a sign that had to be from the middle of last century, proclaiming the business as Lefty’s Garage. Two service-bay doors were open, with one car up on a hydraulic lift an
d someone energetically yanking on a tire, while the other bay was empty and waiting for action. Celia parked on the side of the building along with a line of other cars and gave her a wink.

  “Prepare yourself. The Coe man cometh.”

  “Uh...” Not sure what to make of that, Dallas slid out of the car along with Celia, and tried not to stagger at the heat that slapped her. Texas in August was always so much fun, she thought wryly, shutting the car door behind her.

  “Right on time, Cel.” A deep masculine voice pulled her attention to a behemoth of a raven-haired man in jeans and a work shirt that strained at the shoulders and was open halfway down his chest to reveal some sort of stylized heart-shaped tattoo. It spelled something out, she was almost sure of it, but since staring pointedly at a strange man’s chest wasn’t the coolest thing to do, she instead focused on dark eyes and a face that would have made a fallen angel cry.

  “Coe Rodas, this is Dallas Faircloth, my new bestie and the chick I was telling you about. Dallas, this is Coe, the genius dude I was telling you about. Talk to each other and make awesome things happen.”

  “Quit your yapping, kid, we got this.” Eyes narrowed and rugged jaw set, Coe Rodas took his time studying her while wiping off his hands on a rag. “So, Dallas. I hear you got your ass kidnapped.”

  Her jaw fell open before she shot a quick glance at Celia. Gossiping about how she came to be in Bitterthorn was one potential way to land the other woman’s brother-in-law in jail. “Uh...”

  “Damn it, Coe.” Looking more like a pissy younger sister, Celia crossed her arms and gave him a death stare. “I told you not to blab about that. Besides, it doesn’t really count as a legit kidnapping since Dallas would’ve come here on her own anyway.”

  “Sure, if she’d been given a chance. Which she wasn’t. I don’t appreciate that strong-arm bullshit from people who already have all the power in the goddamn world, so I’m inclined to help you out. Got your license and insurance with you?” he went on and started wandering down the line of cars.

  “Yes.” Thankfully she’d finally gotten her purse back from Killian now that he was convinced she’d decided to stick around. “I’m good to go.”

  “Good deal. You have a preference for automatic or standard?”

  “Ooh, standard is always yummy. When I managed a country-rock fusion band, I was the one who drove the touring van, and it had a finicky stick-shift. It was someone’s attempt at remaking the A-Team’s van from the 80s. Looked ridiculous, and it overheated even in the absolute dead of winter, but we all loved that ride.”

  “Yeah? Was it a 1980s GMC cargo model?”

  Dallas blinked in surprise as admiration bloomed. Well, well. This guy knew his stuff. “That’s right, the Vandura. We named her Hannibal.”

  “Holy shit, I’d give just about anything to get my hands on one of those vans from that era. They’re rare these days because of all the coolant leaks, the alternator failures, and the biggest problem of all—everyone doing dumbass A-Team stunts and turning them into scrap metal. But you got to drive one, huh?” With a sigh of longing, Coe shook his head. “I’ll admit it, D—I’m envious. I really am.”

  And like that, he called her D. As far as Dallas was concerned, Coe Rodas was good people. “You know it was a sweet ride when you’re still talking about it almost a decade later. Some wheels you never forget.”

  “It’s like you’re talking right to my soul. In fact, I know exactly what you need, D. You’re gonna friggin’ love this. Come on.” Turning on his heel, he stalked determinedly toward the back of the building. Dallas shot a questioning glance at Celia, who shrugged and widened her gorgeous black eyes in a comical way before she hurried to follow in his wake. Dallas brought up the rear, only to come to a stop while Coe pulled at a tarp covering a low-slung car.

  “I found this baby in a Cotulla junkyard about three months ago. Fair warning—its interior is basically shit, so you’re going to get a huge discount on price.” He raised his voice over the crumpling of blue tarpaulin, before stepping back to reveal a red two-door car. “There she is. Ninth generation 1983 Ford Thunderbird Turbo Coupe, V-8 engine with one-sixty horsepower under the hood, standard transmission, a speedometer that goes up to one-eighty, and I can guarantee she purrs at ninety like it’s nothing more than a leisurely stroll in the park. Odometer says three-hundred thou on it, but forget about that. It’s basically a new engine, so she’s got a brand new life in her, and we can start off at mile number one.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Reverently Dallas touched the fender to make sure it was real, then all but skipped around to the driver’s side to pop the hood. “Is it okay if I take a peek?”

  His brows shot up. “Go for it.”

  Everything he’d said about the car was more than true—new engine, new battery, new carburetor... she paused and touched some type of connector on the fuel line right before the fuel filter. “What’s this? I don’t recognize it.”

  “That’s because it’s an invention of mine. Makes the flow more efficient so you get more miles to the gallon. I put it in all my cars.” As she straightened, he offered her the rag so she could wipe her hands off. “You know your way around a car, don’t you?”

  “Dallas knows a little bit about everything in the universe,” Celia announced happily, stepping up. “That’s why I want her to be on my team if I ever get a pub trivia team together. So what do you think, Dallas?”

  She blinked. “Um, sure, I’d join your team.”

  “No, I meant about the car, silly. It’s amazing, right? I told you, Coe is a genius when it comes to gearhead stuff.”

  “It’s definitely amazing.” And no doubt way out of her price range. But she wasn’t ready to quit the field just yet. “So, what sort of terms do you have for leasing it while I’m here? Understand that I’m on a limited budget, but now that I’m working at both Green Rock and The Dive, my income should be more or less steady. How much are you asking for a lease?”

  “Do you have a car back in...” He frowned and looked at her curiously. “Where were you nabbed?”

  “Sugar Land. And yes, I have a car there, but Killian took my keys and hired someone to put it in storage. On the upside, he did pay it off along with all my other bills, though I suppose that means the car, my apartment and my one sad little credit card are now more his than mine, and damn it, that pisses me off. I want something I’ve earned for myself.” She loosed a breath and made a helpless gesture. “Sorry. I totally diatribed. I hope I made sense.”

  “Diatribed isn’t a word, but other than that, you made a ton of sense to me. Tell you what, D... When you’re done here in Bitterthorn—or whatever the hell else happens to you next—sell this car back to me so I can finish restoring it to its former glory. As for the price...”

  She held her breath. “Lay it on me, brother.”

  “She’s not perfect. I’m not thrilled with the struts I currently have installed in it, though it’s more than safe enough, you have my personal guarantee on that. And the interior smells like wet dog and gym socks. So with that in mind, I couldn’t ask for anything more than, say, a thousand bucks, tops.”

  The air left her lungs in a noisy rush. “But... but it has a new engine. And a new carburetor.”

  “So?”

  “And new tires, top of the line. And new brakes, unless I’m mistaken.”

  “So?”

  “When did you install that snazzy new drive train? I’m guessing five minutes ago from the look of it, yes? And it has your fuel-efficient gizmo thingy installed as well.”

  “Look, lady, you want the car or not?”

  “God, yes, I want this car more than my next meal, but it’s worth so much more than a thousand bucks.”

  “Can you believe she’s busting my balls over this?” he demanded of a grinning Celia before he turned back to her. “Look, D, I’m just going to bottom-line it for you. I come from Garden Court. Do you know what that means?”

  Dallas blinked, but it wasn’t
out of surprise that he hadn’t asked the more obvious question of, “Do you know where that is?” Back when she’d lived in Bitterthorn, everyone knew that to come from Garden Court wasn’t just to come from the shabby trailer park buried like a shameful secret on the south edge of town. It was to come from the wrong side of every track that had ever been. “I remember Garden Court.”

  “I fought for every damn thing I’ve got, and while I might be living the dream now, I’ll never forget what it is to be without. There was even a time in my life where the rich got richer by fucking me into the goddamn ground, and that rage is something I’ll never forget. So when I say I don’t like how the Brodys have decided to play it with you, I don’t. Fucking. Like. It.”

  At the time, she hadn’t been all that thrilled with it either, but that was before she’d come to understand that Killian had a guilty conscience about Des, and it was inextricably tied to a serious impulse issue. “I just don’t see how you’re going to make a profit off of this, Coe, and that makes me feel like a charity case. I draw the line at being a damn charity case.”

  He spread his hands wide. “Fair enough. Sell the car back to me when you’re done with her, and neither one of us will be out a penny. Hell, you can even help me work on it, if you want.”

  “If you’ll let me pay for the interior work as we go, and I get to help install it so I feel I’ve got some sweat equity into it, we’ve got a deal.”

  He stuck his hand out. “Done.”

  “Finally.” Celia nodded in satisfaction and checked her watch. “Let’s get going on this deal, guys. I’m about to faint from hunger, and I’ve got high ambitions of grabbing a table at the Dirty Duck before it gets slammed by the lunch crowd.”

  *

  “Freedom.” Dallas savored the word as she slid into the booth opposite Celia. They’d gotten a window seat in the ‘50s-style diner overlooking the town square and her new set of wheels. “I can’t tell you how good it feels to get behind the wheel of a car again. I don’t even care that it smells like it’s been the personal doghouse for every stray in the Cotulla junkyard. I have wheels. Want to see the title again? I’ve got it right here.”