Say You'll Be There: A Second Chance Romance (Love In Seven Mile Forge Book 2)

by Billie Dale

  The cops make notes. Seth hands them a business card, asking for them to contact him if they think of anything else before offering thanks and sending them back to work.

  “Did you find her?” Sammy asks Miguel.

  “No. By the time I got out the door she was long gone,” he responds.

  “Who? Who did you see, Sam?” I ask.

  “Paris. Paris Jones was sitting at the bar.”

  Thirty-Seven

  Joey

  I deserve a merit badge for walking away from her. All tanned skin, face framed with wispy hairs, and smelling of cool crisp mint. I wanted to pin her against the door, brand her face with my beard, and mark up the exposed skin so no man dared to glance her way.

  She would’ve kneed me in the nuts if I tried so I took a nice long taste, left her needy and craving me the second we were alone, and took off with Hendrix to escort our friends and family from the airport.

  Once everyone was in their rooms, we visited the hotel bar for a beer. We deserved one after listening to Mazric’s mom bitch the entire ride. Cash and Mazzy Jae bounced, full of energy in the back seat. Thankfully, my mom offered to take them to the beach.

  Before the sweating bottle touches my lips, my phone pings with a text from Miguel. My vision blurs red reading his update. I run to the rental car, ignoring my friends calling my name.

  I park behind a white Jeep painted with a green and blue checkerboard pattern, holding a red a blue light bar on top. As I’m exiting my SUV Miguel steps into the sun with my girl tucked behind him, followed by Seth with Sam and Anna Beth flanking her sides.

  She faces forward but her eyes say she’s faraway, tangled in her own mind. I stop in front of her, bracing her arms as she face-plants in my chest. Her eyes snap up and the lost expression vanishes, turning terrified tinged with relief between blinks. I wrap her tight in my arms until she softens. The stress and alarm keeping her stiff melts until the only thing keeping her upright is my embrace. Unwilling to let her go, I scoop her up, carrying her to my vehicle.

  She mumbles into my tee. As I set her in the passenger seat, leaning over to click her seat belt, I hear words. “Paris. Paris was with him.” Her eyes matching the swirling clouds overhead flutter at me with questions I can’t answer.

  Seth told me who Sammy saw. To say I’m shocked is an understatement. I haven’t heard from my ex-wife since she signed off her rights to Cash. Her here sitting next to the man who sent my girlfriend a glass of pigs’ blood, according to the police, isn’t a coincidence but none of it makes a lick of fucking sense.

  My hands white-knuckle the steering while my mind digests what happened. Preslee leans her head against the window, staring at the passing world outside. I need to keep her from checking out, but I can’t until I know Cash is safe.

  My call connects through the Bluetooth. Mom’s cheery voice bounces off the interior. The wind from the beach statics through our connection and my son giggles in the background.

  “Ma, grab Cash.” Rage clips my words. Preslee’s hand grips my thigh. I jolt; shocked by her touch. Her tear-heavy lids somehow remind me not to make my mom panic.

  “What, honey? Speak up, I can’t hear you over the wind,” Mom shouts.

  “Take Cash to my cabin.” My jaw aches from forcing calm I don’t feel into my words. “Preslee and I will be there in a bit and she wants to see him.”

  “Ma?” I check the connection when she doesn’t respond.

  “I got ‘em,” a low male voice rumbles through the speakers, spreading ice through my veins. “Me and Hendrix will wait with Cash.”

  “Mazric?”

  “Yeah, man. They’re safe.” An inch of worry chips off my shoulders. I mutter thanks before he disconnects. Preslee recoils, taking away her touch she zones out until I’m pulling her from the car to place her in the golf cart.

  She sags rag doll limp in my hold, but when I release stiff rigor mortis retightens her body. Sweat rolls down her temple, yet she shivers. Rapid blinks and heaving breaths are my only cues she’s still breathing.

  We pull into the cart port and I once again move to scoop her up. A quick shake of her head tells me no, as does a hand to my chest. “I can walk. Don’t want to scare Cash.” Feet planted on the concrete floor, she stares at her pink-tipped toes. Her body moves with a deep inhale. On the exhale her posture loosens, her hands unclench as she shimmies her shoulders. After several moments she jumps to her feet, peering up at me with a plastic smile painting her lips. With a pep in her step, she pulls me toward the house. If I hadn’t watched the mask fall in place, I wouldn’t believe it.

  Hand in hand she drags me along the walking path, following the high peals of laughter carrying from the front of the house. On our private part of the beach Cash stands with his feet in the surf, staring at a taunting Mazzy Jae farther out. Mom lounges under the umbrella in a chair, reading a book, checking the kids at every page flip. Curry and Hendrix stand on either side of Cash, flicking splashes at his stomach and razzing him for not venturing out farther. Seth and Miguel pace in the sand holding a metal detector, they hunt but not for beach treasure as they appear. No, their eyes continuously scan the entire area. Mazric stands at the base of the deck steps, watching. To an observer it seems an ordinary family is enjoying the sun and sand. My cop brain sees it for what it is. A gaggle of adults creating an all-seeing protective ring around my son.

  “Daddy!” Cash exclaims, racing across the beach. Preslee releases my hand a second before my son crashes into my knees. I relax my limbs, allowing the force of his collision to topple us on to the sand. I tickle his side with one hand, keeping my eye on Preslee as she talks to Mazric. My hand stops and my chest seizes when he pulls her into his arms, continuing to whisper words against the top of her head nestled under his chin. The green plague of irrational jealousy blackens the edges of my heart. “Daddy.” Cash tugs at my shirt, but I’m too caught up in watching my everything deflate in the arms of another man. All her bolster and fake joy vanishes as despair hangs on the slump of her shoulders. Mazric’s heart beats for Sam alone, but when Preslee pulls away—wiping moisture from under her eyes—worthlessness stabs through my solar plexus.

  Thirty-Eight

  Preslee

  Defeat and despair mixed with Soon, my pet makes keeping my mask in place too hard. My cheeks hurt from the force of my grin. Mazric whispers assurances and oaths, the same I’ve heard from Joey and the cops. They sound more believable coming from those who love and actually care, but until we have a name or a definitive face, they’re all empty promises.

  I feel Joey’s glare, hear Cash’s voice, sweat with the heat of the sun, but I can’t find the wherewithal to care. Despondency weighs down my bones.

  Call me whiny; judge my melancholy. I don’t care. Not trying to be an ungrateful uber bitch or the rain cloud on a sunny day, but I’m tired of this dumpster fire sparking embers each time I find a nugget of happiness. One cinder burns it to the ground, leaving the original blaze waiting for its next chance.

  Inside, I find Sammy Lee passed out on my bed. Her blood alcohol high enough to shut down her powerful brain. Dark spiral curls fan across the pillow and her sun-enhanced freckles dot the skin of her cheeks. Dollyesque except for her rapid flicking eyelids. Those dream winks tell me her mind is still working equations, even in her sleep.

  As teens we’d lie next to each other with our heads melded and hands linked, offering sisterly strength to work through the toils of adolescents. She’s the smartest, strongest woman in my life and as I curl up next to her, I hope to once again borrow some of her armor.

  ∞∞∞

  Loud shouts pull me from my nap. The spot where Sam slept is now empty and cold. A yellow moon, large and imposing, rises outside the window. I can’t believe I fell asleep. Zombified I shuffle to the bathroom, recoiling when the bright light hits my dry, scratchy eyes. After using the toilet, I pull out my contacts, splash cool water on my face, and slip on the glasses Joey ordered for me. I trade out my
dress for black capri leggings and an off-the-shoulder sweatshirt before following the yelling to the living room.

  Not ready for the mob, I peek around the corner. Mazric sits on the sofa flanked by Seth and Miguel. His forearms rest on his knees and his head hangs as his hand rubs his forehead. Sammy Lee and Joey stand arguing in front of a large dry-erase board with a series of equations written in varying colors. Hendrix leans against the wall, staring at the duo with an amused smirk tipping his lips. The floor plan opens, allowing me to see Mazzy Jae and Curry at the dining room table working behind a laptop. Amanda, Joey’s mom, stands in the kitchen with Cash on a stool next to her on one side, talking a mile a minute, and Creeden on the other.

  They don’t see me. I use the anonymity to take a moment and listen. Curry fist bumps Mazzy before stepping between Sammy and Joey. He relays information, saying it’s from Detective Brick Highland, stating the airline reports Paris Jones arrival two days ago. She purchased a singular ticket. Airline footage shows she traveled alone. He’s running checks for hotel information and will call when there’s news to share.

  Sammy points to a rather lengthy series of numbers on the board, razzing Joey how her theory was right.

  “Right or wrong, it doesn’t offer us a solution, Samantha,” Hendrix says, killing her I’m right buzz.

  “It’s a bunch of mumbo jumbo, is what it is,” Joey’s clipped tone rages in a snarl. “There is no method to this nutjob’s madness, Sammy. You can’t equate your way to catching him.”

  “Yes, I can. If I create an equation based on his movements, we should be able to plug in the different variables to plot his next move…” She continues to argue further but I zone out because when Samantha Lee Gentry tangents into one of her math kicks, my brain wants to explode. On a good day, her theorems pollute my brain, leaving me mindlessly chanting math hard, fire pretty.

  A knock at the door turns all their heads. Following the quick tap Kevin Holmes, Aunt Vivianne, Nona Gayle, and Rosa step inside laden with bags full of food. Sam asks about the whereabouts of her dad, Carrie Lynn, and Mazric’s Grandpa Joe. Viv says Joe is tired from the flight and is spending the night watching a western, and she thinks Carrie and Johnny hooked up for a date night, stating it’s Sam’s dad’s way of keeping Mazric’s mom from fretting over the wedding.

  Sammy gags a little at her soon-to-be mom-in-law on a date with her father, but Mazric is happy for interference in the arguing. “Thank you, Jesus, for a break in the insanity,” Mazric murmurs, moving to help them unload. Rosa biffs him on the back of the head, warning him about using the Lord’s name in vain. It’s a mix of Spanish and English she only uses when she’s irritated. Mazric’s face turns red, as he rubs the spot she smacked, apologizing.

  A snorting snicker pushes from my nose. It’s not loud, but somehow Cash hears me.

  “Elvis!” he whoops, jumping from his perch, his bare feet slap on the tile floor in a dash. All eyes land on me, but I only care about the one set of warm brown ones. I kneel in time to scoop him up. His small arms ring my neck in a crushing hug. The warmth of his body and the salt, sand, and bubblegum shampoo tendrils around me squishing the crawling stress. Poof, all lost in the giggle and affection of a six-year-old.

  Kid nuzzles are the answer to world peace. True story.

  Face burrowed in Cash’s floppy locks, I glance up meeting Joey’s gaze. Dopey heavy lids rise, heat swirls in his blues, caressing my skin as though the pads of his fingers trace my flesh. Eyes locked on mine, he crosses the space separating us, ignoring all bodies in between. Cash wiggles in my hold, his young hyper brain done staying in one place. I lower him to the floor, trading his sugary, all dusty boy hug for the woodsy, soap-infused protective hold of his dad.

  “Still with me, Sunflower?” His worried words fall out on a heavy breath, moving the strands of my hair.

  I nod against his chest, tears choking my words. I fight them back with a swallow, tired of being a sobbing sot.

  He pulls away; keeping an arm around my waist we head toward the couch.

  “Oh, my stars and garters,” Nona gushes, blotting her sweat-soaked brow with a handkerchief, “Curry James. Someone should’ve warned me a celebrity would be here, I’d have put on the dog.”

  Curry stands taller with a confused half smirk, Mazric’s jaw drops, and I’m about to explode from holding in a laugh. Leave it to Nona to kill the tension with an old Southern idiom.

  “No need to wear a puppy, Miss Gayle,” Curry says around a chuckle, at the same time Mazric says, “Nona, I’m a celebrity.”

  She pats a patronizing hand on Mazric’s cheek. “Of course you are, honey,” she coos, turning away from him.

  “Mother, your Southern side is showing,” Vivianne says. A whistling tsk leaves her lips. “All those years in New York. Can take the old lady out of the country, can’t take the country outta the old lady.”

  “You hush your mouth,” Nona retorts.

  Curry leans over the back of the couch, sticking his head between Joey and me. “What the heck does put on the dog mean?” he whispers from the corner of his mouth.

  I explain how she’s embarrassed at being a frizzy mess slicked with perspiration. Though she’s wearing Armani and not one hair sticks up, Nona is never less than fabulous. The humidity and the ride here in a golf cart left her feeling imperfect.

  He nods. Rising to his full height, he steps to Nona, gripping her hand to dust a kiss along her knuckles. “I think you’re stunning…”

  Her face brightens and I swear red tints her cheeks, but it’s hard to tell under the layer of half-melted makeup she wears. “Oh, go on,” she says chasing a giggle.

  “Wish my grand mama wore her age as great as you,” Curry finishes. A hushed ooooh spreads around the room. POP! His comment is a pin to Nona’s ego balloon. She shoots him death glare, rambling about eating before it turns cold.

  The room erupts in hilarity behind her retreat. We make our way to the next room, finding spots around the table. We pull chairs from rooms until there is a seat for each butt. Tubs of food move from hand-to-hand, kids chatter, and all around me conversation starts and stops. No one broaches the elephant in the room. It’s all about Sammy and Mazric’s wedding. As it should be.

  Normalcy feels well normal.

  ∞∞∞

  Amanda made a delicious cherry delight, which Cash took credit for helping with. After dessert, Nona corners me in the kitchen while I help Rosa load the dishwasher.

  “I’m taking you back to the city with me,” she announces.

  Rosa’s drops a plate in the sink, spewing a string of Spanish curse words before returning to rinse.

  “Um, how about no?” I rebuke.

  “Preslee Marie, this whole thing is out of hand. You let it go too far…”

  “Yes, Nona. I drove the nice stalker man batshit crazy and asked him to invade my life.” Sarcasm cloyingly hides my anger.

  “Always with the dramatics, Preslee.” Her sigh weighs heavy with disappointment. “You’ve made quite a mess thus far…”

  “For Chr..” Rosa shots me a warning glare, “Christmas trees’ sake,” I correct.

  “She’s not going anywhere.” Joey slips behind me, wrapping his arm around my waist, securing my back to his chest. “Preslee is done running from this guy. And she’s not alone anymore.”

  “Seems all you’ve done so far is make him angrier, Chief. My granddaughter’s neck is the one on the line and you’re dropping the ball while making googly eyes at her. I have the money and the resources to see to her safety. This stalker’s been creamin’ your corn for far too long.” Her drawl thickens with her climbing anger. “He’s slicker than owl shit and you ain’t got no handles. She’d be better off lost in the jungle with her do-gooder parents than here with you, boy.”

  Thirty-Nine

  Joey

  Gayle Carmichael is poised perfection. A proper, posh elitist, who I’ve never seen lose her cool. Until now. She’s spitting mad and if I were a kid,
I’d think she was seconds from telling me to grab my own switch.

  While her passion over Preslee holds merit, it’s a day late and a dollar short. Had she been an integral part of her granddaughter’s life, perhaps Preslee would’ve asked her for help.

  Sure, I see you there thinking I hold culpability as well. I have a golden excuse. The woman broke my damn heart and told me not to follow her. I’m absolved in the name of bad blood. I think.

  Preslee smiled and joked during dinner. Her infectious laughter filled the room. The light returned to her eyes and for a few brief hours, she let it all go. If this were a musical, she’d break into song Elsa style.

  When I walked in on her argument with Gayle, I worried she’d tumble back into the soul-eating pit she keeps returning to. No way is her grandmother taking her anywhere she doesn’t want to go. Don’t misunderstand, if I suspected she’d be free to live the way she wants without someone watching her every move and leaving threats, I’d pack her bags. Lost in the jungle with her parents holds promise. Can’t track her if you can’t find her.

  But her leaving is a Band-Aid, one we can never remove if we don’t catch who she’s running from. Preslee loves to help people, but in her own way. Stuck in a remote location, miserable is not her ideal. Plus, I’m too selfish to let her go without a return date.

  “Nona, thank you for caring. How about after Sam and Mazric get hitched we sit down to discuss options?” she offers, soothing her nona’s ruffled feathers.