Young Enough (The Age Between Us Book 2)

by Charmaine Pauls

  “I’ve got you,” he whispers in my hair, kissing the top of my head.

  His arms are warm and strong around me. I submit to his soothing, taking courage from his strength.

  After the worst of my tears have subsided, I manage to calm myself somewhat. “I’m sorry for what happened in there.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. Where’s Abby?”

  “She’s staying with her father for a while.”

  “Jane.”

  The one words holds so much meaning. It’s an apology. It’s understanding. Sympathy.

  “It’s all right.” I sniff. “It’s going to be fine.”

  “Come on. Sam and I will take you home.”

  Home.

  I don’t know where that’s supposed to be.

  Brian

  “You can’t stay here.”

  I hand Jane the cup of tea and sandwich I’ve prepared for her. Sam sits next to her at the dining room table in Jane’s cottage, holding Jane’s hand.

  “I’m sorry, Jane,” my sister says.

  Jane gives her a brave smile. “It’s all right, honey. I’m sorry about lunch.”

  I lost a baby brother who hadn’t been born, and it ripped my heart out of my chest. I can only imagine how Jane must be feeling.

  “Lunch isn’t important.” I take a seat opposite them. “I don’t want you staying here.”

  “I don’t want Abby staying here, either. I’m going to look for a new place. Today, still.”

  Guilt eats into my gut. “How long is Abby staying with your ex?”

  “We didn’t discuss it. Probably until I’ve moved. I doubt she’ll want to come back here.”

  “I don’t blame her,” Sam says.

  “Eat your food,” I order. “This is a grown-up conversation.”

  Sam bites into her sandwich obediently.

  “I should stay with you.”

  Only, I can’t. I can’t, and it burns a hole into my soul. I can’t leave my mom and Sam, and I can’t ask Jane to move in with us. There’s not enough space for the three of us as it is. I don’t earn enough to afford an extension to the house, yet, and I can never move in with Jane.

  I can’t.

  Those two little words strangle me. It’s as if I’m chained up. Helpless. My life is fucked-up. What do I have to offer Jane? A sword over my head with Monkey’s threat and an alcoholic mother who can’t leave the house. How can I leave Jane here on her own in a state of shock? I hate it, and there’s nothing I can do. It’s the first time my mother’s condition makes me feel caged in. I’ve never resented the situation we find ourselves in until now.

  “I’ll be fine,” Jane says.

  I motion at her sandwich. “Eat. You need your strength.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Drink your tea, then.”

  At least she does that.

  My phone lights up with a message from my mom. Something’s wrong. Jasmine never sends me a text message otherwise. “Excuse me, but I’ve got to check this.”

  The police are here. They want to question you. Tron’s been arrested.

  Double damn. Why now? Why today?

  Getting to my feet, I round the table and place my hands on Jane’s tense shoulders.

  “I’m sorry.” I can’t express how much. “I have to go.”

  Sam lifts her eyes to mine quickly. “Is Mom okay?”

  “She’s fine. It’s just something I need to take care of.”

  I kiss the top of Jane’s head. “Call me, no matter what. Understand? I’ll come back later tonight.” I don’t give a shit about Clive’s animosity. He’s going to babysit, and that’s that. If all else fails, I’m bringing Jane home with me. I just need to get rid of the police, first.

  “Really, Brian, you don’t have to. I said I’m all right.”

  I tilt her head and kiss her lips. “Later.” That’s not up for discussion, either.

  Detective Cowan sits in our lounge when I get home. My mother is on the edge of her seat, her hands wrung together. She jumps up when Sam and I enter.

  “You all right?” I ask her softly.

  She nods. Her hair is a mess, and she’s wearing her velvet robe and slippers. Dark circles mar her bloodshot eyes, but that’s the state of her eyes more or less permanently these days. What’s new in them is the fear and pain of memories stirred up by Cowan’s house call. The first time he questioned me was after my brother’s murderers were found dead. No doubt his presence wakes a night best forgotten, like the dead.

  I keep my voice gentle. “Why don’t you go dress?”

  She nods again and escapes to the hallway.

  “Sam, have you forgotten your manners?”

  Sam holds out a hand. “Good afternoon, sir.”

  Cowan accepts the shake with a smile. “Aren’t you all grown up.”

  “Go put on the kettle. I’m sure Detective Cowan will appreciate a cup of coffee.”

  My sister stares at us as she leaves the room. With my family out of Cowan’s way, I take my time to study him. He doesn’t look different, except for the extra pounds around his waist.

  He settles deeper into his seat on the sofa bed, running his arm along the backrest. His jacket falls open, exposing his holster and pistol. “You don’t look surprised to see me.”

  I expected Cowan. I always knew he’d be back. He was just waiting for a reason, and now that idiot Tron gave him one.

  Taking the seat my mother has left, I keep my face neutral. “My mother said Tron was arrested.”

  “So he was.”

  He studies me, his eyes penetrating, but I know how to hold the gaze of a man with a gun. I know how to look them right in the eyes while their weapons are potent, and I know what their eyes look like when their weapons lay useless on the ground, because I’m not afraid of looking.

  “What did he do?” I ask.

  “Beat a guy nearly to death.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” He chuckles. “Trust you to ask that question. It’s always about the justification for you, isn’t it?”

  “Tell me.” I shrug. “Don’t tell me. It makes no difference.”

  “He claims the man broke into his shop.”

  “Theft.”

  “That’s what he says. The dog got to the intruder first, and then your neighborhood watch.”

  “It’s not my neighborhood watch.”

  “It’s your neighborhood.”

  “What do you want with me?” I ask, even if I know.

  “Everyone knows everybody in Harryville.”

  “I don’t know who’s part of the neighborhood watch, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  He smiles. “Of course, you don’t.”

  “Then maybe you should do your job and catch the real criminals like the murderers and rapists instead of sitting here wasting your time.”

  “Why so angry, Brian?”

  “Why aren’t you after the other assholes who broke into Tron’s place? Or is it your job to protect the perpetrators?”

  “It’s my job to make sure justice is served.”

  “Like it was served when my mother’s attackers walked free?”

  “Is that why you killed them? You think you should take justice into your own hands because the system failed you once?”

  “Fuck you. If you’d done your job, those motherfuckers would’ve been in for life.”

  “I was doing my job, until someone blew their intestines out. I was on the verge of nailing them for first degree murder of a family of four.”

  “Sounds to me like justice got to them, after all. Are you moping like a pissy because the glory of nailing them wasn’t yours?”

  “I’m saying if every dick takes justice into his own hands, we’re all like them. We’re no better than criminals.”

  “Here’s a news snippet for you. When you live in a fuck-ass neighborhood, your cushy, uptown moral arguments aren’t worth shit, because it’s about survival. It’s about your life or theirs
.”

  “Is that why you shot those men?”

  Motherfucker. The bastard is clever. He’s baiting me, knowing exactly how to rev me up.

  “I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “I’m going to find the murder weapon, one day, Brian, one day when you don’t see me coming.”

  “Good luck to you. There’s nothing to find.”

  Sam enters with a tray of coffee just as he stands and buttons up his jacket. “How’s your mom keeping up?”

  I get up, too. “You saw for yourself.”

  “She’s a fine woman. I’m sorry for what happened to her.”

  “So am I.”

  “Here, little lady. Let me help you with that.” He takes the tray from Sam and leaves it on the coffee table.

  “I’m not a little lady,” she says.

  I raise my voice in warning. “Sam.”

  “I guess not.” Reaching for a mug, Cowan downs the whole, steaming hot lot in one go and puts the mug back on the tray. “Thanks for the coffee, Sam.” To me, he says, “I’ll see you around.”

  Through the window, I watch until his car is out of sight, and then I go look for my mother. She sits on her bed, still dressed in her pajamas.

  “Did he go through the garden?” I ask.

  “He parked in the street and came straight to the front door.”

  Good. He didn’t discover the cellar where my unlicensed gun is hidden.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing. He told me why he was here and then we didn’t speak.”

  “Did you leave him alone at any stage?” I won’t put it past the motherfucker to plant bugs.

  “No. We sat in the lounge the whole time until you arrived.”

  “I’m going to see Monkey about Tron.”

  “He’s not home. He’s down at the station with his lawyer to try and bail out Tron.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Ingrid called.”

  I know who else I can go see. “I’ll be back in an hour. Can you keep the fort?’

  “Yes,” she whispers, looking away.

  Dammit. I want to bite my tongue. I’ve just told her in not so many words that she’s incompetent and I can’t trust her. “I didn’t mean–”

  “I know. Go. I’ll make dinner.”

  Albert and Eugene are cleaning out the pigeon coop when I arrive. Albert is a keen participant in pigeon racing.

  “What’s the deal with Tron?” I ask through the mesh.

  Albert chucks a spade-load of bird shit into a wheelbarrow. “The police have been to your place.” He spits tobacco from the corner of his mouth.

  A pigeon flies down from the perch, flapping its wings. The birds coo from deep in their crops. A smell of shit and wet feathers stirs the air as more pigeons fly to the floor.

  “I told Tron those beatings were trouble.”

  Albert stops scraping the spade over the concrete to look at me. “What was he supposed to do? Leave the door wide fucking open for the thieves with a welcome sign?”

  “He should’ve left it to the police to handle. It’s a war now. Those thieves are from the gangs in Sunnyside. They’ll be back for revenge.”

  “They can come. We’re ready for them.”

  “Pa,” Eugene says, “Brian’s got a point.”

  “Shut your mousetrap,” Albert snaps. He walks over and puts his face in mine. The only thing that separates our noses is the mesh. “You get to pull the trigger, but Tron doesn’t get to swing the whip?”

  “Nobody saw me pull a trigger. It’s speculation. Even if I did pull that trigger, the gangs aren’t coming after me. I didn’t start a war. Have you ever asked yourself why Monkey is doing this? Maybe he wants to start a war. If there’s a war, there’s a fight, and if there’s a fight, someone’s going to win, and someone’s got to lose.”

  He curls his fingers through the mesh. “What the fuck are you saying?”

  “Think about it. What does Monkey have to gain if he instigates a fight?”

  “Sunnyside,” Eugene says.

  Albert turns on him, lifting the spade. “I said shut the fucking fuck up, you dickhead.”

  Eugene cowers, bracing his head with his arms.

  “Sunnyside,” I repeat, “and we fight the battle for him.”

  “Are you siding with the police now, Clive?”

  “It’s Brian.”

  “What the fuck ever. Answer the question.”

  “I’m not siding with anyone. I’m just saying you’ve got to open your eyes.”

  Albert is not the only member of the neighborhood watch I’m worried about. He recently initiated Eugene into the sinister operation.

  “We take care of our own.” Albert spits again.

  “Like you took care of Jane when you showed us a property infested with Mozambican Cobras?”

  “She’s not our own.”

  “She’s mine. That makes her every bit our own, same as you, Katrina, and Eugene.”

  He laughs. It’s an ugly laugh with hardly any sound, but it shakes his bony body. “From what I understood, the only woman who’s yours is Lindy. Rumor is you’re getting married in a year’s time. That means you’ve got to put your dick stamp on her. I don’t know anything about uppity-ass bitches, but that woman you’re keeping from uptown isn’t going to hang around when you dip your dick in another girl’s cunt.”

  I’m gripping the mesh so hard it rattles, sending the birds scattering all over. “Keep your filthy mouth off her.” I don’t care that he’s Eugene’s father and that I’m supposed to show respect. “You can be glad you didn’t say her name.” I swear to God, Eugene would’ve had to pick Albert off the birdcage floor like the rotten rag he is.

  “Go to hell, Clive Claassen,” he spits. “You’re not fit for anywhere else, you fucking traitor.”

  “Been there, and it’s Brian.”

  I walk back to my truck with long strides. When I get there, I check my phone. There’s a message from my mother saying Tron didn’t get bail.

  Fuck.

  The war has begun.

  Whether I like it or not, it’s everyone’s war, because they won’t stop until one side is dead.

  Jane

  After dropping off clothes and toiletries for Abby, I return home, feeling only dread. It’s late afternoon on a weekend, but I call the estate agent who made me visit the security complexes out east, anyway. I don’t want to wait a minute longer than necessary. All I want is for Abby to come home, and therefore I have to find a new home. I don’t care where it is or that there’s no garden and the view is a brick wall. I’ll take the first thing that’s available, which happens to be a duplex townhouse in a new development. They’re still building all around. The agent warns me there’ll be dust and noise, but I promise to be in on Monday to sign the lease. At least there are no pet restrictions, so Abby can bring Dusty. With nothing else to keep me busy, I start packing.

  It’s long since dark when Brian arrives. I haven’t kept track of time. The grumbling of my stomach tells me I haven’t eaten, but I don’t have an appetite.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” Brian says, his gaze going over the open boxes and crockery wrapped in paper. “My mother cooked dinner. It would’ve been rude not to eat.”

  “That’s all right. We didn’t have a date. Who’s staying with your mom and Sam?”

  He rounds the boxes and stops in front of me. “Clive.”

  “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. I’ll understand if you’d rather be home to take care of your family.”

  “Are you implying you’re not important to me?”

  “No, but your mother has a problem, and it worries me every time you leave Sam there alone. What if something happens to your mom? Sam’s too young to deal with this.”

  “I said Clive was there.”

  “Clive can’t always be there. I’m sure he has a life of his own.”

  “I’m fucking winging it, all right?” he says through clenched teeth.
<
br />   I blink at him. I’m not going to say I don’t deserve the outburst. Maybe it’s what happened to Abby today that makes me feel extra protective over Sam, or maybe it’s that I feel so damn guilty all the time for taking him away from his family that made me push the issue tonight.

  Tilting his head toward the ceiling, he rubs the back of his neck. There are lines of tension in his face and a deep frown on his forehead. “I didn’t mean to swear at you. That was unforgivable.”

  I touch his hand. “Are you all right?”

  He drops his arm to take my wrist. “It’s been a shitty day.”

  “We can both do with a drink. There’s cold beer.”

  I turn for the fridge, but he doesn’t let me go.

  “Brian, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He jerks me against him. “And everything.”

  His expression is alight with too many emotions to discern. Concern. Love. Lust. It’s everything and nothing. What’s between us has the power to be amazing, beautiful, and that big, elusive everything I’ve never had. It also has the power to fall flat like a cake in the oven. No words are needed to explain it, because I feel it. All these fragile emotions can disappear faster than flour scattered to the wind. We can lose it so easily. We’re in that delicate stage between everything and nothing, waiting to see if the cake is going to rise or fall flat.

  I’m short of breath from fear and exhilaration. “I want everything.”

  “What?”

  His mother, my daughter, I’ll take it all. I’ll deal with whatever I must for us to be together. I love him. It’s the moment he becomes more important than my own life. I’ve given him my body, trust, and heart, but now there are no barriers left. The last of the walls I’ve constructed around myself fall away, leaving me open and vulnerable. I’m giving him everything.

  My voice is throaty. “Everything. All of me. All of you.”

  His eyes darken. His fingers tighten on my wrist. He grabs hold of the other one before backing me up to the wall. My body hits the stones with a thud. He pins my wrists at my sides and lowers his mouth to mine, our lips a hairbreadth from touching.

  “Then take it,” he says in a clipped voice.