by J. H. Croix
I chuckled. Sonny flashed me a wink and a grin, and I turned to head inside.
“I’ll be back,” I called over my shoulder. “Do me a favor and wait inside. AC is a miracle. If you do melt, I’ll have to move that thing myself later.”
Sonny laughed, flipping me off but following me inside anyway. Leaving him with a glass of water in the kitchen, I gave him a ball to play with Arcadian in the backyard while I was gone if he got bored—which he likely would—and went off to shower.
After a quick stop at the dump, we decided to have lunch at one of our favorite pubs. It was a couple of miles outside of town, meaning that we had just a little more privacy there than if we went anywhere in town itself. The food was cheap and decent. The beer was cold and almost always two for the price of one. It was perfect.
We picked a ratty wooden table on a shaded patio at the back of the bar, ordered burgers and beer and talked about our weeks while we waited for our orders to arrive. The beers arrived first and Sonny held his up to mine. “Cheers. We should’ve done this ages ago.”
“True.” We each took a long sip, both of us taking in the landscape around us. The patio opened up to a large circular barbecue area with a small stage and dusty dance floor beyond it. The outside was quiet in the afternoons, but at night it was bustling and lively.
Sonny grabbed my attention by setting his beer down and turning to face me, a serious expression in his eyes. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Figured as much.” Sonny and I often had drinks or meals together, but he mostly called first, and it was usually if we hadn’t seen each other for a while. Since I’d seen him earlier that week, however briefly, I thought something was up.
He was quiet, sipping his beer as he searched for the right words. “I think dad’s innocent. I was looking at…”
“No,” I said. With a shake of my head, I planted both of my fists on the table. “Don’t go there, Sonny. He’s not. He’s guilty and there ain’t a damn thing we can do about it.”
Eyes hardening and turning cold, he squared his shoulders and crossed his arms. “I’m the cop here, big brother. And I’m telling you I think I’ve got some leads that tell me otherwise.”
“Sonny,” I sighed. I didn’t want to fight him on this. My brother had a heart of gold. I wasn’t the least bit surprised he wanted to believe our dad was innocent, but he had to face the facts. “He can shorten his sentence if he gives up the location of the money he still has stashed away, but he’s not going to do that. As for his conviction, that’s a done deal. You need to come to grips with that.”
Sonny’s jaw tightened and storm clouds rolled through his eyes. He wasn’t happy with me, but he also wasn’t going to fight me. Not now. “There is such a thing as an appeal, you know. His conviction could be overturned.”
“I know what an appeal is. He’d only have a shot if there was a shred of evidence that he’s innocent, but he’s not.”
“Yet,” Sonny objected, then held his hands up in surrender when I glared at him. “Fine, I’ll let it go for now. Why are you so moody anyway?”
“I’m not moody.” I simply wasn’t in the mood to get into an argument about the legalities or otherwise of our father’s behavior.
“On the contrary, brother. You’ve been moody all morning, I just didn’t see how much ‘til right there. You going through a bit of a dry spell?” The seriousness plaguing his features seconds ago vanished, leaving a mischievous gleam in Sonny’s eye that spelled irritation for me.
“No,” I muttered.
I’d be damned if I gave him any ammunition, but he knew me too well.
His lips twitched into a knowing smirk as he lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. “It’s okay. Your secret’s safe with me. You’re never a ray of sunshine, but from how quick you jumped on your horse there, I’m gonna go ahead and assume your balls are the color of my shorts. Am I right?”
My eyes dropped down, flashes of bright blue visible through the wooden table slats. “Fuck you.”
A deep laugh escaped from his chest as he caught me looking, then he pointed at the navy on his shirt. “Or are they more this color?”
Thankfully, the waitress arrived at our table before I could respond, dropping off our burgers with a smile and very obvious wink, though I didn’t know if it was aimed at me or Sonny. Possibly both of us.
“Seriously though, Jeremy. Have you seen anyone lately?” he asked, picking up his burger and attacking it with fervor, swallowing down at least half of it in one bite. Sonny still ate like one of us was about to steal his food if he didn’t eat fast enough. Not that we’d ever done that, of course.
His tone wasn’t mocking anymore and there was no humor left in his eyes. He was worried about me. “Not particularly. I did meet someone interesting the other day. New woman at the salon, name’s Marie.”
Just saying her name sent my thoughts spinning—her clear green eyes, the flush on her cheeks, and her full lips. Damn. All I had to do was think about her, and I got hard. Now was most definitely not the time or place for me to go there.
“You know her last name?” he asked between bites. I shook my head, taking a huge bite of my own burger. It was cooked perfectly as they always did it here: medium rare, with crunchy lettuce, tangy sauce and double cheese.
“Okay well, we know her name and where she works. If you want, I can look into her for you. Find out a little more about her. Where she’s from, all that,” he offered, polishing off his food.
“No,” I said, swallowing down the last of my burger with my beer. “I don’t want you to look into her. If she wants to tell me about herself, she’ll do it herself. I also don’t want you doing anything that could put extra heat on you at the department.”
He didn’t say anything at first, but then nodded slowly. “Okay, if you’re sure. The offer stands if you need me to look into her for you.”
Before I could answer, the waitress came to collect our empty plates and we each ordered another beer. We waited for her to move out of earshot before we carried on talking.
“No thanks,” I told him. “Not necessary. Although if you don’t mind running a plate for me, I’d appreciate it.”
“What for?”
I shrugged. “Dunno. A van drove by my place three times this morning. Just gave me a vibe. It might be nothing, but it might not.”
“You got it.”
“Perfect. Lemme text the plate to you. Hang on a sec.”
Slipping my phone out, I quickly forwarded the license plate number I’d tapped into my notes earlier. “There, that’ll give you something to look up.”
Sonny rolled his eyes.
“Anyway, what’s going on with you? How’re things at the department?”
Sonny launched into the antics of his fellow officers over the last few weeks. Though he was trying to joke about it, I could tell that it still bothered him that they treated him the way they did because of our dad. Maybe that was why he was so desperate for the man to be innocent.
We talked for another hour or so before Sonny glanced at his watch. “We’ve got to get going. I need to be somewhere soon.”
I didn’t ask where he needed to be while we drained our beers and paid our check. He didn’t offer the information either. We didn’t get in each other’s business that way. When we got back to my place, I pulled on the door handle to let myself out but Sonny stopped me, grief causing his voice to sound a bit lower than usual.
“The anniversary of mom’s death is coming up in a couple of weeks.”
“I know.” Like it had each year since she’d passed, the date had been looming ahead like a black cloud of misery on my calendar.
“I spoke to the others, we’re going to her gravesite again. Maybe have lunch after. You in?”
“I’ll be there,” I promised. Family was important on days like that. We set aside our differences for just a day or two a year to grieve together. “It’ll be good to see all of our brothers again.”
/> Chapter Twelve
Marie
“Fruit is only for Mondays, mommy,” Austin said with a giggle, longingly glancing at the sugary cereal on top of the fridge as he watched me chop apples.
I was making a fruit salad for us to take to the park later, I’d bought the cereal as a treat for Austin since it was our first weekend in our new home, but I wanted to hear his reasoning on why fruit was for Mondays only before I let him have his treat.
“Yeah? Why is that?”
Austin’s brow scrunched as he thought, then he smiled. “To get a sweet start to the week.”
“That’s cute buddy,” I replied, laughing as I reached for the box of cereal and handed it to him with a bowl. “But the cereal’s sweet too.”
“To get a healthy start to the week?” he tried again, and I nodded.
“That’s a good one.” Austin had recently started trying to make jokes of his own. I encouraged his sense of humor, but I’d also read it was important for his language development to point out when a joke didn’t make sense or when the punch line was incongruous.
When I was younger, I thought parenting was all about the child making it to eighteen alive. That was the example my mother had set for me, anyway. Mary-Ann Nix and I had no relationship. Not anymore.
We shared DNA, eye color, perhaps a spark of personality and almost a name, since mine was a version of hers, Marie Anne Nix, but that was it. We didn’t share inside jokes, hugs, camaraderie, or love the way I’d seen other mothers and daughters share.
Over the years, I’d often wished we did. I’d given her more chances than I could count, but after an incident last year, I was all out of chances for her.
My mother had always been different than the other girls’ moms at school. I’d been in kindergarten the first time I became aware of the difference. The other kids would come to school with packed lunches and mothers waving them off with a smile, while I was lucky if I saw mine twice a month.
And when I did see her, there were no heartfelt hugs, packed, healthy lunches or bright smiles. Nope, not for me. Mary-Ann would only come home to shatter the peace my father and I managed to forge for ourselves when she was gone, blowing back into our lives in a whirlwind of drug-fueled rage, or whimpering pleas to take her back.
The truth was that my mom was and always had been a drug-addict. She wasn’t hooked on painkillers or prone to smoking a joint every once in a while. Rather, she was full blown and completely hooked on all the stuff we got warned about at school: heroin, cocaine, meth, and god only knew what else. It’d been that way on and off for my entire life.
Even when she wasn’t high, which was admittedly rare, she was a terrible wife and mother. My father and I had both given her so many chances, but they’d only ended in heartbreak.
After she’d showed up unannounced at Austin’s birthday party last year, high on god knows what, and stolen Austin’s piggy bank, I’d told her in no uncertain terms to leave us alone. So far, she’d granted me that one favor.
Since I’d had Austin, I’d quickly learned that there was a lot more to parenting than just getting a child through to adulthood. More than I’d ever imagined. Keeping up with it all was overwhelming sometimes, but I was determined to do it.
Other young mothers around me sometimes scoffed at the opinions of older women or moms with multiple kids, while I’d always soaked it up. I had to learn from someone, and I hadn’t been lucky enough to have a wise mother who I could look to for advice, instead of trusting often unsolicited advice from strangers.
Austin filled his bowl with cereal, closed the box carefully and handed it back to me while he waited for me to pass him the milk. I was proud of the manners I’d instilled in him, even more proud in moments like this when he actually managed to remember them.
“There you go,” I said, pulling his bowl closer to me to fill it. I didn’t trust him with that task quite yet. Austin accepted his bowl and dug in with gusto. I’d eaten earlier, so I turned to get a container for the fruit when there was a knock at my door.
Instantly, the mood in the room changed. Both Austin and I stiffened, used to these early morning interruptions being from Wesley. My throat tightened, my gut churned, and my hands started trembling, but I didn’t want to let Austin see it. I fisted them and shoved them into the pockets of my jeans.
“Finish your breakfast. I’ll go get the door,” I told him, forcing a tight smile and trying, but failing, to keep my voice from shaking just a little.
Very few people had the address of our new place. It was pretty much limited to Sarah and Miranda, but I wasn’t expecting either of them. With growing apprehension and nerves tightening the breakfast in my stomach to a rolling, nauseating ball, I padded to the front door.
A quick glance through the peephole offered me a view of the retreating form of the paper delivery guy. Though I didn’t have a newspaper subscription—not many people did these days—every other day when we came home, I found those local coupon books on the doormat outside.
“Who’s at the door, mommy?” Austin asked, concern knitting his brows together. A five year old should never have reason to wear a look like that. I vowed to myself that this morning, I would get rid of another person who elicited that reaction in him.
“It’s no one, sweetheart. Just the nice man who drops off the coupon books for us,” I called back. Opening the door, I knelt down and picked it up, watching as the man walked along a row of doors across from ours, tossing the papers at every door.
Austin was waiting for me just inside the door, peering around me. “Oh! Why’s he do that?”
“It’s his job,” I replied. “There’s a job for just about everything.”
“Imma be a cowboy! That’ll be my job,” Austin announced with complete seriousness.
He was getting way too into the whole cowboy thing, I’d have to cut back on his TV time, but for the moment I simply hugged him close to me. My eyes closed as relief washed through me. Even though I felt like we were safe from Wesley for now, I also knew I’d just bought myself some time to figure out something long-term. Any unannounced visitors would send that familiar anxiety spinning through me.
But for now, it was nothing to worry about.
Austin pulled away from me, his wide grin from earlier back in place.
“You ready for the park?”
“Park, park, park,” Austin chanted, and I knew all his worries about our visitor were forgotten.
As for me, a fresh wave of worry rolled to shore inside. I needed to do more than run from Wesley. I needed to make some kind of plan to keep him at bay for once and for all.
Chapter Thirteen
Jeremy
Two days shy of a week had gone by and I still hadn’t said another word to Marie since she’d brought the drinks out to us last Friday. We’d been working at the salon again since Monday. While I felt her eyes on me and had trouble keeping mine off of her when she was anywhere nearby, I hadn’t been able to find the right time to talk to her.
Wednesday was ending, and I was starting to feel like a wimp for not approaching her. It wasn’t a feeling that I was familiar with, nor was it one I intended on feeling for long enough to get comfortable with it.
I needed to stay to get a few more measurements for supplies I had to pick up tomorrow and to my relief, Marie was still there. Sarah had left earlier and I’d overheard her asking Marie to lock up the shop. Most of my crew had also gone for the day, except for a few who were still cleaning up in the back. Conveniently, the other girls who worked in the salon were gone too.
I wasn’t shy about approaching Marie with others around, but I wanted to save her the rumors it was sure to spark if I did. Sometimes it felt like the whole town was just waiting with bated breath to see which of the infamous Lovett brothers would settle down first.
I used to think I was being paranoid with my suspicions, but then Evan told me he’d once overheard some ladies in the coffee shop gossiping about some woman someone had seen wi
th Beau the night before. He’d listened aghast as they gossiped about which one of us would fall first. Of course, the tone had shifted since our dad landed in prison. Now, there was a whiff of scandal attached to our entire family, adding grist to the gossip mill.
It appeared our reputations from high school and after, combined with our mom’s untimely death and our father’s subsequent legal troubles, rendered our family a hot topic of conversation around town.
We hated it, but we’d also learned to live with it. It wasn’t as if we had much of a choice, other than moving away from Cypress Creek which none of us wanted to do. Cypress Creek was home, in a way nowhere else could ever be.
My measuring tape snapped back into my hand when I released the catch. I jotted down the final measurements I needed and glanced into the mirror across from me in the salon—just in time to see Marie holding up a smaller mirror and showing her client the back of her new hairstyle.
I assumed it was so the woman could get a full view of Marie’s handiwork. It turned out I was right when the women lifted her hands to the ends of her hair, fixing Marie with a broad smile. “I love it. You’re an absolute genius. Thank you.”
“I’m just glad you like it,” Marie answered modestly, spinning the chair back from the mirror before she headed to the reception desk and rang up the woman’s total. She paid, said her goodbyes, and Marie grabbed a broom, moving back to her station to start cleaning up.
Now or never, Lovett. Buckle up. Needing something to break the ice, I asked her the question that had been niggling in the back of my mind all week.
“Are you from Cypress originally? You look familiar.” It wasn’t exactly smooth, nor was it a clever line, but it had the same effect.
Her lips curved into a soft smile as she lifted her eyes to mine, green pools that seemed to shimmer in the low light inside the shop and the fading sunlight outside. I wasn’t the type to wax lyrical about eyes, but hers were just that gorgeous and expressive.
