Beneath the Scars

by Cherise Sinclair

  Holt rubbed the back of his neck, trying to think. He’d seen reflective lettering on a backpack recently. Somewhere. Wedge or Duke, maybe?

  No, not them. His hand froze. Carson. Black material. Customized lettering—but not his name. Odd script.

  Oh shit.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  In her kitchen, Josie tried to settle. Holt was on his way over to talk with her—and Carson—he said.

  When she’d heard his voice on the phone, her heart had leaped. She missed him last night when he’d been putting in his twenty-four hours at the fire station. She hoped he’d come over and spend the evening tonight.

  On the phone, he’d sounded…off. Not happy. She’d almost asked him if Carson had pitched a ball through a window or said something rude. But she hadn’t questioned him. If Carson had been rude, well… If she and Holt were going to be together—and, oh God, she wanted that—her two males needed to resolve their problems without her leaping in to help.

  She snorted, because leaping in was exactly what she wanted to do.

  Instead, she scooped ice cream into three dishes. Even males of the species could have their moods smoothed out with fat and sugar, right? And if not, at least she’d feel better.

  As she set the dishes on the coffee table, a knock sounded from the front door. “It’s open. Come on in.”

  Holt stepped in, and her heart once again gave a quivery leap like a drunken antelope. Was it because of the way his muscular chest and shoulders filled out a T-shirt? Or the shadow of stubble along his strong jaw. Or…that intimidating self-possession.

  When his intent gaze trapped hers, her intoxicated heart did another bound.

  “Hey,” she said, brilliant conversationalist that she was.

  Releasing her from his gaze, he shook his head as if trying to dismiss his thoughts. “Hey to you.” Gripping her upper arms, he pulled her onto her tiptoes, and kissed her.

  Oh, his lips were firm, velvety, demanding, and when he wrapped her in his iron-hard arms, every bone in her body turned to water. She put her arms around his neck—just to hold on, of course—and if that rubbed her breasts over his chest, well, she’d have to put up with the inconvenience.

  God, he felt good. She ran her fingers through his thick, soft hair.

  “Mmm. I missed you.” He nuzzled her temple, and his hands curled under her ass cheeks, pulling her up against his thickening shaft.

  Her thoughts scattered everywhere. Why did he have to be so…so devastating? Pulling in a breath, she stepped back.

  With one finger, he traced a line down her cheek, and his masculine chuckle didn’t help her rising lust at all. “When you look at me like that, I want to tie you to this coffee table and fuck you for a long…long time.”

  Every drop of moisture in her mouth disappeared.

  His gaze focused on something behind her, and his smile disappeared. “Unfortunately, I’m here for something much less fun.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He walked to the couch, bent to look at Carson’s backpack, and traced the silver tape lettering. “Interesting script.”

  “It’s Carson’s name in Elvish—well, Tolkien’s idea of Elvish. I wanted the backpack to have something reflective in case he was out at night.”

  “Beautiful work.” Holt’s jaw clenched. His tone darkened as he said, “Josie, I need to talk with Carson. With you present.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  He tilted his head toward the bedrooms. “Call him, please?”

  Her stomach pitched. “Carson, can you come out? Holt is here.”

  “Coming!” Carson trotted out of his room, saw the coffee table, and grinned. “Ice cream! Awesome. You should come over more often, Holt.” He grabbed a bowl and dropped into a chair.

  Holt didn’t answer. Or smile.

  God, what was wrong? Unclenching her hands with an effort, Josie leaned her hip against Carson’s chair.

  Taking a seat on the couch, Holt scrubbed his hands over his face. Concern stabbed through Josie at the shadows under his eyes. “Carson, you know there’ve been fires at your middle school and around this area.”

  “Yeah, I’m aware.”

  Josie frowned at Carson’s dismissive tone. “Around the area? What do you mean?”

  “There was one at a student’s home.” The way Holt’s gaze remained on Carson was starting to bother her. “Someone is deliberately setting those fires.”

  She straightened, anger joining the worry. “What does this have to do with Carson?”

  “Just before the classroom fire—on a Sunday—a jogger saw boys hide their bikes in the bushes. One boy had reflective script on his backpack.” Holt glanced at Carson’s daypack.

  “No.” Outrage filled Josie so full that her voice rose. “You’re not accusing Carson of being a…a…firebug. An arsonist.”

  Holt’s mouth pressed flat. “Josie, starting a fire is more than a childish prank. People die. If Carson—”

  “My son would never do anything like that.” A hard knot formed in her stomach. She thought Holt knew her, knew Carson—cared for Carson. How could he attack her baby?

  Face white, Carson stood, his dish dropping from his lap. “I’m not any fire-starter.”

  “Listen, ace.” Holt also rose. “I’ve heard the science teacher is a jerk, but starting a fire”—his voice grew rough and dark—“a fire in a school where there are children is—”

  “I said I didn’t do it.” Carson glared at Holt. “You-you just want me in trouble, because you got the hots for Mom.”

  Josie shook her head. “Honey, that’s not why—”

  “It is why. He’s an asshole, Mom.” Tears were in her baby’s eyes, running down his flushed cheeks. Hands in fists, he shouted at Holt at the top of his voice. “I hate you. Go away!”

  Swiping at his face, Carson ran. The door of his room slammed shut.

  Oh. My. God.

  “Fuck. That could have gone better,” Holt muttered.

  Better? Better? He’d accused her baby of being a criminal. The betrayal ripped into her heart until the pain was unbearable. After Everett had thrown Carson away, her son found Holt. Was starting to love Holt like she was—and the bastard had stomped all over Carson’s heart.

  “Get out.” If she held herself rigid enough, she wouldn’t break into pieces. Not until he was gone.

  “Josie.” His voice was hard. Unrecognizable. “Someone is starting fires at the school…and, from Carson’s reaction, he’s involved.”

  “He is not. I can’t believe you…” I trusted you. Choking back the words, she yanked open the door. “Get out. Get out now.”

  Anger simmered in his eyes, but his voice didn’t rise. “Josie, I’ll try to get you some time to talk with him, but sooner or later, Carson will have to talk to the authorities.”

  Authorities? He’d sic the police on her child? Her hands clenched.

  As Holt walked out, she forced out the words through stiff lips. “We’re done, Holt. Don’t come back.”

  He started to turn around, shook his head, and kept going.

  He kept going.

  He didn’t even protest.

  The sound she heard as she closed the door wasn’t footsteps, but her heart crumbling into pieces.

  * * * * *

  Shit-buckets. Holt knew.

  Carson hunched on his bed, wanting nothing more than to crawl underneath it and hide.

  Poe had already darted under there. The cat didn’t like raised voices or slammed doors.

  Carson was too old to hide under the bed, but…Holt knew. He was a firefighter. Of course, he’d figured it out. Would the police come?

  Kids couldn’t be arrested, could they?

  His stomach twisted until he felt like he’d puke. Breathing hard, he slid down to the floor. It wasn’t fair. He hadn’t started any fires…only been there when Brandon surprised them all at the classroom. It was supposed to have just been poop. A bunch of shit in a bag. Not fire.

&nbs
p; Holt called it arson. That was serious. And he’d said there’d been a fire at someone’s house. What was with that?

  Putting his arms around his knees, Carson shivered as his horror grew. Had Brandon, Ryan, or someone done…more? Had one of them started the dumpster fires? Everybody at school had laughed about those fires. So had Carson.

  Shit-buckets, would Holt think Carson did those fires, too?

  Should he have told someone about the classroom stuff? Told Mom?

  No. The guys were his friends. Bros don’t snitch on bros.

  But he hadn’t started any fires. Did being there count? His chin quivered, and tears burned his cheeks.

  He sniffled, then listened. He didn’t hear anyone talking. Had Holt left?

  A tap came on his door, and he tensed. “Carson?”

  Quickly, he rubbed the wetness from his face. “Yeah.”

  The door opened, but he couldn’t look up. He stared at the floor.

  Mom moved forward, and he saw her feet stop in the middle of the floor. She was barefoot. She liked being barefooted, she said. Because her heroine never wore shoes.

  He sure wasn’t like any of her heroes.

  Would they take him to jail?

  “Holt is gone…and he won’t be back.” Mom sat on the floor and tried to put her arm around him.

  He wanted to climb onto her lap and cling, so he pulled back. Scooted away from her. “Good. He’s an asshole.”

  She didn’t say anything about his language and that…was weird. “Did you start those fires, Carson?”

  “No!” His hands clenched tight. “I said that. I didn’t start the effing fires.” His tears dried as burning hurt his chest.

  “I know you have the teacher whose—”

  “Holt says I did something, and you believe him. Not me—because he’s your boyfriend, right?”

  “No, Carson, because—”

  “I didn’t do it, okay?” He jumped to his feet. His face was hot. His anger, hotter. His voice rose. “It wasn’t me.”

  “Oh, honey.” She shook her head and stood.

  When she put her hand behind his neck, he yanked away. “Leave me alone. I don’t want you in here.” His voice cracked.

  She looked at him for a long moment, then left. Walked out and closed the door, and he wanted to call her back. Say he was sorry.

  Because she didn’t look pissed off. Just…sad.

  He stared at the door and started to cry.

  * * * * *

  Holt walked back to his duplex, thinking of all the things he might have said. Should have said.

  Way to fuck things up, dumbass. He’d gotten…carried away. Because when it came to fire and children, his brain went dead, and diplomacy flew out the window.

  Why the hell hadn’t he talked to Josie first and led into the subject gradually? Maybe asked about Carson’s pals. The kid had been trying to find new friends in middle school—a mom would understand how her boy could make bad choices in buddies. That they might have talked him into something stupid.

  He sighed. Yeah, because every mother wants to hear that her son could be involved in arson.

  Shit.

  He walked into the duplex and kicked the door shut. Pulling out his cell, he considered it. Should he call her?

  Would she even answer? Concern tightened his hand on the phone. Josie’d barely lowered her defenses to let him in, and now, she felt betrayed. After all, Carson was part of her heart.

  Hell.

  Once she had a chance to think, she’d see the truth…wouldn’t she? She was a wise, smart, logical woman. Surely, she’d know Holt didn’t mean to harm her son, and if the child was involved in any way, it was time to get him out.

  He realized he was staring at his phone and slowly put it away.

  Calling her now would be futile. Might make everything worse. She needed time to get over her anger, to slow down and think. To ask questions.

  Carson was a good kid. He’d talk to his mom once they both calmed down. Holt pulled in an unhappy breath. Arson investigations could get ugly. It would be best if the boy came forward on his own.

  Unfortunately, Holt needed to turn this information over to someone else. He was too closely involved—look how he’d already fucked things up—and it wasn’t his investigation anyway.

  He had a cold lump in his gut as he pulled out his cell and dialed the fire department offices.

  As the phone rang, a new icy worry slid between his ribs. Josie might well see his talking to the Captain as another type of betrayal.

  If she did, would she abandon what was growing between them? Would she truly close the door and figure their relationship a lost cause?

  His jaw locked.

  If she did, she’d have a fight on her hands.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  After supper the next day, Josie washed dishes in Oma’s small kitchen as her great-aunt grumbled about her reading club’s next book selection.

  “Literary fiction should come with black box warnings,” Oma stated. “Something like: Reading this book can lead to an increased risk of depression.”

  Josie managed to grin. Breaking up with a man should have the same warning. She rubbed her aching eyes, gritty from lack of sleep and crying. Her muscles and bones and everything ached.

  Too many nightmares. Of Pa shouting she was a disgrace and a whore. Get out, get out, get out.

  Or of a fire consuming Carson’s middle school. She shuddered. Holt had been inside in yellow firefighter’s gear, and she’d slammed the door, trapping him inside. The building collapsed on him, and she’d screamed as her heart ripped in two.

  Or Carson being in a burning building, calling for her. She couldn’t find him. Couldn’t save him.

  Waking, drenched in sweat and tears, she’d gone to Carson’s room, to listen to him breathe. To see the cat curled in the curve of his body. She’d wanted to wake him and hug him and let him know whatever happened she’d be there.

  She wanted to run next door to Holt and tell him the same thing. Oh, God, she missed him so much.

  This morning, she’d automatically poured two cups of coffee…and fought tears as she dumped the second cup out.

  Carson hadn’t talked to her at breakfast, and she hadn’t seen him since. He’d had afterschool soccer practice, then gone to Yukio’s house to finish their co-written English project that was due tomorrow.

  With a jolt, Josie realized Oma was frowning at her. “Did you ask me a question?”

  “I asked if you were feeling all right, my girl,” Oma said.

  “I’m…a bit unhappy.” Josie glanced at the clock. “But it’s a long story, and your ride should be here in a minute. How about I catch you up tomorrow? Actually, I could use some advice.”

  “Of course.” Oma gave her a wry smile. “Wisdom is gained from mistakes, and I’ve made my fair share of blunders, so I have plenty of insights to offer.”

  Josie laughed and heard the doorbell ring. “I’ll get it, Oma.”

  Zuri was on the doorstep. “Hi, Josie. I got halfway here before remembering Mrs. Avery has church tonight. But I wanted to drop these off.” She held up a batch of cuttings.

  “Oh, I love geraniums.” Oma took the cuttings.

  Zuri beamed. “A friend of mine does landscaping design, and she was planting scented geraniums around our pond. When I told her about your garden, she snipped these for you.”

  “Please, thank her for me.” Oma touched one of the leaves and sniffed her fingers. “Chocolate?”

  “You have a chocolate mint, an apple, and a rose fragrance.”

  “Seriously? Chocolate?” Josie tested the same one. “That’s amazing.”

  Oma gave Zuri a hug. “Thank you. I’ll pot them for the patio so I’ll have them close to enjoy.”

  A light beep at the curb made everyone turn. “There’s my ride,” Oma picked up her purse and a light wrap. “Josie, dear, will you put these in water and lock up for me?”

  “Sure.” Josie kissed her che
ek. “Have fun.” Catching Zuri’s snicker, she amended, “Or pray hard or whatever.”

  “My young heretics.” Oma was laughing as she strolled to her friend’s car.

  “She looks good,” Zuri said. “She’s abandoned her walker?”

  Josie smiled. “She’d been using it for dizziness, but during rehab for her sprained ankle, her meds were adjusted. No more dizziness. No more walker.”

  “That’s awesome. She hated that thing.”

  “Come in, if you have a minute,” Josie motioned to Uzuri. “I see you at the Shadowlands, but we never have a chance to talk.”

  “You do stay awfully busy. But the members are happy you’re there. Aside from Cullen, none of the Masters enjoy making fancy mixed drinks, which meant no one got mixed drinks because no submissive wants to annoy a Master. Especially Master Sam and Master Nolan.”

  Nolan was a bit scary. Master Sam? A lot scary. “It’s nice to be wanted.”

  Thinking of the Shadowlands, she felt her heart start to ache. Holt was a member, and he was free now. He might—of course, he would—choose someone else to play with.

  The stab of pain was so strong she almost folded. How could she bear it?

  “Josie?” Zuri took her hand. “What’s wrong?”

  Zuri was Holt’s friend. Mustn’t put her in the middle. Josie pulled in a slow breath. “Nothing. It—”

  “Oh, that’s bull. Is Carson all right? Where is he, anyway?”

  Josie glanced at the clock. “He went to a friend’s to do homework. He’s fine. It’s just—”

  Zuri set her hands on her hips. “I recognize that look. You’ve got man troubles, don’t you?”

  Josie huffed. “You’re as perceptive as—” Holt. Don’t go there, Josie. “Did you learn psychology from your Doms?”

  “In a way.” Zuri leaned against the counter. “I like making them happy, even before they ask for something, so I watch them, their expressions, everything. I guess I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Did you and Holt break up?”

  “Oh, Zuri.” Josie sank into a chair. “It’s such a mess. I’m so angry with him, and I miss him so much. If it was just the two of us, maybe we could work it out, only Carson’s involved, and…I don’t know what to do.”