“Jesus Christ.”
“Nah, I’m with Shane on that one. Don’t believe in him. Ain’t no hand of God going to reach down, pick you up and dust you off when you fall. You’ve gotta do that yourself.”
“But all that stuff with Coop and Tate and fate…”
“A bunch of crap. I think there’s someone for everyone, sure. It’s just a matter of opening your eyes and seeing them.”
As if Fate itself was laughing at the two of us, Shane walked into the room. He skipped a step, eyeing the two of us, who were eyeing him. I quickly went back to mashing the potatoes. “What happened with the drunk driver?” I asked Carter.
“He got out of prison a few years ago. Works at a grocery store down in Georgetown. I could whine about how he doesn’t deserve a second chance at life when my parents didn’t get one, but what good would it do?”
I supposed he was a better person, because I held grudges. Maybe it was the Italian in me. I rued every day that I didn’t hit the mark when I pulled that trigger.
“Kid like his drums?” Carter inquired, looking at Shane.
“He’s destroying them. I couldn’t watch anymore.”
Carter stood from his stool and stretched from head to toe. “I gotta go see this. Tate and I placed bets on who would break the things first, Coop or the kid.”
“Coop might just throw them out the window,” I agreed, and then quickly amended. “Not that there’s anything wrong with the drums. It’s just, a three year old sits and bangs on anything for any length of time and it’ll be enough to try a saint’s patience.”
“See that?” Carter said to Shane. “She cares about your feelings. It’s not completely hopeless.”
“For the last time, fuck off.”
Straightening his back, Carter poked Shane in the chest. “Oh yeah?” he drawled. “Well, bah humbug.”
I don’t know why I found it so funny, but I snorted and laughed. Shane fought a smile himself. However, as Carter started to walk away, Shane kicked the fold of his leg. It was a gentle shove with his toe, but enough to send Carter tumbling to the ground. The puppies took this as a personal invitation to roughhouse and left their spot by my feet, abandoning the possibility of food for something more definite.
Rake reached Carter first, taking his calf into his mouth. Fiend went for his foot. The two decided to play a game of tug with what I assumed was Carter’s prosthesis. This was another guess on my part, because he didn’t seem to be in pain.
He did, however, take offense.
“Goddamn it, Richardson—get your fucking dogs off my leg!” He took a swing at Rake, who dodged to the side to avoid him. Undeterred, Rake rejoined Fiend’s assault, grasping Carter’s ankle. Carter fell backward, flat on the floor.
“Oh my God,” I gasped. “Fiend! Rake!” The two didn’t know their own names, and barely flinched at the sound of my voice, absorbed in their attack.
Shane guffawed, bent at the waist.
Rushing to help Carter, I tripped over the cord to the blender, which yanked the appliance off the counter, and the bowl of mashed potatoes with it. The stoneware landed on the floor, flinging spuds everywhere, including my hair.
The puppy’s combined efforts were enough to break Carter’s prosthetic free from his leg. The two took off through the house, dragging it behind them.
Chapter 11
“I can drive you,” Shane offered. “The roads are bad.”
“Thanks, but I have a lot to do.” I had to pick up some photo albums at Garrison’s for Cooper. I wanted to take the opportunity to apologize to Garrison for pressuring him into helping me with Cooper. He’d come to the support group for help and answers. Before I left for Seattle, the least I could was set him on the right track. “I don't know how long it'll take.”
Shane chiseled the last of the ice from my windshield and passed me the scraper. He wanted to argue. I could see it in the set of his jaw. “Drive careful.”
Before I could reply, he turned away. My reply died on the edge of my lips. Nothing I could say seemed appropriate. Thanks? I will? I’m sorry? Please don't hate me? Fuck it. Fuck me? Please?
Tugging open my door, I tossed my ice scraper behind the seat, and slid behind the wheel. I was beginning to think complicated was my life story. My nails bit into my palms, fighting the urge to go after him.
Coop was supposed to run off with the rock star, not me. My life was supposed to go back to normal, whatever that was. Instead, I was dangerously close to saying screw it, and giving Shane what he wanted.
All of the signs were telling me to take that leap of faith. I had nothing left for me here. I had no job. I had no family. I had no ties. Perhaps Shane was right; it was time to let Giovanna rest. Any future I had waited for me in Seattle. Coop, Marshall, a job, a place to live…Shane, if I wanted him.
Before I could tempt myself further, I shifted the car into drive and pulled slowly down the driveway. Perhaps it was a moot point. Shane might not want me any longer. A person could only take so much rejection before he folded.
I woke this morning to find him working out again. He had greeted me with a civil yet concise, ‘good morning’ and then toweled himself off before slipping on his headphones and practicing his drums. A freshly rolled joint hung from his bottom lip, replacing the one I pilfered. He hadn’t lit it. I told myself that meant something.
Reminding myself of the task at hand, I focused on the road. It was covered with a blanket of snow, though packed and plowed. I could just make out the narrow path against the harsh glare of the sun. It was hard to believe it was once two lanes.
Had I really thought I’d navigate this two nights ago?
It felt like a lifetime.
Despite my endeavor to focus on the road, my mind inevitably wandered. My anger toward Shane had finally abated. The space he’d given me had proven beneficial. To my discontent, I found I was aggrieved that I might’ve lost my chance with him. I didn’t want to want him. He complicated things. I had to make choices. Hard choices. Difficult choices. I had to face things I’d skirted for years.
Shane was luring me out of my comfort zone and back into the throws of life. Part of me resented him for it. I was prepared to live my life out as a recluse, spending my days alone, preferably alone. There was nothing wrong with wanting to live a quiet and peaceful existence. I’d earned it. I’d paid for it in blood.
And there it was. Doubt. Indecision. I was riddled with it.
I cursed Thomas Machiavelli ten times over. Fucker.
Sighing, I flipped on the radio. Some up and coming artist was claiming it was all about the bass. By the catchy beat, she was going to make a small fortune. Despite her talent, I caught myself mentally beatboxing to whatever song Tate had Shane practicing all fucking hours of the day. It was now burned into my head.
As I pulled to a stop at the end of Garrison Craig’s driveway, I decided I was having the ultimate game of fuck, kill, or marry. Kill was the easy one: Tommy Machiavelli. The hard one stood between Garrison and Shane. Which was fuck and which was marry?
Shaking off the thought, I watched a group of men herding Garrison’s cattle onto a long, silver trailer. The beasts didn’t appear overly enthused with the idea. I couldn’t blame them there. Though, if they knew where they were headed, they might put up a tad more resistance. As I watched, another gave ground and ran up the ramp, kicking up clumps of mud behind him.
My concern wasn’t where, but why they were going. Garrison had said they wouldn’t be ready for slaughter until fall of the next year. They were grass fed, so he didn’t butcher them until they were older, when they would have enough weight. I tried not to think too hard about the marbling and such, or I’d never eat another steak. I loved steak. It just wasn’t supposed to have large, brown eyes like saucers.
Behind me, someone honked their annoyance at my lollygagging. I let off the brake and turned into Garrison’s driveway. To my surprise, the pickup hauling the trailer followed, inching up the driveway at a sna
il’s pace. Jesus Christ if there wasn’t a third trailer parked around the side of the barn. Garrison was directing someone, who was driving the tractor onto the ramp of said trailer. What. The. Fuck.
I parked on the far side of the driveway, where my car wouldn’t be in anyone’s way. Lucille was old and had high mileage, but her paint was unblemished. I didn’t want to change that now, especially in the off chance I might decide to stay in Seattle. I’d need to sell her. It was a long shot, but it could happen. Staying in Seattle.
Leaving my purse on the passenger seat, I climbed from behind the wheel and engaged the locks. The wind caught my collar and wafted down my neckline. I zipped the last two inches of my coat and made my way carefully across the driveway.
In my peripheral, Ashley Lemming, of all people, jumped out of the pickup, all smiles and perk. The craters they call dimples were on full tilt. “Hey, Em!”
“What’re you doing here?”
“I should say the same of you. I thought you moved.”
“I did. I came to pick up a few things for Coop.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Coop had left her possessions in Garrison’s garage. Tate was having them shipped to Seattle, but Coop didn’t want her photo albums to get ruined in the cold.
It wasn’t the true reason for my visit, but Ashley Lemming didn’t need to know that. She was still half a kid. With half a brain. She used it only far enough to compound strings of words into sentences usually in the form of gossip.
“Mm,” she said in assent. “I came to pick up my horse. Daddy bought him for me for Christmas.”
“Garrison sold you his horse?” I said in disbelief. Garrison loved his horses. They weren’t pedigree, but he was attached to them. Furthermore, the gelding Ashley was speaking of had belonged to Melanie. I didn’t think he’d ever part with him.
“Well, yeah, he’s selling everything.” Ashley said this with an unspoken ‘duh.’
“Why?”
A smile snaked across her face. I suddenly had the notion that she had led me right to this point. I wanted to slap the craters from the sides of her face. The urge grew when she leaned forward, eyes flickering around us, as if I wasn’t the only idiot listening to her.
“You know that Jessica’s daddy is a lawyer, right?”
“No, not really.”
“Well, that’s cause you need to get out more.”
“Ashley.”
“Well, it’s true. Tate Watkins asked you to be his nanny and you turned him down. What person in the right mind does that?”
She was digging for information, the bitch. I wasn’t about to give it to her. “I have a job already.”
“That’s not what Megan said.” She looked pleased as punch. “She said you got fired, and you were hanging around the coffee shop all week.”
“It’s called vacation time.” I should’ve known she knew Megan. They were two peas in a pod. “I had to use them by the end of the year.”
“She also said the Carter Strickland and the drummer came into the shop to see you.”
“The drummer’s name is Shane Richardson.” As if he was a superfluous member of the band. I was annoyed for him.
“Defensive. Is that because you’re dating him?”
“I’m not dating him.”
“He kissed you.”
“You were telling me Jess’s dad is a lawyer…?” I reminded her.
Ashley’s smile faltered, her lips twisted into a pout. “You’re not going to dish, are you?”
“There’s nothing to tell, Ashley, even if it were your business.”
“Well, that’s a way to treat a friend.”
“Friends would denote genuinely fond feelings toward one another, and I don’t feel particularly fond of you.” Turning on my heel, I trudged through the snow. The girl was a true gossip queen. I couldn’t stomach talking to her for any length of time.
“Might not want to be alone with him,” Ashley called after me. “He’s a murderer. Killed that guy, the one that was stalking Cooper.”
Paling, I whirled, praying my ears had failed me. “What did you say?”
The little witch smiled smugly. “He killed him—the one all the girls at the Loft call Sweet Talking Ken.”
“Where did you hear that?” Jess’s father, the lawyer, no doubt.
“Jess, who heard it from her dad.”
Holy Mary, Mother of God. What have I done?
As if he could hear my silent malediction, Garrison looked over. Even from the distance, I could see his frown deepen. He said something to the man on the tractor, stretched to shake his hand, and then headed in my direction. All the while, I wrangled with the vision of the orange coveralls he would soon be required to wear as his daily attire. I might as well have starched and ironed them for him. Project Save Coop had been my bright fucking idea. I’d just sent a good man to prison.
“Those albums you came for are on the kitchen counter,” he said as he approached. “I’ll be in in a minute. I just need to get—” He turned to Ashley, searching for her name.
Ashley joined her hands behind her back, rising on her toes with a flirtatious grin. Her dimples gaped, mirroring the black pit she called a heart. As if she didn’t just herald Garrison’s pending incarceration. “Ashley.”
“Ashley, I need to get your trailer out of the way. I have a lot of traffic coming through today, and you’re blocking the entire parking lot.”
Her smiled soured. Her posture deflated. “Oh.”
I couldn’t even take joy in her disappointment, agonizing over the news of Garrison’s incrimination. He murdered a man for fuck’s sake. He’d killed someone.
And I’d practically put the gun in his hand.
“Emily.” I looked up, met Garrison’s warm brown eyes. “Wait for me inside. I won’t take long.”
Perhaps Ashley had it wrong. Things could be easily misconstrued when listening through closed doors. Garrison was a good man, as good as they came.
Inside, I found the house in the same state as the driveway. The furniture had been removed, leaving nothing but stacks of brown boxes scattered throughout the living room and kitchen. Even those were marked with receipts of the new owners.
Fine china, stoneware, silverware, Christmas ornaments, picture frames, linens, lamps, tools, hardware, area rugs; he’d sold everything, every last personal possession.
The door opened. The man himself stepped through.
He tugged his John Deer from his head, ran a hand through his hair, and then slipped it back on. “Albums are right there. I’ve had them inside, out of the cold.”
So that’s how he was going to play it. Fuck that. “Is it true?”
“Yeah,” he sighed, “yeah, it’s true.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want you involved.”
Of course, that’s why he gave me the cold shoulder all that time. “I didn’t want you to kill anyone, Garrison!”
“I know that!”
“Then what the hell happened? That guy was innocent! Friends and family said that he was looking out for Coop!”
Garrison snorted in derision. “He was down in the trees watching Coop and her rock star fucking around. Had his cock in one hand and a nice big bowie knife in the other. From the things he was muttering, I can guarantee he wasn’t the Good Samaritan everyone made him out to be.”
I’d say not, but that didn’t help the situation. “Was it self-defense?”
“I don’t know, Em. That’s the truth of it. I saw him out there. Told him to pack his shit up and come out. After that, I don’t know what I was going to do.” Tugging his hat from his head again, he scrubbed at his scalp. “All I know is that he came at me. Sliced my arm with that fuckin’ knife. He was too close to take a shot, so I hit the fucker. I hit him until I couldn’t lift my fuckin’ arm no more.”
“It was self-defense.” Garrison could get off freely. Andrew Lee Walker was trespassing. He attacked him.
“It’s not that easy, Em.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because I wanted him dead, that’s why! The police wouldn’t have done anything! Fucks like him always get away! What good did the authorities do for you and Cooper? Cooper was nearly killed, and Thomas is out of jail!”
My mind reeled. I could barely grasp what Garrison was telling me. This couldn’t be happening. “You can’t do this.”
“It’s done. I already talked to a lawyer. He agreed to wait until I got my affairs in order before we went to the police.”
“Jesus.” Unable to stand still, I paced to the window and looked out. The storm outside had abated. The land and sky were virgin, a harsh contrast to the guilt and shame smearing my conscience.
“Em,” said Garrison behind me. “Em, it wasn’t your fault.”
“The hell it wasn’t!” I snapped, whirling. “I pushed you into the whole thing! You pointedly said that you weren’t comfortable with what we were doing!”
“What the fuck am I?” he countered, matching my tone, “unable to make choices for myself? Do I look incompetent to you?”
“Yes, obviously! You killed a man! You can’t have it both ways, Garrison. You either murdered him in cold blood or you lost control because of your past, in which case, I’m responsible because I put you in the situation to begin with.”
“I knew you would do this,” Garrison swore, “Goddamn it, what did you come back here for? You should’ve stayed the fuck in Seattle!”
I was disarmed. “How did you know I was in Seattle?”
“Everyone knows you went to Seattle.” Averting his gaze, he adjusted the bill of his cap. “I was kind of hoping you would’ve hooked up with that drummer. He had eyes for you.”
Flushing, I averted my own gaze. “You’re changing the subject.”
“Have you?” Garrison pressed. Pushing off the counter, he crossed the space, trapped me between himself and the door. “It’s ok, Em. I’d feel better knowing you’re being taken care of, especially with Thomas out.”
I could barely speak, my throat thick with unshed tears. “Is that why you pushed me away? It is, isn’t it?” It all made sense now. He was protecting me.
Breaking the Habit Page 12
