by Connor, Eden
Eric‘s grin was wolfish. “Now that’s sexy. Every man in America should come home to a view like that, baby girl. Thanks so much.”
She clasped her hands over her hammering heart before flipping him a bird. “Please tell me you’ve seen my whistle.”
“Oh, I saw it alright.” He snapped his fingers. “That reminds me, we need to get you an appointment for a wax.”
“Wax is for candles and cars.” She raised her chin, her pulse leaping at the sight of Eric smiling for the first time since that miserable day at his brother’s. “Not hoo-has. Seriously, when’s the last time you heard some guy say, ‘Honey, I got my dick waxed just for you’?” Amy dressed where she stood, enjoying his laughter and the way his eyes raked her body. “Fast enough?”
He held out his arms. “Some might say too fast.”
Amy felt her heart do that stupid thing again when she stepped into his arms.
I don’t think he’s ever been happy. Dee’s words came back to her while they embraced. But dating women like Dani and Tina was beginning to make more sense. He’d decided he wasn’t worth loving after his father beat him up for trying to help Sarah get an abortion, so he’d chosen women who weren’t capable of loving anyone other than themselves.
Loving Eric is a waste of time until he decides he’s worth loving.
Amy had no idea how to teach him that. “Why are you home early?”
“Driving you to Greenville. Roads will be slick after dark.” He ruffled her hair. “I kinda like watching you blow that whistle anyway. But I need to make a stop first. Let’s get out of here before I drag you to bed.”
* * * *
Eric navigated into a parking space in front of the mall. Turning off the truck’s engine, he sat staring at the entrance.
“What’s wrong?” Amy opened her door.
“Nothing.” Drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel, he watched the picketers march up and down the sidewalk, waving their signs and handing out pamphlets until he felt what he’d been waiting for—the coil of anger under his breastbone.
She hopped out and came around to his side, opening his door. “You change your mind?”
“No.” Easing out of the truck, he locked the doors. Grabbing Amy’s hand when she rounded the rear end of the truck, he glared. “Where the hell is your coat?”
She shrugged. “You were rushing me. I’ll be sweating five minutes after I get onto the court anyway.”
“You’re gonna get sick, running around in the snow without a jacket.” He squeezed her hand.
She huffed. “’Fess up. How much does Mom pay you to be her minion?”
Eric forced a laugh, his eyes on the people holding signs. “I got a sweet recruitment deal. You should see my 401k.”
By the time they reached the sidewalk, Amy was shivering. He should’ve let her out at the door. Next time, he wouldn’t forget. “Go on inside. I’ll be right there.”
Her brows went up, but she dodged the picketers and walked through the door. He could see her through the glass, the toy vendor’s cart at her back, but he looked away. He wanted to see the faces, the red noses, and chapped cheeks of the marchers.
“South Carolina needs a hate crime law.” One of the protestors stuck a pamphlet in his hand.
Eric didn’t look at the paper. Instead, he searched the earnest brown eyes of the man who’d given it to him. “Why? Why do we need that law?”
“Have you heard about Cammie De Marco? How she died?” This guy was in his late fifties, Eric judged. Going bald. Wire-rimmed glasses. He’d never seen the man before, but these people had been marching for months, ever since John’s arrest. “She was murdered—by a confessed member of the Ku Klux Klan—who thought she’d slept with a black man or a Mexican. A God-fearing, church-going woman, killed because of senseless prejudice. She had four little kids, mister. Four children who grew up without a mother, because of hatred. Now, that man’s gonna do five years or less for her death. A hate crime law would allow the solicitor to give her killer the death penalty.”
The wind made Eric’s eyes sting. “How soon can we vote on this?”
The man scowled. “That’s the problem. We aren’t going to get a vote on this. We have to write our state representatives. We have to tell our governor we want this law. It’s all in the pamphlet.”
In other words, all this marching is a waste of time. Eric didn’t see how these well-intentioned people could make any difference. “Thank you.” He stepped around the man and yanked open the door. Amy’s brows were pinched together, but she didn’t speak. He took her by the hand again and turned in the direction of Phil’s office. He loved her for not asking questions. That freedom, to not have to justify his every move, felt like something unfamiliar. Trust.
The secretary smiled. “Well, hello there. Nice to see you again, Eric.”
He could almost see this gold-digger’s pick-axe glinting from beneath her desk. “Tell Phil I need a few minutes of his time.”
The right to assemble doesn’t apply to private property. Like this fucking mall. Someone gave those picketers permission to march. That person has to be Phillip.
The inner office door opened. “Well, well. Hello, cousin. What can I do for you?” Phil adjusted his red power tie. Eric wanted to strangle him with that bit of silk so bad, the desire shut off his breath.
When he crossed the reception area, Eric didn’t stop walking. He saw the flash of fear in the man’s eyes—a fear he’d felt in Phil’s shoes, with his father the one bearing down. His cousin took a step back. That’s right, motherfucker. You can thank Dan for the fact I haven’t jumped your two-faced ass before now, but he ain’t here today. Eric kept moving forward and Phil didn’t stop backing up, until his cousin’s shoulders pressed against the far wall of his office. Thin black frames around Phil’s little degrees and certificates went askew.
Phillip’s father, Oliver, had been Eric’s high school principal. Oliver’s father—also Nance Chapman’s father—had been the school district superintendant, and was the person the high school had been named for. But Eric had learned a few things from his dad. Like the fine art of physical intimidation.
They might’ve been an even match in kindergarten, but Eric had three inches and twenty pounds of solid muscle on Phillip now, thanks to lifting heavy automobile parts, tires, and chopping wood, while Phil probably didn’t lift anything heavier than his after-work drink.
“Hello, cuz. It’s been a while. Saw your little remark in the paper about ‘your beloved Aunt Camille.’ Nice touch, how you said you’d always felt bad for me and my brothers and sister, because we never knew what happened to our mom. Sure wasn’t what you said to my face.”
Phil’s eyes went wide. He’d always hated Phillip’s fucking eyes. They looked just like Cammie’s, in the photos Rafe refused to take down. Eric had burned some the night they buried his dad, until Dan stepped in. He regretted that rash act now, but he wouldn’t regret what he was about to do. Phil owed him for all those childhood taunts, and he was by-God gonna collect.
For Amy.
“Let me ask you something.” Eric smoothed a hand along Phil’s lapel, feeling the man’s heart thundering under his palm. “What damn good are those picketers doing? Carrying signs and fussing about a hate crime law?”
“We need to bring attention to the issue.” The tremor in Phil’s voice stroked something dark inside Eric’s chest.
His heart beat in the vein beside his eye. “Yeah? So, this is a good place to get folk’s attention?”
“Well....” Eric took a good deal of satisfaction from the drops of perspiration forming on his cousin’s forehead. “Yes, we have statistics on how many people come through the property in any given weekend. Historical data, I mean. That’s how we set our rates.” Phil’s wheeze didn’t sound much like a laugh. “Damn, Eric, I’d think you’d be glad I’m trying to raise awareness. Without a hate crime law, how can Aunt Cammie get justice?”
Another dagger of fury made breathing di
fficult. When he’d rather be yelling, all Eric could manage was a low growl. He felt Amy’s hand on his back, but she didn’t speak.
“She’s not going to get justice, asshole. Let me ask you another question.” He saw his cousin’s flinch when he lifted his hand to drop it on the fine, pinstriped fabric covering Phil’s shoulder. While Rafe’s face swam in his memory, Eric mimicked his father’s grin, showing all his teeth, and squeezed Phil’s shoulder. “The governor said she didn’t think we needed that law. It’s not like we’re gonna see the question on a ballot, come November, is it? So what do you think you’re actually accomplishing, besides getting some spotlight time for yourself?” He squeezed harder, enjoying the way Phil’s goddamn blue eyes widened. “I mean, I think Dan woulda mentioned if you’d called to ask our opinion, so don’t pretend you’re doing this for us. This is about you.”
Phil stuck his nose in the air, the same way he used to when Eric passed him in the halls of the high school. “I believe we need the law.”
“Tell you what I believe.” Eric lowered his head, until he couldn’t see anything but the panic flaring in Phil’s eyes. “I believe we need to find something else for people to focus on and let my family mourn in peace. And you know what would make a damn fine distraction, Phillip?” He moved his other hand to the knot on Phil’s silk tie, easing his fingers beneath the fabric. “One you could surely help with?” Eric yanked the tie.
“W-what’s that, Eric?”
“I think we need a wheelchair basketball exhibition, right here under your fine roof. In fact, I think we need us a whole weekend of that.” He yanked the tie again. “Real.” And again. “Soon.”
Eric increased the pressure of the hand on Phil’s shoulder. “I think you need to get the television news crews out here, so they can put your pretty face on TV again. That’ll get you laid, won’t it? I think you need to spend a few bucks advertising the event. And before you go telling me about little old ladies being attacked by rabid basketballs, let me ask this. Have you forgotten what a peach orchard looks like, come summer?”
Rage was a seductive roar in his head, but Amy’s small hand was making circles on his shirt, right above his belt, helping him keep the anger in check. “I sure showed you often enough, those weeks you spent with Grandmother Liv every summer when your parents went on their fancy cruises. Remember?”
Cry baby, cry baby, whatcha gonna do? You’re still mad ‘cause your momma left you? A fist of pain squeezed Eric’s heart.
Phil cleared his throat. “Ah, yeah. I-I do r-remember.” His gaze darted past Eric to Amy. “Miss Sizemore said the group had no nets available.” Eric almost laughed, knowing Phillip saw the nets in the orchards from flat on his back.
Amy’s voice interrupted the memory. “Eric, you heard Daddy. A regulation court is—”
“Amy, unless it’s bigger than eight hundred acres, we’re golden.” Eric forced himself to let go of Phillip and take a step back. Phil dove behind his desk like an unarmed soldier hauling ass for cover. Eric turned and grabbed her hand, holding on for dear life, to keep from going after him. He wouldn’t shame her.
“We sold the equipment, but at one time, we had almost the whole mountain under net in the summertime, to stop the birds from peckin’ a hole in the profits. Trust me, baby doll. If all you need me to stop is one little ball? Consider it done.”
The sheen in Amy’s eyes seemed to burn off some of the poison in his chest.
She turned to his cousin. Phil’s hands were poised over his keyboard. “Let me look at the schedule. I had a cancellation this morning.” His childhood tormenter’s voice trembled as much as his fingers, to Eric’s extreme satisfaction.
“I need to ask you some questions, Miss Sizemore.” Amy tugged her hand free. With a sense of loss, Eric leaned against the wall while Amy took a seat in front of Phil’s fancy desk. He tried to focus on her, instead of the way he ached to put his hands around Phil’s throat.
He had to be a better man.
He watched Phil check Amy out through narrowed eyes. They’d played this game before. Eric suddenly recalled why he’d asked Tina out. Because he’d seen Phillip chatting her up. Phil kept looking at Amy like he was thinking about returning the favor. “You can put the garage number down if you have any questions, Phil. Amy’s living with me.”
“Oh? She didn’t mention that.” The jackass barely glanced his way.
Eric didn’t feel a bit of shame for setting the snare, exposing Phil for the hypocrite Eric felt he was. “She’s in her senior year of college. Going into the family business after graduation.”
Phil’s brows drew together. “She’s going to college, to work at the garage?”
Arrogant prick. His resentment came back in a rush. “Careful, Phillip. Your slip is showing. She’s going to be a teacher. Principal, one day.” Like my grandmother and great-grandfather, whether you like the fact we’re related or not, jackass.
Phil’s response only proved what Eric had long suspected. The Chapmans wouldn’t claim to be related to his side of the family, unless there was a fucking camera and reporter nearby. He stewed while Phil worked his way down a list of questions, entering Amy’s answers. She kept darting glances in his direction, like she thought he might come off that wall. He could tell she didn’t like the idea.
“I’ve put your group down on the calendar for the first weekend in March, Miss Sizemore, but only provisionally. You’ll have to get me release forms signed by each participant.”
Amy nodded. “Not a problem.”
Phil rotated his leather-clad chair, eying Eric like a king addressing a peon from the throne. Eric wasn’t sure how the hell Phil had put that holier-than-thou attitude back in place so fast, but he knew damn well Phil learned that trick from his father. How many times had Phil’s old man called Eric to his office and unleashed that same look?
The asshole’s starched blue collar was stained by a dark line. He doubted Phil worked up an honest sweat too often. “And I’ll need to inspect this net before you set it up. We have standards, not set by me, for both appearance and safety.” Eric didn’t respond right away, wondering if Phil would still be dead set on those precious standards if he crossed the room to stand by his desk. His heartbeat drummed in his head.
“Seriously, Eric,” Phil rasped. “This is putting my job on the line. If anyone gets hurt....”
Eric clenched his fists inside his jacket pockets, to keep from driving one through the weasel’s sweaty face. Phil was still being a condescending ass, implying he thought Eric would redneck-rig the thing, hold it together with duct tape and bungee cords. Don’t need a fucking degree to make a box out of net. “Would you care to see photos now?” he drawled, yanking his phone from his pocket.
After flipping through the pictures Eric had taken of the net he’d built in the peach shed, Phil tried a weak smile, but Eric couldn’t return the gesture. “When and where will you have us set up?”
“The weekend spring break begins, I have an opening. So, your event would run from the first day of March, through closing time that Sunday. By seven p.m. the number of visitors is typically peaking, so in order to take advantage of that, you’d want to be set up by six-thirty.”
This wasn’t up to him. Eric waited. Amy’s face lit with a smile. “That’s perfect. May I see those pictures?” Phillip passed her Eric’s phone.
“The only spot large enough to set up a basketball court is inside the main entrance. Since it’s where all three arms of the mall come together, the area sees a lot of traffic.” He cut his gaze toward Eric again. “That’s as good as it gets, cuz.”
Eric couldn’t seem to swallow the bitter taste on his tongue. He figured any gracious words would only stick in his throat. “You ready to go, Amy?”
“Have Angela make you an appointment for two weeks from today. I’ll need to review the details and decide how I want to promote this event, Miss Sizemore.”
Eric rolled his eyes. Phil was getting off on acting like the Kin
g of Egypt now, instead of a paper-pusher for some management company down in Florida. He wished he’d followed his instincts and punched the jackass.
“Jay Jarius has agreed to sign autographs,” Amy explained. “I thought a real NFL player would help bring people out.”
“Jay Jarius, huh?” Eric caught the asshole’s smirk and some of his pleasure at working Phil for Amy’s benefit evaporated. Fuck, let it go. It was a long time ago. But it stung that Jay would have a damn thing to do with this.
“Yes, I’ll definitely promote his appearance.” Phillip nodded, darting Eric an outright grin.
Asshole. Why did Phil get off on putting him down? It took some of the shine off his moment to know Jay was connected to this thing. Eric gritted his teeth and reminded himself this wasn’t about him. It was for Amy.
At the front desk, the blonde batted her lashes. Eric fidgeted impatiently, waiting for Amy to make her appointment so they could get the fuck out of here. He’d had a gutful of her predatory stares.
“What’s your name, again?” The woman finally shifted her gaze to Amy.
While the secretary entered her name for the appointment, Amy asked, “Do you recall the young woman who was here the other night when we came in? She spoke Spanish. She might’ve been Mexican. I think she was filling out a job application? Dark hair, gray eyes?”
The secretary shook her head. “We get about twenty applications a day, but we don’t have any job openings at the moment. I throw them out at the end of the week.” The bleached blonde made an elaborate shudder. “Especially those from Mexicans.”
Hateful bitch. She and Phillip probably made a good team. He’d love to see her spend a single day in a peach orchard. She might have an appreciation for the job migrants did. If they wanted better jobs, who could blame them? Eric yanked the door open and held it for Amy. He’d worn off a layer of tooth enamel, he was sure. If he stayed in this place much longer, he was going to have to hit something.
Amy was still flipping through the photos on his cell phone. “When in the world did you do this?”
