Headlong

by Shannon McKenna

  But then the silence got so long, it started to annoy her. “Oh, for God’s sake, Eric,” she finally snapped. “What is your damn problem?”

  “I’m just trying to think of something to say to you that won’t lead into a danger zone,” he said. “And I’m coming up blank.”

  “Well, think harder. And don’t make such a big goddamn thing out of it. I’m just any old high school classmate that you haven’t seen in years. You know. Where have you been? What have you done? Small talk. Chit chat. You can do it. I know you can.”

  “Small talk? For real? Us?”

  “Especially us,” she said.

  He sighed. “Damn. I guess I can give it a shot.” He studied her face for another long moment. “So. Been a while.”

  “Sure has,” she agreed.

  “I never thought I’d see you settled here. I thought you’d get the hell out of this town. Like me.”

  Demi sipped her beer as she considered her answer. “I did leave.”

  “But not to cooking school. Isn’t that where you were headed?”

  She shook her head. “I gave that up,” she said. “I ended up working for Shaw Paper Products for a few years. The center up in Spokane, like you heard.”

  “So they finally got you. They wrestled you down.” He hesitated. “For a while, at least.”

  “Yeah. I gave it my best shot, but I finally bailed. It’s not like it was a death sentence or anything. It just wasn’t my thing. After Mom died, I finally managed to make Granddad understand that my heart would never be in it.”

  “And then you opened the restaurant? You went back to your original idea?”

  “Not exactly,” she hedged. “Demi’s Corner Café isn’t haute cuisine, like I was dreaming of, but I like it. I sling great hash, and I’m my own boss. And business is good.”

  “I still remember those kick-ass sandwiches you made at the Bakery Café,” he said. “I wish I could try your food now.”

  “You had your chance, buddy,” she told him. “We prepared tons of tasty food for the reception today. It was wasted on you.”

  He smiled briefly. “With that death-glare your dad was giving me? How was I supposed to swallow food?”

  “Lightweight,” she scoffed. “I learned to perform all essential activities of daily living while under the influence of that death-glare. I’m living proof it can be done.”

  “Good for you,” he said. “For real, I mean. Congratulations on doing your own thing. No matter the odds.”

  There were a thousand different things she could say in response to that, but she squelched them with savage effort. Keep it light. Don’t get into it. Just don’t.

  “Thanks. Same to you.” Her voice felt strangled.

  He nodded, and gestured to the bartender, lifting the two shot glasses and sliding a couple of bills across the bar.

  “How about you?” she asked. “Where did you go after…everything? Did you go back to the Marines?”

  “No, I was all done with that. I went to Las Vegas for a while. Did some security work in the casinos for a couple of years while I finished designing my app. Then I launched it, and started a company.”

  Demi waited to reply while the bartender refilled the shot glass and tossed another couple of chunks of lime onto the plate. “Started a company,” she repeated slowly. “That means nothing by itself. What does your company do?”

  “It solves problems.”

  She laughed. “Oh. So, you’re what? A fixer?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Is that what you think of me?”

  She gave him a mysterious smile. Messing with his head was kind of fun. “I don’t know what to think of you unless you’re more specific,” she said. “Solving problems? Come on, Eric. It sounds kind of ominous. It could mean anything.”

  “It doesn’t mean anything like that. It’s very straightforward.”

  “Oh really? Tell me.”

  “Remember that work-flow app I was designing seven years ago? That’s my flagship product. I named it Aion. I’ve launched a lot of new apps since then. I’m an entrepreneur, Demi. Boring, legitimate business. Products, launches, spreadsheets, databases, taxes. I’m not a bagman for some mafia overlord, for fuck’s sake.”

  Ooh, she’d gotten under his skin. “Okay,” she murmured. “Sounds…respectable.”

  “It is,” he said forcefully. “One hundred percent.”

  Then his words sank in and she turned back to him, genuinely startled. “Wait a sec. Aion, you said? Your company designed the Aion app?”

  “No,” he said. “I designed the Aion app, alone and unassisted. Then I started a company to help me market it. Now I have a team that works with me, and we’ve done Helios, Eos and Pallas since then. Nyx is our latest. I just launched it a couple months ago. It’s doing well. You’ve heard of them?”

  “Of course I’ve heard of them. Especially Aion. Shaw Paper Products started using Aion right before I stopped working there. I remember all the buzz. Everyone called it a big game-changer. Everybody uses those apps, Eric. They’re huge.”

  “Not everyone,” he said. “Not yet. We think there’s plenty of room for growth.”

  “Well…wow. In any case, that’s impressive. So who is ‘we?’”

  “My team. My company.” He reached into his pocket and handed her a business card.

  It was very simple. Heavy, cream-colored stock. An embossed logo. Erebus, Inc. Eric Trask, Owner and CEO. A phone number, an email, and a QR code.

  “Owner and CEO,” she murmured. “Of Erebus. Look at you. You hit the bigtime.”

  “Go ahead, look it up online,” he said. “My picture’s right there on the masthead. Suit and tie, the whole deal. I clean up nice when I make an effort. You’d be amazed.”

  “No, actually, I’m not amazed at all,” she told him. “I knew nothing would keep you down for long.”

  He gave her a long, searching look. “Thanks,” he said finally.

  “For what?”

  “For thinking that. Not many around here would. And thanks for talking to me right now. Like a normal person. After…everything that happened. It’s generous of you.”

  She struggled with that for a minute, but kept her reply rigorously bland and pleasant. “Otis expected the best from you, too. He was very proud of all three of you.”

  Eric looked away. A muscle in his jaw pulsed. He took the second shot glass that sat in front of them on the bar, and lifted it. “To Otis,” he said.

  “To Otis.” She took a sip of her beer while he downed his shot.

  “Well, well. Look what crawled out from under a rock and decided to go out drinking,” said a sneering voice behind them. “Eric-fucking-Paley. The Prophet’s spawn.”

  Eric spun around on the bar stool. Boyd Nevins stood behind them.

  “The name’s Trask,” Eric told him.

  Boyd had been two years ahead of her in school, in Eric’s class. He’d worked for Shaw Paper Products in Spokane at the same time she did and was now the director of Shaw’s distribution center in Granger Valley. He’d come on to her every chance he got back in her Spokane days, and since he’d moved back he’d made it plain that he was still interested, but she hadn’t returned his interest. Boyd was good looking, smart, ambitious, all that good stuff, but she just wasn’t feeling it. Not even a flickering spark of curiosity.

  Then again, that could just be because Boyd was the walking, breathing embodiment of everything Dad, Mom and Granddad had always wanted for her. That could be what turned her off. Which was unfair, but hey. What could you do.

  “Hey, Boyd,” she said. “What’s your problem?”

  “Is he bothering you, sweetheart?” Boyd didn’t take his eyes off Eric.

  That made the hairs on her arms prickle. “I’m not your sweetheart,” she replied. “And no, he isn’t, so walk on by.”

  Boyd ignored her, still addressing Eric. “I saw your brothers gassing up at the station earlier,” he said. “I figured you’d be hauling ass out of town
right along with them with your tail between your legs. But no. Here you still are. Guzzling booze like the drunk thief loser that you are. Tequila, no less. I guess that’s appropriate.”

  Eric just looked at him without saying a word.

  Boyd made an abrupt lunging gesture toward him. Eric didn’t flinch.

  “What?” Boyd barked. “Get that dick look off your face. Fuckhead.”

  “I’m just wondering how you live with yourself,” Eric said. “You must have tied yourself into knots to justify what you did. Maybe you’re weak and someone forced you. Or you’re greedy and someone paid you. Or you’re an asshole sociopath and you don’t care. Who knows. In the end, you just don’t deserve that much thought.”

  Boyd’s eyes glittered. “Time to go, Prophet’s spawn. Up you get. Right foot, left foot.”

  “Really? You sure about that?” Eric slid off the stool and stood up, looming a full four inches taller than Boyd. “I got plenty, if you want some. But I don’t think you’re up to it. I don’t want to waste my time on a dickless coward like you.”

  Demi looked from one to the other, horrified. “Holy shit! Guys! What the hell is this about? Cool it, both of you!”

  “Maybe you don’t understand,” Boyd said to Eric. “I represent a lot of people in this town, many of whom are in this bar right now. We want you to get gone. Right now would be a good time. So fuck off.”

  “Boyd, what the hell are you saying? He just buried his father! Stop being a dick!”

  Eric was so completely still, it unnerved her. “Since you know who these people are, do me a favor,” he said softly. “Call them all together right now. I’d be happy to discuss any issues they may have with me all at once. We’ll save time that way.”

  Boyd’s mouth twisted. “I can take you alone.”

  “If you want.” Eric’s eyes roved around the crowded space. “Outside.” He glanced at Demi. “This will only take a minute. Save my seat.” He gestured to Boyd. “After you.”

  And off they went, just like that. Both men headed toward the door to…to do what? To go pound on each other in the parking lot?

  Oh, please. This could not be happening. “Eric! Are you fucking kidding me?” she yelled after them.

  She was talking to empty air.

  Bad idea. Back away. Don’t indulge yourself. Don’t be a dumb asshole.

  There it was, the voice of reason in Eric’s head. It sounded a lot like Otis, but it didn’t stand a chance tonight. The beast inside needed to move and flex, or he’d snap.

  Boyd’s had this coming. For years. Shit-eating liar. He needed a pounding and tonight was his big night. Hell, the guy had literally invited him to do it.

  And what was left of his self-control had already been fatally compromised by staring at Demi Vaughan. Those bright, direct eyes. Those curves of her full, sexy lips. The way that shirt hugged her tits. Her husky voice. It made his cock pulse with lust.

  And then that prick Boyd just walks up and volunteers himself? How the fuck was he supposed to turn down a gift-wrapped opportunity for payback like that?

  He and Boyd danced around each other. A ring of hollering onlookers began to form in the pool of harsh orange light cast by the streetlight in the parking lot.

  Boyd came on with a roar. Obvious as all fuck. And slow. Eric whipped to the side, tripped him, flipped him.

  Boyd landed hard on his back in a mud puddle, splashing the onlookers. They bellowed and roared, urging him to get up and try again.

  Boyd did so, staggering slightly and wiping mud out of his face.

  “Fucking lowlife. Shoulda stayed gone,” he snarled as he came on again.

  Eric blocked the wild and obvious blows easily. He jabbed a hard punch directly to Boyd’s nose, then drove a knee up into his crotch.

  Boyd reeled back with a grunt of pain and bounced off someone’s car.

  Shit. There would be no satisfaction in this. No blowing off of steam. This was just taking out the trash. Which just infuriated him more.

  Cheated again.

  Boyd glared, panting heavily. Eric beckoned with his fingers. Best to finish this up clean and fast. Before he lost his temper and ended up actually hurting the guy.

  Boyd charged, screaming, eyes bugged out. Eric pivoted, seized and twisted Boyd’s wrist and arm and used Boyd’s own momentum to send the guy soaring.

  Crunch, Boyd hit the hood of someone’s car. He slid down, leaving a dent and a lurid smear of dark blood from his broken nose. He landed heavily, face down in a puddle.

  People rushed to the guy, pulling his face out of the water and trying to revive him. Eric was glad they were on it. He didn’t want Boyd to drown in a puddle, dickhead liar or not. That would complicate his life in stupid ways.

  And there he was. Standing there, buzzing with unspent rage, at the mercy of his own bad choices. He looked at the people still ringed around him. “Anyone else want to kick my ass?” he demanded, beckoning to them. “Bring it.”

  Gazes slid swiftly away and the muttering group dispersed. Fucking useless. All of them.

  Demi emerged from behind the crowd as it melted away. She looked appalled.

  His fighting buzz drained away. There was only grief and self-loathing beneath it.

  He shouldn’t have scolded his brothers for running. They were lucky they both had a functioning instinct for self-preservation. This place made him as dumb as a fucking rock.

  Eric turned around and headed toward the dark highway.

  7

  Eric left the pool of light cast by the parking lot streetlamp.

  Demi ran to her car. She pulled out onto the highway, and caught sight of Eric on the road ahead in her headlights, just as he left the roadway to plunge into the dense forest that covered the mountainside.

  She pulled over and rolled down the window. “Hey! Trask!” she yelled.

  He was already lost to sight in the shadow of the trees. “Let me be, Demi,” he called back.

  Uh-uh. He didn’t get to sulk after throwing his tantrum in the parking lot. She got out of the car and yelled in his direction. “Get back down here right this minute, Eric!”

  “Stay away from me. Everyone told you to, and everyone was right.”

  “Oh, shut up. For real? You’re running away like a little bitch. All sorry for yourself. Who would have thought that Otis Trask’s son would be such a pansy-ass wuss.”

  “I’m warning you, Demi. I’ll be shitty company tonight.”

  “I’ll do it, okay?” she said. “Since you’re so goddamn desperate.”

  A puzzled silence. “You’ll do…what?”

  “You begged for someone to kick your ass back there in the parking lot, remember? You desperately need it, and it looks like I’m the only one who’s willing to oblige you. So get your ass down here so I can start kicking.”

  There was a rustling sound, and Eric appeared at the edge of the forest.

  “You?” he said. “You’re going to kick my ass?”

  “With pleasure,” she said. “You want punishment, you’re in the right place. I’ll kick your ass right into next week.”

  A wary, reluctant smile flashed across his face. He hesitated for just a moment, then started down the slope toward the highway. “Okay, then,” he said. “If you’re offering.”

  They got into the car. Demi rolled up the windows against the cold wind and splattering raindrops and got back on the road.

  He kept giving her surreptitious glances as they drove, until she couldn’t stand it anymore. “What?” she demanded. “What’s with the sideways looks? They bug me.”

  “Just wondering how my ass will be kicked,” he said. “You know. In what way, on what level, how hard. I’m intrigued. Maybe even a little afraid.”

  “Be afraid,” she said crisply. “I’ll come up with something very severe. You just sit there and sweat while I devise a fitting punishment for all your sins.”

  He grunted under his breath. “Good luck with that.”

  She wasn
’t sure what he meant by that, so she let it pass. Rain pattered down even harder. The wipers squeaked in the charged silence.

  “You good to drive?” he asked. “How long were you at the bar before I showed up?”

  She shot him a narrow look. “You’re suggesting that I’m driving drunk? You?”

  “Just wondering,” he murmured.

  “I got to the bar a few minutes before you did. There’s two thirds of a beer still sitting there on the bar. My first. And that’s offensive as hell, coming from you.”

  “Didn’t mean any offense. Slow down anyway. The road’s not in great shape.”

  “Do not lecture me, Trask.”

  He made an impatient sound. “For fuck’s sake, Demi. Please. Out with it. Whatever’s on your mind.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Of course I know,” he said. “Just get it out where we can see it. Please.”

  She considered her reply as she negotiated the sharp turns, and then slowed down at the bridge at the turn-off for Kettle Canyon Road. “I told you not to lift that lid.”

  “Not an option, if you want to kick my ass,” he told her. “We never got a chance to hash this out seven years ago. Let’s do it now.”

  She bumped over the wooden bridge and made a hard right on to Vensel Road. The car started to climb up the steep grade. “I don’t know if I should even start.”

  “You already did, right or wrong. So talk to me.”

  She drove along the bumpy road for several minutes in stony silence before she finally nodded. “Just remember,” she said, her voice tight. “You asked for this.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Okay, here goes nothing. You prick. You betrayed my trust. You used me, lied to me and made a fool of me. I let you inside my family home, and you took the keys to the Porsche when you left, stole my dad’s car and crashed it, practically killing yourself in the process, which makes you both suicidal and insanely stupid. It was a dick move in every way. And yes, I’m still extremely pissed.”

  “That’s not how it went down,” Eric said.