by S. L. Scott
Gossip. It spreads as fast as a phone call in this town.
I rest my shoulder against the column, smiling that she tried her best to hide that curiosity when she and Billy drove by yesterday. “Figured I should since rumors were going to be spread anyway.”
“So you came by to nip it in the bud or to start the rumor mill spinning?”
The right side of my mouth lifts higher. “Maybe a little of both.”
She smiles, but it falls quicker than it appeared. Her eyes are set on her toes, a dark pink dotting the nails of each. “You know, Cole’s going to hear about this.” The change is fast, her sunshine gone. Does she fear Cutler finding out that I visited?
“Not if you don’t tell him.”
Her gaze flashes to mine. “I don’t talk to him unless I’m court ordered.”
“What kind of court is ordering you to talk to him?”
The rain has become the most fascinating thing around when she turns away and reaches out to catch a few drops. “You’ve been gone a long time. I think you’ve forgotten what it’s like to live here.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” I reach out and take her hand in mine, bringing it under the shelter of the roof. Tapping the water that pooled in her palm, I say, “Maybe you can remind me.”
She pulls her hand away, the last drops falling to the wood floor. As if she caught herself in a compromising position, she backs away from me and gives me a cold shoulder. “You know,” she starts, staring out over the long drive leading up to the house. “It was good to see you, Jason, but I think it’s best if you go.”
What just happened? “Why?”
Her smile is gone, and an unfamiliar sadness creeps onto her face. She lowers her head for the third time in the past few minutes, and it looks all wrong on her. She moves across the porch, opens the screen door, and steps inside. “It’s getting late.”
Before it has a chance to slam closed, I catch it. “Talk to me, Delilah.”
I see her chest rise and fall with a heaviness that wasn’t there in the lighthearted moment we shared a minute earlier. “Don’t say my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you still care.”
“I do,” I reply too quickly to replace it with the lie I should have told.
“Then don’t.” She tugs the screen door, and I release it, letting it slam shut. “I think it’s best if you don’t visit me again.” She moves into the darkness of her house, and the front door is closed.
One lock.
Two locks.
One chain slides into place.
I’m tempted to ring the doorbell, but I’m in shock by the turn in her demeanor. Remaining there too long, I finally turn away when it’s obvious she’s not going to open that door again.
I mount my bike and start it, but before I drive away, I glance back at the house. She’s quick to hide to the side of the window, but not before I caught her spying. What’s going on? Why the sudden change? Is it Cutler? He scares her, but he doesn’t scare me.
I leave because I’m over being wet and the path to her farmhouse will become a mud pit if I don’t get out of here soon. I maneuver around the watery potholes on my way to the street. Once I’m on pavement again, I take off as if I have someplace I’m supposed to be. I don’t. Delilah made it clear I’m not welcome around here, so why stick around where I’m not wanted?
It might be time to start mapping out a game plan. I have about a week’s worth of stuff to do around my mom’s house and then what? Where do I want to go? What do I want to do?
Jobs always found me after landing in LA. I was spotted by a scout at the beach working out. Boom. I was hired for stunt work. Then by an actor I met on set. We grabbed a few beers and partied together on the regular. He made a few headlines around Hollywood and asked me to cover him. The money was good, but then I was a free agent and scooped up by referral by a visiting dignitary.
I liked working in the private sector with my last boss, but almost getting killed several times over wasn’t fantastic. The thought of just hanging around a bit and working on things that don’t have me sleeping with one eye open sounds nice. I’ll put a few feelers out.
I arrive at my mom’s still hell-bent out of shape over that farewell with Delilah. I dash inside and shake my jacket off just inside the kitchen door. My mom comes around the corner with two towels. “Looks like the rain won this round.”
“I wasn’t in the mood to fight.” With Delilah, but I let it reside as if that response fits her comment.
“Take your shoes off and let them dry out here. I’ll hang your jacket up to drip dry in the bathroom. Go change and bring me these wet clothes. I’m starting a load.”
Toeing off one of my shoes, I look up at her. “You don’t have to wait on me like I’m a kid.”
“You don’t have to be so resistant to help. We all need it every now and again.”
“Is this really about clothes? I have a feeling it’s not.”
She takes my shoes and moves them off to the side of the door. “Everything I say doesn’t have to mean more than the words I choose.”
“Fine.” I strip off my wet shirt and cut through the kitchen to the laundry room to dump it into the washer. “You were actually talking to me about wet clothes.” I strip off my soaked socks and add them in too. I pass back through the kitchen and head for my room.
“Jason? What’s wrong?”
Shutting my door, I strip off the rest of my clothes and pull on some pajama pants and a T-shirt I yank from the closet. When I return to put the rest in the washing machine, I pass my mom as she sips a glass of tea. Her eyes follow me, but she doesn’t say a word.
When I return, I do. “She told me not to come around anymore and shut the door in my face. Is that what you want to hear?”
Her glass is set down, and she angles her head to really look at me—right in the eyes. “No, that makes me sad to hear. I’m sorry.”
Leaning back against the opposite counter, I sigh. “You don’t have to be. I wasn’t planning on staying long. Just long enough to help you out, and then I’ll be out of your hair again. Delilah obviously wants nothing to do with me, so she can go about her life as if I never stopped by at all.”
She crosses the small kitchen and hugs me, resting her head on my shoulder. “I don’t want you out of my hair, Jason. I like you being home. I miss you and wish I saw you more, not less.”
I lean down and look at my mom. She’s always been strong—a single mother since my dad died when I was five—and worked full-time, even if it took two jobs to get the hours. Never missed a Friday night game of mine—whether home or away.
She’s the one person who would be most disappointed to know the depths I’ve sunk during my time away. Somehow, even with mother’s intuition, she hasn’t seen the black of my soul. She’s looked past the dead in my eyes, in my heart, that allowed me to do my job—and do it well.
Detachment was key. When I finally thought I could befriend someone, it put them at risk. Is it safe to attach myself now—to her again, to this town, and the people here with so much unsettled? “I’m not running out the door. Not yet anyway.”
“I’ll take what I can get. Or I’ll bake your favorite cake to tempt you to stay.”
Embracing her again, I say, “I never could resist your chocolate cake.”
“Good. Now that it’s settled, and you’re going to stick around a bit, can I get you something to eat?”
Giving in to her dream is easy when I’m around her. “I’d like that.”
“Head into the living room and find us something to watch tonight.”
I do as I’m told and settle on the couch. As I flip through the stations, my eyes keep shifting to the right, straight to that prom picture. When everyone looks dated and awful, there’s Delilah Noelle looking gorgeous even in her sister’s hand-me-down prom dress. I get up and set the frame facedown and return to the couch. Continuing through the channels, I stop when I reach a Marvel movie.
The problem is,
I’m still too distracted. I’d like to blame the frame, but I know it doesn’t matter whether I can see the photo or not; that woman is ingrained in my brain. Delilah may not have been the reason for my return, but she’s suddenly become the reason I’m staying. That, and my mom and her chocolate cake.
Getting up once more, I position the frame the way it was before and return to the couch just as my mom comes in with a plate of snacks. Glancing between the photo and me, she’s about to say something, but I cut her off before she has a chance. “Just let it go, okay?”
“I wasn’t going to say anything.”
I look up with raised eyebrows, contesting that last statement with just a look.
Rolling her eyes, she confesses, “Fine. I’ll wait until tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’m talking about the snacks.”
“Oh,” she says, then laughs. “You’re welcome for that, too.”
God, I love my mom.
7
Jason
After only five days of being back, I’m already feeling like I could hang around a little longer. Sure, Delilah has kept her distance, and I’ve kept mine, but it’s been nice working around the house during the day and kicking it at night with Billy. I haven’t felt as restless. Working with my hands has been calming on my mind. It keeps my attention focused on the task at hand instead of the million angles that someone might be playing to feed their greed like in previous jobs.
I’ve managed to avoid Cole Cutler, thank fuck, due to our schedules running opposite so far. The evening starts off casual, and I’m catching up with McGilley while Billy keeps the tab open. I’ve never been one for loose lips, but the easy nature of being parked on a barstool like the guys beside me have been for the past four or five years, I find myself talking about some of my adventures. I leave the illegal parts out. The talk is light with laughter as good times are being re-lived.
The door swings open, and I hear a few guys call out his name. “Cutler.”
That’s what I get for getting cozy in this town.
I’m tempted to turn and look when the conversation goes quiet, but I keep my focus on the pint glass in front of me. One by one, I hear him greet the guys, and then he’s behind me. Billy says, “There’s a free stool at the other end of the bar. I reckon it would be best if you take a seat down there, Cutler.”
Cutler ignores him, his eyes already burning a hole in the back of my head. I feel it, every nerve in my body ready to fight. I still won’t give him the satisfaction of my recognition. Fuck him.
“Well. Well. Wellllll. If it ain’t the great number eight himself, Jason Koster.” His hand lands hard on my shoulder, and he squeezes. “It’s been a while, old friend.”
Cracking my neck to the opposite side, I pick up my glass and down a swig before turning and looking back over my shoulder. “Not long enough.”
“Nope.” He slides in on the other side of me and pats the bar. McGilley already has a pint ready and sets it down. “It’s on Koster,” he tells him. With a fake smile plastered on his face, he leans closer. “Thanks for the beer, bud.”
“You can thank Billy since he’s buying.”
He holds his glass up. “Thanks.” Not wasting time, he gulps it down like it’s water. Making a production, he pushes it toward McGilley. “Another.” His breath is heavy, his shoulders weighing him down.
I can tell this is going to turn into something more, so I swivel to leave. My shoulder is smacked down again, and he says, “Here to visit your mom? Your girl? What dragged your sorry ass back to town?”
“Here we go,” Billy says. “Cool it, Cutler. We’re just catching up on old times here. No harm. No foul.”
Bopping his head, he adds. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t have the girl. She’s mine.”
Maybe I’ll stick around a little longer. I take another pull from the glass, and then reply, “Not from what I’ve gathered.”
“What did you say, Koster?”
Turning to Cutler for the first time, I look him dead in the eyes. “I said, not from what I’ve gathered.”
My shoulder is shoved, but I catch myself before I fall. Billy is on his feet and pushing Cutler back against the bar. “Get off me. Fucking assholes.” He shrugs out of Billy’s hold, giving up the fight before it ever really began. Sneering at Billy, he spits, “Where’s your loyalty, Langston? Or are you brainwashed into bowing down to this fucker, too?”
His insults don’t hurt me. Him breaking bro code pisses me off. “Loyalty? You don’t know shit about loyalty.”
“This has been a long time coming. Outside, fucker.”
“Yeah, take it outside, boys,” McGilley adds.
Fear is something I haven’t possessed in a long time. So after finishing my beer, I slide off the barstool and head for the door. The bell above the door rings as I walk out. Moving down the sidewalk, I hear the shuffle of feet behind me and move to the corner before turning around. A calm I’ve come to expect washes through me. I’ve wondered many times if I’ve become desensitized to violence, almost looking forward to the release. My hands fist and then I flex my fingers.
I have to remind myself where I am. Causing trouble in this town means trouble for my mom, and that’s the last thing I want. Billy comes toward me. “Walk away, Jason.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s drunk.”
Cutler comes stumbling toward me with his fists raised. What the hell? I stare at him, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’re fucking sad, you know that?”
“Get him outta here, Langston,” McGilley yells down the way.
Billy wrangles Cutler backward as he yells, “Fuck off, Billy. This is a long time coming. I’m going to kick your ass, Koster, and set the record straight once and for all.” He charges me. “I own this town. I own Delilah.”
I don’t lose my temper easily, but he manages to push just the right button. “Fuck you.”
He’s just about to hit me, but when he’s within arm’s reach, I take him by the throat and slam him to the ground. His face turns red, the veins in his neck begin to bulge, and his pulse pounds under my fingers. I could end him right here. I could look into his eyes and watch his life leave them.
This asshole doesn’t deserve death. If this piece of shit doesn’t get out of my sight, he’s going to find it, though. I lean down so he hears me clearly, and say, “The more you fight, the more your throat will close on you. Relax if you want to live.”
Pushing off him, I back away and tell Billy, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Cutler is left gasping for air while Billy stands there in shock. My buzz is gone, and I go around to the side of the bar to get on my bike.
I take the long way home.
Cutler’s not the guy I knew growing up. Something’s changed him over the years. Jealousy that grew into anger and then expanded into hate. Hitting women. He’s become his father, who he regularly saw hit his mother.
Some fucking example he was.
Everyone knew what happened behind closed doors, yet his mom stayed. My mother was the only one who reached out—repeatedly—to his. Eventually, that relationship ended when his father decided he didn’t care for people knowing his business. No wonder Cole’s so fucked up.
I need the dark of the night to relieve the aggression I found too easily tonight. The cool night air clears my head. With clarity, I see through the fog that’s been crowding my head. I turn around and head for the Noelle farm.
It doesn’t take but a few minutes to get there, but I stop at the entrance and cut the engine. The lights are out except one in that upstairs bedroom. If I had her number, I’d text her to see if she’s awake or wants to talk. Maybe she’d come outside and say hi again, even if only for a second.
The light is switched off, and a little hope goes with it. I start my bike and head home. I was stupid for thinking I could invade her night. I’ll see her again. I know that much. Doesn’t have to be a
big deal, just to talk, to settle the wild thundering of my heart. To put the issues between us to bed. We’re not those same kids in love. We’re adults with problems to match.
I sneak inside, locking up behind me. My mom’s bedroom door cracks open, and she says, “You okay, Jase?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Go back to bed.”
“Will you come to church with me in the morning?”
Leaning against the doorframe to my room, I say, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mom. Jesus and I aren’t on good terms these days.”
“That’s exactly why you should come with me.”
She’s tired, and I’m not looking to argue. “I’ll go. Now get some rest.”
With a smile, she says, “Good night. Love you.”
“Love you. Good night.”
We catch the only light in town, naturally. I come to a stop at the red and tug at my tie, which is feeling too tight. I haven’t worn a tie in a long time. My mom is talking about what she calls the gossip girls and how they’re going to lose their minds when I walk into church.
But I’m looking around at this tired town, the streets nearly empty on an early Sunday morning. Glancing into the rearview mirror, I watch as a familiar white pickup pulls up behind me. I’m pretty sure she recognizes my mom’s car by how she’s looking everywhere other than at me staring back at her.
A smile threatens to break the frown right off her face. Delilah might have broken my heart, but sitting here, I realize she has the power to do it twice.
I used to think she couldn’t resist me, but she had no problem earlier this week. Let’s see if she can this time. I have a few tricks up my sleeve when it comes to Ms. Noelle that I’ve been thinking about all night. “I’ll be right back.”
“What?” my mom asks, watching me get out of the car. “Where are you going? The light’s going to turn green at any second.”
I keep walking.
Delilah sees me. She lowers her sunglasses from the top of her head, but I imagine her eyes are probably damn wide right now. Reaching for the lock on the door, she pushes it down with her finger just as I arrive. She can kid herself all she likes, but she knows damn well the most I’ll do is pressure her into giving me a little of her time.
