by Cora Kenborn
I’m not sure if she’ll be relieved or shit a brick when she finds out what Shiloh’s done.
The minute she sees me, her smile gets even bigger. “Carrick!” Running around the corner of the desk, she wraps her arms around my neck and hugs me like she hasn’t seen me in months. “You didn’t tell me you were dropping by!”
I never do, but that’s beside the point. “I was in the neighborhood.”
Total lie, but she doesn’t have to know that.
She looks tired. Her youthful face has aged since I got them involved with the McDaniels. She’s wearing jeans and a Castaway Sands logo t-shirt, but it’s untucked and stained on the pocket. My mother is meticulous about cleanliness and order. I may not have grown up with money, but Mom was adamant that we always take pride in what we had. That’s how I know how bad things have gotten for them.
“When’s the last time you slept, Mom?”
She raises an eyebrow in that mother way that makes you feel like you just got caught sneaking liquor out of the house. “Well, you sure know how to make a girl feel special, huh?”
“You know what I mean,” I groan, leaning my elbows on the desk as a pounding sound shakes the ceiling above my head. “I can tell you’ve been working too much.” The pounding gets louder and I nod my chin upward. “Hey, what’s that sound, and where’s Dad?”
She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Room 309.”
“Again?”
Room 309 has been a pain in our asses for years. If it’s not the plumbing, it’s the electrical wiring, or the appliances, or a damn insect infestation. I’d swear the room is cursed if I believed in that kind of shit.
“Yep. Pipe burst in the bathroom and flooded the whole thing. He’s been up there for hours trying to save as much as he can.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Watch your mouth,” she warns, pointing a finger at me. “I don’t like that talk.”
She’s not kidding. I can still taste soap from that time in seventh grade when she washed my mouth out for calling my teacher a bitch.
“Well, that makes what I have to tell you even more timely.”
Pressing her palms toward me, she shakes her head and starts backing up. “No more bad news, Carrick. I don’t think my heart can take it.”
“No bad news, Mom,” I promise, reaching for her hand and pulling her back. “You don’t have to worry about the motel anymore. The debt is gone.” I wait for a scream, maybe even smile of appreciation. What I get are narrowed eyes and pursed lips.
“What do you mean, gone?”
“It’s paid off. You have a clean slate.”
Clean slate.
My choice of words isn’t lost on me.
Finally, her eyes widen and her hands cover her mouth in shock. “Are you kidding me? Oh my goodness, Carrick, I can’t believe that…” Her voice trails off as suspicion clouds her eyes. “This is her doing, isn’t it?”
Shit.
I palm the back of my neck and sigh. I was hoping to avoid having this conversation, but the woman is like a bloodhound. “She has a name, Mom, and what does it matter where it came from? The motel is safe, and you and Dad can stop worrying.”
Moving back behind the desk, she looks away and starts to obsessively shuffle papers. “It matters because it’s blood money, son. She’s buying your forgiveness.”
“No, she isn’t,” I insist, slapping a hand on top of the stack to stop her. “Mom, you have no idea what’s been going on right under your nose.”
She grips the edge of the desk. “Then why don’t you tell me for once.”
We say nothing for a few seconds. I can’t lie to her. She’d know anyway, so it’s sink or swim time for me, and I’m out of air.
I sigh. “I got in way over my head. Taryn had me by the balls. She’s been blackmailing me with the money her family lent me to start the center, the money you guys borrowed, with her uncle being the health inspector, and now with Shiloh…”
“What about Shiloh?”
“She hates her, Mom,” I admit, sweat beading my forehead. “At the Rugged Maniac Race, she told me if I broke up with her, she’d come after both of us. She’s crazy.”
I wait for her to tell me how disappointed she is in me. Instead, her expression softens. “You love her.”
“Yeah. I always have.”
“I know. I wish you didn’t.”
The breath I let out is a mix of relief and resentment. “Me too. It’d be easier if I didn’t.”
My mother is unfazed by my admission. “We don’t choose who we fall in love with, son. If we did, they’d call it stepping in love. We fall because we have no control. You’re walking along just fine and then before you know it, the ground is gone, your heart is gone, and you’re falling.” She emphasizes her point by dropping her arms toward the ground.
A thought suddenly hits me. “Did Grandma and Grandpa like Dad?”
She snorts and wrinkles her nose. “Are you kidding? He whisked me away from Spartanburg at eighteen with dreams of owning a motel in a tourist trap like Myrtle Beach. They hated him for taking me away, but their opinion didn’t matter to me.” A smile pulls at the corners of her mouth. “I would’ve moved cross country for him and lived in a tent.”
“I’d live in a tent for her.”
Reaching for my hand, she gives it a squeeze. “Then that tells me all I need to know.”
* * *
Sitting in the parking lot of the motel, I wait for Shiloh’s call and think about what my mother said.
We don’t choose who we fall in love with.
I sure as hell wouldn’t have chosen Shiloh, but it’s too late. The ground is gone, my heart is gone, and I’ve fallen.
“I’m so sorry.” I’m not sure if I’m saying it to Shiloh for lying, or to myself for being a shitbag. All I do know is that as much as I promised her a clean slate, I can’t risk losing her by telling her what I’ve done.
Since I haven’t spent a dime yet, I’ll find a way to get her money back in her account, and somehow, I’ll keep her away from Taryn until I can figure out what the hell she has planned. I have to. I have no other choice.
Turning up the radio, I find a station that suits my mood and lean back against the headrest. As the heavy guitar riffs hit the chorus, I reach for the button to crank it even louder when my phone rings. Seeing her gorgeous face pop up on my screen, I cut the music and answer.
“All done, beautiful?”
“You need to get here, now,” a panicked male voice yells.
My heart races, and I immediately start the car. “Frankie? What’s wrong?”
“Shiloh’s been arrested.”
Thirty-One
Shiloh
After the meeting ends, Kelly waves at me as she turns to leave. I change my mind a dozen times in the span of a few seconds, but end up laying a hesitant hand on her arm to stop her. “How did the visit go with your kids?”
Chairs scrape and the noise level in the room rises as people make their way toward the refreshment table. Since letting go of the initial hostility I had about these meetings, I’ve actually grown to care about these people. I’m ashamed at how I once considered them to be beneath me as if they were all third-class thugs, and I was some kind of elite criminal.
That’s some snobby-ass bullshit.
Kelly’s eyes lower, and my heart drops. Her dick ex-husband tried to keep her away from her twins, so I talked to Will, and he gave me the name of the best domestic lawyer in town. I’ve waited all week, hoping to hear good news.
“Kelly, no. Tell me he didn’t block the order again.”
Before I can launch into a tirade, she tilts her head up and grins. “Amazing. They’re amazing. Life is amazing.”
“You’re being a little vague.” I laugh, returning her huge smile. “Are you saying things are amazing?”
Her arms are around me before I can prepare for them. “Shiloh, I can’t thank you enough. That lawyer is incredible. I owe you everything.”
I pull away and cross my arms over my chest. Don’t judge. Progress is great, but I’m still not comfortable with that much physical touch. I’m evolving, but even Rome wasn’t built in a day.
“You don’t owe me anything, Kelly. I just did what anyone else would’ve done.”
Kelly juts out her chin and shakes her head. “Modesty doesn’t suit you. Take a compliment when it’s deserved and deal with the fact that you’re actually a nice person, as much as it pains you to admit it.”
Hmmm. When did Carolinians get so astute? Maybe we need to limit their access to CNN.
We briefly hug again when a hand lands on my shoulder. “You ready to go?” I glance behind me and nod as Frankie guides me toward the door while shoving no less than half a dozen wafers in his mouth.
I wave goodbye to Kelly while brushing crumbs off my shoulder. “You eat like a primate.”
His only response is to make high pitched gorilla sounds and scratch his armpits.
Classy.
Just as I reach for the doorknob, Frankie makes a grunting sound and swallows the mouthful of cookies he has shoved inside his cheek. I pause, not sure whether to smack him for being so disgusting or jump behind him and perform the Heimlich maneuver.
“Backpack,” he manages to say as pieces of wet wafer fly out of his mouth. “Hold up, I forgot my backpack.”
I raise a hand, partly to keep him in place, but mainly to block the spray of cookie dust from embedding in my hair. “Finish eating. I’ll get it.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, and wipe your mouth.” Winking, I give him a friendly light slap on the cheek “You look like you’ve been chewing on sawdust.”
“You love me, West,” he calls after me. “Admit it.”
“In your better dreams, Montero.”
The chatter has died down and the room is almost cleared out by the time I make my way back to the meeting area. Grabbing the worn black backpack that’s draped over the back of our chairs, I sling it over my shoulder and head outside to join the others. The minute I step through the door, I can’t help but laugh when I find Frankie having a very in-depth conversation with some young girl with long red hair and boobs the size of watermelons.
Far be it from me to cockblock him with an interruption, so I just shift his backpack higher onto my shoulder and pull my phone out of my purse to call Cary.
Clean slate.
Just as I start to dial, I hear them in the distance. The repetitive wail is faint at first, then grows louder. I glance up just as two squad cars skid to a stop in front of the crowd, turning in such a way that their front bumpers almost touch. The phone is still in my hand, my thumb still over the dial button, when Frankie appears by my side.
“Don’t say anything.”
“Why? What do they want?”
“Don’t know, but it’s never good. Keep your mouth shut.”
The entire crowd goes silent—not that anyone can blame them. Most of them are here because they’ve either been addicted to drugs or alcohol or been busted for it. Police aren’t exactly the most welcome visitors.
Two officers get out of their vehicles, one who obviously spends all of his off-duty time bench pressing unsuspecting gym members, and the other who spends his slurping donuts through a straw. Two very different mentalities, but one agenda.
Which is apparently me.
The first one stands in front me, his expression unreadable. “Are you Shiloh West?”
What a dumb question. That’s like walking up to Brad Pitt and asking if he’s Brad Pitt.
“Yes.”
He nods to my shoulder and holds out his meaty hand. “I’m going to need you to hand over the backpack.”
Voices sound muted, as if they’re echoing from within a long tunnel, and I’m standing outside of in a rainstorm. I’m still staring, my mouth hanging open, when someone pushes their way through the crowd and moves in behind me. “Excuse me, what’s this about?”
“And you are?” The rounder of the two officers tilts his head over my shoulder.
“Gary Herndon. I’m the facilitator of this group.”
Oh, wonderful. Now Gary’s up to bat. This should look great on the report to Judge Oliver.
The same officer widens his stance and adjusts his hat, I assume in an effort to appear more authoritative. Zipping his fly would probably be more effective, but I’m not exactly in a position to dole out advice right now. “We received an anonymous tip that illegal drugs are being distributed at this location.”
“That’s absurd,” Gary scoffs. “This is an addiction rehabilitation meeting.”
“I understand that, Mr. Herndon, but the call specifically stated that Miss West was in possession of drugs with an intent to sell at your meeting.”
When I was twelve years old, Taryn and I went to an amusement park in town. I usually avoided the touristy gathering place, but somehow, Taryn convinced me to get on one ride called The Rainbow. After sitting in a long rectangular seat, they swung me up into the air and I thought, Oh, maybe this won’t be so bad. Then they swung my ass back down at such warp speed I literally flew out of the seat, gravity no longer my friend. I felt suspended, my heart still beating, but ironically at peace with knowing it was only a matter of time until it stopped.
That’s exactly how I feel right now. Still stuck on that damn Rainbow, suspended in mid-air with my still heart beating, yet waiting for it to stop.
Frankie jumps in front of me, his face flushed with anger. “That’s bullshit!”
“Is it?” The muscular cop cracks his neck to the side. “Are you saying Miss West’s illegal substance history doesn’t give us probable cause to search her?”
Well played.
“Fuck,” Frankie mutters under his breath.
The cop smirks and holds out his hand again. “Hand over the bag, Miss West.”
I sigh as the bag slips down my arm, but Frankie isn’t into being so agreeable. Grabbing the strap, he shoves it back onto my shoulder.
“But it’s not her—”
“Shut up, Frankie.” Cutting him off, I soften the blow with a forced smile. “It’s fine. They’re not going to find anything anyway, so what’s the big deal?”
He narrows his eyes. “Fine.”
Nobody says another word as I hand over the backpack to Officer Meathead. I’m anxious as they drop the bag onto the hood of their car and dig through it with insanely bright flashlights, but I’m not nervous. I’m still considering calling Cary like I’d planned on when I hear arrogant laughter. I’m still gripping my phone when I glance up to see Meathead holding the biggest bag of weed I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Gotta be at least forty grams in here,” he announces, flicking the bag with his finger. “All of it separated into smaller bags. That’s possession with intent to distribute.”
That can’t be right. There’s some mistake.
Leaving the Ziploc on the hood of his partner’s car, he pulls a set of silver handcuffs from his utility belt. “Turn around and put your hands behind you, Miss West.”
Keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times.
“You’re not scared, are you, Shiloh?”
“Shut up, Taryn. I’m not scared of anything.”
Hold on tight, and enjoy your ride on The Rainbow…
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you…”
I don’t remember turning around. I don’t remember the handcuffs clicking into place. I don’t remember being turned around or being guided toward the squad car. But I do remember the moment I made the decision to beat karma to the punch.
“Wait!” Frankie yells, pulling me out of my haze. “This is crazy! You’ve got it all wrong. That bag, it’s not…”
“Frankie!” My tone is sharp. “It’s over, all right? It was stupid to bring it.”
“But…”
“Whatever. Shit happens.”
I’m being arrested for the second time in my life, but it’s the first time I’m innocent. The drugs aren’t mine, but I know they’re not Frankie’s either. I’ve gotten to know him well enough to be certain that not only would he never bring drugs into a SARA meeting, he’d never allow me to carry them.
This has nothing to do with Frankie, but it has everything to do with his future if I point the finger at him. If I admit that backpack is his, his life will be over. They’ll dig up his juvie past and resurrect his auto theft and possession charges. They won’t see the good he’s done for the community or the upstanding citizen he’s become. All they’ll see is a poor hood with tattoos and he’ll lose everything.
I won’t ruin two men’s lives in one lifetime.
Holding Frankie’s eyes, I nod to where I’d dropped my phone during my arrest. “Call Malcolm to come get you, and then call my mother. Whatever you do, don’t call Cary.”
Frankie presses his hands to the side of his head and shakes it in disbelief. “This is insane! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
As the heavier cop opens the door to the squad car, I glance over my shoulder and manage a weak smile. “Paying for my sins.”
* * *
I glare at the officer. “Don’t I get my one phone call?”
I’ve been booked before, so I kind of went into autopilot during the whole process. However, if there’s one thing I learned during my time with Los Angeles County’s finest, it’s that everyone gets a phone call. Even spoiled rich bitches.
The sneer he gives me curls his lip. “Who you gonna call? Daddy?”
“Cute, but no. I was thinking more along the lines of my defense attorney.” I don’t think he expected such a blasé response because his face turns the color of Bianca’s after she’s drained a bottle of cabernet.
“You have five minutes.”
During the trial, I had to dial Barry’s toll-free number so many times, I memorized it. Now, it’s the one time a lack of technology has saved my ass. It takes three rings for him to pick up.
