Her denial had been dismissed with a hand wave.
Katie walked toward the front door, dragging her feet. She could hear loud music and aggravated shouts through the cracked weather stripping around the door and prayed the guys would be too absorbed in the game to notice her. Her father loved poker. A hobby, he claimed, but a win or loss could dictate his mood for a week.
As quietly as possible, Katie opened and closed the front door and tiptoed toward the stairs.
“Katiebug? That you?” Her father’s voice reverberated down the hallway, and the slurring sound told her one sure thing. He’d broken his two-beer limit tonight. How long had it been since Katie had seen her father drunk? Ninth grade?
Guilt gnawed at her insides. It was the conversation about selling the house. She’d only wanted to give them options. Make life easier. Instead, she’d hurt his pride. Questioned his ability to care for his family.
“Katiebug!”
“Yeah, Dad, I’m coming.” She tugged on the ends of her hair and forced herself to put one foot in front of the other until she reached the opening to the living room.
Five men lounged around a six-sided portable poker table. Blue, white, and red chips were piled in the middle of the green felt. Two sets of cards had been turned over, while the others remained clenched in the players’ fingers. Cooper’s eyes were the first to meet hers, and the triumphant spark implied he held more secrets than what was in his poker hand.
“There she is: my Katiebug. Came all the way from Florida just to help her old man.” Her father lifted his beer can in the air, and the other four men cheered and toasted her as well.
“And we mightily appreciate it,” said her father’s old friend Clarence. He seemed to have aged ten years since she left. Deep grooves made parentheses around his mouth, while his cheeks sank in with each breath. They’d worked at the factory together for twenty years, and he’d spent more than a few nights at that very poker table with her father. “We haven’t been able to fit this table in here for years. Been forced to cram down in my basement.”
Katie’s lips tightened. She hadn’t spent two days cleaning and organizing the living room just to see it get trashed by half-toasted party guests. “Where’s Mom?”
A man with red hair and a missing tooth slapped the armrest of his chair. “The girls are having their own fun tonight.”
“Where?” Did this party house have handicap bathrooms? Would the ladies be able to help her mother if she fell? A chill shot down Katie’s spine. Would her mother get drunk?
Her dad was still sober enough to shoot Katie a warning glare, and she bit back any further questions. Once again he was denying the obvious truth—that their life could never again be what it once was.
Cooper obnoxiously patted his knee. “Come here, Firecracker. You can be my good luck charm tonight.” He wasn’t drunk—Katie could tell that in an instant—but his smirk was calculated.
She forced herself not to cringe. “Why don’t I make you guys some snacks?” It was an excuse to flee to the kitchen, but also a chance to get some food in her father’s stomach.
The other men lifted their drinks to her in loud agreement, and her father demanded they finish the hand.
Katie tried not to slam the cabinet doors as she pulled out chips, crackers, and nuts. She couldn’t identify exactly what she was feeling. Concern? Disgust? Judgment? Who was she to dictate what they could do on a Friday night? Hadn’t she been a far worse offender just a few months ago? At least their substances were legal.
She pulled a container of sour cream from the refrigerator and plopped its contents into a bowl, stirring with a pent-up aggression that wouldn’t subside. She added a packet of onion soup mix and whipped the dip until it was a dull gray. Hoping to help curb the excessive drinking, she filled the kitchen table with a display of bottled water.
“Nice spread,” Cooper said from the doorway. He leaned a broad shoulder casually against the frame, and his alert gaze followed Katie as she put a stack of paper plates next to the dip bowl.
“Since when do you play poker with my dad?”
He shrugged. “About three years now. You leaving gave us something in common.”
Katie froze. She’d picked up hints that Cooper had weaseled his way into her family, but his inclusion in poker night was a sickening confirmation.
He scooped up a fistful of the peanuts she’d just poured into a serving dish. “There’s been a lot of chatter about you lately,” he said before popping a few into his mouth.
“All very glowing, I’m sure. Let me guess: you added your own observations to the bunch.”
“Nope. Just listened. I’m trying to figure out your angle.”
She clutched the top of the chair. “There is no angle.” She knew her words didn’t matter. Cooper wouldn’t believe her. Every action he took had an ulterior motive behind it.
“Really? Fairfield’s notorious atheist is all of a sudden a churchgoer?”
“I was never an atheist. I just didn’t care one way or the other. Now I do.”
“I see. So having coffee with the pastor’s son is just an added perk?” His eyes trailed the length of her, as if checking every inch would help him figure out her evil scheme. “Or maybe . . . he’s your new target.” He clapped his hands twice, slowly. “Bravo. I knew you hated Pastor Powell, but this is genius. There’s no better way to take down a legend than to destroy his kid.”
“I never hated Pastor Powell. And I would never hurt Ash . . .” She stopped herself. Cooper didn’t need an explanation. He’d just distort whatever she said anyway. Turn something pure and beautiful into something ugly. “Don’t you have a hand to play in there?”
“I folded. Come on, Firecracker, we were always better as a team. Let me in on the plan.”
“Give up the conspiracy theories. Asher and I are friends.”
“You already have friends.”
Katie fled to the sink, pumped the soap container twice, and let the cold water calm the raging heat only Cooper could unleash.
He moved in behind her when she turned off the faucet. “Laila and Chad got divorced. Did you know that? Happened about a year ago, after Chad left rehab for the third time.”
She swiped a towel from the rack, ignoring him, and frantically dried her hands. He maneuvered around until she was forced to acknowledge him.
“You remember Joe? You know, the guy who used to bail you out of every sticky situation you’d manage to find yourself in?”
Her glare was lethal. Of course she remembered Joe. He was more than the town bartender. He’d been her confidant and mentor, sometimes the only person who truly understood her. She went back to meticulously wiping each finger.
Cooper jerked the towel from her hand. “Did you know he asks about you every time I go in there?”
“Stop it.” She’d wanted to see Joe, but Laila worked at his bar, and avoiding her former friend had been her top priority. Plus, Joe would never understand why Katie needed her distance.
“Stop what? Giving you the truth? Making you see how much you’re hurting everyone with this ridiculous charade you have going?”
She scrubbed her hands over her face and tried to lower the volume in her voice. “It’s not a charade. It’s not a con. I just don’t want that volatile, broken life anymore.”
“You can’t possibly think I’m stupid enough to accept that explanation. You ran off without a word for four years and now you’re back, pretending to be a saint? You forget: I know you. I know you well enough to know that you could never change this dramatically.”
“I’m done with this conversation.” Katie shot toward the back door. “Could you tell the guys the food is ready? I’m going to take a walk.”
“I’ll go with you. It’s getting dark.”
She spun around, her hand still on the knob. “Are you hearing-deficient? How many different ways do I have to tell you to leave me alone?”
Cooper was at her side with lightning speed and, before sh
e could protest, had pulled her out the door and onto the porch.
“Let go of me,” she hissed.
His fingers bit into her arm, and despite her struggles, he didn’t soften his hold until they were a good ten feet from the house.
With a final jerk, she broke free and stood there, shaking violently. She hated this. Hated him. Every detestable instinct she’d been trying to quash was balled inside her chest, glowing hot and red.
Cooper threw his hands into the air. “Is this what you were hoping for?” he hollered. “You want to see me lose it? You want to push me until I turn into the monster you keep accusing me of being?”
“Your temper is not my fault,” she spat back.
He stepped forward, his eyes burning into hers. “You know my buttons and yet you push and push and push. Just like that weekend you vanished.”
“You locked me in a room!” Her anger was alive now, making her feel dizzy and sick. She used to welcome the rage, but now it caged her in, pulsed under her skin like a virus that couldn’t be cured.
“Because you were crazy tripping. I grabbed the keys from your hands five times. And you kept swinging at me. Do you even remember that night, Katie? Do you? Because somehow I’ve become the villain in this scenario, when you were the one who bought the drugs.”
For a second she couldn’t get enough air. Spots danced in her vision. Yes, she remembered that night. Every single horrible moment of it. She was the addict. The criminal. The devil. Cooper was right.
She had no one to blame but herself.
Asher hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. In fact, everything he’d just heard made him wish he hadn’t gone outside to investigate the shouts filtering in through his ancient windows.
Katie stood across the yard. Her back was to him; the guy she’d been yelling at towered over her with a familiarity that didn’t seem recent. Who was he? Why hadn’t she mentioned him?
The burly man seized her shoulders and said something Asher couldn’t hear. Whatever it was made Katie push him away and take a step back.
“Don’t bring up that weekend.” Katie’s voice echoed in the distance.
“Then tell me something that makes sense.”
She pressed her temples. “Please, Cooper. For once, just let it go. You win, okay? I’m the bad guy. You’re exonerated. As far as I’m concerned, you were never there.”
Cooper. Asher let the name float through his mind, searching for any glimmer of recognition but not finding any. The guy hadn’t gone to their high school.
“I don’t want to be exonerated. I want you to stop pretending to be something you’re not. I want Chad to come home and Laila to stop walking around like her heart has been ripped out.” Cooper’s shouts had turned hoarse, as if his own heart were being ripped out with each word.
Katie’s shoulders sagged and for a moment, the violence around them disappeared. Cooper reached out and touched her face, set his forehead to hers.
Asher suddenly felt sick. Sicker than when they’d been yelling, sicker than when he heard the play-by-play of Katie getting high. He couldn’t define it, the twisting pressure in his gut, but it wouldn’t subside, even when Katie shoved the guy away.
“We can’t go back to how things were. I know it. Laila knows it. That’s why she hasn’t come here demanding to talk. It’s time for you to accept it too.” She left him standing there and walked toward the path in the woods, her head lowered, her arms wrapped around herself.
Cooper marched back to Katie’s house and slammed his fist into the porch column. The wood cracked underneath his knuckles. He pulled on the door, but stopped. His motion seemed pained when he turned back, dipped his chin, and placed his hands on his hips. Katie had told Asher no one was waiting for her, but everything in Cooper’s crestfallen posture indicated he wasn’t going away without a fight.
Asher watched her disappear behind the tree line. Caramel hair and dark blue shirt, long legs and worn-out tennis shoes. She looked delicate and lost.
He’d wanted to rescue her, but he didn’t know her. Didn’t know anything about her.
Even worse? That was exactly what she wanted.
CHAPTER 23
Asher held the vibrating Weed Eater an inch from the sidewalk as he walked along the edge of his parents’ front lawn. He focused on creating a perfect line, sweat rolling down his back despite the early dawn hour. It would be hot today. High nineties.
Good. He craved that sweat and the burn of his muscles.
A flash of brown slippers caught his eye, and he glanced up to see the raised eyebrows of his father. With a flick of his thumb, Asher silenced the equipment and pulled off his protective earmuffs.
“Hey, Dad. I thought I’d take care of the yard for you.”
“I see that. Did you happen to notice that it’s six-thirty in the morning?”
Yeah, he’d noticed. He’d noticed the time all morning. At two, when he was still trying to push Katie’s argument out of his head. At four, when all his tossing and turning failed to ease the sickness in his stomach. At five, when he’d given up trying to sleep and worked on a website update for his client. But busywork hadn’t been enough to keep his gaze from drifting out the bedroom window.
“Sorry. I wanted to stay ahead of the heat.”
His dad crossed his arms. “Last time you manicured my lawn at the crack of dawn, you dropped a bomb on me afterward. Let’s go inside. Get some coffee.”
Asher’s gut tightened. The last time had occurred the morning after his big breakup with Jillian. He’d been as lost then as he felt now. But he didn’t want to talk with his dad about the previous night, much less admit that he’d fallen down another relationship rabbit hole. He’d thought Katie was different. He’d thought she’d been vulnerable and real with him, but all their conversations had been filtered by what she thought he wanted to hear. That wasn’t friendship.
“I’m fine. Let me finish up and I’ll come in when I’m done.”
“Son, you turn that thing on again and your mom is going to have a conniption. You know how much she loves her lazy Saturday mornings.”
Asher let his head drop. “Sorry.” He’d forgotten Saturday was the one day his mom allowed herself to sleep in. He had no right to take his misery out on his parents.
He followed his dad into the garage, where he dropped the equipment and took off his grassy shoes. His father was wearing gym shorts and a baggy T-shirt. His hair was sticking up in two places, and his normally smooth face had a gray shadow of stubble.
Asher walked past his parents’ closed bedroom door to the coffeepot. His dad must have pressed Start before heading outside, because the dark liquid was almost to the top of the glass container.
“You look tired.” His dad pulled out a kitchen chair and sat, opening the newspaper he’d grabbed from outside.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Jillian?”
“No. I think that dark story has finally come to an end,” Asher said with, remarkably, no bitterness. Figures he’d heal just in time to get shot again. “I ordered the furniture for the deck. A set I love that she would have hated.”
That had been the same day he’d seen Katie in the coffee shop. The day he’d felt sure their public “outing” was the beginning of something monumental.
When the coffeepot had puffed its final hiss of steam, Asher poured two mugs, adding sugar and cream to his. He thought of her again when he slid the black liquid to his dad, and immediately resented the memory.
She’d lied to him. Well, okay, maybe she’d just chosen to leave out some details, but he still felt a deep sense of betrayal. He’d trusted her with his greatest shame, while she conveniently sidestepped any real detail about her life.
“They finally unloaded that old building downtown. You know, the one that’s been boarded up since the tornado,” his dad noted, spreading the paper wide in front of him. “Two other buildings were bought up last month. I think Fairfield’s about to boom.”
Asher nodded, st
aring into his cup. He didn’t want to be sitting there, talking about real estate. He needed to be moving. Working. Doing. That was his coping mechanism: Keep busy until the disappointment goes away.
His father laid the paper on the table. “You’re obviously upset. So we can either sit here gabbing about nothing, or you can talk to me like I know you want to.”
Asher tried to figure out where to start, but there weren’t any words for what he felt. At least nothing that made sense. “Remember how I told you Katie Stone moved in next door?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, we’ve become friends.” He took a sip of coffee, trying not to choke on the word. Friends didn’t lie to each other. Friends didn’t pretend.
“Your tone implies that’s a bad thing.”
How had he ended up here? At his dad’s table . . . again? He was a grown man. Past the point of needing his parents’ advice. Yet his dad was also his pastor and his mentor.
“Of course it’s a bad thing. She’s Katie Stone.” A nibble of guilt bit at him, but he pushed it away. He wasn’t judging her for a past she couldn’t change. He was angry because she’d acted one way with him while living a secret life with that Cooper guy.
“What happened? Your fists are clenched for a reason.”
Asher relaxed his hands. “Nothing. She’s just not who I thought she was. That’s all.”
His dad set down the coffee cup with enough force to catch Asher off guard. “Son, I’m going to tell you something you won’t want to hear, but I think it’s time you hear it.”
Asher knew that tone. He’d heard it many times in his life—right when a lecture was coming.
“You put people on a pedestal.”
Asher sat straight. “I do not.”
“You do. Your mom and I are way up there. The church. Jillian. And the problem is, it’s only a matter of time before whoever is up there falls off.”
My Hope Next Door Page 14
