Face the Music: Beyond Jackson Falls Book 1

by Laurie Breton

  “I don’t know about the legalities of it. But I’m not fighting anyone. She can have it all. There’s nothing I want, except the dog.”

  The irony wasn’t lost on her. Mikey, who hadn’t been looking for a dog, had suddenly found himself the proud owner of a grumpy, overweight Chihuahua. While she’d been battling to get her dogs back, and it was looking less and less like it would happen unless she took Ry to court. She suspected Mikey’s desire to hold onto Spike had more to do with his feelings for Gunther than with any affection he might have for the dog. But if Spike helped him cope with his grief, then it was a win-win situation for both man and dog.

  He pulled open the bifold doors on Gunther’s closet, and they stood eyeing the contents. Lots of flannel, lots of denim. Lots of ragged tee shirts. Mikey stepped back to give her access. Grimly, he said, “I bow to your superior knowledge.”

  She thumbed through Gunther’s sparse wardrobe. There was nothing even remotely formal. Not much that was even presentable. “It’s really clear,” she said, “that Gunther was not the kind of guy to stand on ceremony. I would just pick out a clean pair of jeans and one of his favorite shirts, and leave it at that. I think that’s what he’d want.”

  “You’re right. I should’ve been able to figure that out for myself. I haven’t had much sleep.”

  He’d also experienced one hell of a shock, but she instinctively knew he wouldn’t appreciate her mentioning that. Let him blame his foggy state on lack of sleep. He wouldn’t allow anything to crumble the façade of a tough, untouchable Marine. Instead, she said, “What about underwear? Do we need that? Or shoes?”

  He took out a pair of jeans and a tee shirt adorned with a giant pot leaf, and closed the closet door. “They didn’t say.”

  “It seems pointless.”

  “The whole thing seems pointless.”

  She wasn’t sure whether he meant the dying part, or the clothing part. “I think probably the clothes are more to preserve the dignity of the deceased—” Jesus, she sounded pretentious. Pretentious and lame. She cleared her throat. “—um, than anything else.”

  “Dignity,” he said. “An odd turn of phrase to connect with death. Have you ever seen death up close, so close you couldn’t get away from it? I have. There’s no dignity. That’s something the funeral industry’s sold us on so they can make more money from people who won’t notice they’re being flim-flammed because they’re too distracted by their grief.”

  “But there are cultural expectations—”

  “Screw cultural expectations.”

  Paige closed her mouth. Clearly, he had strong feelings about the issue. Who was she to argue? Besides, she suspected he was right.

  Downstairs, Mikey locked the door behind them, and they stood awkwardly on the porch. “Do you want me to come with you?” she said.

  He hesitated just long enough to tell her he didn’t really want to go alone. “I don’t want to tie you up,” he said. “You probably have things to do.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Mikey, you’re not interfering with my extremely busy social life. If you want me to come, just say so.”

  “I would appreciate it if you’d come with me. Happy now?”

  “Yes.”

  They drove to the funeral home in silence. Inside, a gaunt, bony woman who was a female version of the butler from the old Addams Family TV series took the clothes and thanked him for bringing them. “We’ll make sure your loved one is treated with the utmost dignity,” she said.

  Paige exchanged glances with Mikey. See? his expression said. I told you so.

  Outside, even with her long-legged stride, she had to walk rapidly to keep up with him. “Who the hell was that?”

  “That would be one Ms. Audrey Benner.”

  “Well. She’s certainly in the right line of work. Kind of ghoulish, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Creepy eyes,” he said. “Did you notice her creepy eyes?”

  “I did. I guess it takes a special kind of person to do what she does for a living.”

  “She’s special, all right. And not in a good way.”

  They got in the truck and he sat for a minute, his head propped against the head rest and his eyes closed. Just breathing. Gently, she said, “Now what?”

  He opened his eyes, turned his head, and looked at her. The pain in his eyes crushed her. “I got nothing,” he said.

  She picked up his hand, brought it to her mouth, and pressed a kiss to his palm. His hand trembled, a fine, delicate vibration that reminded her of a fan in a window, the rotation of the blades causing the entire wall to hum. He’d been humming since he got out of the truck at Gunther’s. He’d probably been humming since he found Gunther dead in his bed.

  “I don’t mean to sound disrespectful,” she said. “If you say no, I won’t be offended. And I don’t mean this in a salacious manner, but I think that right now, you could use a little—”

  “Yes,” he said. “Right now, I don’t want to think. I only want to feel.”

  “Then let’s go to your place and get naked, and we can feel together. No thinking required.”

  Without a word, he put the truck into Reverse and swung it backward out of the parking space.

  MIKEY

  HER BREATH DRIED the sweat from his skin. He exhaled, ruffling the microscopic golden hairs on her arm. Mikey brushed his knuckles against her silkiness, drawing an invisible line from her breastbone down past her ribcage, to her navel and beyond, ending at the thatch of bristly hair between her legs. Outside the open window, some kind of insect buzzed, one of those sounds you only heard on dog day afternoons when the air was sultry and life was lazy and slow, like a sluggish river meandering downstream.

  She knew him so well. Understood that there were times when a man needed it slow and gentle and achingly sweet, and times when a man just needed, needed something hard and fast and violent enough to empty his mind of everything but that soft body and how damn good it made him feel.

  Paige reached up, shoved back the tangle of hair from her face and flung it over her shoulder. “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi.”

  “Feeling better now?”

  To say yes would be to admit he’d been feeling bad before. To say no would be a lie. He opted for the truth, no matter how many guy points it lost him. “Yeah. You?”

  She made a sound that was just this side of purring. “I’m quite well satisfied, thank you.”

  When was the last time he’d had sex on a hot summer afternoon in broad daylight? Possibly never. He swept his hand back up her ribcage to her breast, teased the tip with his thumb, watched it tighten into a hard little peak. “The dog’s crying,” she said.

  It took him a minute. “What?”

  “Spike. He’s outside the bedroom door, whimpering his little heart out. Should I let him in?”

  Well, shit.

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  She got up from the bed, all endless legs and one spectacular naked backside, and opened the door. Spike waddled in, jumped on the bed, and curled up in the spot she’d just vacated. “Aw, that’s cute,” she said. “He wants to be with you.”

  “And I want to be with you.”

  “Oh, stop pouting, Lindstrom, you look like a five-year-old who’s just been told he can’t have any more ice cream.”

  “You are the ice cream in my life, MacKenzie.”

  “Well, then, Spike can be the cherry on top.”

  “I think there might be something mildly obscene in that comment, but I’m still trying to work it out in my head.”

  “Let me know if you figure it out.” She studied him, seemed about to say something, then changed her mind.

  “What?”

  “Just wondering if you’re okay. Because earlier, you seemed a little…wobbly.”

  “It’s been a hard twenty-four hours.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I don’t think I know of any other woman who could stand there, buck naked, and say ‘indeed’ without sounding like
an idiot. But you just pulled it off. The last twenty-four hours have been a nightmare. Figuratively and literally. I admit it. And my life hasn’t exactly been a laugh track lately. But I always bounce back. Like one of those inflatable toys we used to play with when we were kids, the ones with the weighted bottoms. Sand, I think? You knocked ‘em down, and they bounced right back up because they’re incapable of staying flat. That’s me.”

  “A bottom-weighted, inflatable clown that bounces back every time.”

  “Best I can do right now. Try me again tomorrow. Maybe it’ll come easier. I doubt it, but we can try.”

  She knelt on the bed, crawled over the dog, and dropped down on top of him. Skin to skin, heat to heat, heart to heart, she took his face between her hands and kissed him.

  Moving like lightning, he rolled her so abruptly that she let out a little shriek. It dissolved into delighted laughter as she realized his intent. The woman had a laugh that could turn a man inside out. He rested his weight on top of her, and the laughter stopped altogether. She placed her foot on the calf of his leg and slid it up and down.

  Mikey turned his head and looked directly into Spike’s shiny black eyes. “Goddamn it,” he said.

  “What?”

  “The dog. The damn dog’s watching us.”

  “He’s scared. He doesn’t understand what’s going on. You need to cut him some slack.”

  “Maybe he could cut me some slack, too. I’m not used to performing in front of an audience.”

  “Michael Lindstrom, porn star. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

  “I think he needs to find something else to look at.”

  “Spike,” she said, “get down. Please.”

  With a long-suffering sigh, the dog jumped off the bed and padded down the hall, toenails clicking on the inlaid. “See?” she said. “You just need to use the magic word.”

  “I’ll do my best to remember that.”

  PAIGE

  SHE FOUND CASEY curled up on the porch swing, reading a Harlan Coben thriller. Casey dog-eared the page and closed the book. “We already ate. There’s leftover lasagna in the fridge. I didn’t expect you home for supper.”

  “It’s all good.” She sat beside Casey, stretched out her legs. “Where’s Dad?”

  “He went over to see Harley about something. How’s Mikey?”

  Paige leaned her head back and sighed. “It’s hard to tell with him. He’s like an iceberg. There’s the part you see, and then there’s the ninety percent that’s hidden under the surface. He’s not taking this well. Or maybe I should say he appears to be taking it too well.”

  “Sooner or later, it’ll work its way to the surface.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about, what will happen when it finally hits him. Because I think he’s still in shock.”

  “The sudden death of someone close is rough. Suicide makes it worse. If I know Mikey, he’s carrying a heavy load of guilt right now. It’s normal to wonder what you might’ve done to prevent it.”

  “He was shaking this morning. Even while he kept telling me how fine he was, it was clear that he really wasn’t.”

  “He has to work through it himself. There’s not a lot you can do.”

  “I did the only thing I could think of.”

  “Which was?”

  She glanced over, met Casey’s eyes, and said nothing. “Oh,” Casey said with a small smile. “And did that work?”

  “It did for a few hours.”

  “I’m surprised you came home tonight. I didn’t really expect you.”

  “I had mixed feelings about leaving him. On one hand, I want to be there for him. This was a hard blow. If all he needs is a warm body to sleep next to, I’m there. On the other hand, I don’t want to push him too hard. He’s fragile right now. I think he needs time alone. To process. Maybe the dog will do him some good.”

  “What dog?”

  “Gunther had this little dog. I think he’s a Chihuahua, but he’s so fat it’s hard to tell. His name’s Spike.”

  “Spike?”

  “I guess when you weigh twelve pounds, you need a manly name to compensate. The poor little guy’s sad and confused. I’m hoping they can help each other through this. Either way, if Mikey needs me, he has my number on speed dial.” She stood, stretched. “I’m heading off to take a shower. If Dad stands downwind and gets a whiff of me, he’ll know exactly what I’ve been doing, and he’ll ground me until I’m forty-seven.”

  “He already knows what you’ve been doing. We’ve been known to do those things ourselves, a time or two.”

  “Ew. Thank you for the picture you just painted in my head.”

  Casey picked up her book and opened it. “You’re welcome,” she said, and went back to reading.

  MIKEY

  HE WAS DREAMING again.

  He was back on that road outside Baghdad, a sensation of impending doom shredding his gut as he watched Rachel walk away. He had to stop her, had to prevent her from walking into certain death. Mikey tried to run, but his useless leg wouldn’t hold him upright. He dropped to the ground and started crawling, but even with two good arms and one good leg, he couldn’t make any headway. In terror, he called out her name. Auburn hair gleaming under that oppressive desert sun, Rachel turned to see him lying there helpless in the dust. Only it wasn’t Rachel any more, it was Paige. She shook her head, then turned away and continued walking into hell.

  The blast shook everything from earth to sky.

  He woke up choking, grief a twenty-ton boulder sitting on his chest. His heart hammered so hard he was certain it would explode. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t swallow. On the other side of the bed, Paige slept in peaceful oblivion, very much alive. Safe. Not lying in bloody pieces on a dusty road in the Iraqi desert. That fact should have comforted him, should have brought him down a few notches. It didn’t.

  The anxiety attacks had been more frequent in the early days, and the psychiatrist at the VA hospital had taught him a few tricks for dealing with them. But it was too late this time; he was already in full-blown panic mode. Sweat rolled from his armpits, and he fought against the absolute certainty that he would suffocate. The bedroom walls kept moving ever closer to him. He had to get out before he started screaming. Trying not to disturb Paige, he sat up on the edge of the bed, yanked on the sweatpants he’d left on the floor, and fumbled for his crutch, hands shaking so hard he could barely grasp it.

  The claustrophobia got worse as he made his way down the narrow trailer hallway. In the living room, he balanced on the crutch, opened the coat closet and took his headphone radio from the shelf. With quaking hands, he fit the headphones over his ears and turned the music as loud as he could tolerate it, hoping to drown out the toxic, black sewage that circulated inside his head. The panic was getting worse. He had to escape or it would drown him. Mikey opened the trailer door, stepped outside, and closed it as quietly as he could.

  He sucked in a breath of evening air, struggled to fill his lungs. Out here, it wasn’t as bad. It was cooler. More open. The terror clutched him deep in the belly, needles of fear racing up his spine and down his arms. But the claustrophobia had lessened. He walked barefoot down splintery wooden steps, crossed cool, damp grass, and dropped into the white wooden Adirondack chair he’d rescued from the dump and brought back to life. While in his ears, Seven Mary Three sang about being cumbersome, Mikey lowered his head to his lap, wrapped his arms around it, and rocked back and forth to the raw, aching rhythm of the music.

  Eventually, the worst of it died down. His heart rate slowed to normal, his breath returned, and the overwhelming feeling of suffocation faded away. Mikey lifted his head. Paige stood ten feet away from him, silent and barefoot in the grass, clad only in the white dress shirt she’d commandeered from his closet and claimed as her own. Where the shirt ended, at mid-thigh, a breeze fluttered the hem. In the white shirt, with that heavy fall of golden hair cascading around her, she glowed as bright as a beacon in the night. While he devour
ed her with his eyes, she slowly moved toward him.

  Limp and drained, he pulled off the headphones and draped them over the chair arm. Paige knelt before him and, without speaking, drew him into her arms. He let out a hard, shuddering breath and gathered her to him. And they just held each other.

  This, he thought. This is love.

  It wasn’t like the love he’d felt for Rachel. He couldn’t explain the difference, just recognized that the difference existed. It wasn’t better, or worse; it wasn’t more or less valid. It was just different.

  How can I do this to her?

  The question drove a knife into his heart. He’d found this woman when he was sixteen, and then he’d lost her for a very long time. By some kind of miracle, he’d found her again.

  There were a plethora of reasons why they shouldn’t be together, all of them workable—if they were willing to put in the work. All but this one. He was irreparably damaged, and the darkness swirling around inside him would eventually swallow her up. She was made of strong stuff, but dealing with his bullshit would ruin her life. How could he do that to her? How could he ask her to live with the darkness, day after day, year after year? How could he allow himself to take responsibility for her safety, when everyone he was supposed to protect—people he cared about—kept ending up dead?

  Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.

  Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

  She lifted her face, concern for him evident in somber green eyes. In the moonlight, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. “Come back to bed,” she said.

  The panic attack was over. He’d survived another one. Mikey grabbed his headphones and let her lead him back to the bedroom. He tucked them both under the covers, drew her into his arms, and buried his face in her soft, fragrant hair. She made a muted sound of pleasure and scooted that sweet little butt closer to his hips. And fell back asleep.

  While he lay awake the rest of the night, wrestling with his demons.