by M. S. Parker
I made up my mind and opened the door, calling out, “Hello?”
One of the kids running across the living room skidded to a halt at the sight of me. Her eyes were the same shade of pale green as mine, and her hair – unruly, crazy curls – was what mine might have looked like if I hadn’t kept it cut close and short. And maybe if I’d skipped brushing it that day. I’d hardly touched a comb unless my mother made me up until I was in middle school and discovered girls.
“Hi,” she said, blinking at me. Then a smile creased her face. “Are you Liam?”
“Yeah.” I edged inside and dumped my stuff by the door out of the way. “You’ve got to be Claudia. Man, you’re getting so big.”
She threw herself at me, wrapping her arms around my waist. The unexpected display of affection threw me off balance, but I recovered in time to catch her. Rising, I settled her on my hip and looked into her eyes. “How is everything going here?”
“Boring.” She rolled her eyes. “I heard you got to go to Germany. Is it boring in Germany?”
Mid-answer, we were interrupted by a couple of teens as they hurried through. I recognized my brother, but not the boys he was with. Assuming they were friends of his, I nodded at him. “Hi, Jacob. How are you?”
He hesitated, slowing to a stop as his eyes lingered on my face. Recognition hit, and he grinned. “Hey, soldier. I forgot you were coming back today.”
He introduced me to his friends, then as they started looking restless, he glanced over his shoulder at them and shrugged. “We’ll catch up later. I’m supposed to be hanging with them today.”
I worked my way through the house, encountering most of my siblings – there were six of us, so there were a lot of encounters – before I finally found my parents in the kitchen.
The moment Mom saw me, her face softened into a smile. “Liam…” She came to me and gave me a hug, leaning back to study my face with inquisitive eyes before patting my cheek. “It’s good to see you home.”
I got an abbreviated version of that from my father, but no sooner had they said hi, then they were back to talking about whatever they’d been discussing before I came in.
It took me about a minute to realize it was one of the cars. They were having issues with it, and it needed to go to the mechanic.
As my parents debated over how they’d come up with the money for it, I grabbed a soft drink from the fridge while my stomach rumbled in protest. I hadn’t eaten on the plane – nothing since breakfast that morning.
But I wasn’t too keen on the idea of lingering while my folks talked money troubles either.
“So, no big homecoming party, huh?”
I met the blue-gray eyes of my high school friend. Gavin and I’d been tight since middle school, although I hadn’t done a good job keeping up with him while I was in the army.
It was still easy to talk to him though, and I shook my head, tipping the bottle of beer I’d gotten from the bar in his direction. “You know my folks – or you knew them. Not much has changed.”
“Shit, if I go away for even a weekend, my mom acts like she hadn’t seen me in months when I come back.”
I’d gone for a walk earlier and had run into Gavin about a half a mile from home. He owned a bike repair shop and had just finished talking with a customer when I happened by.
He’d recognized me and asked if I wanted to catch a beer that night.
Since I didn’t see much of anything else on the schedule, I’d agreed, and here we were in the local watering hole, one you’d typically see in this small town about an hour south of Dallas.
It seemed the entire town was trying to pack themselves inside the bar. Maybe booze was going out of style or something. I sure as hell hoped not and bent protectively around the bottle in front of me.
“What was it like, serving?” Gavin tipped his bottle back, sipping his beer as he waited for my answer.
I frowned as I considered the question. “It was…intense.”
“How so?”
I eyed Gavin over the bottle. “I was infantry. You can guess what that means.”
His eyes narrowed as he squinted at me. Then understanding dawned. “You…uh…you have to…”
He didn’t seem to be able to finish the question, but I knew what he was getting at. Did I ever kill anybody?
“Yeah,” I said softly.
“Was it hard?”
That question made me shake my head. “What do you think? Shit like that isn’t supposed to be easy.”
“But you did it.”
“It came down to me or them.” I brooded over the bottle I held, then drained it and looked for the server. I needed another one.
“It’s what you signed up for. You had to know it might happen.”
“Yeah. I know. I just…” I sighed and leaned back in the chair, holding Gavin’s gaze. “I’m ready for something…boring.”
Where I wasn’t getting shot at.
Where I wasn’t forced to choose…me or them.
“Shit, after coming back from that, wouldn’t you want something…I dunno…fun?”
The server appeared at the table, and I pointed to the bottle. “Another, please. Gavin, you?”
“Yeah.” He waited until the server left, then cocked his head at me. “You thought one way or the other about what you wanna do, other than something boring?” There was a trace of amusement in his eyes.
“Don’t knock boring,” I told him. “Beats getting shot at.”
He shrugged. “Maybe you should aim for something…what’s the word…loftier. Yeah, loftier. Aim for something loftier than not getting shot at and boring. I mean, hey, me? I got a job where I don’t get shot at, and it’s not boring.” He squinted, pondering what he’d just said. “Okay, it’s usually not boring.”
“Good for you.”
As the server returned with two more brews, Gavin excused himself to go to the bathroom.
Yeah, Gavin probably couldn’t understand my desire for something low-key. I hadn’t lied when I told him that serving had been intense. But I hadn’t told him about the day I knew I wasn’t cut out to be a lifer in the army.
That was the day my convoy had been ambushed.
Up until then, I hadn’t known what it was like to kill up close and personal. Not that it had been easy the first time I aimed a weapon, but it was different when you’re up close and could see the life fade from a person’s eyes.
No, I wasn’t cut out to be a lifer in the army. There were still nights I woke up feeling the hot wash of blood on my hands, nights when it seemed like the screams of fellow soldiers echoed in my ears so loud I couldn’t sleep for it.
Now I just needed to figure out what in the hell I wanted to do with the rest of my life. And I still had absolutely no clue.
Think about it later, I told myself. I’d just gotten out. I’d only just gotten home. I could take a few days to decompress and figure things out.
I sipped my beer as I leaned back against the wall to take in the low-lit, smoky interior of the bar. It wasn’t that different from any dozen other bars I’d been over the past few years, although the music was a lot louder, a lot shittier, and if the guitarist hit one more note off key, I might suggest he find somebody from the audience to play.
“Hey there.”
The low voice caught my attention, and I looked over to meet the big blue eyes of the woman who’d just appeared at my side. “Hi.” Keeping my voice calm, I took another sip of the beer and turned my attention back to the stage.
“What do you think of the music?”
The voice was a little closer this time, and I once more met the wide blue eyes of the woman standing at my table. I jerked a shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve probably heard worse.”
She threw back her head and laughed.
She was pretty, with her big blue eyes and short, flirty haircut. But as her gaze slid my way one more time, I told myself that pretty didn’t much matter.
I avoided women.
For a r
eason.
Her big blue eyes weren’t going to change that.
She reached out and stroked a fingernail down my arm, smiling at me. “You want to dance?”
“No.” I shook my head, softening the response with a smile. “I’m not much of a dancer. I’m not very good company either. You’d probably do better elsewhere.”
She pursed her lips as she studied me, clearly not certain how to take my response.
“Have a good night,” I said, hoping that would do it. I reached for my beer and subtly turned my body away from hers.
A few seconds later, Gavin returned to the table. “Dude, are you nuts? She’s been eying you half the night.”
I shook my head. “Not nuts. Just not interested.”
He gave me a squinty-eyed look, then just shook his head. “You’re messed up a little, Liam. You know that?”
I didn’t bother responding.
Later that night, I scooped the boxes off the bed. My bedroom had become a storage of sorts, so I’d be sharing the living space with last year’s tax returns and a bunch of Christmas decorations that didn’t fit in the attic.
My eyes were gritty, heavy with fatigue as I finished clearing the space off. I should probably wash the sheets – and the pillowcase – but there would be time for that tomorrow.
I went to grab the paper that had been folded and left lying on the pillow. I glanced at it, intending to add it to all the other stuff that had been on my bed.
But the picture displayed on the bottom right made me pause.
“What the hell?” I muttered.
Unfolding the paper, I searched out the text that went along with the image, then started to read.
In no time, I was grinning. “Son of a bitch.”
Dropping the paper on the boxes I stacked next to the bed, I lay down with a smile on my face.
Back in high school, my cousin Matthew Jakes had been sentenced to jail for manslaughter. He’d killed his mom in a drunk driving accident. No, that wasn’t anything to smile about.
But the article itself was about his acquittal. Matt had been innocent the whole time.
He was living in New York now. Shit, that was a far cry from Texas.
I checked the time, then scowled. It was already eleven here.
Way too late to look him up right now, but come first thing in the morning?
I was giving him a call.
Three
Mila
When I was younger, we started up a tradition where I had dinner with my father once a month.
Before Mom died, she’d asked that we please continue it. The relationship between my dad and me was…odd.
I loved him, and I knew he loved me.
But he wished I’d been more like him, and I wished he’d get over that already.
Because of our difference of opinion, not to mention mannerisms, personality, and just about everything else, a dinner with him wasn’t really what I’d called relaxing or calm.
Still, out of respect for my mother, I continued in the practice, and I was ready in front of my condo when my father’s driver picked me up at seven. As I slid into the car, I glanced at Eduardo. “Where’s Dad?”
“He’ll be meeting us there. A meeting ran a little long.” He gave me a polite smile before closing the door.
Typical.
I didn’t even bother rolling my eyes.
Pulling out my phone, I spent the drive clearing my emails and penning a quick one to my maternal grandmother, Millie. I was much closer to her than I was to my father. If I had a standing dinner date with her once a month, I’d look forward to it instead of dreading it.
“Stop it,” I told myself, feeling bad when I knew my dad at least made an effort.
It was more than some kids could say.
We got to the restaurant quicker than usual, and I slid out before the driver could come around to open the door. Still, Eduardo came around to meet me, a pleasant smile on his face. “Your father asked that I walk you inside, Miss Mila.”
I cocked a brow at him. “That’s new.”
He spread his hands wide. “I do what I’m told, Miss Mila. You know that.”
I also knew that he picked up on a lot of things but decided not to push him. At least I had something to talk to my father about tonight.
And that was a pathetic way to look at it.
Still, I knew it would come up for discussion, so I accepted Eduardo’s quiet presence at my side as he escorted me to the door. “I’ll pick you up after dinner,” he said.
“I’m taking a cab,” I told him.
He frowned in consternation.
“Sorry.” Giving him a waggle of my fingers, I added, “I already have other plans after this.”
It wasn’t exactly the truth, but I really had no intention of going straight home. I’d be too tense to do anything but pace away the time inside those four walls, and that wasn’t conducive toward sleep.
Dad kept me waiting for almost thirty minutes.
He did send a text about five minutes after I arrived and told me a meeting had run over, but he’d be there shortly.
I told myself I’d give him a half hour.
Two minutes before his time was up, Christopher Golding arrived.
Dad didn’t pause at the hostess stand, just strode right in, his eyes searching until he found me. A broad smile creased his face and my worry increased by about fifty percent.
He never looked so open and easy unless he was after something.
I had no idea what he could want, but I already knew it wasn’t anything good.
I remained seated as he approached and tilted my head for the kiss I knew he’d drop on my cheek.
Once he’d settled into the seat across from me, I gave him a polite smile. Then… “What’s going on, Dad?”
He blinked, looking confused.
Waving a hand, I said, “Don’t bother playing innocent. Something is going on, and I want to know what it is.”
“It’s nothing,” he said, shaking his head.
“Bullshit.” I reached for my wine and took a sip, meeting his eyes over the table.
He gave me a pained look, then acquiesced. That he’d done so relatively easy was…surprising, to say the least.
This really, really wasn’t going to be good.
“I’ve been having a few…issues,” he said. “With a past client of mine. He’s becoming a nuisance, started making veiled threats…”
I put my wine glass down with a snap.
“Dad…”
“It’s probably nothing,” he said, rushing to reassure me. “I’m almost positive he was just venting, pissed-off, you know? But I’m not going to take a chance with my only child.”
Now he gave me a look that all but invited sympathy and acceptance. I didn’t have much of either for him.
He’d gotten into some sort of mess with one of his companies.
He did construction – or rather his company did. There were rumors floating around that he cut corners he shouldn’t cut and other shit that had to do with unions. I had no idea what, and I didn’t want to know.
But maybe I should have paid attention.
If he was getting me roped into one of his schemes, I needed to be aware.
“You said there have been threats?” I asked, keeping my voice level.
Christopher waved a dismissive hand. “You don’t need to worry about this. I’m handling it.”
“If you’ve got the driver walking me to the door and you’re sitting there all mum about what is going on, then I think I do need to worry about it,” I responded.
But I was wasting my time.
Getting anything out of Christopher Golding once he’d decided he didn’t want to speak was like trying to get oil out of a rock.
Actually, it might be easier to get oil out of a rock.
Disgruntled but determined not to show it, I took another sip of my wine. “Sooner or later, I’ll figure it out,” I told him.
With a shark�
�s smile, he replied, “It won’t surprise me if you do. You’re my daughter, after all.” He winked, his charming smile inviting me to smile back.
I did, but I suspected he saw the strain underneath it. If he did, though, he elected to keep the peace, reaching for the wine list and studying it with a practiced eye.
“What did you go with, darling?” he asked.
I told him, already wishing I’d told the waiter to leave the bottle. I was probably going to drink it all. “I doubt you’d like it. It’s got a bit of sweetness that wouldn’t appeal.”
Christopher made a face. “No, I’ll pass. I’ll take a good dry red any day.” The server appeared, and my father pointed to my glass, asking if I wanted more. I nodded, and he placed his order too. Once we were alone, I wracked my brain thinking for something to talk about that didn’t involve why he was worried about my safety, or that might lead to some row between us.
My father and I, we were like oil and water.
Everything to him was money, money, money. I should appreciate the fact that he loved me – and I did. But I was more like a second thought to him.
What came first and last with my father was the pursuit of the almighty dollar.
Determined not to let myself brood, I reached for my menu and opened it. We tried a different restaurant almost every time we went out – at my insistence. If my father had his way, he’d stay with the five-star joint he’d taken me to for my graduation.
He was something of a stick in the mud, especially in some ways.
It was little wonder the two of us had so much trouble seeing eye to eye.
“You’re upset with me.”
His quiet voice had me raising my head, and I met his eyes levelly. I suppressed a sigh but couldn’t quite manage a smile for him either. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m upset, Dad. I just…” Waving a hand between the two of us, I said, “We can’t ever quite seem to hit a niche. It was like we lost the ability to really connect when Mom died.”
His mouth tightened, and he looked away. “I do try,” he said, finally looking back at me.
