“Go get Jimmy and his backpack. We’re taking him home.” His voice is strong, even. Kind of weirdly laid back.
“And you are?” Denise Edgerton narrows her eyes even more, which I wouldn’t have thought possible. Her eyes remind me of a raccoon’s when you catch them in flashlight beam. Beady and mean and not going to give up the trash she’s dug from your garbage can.
“Charge Denney.”
“Oh, yes. The biker boyfriend with the criminal record.” Denise turns those beady eyes on me. “Kayla.” Her voice oozes insincere disappointment. “You had all the resources and support to make good choices. Do you know how many of my clients would kill for the opportunities you have had?”
“Kayla has never cared about taking advantage of her opportunities. She throws them away.” Dad’s talking to Denise like I’m not here.
Panic scrabbles up in my chest. They’re standing between me and my boy. I want to push past them, scream his name.
But Charge has my hand.
“Get Jimmy now,” I say. Why is my voice so breathy? I try again. “Now.” That’s better.
“Yeah, you two gonna hafta finish doing your Dursley impersonation once we’ve gone.” Charge clicks his cheek. “Go get Jimmy now. And his backpack.”
Oh my goodness. Was that a Harry Potter reference?
Charge looks down at me. “What?” he says. “Your dad’s name is Vern. Shit comes to mind.”
“I didn’t know you were a fan.”
“I’m a total Hufflepuff.” He grins, and it’s like a sunbath. The panic eases away; the rage ebbs.
“Yeah, you are.”
“You’re a Gryffindor.”
He thinks I’m a Gryffindor.
It’s true. I totally am. I’m doing this, and at the moment, I’m in one piece. I grin. In the middle of all of this, I grin.
“Are they high?” Denise Edgerton stage whispers to my dad.
“No.” I answer quick, but then the question makes me mad. “You know, I’ve never done drugs. I never drank underage. I never had a boyfriend until now. I was good at school. I was a good kid.” Tears are threatening.
“Now Kayla—” my dad starts, and everyone can hear the we all know better in the words.
“No. You stopped caring about anything I did when Mom died. You probably do believe I was some messed up, crazy, drug-addled teenager cause how would you know different? You never talked to me. You never even looked at me.”
“You’re blaming me and your mother’s death for your poor choices? Very predictable, Kayla. You’re the one bringing this…poor caliber of person around your child now. Putting Jimmy in danger to get your own needs met. I suppose that’s my fault as well?”
I go to answer, a thousand truths and as many curse words bubbling up, but Charge tugs my hand, steps a bit in front of me.
“A conversation for another day, I think. For now, we’re gonna need you to go get Jimmy.”
I don’t know how he’s staying so calm. Every moment my dad keeps stalling, the volcano in my middle burbles higher and higher, burning up my throat.
“That’s not going to happen. Mr. Denney, was it?” Denise Edgerton crosses her arms. “When Vern and Victoria agreed to allow Jimmy to be placed back with his mother, she agreed to certain conditions to ensure the boy’s well-being. Did you not?”
“I did.” I would have agreed to let them cut off my arm to get Jimmy back. I still would. I ball my fists.
“And one stipulation was that Kayla was to always be available to her son when he needed her. It’s my understanding that today, you were not available. And Jimmy was hurt.”
I suck in a breath. Mrs. Devany had made it sound like a tussle. A shoving match maybe.
“Is he okay?” I step to the side and forward, trying to get closer to the door, get a peek through the sidelight, but Dad and Denise aren’t budging.
“You would know that if you’d answered your phone,” my dad interjects.
“I don’t get service in the warehouse. The school didn’t call my work number.” Even to my ears, they sound like excuses. Jimmy needed me, and I wasn’t there. I am a shitty mother. Shame dampens the fury, crushes me like it always has.
“Well, she’s here now,” Charge says. “Go get ’im.”
Denise Edgerton shakes her head. “That’s not going to happen, Mr. Denney. I suggest you take Kayla home, and call, like Mr. Tunstall asked, to set up a meeting to talk about steps going forward.”
I’m not sure what I’m expecting Charge to do, but it’s not get on his phone.
“Nope,” he says, not to Denise Edgerton but to whoever’s on the phone. “Can you come over? All right.” It’s a very quick conversation, and then he hangs up.
“I hope you’re not calling your biker gang to somehow back you up.” Denise Edgerton takes a small step back. “First, this is a gated community, and secondly, that’s exactly the sort of behavior that makes the Tunstalls leery about their grandson’s safety when in Kayla’s custody.”
Did he call the MC?
That’s not what I want. A scene. More ugliness. Jimmy scared.
I tug Charge’s hand. Mine slips a little, my palm slick with sweat from nerves.
“Trust me, baby.” He ignores Denise and speaks directly to my father. “You sure you don’t want to end this now? Go get the boy. We drive away. You get to be a good father for once. For a change, you know.”
“What do you know about being a good father?” The vein in my dad’s neck is bulging at his collar.
“Dunno. I had one, comin’ up. Still do. Anyone lay a finger on me, that person would not have a hand. And maybe he couldn’t give me all this—” Charge gestures to the huge houses on the tiny lots all around us. “—But he ain’t never looked to take from me what’s mine.”
There’s a silence, a strange one, and it’s only broken eventually by a clip-clop ringing in the early evening air.
It’s the clack of high heels on pavement.
My stomach turns as a woman rounds the corner from Bolt Court. Sue used to live up that way when we were kids, but this woman isn’t a short, toned nerd with funky glasses. She’s a sex goddess from a hot teacher music video.
Harper’s wearing a tailored suit, black, tight and totally unwrinkled, with a shiny white blouse and a Prada messenger bag sporting the silver triangle emblem so everyone knows how much she paid. Her hair is pulled back in a low bun, flawless, and even though she’s just trudged up a hill in six-inch black heels, she’s smiling.
A shark’s smile.
“You called her?” I whisper to Charge.
“How you think I got through the gate? She called ahead for me.”
Harper’s in front of us now, and she glides up the porch steps, her hand stuck out toward my dad. His manners—and his shock—make him take it.
“Vern Tunstall,” he says.
Harper doesn’t offer Denise Edgerton her hand.
“Harper Ruth. Esquire.” She cocks her head as if this is all very cute and entertaining. “Vern. You must be Kayla’s dad. Love to meet new neighbors. I’m over on Bolt.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Ruth.” Denise Edgerton flicks her glassy eyes over Harper. “I’m not sure what you’re doing here.”
“See, that’s funny. Because from what my client tells me, I’m not sure what you’re doing here.”
“Your client?” My dad’s getting over his pretty-girl-struck-dumb moment.
“Yes. Steel Bones MC, and its affiliated businesses, charities, and associations are my client. Your girl Kayla here is an association. And I believe you have her son. So first thing, let’s talk about where the young man is. Currently.”
“My wife has him. In the house.”
“Good, good.” Harper hasn’t dropped her perfect, plastered on smile for a second. “Well, let’s produce the boy, shall we? So I can get back to enjoying our little slice of heaven. Eh?”
“You got a lawyer?” There’s mostly disbelief in Dad’s voice, but also confusion. And
it strikes me again…he really believes that I’m a bad person and a terrible mother. It would be easier if he only wanted to give Victoria the baby she always wanted, but that’s not the root of this. He honestly thinks I don’t care about my child.
My dad didn’t believe me back then. And he doesn’t believe in me now.
It’s weird how many times the same thing can break your heart.
It’s funny how many times you let it happen.
“She got a lawyer, and she’s got forty men behind her,” Charge says. “She ain’t on her own no more. Go get her boy.”
“We will not be intimidated,” Denise sniffs. “If you were interested in the well-being of this child, you, Kayla Tunstall, would have abided by the agreement you entered into when you took Jimmy from this home—”
“Pardon.” Harper has taken out a small notepad and clicked a pen. “Can I have a copy of that agreement?”
Crickets.
Literal crickets. The sun is heading down, and even here in the development, you can hear them in the houseless lots.
“It was a verbal agreement.”
“Oh.” Harper’s smile widens. “As a lawyer, I love me a good verbal agreement. And, sorry, what is your name?” Harper eyes Denise Edgerton with the same disdain she showed me at the picnic. I can’t say I mind it now.
“Denise Edgerton.”
“And you’re with…”
“The Department of Child Services.”
“Oh, you work for Bob! Bob Angelsea! You have to tell Bob I said hi. I do pro bono for him sometimes.”
Denise Edgerton turns a bizarre shade of purple. I’m guessing Bob is her boss.
Harper takes her phone out of her fancy purse and starts scrolling. Does she have this guy in her contacts?
“And what’s the case number on this?” Harper seems to finish her scrolling, looks up, and blinks, her eyebrows so high that on another woman, the effect would be either insane or clownish. Harper Ruth, though, looks magnificent and terrifying.
We all listen to the crickets again, the chorus swelling and receding.
“There’s no case number. This is unofficial. Helping a friend and his family in crisis.” Now, the raccoon is cornered, and those beady eyes dart up to my dad. My dad’s fixed on Harper, though.
“Verbal agreement. No case number. Unofficial. Oh, my!” Harper winks at Charge. “If only you were this easy as a client.”
I’ve been staring stupidly, watching this go down, but the reminder puts my hackles up. Harper hasn’t even acknowledged my existence. What does that matter though? If she can get them to give me Jimmy, I don’t care what she says or doesn’t say to me.
“So, I’ll break this down for you.” Harper finally turns to me, pinning me with her slightly up-turned cat eyes. “You listening, little girl?”
I nod. Swallow my pride and the fury her words stir back to life. If she’s helping, I don’t care what she calls me.
“Number one, verbal agreements aren’t worth shit in court. Number two, no case number and unofficial blah blah is something we like to call misuse of authority—”
Denise Edgerton makes to interrupt, but Harper holds up a hand, dripping with a few carats of diamond. “I’m conferring with my client, Ms. Edgerton. If you’ll hold your horses.” She purses her naturally red lips. “Where was I? Misuse of authority! Now, my friend Bob Angelsea might be interested that one of his people is running around, interfering in private family matters, not following proper procedures.”
Denise Edgerton says nothing.
“Now, wait a minute. Denise is a family friend. Here at my invitation. You can’t threaten her!” My dad’s getting really pissed. You can tell because his red face and head are developing a sheen of sweat. “This is a private family matter, and you have no business here! You will all get off my porch, or I’ll be calling Hank Armitage. The sheriff’s deputy.”
Harper yawns. Yawns. “While this truly toxic little family drama is the slightest bit entertaining, I have a thing tonight I have to get ready for. So I’ll cut to the chase. Produce my client’s son, and I won’t call my personal friend. Doug Baker. The sheriff.”
My dad gapes like a fish. He doesn’t know what to say. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him at a loss. He usually just declares the discussion over. And everyone―me mostly―goes along with it.
“It’s a small town, Vern,” Harper says. “Everyone knows everyone. Some people know sheriff’s deputies. Some people know sheriffs. Some people know it’s fucked up to keep a kid from his mother.”
My dad opens his mouth to respond, but whatever he’s going to say is lost in a scuffle behind the closed door. I hear Jimmy’s voice, too high, close to a wail, like those rare times when he’s about to bust out in a full-on meltdown.
That’s it.
I’m not pushing anything down anymore. And I’m not waiting one more second.
These fuckers took my kid from me.
They aren’t family. And they aren’t in charge.
I’m the mother. And that is my child.
I drop Charge’s hand, and I ram my shoulder into Denise Edgerton, hard, dropping my weight low like I’m inching a heavy piece of furniture across the floor, and I hiss, “Get the fuck out of my way!”
She loses her footing, stumbling a little, and my dad moves to steady her. That’s all the room I need. I throw the door open.
“Jimmy!”
Even in the dim foyer, it doesn’t take me any time to find him. He’s trying to tug away from Victoria. I open my arms, dragging myself forward despite the grip someone has on the strap of my purse, and then Jimmy gives the hardest yank he can and he’s there and I scoop him up, tucking his head into the crook of my neck while I look for something, anything hard or metal because if they think they’re going to keep him from me ever again, they are wrong, wrong, wrong.
And then Charge’s arms are wrapping around us both, and he’s gently urging me back out to the porch, murmuring, “It’s all right, baby. It’s all right, you guys. Breathe, Mama. I got you.”
I’m panting, and there’s a red tinge to everything, so I do the only thing I can. I hold tight to Jimmy, and Charge holds us both in his arms, one hand stroking my arm as I press Jimmy to me, the other hand resting on Jimmy’s back.
It takes a minute to realize the lava has receded and to really see what I’m seeing.
Victoria has slipped out the door, and she’s standing with my father. His shirt is half-untucked from his pants.
Denise Edgerton has backed off several feet, and she has her glasses off, rubbing them with the sleeve of her jacket. She seems out of breath.
Harper is the only one who seems unfazed, unmoved. She pastes an even wider fake smile on her face.
“That’s assault,” Denise Edgerton huffs.
“Oh, please. I’ve gotten shoved harder in the beer line at Heinz Field.” Harper rolls her eyes and then she approaches us, her hands raised slightly, saying she means no harm. “Well, here’s the little guy we’ve been talking about. Let’s see you.”
Jimmy keeps his head buried in my neck, his skinny arms digging into my ribs, his legs around my waist like a monkey. I hold tight and rock. He smells so good. He feels so warm.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.” My vision blurs a little, but I hold the tears back. I can feel my boy shaking, and it hurts.
“Kayla?” Harper cocks her head, and for the first time, her expression isn’t hard. It’s not soft either, but there’s a seriousness to it that’s new. “We need to check out Jimmy. Make sure he’s not hurt. Then you can go home. Okay?”
I nod. “Just gonna put you down for a second, baby.”
Jimmy tightens his grip.
“Just for a second, okay?”
He slides down me, turns, and stands there, his head down. My poor little guy. I’m never, never letting this happen ever again.
“Look up, baby,” I say.
He does. He has a small bruise by his eye.
I can’
t help it. The tears start dripping down my cheeks. “What happened?”
“Cal Porter ran his mouth again. So I said something, he hit me in the face, and I punched him in the stomach. Then Mr. Evans the janitor broke it up.”
“Oh, Jimmy. You can’t hit people because they say something. What did he say?”
“He said I don’t know who my daddy is cause my mom’s a slut. But you’re not a slut!” Jimmy’s shout is so loud; it startles me. How does a six-year-old know the word slut?
“Cal Porter is a shithead,” Charge says, and before I can say anything, Jimmy looks up, his forehead un-crinkling and his worried eyes brightening just a tad.
Jimmy nods. “Yeah, he is.”
I can hear Victoria hiss at the curse words.
Kind of feels to me like cursing isn’t the worst thing happening at this house today.
Harper catches my eye again. “Looks like the bruise is the only injury, and I think we’re all agreed that Cal Porter’s to blame for that one? Ms. Edgerton? Vern?”
They keep their mouths shut.
Then Harper does something strange. She reaches out, as if to tousle Jimmy’s hair, but she seems to think better of it halfway. Instead, she goes down to her knees, so she can look him in the eye.
“I don’t know about daddies, little man, but I do know what your mama is. She’s Steel Bones. And that means so are you. So you’ve got dozens of brothers. And a mean sister who’s a lawyer. Cal Porter talks shit again, punch him in the face. Charge has my number.”
Then she stands, as graceful as a ballet dancer on those high, high heels, nods to Charge, and sets off down the sidewalk, like a model down a runway.
I don’t wait for my dad to get out from under the spell she cast. Charge is thinking the same thing as me. I take Jimmy’s hand, and Charge guides us in front of him to the car. I buckle Jimmy in, dropping kisses on his forehead, and he doesn’t even wipe them off.
I don’t know if he remembers the year I was gone. He shouldn’t; he was so little. But I know he remembers some of living in the house after they let me come home, the strain, the walking on eggshells. I wasn’t fun back then. I was trying so hard not to screw anything up.
Charge: A Steel Bones Motorcycle Club Romance Page 20
