by Brynne Asher
“What’s going on?”
I turn when I hear Emma’s voice. She’s got her backpack slung over her shoulder, white knuckling the strap. That’s when I realize she and Maggie have made eye contact. This only makes Maggie hightail it out of the office even faster.
I move next to Emma and pull her into my side. “It’s been a crap day and I’m taking you both home early. I’ll explain when we get out of here.”
We start to leave, but we’re stopped again when from the back hall of the main office, two police officers exit and one is holding a kid by the bicep with his hands cuffed behind his back who looks to be about Levi’s age. The kid doesn’t look happy. I assume this is the asshole, Terry Mosher, who tried to fuck with my son.
Just thinking about the possibility that Levi could be in that position is infuriating. But this thought barely crosses my mind when I realize Mosher is glaring at my kid—but not Levi. I feel Emma tense under my arm as the cops escort Mosher, the whole time his eyes never leave my daughter. Right before they pass us, his glare transforms into a sneer.
When they clear the door, I mutter under my breath, “What the fuck was that?”
Levi looks just as confused and Keelie is staring at Emma. When I look down at my daughter, her expression is laced with fear and panic—but panic wins.
Emma looks quickly between Levi and me. “What’s going on?”
I don’t answer. “Do you know that guy?”
She pulls away from me, close to tears. Desperately, she shakes her head, whispering, “No.”
Keelie asks, “Are you okay, Emma?”
Levi steps closer and lowers his voice. “Em, that guy is bad news. What was that about?”
Forgetting where she is, she takes another step away from all of us and raises her voice. “I don’t know him, I don’t know what that was about—I don’t know anything, all right? I don’t even know why you’re here!”
I notice the ladies behind the desk watching the show we’re putting on, so I decide to put a stop to this. “We’ll talk when we get home.” I still can’t believe the way the day has unfolded, so I turn to Keelie. “I’ll call you.”
She gives me a small nod and I direct Emma to leave with Levi following. How I’m going to get to the bottom of this, I have no idea.
*****
I cross my arms and lean back against the counter in my brand-new but very plain kitchen as I watch the tears well in my daughter’s eyes once again. This time, they’re tears of pure frustration.
She throws her arms out to the side and yells at me, “I don’t understand why I’m the one being interrogated when they found drugs in Levi’s locker!”
“You think I wasn’t interrogated? I fucking was, Em. By the police and Mr. White!” Levi blurts from where he’s standing off to the side.
“Enough.” I look to Levi and half-heartedly add, “And stop with the fucks.”
Levi rolls his eyes and I can’t blame him. After filling Emma in on what happened, she was shocked, as she should’ve been. Over the last few months, aside from being quiet and pulling away from us, I’ve never seen her like this. Now she’s agitated—almost in a frenzy—and bordering on hysteria. When I started asking her about Terry Mosher, she was more insistent than necessary she knew nothing about him.
If I hadn’t seen her hide out in her room every minute of the day she wasn’t in school, I’d seriously be worried she’d gotten herself into some bad shit. But there’s been no time for her to get into anything. Basically, she’s transparent but she’s not.
This is making her lash out. “You’re not a cop anymore, Dad. You’re not working with the CIA, or even Crew and Grady. I have nothing to tell you, and even if you want to stand there and ask me all day, I know nothing!”
“Emma.” I lower my voice. “Drop the attitude. Something happened in that office. I saw it, your brother saw it, and I’m pretty sure Keelie saw it. That kid was caught with a master key to the lockers and your ex-best friend was playing lookout for him when he was setting your brother up to be arrested for possession of drugs and paraphernalia. Yet when he walked by us today, he didn’t give your brother the time of day, but instead glared at you like you were expected to read his mind. I wanna know why that is.”
“Of course, you do.” The tears fall from her face. “You’re used to demanding all kinds of things and getting them, aren’t you? Well, guess what? I have nothing to offer. I don’t know why that guy glared daggers at me. He’s obviously a drug dealer—I doubt anything he does makes sense. But here you are, yelling at me because of the way some slimeball looked at me.”
I sigh and shake my head. She has no idea what yelling is. “I’m not yelling at you, baby.”
“I’m going to my room. Leave me alone!” She swipes the tears from her face and runs from the kitchen.
I drop my head and close my eyes. Either Danielle’s been hiding the dramatic shit from me for years or I suck at parenting worse than I thought.
“She’s probably on her period.”
I look up and Levi isn’t amused, but looks as drained as I feel. I shake my head and mutter, “We can only hope that’s all it is.”
Levi stands and grabs his backpack, starting out of the kitchen. “I’ve got homework to do before practice.”
The next thing I know, I’m alone. Alone in my new kitchen that looks as desolate as the rest of the house. I bought enough furniture to sit on and eat at, but besides letting the kids go crazy and outfit their rooms, that’s it. This house is nowhere close to being a home despite me trying to provide one for my kids.
I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and when I pull it out, it’s Crew. I rushed out in the middle of a training session with the men when I got the call from Levi.
Crew – Everything okay?
I shake my head as I respond, filling him in on what happened. Okay is a strong word these days and I’d say we’re far from it. Fuck, I’d give one of my offshore accounts for everything to be okay.
Crew – Grady and I have things covered. Take care of your kids.
I slide my phone into my pocket, wishing I knew how to do that before I open the fridge. Staring at the contents wondering what I can put together to make a meal, I pause.
I shut the fridge and go straight to my office where the file is sitting on top of a pile of papers. Opening it, I sit and start to read through. I don’t even know what I’m looking for—I’ve memorized the contents after reading it five times already.
Rereading her background isn’t going to make her divorced instead of a widow. Or change the fact Knox and Saylor—who seem like good kids—have been left without a dad. And reading it a sixth time isn’t going to change what I now know about her financial situation, which isn’t terrible, but it isn’t what it should be had her now dead husband not left her in a pile of debt she had to pay off with his insurance policy. Now she’s living with no savings on a counselor’s salary, which isn’t enough to maintain a property worth as much as hers, which is a fucking lot. It should be with the views, that land, and the size of her house.
Learning all this didn’t satisfy my curiosity of Keelie Lockhart. If I had a hundred questions before, learning all this only multiplied that tenfold.
I have enough issues. I already have two kids of my own I hope not to fuck up on a daily basis, though right now, I’m pretty sure I’m fucking something up.
Last night when I read the report for the first time, it surprised me, but I thought I could handle it.
Today?
I’m not sure what I can handle today.
I finish reading her file for the sixth time before putting it back in the folder and tossing it in the bottom drawer of my new desk.
I need to feed my kids and figure out what the fuck is going on with Emma. It’s all I have the mind-space for right now.
*****
Keelie
Standing at the end of my lane waiting for the kids to get off the bus, my phone beeps. Just when I hear the big yellow b
east coming through the trees, I look down at my screen and my insides do that thing again that I’m getting used to. It was so foreign at first, I wonder how I could ever be used to it. It seems all it takes is a text from Asa to make my organs flip and flop like an Olympic gymnast.
I open his text just as the bus comes to a rest in front of me. But instead of flipping and flopping with a whoosh of air, my insides sink.
“Mommy!”
“Hey, mom.”
I look up from my phone and, just like I’ve perfected in the past few years, I put a fake smile on my face for my kids. They deserve a happy mom, even if they don’t know it’s not genuine. “Hi, babies. Come give me a Monday hug.”
They hug me, but at the same time Knox complains, “Mo-om, don’t call me baby.”
I take a deep breath and smile down at my dark-haired son. “Sorry. What can I say? Habit.”
Saylor tears out of my arms and drops her bag as she skips down the drive. “I wanna play with the babies before a-ny-thing!”
Knox runs after her as he yells over his shoulder, “Is Aunt Stephie still coming tonight?”
I smile again, but this one’s harder. And faking it makes me feel all kinds of selfish because I should understand more than anyone. Of all people, I should get it. “Change of plans. I’m staying home. How about we order in Chinese?”
My sweet boy. He doesn’t have to fake anything and shows me how happy this makes him. “Cool.”
I pick up Saylor’s backpack and pull my phone back out of my pocket as I slowly make my way back to the house. Just because I need it to sink in and be over, I torture myself and read his text again.
Asa – Keelie, I’m sorry. I need to focus on my kids without distraction. I made a move with you I shouldn’t have. I appreciate your help today with Levi more than you know. I hope you can understand.
I’m not sure why it stings. I was the one who didn’t want any attention and we weren’t anything anyway. We went to dinner once with our kids. This shouldn’t be a disappointment.
I stop on the lane to text him back—no reason to drag it out.
Me – No problem. I’ll be in touch with you about Emma’s situation.
As I stand here staring at my phone, I see the bubbles and wait for a response, but then they disappear.
They come back, making my breath catch, only to disappear once again.
And that’s it.
Only when I hear Jasmine and the goats greeting the kids am I pulled out of my trance. Well, I can’t spend my life waiting on bubbles. If anyone knows that, it’s me.
Chapter 8
Wet Panties Don’t Lie
Keelie
It’s late. Instead of ending my horrid day after I put the kids to bed like I should have, I decided to torture myself and start painting the third floor bedrooms. I figured I could at least get started on the ceiling.
Once I’d made a right fine mess—it’s impossible to paint a ceiling without getting paint in my hair—I showered and made the kids lunches for tomorrow. It’s after midnight and I’m exhausted. I flip off the light in the kitchen to head to bed when my phone beeps.
Asa – You up?
What the hell? It was sweet the first time when he asked if it’s a good time to call, but after his text earlier, he’s out of his mind. I’m tired and not in the mood.
Me – No.
Asa – That was quick for you not being up.
Now he’s being infuriating. He ended whatever we were, which hadn’t even started yet, and now he wants to talk?
Me – I was almost asleep.
Of course, now I get all the bubbles when earlier I was waiting for them as desperately as a knocked-up teenager waits for her period, dammit. Like the freak I don’t want to be, I stand here and stare at them.
Asa – Then why are your lights on?
What the fuck?
With absolutely no ninja skills, I trip over Saylor’s backpack as I move to the wall beside the window so I can peek out the curtain. There he is, parked in his truck in front of my house. I didn’t even hear him pull up and all the animals are in the barn, so I don’t have Jasmine as my exterior alarm.
Asa – You should really have motion lights installed.
Dammit again, he’s right. I’ve been meaning to have Jimbo install some of those, but I keep forgetting to add them to the list. I just decided they’re going in this weekend.
Asa – I see you peeking at me.
I step back and press myself to the wall. Fuck, he saw me. Fuck-fuck-fuck!
I suck as a ninja.
My phone dings again.
Asa – Open the front door.
This time I don’t ignore him.
Me – No. I’m on my way to bed.
I hear his truck door slam.
Asa – Open the door, Keelie.
My head falls back with a thump on the wall. Why? Why now? His text earlier was enough, and even though it was a text, it did us both a favor of avoiding the weird, uncomfortable face-to-face thing that no one wants to experience. I appreciate that text. What I don’t appreciate is an after midnight visit on a Monday night. Or Tuesday morning, but whatever. All I want right now is my bed and pillow.
I hear a knock on my front door, albeit, a soft one. He doesn’t know he’ll never wake my kids—they sleep like the dead. The dogs, on the other hand, will go berserk if they hear. This is what I tell myself as I rush to the front door and swing it open.
There he is, towering over me again, and since I’m barefoot in a pair of loose sleep-shorts and a thin t-shirt, he feels even bigger tonight. His hand rests high on the outside of my door jamb where he’s leaning, looking down at me. I can’t decipher what he’s thinking.
“What do you want?” I demand. That didn’t come out all rainbows and butterflies, but it’s late, he was practically spying on me, and now we’re going to have to do the weird face-to-face thing I was so grateful to avoid.
He frowns. “Don’t you have an alarm?”
“Yes. I just hadn’t set it yet. I was on my way to do that when I found you spying on me.”
He tips his head. “Where are the dogs?”
I exhale, even more frustrated. “They’re in with the kids and their door is shut. I’m lucky you haven’t roused them.”
“You should’ve had your alarm set,” he keeps on like it’s any of his business.
I shake my head and don’t invite him in. He’s standing among all the construction riffraff on my porch, which probably won’t be finished for years. “What do you want?”
With that, his eyes move. It’s ridiculous to say I can feel them. Only teenagers would say shit like that. But still, his eyes glide down my body, landing on my feet before boomeranging their way back up. Fuck me, it’s been so long since someone has looked at me like that, his gaze silked over my skin smoothly. When those dark eyes trimmed in green finally focus on mine, his lips purse before his deep voice utters, “Came to apologize for texting instead of calling. I had a rough afternoon with Emma and she needed my attention.”
My defenses melt away and here I am left feeling guilty again. His kids should take precedence. The tension releases from my shoulders and I shake my head, whispering, “Never apologize for making your kids a priority. Not to me anyway. Is she okay?”
He ignores my question. “Killed me to send that text.”
I lean into the door. “It’s for the best.”
“Not so sure of that.” He sighs. “I’m not sure of anything anymore.”
“You’re a good dad, Asa. Levi will graduate and go to college, and no matter what’s going on with Emma, she’ll come around with your help. I’ll do what I can from my end at school, but she’ll get there.”
“I need to make sure she’s good. Our rough afternoon turned into a rougher evening. I’ve got to focus on her. Still didn’t make me happy to send that text. You don’t know how badly I didn’t want to send it.”
I take a deep breath and decide to drive the last nail into a
ny sort of doubt he might be having. “I never should have agreed to dinner with you. When I say don’t worry about it, I mean it. It’s for the best. I can’t bring just anyone into my kids’ lives, I hope you can appreciate that. They need stability above all else. It doesn’t matter what I might want. In the end, I need to think about them, just like your kids need your time and attention.”
His voice becomes sharp. “You don’t know me well, but I’d never do anything to jeopardize the wellbeing of your children, Keelie. Ever.”
I know I can protect my kids. I have and I’ll continue to do so like the mama bear I’ve grown into since it’s all on me. It might be an excuse—hell, I know it’s an excuse—but I need to get him off my doorstep quick-like because I’m having about as much fun as I’ve had in the past two years, which suffice it to say, is not a lot of fucking fun.
“I’m sure you’re well-meaning but, I know more than anyone, nothing is guaranteed.” I take a step toward him and try my best to end this. The brisk nip in the early spring air makes me shiver. I put a hand on his wide, firm chest and look up to him as I whisper, “I’m not divorced, Asa. My husband was killed almost two years ago.”
He narrows his eyes and his jaw goes hard, but other than that, he has no response.
I press my hand into his chest before letting it slip away and explain to him why he should want nothing to do with us. To say that Knox, Saylor, and I come with baggage heavier than the Kardashians is an understatement. “It took a long time to get my little family to where we are. My kids are happy enough and I need to keep it that way. I can’t risk them getting attached to someone only to lose them again. I have to think about my kids first and so do you.”
He takes a step closer, as close as he can without touching me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel his heat and want more of it.
“Fuck. I don’t like repeating myself, but I’ll say it again because it’s fucking true—I’d never hurt your kids.” He says this with such conviction laced with anger, I believe he means it even though he has no idea what he’d be getting himself into.
