A Shameless Little BET (Shameless #3)

by Meli Raine

  A red flush comes roaring up inside me, sprinkling my cheeks with heat. “I avoid it, frankly. I know my reputation. I also know that Silas knows I am innocent. Knew that before this morning.”

  “He is someone who deals in lies and deceit and protection for a living. I get that you’re hurt. I would be, too. But I also have to say I admire him for finding a way to sweep aside all his doubts. Sounds like you scored an A+ on a test you didn’t know you had to take.”

  This entire conversation is deeply confusing.

  “Look. If you told him to fuck off and you never want to see him again, you’d be well within your rights.”

  That’s more like it.

  “But if you find a way to forgive him and move forward from there, you’d also be doing yourself a favor.”

  “That feels weak,” I blurt out.

  “You’re allowed to be weak, Jane. And for the record, it wouldn’t be weak. It would mean you made a judgment call based on what’s best for you. Do you want to cut him out of your life?”

  “God, no.”

  “Then there’s your answer. Let go of what ‘should’ be. You ‘should’ be irate. You ‘should’ be offended. You should should should... I see a guy who loves you so much, he went and got himself shot in the heart to prove your innocence.”

  “That is one way to look at it,” I concede.

  “A pretty big one.” Lily’s eyes narrow, her face open and pensive. “What’s holding you back? Talk to him. Figure this out. Let the light in.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s something my mom says to me when I’m really angry.”

  “When do you get angry?”

  “Lots of times. I’m human. Like you. I might be an optimist, but I’m not a robot. So Mom always tells me ‘let the light in.’ A sealed door makes for a dark room. Crack it open. See what the light brings.”

  I sigh. “You make sense.”

  “I can tell there’s some part of you holding back.”

  “It’s the part that is so afraid that I’m never going to get his trust. That I’ll spend the rest of my life feeling lesser.”

  “The only person who can do that to you is you, Jane. Not Silas.”

  Duff clears his throat as I let Lily’s words ring in my head. “Jane? We need to go,” he says.

  I stand. We emerge from behind the curtain and I hug her.

  “Thank you,” I tell her, sincerely grateful.

  “For what? You got a granola bar out of this visit. Come back another time and we’ll get a killer burrito next door.”

  “I will.” I hand Duff the flower arrangement. The middle of it has a princess doll wearing a tiny tiara. Lily hands me mine and Kelly’s.

  She looks at Duff, squinting one eye. “Nah. You can’t pull off diamonds. Bet you’re more of a pearl necklace guy.”

  Duff does not move. Does not breathe. Does not let one single muscle fiber react.

  I hug her again and whisper, “Go online and google ‘urban dictionary pearl necklace.’”

  “Why?” she asks, making a funny laugh.

  “Just do it.”

  We leave.

  To his credit, Duff never says a word on the very short trip to the apartment building where Silas and I live.

  Correction: where Silas lives. My status as a resident is up in the air.

  Once the elevator doors open, I go straight to my apartment, keys in hand, before Duff can say anything. I don’t plan to stay here tonight. Lindsay reserved the room at the Lilac Inn for two more nights for me. I do, however, need to regroup.

  Walking into Silas’s place and spending time with Linda and Kelly requires a poise that will take a few minutes to assemble.

  Who am I kidding?

  There is not enough time in the world to assemble that.

  Chapter 8

  Silas

  Tiaras hurt when a five-year-old shoves one on your head.

  “Ow!” I tell Kelly as she pushes, hard. This kid has muscles like a dock worker.

  “But Uncle Silas, it’s not even! It needs to be even,” she says patiently but firmly. There is no quarreling with her when it comes to princess attire.

  “I’m not a princess,” I point out to her. “And no makeup this time.” The last time she told me to close my eyes for “eye shadow,” she used a Sharpie marker.

  “Your nails look beautiful,” Mom notes, looking at the glittery mess I used to call my fingers. “Very princessy.”

  “Drew would approve,” I mutter.

  “You’re not on duty,” Mom says, then whispers, “And I got plenty of nail polish remover at the store. Just clean it up when she goes to bed.”

  “I know how this works,” I inform her. “Last time Kelly did this, I had glitter everywhere. Found some in my gun belt. The guys gave me shit about it forever.”

  “They’re just jealous of your fabulosity.”

  “That is not a word, Mom.”

  “It is now.” She smiles and laughs as she reaches up to adjust my tiara.

  “Ow! You’re poking me!” I jump back.

  “It’s the combs. Your hair is so short, the teeth have nothing to grip.” She touches her own tiara and yanks gently. “See? You need to grow out your hair. You look so good when it’s longer.”

  “I need to not be roped into Princess Tea,” I mutter, my inner teen rolling his eyes at Mom’s comment.

  “When it comes to Kelly, it’s easier to just grow out your hair and go with it,” Mom whispers.

  Tap tap tap.

  Nerves of steel don’t kick in when the heart’s involved. I look at the clock. Has to be Jane.

  Mom’s hands go to my shoulders. “I’m so glad you got her to come. Kelly is going to be so –”

  “JAAAAANNNNNNEEEE!” Kelly squeals as she runs to my front door.

  “– excited,” Mom finishes unnecessarily.

  I know Duff’s in the hallway, so I let Kelly open the door before coming up behind her.

  A floral princess is in the door.

  “Is that for me?” Kelly yells, jumping up and down as Jane waves awkwardly at Mom with one hand, trying to manage the giant flower thing in the other.

  I swoop in and grab the base, our fingers touching.

  Electricity arcs through me.

  Jane’s cheeks turn pink, her eyes catching mine briefly.

  Ah. She feels it, too.

  Thank God.

  “You already have a tiara!” she says to Kelly as my niece almost flattens her with a crushing hug. Jane looks up and says to me, “You, too. I never thought of you as a princess.”

  “Boys can be princesses,” Kelly says into Jane’s neck. She pulls back and smooths Jane’s hair off her face. “Boys can do anything girls can do.”

  “When I was a little girl, people said that to me the other way around. I like your version better.”

  Kelly grins and pulls Jane into the apartment.

  This isn’t just a “Princess Tea.” Jane has no idea new information has come in. Drew briefed me. I know Jane wants nothing to do with me. My chest aches, and not just because Drew misjudged the blank bullet’s impact on my vest and ribs.

  “You look good in jewels,” I tell Jane, who reaches up to touch the pendant I gave her.

  “Thanks,” she says, nervous and unafraid to show it. That’s a good sign.

  I’d be more worried if she didn’t bother to feel.

  Once Mom asked me to help with Kelly, my day became set. I know if I let Jane pull away completely, I’ll never get her back. What happened today re-traumatized her. I rub the spot over my heart and remind myself she’s like a spooked horse.

  I have to go easy. The purpose of this visit isn’t to make up with her.

  It’s to incrementally calm her down.

  Restraint isn’t easy right now. The head rush from being shot is still circulating within me. Every time I bend or twist, I feel the bruised bones of my ribcage. My breastbone is a tuning fork. Every ache and pain reminds me of that
moment when my gun was fixed on Drew, Drew’s was on Jane, and Jane’s was on him. At any second, she could have killed him. Or me.

  Or tried.

  We didn’t know.

  Correction: Drew didn’t know. I knew. I knew.

  Then again, I thought I knew with Rebecca.

  “Jane,” Kelly says seriously, pointing to a spot at my dining table. “You sit there. Uncle Silas sits there,” she says, pointing across from Jane’s spot. “Grandma is across from me. Your princess flowers go in the middle of the table.” Kelly gives me a look that says I am her slave and to do as told.

  I move the flowers.

  The smile on Jane’s face is worth being a five-year-old’s minion.

  Three out of four of us take our seats, Mom moving around in the kitchen. She emerges with a platter covered with grilled cheese sandwiches, quartered into triangles. Setting the platter down, she goes back in the kitchen and returns with a tray of soup for everyone. Kelly watches her every move like a hawk, as if there is a performance script we’re not privy to.

  So far, Mom is meeting Kelly’s expectations with precision.

  Which is good, because I’ve seen drill sergeants with lower standards.

  “Don’t forget about the other princesses, Grandma!” Kelly reminds her, pointing to the couch.

  A line of dolls, nine in all, rest in various crooked poses, each wearing a tiara.

  “They, um, ate already,” Mom says, giving me a look that says I should have nine miniature bowls and plates for plastic dolls.

  Being an uncle has limits. I’ve just reached mine.

  We start to eat, the simple meal better than anything I ate during two tours.

  My phone buzzes.

  “Ignore that,” Mom orders me.

  “I can’t.”

  Kelly shoves her chin in her hands, elbows on the table, and gives me a grumpy look.

  “Sorry, kiddo.” I wiggle the phone. “It’s work.”

  “You work too much,” she grumbles.

  Jane giggles and whispers, “I think so, too,” in Kelly’s ear, then peers at me. “Anything I need to know?”

  I read the text from Mark Paulson.

  Clear connection between Corning, Bosworth, and Landau. Hard evidence. Need to meet.

  Now? I type back, looking at Kelly. I need an hour.

  Not urgent, but tonight. Two hours enough?

  I exhale. Yes. Where?

  Drew’s place.

  Drew and Lindsay moved to La Jolla, far away from The Grove and Drew’s old place. His old apartment is contaminated with death.

  No one wants to be around that infectious agent.

  Mom’s giving me the evil eye. “You’d better not tell me you need to leave.”

  “No. No problem. I’m here until Kelly goes to bed.”

  “At midnight!” Kelly chirps.

  “Ah, no,” Mom informs her. “Eight-thirty. You get an extra half hour because Jane is here.”

  I type back to Paulson: No problem. Be there by nine.

  “I need more than that, Grandma. How will we feed all the princesses in time?”

  “Magic,” Jane says, rescuing Mom from trying to answer that. “We’ll use princess magic.”

  “Do you know princess magic?” Kelly asks Jane, completely hooked.

  “I do,” Jane says solemnly. A piece of my chest loosens. Might be a chamber of my heart. A piece that isn’t bruised, that is.

  Rebecca never met Kelly. I don’t know why that thought hits me right now, of all times, but it does. Rebecca wasn’t a fan of kids. Kelly was born while I was deployed. I only knew her through pictures and Skype sessions for her first couple of years. It took moving back and working for Drew to be around enough to get to know her.

  Jane had an instant bond with Kelly. Mine took longer to form. Both are fierce.

  Both take my breath away.

  While Jane makes shit up with Kelly in an enthralling way, I watch her and work on my singular goal: to breathe. Mom has no idea about the truth regarding Rebecca. She knows she died “in combat.” She doesn’t know I killed her. Doesn’t know Rebecca was a traitor.

  Doesn’t know I let myself be fooled in the absolute worst way possible.

  Mom also has no idea about the test I put Jane through this morning.

  Letting mothers know too much is an occupational hazard in my line of work.

  The chasm between Jane and me is enormous. Yawning and expansive, it can’t be crossed by bridge. Not even by rope. The only way to find her on the other side is to do this the hard way:

  To take every single step down the hill into the valley and claw my way back up.

  Maybe even that won’t be enough.

  “So when you close your eyes at night, as you’re in bed drifting off to sleep, you count to twenty-seven on your fingers and toes, and then you say the word ‘marshmallow’ three times. You have to stay in bed, though, for the magic to work,” Jane tells Kelly.

  I look up. Mom mouths thank you to Jane, who presses her lips together and tries not to laugh.

  “I will,” Kelly promises. She looks at my mom and says, “Cake?”

  “We need to finish dinner first.” Kelly starts shoveling it in. She reminds me of mess hall on base during training exercises.

  “How was your day, Jane?” Mom asks.

  Our eyes lock. Jane lowers hers and lies.

  “Oh, you know. Boring. A little infuriating.”

  “Being harassed?”

  “More like hoops I have to jump through that shouldn’t be there.”

  “What’s going on?”

  My fingers press into my thighs. The spot over my heart radiates with pain. As my blood pulses, it heals and hurts at the same time.

  “I had to deal with some major disappointment today. People with power over me who decided to find ways to make life more difficult.” Primly, she tears off a piece of her grilled cheese and nibbles at it.

  “Mom always told me obstacles build character,” I say, giving Jane a pointed look as I dunk an entire quarter of my grilled cheese into my soup, letting it soak.

  “I’ve got more than enough character, thank you,” she snaps back.

  “No one is saying otherwise,” Mom says, confused. Her eyes bounce between us.

  “Maybe the world is testing you for a reason,” I say to Jane.

  “Maybe that reason is irrational.”

  I drop my sandwich in my soup and lean forward. “Irrational is a word you fling at other people when you don’t understand the underlying logic.”

  Jane leans forward, too. “Oh, I understand the logic, all right. I understand it so well, I reject it wholly and completely.”

  Before I can answer, Jane turns to my mom and asks, “Linda, Silas experienced plenty of obstacles when he was in combat. Did he ever receive medals?”

  What the hell?

  Mom seems relieved to have an easy-to-answer question. “He did! I can’t remember what it’s called, but something about going above and beyond the call of duty in service to his country.”

  You can say that again.

  “He doesn’t want it. Sent it back to Minnesota with me.” Mom frowns. “Why did you do that, Silas? I assume you’re proud of what you did there.”

  I stand, my body needing to move. “Jane, a word?” Before she has a chance to answer, I nudge her shoulder and get her standing. Taking her hand, I half drag her into my bedroom, closing the door with a controlled click.

  “What do you think you’re doing out there?”

  “Having Princess Tea.”

  “Cut it out. Why are you grilling my mom about my medal?”

  “Why did you let Drew shoot you in the damn heart this morning?”

  “This is a test? Asking my mom about my medal is some twisted kind of test?”

  “You’re not the only one who needs proof when told something. Trust but verify, right?”

  “That’s what you’re doing? Why my mother? Why ask about that medal?”


  “Lindsay told me Drew told her you didn’t want it. That you sent it home and refused to wear it. Touch it. Be near it. I figured this was my chance to see if that was true.”

  “Of course it’s true! I told you, too!”

  “I was telling the truth, too, Silas. And it wasn’t enough for you.”

  My chest cracks in half.

  “You are enough.”

  “Not if my word isn’t.”

  “Your word wasn’t the issue. It was me.”

  Jane

  “What does that mean?” I hiss, so angry, I’m crumbling inside. He’s so close, inches away, and he’s so angry.

  I can tell, though, he’s not angry at me.

  “Drew couldn’t trust you. I could. I did. I do. But Rebecca. Goddamned Rebecca. I second-guessed myself. I needed to find a way to push you to the limit so I could push myself to the wall. Slam myself hard and make sure it didn’t budge.”

  “What didn’t budge?”

  “The truth. Your truth. Your innocence.” He grabs my hand. I want to pull away. I don’t. “Jane, we need to get past this. It’s too big a distance between us for me to cross the entire way. You have to take some of the journey.” He drops my hand. “Unless you don’t want to.”

  “I –”

  Before I can answer him, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

  “Ignore it,” he orders.

  “No!” I grab my phone. It’s a text.

  From Jenna.

  “Jenna?” Saying her name re-opens a wound.

  “What about her?”

  “Jenna is texting me.” I read the words:

  We need to talk.

  “Absolutely not. You are not allowed to meet with her,” Silas says, reaching for my phone. “Out of the question.” I haven’t even told him what she’s saying, and already he’s telling me what to do.

  “Who died and turned you into the boss of me?”

  “Every person you’ve met with has died, Jane.”

  Ugh. He’s right.

  I hate that he’s right.

  “But maybe she has more information on why John, Stellan, and Blaine worked for Nolan Corning! Maybe we can get information on El Brujo, and –”

  “El Brujo?” Silas’s mom enters the room, suddenly pale. “What does he have to do with you, Jane?” Her eyes narrow.