Dirty Looks (Dirt Track Dogs: The Second Lap Book 1)

by Jameson, P.

  Turning off the ignition, he noticed his hand shaking and took a deep breath to calm his nerves. He wasn’t usually so jumpy, but ever since his trip back to Memphis, he felt like a monkey had crawled onto his back and the bastard refused to let go. Something was giving him the itches.

  “It’s called guilt, asshole,” he muttered the truth to himself.

  He’d come too damn close to losing his soul out there. Too close to becoming one of the bad guys. Hunting the paranormal wasn’t for the faint of heart. It chipped away at everything you believed. Took chunks out of your heart. Changed you until you didn’t know the person who looked back at you from the mirror. Hell, maybe he was too far gone, but he was here to at least try to find himself again.

  And it started with his friends. His boys. Adam, Rod, and Rider. He was meeting them here, and if anyone could set him straight, it was them.

  He’d known them since high school, when the rural middle schools they all attended converged into one for those last four glorious years of young adulthood. Back then, Annie had suggested they call their little troupe A2R2 in honor of their first initials, with the option to make it A3 whenever she was around. But that was way too mathy to be cool, so they became Double A Double R, in the style of a ranch name. They even came up with a brand like the ones you see on cattle, and for graduation they’d gone and had it tatted on.

  That was before his parents’ accident and his subsequent “escape” from life. If only he had known where he was headed was much grimmer than where he’d come from.

  Aaron shook his head and popped the handle on his door to step out.

  He hoped his boys were cooler now than they were back then. But he had a feeling he’d be doing a healthy bit of groveling today.

  Pulling open the door, he spotted his sister right away. Her eyes went big as globes because he hadn’t told her he was coming. Hadn’t spoken or written a word since Christmas. And damn, he probably should have. But he’d been a teensy bit preoccupied, trying to settle things with the hunters and make sure her pack was safe and not a target for elimination anymore.

  His bosses—former now—weren’t exactly happy to have one of their best breaking rank. And were even less happy to find out he hadn’t completed his assignment to disable the Cedar Valley shifters.

  “Well by golly, miss molly!” Annie twanged as she tossed her bar rag to the counter, which came about rib high on her, and scooted past the pierced and tatted to hell waitress. Punk was her name. She had pretty eyes and a poison mouth, and she belonged to one of the dogs.

  Annie cleared the swinging door of the counter and launched herself at him, arms coming around his neck like a collar. Instinct had him wrapping her up in a hug tight enough to lift her off her feet, and it caught him by surprise. He’d done this a million times when they were younger. But when they reunited at Christmas, there were too many years of hurt between them. Too many unanswered questions and too much bitterness.

  Throughout the holiday season and the birth of her baby—his niece, hard to believe he was an uncle now—Annie and the dogs had shown him there were still good things to live for.

  He just had to find them.

  And choose them.

  It was the only way to let go of the past.

  So that’s what he was trying to do. He’d fixed what he could with the hunters, tucked his hate for the Memphis shifters back behind his heart where no one could see it, and tossed his vengeance for Mina out the fucking window like a good little boy.

  If he was straight with himself, his thirst for retribution wasn’t there because he hadn’t moved on from her. He had. They’d fallen quick in lust, shared a few good weeks, and then she was ripped from him before he even had time to know if she belonged in his future.

  Short answer: apparently not.

  He’d endured all seven stages of grief with her passing. Just like he did with his parents. But unlike his parents, Mina’s death was his fault. So the urge to make it right rode him hard no matter what his feelings were. He owed it to her, to avenge her death.

  But he’d have to bear that guilt without acting on it if he was ever going to find happiness like his sister had. If he was ever going to feel like Aaron Redman again.

  He set Annie back on her feet and cleared his throat to unclog the emotion jammed there.

  “You came back,” she said, her eyes doing that thing where they get misty but she blinks too fast for any tears to fall.

  “I said I would, didn’t I?”

  She sniffed, her hands landing square on her hips. “Well, yeah. But I didn’t know if I should believe you or not.”

  “The hell does that mean? I’ve never lied to you.”

  “Maybe not. But how would I know. You also never talk to me.” She raised an emphatic blond eyebrow. And okay, yeah. She had a point. But he was here to do better. “How long are you around for?” she asked quietly, and he could hear the underlayer of sadness.

  He stared at the floor so he wouldn’t have to see his sweet sister looking like she was resigned to losing him again.

  “For a while,” he answered. But that meant he wasn’t here for good, and he was. Or that was the plan anyway. He just had to get used to this place again. “A long while,” he added.

  Annie’s face went megawatt with her smile, and it eased the burn of his past a fraction. This was how she’d looked as a kid. Carefree. Happy. He missed it. He’d missed her. More than she could ever know.

  “That… that’s great news,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him over toward the bar. “Really, really great news. Wow. I told Blister today was going to be a good one. But you know, Everly’s cutting teeth, so nothing’s looking good right now.”

  Everly. His baby niece. He’d already missed so much.

  “Really? She old enough for that?”

  Annie maneuvered back behind the counter and Punk shot him a narrow eyed look while she dried off some glasses. He gave her a salute and her only response was to smirk.

  “Yep. And you should see Blister, he’s just a mess. Can’t stand to see his baby girl cry. He keeps taking her to Destiny thinking she can do something to rush the process along. And she keeps sending him away with a pat on the back and a ‘go daddy, go.’”

  Destiny was the bobcat shifter that belonged to the pack. She was mated to one of the wolves and the pack’s only official Elder—not necessarily old, but rather wise shifters with unknown powers that helped guide the packs.

  Annie set a glass in front of him, and glanced at the clock. “It’s a little early for a drink, Aaron, but I’ve got fresh squeezed orange juice leftover from the breakfast run.”

  It was almost four in the afternoon. It was most definitely not too early. Not when it was five o’clock… one time zone over.

  The side of Aaron’s mouth lifted at his sister’s mock innocent blink. “Thanks, sis, but I’ll take a Bud.” He glanced over his shoulder. “And I’ll take it at that corner table if you don’t mind. I’m meeting someone.”

  Annie froze, staring at him with careful eyes.

  “Someone?” She lowered her voice to nothing. “A hunter someone?”

  It made sense for her to worry about hunters coming here. Her family was the pack. But she had to know he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Or to DTD.

  “Remember I said I needed to tie up some loose ends in Memphis?”

  She nodded, her ringlet curls bouncing with the motion.

  “Well, those guys are out of the picture now, okay? You don’t need to worry about them.”

  Annie glanced at the glass on the counter. “How can you be sure?”

  “Trust me, Annie.”

  It was asking a lot, he knew. He’d left her alone when both of them were at their worst. At the time, he’d considered it tough love. And sure, it had helped get her to where she is now, with a group of friends who would do anything for her and a family to call her own. But the truth was, he’d run from life. From the troubles and pain, only to find more tr
ouble and worse pain.

  Trust wouldn’t come easily like it once did.

  She sighed, twisting around to fill his glass from the tap.

  “So, who is it you’re meeting?” she asked, sliding the frothy amber liquid in front of him.

  “The boys.”

  She frowned. “A squared R squared?”

  “Those are the ones.”

  Annie crossed her arms, leaning against the bar with a strange expression. “Huh.”

  “What do you mean huh?”

  “I’m just surprised is all.”

  Aaron sipped his beer. “Why? Makes sense I’d get in touch with old friends.”

  She nodded, looking away. “Sure. Yeah. I’m surprised they agreed though. They weren’t too happy when you left all those years ago.”

  “I know.”

  “And they kind of all have… issues now.”

  “What kind of issues?”

  Annie shrugged. “Life issues. You know, things aren’t all peaches and cream ‘round here. Some of them have really been through it. And they might not be exactly what you remember.”

  “Yeah,” Aaron muttered, standing from his stool. “Well, I might not be exactly how they remember either.”

  But Annie’s words haunted him as he made his way to the corner table to wait for his friends.

  Chapter Three

  One by one, they stumbled into Red Cap, all within a few minutes of each other.

  Rod, or Hot Rod Turner as they called him now, arrived first, looking like he’d already had a few drinks. He was a hometown-famous radio DJ for the regional Classic Rock station. He did their morning show, and had caught some attention nationwide for his no-holds-barred on-air antics.

  But the way he looked now, his life didn’t seem as glamorous as Aaron had imagined. He wore a ratty Pink Floyd t-shirt and holey jeans. One American flag Converse shoe was untied and the other was missing the laces altogether. A backwards ball cap sat askew on his head and his dark hair sprouted haphazardly out the loop. Dark growth covered his chin and his eyes were swimming halfway between a smile and lost.

  Shit.

  He sank into the chair across from Aaron, a wild smile plastered on his face. “Well, looky looky who decided to come back to town.”

  His voice was nothing like Aaron had heard on the radio. Hot Rod Turner sounded like a man put together, even when he was dropping half bleeped out F-bombs and telling dirty jokes. But the man before him sounded… like he didn’t give a golden fuck about life.

  Rod lifted a hand in the air, giving Punk a nod.

  She brought him a bottled Heineken, void of a smile, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  “Thanks, Punk,” he murmured. “And keep ‘em coming, will ya?”

  “Sure thing,” she said. “But only on one condition.” She held her hand out, palm to the ceiling.

  Rod sighed heavily, but Aaron thought he saw a hint of amusement. He dug in his pocket and came out with a set of keys, dropping them into her waiting hand.

  “And you have to play my song tomorrow morning.”

  This seemed to sober him. “Damn it, Punk. I told you, I’m not playing Rage Against the Machine at seven in the morning. Or ever, for that matter.”

  “Yes. You will.”

  Rod threw up his hands. “It’s not even classic. How can I play Rage on my classic rock station when they ain’t old enough to be classic?”

  She crossed her arms, challenging. “Killing In The Name is in its mid-twenties. How classic do you want it? You want fossils hanging off its ass, or what?”

  He shook his head stubbornly. “I fucking refuse to admit a song that came out when I was in high school is a classic. Ya hear me?”

  “Might as well face it, Roddy Boy. You’re getting… oooold.”

  “Spshhhh.” He took a swig of his beer. “Not yet, babe. Gonna live forever.”

  “Right,” Punk said dryly. “And one of these days you’re going to want something from me bad enough to play my goddamn song.”

  Rod stared after her as she walked back to the bar. “Hey, tell Beast I got fifty on him winning Saturday night,” he said with a smirk.

  Her answer was a middle finger high in the air.

  “Becoming a mother has done shit to sweeten her, I tell ya.”

  “Naw. That one’s not meant to be sweet,” Aaron agreed.

  “She reminds me of my mom. Hard. Ass.” He took another gulp of his drink. “But Punk’s good, ya know? Been a good friend to Annie all these years.”

  Aaron nodded. “I know.”

  Rider was next to come through the door, with his dark hair spiked casually like he’d used the leftover grease on his hands from working on motorcycles to style it. With his leather jacket, white t-shirt, and jeans, he looked like he belonged on the back of a Harley. His movements were smooth and full of confidence as he stopped at the bar to order his drink. On his way over to the table, he paused to chat with a couple girls by the old juke box. They giggled obnoxiously, so no doubt, he’d said something flirty.

  Rider Daley was a ladies man, and always had been. It was just that now, he also had a bike shop to run on top of helping his Uncle Waldo run the local dirt track.

  He dragged a chair over, flipping it around and straddling it backward before eyeing Aaron.

  “Where you been, man?” His voice was level.

  He’d always been the calm one, the smooth talker. But somehow, Aaron got the feeling his control was paper thin and close to snapping. Not with him, but… like Annie had said, with life. Rider looked like a man who was sick of the daily grind, even if he seemed calm on the outside.

  Aaron rubbed his palm over his jaw. “Lots of places I guess. But I’m back now.”

  “For good?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Rider nodded slowly. “Been gone a long time, asshole.” The asshole part was said affectionately.

  “Yeah. I think I’ve had enough of the running,” Aaron admitted. “Trying to get my shit together now.”

  Rider let out a humored laugh while Rod tipped his bottle at him, and drawled, “Well, hell. None of us have our shit together either. ‘Cept maybe Adam, I ‘spose.”

  Rider dipped his head in agreement.

  Adam. Aaron knew very little about what had become of his other friend. Only that he worked as a mechanic in a nearby pipe factory.

  “Where is he, anyway?” Aaron asked. “Isn’t he coming?”

  Rider dangled his bottle from between two fingers over the back of the chair. “Not sure. He uh…” He shot a glance at Rod who shrugged and took another swig of beer. “He said he didn’t want nothing to do with you. But I’m pretty sure he was just having a shit day.”

  But he’d barely gotten the words out when the final member of their group strolled through the door. Adam Kennedy wore his gray uniform shirt, complete with his name embroidered on a small rectangle patch above his heart. A streak of grease slashed across one sleeve, and his dark jeans and steel-toe boots let the world know he’d just come from his shift at the factory.

  He eyed the room like it was a pit of vipers, but his gaze locked in on the corner table when Rider held his beer up high. Adam didn’t stop to chat with anyone. He didn’t nod at Punk or Annie. He didn’t order a drink. He walked straight to the corner table, sat his ass in a chair, and then met Aaron’s gaze with a steely one of his own.

  “What do you want?”

  The dark scruff along his jaw and his tired eyes weren’t familiar. Of the four of them, Adam and Aaron had been the closest. He considered the man his best friend even if they’d only spoken once or twice in the last decade. But now he stared across the table, feeling so out of reach.

  Like they hadn’t gone through shit together before.

  Like Aaron hadn’t been the one to take the rap when they’d broken into the high school chem lab for a sorta dangerous senior prank. Like he hadn’t covered for him when he took Susie Hatter to Lee Creek instead of hanging out at the track with the
guys. Like he hadn’t gotten him the money for that hunk-o-junk race car and then spent countless hours working with him to make it driveable. Or slipped him free beer after work. Or hell, just listened to him moan on about his plans to marry and have a family.

  He’d been there for Adam. Maybe not lately, but how could you just discount so many years of friendship?

  Aaron cleared his throat. “What are you drinking these days? It’s on me.”

  Adam blinked. “Don’t want nothing from you.”

  Rod rolled his eyes. “He’ll take a Bud. Like always.”

  Aaron flagged down Punk and ordered. When she was gone, Adam spoke again.

  “Heard you were around at Christmas.”

  Aaron nodded, leaning his chair back until it balanced on two legs. “For a minute. Had to see my sister.”

  “But not your friends.”

  “It was more a matter of…” How was he going to explain this? “I was into some bad things and trying to get free before I dragged anyone down with me.”

  Yeah, that didn’t really cover it, but he couldn’t very well tell them about the paranormal world he’d been tossed into.

  “Ah,” Adam said blandly. “And so now? Why are you here now?”

  Aaron blew out a long breath and shot a quick look at the others. They seemed just as curious about his intentions as Adam. Was this what coming home was supposed to be like? The third degree and the stink eye and hey, ya sorry bastard, we don’t want none.

  He supposed it was, as long as you cut out of town with no goodbye.

  “I’m here to find myself again,” he rushed out. It sounded corny, but honesty was going to be the safest bet with his boys. They could smell bullshit a mile away. “I’ve come home to make things right with Annie. And… you know, I could use your help. My friends. I could use my friends right about now. But you know, if all you wanna do is glare at me like you’ve never made mistakes, then fine. I can take it. I deserve it. It’s fine.”

  “I see,” Adam murmured, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “So you’re here to make things right with us too. Is that what you’re trying to say? You want to say your sorries, and us to say ‘hey, no big deal, buddy’, and we all go happily on our way, arms linked, skipping down the fucking dirt road like there isn’t a care in the world. That it?”