Men-of-Action-Seres-04 -Saints and Sinners

by Capri Montgomery

  Then, he sat through what was probably one of the most uncomfortable dinners of his life. Alaina sat across from him, silently eating her dinner and speaking only when spoken to. Teagan had kept most of the chatter going until, being the bright child that she was, she noticed the tension.

  “Don’t you like her, Daddy? I think she’s nice, but you’re not being very nice to her.”

  “Teagan,” he had admonished. Alaina’s fork dropped out of her hand and clattered against the china. She apologized quickly before assuring his mother that the dish was not damaged. His mother assured her it was okay either way before telling her that her son, meaning him since he was the only child, had managed to break several pieces over the years, which is why she only took it out for special dinners.

  “I don’t think he likes you,” Teagan confirmed.

  “I think your father is just tired. You wore him out today.” She was defending him, even after what he had said to her, done to her, she was defending his honor for his daughter’s sake.

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  “Oh…you’re right. I did,” she giggled and then went back to eating. The food in her mouth caused her silence, a silence that seemed more noticeable now. Apparently she was the one carrying the conversation.

  “Let me help you with the dishes,” Alaina offered.

  “No. No. You’re a guest in our home and in our home guests do not work. Next time you’ll be like family and then you can assist me.” She smiled warmly. Alaina’s own smile felt uncomfortably forced. It was as if she knew there wouldn’t be a next time. Even if there were a next time, he was sure she had deduced that she would not be anything like family.

  “My son will help me clear the table.”

  “Okay. Well if you don’t mind, I am very tired. I think I’ll go to bed early.” She excused herself with a polite goodnight to everybody.

  By the time Sully finished helping his mother cleanup, in silence, and putting Teagan to bed with a bedtime story, Alaina had already gone to bed. He was thankful for the reprieve. She hadn’t exactly talked to him since their argument that afternoon. She had talked to Teagan, to his mother, but not to him. For the first time he wasn’t thankful for her silence.

  He stood in the hallway watching her sleep. Her legs, long and smooth, curved in all the right places. Her face was peaceful; he would swear she was smiling in her sleep. He knew no more about her torment than what he had overheard, yet somehow with each word he had felt every second of her pain. He didn’t trust many people, even less when it Saints and Sinners 80

  came to women, yet something about her innocence, her heartache, made him feel closer to her.

  Somewhere along the way things had changed. He no longer protected her out of duty, out of coercion. He protected her now because he wanted to. He wanted to give her what she lacked, what she craved—warmth.

  He turned, and for a brief moment his eyes connected with his mother’s. She stood there watching him watching Alaina. One look in her eyes and he knew what she was thinking, but he couldn’t allow himself to think the same.

  He lowered his eyes to the floor and walked away.

  Alaina had slept the best she had in weeks. Something about being in this house, his house, had made her feel safe. It wasn’t Sully’s presence, although she wouldn’t deny she felt safe with him—though not always welcome. It was the feeling of home. She watched Teagan play and interact with her father and her “nanna” and it reminded her of a time before her own father had died. She missed it, that sensational feeling of warmth and love and home.

  She had gone to bed early, not long after dinner, and for the first time in weeks she had slept through the night without nightmares, without fear. She didn’t want to leave, but she needed to get home, and Sully seemed to be in a hurry to get her away from Teagan. She understood keeping Teagan away from danger, but it was more than that, something Capri Montgomery 81

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  she couldn’t completely grasp, but she was sure it had something to do with Teagan’s mother. Sully had known betrayal and perhaps that was the source of his bitterness. She was sure it was the source of his desire not to expose Teagan to another female who wouldn’t be in her life for long.

  They had spent a good portion of the morning at his house. By the time they were ready to leave it was almost lunch time and Teagan and Maureen had insisted they eat before they left. Alaina wasn’t hungry and she was sure Sully wasn’t either. Pancakes for breakfast had a way of staving off hunger for hours. Still, she decided to stay for lunch because she understood not wanting to say goodbye. By one o’clock they both knew they needed to leave. Sully gave her a look, at least she thought it was a look, and so she suggested they get going. Teagan had told Sully to be sure to bring, “the pretty black lady back.” Sully quickly assured Teagan that Alaina had other things to do so not to expect her back.

  “Your father’s right. I live in Maine and it would take some time for me to get away,” she had said to finesse his brash words. The way he said it made it sound as if she had more important things to do and she didn’t want to leave Teagan with that thought.

  Alaina hugged Teagan. “Be good for your nanna.”

  “I will,” beamed the little girl. Her big blue eyes tugged at Alaina’s heart. She had never thought about having children. Even now she was sure she didn’t want to have any, but in her heart she wanted to be a mother to this one. She released Teagan. Maureen pulled her into her arms immediately.

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  “Come anytime. You’re always welcome here.” She released her.

  Alaina smiled. She wasn’t sure Sully shared his mother’s remarks, but still, something compelled her to say, “I will.” Alaina straddled her bike and watched as Sully hugged Teagan once more. She knew he was used to leaving, but she could swear there was a hint of sadness, a longing for home within him.

  “Hurry home, Daddy!”

  Sully climbed on the bike, and waved. He didn’t say, “I will;” he refrained from making a promise he wouldn’t be able to keep. There was something comforting in knowing he wasn’t a man to make empty promises and idle threats—though she had already figured that much out when he shot her.

  Her bike was good on gas, but she stopped at the first station she came to. Her emotions were running amuck. She was fighting tears and she just needed to stop, to get a grip on her emotions so she could drive.

  Being at his home had made her think about things she hadn’t thought about in years. For the first time, in a long time, she thought about her childhood, not what she missed, but what she lost.

  She put ten dollars cash down on pump five, declined Harvey’s, that’s what he said his name was, request to let him fill her up. She had no misconceptions about what he meant; his offer had nothing to do with putting gas in her bike’s tank. Harvey had been at pump four with his beat-up Ford truck when she pulled up. He was middle aged she guessed, Capri Montgomery 83

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  mostly bald with the stereotypical beer belly and the confidence of an ox in heat.

  She had pulled her helmet off, shook out her hair and taken ten from her back pocket before she noticed Harvey staring at her. Sully had neither removed his helmet nor lifted his visor, so she couldn’t be sure, but he seemed to be sizing up Harvey as harmless or subject to being shot. She noticed Sully’s shoulders seemed to lower one notch short of attention and she assumed that meant he had sized Harvey up to harmless. She dabbed her eyes with her fingertips as she topped off the tank. Six dollars at three forty-nine a gallon was a clear indication she could have driven straight through. She hoped he wouldn’t notice, but she was sure he would. Before going in to retrieve her change from the clerk, she nodded politely at Harvey, who still seemed to be leaning against his truck staring at her. It wasn’t until she turned around that she realized Harvey had followed her inside.

  “Excuse me.” She tried to step around him, but each time she moved he moved, as if this were s
ome dance he needed to control. She just wanted to get by him, to get back to her bike, back to her home, back to her life—what was left of it.

  “Excuse us,” Sully wrapped his hand around her arm and guided her near him. Harvey stepped away just enough to let her pass, took one more look at Sully and then sulked away. She couldn’t blame Harvey.

  Sully had a way of intimidating just by standing up. She hadn’t realized Sully had come inside until he spoke, but she was glad he had.

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  Alaina walked briskly trying to keep in stride with Sully’s gait. He was taller with longer legs and he seemed to forget her natural pace, though fast, was no match for his.

  They reached the bike; she climbed on and started to put her helmet on before Sully stopped her.

  “You didn’t need gas.”

  “I just wanted to top off. No big deal.” He leaned closer, his chest pressed against her back, his breath warm against her ear. “Don’t do that again,” he said in a voice so low, so seductively arousing that she felt her stomach quiver. She couldn’t want this man, not this one. He went against her type. He seemed to hate her, which meant she had a snowball’s chance in a four alarm fire at even exploring the attraction and she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready to move past Troy, to love again, but somewhere, wrapped in those thoughts was the truth she wouldn’t allow herself to see—she wanted to be ready. She was ready.

  “Do what? I didn’t do anything—”

  He ran one finger down the nape of her neck, stopping her protest before he even said, “shh.”

  Now was not the time to be wishing her legs were straddled Sully and not her bike. Hormones, it had to be hormones because there was no other reason she would be thinking about straddling a man who had shot her.

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  “Just drive,” his voice softly rumbled in her ear. She had no fight, no protest, no snappy comeback left in her so she shut up and drove.

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  Chapter Seven

  Alaina stood with her back to Sully as she strained the pasta in the colander.

  “She’s worried she’ll one day be told her father’s gone too. Can you imagine anything worse for a child?” His voice took her back to her own childhood.

  “Only one thing,” she said absently. Her mind drifted back to that ten year old girl who had lost everything in one instant.

  “You were there when your father died; weren’t you?” Sully probably had some vision of her father dying slowly in a hospital somewhere, but the reality was far worse. “He had come for a teacher’s conference after school.” Mrs. Baker had wanted to discuss enrolling her in an art program for the summer. Alaina had been so excited when her father said yes she forgot her book bag. It wasn’t until Mrs.

  Baker called to her that she remembered.

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  “My bag, Daddy,” she quickly unfastened her seatbelt.

  “Go on,” he had said and she went running across the school yard as he started the car. She was only gone for what felt like mere seconds.

  She was distracted, running for her book bag. She remembered Mrs. Baker looking at her and telling her not to run because she might fall. There was a loud explosion and when she turned around she could see the fire. Mrs.

  Baker struggled to pull Alaina into the building as she tried to break free, tried to get to her dad. She didn’t know what she could have done—nothing she imagined. The car burned hot and fast. By the time the fire crews arrived there wasn’t much left of anything—just pieces here and there. She remembered one of them saying they’d be lucky if they found ashes in that mess. He, of course, hadn’t realized she had been standing right there, praying for a miracle, praying her father was okay. But she knew the prayers wouldn’t be answered. He had been in that car when it exploded and nothing could have survived that.

  Despite the fireman’s words, they had found remains—they had found her father’s remains—all that was left of him, all that was left of her heart, and her world.

  “If I hadn’t forgotten my bag I would have been in that car. I should have died that day, and for a long time after that I wished I had.” Sometimes, at night, she still held on to that wish. “You ask me if I could imagine anything worse than being told a parent is dead; I can. Watching one die, knowing you should have died with them…It’s a hell I wouldn’t wish on anybody.”

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  She prepared a plate for one, stacking the orzo with the chicken and crème sauce she had made.

  “You got lucky,” he said in a steady voice. She could tell he was trying, in his own way, to comfort her.

  “No, I didn’t.” There was nothing lucky about the life she lived since her father’s death. Being with a mother who hated her, losing a lover, living with guilt and pain, and sorrow. This wasn’t lucky. This was hell. This was a long journey through hell and she wanted out. She wanted to stop being death to all those she loved. She wanted to be happy, to be loved, to be free.

  She sat the plate in front of him. “I’m not very hungry anymore. If you don’t mind I think I’m just going to go to bed early.” Early was an understatement. They had made it home by four o’clock; it was now six.

  “Alaina…”

  “I’ll see you in the morning, Sully. Don’t worry about the dishes, just sit them in the sink and I’ll get them in the morning.” She left him there, to his dinner. Normally she hated having dishes in the sink for hours on end, but she really wasn’t in the mood to function around company right now. Right now she just needed to be alone.

  Fortunately, Sully hadn’t protested her departure. She would have gone anyway, but arguing with him wasn’t something she had the strength to do right at that moment. By two that morning she was awake, lying in bed looking up at the ceiling in the darkness that enveloped her room. She couldn’t stay there forever; she knew that. She pulled herself from the Capri Montgomery 89

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  comfort of her bed and prepared herself for a hard workout before going downstairs to clean the kitchen. She was surprised to find the kitchen had already been cleaned. The dishes had already been dried and replaced in the cabinet the way she had them before she used them. He was obviously a very observant man.

  His light was still out, which meant he was still sleep she gathered.

  She went back to her room, worked out, showered, did her hair and contemplated working on her art. She didn’t feel much like working at all.

  She also didn’t feel much like going downstairs and seeing Sully.

  “Cleaning,” she said. She didn’t have much to clean, but it would keep her busy. After spending most of the day changing linen, bleaching the bathroom, and rearranging her closet, she needed another shower, so she took one.

  She had avoided the downstairs region all day, and Sully hadn’t come up. She was sure he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, so she didn’t worry about being a poor hostess. There was still one last thing she wanted to do before calling it a night. She pulled out a storage crate from her closet. Inside were her memories of her dad. Pictures of him with her, pictures she had taken of him with her first camera, pictures she had drawn for him, everything her mother had hid away and she had found throughout the years was in that crate now.

  These pictures helped her remember him. For awhile, after he died, the memory of him was so strong. She could remember the smell of the soap he used—Irish Spring. She could remember the sound of his voice Saints and Sinners 90

  when he laughed, the sound when he was disciplining her for not paying attention in her math classes, the sound when he tried to comfort her after her mother called her names that hurt her. She could remember how he would tuck her into bed and read her bedtime stories from the Greek classics while assuring her they would give her nightmares and she should let him read her something less grown up. But she hadn’t wanted anything less grown up. Her father loved th
ose books and so she loved them.

  After awhile, she struggled to remember things about him. Was there really a scar behind his ear? She couldn’t remember, but she thought there was one the day he died—though now she realized she must have been wrong because there didn’t appear to be any in the pictures she had of him. Those pictures reminded her of the dark striations of his eyes, how short he wore his hair, how wide his shoulders had been. Those pictures kept the memory of him accurate.

  “Oh Dad, why did you have to leave me?” She wiped away a tear and continued to go through the crate.

  On the side, encased in a mettle box were a few old albums, some of her dad’s favorites. “Jackie Wilson,” she mumbled. “Dad, you loved this album.” She pulled herself from the floor, took the album over to her player and put it on. Nostalgia could kill, she knew that, but thinking about her dad made her sad and happy at the same time. No matter how bad her life had been, for a short time it was great, and she owed that mostly to him. Because of his love she knew how to love. Because of his faith in her she had faith in herself. If it hadn’t been for his support she would have Capri Montgomery 91

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  never had the guts to stick with her art. While she wished she could forget all the bad times in her life, she never wanted to forget the good.

  She found herself dancing to the fast songs until a slow oldie started to play. She turned around to finish rearranging the crate when she caught sight of Sully standing in the doorway. She blushed. God, she hoped he hadn’t been there long. When she danced she had a tendency to sing and to Alaina, her voice was horrible, singer of the year was not an award she was going to win. When she showered she had a tendency to sing too. Usually the only person who saw or heard her do either was Troy, while he was still alive of course, but her voice didn’t seem to be his primary concern. Of course he loved her and so he overlooked her lack of extreme talent in that area, while Sully—well, he was probably thinking of a way to use it against her.