by Brenda Novak
He loved Ben 10. “Yes.” Mack had told her that Aiyana had called, but Natasha hadn’t attempted to get in touch. She’d been too ill.
She accepted the phone from Lucas as he ran out to turn on the TV. “Hello?”
“I’m just checking on you,” Aiyana said. “Mack called me a few minutes ago to say that he had to leave town unexpectedly. He asked me to make sure you were okay while he was gone.”
While he was gone? She had at least a fifty-fifty chance that he wasn’t coming back. “He called you? How did he even get your number?”
“He called the school, and I happened to be in my office, so I answered. He was hoping I’d look in on you tonight, and I plan to do that, but I was wondering if you need me earlier.”
“Don’t put yourself to the trouble,” she said. “If you come over here, you might only catch what I’ve got. Besides, I’m starting to feel better.”
“Are you capable of caring for Lucas?”
“We can muddle through.”
“Will you call me if that isn’t the case?”
“I will.”
“If you need to put off coming to work until Tuesday or Wednesday, that would be fine.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, but it shouldn’t be necessary. Really. I should be back to normal tomorrow.”
“I hope so. Mack said he left you some food you can warm up in the microwave, but if that isn’t enough, or something else comes up, just let me know.”
“I will.”
“See you in the morning, then—unless I hear from you sooner.”
As Natasha hit the end button, Lucas said, “Can I eat?”
“Of course.” Taking a deep breath, Natasha summoned the energy to drag herself out of bed. She had to use the walls for support, but she managed to stuff her feet into her fluffy slippers and shuffle all the way down to the kitchen—only to realize that Mack had opened the blinds on the front windows, which looked out on Main Street, and she wasn’t wearing anything except the overlarge T-shirt he’d helped her put on after her bath.
She was exhausted by the time she’d gone up to put on some more clothes and gingerly navigated her way back to the kitchen, but at least the nausea was gone. She was leaning against the counter cooking oatmeal when she heard her phone go off in her room. “Shoot. Luke, will you go up and get Mommy’s phone, please?”
Surprisingly, he pulled away from the TV. “Okay!”
As she heard him run upstairs, she was grateful he was old enough to help her, to a degree. She wondered if Aiyana was calling back to insist on coming—until she heard him answer and say, “Hi, Grandma... Yeah. We’re at our new house... It’s old and it stinks and me and Mack had to bury a skunk that died in our yard... What? You know Mack? No, he’s gone now... I don’t know where... She’s cooking breakfast...”
The prospect of speaking to her mother-in-law—Grandma was Ace’s mother and Mimi was hers—sent a jolt of nervous energy through Natasha. Heartened by necessity, she straightened and put out her hand. “Luke, give me the phone, please,” she said. No way did she want to let Ace’s mother pump her son for information.
When she’d first married Ace, she’d liked and admired her in-laws. They were everything she’d thought she ever wanted to be—educated, affluent and involved in the community, with lots of friends. Not only that, but they’d been together forever and never failed to put their two children before everything else. Ace had had it all growing up.
But her relationship with them had deteriorated along with her marriage, and she believed it was the way Ace had talked about her. After all, he complained about everyone and everything else; why would she be the exception? Although she didn’t know exactly what he’d said, she guessed he’d made it sound as though she put her career before him and Lucas, that she was too busy to give him the time and attention he deserved, and that she shoved all the mundane tasks, like housework, cooking and childcare, onto him.
But if she had to earn their living, it was only fair that he do something, wasn’t it?
As she took the phone from her son, she couldn’t help recalling the disgusted look her father-in-law had shot her the night Ace had mentioned that he’d soon be helping to build her practice by running the front office. She could tell Blake thought she was trying to “wear the pants in the family.” To him, if a woman took the lead in anything, she was overstepping.
But it wasn’t as if she’d ever taken advantage of Ace. He went surfing and golfing with his college buddies all the time. And he wouldn’t miss a football or basketball game. She’d never realized just how many sporting events there were on TV until she married him. One was always blaring in her living room. He’d had poker nights with friends and played disc golf with their neighbor and tennis with his brother, all while she was working to cover their bills and start a practice.
Her pulse kicked up as she brought the phone to her ear. “Hello? Peggy?”
“I hear you’ve already made the move,” Ace’s mother said. “Are you unpacked?”
Natasha thought about how sick she’d been but didn’t bother to mention it. “Not yet.”
“I’m sure it won’t take too long.”
“It shouldn’t.” She couldn’t yet tell whether this was going to be one of those conversations—the ones where she had to ignore all the subtext—but she had an inkling it would be. Lately, they all seemed to be that way. Her in-laws were angry with her, too, and while they tried to cloak it beneath a polite veneer and a pretense that they weren’t going to choose sides, Natasha could tell that wasn’t true. They supported their sons whether their sons were right or wrong, and although Natasha had thought that was wonderful, at first, she now saw how it had enabled Ace and his brother to become lazy, indolent crybabies.
“Especially if you have help,” Peggy added. “Who’s this...Mack person Lucas was talking about?”
She gripped the phone tighter. Sure enough, this was going to be one of those conversations. Peggy already knew who Mack was. She’d heard Lucas say as much before he handed her the phone. “I’ve mentioned the Amos brothers to you before. It’s thanks to them I was able to graduate from high school, remember?”
“Oh, yes. They let you and your mother live with them while their father was in prison for a few years.”
“They did.”
“And how, exactly, have you thanked them?”
Natasha was tempted to hang up. She didn’t want to try to justify her actions, especially because she hadn’t been committed to Ace when she slept with Mack. But these people played an important role in her son’s life, and she didn’t want to alienate them if there was any way to avoid it. “I haven’t done anything specific, but I’m grateful to them,” she said. “I’ll always be grateful to them.”
“Is that why you had sex with Mack?” she asked.
That was much more of a direct hit than usual. As Natasha had suspected, Ace must’ve already gone to his parents with the latest. “That isn’t why, no,” she said and was proud of herself for keeping her voice steady.
“Then why did you do it?”
Lucas was watching his show again, but Natasha turned away from him and lowered her voice, just in case. “I was with Mack before Ace and I were in a committed relationship, Peggy.”
“Before you got married, you mean.”
“Before we agreed not to see other people,” she clarified. “Is there a point to this?”
“I’m just trying to understand how it could be that we don’t even know—after six and a half years—if Lucas is our grandson.”
Natasha wasn’t feeling strong enough for this.
An acrid odor alerted her that she’d let Lucas’s oatmeal burn. Swallowing a curse, she shoved the pan off the stove. “We’ll find out soon enough,” she said.
“That’s all you’ve got to say?”
“Yes, because explaining how it happened
won’t do any good. You’ll just twist it to make me look bad.”
“I don’t need to twist anything,” she spit and disconnected.
Natasha sagged against the counter. This wouldn’t be happening if she hadn’t lost track of that journal. She should’ve destroyed it. But even now, if she had hold of it, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to do that. There were things in there she didn’t want to forget—details about what Mack had said or done that she’d saved up because they were some of her greatest treasures.
“Ew! It stinks again,” Lucas complained.
Natasha grabbed the pan of burnt oatmeal, stuck it in the sink and filled it with water. She had to clean it out and make more, had to get her son fed, because if there was one thing she’d learned, it was that the world didn’t stop turning just because she was down and out.
Her phone lit up with another call. This one was from Mack, but she felt so raw inside she knew she couldn’t talk to him without breaking down, so she let it go to voice mail.
* * *
When Mack couldn’t get Natasha to answer, he called Aiyana, who assured him that she must be in the shower, where she couldn’t hear her phone. Aiyana had just talked to her and indicated she was okay, which relieved some of his concern, but he hated to leave while Tash was sick. He’d almost turned around three or four times. He would have, except that he was also worried about Kellan. They’d finally found him at a buddy’s house, but he refused to come home—said he’d just run away again if they made him.
Because Mack was closer to Kellan than anyone else in the family—all of Mack’s brothers were married with their own families, except Grady, who swore he’d never marry—he was hoping he could get Kellan to talk to him. Even if he couldn’t, Mack owed Dylan so much he felt obligated to rush home and do what he could.
Wishing he could be in both places at once, he glanced at the DNA kit he’d packaged up, which sat in the seat beside him. Once he dropped that in the mail, he’d have only a few more days to wait before he received an answer to the question he’d been wondering about since he learned that Natasha was pregnant. They’d used birth control the first couple of times they’d made love, but he’d only had two condoms in his wallet. After that, they’d opted for the withdrawal method—definitely not the most reliable form of birth control.
He always felt a jolt of testosterone when he thought of that night. He’d never spent twelve hours quite like that, had never made love so intensely or so recklessly. He’d been drinking at the Christmas festival, but that had only lowered his resistance enough to get things started. He’d been clearheaded within an hour or two—knew exactly what he was doing—and yet he couldn’t stop. All those years of resistance had simply exploded.
She was still the standard by which he measured every other woman.
His phone rang. He assumed Natasha was returning his call, but it was Dylan.
“You on your way?” he asked as soon as Mack answered.
“Yeah. What’s going on?”
“Kellan’s at Jeremy Rinehardt’s house.”
“So when’s he coming home?”
“Not today. Jeremy’s parents are acting really weird—as if they feel they have to protect him from us. It’s pissing me off so badly it’s hard to stop myself from going over there and breaking down the door.”
Suddenly, Mack knew he was doing the right thing by going home. Dylan had calmed down a great deal since he’d gotten married. Cheyenne had made him whole, happy. But he’d had to fight to survive from a very young age—literally, since he’d had to supplement their income as an MMA fighter in those early years—so Mack believed he would break down the door if he had to. “Don’t do that,” he said. “Getting yourself thrown in jail isn’t going to help Kellan.”
“I may have a reputation from when I was younger, but I’ve barely even raised my voice to him. What could Kellan have told them to make them think we’re the enemy?”
Mack was at a complete loss. Dylan was the best dad in the world—he knew because Dylan had essentially been his dad. Maybe Dyl had been younger and wilder back then, but his determination and drive had enabled him to accomplish as a teenage boy what a lot of grown men wouldn’t have been able to do. He was barely eighteen when their father went to prison and he had to take over the auto body shop, not to mention getting in the ring on weekends, just to make enough to feed and clothe his four younger brothers. It didn’t make it any easier that they’d been as wild, unruly and hard to manage as he was. “I can’t imagine.”
“They won’t even let us see him.”
Mack felt his muscles tense. “Unless they have evidence of abuse, they can’t deny you access to your own child. Maybe you should call the cops.”
“No. I’ve never called the cops in my life. I had too many brushes with the law when I was younger to consider them my friends.”
The chief of police back then had had it out for them. It was no wonder Dylan was hesitant to ask them for help. “Come on. Chief Stacy’s long gone.”
“Bennett’s not much better. And old grievances die hard, I guess. Cheyenne’s afraid it’ll only make matters worse, anyway. She says we need to try to work it out on our own first.”
“But if the Rinehardts won’t let you see your son...”
“They said they’re willing to set up a meeting, but Kellan needs some time before that happens.”
“Time for what?”
“That’s the thing. I don’t know. I told him he couldn’t hang out with Denny the other night, but Denny’s a big pothead. I don’t want my son getting into that.”
“You think that’s the reason he ran away? Because he couldn’t hang out with Denny?”
“What else could it be? But even if he’s mad about that, fathers have a right to say no when they think it’s best.”
“So how long are the Rinehardts going to make you wait?”
“They said to give them until tomorrow.”
At least that wasn’t long. “I’ll try Kellan’s cell in an hour or so. See if he’ll talk to me. I don’t want to call too early.”
“Okay. Let me know what he says.”
“I will.”
“This is nuts, man.”
“Yeah. I never saw it coming. But we’ll work it out. Don’t worry.”
“Right. Sure.” Dylan sighed into the phone. “How’d things go with Natasha?”
Mack once again eyed the paternity test in the seat next to him. “Good.”
“I know you wanted to stay long enough to scout out an expansion location in LA, but I appreciate you coming home. Kellan’s always loved you. I can’t imagine he won’t talk to you.”
“We’ll see. How’s Cheyenne holding up?”
“She’s scared. We both are. Kellan’s always been a good kid. We don’t understand what’s going on—why this is happening.”
Dylan had already lost his mother and, for all intents and purposes, his father, since J.T. had never been the same after her suicide. Dylan didn’t want to lose his son, too. Mack had the same background. He understood the fear that went with loving someone so much. Although he hated to admit it, he knew what he’d experienced as a child was part of what’d caused him to act the way he had with Natasha. She was the only woman who could threaten his heart to that degree, which was why he tried so hard to keep her at an arm’s distance. All the other things they had going against them just gave him valid excuses. “You need to be careful not to do anything that will give the Rinehardts the impression that they have any reason to protect Kellan,” he told Dylan.
“If there’s something wrong with our son, we’ll handle it. It’s family business.”
“Not everyone sees it that way. This could be some...misguided attempt to do the right thing.”
“I don’t care. They’d better not push me any further,” Dylan warned and hung up.
Ma
ck checked the time. It was only nine o’clock on a Sunday. He wasn’t going to start blowing up Kellan’s phone quite yet.
He called his other brother Grady, who answered on the first ring. “What’s up, man?”
“I heard about Kellan,” Mack said. “What’s going on?”
“Beats the hell out of me. I thought he was happy. I didn’t know they had problems.”
“Neither did I.”
“How’d you find out?”
“Rod called me.”
“Yeah, he’s just as shocked as we are.”
“And Dad? Could he have something to do with this?”
“Doubt it. Dad says crazy shit to everyone, but I think we all pretty much ignore him these days.”
“So this came out of nowhere.”
“Seems that way.”
“Have you checked with Aaron?” Aaron no longer lived in Whiskey Creek, but he was only two and a half hours away and brought his family back regularly to hang out on weekends or holidays. Aaron was married to Cheyenne’s stepsister and was closest to Dylan in age. He also had a son three years older than Kellan. The two cousins had always been close. “Maybe Wyatt can tell us what’s going on in Kellan’s mind.”
“We’ve asked Wyatt. He hasn’t heard from Kellan and Kellan won’t answer his calls.”
“That’s weird.”
“Really weird. He won’t pick up my calls, either. Have you tried to reach him?”
“Not today.” Mack was hoping to get some indication of what could be wrong before he talked to Kellan, so he’d know how to approach him. “I doubt he’s up this early.”
“I hope you can get hold of him. Dylan’s going crazy.”
“I know. I just talked to him.”
“Oh yeah? Where are you now?”
“On my way home.”
“How was Natasha?”
Mack didn’t mention that she had the flu. He felt too guilty leaving her. “As good as could be expected after a divorce.”
“Just be glad you didn’t marry her,” he said. “Imagine what it would be like to have her mother in our lives permanently.”
