by Brenda Novak
Mack didn’t address that comment. “I made some spaghetti. It was a little early to feed Lucas dinner, but I thought I might as well make something so you wouldn’t have to.”
Head high, she reminded herself. Smile bright. “That’s very nice of you. Thank you. I’m sorry if I held you up.”
“I didn’t have to wait long.” After throwing his duffel bag into his truck, he fished out his keys. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
Lucas started to cry. “I don’t want Mack to leave,” he said. “He’s my best friend.”
It probably felt like he was his only friend. It sort of felt that way for Natasha, too, but she kept telling herself it was because they were new here. Things would improve. She had to believe that.
Mack ruffled his hair. “I’ll be back. You be good, okay?”
“No,” Lucas said, his bottom lip sticking out in an angry pout. “I won’t be good.”
Mack laughed. “I swear, if I didn’t know better, I’d still think he was mine.”
“We’ll get through this,” Natasha whispered in her son’s ear under the guise of kissing his cheek. Then she tried to distract herself by thinking of some useful aphorisms and other encouraging thoughts. When the going gets tough, the tough get going... What lies behind us and what lies ahead of us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us... I knew this was coming eventually. Better to get it over with and be done with it.
Mack caught her chin and brushed his lips over hers. “Don’t worry about anything, okay?”
She couldn’t force any words past the lump in her throat, so she nodded and wished he’d just leave so that she wouldn’t have the added burden of trying to pretend.
Something must’ve betrayed her, however, because he hesitated for a moment and stared into her eyes before he said, “I love you. You know that, right?”
She swallowed hard so she could speak. “Oh, I know. I love you and your brothers right back. Be safe.”
He gave her a funny look, as though he found that to be a strange response. Maybe it was a strange response for someone she’d been sleeping with. But he fell in both categories, and if he could switch between them so blithely, so could she.
With a final wave, he got in his truck and took off, and it wasn’t too long after that Ace and his parents arrived. They banged on her door and insisted they should get to take Lucas home for a week, since she “blew their weekend” and caused them so much pain and suffering.
Natasha was hanging on by such a thin thread she didn’t even argue. She figured she did owe them a week. Maybe more. Nothing she did seemed to be right.
She packed her son’s clothes like some kind of automaton, handed his small suitcase over to her ex-mother-in-law and let Ace transfer the car seat from her car into his parents’ Mercedes sedan.
“I used to think the world of you,” his mother said. “But now that I know what you’re really like, I feel sorry for my son—and Lucas, too.”
“What you did is unforgivable,” Ace added.
Again, she didn’t respond. She just bent to kiss her son on the head. Then she sank onto the porch steps and watched as Ace led him away.
Nineteen
Mack drove as fast as he dared. A cop pulled him over just after he hit Interstate 5 and gave him a speeding ticket, but he didn’t slow down. He had to get home, had to figure out what was going on, because he couldn’t believe what Dylan had told him. Surely something else had happened, which was why he hadn’t said anything to Natasha. He didn’t want to tell her what he’d been told. He preferred to get back to Whiskey Creek and make sure it was true—that there were no other possibilities.
Although he’d tried to call Dylan, he hadn’t been able to reach him or any of his other brothers. Why wasn’t anyone picking up? Had J.T. died?
Mack wondered how he’d feel if his father was gone. J.T. had been a pain in the ass for so long. Would Mack secretly be glad that he no longer had to deal with him? Or would his father’s death hit him harder than he’d ever imagined? They had such a complicated relationship. On the one hand, Mack felt some empathy for J.T., who’d fallen apart after their mother’s depression and subsequent suicide, turned to alcohol and ended up knifing some guy who was heckling him in a bar. J.T. wasn’t himself when he did that, so as shocking and terrible as that act was, the incident itself was forgivable. It was more the way that night and his subsequent years in prison had changed J.T. The man who emerged when he was released couldn’t cope with any responsibility or stress, would barely work, even to support himself, and hung out with drug abusers like Anya. It was as if Mack’s only remaining parent had become a child.
That reversal had been weird and uncomfortable, especially to Mack. As the youngest, he was probably the one who’d looked up to J.T. the most. Dylan was clearly the patriarch of the family now, the one they all respected, but J.T. was still their father.
On the other hand, there was some love left, wasn’t there?
Mack didn’t know, couldn’t honestly say yes to that question, which made him wonder what kind of man he’d turned out to be.
To avoid being alone with his thoughts, he tried calling Dylan again—with the same result. Dylan’s voice mail came on, but instead of leaving another message, he called Cheyenne and was relieved when she picked up.
“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked as soon as he heard her voice.
“J.T.’s in pretty bad shape.” The solemnity of her response scared him as much as her words.
“He’ll pull through, though, won’t he?”
“Hard to say,” she replied. “He’s lost a lot of blood. The doctors are doing what they can.”
This was serious, all right. “Where was he shot?”
“In the chest. The bullet barely missed his heart and collapsed a lung.”
“Do we know how it happened?”
“Nothing’s very clear at the moment.”
It hadn’t been clear before, either. Dylan had contacted him only an hour or so before Natasha came home to say that he’d received a call from the police department telling him that he’d better get over to the hospital because his father had been shot. He’d had no other details, except that it was a woman who’d requested an ambulance, which led him to believe that J.T. and Anya must’ve had one of their epic fights. “Where’s Dylan and everyone else?”
“At the hospital.”
“I’ve been trying to reach them.”
“There’s no cell service in that wing, for whatever reason. You only got me because everyone’s starving. I left to get some food.”
“You don’t really think Anya did this, do you?”
“I can’t say for sure. So far, all we’ve heard is what the paramedics told us.”
“Which was...”
“A woman called 9-1-1 who sounded hysterical. Said J.T. Amos had been shot and was dying on the floor. She told them to come quick, but by the time they got there, the door was standing open, there was a gun on the floor near him with blood on the handle and he was alone.”
“Did the caller identify herself?”
“No. Wouldn’t give her name. Just kept screaming for them to come. But who else could it be?”
“He’s been with other women now and then.”
“True, but no one has been a bigger part of his life since prison than Anya. They were seeing each other again. And surely you remember how they used to go at each other when they were angry. We’ve been afraid that one of them would get hurt. We just...never dreamed it would be quite this bad.”
Had Natasha’s mother killed his father? “Where would she get a gun?”
“Dylan thinks it was your father’s.”
“J.T.’s a convicted felon. He can’t own a gun.”
“He can’t own one legally. There’s a difference, right? Anyway, someone came into the shop a few weeks ago and to
ld Dylan J.T. had been brandishing a Glock 9 mm at some party and acting tough. But when Dylan confronted him, J.T. swore up and down that it belonged to someone else at the party and he’d only been looking at it.”
“He accepted that?”
“Your father’s an adult. What more can Dylan do?”
“That’s true, I guess. But where would J.T. get it in the first place?”
“You know the kind of people he hangs out with. He probably traded drugs for it.”
Sadly, Mack could all too easily see that happening. “So where is Anya now?”
“We don’t know.”
“No one’s heard from her?”
“Not yet.”
“Has anyone tried to reach her?”
“I don’t think anyone has any interest in talking to her. We’re leaving that to the police for now.”
The police. If Anya was responsible, she could go to prison. And if J.T. died, she might be there for quite some time.
“Is Natasha very upset about all this?” Cheyenne asked.
“I haven’t told her about it yet,” he replied.
“Why not?”
“Because she’s already had a terrible year. I’m still hoping we’ll find out that it wasn’t Anya, that it was someone else.”
“Who else could it be?” Cheyenne sounded surprised.
“Maybe the owner of the gun decided he wanted it back and Anya just came upon the scene. You never know.”
“I’m pretty sure it was Anya, Mack, and if I’m right, you won’t be able to keep it from Natasha for long.”
“I don’t need long,” he said. “Just a day or two. I don’t want to say anything to her until we know if Dad will survive and if it really was her mother who shot him.”
“I think you’re grasping at straws, trying to believe that it could be anyone else, but I understand why you’re doing it. You’ve always been so protective of Natasha. When will you be home?”
He let the part about Natasha go and glanced at the clock on his dashboard. “I still have five hours.” Which seemed like an eternity. He wished he was there now.
“Okay. We’ll see you when you get here. Just...be careful. It’s been a rough week, what with this happening on the heels of Kellan learning what he did. Dyl doesn’t need any more upset.”
Mack had suffered his own share of disappointment, thanks to the results of the paternity test. But he was trying not to dwell on that. “How’s Kellan now that he’s been home for a few days?” he asked.
“Seems to be okay. Dylan’s good at navigating rough water—he’s had a lot of experience at it, as you know—so we should be fine as long as you don’t say anything to anyone.”
“Chey, I would never tell a soul.”
“Even Natasha?” She sounded worried, if not downright skeptical. “Because that’s how it starts. One person tells someone they trust, who tells someone they trust, and so on.”
“I haven’t said a word to Natasha or anyone else—and I won’t.”
He heard her breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
“I’m at the restaurant,” she said. “I’d better go.”
As they said their goodbyes and disconnected, Mack pulled off the interstate for gas. He wanted to call Natasha, to reassure her. He knew hearing her voice would also reassure him. She probably believed he’d bugged out on her just because he wasn’t Lucas’s father. But if he called, he’d say too much. First, he needed to see what he could do to straighten out this mess and try to soften the blow.
Instead of breaking down and calling her anyway, as he was tempted to do, he navigated to his photographs on his phone while waiting for his tank to fill and brought up a picture of her and Lucas—one he’d taken on the beach.
God, she was beautiful. He’d fallen in love with her years ago.
And now he knew, in spite of everything, that hadn’t changed.
The pump shut itself off with a deep glug as he made that photograph his wallpaper.
* * *
Natasha didn’t know what to do with herself. Being suddenly alone without Mack or Lucas, when she’d expected to be with both of them tonight, made her feel sort of bereft. But she refused to mope around all night. To make sure she couldn’t, she put on the summer dress that fit her best, piled her hair on top of her head and drove over to a bar she’d heard some of the teachers talk about at school.
From what she could tell, The Blue Suede Shoe was a popular place to hang out, even on a Monday. The parking lot wasn’t as crowded as she suspected it would be on weekends, but it was over halfway full, which felt hopeful. She needed to be around people. To hear their voices. To listen to some music. To start making friends in the community. To forget the brief flash of hope she’d had for that paternity test and believe that all would be well eventually—even without Mack—if only she kept marching forward.
And yet, after she arrived, it was difficult to get out of the car and go inside. She was a stranger in Silver Springs—one who didn’t want to talk about who she was, whether she was in a relationship or what she did for a living, all topics that would naturally come up when introducing herself to others.
Thinking she might’ve made a mistake trying to get out of the house for the evening, that she wasn’t ready for this after all, she started her car. But as she was looking to back out, she spotted two men in her rearview mirror and realized she recognized them. It was Eli and Gavin Turner. They’d just climbed out of Eli’s truck and he was turning back to lock it.
If she could walk in with them, she’d feel much less conspicuous.
Quickly shutting off her engine again, she got out and waved to get Eli’s attention because Gavin was looking down as he strode beside his brother.
“Hey,” Eli said when he saw her. “How are you?”
Gavin’s head popped up and he said hello, too.
“I’m good.” She attempted a smile even though she couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so low. “Just...hoping to get out and meet a few people, but it’s hard to walk into a place when you don’t know anyone, so I’m excited to see a couple of familiar faces.”
“There’s no need to be self-conscious,” Gavin said. “It’s totally casual here.”
“And you can hang out with us,” Eli added. “Gavin and I come to play pool or darts every couple of weeks. Sometimes some of our other brothers join us.”
She gazed up at the neon sign—a pair of blue shoes—that was blinking on and off above the door. “Do your wives ever come with you?”
“Sometimes,” Eli said. “Our mom would’ve taken the kids so that they could’ve joined us tonight, but they were both doing other things.”
“Where’s your son?” Gavin asked. “Were you able to find a babysitter?”
“His father has him this week,” she replied.
He gave her a sympathetic look. “I bet it’s hard to get back into the swing of things after a divorce.”
“Yes. It’s a strange new world being single again.”
It was too dark to see Eli’s expression clearly, but she got the impression he was confused. “I thought I heard my mother say you were seeing someone.”
“She was probably talking about Mack. But he’s just a family friend.” She could’ve added that Mack was more like a brother to her. But since it wasn’t true, and she’d always rebelled against that, she wouldn’t do it even to stop people from expecting them to get together.
“I see.” They reached the entrance and Eli held the door for her and Gavin.
The inside was even more dimly lit, but she’d been expecting that and was grateful for the darkness.
“Can I get you a drink?” Gavin asked as they approached the bar.
She’d fed some of the spaghetti Mack had made to Lucas, but she’d been too despondent to eat herse
lf. She didn’t want to drink too much on an empty stomach, but she figured she could have one.
“Sure.” She got a gin and tonic; they each got a beer. Then Eli and Gavin drew her into some billiards. The two brothers wagered on just about every aspect of the game, and although they offered to let her in on it, too, she didn’t bet. She did, however, buy the next round of drinks and indulged in a Greyhound simply because she was starting to feel happier and didn’t want to let reality intrude too soon.
“How about another game?” Eli asked when Gavin barely edged him out, winning the money.
She was so terrible at pool that she declined. She’d spent almost every waking moment for the last thirteen years pursuing a medical career, hadn’t spent much time hanging out in bars. “No. I’m happy to watch.”
Because the alcohol was making her light-headed, she was considering sitting down to listen to the music and study the people around her when she spotted someone else she recognized.
Roger Burns was walking toward her.
“Hi,” he said as soon as he was close enough to make himself heard.
Normally, she wouldn’t have been happy to see him. She avoided him at the school. But she’d had enough to drink that her defenses weren’t what they usually were, and it was nice to bump into someone else she knew—someone who wasn’t already married and had enough interest in her to make her feel not only welcome but wanted in this strange place. “I don’t mean to interrupt your game—” he started, but she cut him off.
“Oh, I’m not playing anymore.”
Eli and Gavin greeted him, which made her feel even more comfortable. They all knew each other; they all worked together.
“I normally don’t get out on a school night,” he told her. “But since I was finished grading papers, I figured I’d grab a drink. How’s the move going?”
She didn’t want to think about the move, because then she’d think about the man who’d helped her move and had just finished painting her son’s room. “Fine.” She set her glass on the closest table. “Would you like to dance?”
He looked taken aback but quickly set his beer aside, too, and led her onto the dance floor.
