Beard In Mind: (Winston Brothers, #4)

by Penny Reid

  I sensed Duane stiffen. “No harm was—”

  I stepped in front of my brother before he lost his shit. “What does Darrell imagine I can do? What did he say?”

  “Well, first of all, he wanted you to know I’m your real momma.” She paused, giving me a beaming smile.

  “Okay.” I didn’t smile. I physically could not. “And what else?”

  “See now, Beau. Your daddy is the reason you have that money from the Olivers at all.” Her tone turned serious, sincere. “You owe him a debt, baby. It’s time for you to pay your debt.”

  I sensed my twin seething behind me, could feel the swell of anger gathering. I needed to get him out of here before he did something stupid, like scream at Razor’s old lady.

  “All right. I see what you’re saying.” It was easy for me to revert back to good cop; I was always good cop, that was my role. “I think I’ll need some time to, uh—”

  “No.” Duane stepped next to me, but instead of shooting his No at Christine, he was talking to me. “Nope. No. Hell no. You can’t avoid this. You do this right, Beau.”

  I stared at my brother, at the wild, angry look in his eyes. But behind his fury was something else. Determination.

  “You tell her like it is.” He lowered his voice, and determination bled through every word. “I’m not saying you need to be me, but you tell her how it’s going to be. Otherwise she’ll just keep coming back.”

  “Beau?” Her tone was higher pitched, and I sensed her watching us. “Baby?”

  Taking a deep breath, I gave my brother a rueful smile. “Can’t I just dodge her calls?”

  “Until she tracks you down again?”

  “Shelly is a great driver, she’ll get us away.”

  He huffed a laugh. “Nope.”

  Meanwhile, Christine had shifted closer. “You mean that bitch from y’all’s shop?”

  . . . Um, what?

  What the hell did she just say about my Shelly?

  Duane and I turned our heads toward the woman, my pulse ticking up.

  “What did you say?” Was that my voice?

  “Stay focused.” Duane crossed his arms again, standing at my shoulder, but just a little behind, like he was my coach. “You don’t need to swap insults. She ain’t worth it.”

  “Ain’t worth it?” Her voice pitched even higher, her eyes on Duane. “I am your momma, boy.”

  “You’re nobody and nothing.” I also crossed my arms. “And if you think I’m going to help that piece of trash Darrell Winston get out of jail, then you’re dumber than you act.”

  Duane sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Now see, I said no need for name calling.”

  Christine swung her surprised glare to me. “Who are you calling dumb?”

  “You,” I answered immediately, deciding to borrow an insult from Shelly, “You’re bright as a black hole and twice as dense.”

  She gasped, her hands coming to her chest, and Duane choked on a laugh.

  Drill was suddenly there, standing at her shoulder, giving me a pained look as he spoke to Christine. “Maybe it’s time to go?”

  But she didn’t seem to hear him, her eyes—and her wrath—settling on me. “Your daddy was wrong about you.”

  “Well goodness gracious, I sure do hope so.”

  She ignored me, jutting out her chin. “It’s that disloyal woman, she warped your brain. That rich bitch whore.”

  . . . Um, what?

  What the hell did she just say about my momma?

  I took a step forward, seeing red, and Duane caught me by my shoulders, pulling me back. He didn’t need to, because I would never hit her. Nothing she said could ever provoke me to commit violence. I wasn’t my father. I refused to be my father.

  But after spending months with Shelly Sullivan, I had an armory full of insults I wouldn’t mind flinging in her direction for a few hours.

  “That’s enough.” Duane spat, turning me toward the car and glaring at Drill. “Get her out of here. And if you don’t want Billy breaking noses, keep her the hell away from our family.”

  “I ain’t afraid of Billy,” Christine taunted as my brother walked me to the passenger side, raising her volume to a shout. “I ain’t afraid of any of you!”

  I chuckled at that, opening my door, and allowing every ounce of disgust I felt for this woman to show on my face. “Then you really are stupid. Because if there’s one thing I know about Billy, it’s that his love for all of us is surpassed only by his hatred for all of you.”

  Maybe it was my cold laugh.

  Or maybe it was the cadence of my voice.

  Or maybe it was the way I was looking at her.

  Or maybe my words had hit a nerve.

  But something made her flinch.

  She shrank back, stepping closer to Drill, and sent me a livid glare.

  “Forget you,” she spat, visibly frustrated.

  I slipped into my seat first, then Duane took his. Keeping my eyes trained on the pair as my brother brought the engine to life, I muttered a few curse words. I couldn’t believe it, Darrell out on parole? Already? How is that possible?

  Duane wasted no time leaving Cooper’s Field, turning right on the thoroughfare and taking the road back to our house. We drove in silence for a while, Duane checking his rearview mirror every few minutes. I didn’t bother keeping an eye out for their bikes. I was too lost in my own thoughts.

  I couldn’t imagine Christine St. Claire ever contacting me again, not after tonight. Not after the way she’d looked at me as we pulled away. And that was a relief.

  But I was also curious. Something I’d said—or the way I’d said it—had struck a chord.

  Razor didn’t know about us being Christine’s, and that had been a smart move on our father’s part. I could see it now, Darrell planning all those years ago, using our existence as blackmail against Christine. He was an asshole, but he was a clever asshole.

  We’d been pawns in his game, even as babies. He’d been after our momma’s money since she was sixteen. Unfortunately, based on the events of the evening, it seemed he wasn’t yet finished with his scheming.

  “Are you okay?”

  I glanced at my brother. “Uh, yeah. I’m okay. How about you?”

  He shrugged. “Better than expected.”

  “Oh yeah?” I grinned at him. “Why’s that?”

  “’Cause you make a good bad cop.”

  I chuckled. “Well, coming from the best bad cop I know, that’s high praise.”

  Duane scratched his chin. “She’s a good actress.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yeah. Doesn’t overdo it. I almost believed her. No wonder she and Razor make such a good team.”

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “She’s pretty bad.”

  “Glad that’s over with.”

  “Me too.”

  Silence fell between us once more and my twin studied the rearview mirror. I reflected on how much of an understatement my words had been.

  She’s pretty bad.

  That wasn’t true. She was reprehensible.

  I was so thankful for Bethany in that moment, I almost suffocated on my gratitude. Thank God. Thank God she’d been my momma. Imagining a life with Christine, raised in the club, raised to be one of them. The thought made me sick.

  What had Claire gone through? What was her life like with those people?

  “We have to tell Cletus,” Duane suddenly announced.

  “Pardon?” I’d been distracted, so I didn’t immediately follow his meaning.

  “We have to tell Cletus about Darrell. About the parole.” His eyes flickered to mine and then back to the road.

  “Yeah.” I nodded, taking a deep breath. “We’ll tell him together.”

  The side of Duane’s mouth tugged upward. “He’s going to be so pissed.”

  My twin and I shared a small smile of knowing, and nothing more needed to be said.

  Because our brother Cletus was at his most entertaining when pissed off.
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  * * *

  I found Shelly in the Quonset hut.

  She was bent over a well-lit work table toward the back of the structure and appeared to be completely absorbed in something she was drawing. Her hair was in a braid, she wore an old wool sweater and jeans, and she had a pencil in her teeth.

  Tension between my shoulder blades eased at the sight of her, at the distracted wrinkle of concentration between her eyebrows and the confident movements of her hand.

  She was so . . . unique. Singular. So much herself. I loved that about her. Almost as much as I loved how genuinely good she was.

  My Shelly.

  I kept my steps light at first, so I could watch her longer. She took the pencil from her mouth and moved it in graceful strokes over the paper, tilting her head to the side. Seeing how absorbed she was, I decided to drag my feet as I approached. I didn’t want to startle her.

  Shelly glanced away from her work, her wide eyes meeting mine and predictably scattering my wits.

  I grinned, because it was the only thing I could do for two beats of my heart. “Hey, honey.”

  “Hi.” Her mouth curved with an enigmatic smile and she rushed forward, meeting me before I could close the distance between us, and unexpectedly grabbed the front of my shirt.

  Holding perfectly still, I stared at her.

  Um . . .

  She likewise stared at me, her look one of intense concentration seasoned with a quickly subdued flare of panic. “I’m touching you.”

  “I see that.”

  Her breathing sped up. “I’ve been—uh—meditating. And I think I’m ready to . . .”

  “Touch me?”

  She nodded, her eyebrows knitting together. “It’s still difficult.”

  “Okay.” I nodded, deciding I’d wait patiently for a sign from her. In truth, I could probably stand like this forever, with her so close.

  “Talk to me.” Her voice was strained. “Tell me what happened tonight. Is Duane still with you?”

  “No. He dropped me off a minute ago.” I lifted my hands and hovered my fingers over hers. “Can I touch you?”

  She nodded, and then swallowed.

  I gripped her wrists lightly, then smoothed my palms down her forearms. “What are you working on?”

  “You first, tell me what happened.”

  It was clear she wanted to be distracted, so I told her about the evening, making sure to divert her with jokes about drinking too much coffee. I told her about what Christine wanted and how she’d said Darrell was coming up for parole. When I got to the part where I recycled her insult about black holes, Shelly’s forehead cleared of anxious-wrinkles and she gave me an almost smile.

  “Did you like that one?”

  “It was one of my favorites.” I stole a quick glance at her hands. They’d relaxed, and were presently resting flat against my chest.

  “You have favorites?”

  “Yes. I especially liked it when you told Devron Stokes he needed to save his breath, ’cause he was going to need it to blow up his date.”

  Her lips quirked to the side even as her eyes moved over me with obvious concern. “How are you? Are you okay?”

  “It’s not how I’d choose to spend my Monday nights, but it needed to be done. I’m glad Duane was there, giving me a swift kick and forcing me to be . . .”

  “To be what?”

  “Unkind.”

  Her almost smile became a full one. “You mean honest.”

  “Yeah. Maybe,” I hedged, squinting at her.

  “But you’re okay?” Her hands slid to my shoulders and then wrapped around my neck as she stepped closer, her gaze on my mouth.

  “Yes. I am. I mean,” I stole a kiss, “I’m still mulling things over, and we’ll have to tell Cletus about Darrell. I’m hoping Christine was misinformed, but I guess we’ll see. I’ll likely be asking you to ‘hold my tools’ from time to time.”

  “Good. That’s what I’m here for.”

  I liked how she’d gentled her tone. I liked how she was looking at me, all soft and open and focused. I liked how she was pressing her body to mine. It made me want to do things to her, and I would.

  But first, I slid my nose along hers. I teased her, brushing my lips against hers, then retreating so she’d chase the kiss. And when she was near a frenzy, I gave her what she wanted and captured her mouth, indulging in the sweet taste of her tongue.

  After a time, when we were both dizzy and breathing hard, she dipped her chin to her chest and whispered, “You are an excellent kisser.”

  “Thanks. You’re not too bad yourself.”

  She scowled. “I don’t think I’m that good.”

  What?

  “You underestimate your skills.”

  “No. I never underestimate my skills.”

  “Of course you don’t.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You’re very pragmatic.”

  “So?”

  I grinned, leaning forward and whispering hotly in her ear. “It’s very sexy.”

  She shivered against me, gripping my shirt. “Would you mind repeating that? I didn’t quite hear you.”

  I slid my fingers beneath the hem of her top, skimming them lightly around, from her stomach to her back. “You are very,” I kissed the skin beneath her ear, “very,” I trailed my lips down her neck, “very” I took a bite of her shoulder, soothing it generously with my tongue, “sexy.”

  “Beau.” My name was a moan, a tortured sigh, the end of it catching in her throat. “How are you so good at this? Did you take lessons?”

  “No. I told you, I practice with my pillow.”

  Her eyes shone with amusement. “And one time with that watermelon.”

  “You’re very responsive.”

  “I am?”

  “You are. Your body is.” To illustrate, I slipped my hand under her shirt and massaged her breast, rubbing my thumb back and forth over her nipple until it was hard. Then I brought her hand to her other breast. “Feel that.”

  I leaned away as she palmed herself and then fingered the peak. “Huh.”

  “How have you never touched yourself here before?”

  “I do breast exams for cancer screening.”

  “Honey.”

  “It’s hard for me to—when it’s just me, I can’t—I overthink.”

  I held her eyes for a beat, then lowered my mouth to her breast, tonguing the stiff center.

  Her body bucked instinctively, her nails digging into the back of my head, and she gasped, “Holy Moly Moses.”

  35

  “Separation

  Your absence has gone through me

  Like thread through a needle.

  Everything I do is stitched with its color.”

  ― W.S. Merwin

  * * *

  *Beau*

  “Are you going to cry?”

  Duane slid Roscoe a glare. “No. But you will when I punch you in the face.”

  Roscoe grinned. “I’m really going to miss you, Duane.”

  My twin rolled his eyes and sighed. “Stop being a dummy. Come over here, let’s get this over with.”

  Roscoe complied immediately and crossed to Duane for a hug.

  We were all at the airport—Jethro and Sienna, Billy, Cletus, Ashley and Drew, Shelly and I, Roscoe, and obviously Duane and Jessica. Jessica’s parents were also present, as was her irritating brother, Jackson James.

  Our entire crowd was gathered outside the security line, saying our last goodbyes. And it sucked. Jessica’s eyes were rimmed red, like she’d been crying.

  Cletus was in a particularly surly mood, pointing out that Duane’s luggage tags were “insufficient” and reminding him to watch out for pickpockets.

  Sienna was a bright spot, though. She had us all laughing when things got too tense. Or, if that didn’t work, she’d talk about how terrible it was to be pregnant and make everything awkward with her oversharing—which eventually made us laugh.

  Claire was there too. She’d
hastily arranged to take the afternoon off and met us at departures. At first, she stood with Jessica’s parents.

  But then Shelly motioned for her to come over. “Stand with us, with Beau,” Shelly whispered to Claire as she approached. “He needs you.”

  My sister—my sister—smiled gratefully at Shelly, then gave me a softer version. “Are you hanging in there?”

  “I’m fine.” I shrugged.

  I am not fine.

  I was very not fine.

  I glanced at Claire, sliding my arm around her shoulders. Then I glanced at Shelly. She gave me a small kiss and smile.

  I’m not fine, but I will be fine.

  Duane took a big breath, glancing at his watch, and then at all of us.

  “Well, time for us to go.” His gaze landed on me.

  My chest hurt. And this sucked.

  Jess moved around the circle gathered, embracing each person one more time. Duane came after, shaking hands with Sheriff James and Jackson, then giving quick hugs to each of his family in turn.

  This sucks, I kept thinking, this is the worst. I hate this.

  When Jess got to me, I gave her as big a smile as I could manage and accepted her embrace.

  She held me a moment longer, whispering in my ear, “I’ll take care of him. I promise.”

  I nodded as she leaned away, wanting to say thank you, but not trusting myself to speak.

  This sucks. Fuck Italy, fuck airports, fuck airplanes.

  Then came Duane.

  He didn’t smile. He pulled me in for a hug. We held each other, and I remembered.

  I remembered all the times I’d comforted him after a fall, all the times I’d kept him safe, all the times he’d needed me. All the times I’d needed him.

  I don’t know who let go first, but one of us did.

  As we separated, he turned to Shelly and—serious as shit—said, “You take care of him. He’s the best.”

  Just as somberly, she nodded. “I will and he is.”

  Duane moved to Claire next and I brought my arm back to Shelly’s shoulder, needing to lean on her. She placed her cheek against my chest and snuggled close.

  I’m not fine.

  We all stayed and watched Duane and Jess move through the security line. It was torture, but we did it. And when they were through, they turned and waved. Jess tossed us air kisses, and then—just like that—they were gone.