Path of Destruction

by Cara Dee

"Do you really wanna have this argument now?"

  God, no.

  Chapter 29

  Adeline Ivey

  The first month of the new year revealed changes in Lincoln that inspired me as much as they filled me with resignation. He was more focused and determined. Although he didn’t say much about his new job, something obviously worked for him. He had plans, he was getting to know people, and he seemed more upbeat.

  He was moving on, and I was happy for him. Or I would be, soon.

  I was working on it.

  "Breakfast is ready!" I called.

  Abel was first to wander into the kitchen and take a seat. "Mom, are you gonna get married?"

  What the what? "I'm sorry?" I looked at him, incredulous.

  "We were talking about marriage in school yesterday," he said. "I already know who I'm gonna marry, but some don’t, I guess."

  "O-okay…" I sat down across from him. "You talked about it in class, you mean?"

  He nodded and poured himself a glass of milk. "Ms. Turin was explaining how families work."

  I winced, unsure I was going to like this. "You know they don’t have to be traditional, right? I mean, look at us."

  "Yeah, I know. I'm gonna marry Mad, anyway," he replied flippantly, and my eyebrows rose. "There won't be a mom in my family, other than you."

  I had to grin. Marrying Madigan… I laughed softly under my breath. Of course, he wouldn’t, but I had no doubt his family one day would be extraordinary. We'd taught him well there, at least. I didn’t want him to worry about gender or for social norms to hold him back. They'd done nothing good for me.

  "Are you gonna marry Lincoln?" he asked.

  Damn.

  "What makes you ask that?" I tilted my head.

  He lifted a shoulder. "You can't marry Mad. He's gay. That leaves Lincoln, and he already eats breakfast here every morning. Plus, then we can visit Keith and go fishing."

  He was too cute. Reaching across the table, I gave his hand a squeeze before I stood up. "I'll let you in on a little secret. I'm trying to save money so we can visit Keith one day, and I think Lincoln will be living there then, too. So we can go fishing with both of them."

  "Lincoln's moving?" Was he disappointed? Maybe I imagined it.

  "Not yet," I promised. "He'll be here for at least a year."

  A half-sleeping Jesse walked in and slumped down in the seat I vacated. "Mornin'."

  "Good morning." I got him his plate too, and as I went back to making their lunches, Lincoln entered the house.

  I'd seen him in sweats and wife-beaters, I'd seen him as the epitome of a rock star… Seeing him in dress pants and pullovers that showed the hints of his physique was quite fucking different. Whatever the man wore, he looked like he just walked out of a magazine.

  "Hi," Abel said.

  "Morning, guys." Lincoln pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and aimed straight for the coffeemaker. On the way, he gave my hand a subtle squeeze. "Is Madigan up yet?"

  I shook my head, struggling. Was I always gonna feel inadequate next to him? "He's, um…" I waved a hand. "Upstairs. I finally convinced him to take my room." I peered down at my scrubs and sighed internally. Of course we'd never be equals.

  Pity party for one.

  Oh boy, this was going to be a craptastic day. I could feel it.

  "Can we buy Gatorade?" Abel asked.

  "Put it on the list. If there's a good deal on them, I'll buy some." I stacked a final plate with bacon and eggs and passed it to Lincoln.

  "Good thing you mentioned it." He pulled out his wallet and withdrew a stack of bills. "Since you let me eat here all the time."

  I clenched my jaw and pretended to be busy with Jesse's lunch. Yup, one craptastic day coming up. What was wrong with me? I was pushing it. Way too much pride. He was technically correct; he did eat here a lot, which I liked. It was the one thing that gave me control.

  Seriously, how many mothers were making lunches for college kids? Jesse could prepare his own goddamn lunch, except…I always felt guilty. Cooking, cleaning, bargain hunting new clothes…it was my thing. My way of showing I wasn’t quitting, even when I didn’t have the money to give them what they really needed.

  "I can grocery shop after class, so…" Jesse grabbed the money from Lincoln's hand. "I'll put Gatorade on the list, Abel." He pressed a kiss to my forehead and said he had to go.

  He was the first to leave.

  For how long was I going to stand still while everyone else was rushing along? Abel was making remarkable progress in school, even making more friends now that he had hockey. Jesse worked hard in college; he had a big goal. I also suspected he was signing up for more classes, because there were pamphlets on the hallway table. And Lincoln…

  I was doing everything while doing nothing that would get me anywhere.

  One day soon, Jesse would move out. Madigan was eventually going to meet someone. Lincoln already had a metaphorical ticket taking him far away from Michigan.

  "You okay, hon?" Lincoln asked.

  I nodded and brought Abel's lunch to the table. "Don't forget to pack this, sweetie."

  "Thanks." Abel finished his milk and then left the kitchen to get his backpack.

  I had to do something with my life.

  "Can you quit the act now?"

  I glanced over at Lincoln, who was watching me with his usual wry, knowing expression.

  He pulled out the chair next to him and patted the seat.

  I sighed and sat down.

  "You're stressed out, and you're working too much," he murmured. "Anything I can do?"

  Working too much… That was debatable.

  "No, it's for me to figure out. Something's got to give soon." I could admit that much, at least. "I want to do better, but I have no clue where to start. I need a higher-paying job."

  "Did you get the papers I left here?" He cupped the back of my neck and rubbed it absently. Ohh, that felt good. Maybe I was a little tense.

  "What papers?" I closed my eyes.

  Another big problem I had sat right next to me. At the same time as he was getting busier with work and stuff, he was becoming different toward me. Sweeter, almost. Whenever we got to spend the night together, he could spend hours acting as if he had no intention of leaving whatsoever.

  "I dropped off a stack with information about classes," he explained. "I was in a hurry, so I didn’t have time to talk to you about it, but I stuck a note with your name on it so you'd see them."

  I cracked one eye open and turned his way. "I didn’t see a note. I thought they were Jesse's papers."

  He shook his head, leaning in. "You do everything for those boys, baby. Who's taking care of you?" He brushed his lips to mine, and all I could think was…he can't say those things. He can't say that to me. He was going to break me one day. "You're young. You should be in college, too. Let me help you."

  I deepened the kiss to shut him up. If he kept talking, I'd want too much. I already did. He made me wanna share everything, and that was probably selfish. It wasn’t his job to take care of me. It wasn’t the same thing.

  *

  Yet, for the next couple of weeks, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  It wasn’t the first time I'd considered college, if only for a moment.

  Madigan was always a good support, so I called him up one day while I was on my lunch.

  "You don’t see me often enough as it is?" was his greeting.

  I chuckled, waiting for the microwave in the break room to ding. "Do you have a minute?"

  "For you? Of course."

  I could hear the rock music and the sound of buzzing tattoo guns fading.

  "Let me guess," he said. "You're coming clean about your relationship with Lincoln."

  "What?" I squeaked. How the crap did he know that? We'd been subtle!

  Madigan laughed. "You think I don’t notice you sneaking out at night?"

  For the love of…! I gritted my teeth and took out my cup of ramen from the microwave. "We're n
ot in a relationship. Now, can we move on?"

  He sighed dramatically. "Honey, be a lover, not a fighter."

  I rolled my eyes. "Anyway." Taking a seat, I blew some steam off the noodles and stirred in the flavor packet. "If I were to take a loan…and go to school…do you think I'd be a decent social worker?"

  Because, to be honest, it was one of the few professions I could imagine enjoying.

  "I guess," Madigan responded pensively.

  "You guess?" Should I be offended, or should I smack him? Maybe both.

  "Don’t get me wrong," he went on, "you're great at taking care of people. If my mother were half as compassionate as you, I'd be one lucky son of a bitch. But can you imagine yourself restricted by bureaucracy and still enjoying the job? You and Jesse may come from the same place with this social worker idea, but you're two very different people."

  I frowned, thinking, and stared down at my noodles.

  "I see you starting something on your own," he said firmly. "Something where you're not held back by government bullshit."

  My gaze flicked around the break room, and I thought of Dr. Anderson. The reason he'd started his own clinic—with a creep—was so he could take on patients who weren't otherwise given the best care they could, usually because somewhere along the way, health care had become a luxury, a privilege.

  "You don’t have to know what you wanna do right now, Adeline," Madigan told me, patient. "Take a couple business classes. Can never go wrong with that."

  It sounded dreadfully boring, though. But I got his point. If I were to start anything on my own, I'd need to know basics in business. And I didn’t need to have everything figured out.

  "You're right." I straightened and nodded to myself. "I feel better, actually." I did, too. Like I was going somewhere—at last. "Thank you, Madigan."

  "Anytime, gorgeous. And I'm serious. More lover, less fighter. You and Lincoln are kinda happening."

  I snorted and ended the call. More lover, less fighter. That saying had never made sense to me. Anyway… I smiled to myself and ate my lunch, thinking about what this could mean for me. It boiled down to money as always, but if I didn’t take any risks and invest in myself, I'd always be searching the gutter for scraps.

  I was meant for more, dammit. I wanted to help, make myself heard, and be of use. I wanted to be part of something, create something, provide a safe place… My head snapped up. A safe place. That was fucking it! What did I miss out on growing up? It wasn’t clothes or trips to Cabo or nice toys. It was safety. My childhood was anything but safe, and when Abel and Jesse became mine to care for, keeping them safe was automatically my first priority.

  Lincoln was the first man—the first person—to ever make me feel safe. Screw if it was under the wrong circumstances; he proved safety was real. I wanted to provide that to—

  "Hello, sweetheart."

  A shudder of revulsion slithered down my spine, and I turned to Dr. Houston as he walked in to refill his coffee mug.

  "Doctor," I replied quietly, curtly. Safe place, my ass. Goddammit, if I wanted to prove myself to others, I'd have to believe in my own ability. Right now, I definitely didn’t. How could I hope others would turn to me for safety and comfort if I couldn’t even defend myself?

  "How are you doing today?" He sat down next to me, way too close, and smiled warmly. Except, it was just creepy as fuck.

  "I'm well, thanks."

  He watched me while he took a sip of his coffee, and I was no longer hungry.

  I wanted to run.

  You will stay. Stand your damn ground.

  "I hear Abel's doing great in therapy." Dr. Houston put his hand on my arm, something that should've been a well-intended glad-to-hear-it gesture. "You're an excellent mother, Adeline."

  I stared at his hand. It moved slowly, stroking. "Please don’t touch me," I forced out. Too quietly, too softly.

  "What was that?" He tilted his face at me.

  Something in me ignited. My cheeks burned, fury blazed through me, and I flashed my gaze to his. "I said… Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Me."

  His hand quickly disappeared from my arm, though his expression showed nothing but confusion. He wasn’t intimidated or anything. He was a scumbag who wholeheartedly believed a woman like me couldn’t harm him.

  "Say it."

  "I'm not your fucking whore."

  "Don't ever put a finger on me again, Dr. Houston." I rose from my seat and forced myself to maintain eye contact. "Your intimidation tactics might work on some of the mothers who come here, but know this. They will know they're not alone, and I will do everything in my power to expose you."

  For a second, I saw worry flashing across his disgusting face, but it morphed into barely hidden amusement.

  "Your power? Oh, sweetheart."

  "Oh, fuck you," I spat out.

  Boiling, fucking seething, I stalked out of the break room.

  Chapter 30

  Lincoln Hayes

  "Do you need anything else from me?" I asked.

  My parole officer shook his head, making notes. "No, this is it. It'll be a couple months, but under the circumstances, I think the verdict will be good."

  Silver lining. I fucking hoped so. Something was going on with Kid, and for even the prison counselor to agree I should be allowed to visit meant I was one worried motherfucker.

  I was about to leave when I remembered something. "Can I go to a restaurant?"

  He looked up from his desk. "Yup, as long as the main revenues ain't from alcohol sales." All right, and how the hell should I know…? As if detecting my confusion, he dug into a drawer and produced a piece of paper for me. "This is a list of a few approved restaurants. If you wanna play it safe, pick one of these."

  Marginally helpful. I sure as shit wanted to play it safe, so I accepted the list and left his office. From there, I took a cab to the shithole I called my workplace at the moment.

  I texted Sam on the way.

  I got the listings. Thanks, man. Appreciate it.

  It was Pop who'd suggested I reach out to Sam when I fessed up about wanting back into the music industry. It'd taken me a few days to find my balls, which only made me feel like an idiot once Sam responded. Not only had he expressed relief that I was out, but he'd told me he hoped we could meet up and maybe collaborate. It meant a great deal to me.

  He replied to the message.

  How shocked were you when you saw the digits?

  I grinned. He didn’t know the half of it.

  I may have thought you sent me listings for Manhattan or LA at first, not Seattle.

  He sent a fucking "LOL" in return.

  I pocketed my phone and looked out the window, hoping I'd find a place within the year. For now, I had more urgent matters to deal with. Women liked Valentine's Day shit, yeah? Tomorrow was that godforsaken day, and I didn’t know where Ade and I stood, hence having no idea if I should make plans.

  Now I knew I could set foot in a restaurant, though.

  The next few hours went by at a snail's pace. Jingles and production of covers required more computer geniuses than musicians these days, so I didn’t have many tasks. Most of the men and women in the small music department were fresh out of college, and I was treated like a consultant. I didn’t care for any of it, though I enjoyed being in the studio.

  It was where I sat most days.

  With the red "Recording" lamp lit up outside, I snuck in and found an empty chair in the corner. Jesse was next on my list of people to deal with. The issue between us had to be solved, and I was ready to play dirty.

  "Mr. Hayes, can I get you anything?" a girl whispered.

  I looked up from my phone and frowned. "Uh, no. Thanks." Scrubbing a hand absently over my jaw, I thought of what to text Jesse. He was a smart kid. A bribe wouldn’t change anything, but it would force him to talk to me. If the bribe was good enough, maybe he'd listen to me, too.

  "Are you sure?" the girl went on. "Nothing at all?"

  "Oh, for fuck's sake." I
peered up again and leveled her with a hard look. "I'm not blind, hon. You've got a decent rack, and I've seen your Destruction merch, but at this point in my life, I'm more likely to tell you to do your homework and go to bed on time than to fuck you."

  Her eyes widened before she scurried away, embarrassed.

  I squinted, accidentally catching the amused gaze of one of the sound guys.

  "That was rude of me, wasn’t it?" I wondered.

  He chuckled and turned back to work.

  I'll apologize later.

  I refocused on Jesse and sent him a message.

  Madigan gave me your number. A chance for you to shake me down: I'll pay for any education you're interested in, and I'll throw in a new car. Only one condition. —Lincoln

  Ade was gonna kill me, yet I sent it off with a smirk.

  *

  At the end of the day when my cab pulled up in front of Martha's house, I wasn’t too surprised to see Jesse on the stoop outside my apartment. Martha was there too, and I paid the fare and stepped out before she could do something stupid. Before Jesse could do something stupid.

  He was extending a wad of cash to her when they noticed my arrival.

  "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I glared at Martha and climbed the steps. "Don't sell pot to him."

  "You're not my dad," Jesse snapped.

  "This is quality shit, boy," Martha defended.

  I grabbed Martha by her shoulders and spun her around, sending her back to her place. "How did the Board ever approve you?" I shook my head, baffled, and opened her door. "If you're a good girl, I'll teach you how to be a better dealer. First lesson's free: don't shit where you eat."

  She huffed and adjusted her glasses, scowling up at me. "First lesson is, don't smoke your own product."

  "So clearly you're already failing." I pointed at her hallway. "Get back inside, you batshit crazy lady."

  She slammed the door in my face.

  I blew out a breath, frustrated, and went back to Jesse. "Seriously? Pot?"

  "Piss off. It's for a party. I'm sure you remember those, cokehead."

  I couldn’t help but chuckle, 'cause this was bizarre. To pretend I was some convert was idiotic. I didn’t think a little pot was wrong, but that was neither here nor there.