Audrey's Promise

by Sheehey, Susan

  “Oh, now I get it. It’s Allen, isn’t it? You’ve fallen for her. And now she hates you because of the article.”

  Ethan stormed forward with shaking fists. Only when his boss stepped back, horrified, did Ethan restrain himself a mere three inches from his face. The snake was right. For all the wrong reasons, but that didn’t change the hallow cavity in his chest.

  “Fuck you, Bose.”

  Pacing wasn’t going to help, but Ethan did it anyway. Scraping his fist along Bose’s desk wouldn’t help either. But he did it anyway. Fighting old demons was useless.

  “Tanner, take it easy.” Bose slipped his fingers through his greasy hair and unknotted his Windsor tie. “Every journalist goes through an ethical crisis at least once. But you’ve done it. Now you can move on. And as for more good news: New York is expecting you next week.”

  Ethan’s jaw flinched and he stared hard at the desk.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Bose leaned forward. “You’ve got New York.”

  “I don’t give a shit about New York.”

  “Don’t give me that crap, Tanner.” Bose ripped off his tie and tossed in on the desk. “For years, you busted my balls for that referral. And now you’re throwing it back in my face. Get the hell out of here and come back when you’ve got your priorities straight.”

  “I want a retraction.”

  Bose almost swallowed his tongue. “In a wet dream.”

  “A retraction and Sunday’s front page of the other article. The real one.”

  “Just so you can get back between the sheets with the salacious slayer, fat chance.”

  Screw fighting demons.

  Ethan swung once and his fist connected with Bose’s jaw. His boss swirled and landed in his desk chair, rolling across his office and slamming against the wall.

  It was one hell of a resignation notice. Effective. But painful.

  Now he raced down the highway to the only person who could help him make this right. If they didn’t answer the door with a shotgun.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Ethan didn’t have to worry about a shotgun greeting him at the Biddinger’s door. His truck didn’t even make it a mile into town before an army of parade floats and the high school band stopped him. Trailers covered with tissue paper flowers, streamers, and teenagers sitting on hay bales meandered down the main road at a slug’s pace. A Thanksgiving parade… on Saturday. How quaint.

  Even more podunkesque was a lone deputy guarding the street entrance from traffic. The harsh scowl was easy to identify from a hundred yards.

  Adam Biddinger.

  The uniform made the gruff man even more intimidating, but Ethan could tell he’d lived most of his life in uniform, one kind or another. The wide stance, squared shoulders: he wore it proudly.

  Ethan pulled his truck into the alley behind the Piggly Wiggly, ignoring the Employees/Vendors Only sign at the entrance. Locking the doors was pointless because he had no valuables inside and everyone was focused on the parade. Beautiful mornings like this with a chill in the air were perfect for parades. And the potential for getting punched by a cop.

  “Adam,” Ethan called, crossing the street without looking. Again, pointless.

  The man’s eyes narrowed like a hawk spotting prey from a half mile out. “What do you want?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “The hell we do. I’m workin’.”

  “I need your help.”

  Adam blanched, but covered it with a grimace. “Are you drunk?”

  “I wish.”

  “Go home, city boy.”

  “Not until you help me with your sister.”

  “Yeah, right,” Adam scoffed, avoiding Ethan’s gaze as he scanned the street. “That’s at the top of my priority list.”

  “It should be.”

  A flatbed truck rolled up and honked, carrying picnic tables and chairs. Adam moved the barricade to let them through, ignoring Ethan.

  “Talk to me, dammit!”

  Still no recognition that he existed.

  Without Adam, there was no point to his attempted apology to Audrey. He needed the whole family to make this plan work. And starting with the most challenging member was just Ethan’s style: suicidal.

  That’s exactly the method he needed to use.

  The nearest thing to him was the garbage can on the street corner. Isn’t that in the wrong spot? Damn, that should be pissing someone off.

  Ethan grabbed the metal can, lifted it over his head and tossed it in the street, spilling trash as it rolled into the barricade.

  “What the hell, Tanner?”

  Ha! That got his attention. “Destroying public property and littering. Arrest me.”

  “Did your balls just drop, you juvenile prick?”

  “Arrest me.”

  “I’ll do more than that if you don’t get your ass out of here, now.”

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to get you to help me.”

  Following a fierce look, Adam lifted his sunglasses from his shirt pocket and slipped them on. Damn, the man was trained well. Nothing battered him when he was focused. Time for something drastic.

  Ethan punched the cop in the jaw, with his already sore fist. Adam’s sunglasses flew off. The man’s face was a brick wall. Damn, I broke a few knuckles on that shit. But it worked.

  The devil’s lair would have frozen over with Adam’s glare. Before Ethan could think “Miranda Rights,” he was tossed to the ground like a toothpick and handcuffed behind his back. “You’re either incredibly stupid or desperate,” Adam barked over him.

  “Toss up for which one,” Ethan huffed, the smell of the blacktop reminding him of his college brawls. He always hated this part, but at least the plan had worked. Adam had to take him to the station himself. Giving Ethan enough time to talk his sanity away with Audrey’s brother, uninterrupted. He couldn’t run off this time.

  The back of the police vehicle was hardly the ideal place for this conversation. Certainly wasn’t impressive to prove to the woman’s brother that he was worthy of her. But beggars couldn’t be picky. At least Adam had given Ethan a little dignity and left the lights and siren off. Or maybe he was too ashamed to admit that he let a man clock him in the middle of the street.

  “Whatever you have stuck up your backside about your sister,” Ethan started from behind the barred partition. “You have to let it go.”

  Adam didn’t look at him or respond, but Ethan saw the man’s jaw line tense.

  “She needs your help.”

  “I thought you were the one that needed the help.”

  “That’s obvious, but I don’t care about me.” Damn, these cuffs hurt like hell. I really pissed him off. “She’s about to go through the worst moment in her life, again. All because of me, and she needs you.”

  Adam shook his head. “Not that I’m any fan of yours…or think she deserves my help, but what did you do?”

  “You didn’t read the paper this morning, did you?”

  “Shit,” Adam groaned and pulled the car over. Finally, he looked at Ethan in the rearview mirror. “You slaughtered her in the article, didn’t you?”

  “Long story, but yeah. Cat’s way out of the bag on the car accident.”

  “Which means you dragged the Davises through that hell again, too.”

  “I’m not proud of myself. Look what I’ve resorted to: quitting my job, punching a cop, and going to jail just to prove how much I love her.”

  Ethan swore he could hear every beat of Adam’s raging heart in the silence as he stared at him. Adam finally put the car into gear and turned around. Away from the station.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Pit stop before I book your ass.”

  “Where?”

  “You owe someone an apology.”

  “Tell them to take a number. I’m making rounds.”

  The Davises porch was surrounded by flowerpots full of orange and red marigolds. Fresh paint emanated off the porch railing, gleaming white, that
matched the hanging chair swing in the corner, where a white-haired lady sat, a book in her lap. Mrs. Davis.

  The humiliation soared through the roof of the cop car he was cuffed in. Please God, let this work.

  “Adam Biddinger?” Mrs. Davis called from the porch. “Is everything all right?”

  “Mrs. Davis, someone here owes you an apology.” He’d rounded the car and opened the back seat, the gravel driveway crunching underneath his feet as he reached inside to pull Ethan out.

  By now, the woman had reached the bottom step and pulled her shawl around her shoulders. The drums of the band in the parade carried over the small forest lining the Davises’ property line in the distance. The adorable lady hadn’t attended the parade with everyone else. My fault? Yeah, probably.

  “Who is this, Adam?”

  “My name’s Ethan Tanner, ma’am.” How can I sound more genuine in metal cuffs while held against a police car? At least he could look the woman in the eye as she realized who he was. Looking into her eyes… recognition dawned on her face. Yep. She read the article. But somehow she didn’t look as enraged as he’d expected.

  “What in the world…” The screen door screeched open and Carl Davis stepped out. “Adam? What’s goin’ on, son? Is that…Ethan?”

  “Yes, sir,” Adam answered. “This is the man that wrote an article that dragged you all—”

  “Adam,” Carl stopped him. “We’ve not heard a peep from you in ten years and this is how you want to start up a conversation? Bringing a man here in handcuffs?”

  “He assaulted an officer.”

  Both the Davises blanched and looked to Ethan, who wanted to cringe under judgmental eyes, but he kept his chin up.

  “You mean he punched you?” Carl deduced.

  “It’s the only way he’d talk to me,” Ethan explained, stretching his wrists in the cuffs. “I have several apologies to make today, and the biggest one to Audrey. I need his help…and yours.”

  Carl descended the stairs and stood face to face with Adam, the sun gleaming off his spectacles.

  “All this because of a silly article? Again?”

  “It was disrespectful.” Adam squared his jaw, the skin only now reddening after Ethan’s punch. “To you, to Jack—”

  “Jack’s gone, son. Nothing can offend him.”

  Adam looked down and paused, almost subordinate. And annoyed. This cop was fighting something back. Maybe the sour taste of being wrong?

  “What are you really here for?” Carl lifted his hand like he was going to hold Adam’s shoulder, but stopped short.

  “He tried to fight me.”

  “Just like you and Jack used to.”

  “This was different.”

  “How?” Carl caught his eyes.

  “Because he’s not Jack.” Adam’s voice rose and eyes flashed.

  “No, he’s not,” Carl checked. “He’s not Jack, Adam.”

  The Biddinger scowl reappeared, with a boiling rage that Ethan wouldn’t dare tempt. But Carl had clearly seen it before—he wasn’t backing down. If anyone could reach this guy, maybe…just maybe.

  “If Jack were here, what would you say to him?”

  “He’s not here. Why does it matter?” Adam’s rage trembled into a half-cry.

  “Because I don’t think anyone has asked you that question, and you need to answer it.” Carl finally rested his hand on Adam’s shoulder.

  The apple of Adam’s throat bobbed up and down and he looked away. This volcano was either going to burst red hot lava or a rain cloud so dense it would drown the Sahara.

  “What would you say to him, Adam?”

  “I’d punch his lights out!” The scream wrenched from Adam’s chest, obvious to Ethan’s ears. Like the urge had been buried for a decade because he wasn’t allowed to say it.

  Carl didn’t move, nor did his expression change. Adam’s admission, however shocking, didn’t surprise the old man in the least. He kept on holding Adam’s shoulder, with that reassuring empathy. The kind Ethan had always wanted from his own father, but never received.

  “Why, son?”

  Adam gripped his ears and looked like he would almost rip them off as he fought back the raging emotions—and failed. Red flooded his face as his teeth clenched.

  “I know Jack was no saint. That day, I was so mad at him, I really wanted to deck him. The next time I saw him, just drop him to the floor and whale on him. But…”

  “But then you couldn’t,” Carl finished for him.

  Adam turned his back, shaking his head. The radio on the shoulder of his deputy’s uniform shook as he fought to control his emotions. The silence between the group would have been perfect timing for one of Ethan Tanner’s zingers, but not if he needed to prove his worth. And he was worth it, dammit. The more Audrey’s family pissed him off, the more he couldn’t stay away. The more he had to gain their approval. This was worth it. For her.

  “It was Jack’s choice,” Carl continued. “But living your life angry at a dead man isn’t living.” Mrs. Davis finally stepped off the porch and reached her husband’s side, holding a handkerchief. “And redirecting your anger on Ethan…or Audrey, can’t change what happened.”

  Mrs. Davis reached around Adam’s arm and gave him the handkerchief. He’d stopped shaking and turned to look at her, his expression as if he’d been soundly beaten.

  “Alienating your sister the way you have…” Her words were soft and tender. Ethan could feel the pain from twenty feet away. “Has that made you feel any better?” The woman’s quiet question was perfectly clear in the chilly breeze.

  It took a long time for Adam to respond, but he finally shook his head. Not only could the man listen, but the depth of sincerity was ocean deep. This man’s need for self-preservation had ruined him for the last decade. Thank God for the Davises. Why hadn’t they done this years ago?

  By now, the cuffs were cutting into Ethan’s wrists. But the guilt of knowing the pain he caused these families with the wrong article was worse. What would they think of him if they read the real article? The one he wanted the paper to publish. Would they help him then?

  It still wouldn’t be enough. You need something more drastic to prove you’re worthy.

  The little voice of conscience grew more annoying every day, and Ethan wasn’t used to demanding more of himself to please others.

  “Adam,” his voice croaked as he shifted his weight. The trio turned to look at him, though Adam’s glare still made his feet itch. “The fundraiser for Audrey’s Crisis Center is tonight. To get this thing off the ground, she needs to rock the house. She could use every ounce of support from her family.”

  The gravel crunched with every determined step Adam took toward Ethan. He stopped a foot away and bore a hole into Ethan. He removed his sunglasses from his pocket, the best frames impossible to wear.

  “You broke my sunglasses.”

  “I’ll buy you a new pair.”

  They stared each other down. Ethan refused to even blink, let alone look away. If this was the price of winning Audrey back, he’d take it. A night in jail, a criminal record, a pair of sunglasses and braving her brother’s fury. Could be a credit card ad.

  Ten agonizing seconds later, Adam pulled the keys from his belt and un-cuffed Ethan, who gripped his wrists in relief. But he never got a chance to say “thanks.”

  Adam clocked him in the face.

  “We’re even.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Audrey Allen was a walking hypocrisy.

  Ten minutes before the Crisis Center Fundraiser, she sat in a back office of the hotel’s ballroom letting the words of her speech blend into the white note cards. Canyon, her speech writer, argued with Miranda over a few semantics behind her, but their words also faded over her head.

  Tonight was supposed to be about hope. Optimism and a fresh start for her life’s dream and hundreds of women who desperately needed help.

  Ironic when she felt completely dead inside. Hopeless.

  T
he fabric of her black lace evening gown felt like silk under her fingers. The scattered jewels and beads gave the frock a touch of glamour that Miranda loved. They’d sparkle on stage under the bright spotlights, just as she herself was supposed to symbolize as a senator.

  The boat neckline was her favorite feature, revealing her collarbone and a touch of cleavage. Reminiscent of fashion pioneer Princess Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge. But also stopping at the edge of her shoulder just before her scars. Not that covering them mattered anymore. The whole world knew of the accident now, thanks to Ethan. No doubt everyone would be staring at her left side waiting for any shift in material to see the atrocity up close.

  “Audrey, we’ve got five minutes,” Miranda rushed. “The part on overcoming obstacles that Canyon added will be the most poignant, so you need to be a touch slower there.”

  “A few places people may clap or cheer, so be prepared to stop. Don’t feel like you have to rush through it.” Canyon stretched over her shoulder and highlighted the section in yellow. The mid-twenty phenom was one of the best additions to her campaign, and definitely the best dressed. His tux with black on black tie was slightly more formal than his daily crisp suit and perfectly gelled dark hair. She’d hoped to have him with her on future campaigns. But just like herself, he’d be looking for another job after Tuesday’s runoff vote, along with Miranda. All thanks to Ethan.

  “Canyon.” She stopped him. His hazel eyes, lightly emphasized with liner, looked back into hers expectantly, but so full of promise and determination. Just like hers used to be. “Did you always want to be a speech writer?”

  He cocked his head and sat in an empty chair. “Yeah,” he replied as he crossed his legs. “Brenner always said that I had a gift with words, but I hate the spotlight. So when he asked me to write a few of his conference speeches, I jumped on it. Loved it so much, and he had such a great response, I knew this was my niche.”

  “How long have you two been together?”

  “Since college.” He laughed to himself. “I was a fresh-out-of-the-closet freshman still wearing docks and baggy polos when Brenner saw me walking through the commons. I looked so lost, he told me. Hard to believe it’s been seven years.”