The Grace of a Savage

by Collette Carmon

  “Sterling,” Tallulah shouts. Horror in her voice, but he’s not sure if she’s terrified he will die or if she’s upset Lyric will be there to bear witness.

  Another fatherly failure.

  “You always were weak,” his dad says as he holsters his gun. “If I’m gonna put you down, I want to have the pleasure of doing it with my bare hands.”

  I’m not a boy any longer, old man, should’ve used the fucking gun.

  42

  Tallulah

  She stands in horrified shock—watching as Beaufort and Sterling meet in a flurry of fists. A dance of rage.

  This isn’t happening. Tallulah’s internal mantra as she stands on the sidelines of a battle that she knows has been a long time coming.

  My father never loved me—Tallulah remembers the heartbreaking confessions Sterling had given as she stroked her fingers through his soft hair. In those stolen moments of passion that had to be performed beneath the cover of darkness. In the backseats of small cars or amongst the wild woods where their bedding was a floor of fallen leaves. Back when they were two broken kids who needed understanding and a deep love that wasn’t being sated elsewhere.

  They are still those broken kids.

  Tears gather in Tallulah’s eyes as she watches Beaufort get his strong, aged hands around Sterling’s beautiful throat. “You were a blight the moment you were conceived,” Beaufort rages at Sterling. Stumbling back when Sterling gets a solid punch to his gut.

  Coughing, Sterling glares at his father. “That the best you got?” He spits, “I’ve had worse, old man.”

  Lyric, at her side, mutters, “God, it’s like he’s tryin’ to piss the old guy off.”

  He is. Tallulah thinks. She can see Sterling’s intentions in his stance—in his need to spill out his years of disappointment. His father failed Sterling so often in youth. Even in adulthood Beaufort continues to fail him. A drill sergeant more than a loving figure. Everything Beaufort raged against his son came to love.

  The greatest rebellion Sterling ever waged was loving Tallulah.

  “I’ll end you for Birdie Mae,” Beaufort spits. Hatred twisting his old face as Beaufort yells at Sterling. “She shouldn’t have died for your mistakes.”

  “Fuck Birdie,” Sterling spits in return. “She needed a knife to the throat years ago.” His grin is cruel—the perfect imitation of a younger version of Beaufort—when he adds. “If I’d’ve known how easy it was to kill her, I’d’ve done it years ago.” Arms wide, Sterling shouts, “Are ya proud now, Daddy? I finally put a bitch down.”

  “Sterling,” Tallulah yells in warning when she catches a glimmer of Beaufort’s blessed knife.

  He’s ready for his father’s attack, covering the soft part of his stomach with his forearm. Blood spills over Sterling’s arm—a thick wine of color that fills the air with a tang that brings forth the still fresh memory of Birdie.

  Heart in her ears—deafening her with the sound of her anxiety—Tallulah quivers.

  We still aren’t safe.

  “Mom,” Lyric’s concern doesn’t scratch the surface of Tallulah’s sudden fog. “Mama!” He’s more urgent but the sound is distant, as if it’s coming to Tallulah from the bottom of a lake.

  A gun shot sounds, equally muffled by her panic attack.

  “Tallulah,” Sterling’s voice seems to comes from the end of a long tunnel. An urgency to the sound as she fades into a sudden blackness.

  43

  Lyric

  Vivian Mae shares Sterling’s kindness. Much as Sterling resembles his horrid dad, Lyric finds that Sterling shares more of his gentle mother’s traits. Her big hazel eyes are full of tears when she gazes into Lyric’s face.

  “Look at you,” Vivian Mae murmurs. A soft, cool hand cups his cheek while her smile trembles with emotions Lyric cannot name. “You’re the spittin’ image of my little darlin’.”

  Despite not being used to this sort of affection, Lyric smiles. Vivian Mae is the kind of woman who is soft-spoken and sweet; a true Southern granny type. Different than Lyric’s own mother who—like a strong whiskey—will put the desire to raise Hell in a human.

  Still, Lyric finds that he enjoys both sorts of women. Takes all kinds of love to feel happiness, he supposes.

  “You don’t hate me?” Lyric blurts, surprised that she can love a boy who has effectively destroyed her world in the span of eight days.

  “My love,” the skin around her eyes crinkles with Vivian Mae’s devoted smile. “I’ve waited for you since my children left the nest. Who couldn’t love their grandchild?”

  Lyric can think of one man, but he doesn’t feel it’s appropriate to bring that up so soon after the mess they’ve just witnessed.

  Vivian Mae seems to understand; her smile grows tight and fragile.

  “Come on inside,” Merle’s voice breaks their moment. “We got Sterling all patched up.”

  In the living room, Sterling lies across the sofa with a scowl on his face while Tanner bitches about Sterling bleeding all over the old, scuffed floor.

  “Nothin’s hurtin’ the damn floor,” Merle growls at Tanner. “I’m tired of the squabblin’ so shut up a bit, will ya?”

  Tanner scowls at the reprimand. Sterling shoots him a look that Lyric would label triumphant. Sterling seems a lot younger when he’s gloating. Something Lyric doesn’t mention for fear of setting Tanner off again.

  Judson comes into the room with an announcement. “Lula’s up, and she’s bitchin’ up a storm.”

  “Bitchin’ means she’s livin’ and I’m alright with that,” Tanner responds. Not waiting for permission, Tanner heads in the direction of Tallulah’s room. Tossing the dirty rag with Sterling’s blood onto the floor as he makes his way towards the hall.

  No one mentions that’s the same floor Tanner was complaining about Sterling dirtying moments before.

  Lyric also hurries to check on his mom. Not that she was hurt in the chaos—Tallulah’s last few days happened to catch up with her and she blacked out. It would’ve been funny if Lyric wasn’t still shaken up from watching her drop seconds after a gun went off in that gravel lot.

  He can still smell the scent of fresh blood, as if the pungent odor is lodged in his nose forever.

  “I ain’t a baby,” his mom gripes when Lyric stops in her open doorway. “Yes, Tanner, I know you love me but goddamnedit I’m fine.” Tallulah shoves Tanner out of her face, annoyed he’s checking her for injury.

  “I need to see what sort of retribution I owe that asshole Sterling,” Tanner tells her with a solemn frown.

  “Lay off it, Tanner, I can take him myself if I need to.” She shoves her brother again, more forceful this time. On Tanner’s face there’s a hurt that Lyric has never before witnessed—pain he can’t appropriately label because it flickers away as fast as it appeared.

  Tanner sighs, “When are you gonna stop lettin’ him ruin you?”

  “When are you gonna deal with your own romantic problems and quit stickin’ your big nose in mine?” Mama counters with a violent hiss.

  Tanner sucks at his teeth in annoyance. Instead of engaging her further, Tanner turns sharply to Lyric. He says, “Come love on your pain-in-the-ass of a mama, son.”

  Tanner breezes out of the room by the time Lyric sits on the bed at Tallulah’s side. A comfortable silence settles between them, the orange gleam of evening lights up the key lime color of her room. Making them feel like they are in a glow of comfort—Lyric will gladly take this sort of stillness after the last few days.

  “Hell of a lot of trouble for one Tweet, huh?” Lyric asks her at last. Breaking the quiet with a light chuckle.

  Bright laughter bubbles out of Tallulah’s slim throat.

  To Lyric the sound feels like true forgiveness.

  44

  Sterling

  “Ya sure you can’t stay longer?” Beau asks him from within the kitchen of their childhood home.

  So many shared memories, so many shared scars.

  Sterli
ng shakes his head, still unused to the short haircut his mama forced on him the previous day. Her own attempt at making this tension feel a little more normal. Something Sterling gladly gave her as a quiet penance for all that he’s ruined for Vivian Mae.

  “I figure I’ve fucked up enough for one lifetime,” he tells his big brother.

  Beau releases a sigh—he sounds so much like their father that for a moment Sterling tenses. “You know this isn’t your fault, right?” Beau is the slightly better version of Beaufort. Always has been, even if Birdie always gave him hell for being soft. “Mama shot Dad because she took the same oath as Beaufort, Sterling. The Servitude to God was a service Beaufort left years ago. The minute he went after Tallulah, Lyric and you without explicit permission from the higher-ups Beaufort was marked rogue.”

  Beau stares down into his coffee as if it will divine his life’s purpose, and he finally confesses to Sterling. “Mama’s been waiting for the pleasure of putting a bullet in Beaufort. Promise you that, Sterling. So don’t you feel guilty for her killin’ that old cur.”

  Sterling chews on his bottom lip, so much has happened in this lifetime. Much of it happening in the past week, and he’s still reeling. “None of it would’ve happened if I hadn’t sought Tallulah out.”

  Beau frowns, “What do you mean?”

  Speaking his sin aloud will leave him naked and Sterling’s not sure he is ready to be so vulnerable with a man he previously thought hated him as much as his dad.

  “Nothin’.”

  “Sterling?” Beau isn’t known for pleading and the tone takes Sterling by surprise. Glancing up sharply he finds Beau watching him with a sad gaze. His brother, like him, was never permitted to show much emotion. Beau holds tight to those lessons, but even still Sterling can see the pink in the white of his eyes, the glassy sheen over his gaze, and the way his Adam’s apple bobs with a dry swallow.

  “I thought I was gonna have to bury you before I could tell you I was sorry,” Beau admits with a gruff voice.

  Sterling frowns, “Sorry for what?”

  “All of it,” is Beau’s immediate reply. “For the beatin’s Daddy made me give you.” Again he swallows. Sterling watches the way Beau’s fingers flex as if they recall the feel of Sterling breaking beneath them.

  “You don’t have to apologize for that, Beau.” He replies at length, into the tense silence that fills this house Sterling once called home.

  “I do, Sterling.” Beau’s short huff of a laugh cracks with emotion, “God knows I regret it all and live it every night in my dreams.”

  For a second Sterling hesitates, chewing his words slowly before he shares them. “I know why you did it, Beau.” Their eyes lock, near twins except for the years that divide them, “You were sparing me from a real beatin’.”

  “Don’t act like I didn’t hurt you, Sterling,” Beau interrupts sharply. His self-disgust evident in the way he grimaces.

  “I’m not sayin’ you didn’t, man. I’m just sayin’ you spared me from all the concussions and broken bones Beaufort could’ve given.” He puts a hand on his brother’s strong shoulder, “I know you didn’t just do it for me, too. Mama knows you wanted to spare her the pain of knowin’ she married the wrong man.”

  That’s something Vivian Mae’s been avoiding for years—the regret they all know she felt when it came to giving her life to Beaufort.

  The regret of giving that man children.

  “Violet and I shouldn’t have gone with Birdie and Beaufort to the Graces’.” Beau tells him with another sigh.

  “I understand why you did, though. We all knew they were unhinged, Beau.” He swallows, “And you ain’t the first son to do somethin’ stupid for the love of his father.” Sterling scrubs his hands over his face, hating himself before he admits the reason they are all in this mess. “I went after Tallulah because I wanted to prove to Beaufort I was worthy of being called a man.”

  Beau blinks, confusion drawing down his thick eyebrows, “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…” Sterling crosses his arms over his chest. Trying to shield himself from the judgment he knows is coming. “I mean that I fucked Tallulah because I wanted to bring Beaufort home a wolf. I wanted to make up for the one I couldn’t kill that night he took me on my first wolf hunt.” A humiliation Beaufort never let Sterling live down—every tense family meal saw that failure thrown into Sterling’s face. It was enough to drive him mad, enough to make Sterling desperate.

  Beau leans against the counter. Sterling stares at the cracked tile behind his brother’s back where Beaufort bashed Sterling’s head against it the night he found out about Tallulah.

  “But you love her, right?”

  “Yeah, fuck…” a startled sob escapes his mouth. “Sorry,” Sterling says, covering his mouth with his hand. After a moment and a shaky swallow he continues. “That was the unexpected side-effect of my self-imposed mission. No one had ever loved me so openly and accepted all of the cracked pieces I brought in ton of baggage. I was able to hide it for about a year.”

  “What did he do?” Beau had been away—training—when Beaufort found out that his son was too weak to kill yet another wolf.

  “Broke my cheek,” he laughs at the memory to keep from crying. “Right here,” he points to the cracked tile.

  Beau’s gaze turns dark, full of a rage he never got to unleash on their father the way Sterling got to a couple days prior. “Shoulda killed him years ago.”

  “Shoulda, woulda, coulda…didn’t,” Sterling replies, mimicking the man who will haunt them until the day they both die. “Anyways,” Sterling sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “He promised he wouldn’t kill her if I broke her heart.”

  Beau shakes his head, “Bastard always did find a sick pleasure in emotional warfare.”

  “Yeah, and I think it was meant for me as much as her.” Sterling’s hands shake as he remembers walking across the road, sick to his stomach knowing that his dad was ready to whip out his favorite pistol at any moment if Sterling fucked up.

  “What did you tell her?”

  “The only thing I knew a Grace would never forgive.” His fingers grip the counter, the tile cold beneath his palms. “I told her I couldn’t love an abomination. Then I told her it was a joke that she could believe anyone would love her.” A tear slips down his cheek, into the thick scruff of his short beard. Sterling wipes it away with hasty fingers. “Then I told her…fuck…” he has to stop before he vomits.

  “What did you say, Sterling?” Beaufort reaches out, holding him steady.

  “I told her that her dead mother got what she had coming to her and I was sorry I didn’t get the chance to give Tallulah the same.” He puts his hand over his mouth, swallowing the bile of his memory.

  “Holy hell.” Beau pulls Sterling into a hug as if he’s a child, not a man almost as broad as Beau. A man who stands of equal height to his brother. Sterling sobs into Beau’s cotton shirt, the first time he’s expelled his emotions in such a way since he was small. “It’s okay, Sterling.”

  “I promised myself I’d never come back, Beau,” he yells against his brother’s hard chest. “I promised myself I could live like a fuckin’ mess if she was safe and happy.” He tries to pull out of Beau’s hold, but his brother won’t let him. “Shit, I just…I saw that Tweet and I had to know. You know? I had to come because it felt like a small sliver of hope.”

  “Probably didn’t help that you were hopped up on amphetamines, I’m sure.” Beau snorts, to help relieve the tension that surrounds them.

  “Was it that obvious?” Sterling’s laugh is hollow.

  “We had the same dad, Sterling, I remember the shit he fed us when he needed to get jobs done.” He releases Sterling from his strong hold.

  While Sterling wipes awkwardly at his running nose, Beau says. “So, what were you thinkin’ when you drove home?”

  “I was wonderin’ how a woman could love a man enough to give birth to his baby after all the shit he’d done to her.” That was t
he most daunting of the thoughts that filled Sterling’s mind while he was racing home.

  Beau smiles as he glances down at his dirty boots, “Then quit runnin’, Sterling and start figurin’ out the answer to that question.” He nods towards the window that faces the Grace’s home. “Go on over there and ask her why she loved your sorry ass enough to have your son?”

  Of course Beau would suggest something so stupidly simple.

  45

  Tallulah

  Every night since Sterling left Abita Springs, for the second time, Tallulah recalls watching his rental truck leave with a heavy disappointment settling in her gut.

  There he goes again, the best and worst mistake of my life.

  Tallulah rests her head back against the wall now, in The Howling Lune’s storage room, and thinks about how she’s going to clean up the shatter remains of a Savage storm.

  Her biggest, most pressing hurdle, at the moment, is to convince Lyric to go back to school before Tallulah gets a summons to family court. The doctor’s note Remington forged lied about a bad bout of flu, but it was only good for that first week. Those incidents involving Birdie and Beaufort are a few months past now, but the problems still remain. Death only took care of the heart of the hydra, now Tallulah has to deal with all of the heads. Lyric suffering the unrelenting rumor mills of a small town is one of those many heads.

  She suspects he’s being bullied—not a leap of a guess when Lyric keeps coming home with mysterious bruises and splits in his lip. She’s tried asking about them, but her son is as proud and stubborn as all of his kin. He’d brushed off the initial questions, and now he keeps brushing off school.