Distracted: An Everyday Heroes Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Michelle Fernandez

  “No.”

  “No? Why not?”

  “I can’t,” she replies.

  “Why can’t you?”

  There’s a long pause, a sign she’s thinking about it, trying to come up with an excuse. Seconds pass, and I wonder if we lost connection or if she hung up on me. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  “Sabrina? Are you still there?”

  She takes in a deep breath. “I don’t have a sitter.”

  My smile widens. “That’s okay. Where we are going, Lily will like it too.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You and Lily are a package deal, right? If I want to get to know you all over again, I need to get to know her too.”

  “Really? Why?”

  Because I need to know who her father is and why he’s not in the picture.

  “Why not?” I ask.

  “You’ve always said you don’t enjoy being around kids. They make you nervous. And how you were tonight—”

  “I was just fine around her. How hard can it be? Lily seems harmless.”

  She laughs softly. “You really don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “I do know what I am asking . . . I am asking to start over. How about I make a deal with you? If Lily doesn’t like me at all, I will go back to LA. No questions asked. But, if Lily likes me, you give me a second chance,” I push.

  “You are persistent, aren’t you?”

  “You know me so well.”

  “Okay . . . you have a deal.”

  “Great. I’ll pick you up at six,” I say, and that warm fuzzy feeling fills my chest. “Goodnight, Buttercup.”

  “Goodnight, Spencer.”

  “Sleep okay?” Callie asks as I walk into her small kitchen. It’s about twenty feet from the sofa to the tiny tabletop she calls a dining table. I don’t know why she doesn’t move to a bigger apartment and make this an office above her dance studio.

  She pours a cup of coffee and slides it across to me. I take a sip of the hot, dark java. Heaven. “I guess so,” I say, cracking my neck. “You either need a new couch or a new place, Cal.”

  My eyes glance over the small space she calls home. It’s clean and tidy. That’s the one thing about Callie. She’s simple and never asked for a lot from our parents, except to dance. And she’s a hell of a dancer. Why she settled in this shack instead of traveling the world or dancing on Broadway’s big stage is beyond me.

  “Hey!” She playfully slaps my shoulder, making me burn my lips as I take another sip. “You’re lucky I let you stay with me, considering all the hotels are booked. You know, you could always stay with Mom and Dad if you don’t like the accommodations.”

  “Okay, sorry.” I raise my free hand in surrender. “Why do you live up here?”

  She shrugs, then takes a sip from her mug. “I like it here. I’m never late to work, and I can dance whenever I want to.”

  “You can easily get a bigger apartment. Don’t you want to disconnect from your work every once in a while?”

  She laughs. “Pot meet kettle.”

  “I’m a cop. I have cases that go unresolved. People depend on me for closure.”

  “Or maybe it’s you who needs the closure,” she says, raising a brow.

  The night Rebecca was found dead, Callie was the first person I called. She flew to Los Angeles and was there for me. She’s my rock, and I love my baby sister. That was the night I promised myself I would find her killer and told my sister I wanted to be a cop.

  I drag my hand through my hair. “Can we not start this early in the morning? I have a headache.” Looking down, I realized I still have on the same jeans and shirt I wore last night. Images of last night, several rounds of beer and an empty bottle of whiskey, hit my thoughts. All I remember is Grady opening the front door, then dropping onto the couch.

  Callie opens a cabinet and pulls out the aspirin bottle. “Here,” she says, tossing it to me. “Next time you stumble in my small place, can you please keep it down? I swear you and Grady are like a bunch of schoolgirls.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “What happened?” I ask, probing for the answers of last night’s blur. Think, asshole. What happened last night?

  “You don’t remember? My god, Spence. How much did you drink?” A devious smile tugs at her lips, and the anticipation is killing me.

  “Come on, Cal. Tell me,” I demand.

  “Grant drove you home, and Grady practically carried you up the stairs. He got you onto the couch and told me how they watched you drink yourself drunk. Grady said you needed this, that letting go is still hard for you.” She turns on the faucet and washes her mug.

  “Letting go?” What the fuck did Grady tell my sister?

  “Yeah, Sabrina?” she finishes. “You called her last night. Asked her about something that happened a long time ago. That you needed to know.”

  It’s all coming back to me. Not because I remember. Because I’ve been wondering all these years why Sabrina called me, saying she had something important to tell me.

  “Fuck,” I mumble. “You’re so nosy.”

  “Oh, come on,” Callie urges. “Where are you taking her?”

  “What?” I ask, wondering what the hell she’s talking about.

  “Your date? Saturday?” Her eyes go wide. “Oh. My. God. You don’t remember asking her out? Were you that drunk?”

  “I remember.” I drag a hand over my face. “Damn, your walls are thin, or you’re just too nosy for your own good.”

  “Actually, both.” She clears her throat. “Sabrina called me this morning asking how you were feeling, and she told me about your date. . . so, where are you taking them?”

  I laugh because Callie doesn’t beat around the bush. “I don’t know yet.”

  “Mom?” I call out as I shut the front door.

  “In here!” Her voice echoes from the kitchen, and the aroma of beef roasting floats in the air.

  “What’s cooking, hot stuff?” I plant a kiss on her cheek, then grab a cherry tomato from the salad bowl.

  “Pot roast,” she answers and slaps my hand when I reach for the bowl again. “Stop eating the tomatoes. There won’t be any for later.”

  I grab a beer from the refrigerator. “Where’s Dad?” I ask, sitting back on the stool and taking a whiff of the delicious aroma in the air.

  “He’s out on a job site in Bakersfield. He’ll be home in a couple of hours,” she says, looking over her shoulder as she holds the knife in her hand. “Do you remember that Kenny-boy? He graduated with Callie and Sabrina?

  “Kenny Packet?”

  “Yes, him. Anyway, he’s one of the investors for the project your dad is working on. He’s made a name for himself since he got back to Sunnyville.”

  “Kenny hated me,” I say, grabbing a carrot from the bowl and taking a bite.

  “Stop being dramatic.” Mom waves her free hand in the air. “Anyway, that boy has done really good for himself . . . all things considered,” she says with empathy. She turns and slices up the red onions. I always wonder how she does that without shedding a single tear.

  I angle my head. “What do you mean?”

  Mom stops cutting and looks at me. “You don’t remember? Kenny’s sister, Gina, she committed suicide.”

  How did I forget? It’s all coming back to me, and it’s not surprising that Mom remembers this. She seemed to keep her ear close to the rumor mill. It was my senior year, and I needed a tutor for history. Gina and I watched a few history movies, and she took me to a museum since I’m a visual learner, and she bought me that ridiculous T-shirt from the gift shop. I never made a pass at Gina because she was sweet and kind. I may have been a dog in high school, but I would never take advantage of a girl like her.

  There was a vigil at the lake where she drowned, which was near our cabin. Then Mom being Mom, offered our cabin to host the Celebration of Life. Gina was well-liked, and the whole town of Sunnyville attended.

  “That poor family. Kenny is a good boy. Anyway
, are you staying for dinner?” And just like that, Mom changes the subject. Now I know where I get it from.

  It feels like forever since I last sat with my parents for dinner. “Mom,” I sigh her name.

  It’s the same song and dance with my old man. He’ll come home, we’re cordial, and have small talk. But the moment he brings up my work or what I could have been doing with my life, it results in me kissing my mom goodbye and storming out of the house.

  My mom and Callie are the only reasons I come back. Dad, not so much. I love my old man, but I can never be good enough ever since I turned down the contract of a lifetime to join the Austin A’s and enlisted in the police academy instead. All Dad says to me is that I’ve thrown my life away.

  I close my eyes and take a long pull of my beer. When I open them, my mom is staring at me. The lines in her beautiful face are etched with desolation and despair from the years of Dad and me not seeing eye to eye.

  “How long are you going to keep this feud going with your dad, Spencer?” she asks, and I know that look. It’s mixed with sadness and yet there’s determination.

  She’s been trying to close the gap that has been wedged between my dad and me.

  After I tore my Achilles tendon and underwent surgery, followed by eight months of rehabilitation, I hated my life. I distanced myself from the world, including my family, Sabrina, and Rebecca.

  Growing up, I lived and breathed baseball. It was all I knew and wanted to be ever since Dad gave me my first baseball and mitt for my fifth birthday. Major League Baseball would never consider a good for nothing, pain-killer addicted bastard like me. My college coach wanted me to see a therapist to talk about my feelings. Fuck my feelings. My baseball career was over.

  Everyday Rebecca and I fought. She tried to get me back in the game. But every time, I told her to piss off. Until one day, she didn’t come back for good. Then my world spiraled into a dark abyss. My sister came to LA and held me and did everything she could to get me back on my feet. But I pushed her away too.

  Three months of deep depression went by. Then I met Tanya. She had just moved in next door. The music was blaring, the bottle of whiskey empty. Apparently, my door was not shut all the way, and she let herself into my apartment. When I finally woke up from my drunken slumber, there was a pot of coffee waiting for me with a stack of pancakes.

  Tanya and I became good friends, and she was exactly what I needed during that time in my life. She didn’t know about my childhood, the failed baseball career, or the guilt about my girlfriend’s death. Even though things didn’t work out with Tanya, I am grateful that she picked me up and nurtured me back to health.

  “Have you ever asked Dad that same question?” I snap and she doesn’t deserve it.

  “As a matter of fact, I have. Many times.” She folds her arms across her chest.

  “And what’s his answer, Mom? That I’m a quitter and I’ve ruined my life?”

  My mom rounds the island and takes my hand. “Your father does not think of you as a quitter. Only you think that.” Her voice is even and soft.

  I stifle a chuckle. “He’s got a funny way of showing he’s proud of the man his son has become.”

  “Your father loves you more than his own life. You are so stubborn; you only see what you want. And these last couple of years, you’ve been so distracted. Disconnected since . . .” Mom sits next to me and I know where she’s going. “Talk to me, Spencer,” she pushes.

  “It’s this case. I finally found Becca’s killer.”

  “Oh, honey. Is this why you’ve been so distant?”

  “I’m the one who kicked her out and told her to stay out of my life. Then she turns up dead two days later.”

  “What happened to Rebecca is tragic, but you can’t keep holding on to this guilt. You need to let her go, let her rest in peace.”

  “She’s the reason I joined the force.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The police weren’t doing much, and every time I called, they told me there were no leads. I followed this case as best as I could. I bought a radio to tap into their frequency. I read the papers, surfed the web, watched the news. Then, Tanya came along and—”

  “And her relationship with Chief Delgado got you thinking,” she finishes, connecting the dots.

  I nod as I look out the window, staring at the vineyard-covered hills. “This was my way in. To get closer to the investigation. When Williams retired, and a spot became open, I studied my ass off for the detective exam . . .”

  “And you opened the case up again.”

  “Yes,” I say. “Soon after I made detective, I found the case file in the evidence locker and I looked into it. But there was nothing. No leads to the dealer or the bastard that was drugging, raping, and killing these women.” I take another pull of my beer. “Then eight months ago, a woman was found in Downtown LA near a nightclub. Same MO. Then a couple of weeks later, another. And another a week after that. That’s when I asked to be put on this case.”

  “My god, Spencer. I keep up on the news, but I haven’t seen or read about this.”

  “There’s nothing to prove there’s a serial killer out there, Mom. That’s just my hunch. The demographics of these women’s deaths are far spread out. But I knew he was back. And smart by covering his tracks.”

  Mom opens her mouth to say something, then closes it again as uncertainty washes over her face. The timer on the oven dings, distracting her from saying anything further. She pulls out a loaf of bread and sets it on a cooling rack next to the stove. After she removes her oven mitts, she braces the counter with her hands.

  I rush to her side. “Mom, are you okay?” When our eyes meet, there’s wetness rolling down her face. “What is it?” I ask.

  “I just had an image of Callie, that’s all.”

  I wipe a tear from her cheek. Not only do I see Rebecca’s face, but I’ve also had nightmares that it could happen to my ex-wife, my sister, and even Sabrina.

  “That’s why I needed to get this guy, Mom.”

  She turns to face me and leans against the counter. “Is that why you are here? Taking a break after months of being on this case?”

  I walk over to the fridge and grab another cold beer. That’s when I realize there are a couple of bottles of wine and more beer than just for my dad and me. “Are you expecting more people for dinner?” I ask as I twist the top off and toss it in the garbage.

  “The book club is coming over.” She clears her throat. “Now, how long is my son going to stay this time? A week? Maybe two?”

  “I was suspended,” I admit. Those three words are all I give her, and I can feel her eyes on me as I take a long draw from my beer.

  “For what?” she gasps.

  “Just because.” I’m an idiot if I think she’s not going to push for more.

  “Spencer Michael Hayes.” Her voice pierces through the air, and I feel like I’m in high school all over again, being punished for coming home past curfew. “Explain,” she demands.

  I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. “Teagen and I made two arrests, which turned out to be an all-out-shoot-out in the bar.”

  “And is Teagen okay?”

  “She got shot,” I say and Mom gasps. “But it was just a flesh wound.”

  “Oh, thank god.” Her hand goes to her chest. “So, she’s okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Go on,” she says, wiping her hands on her apron.

  “My impulsive decision to go all Rambo in the bar was the last straw.”

  “So, what is up with you and Teagen?”

  “Mom, I told you Teagen and I are just friends. Nothing more.”

  “Then what about Sabrina?” she asks right on cue.

  Mom always told me that Sabrina was meant to be mine, that I’d marry her someday. She hated that I married Tanya but understood when I told her I needed to do right by her when I got her pregnant. Mom told me I was noble for sticking by Tanya’s side even after she lost the baby
.

  “Mom, nothing is going to happen with Sabrina and me. Stop your meddling.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she’s made it crystal clear.”

  “What are you so clear on? Last you told me you missed her.”

  I shrug my shoulders. “Yeah, so?”

  “So?”

  I run my fingers through my hair as I sit down on the barstool. I might as well spill it. “If it’ll make you feel better, I asked her out to dinner next Saturday.”

  “You did?” Mom claps her hands together, and her smile spreads across her face. “I have a good feeling about this.”

  “It’s just dinner. We need to discuss some things that happened at the reading yesterday.”

  “You never told me what happened,” she prompts.

  I take in a deep breath and tell her what Lilliana had in her will for me. It still baffles me that she asked me to oversee the finances.

  “Don’t you see?” my mom asks with a smile.

  “See what?”

  “You are as blind as a bat.” Mom laughs as she pulls out the paper plates, napkins, and utensils and sets them on the island. “And you know what? I’m going to let you figure it out. The training wheels have been off for a long time.”

  Whatever happened to mothers telling you how it should be? Now she wants me to figure it out?

  The doorbell rings, and Mom removes her apron, hanging it on the hook inside the pantry. She kisses my cheek. “The girls are here!”

  And with that, I sneak out the back door.

  Sabrina

  Hooligans is packed, and it feels like the whole town of Sunnyville is here. That’s the thing I miss about this small town—word travels fast when they want to pull together and lift up one of their own. Or it could be the cold beer on tap, excellent cocktails, and delicious appetizers.

  Tonight we celebrate Grayson’s heroism. He saved a lady from an armed man, according to the article in The Gazette and it doesn’t surprise me. Not only is he a pilot, but he’s a Malone. His older brother Grant is a detective, Grady is a firefighter, and their dad is the former police chief and who they most likely get it from. All everyday heroes.