Shred of Decency (Shattered Hearts of Carolina Book 2)

by Jody Kaye

  I like it here on those nights. They have more of a party vibe, something I missed out on during the past few years of my twenties when I took responsibility for my actions. Though, the other thing I’ve noticed is how much illegal shit happens without finger-pointing or repercussions. We’re expected to look the other way for the petty stuff unless it gets out of hand, brings heat on Jake or has the potential to close Sweet Caroline’s down.

  Ignoring a drug deal in the parking lot doesn’t bother me as much as it should. I’m no angel. I’d seen them, participated even while I was in high school and college, and had gotten used to the same hand-offs in prison. Nobody on the inside is going to narc unless they want a beat down. And no other inmate in their right mind is standing up for you if your conscience trips up your survival instincts.

  That makes the people here different. They have each other’s backs. Even Kimber defends Jake, for as much as he lets her. The guy takes sadistic pleasure in his persona.

  Nodding at Holly, a barmaid, I go back to holding up a wall by the front entrance, scanning the crowd for any trouble. I’m hoping for a distraction since Cece goes on stage soon.

  I might’ve swallowed my own vomit the first time I witnessed my sister strip. My second chance came at her request. However, the only thing stopping me from hauling Celine’s ass out of here after the performance was the glimmer in her eyes shone brighter than the sequins on her costume when she showed me her grades. Straight fucking As and one step closer to her dream of getting into a physicians’ assistant program. All I could do was hug her and tell her how proud I was of her achievement. Anything else makes me an ungrateful douchebag.

  Dusty, the maintenance guy at Sweet Caroline’s and at the mill, squeezes through the packed crowd. If I ventured a guess, Dusty’s about thirty. He’s a beast of a guy, carrying a bucket like the one I’d used to fill the ice bin. Wet rags and an auger hang out the top. He should have used the back entrance. I haven’t decided if he gets cut a decent amount of slack because he can fix nearly anything, or if his stammer means he’s slower on the uptake. Dusty’s a good guy, nonetheless.

  He stops next to me and puts the bucket down, crossing his arms over his chest and taking in the last minutes of the current striptease.

  “What happened this time?” I’m not surprised he’s here this late.

  “Catfight. One of the girls flushed pasties down the dr-ressing room toilet,” he stutters. “Fucking body glue got ‘em stuck in the drain. The backup was shitty.” Dusty looks down the hall toward Jake’s office, disgusted. “This crap doesn’t happen when Kimber’s in charge.”

  “She can’t work seven days a week.” My lip lifts at the corner.

  It’s Kimber’s regular day off and she’s on a date with Trig. It’s been ten days since I met Aidy at their house. Neither brought up her name since the morning she left. About the time I got Aidy off my mind, figuring it was better not to ask questions, Trig mentioned she was babysitting for Owen again tonight.

  I’ve got to be up early to do an install with Trig down near the golf clubs in Pinehurst, so I’m hoping for a glimpse of Aidy before she leaves. I don’t want to be alone with her. Maybe we’ll all have coffee together. Her mother prays to the Arabica gods, does Aidy? I keep telling myself the need to see Aidy is to prove she’s not going through anything bad. I shouldn’t make it my business if she is. In all likelihood, she’s a sweet girl who got her heart stomped on and I’m superimposing my fears on her to create a connection. I might have had a chance with a woman like her once, but the tides changed.

  “That’s a big ass smile for a guy whose sister’s taking her clothes off in front of a crowd.” Dusty mocks me.

  I hadn’t noticed the music changed. Cece is up there in all her glory. I’m ready to gouge my eyes out. Dusty’s not. From the way he watches her, it’s hard to believe he caught my goofy expression while I was thinking about Aidy.

  I scrub my face and glance at the dial on my wrist. “Listen, I came in two hours early so I could cut out the same and get some shut-eye. Trig’s got us wiring a house tomorrow that’s a haul to get to.”

  “Botha you?” Dusty stops gawking at my sister.

  “Big place. He wants it done ASAP.”

  He makes a noncommittal sound, which doesn’t carry over the music pounding out of the speakers. Some dancers have said Dusty isn’t all there, but from what I’ve gathered, he’s trustworthy. Trig and I haven’t done an install together since Trig hired and trained me. If Dusty didn’t already know we worked separately for a reason, it’s unlikely he’d put two and two together. Jake and Carver wouldn’t keep him on as a handyman or let him anywhere near their businesses if they thought otherwise. I’m curious what else Dusty does for the older guys that I’m not aware of.

  “Do you mind walking Cece across the street so I can go now?”

  Dusty cod-fishes for a second before agreeing. “You want me to stand here until her set is done?”

  “Yeah, man, you can handle it right?”

  Cece doesn’t have to stay until Sweet Caroline’s closes. It may take her a bit to change. The parking lot leaves a lot to be desired, but there’s still traffic at this time of night and the street and mill are well lit. My sister’s in good hands.

  “Sure.” He puffs up.

  “Thanks,” I tell Dusty I owe him and slip out the door.

  I make it back to Trig and Kimber’s past midnight. The windows are pitch black in contrast to the porch light that’s still on. I let myself in, cautious to silence the beeps from the house alarm so it doesn’t wake anyone. Stopping in at the sink for a glass of water, I hear a click and notice a faint yellow glow under the door to the guest room off the kitchen where Aidy stays. Her bedroom backs up to the rear of the house. I feel like shit disturbing her and creep up to the attic, doing my best impression of a cat burglar.

  I take off my shirt and jeans, slipping between the sheets in my boxers. On my back, I put my hands underneath my head, counting cartoony sheep that remind me of the ones hanging from Owen’s mobile. Sleep has been easier to come by since being released. But tonight my mind won’t shut off anticipating seeing Aidy. Hoping she’s different in the light of day. Not as tense. More carefree. I lie, telling myself it’s not like I’m looking to start a relationship with her. Although, the sense of what if lingers the way it had years ago when I met a cute coed in class. I should have enough respect for Kimber than to drag her daughter down to my level.

  The point in coming home early was to sleep. Instead, I roll to one side then the other, flopping in bed, and punching my pillow every few minutes. The alarm goes off, and it’s not until I’m done shoving the heels of my wrists into my eye sockets that I remember why I wanted to hit the shower at this hour.

  On the way to the kitchen, I hear Owen fussing and everyone’s voices. I’ve learned to make a hell of a lot more noise coming down the stairs than I had going up them last night. There are plenty of conversations I’m not supposed to hear. The past few years have taught me how to interrupt without offending anyone.

  The first person to greet me is Aidy, probably because hers was the face I’d latched onto. Her soft “hi” has me stammering to find something to say back. “Good morning” would’ve worked, but I repeat the same word back in as low a tone.

  “Coffee, Morgan?” Kimber is already pouring into a cup for me.

  “Yes, thank you, ma’am.”

  “Trig’s loading the truck. He’ll be back in for his breakfast. Can I get you anything?” Kimber pulls a dozen eggs and a pound of bacon wrapped in white paper from the butcher’s market out of the fridge.

  “I’ll make toast. You don’t have to go to any trouble.”

  “It’s not a bother. I’m cooking for the three of us anyway. Aidy’s offered to feed Owen for me while I do.”

  I turn toward where Aidy is sitting at the kitchen table. She’s facing Owen and they both have their tongues out. Aidy’s making funny faces. The baby laughs and then tries to copy
her. Green drips down his chin. If Owen wasn’t so happy, the tinted drool would be disgusting.

  “What’s on the menu, little man?” I crouch down by the high chair.

  “Sweet Peas.” She holds up the full spoon and flashes me the jar label.

  “For breakfast?”

  “They’re leftover. I didn’t want them to go bad.” Kimber answers from the stove.

  “I guess if there’s such a thing as breakfast for dinner, then dinner could be breakfast.”

  “Like cold pizza,” Aidy remarks. She’d left at least half the box for me to indulge in the last time she was here.

  Aidy spoons the next bite into Owen’s mouth. I rub his fuzzy, red head and he tries to chase the peas with his whole hand.

  “Not quite ready for congealed pepperoni, are ya, dude?” I lean into him. “Believe me, it’s the breakfast of champions.” Before I can move back the baby smacks my cheek with his slimy fingers. “Thanks,” I say, sarcastically.

  Aidy’s not laughing out loud, but I see her body shake. She feeds Owen another bite. He gets an odd look on his face. His nose scrunched up and he sneezes the whole mouthful right at her.

  “Oh my God!” Aidy’s laugh bubbles up and echoes. It’s the prettiest sound. Pretty like her. The glee loops on repeat between my ears. Kimber realizes what’s happened and when her voice joins in, it’s like a chorus.

  I go to the sink and wet a towel, handing it to Aidy so she can wipe her face. She uses it to get some green off my cheek. Then, recognizing the intimacy of what she’s done, swallows hard and returns her attention to her brother.

  We hardly know one another. Her action reminds me it’s something I’d like to change.

  “It’s okay. Yucky peas aren’t my favorite either.” She wipes the tray.

  “Peas are awesome. Except if they’re canned.” Mushy, canned peas that had lost their taste because they were about ten years past their expiration were a staple of my diet not too long ago. You yearn for food with a hint of flavor after a while. Fast food, health food, any food not the color and consistency of wallpaper paste. “All other peas; green, black-eyed, sugar snap, I’ll eat those in a hot minute.”

  “You’ll be eating breakfast in a hot minute. But knowing you like black-eyed peas the way Trig—”

  “Who likes black-eyed peas?” Trig is coming in from the garage.

  “Morgan does.” Kimber tilts a spatula at me.

  “With collards and turkey sausage?” Trig smacks his hands together and I can almost taste the jalapeños. “You are a southern boy after my heart!” He points at his wife with a challenge.

  “Fine, I’ll make it. But I’m not eating any. I barfed that out of my nose when I was pregnant.” Kimber shudders. “It used to be my favorite dish.”

  “I thought I was your favorite dish?” He wraps her up in his arms from behind and they rock back and forth with smiles on their faces. “You like black-eyed peas, Aidy? We’ll have you over for supper that night.”

  “Only the kind that makes music.”

  I hadn’t realized I made a joke until Morgan let out a throaty, baritone chuckle. A little warm spot grows in my chest. Perhaps I can say more when he’s around and not embarrass myself. It’s not as if I have anything against Morgan. In all honesty, the rapport he keeps up with Owen makes me like him more. That’s the dangerous part.

  Morgan is a few years older than me. It’s obvious from the way his t-shirt clings to his chest and his long legs fill out his jeans, he’s got the body of an underwear model. I can almost imagine the added depth of his dark hair and tanned skin in a sepia tone magazine photo. He’d lean against a white wall in the casual clothes he’s wearing. Maybe with cigarettes rolled in his sleeve and the rebel without a cause vibe. Except, I doubt he’s a smoker and on both occasions we’ve met, Morgan has been well-mannered. It may be more like a cause without a rebel. Who knows?

  I’m having a hard enough time understanding the tricks my mind is playing on me. Only a fool wouldn’t notice how attractive Morgan is. I get all the hot-guy notions in my head that have happened since I was old enough to realize boys didn’t have cooties. Anticipating him talking to me has my stomach in knots. Then he says something and I’m flustered. What’s happened to me comes back full force. I’m afraid of what he thinks of me already. Terrified of the change in his opinion if he knew. Realizing the confidence I used to have—or downright girlish stupidity that I had any shot with a guy like him—is gone. Therefore, it doesn’t matter if Morgan gives me a second glance. He’s nice to me because he has to be. It’s an extension of the kindness he shows to Owen out of respect for Kimber and Trig.

  Morgan has to mean something to them or he wouldn’t be staying here. I’ve racked my brain for a logical conclusion. The only thing I’ve come up with is Morgan is Trig’s the way I’m Kimber’s. He’d have mentioned that when he was poking around about Trig being my stepdad, wouldn’t he? I wish someone had the decency to set me straight. If we share a brother, it’s gross worrying about being alone with Morgan. He hadn’t struck me as the type to take advantage. However, I never put it past anyone to have a string of nameless hookups when plenty of my girlfriends have done the same. My parents sheltered me, but I’d like to think I’m not dense.

  Owen pops his pacifier in his mouth, done with the peas. I put a few toys on the tray to keep him occupied and then get the plates out of a cabinet and place them at each seat. Kimber brings over the entire pan of scrambled eggs and a platter of bacon covered in paper towels to soak up the grease the way my mom does. We all sit down. Everyone looks at me and I become a shrinking violet.

  “You’re our guest, Aidy. Go ahead and serve yourself first.” Trig sips from his mug.

  I haven’t eaten much lately and feel their eyes boring in on me as I scoop enough eggs to be considerate. The bacon is easier. How can you not want your fair share of that deliciousness? Thoughts like this make life seem normal. Although, the way I dwell on the contrast of abnormal and normal isn’t.

  “… Pinewood State?”

  I stop nibbling the bacon and look across the table at Morgan. He’s asked me something. God, I am dense. I’m a flipping idiot who has lost the ability to act human around a handsome man.

  “Yes, I go there.”

  Morgan’s brow raises, I haven’t answered the question right. Thank goodness I’m saved by my baby brother throwing a toy on the kitchen floor. I duck under the table to retrieve it.

  “It’s a hike between Brighton and there.”

  “I’m not traveling up here during commute, so it’s manageable. My parents live south of Raleigh… A little closer to campus.”

  Morgan checks his watch. “You going to have enough time to make it to class today?”

  “Lucky me, she’s got the morning free,” Kimber supplies. “I might even get a shower before Sloan comes over. She’s got to go to an appointment then Carver is dropping her by. Do you have time for lunch, or do you have to get back to campus?” she asks me, getting excited. “Oh, you know what, Aidy? You’re about the same age as Jasper’s girlfriend. She goes to State too. Maybe we can all do brunch next time?”

  “Who is Jasper?” I ask, warily.

  “Sloan’s younger brother. His girlfriend could use a friend who she has more in common with.”

  “There are plenty of girls who go to the same school and are close to her age who live at the mill.” Morgan smirks.

  Trig clears his throat, ending the side conversation when he asks Morgan to pass the bacon.

  “You could talk me into going to lunch today,” I reply to Kimber’s earlier question. Easily, considering the way I’m struggling with my classes.

  Morgan turns his attention back to me. “Used to love loading my schedule so I could sleep until noon.”

  “You went to college? Where?”

  His teeth roll against his lips. “Long time ago. It was fun while it lasted.”

  The table falls silent. I can hear everyone chewing and find it peculiar M
organ doesn’t spill any information I could use to get to know him when he’s the one who’d started chatting me up.

  “We gotta get moving.” Trig pats Morgan’s shoulder. They take their dishes to the sink. Morgan thanks Kimber and Trig kisses her goodbye. The loving way he does it reminds me of how my parents are together.

  I haven’t seen much of my mom or dad, which is unusual. Freshman year, I tended to go home every other weekend. Most of the time it was unintentional. Our house is close enough to whatever I was doing on the weekend, making it easy to stop in and grab an apple, borrow or return something.

  My mind trickles over wanting to forget I am a student altogether. I’ve always excelled at school, but those first weeks my concentration failed and now I’m stumbling trying to keep up.

  The professors start the lectures and I want to curl up like a hedgehog does and cry. I get overwhelmed and my mind wanders so I miss even more. Dropping out this semester seems defeatist, and what excuse do I give my mom and dad? They’ll be crushed at the lie I’d tell to protect them. I’ll be heartbroken destroying their trust. And what do I do until the next semester starts? Will I even want to go back in January?

  I’m glad my only class today is later because going to lunch won’t be an acceptable excuse to skip. There is plenty of time to do both, and while I should focus on studying, I can’t get past the “why” of it. Why am I bothering to better myself? What difference did all those good grades mean? Straight As or my SAT score didn’t help me out when it mattered. I’m not even sure they are the life experience I needed anymore. All of this adds to the guilt I carry.

  “You okay, Dumplin’?” Kimber catches me staring off into space. “You look like you haven’t slept a wink.

  On the contrary, after settling Owen down for the evening, I sat in the guest room bed reading. I woke—surprised at how deeply I’d fallen asleep—when I thought I’d heard something in the middle of the night and clicked on the light. I don’t think it was anything, but my subconscious started spinning tales of intruders and I became unsettled the way I get in my dorm room.