Spring Romance

by Bailey, Tessa

  I’d never hit my father before. Never would have dreamed of it.

  Or, I had.

  I blew out a deep breath. Bryce was right. I had to get some answers. “Let’s go.”

  We exited the car in unison, and I took her hand, marching us to the side door. I didn’t knock. We found Dad waiting on the leather couch in the living room.

  Without a word, I sat in a chair across from him. Bryce took the other in the room. The pair used to match the couch, but Mom had had them reupholstered a few months before she’d died to a deep green. They were ugly as sin, but the second Dad was ready to get replacements, I was taking these two chairs home.

  Dad’s eyes were red rimmed and his skin pale. That gash was a lot worse up close and could probably use a couple of stitches. His salt and pepper hair was a mess, oily and in need of a good shampoo.

  While I’d somehow managed to fall asleep in Bryce’s bed last night, Dad looked like he hadn’t slept a wink.

  “I want to know why.” I broke the silence, wanting to talk first. This visit wasn’t for Dad; he didn’t deserve to run the show. “I want to know why you did this to her.”

  “It was a mistake.” Dad’s voice cracked. “Your mother and Amina were friends. Best friends.”

  Bryce stiffened, her face snapping my way. “Did you know that?”

  Yes. I stayed quiet. If I told her about that stupid yearbook picture, she’d get pissed and leave. I needed Bryce for this today. Having her here provided a buffer. I’d keep my temper in check with her in the room. I couldn’t risk her finding out and leaving me to deal with Dad alone.

  Dad’s gaze held mine. He knew I was lying by omission, but there was no way he’d speak up, not when he knew my white lie was nothing compared to the sins he’d committed.

  “Keep going,” I ordered.

  “We spent a lot of time together, the three of us. Your mom never left Amina out. She loved Amina.”

  That love was apparently one-sided if her best friend had slept with her husband.

  “I didn’t know.” Dad hung his head. “I didn’t see it. I think maybe your mom did and that was why she began to put some distance between her and Amina their senior year. But I didn’t see it.”

  “See what?” I asked.

  “Amina was in love with you,” Bryce guessed.

  Dad nodded. “She was my friend. That’s all it ever was for me. I’ve never loved another woman other than Chrissy.”

  “Then how could you fuck her friend and get her pregnant?” My fists pounded on my knees.

  Bryce’s hand stretched across the space between our chairs, covering one of my fists. Thank fuck, she’d come with me today. I already wanted to leave. But her hand held firm, keeping me in my seat.

  “Amina left Clifton Forge after high school. Didn’t think much of it when she and your mom stopped talking for a couple of years. Figured they’d drifted apart. But then Amina called her one random afternoon. Came to visit and spent the weekend in town. They came to party at the clubhouse one night.”

  “And that was when—”

  “No.” Dad shook his head. “Not then. Amina went back to Denver. But after that first trip, she came back every year. Always in the summer. Always for a weekend. She’d come party at the clubhouse, get drunk, hook up. You boys were young and the clubhouse wasn’t really your mom’s scene anymore. Wasn’t really mine either, truthfully. But Amina was single so we didn’t think much of it.”

  The story was progressing, and my skin was crawling. But I kept my jaw screwed shut.

  “Chrissy and I hit a rough patch. You and Nick were boys then. My God, we fought. All the time. Every day.”

  “When? I don’t remember you ever fighting.”

  “She hid it.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “She put a smile on when you both were home because she didn’t want you to know. We’d tolerate one another and then duke it out when you and Nick were asleep. She didn’t like how things were going with the club, we were taking risks and I was keeping stuff from her. It got so bad, she kicked me out.”

  “But you always lived here.” I would have remembered if he’d moved out.

  “You were only eight. Nick was twelve. We told you both I was going on a run. A long one. And I spent three weeks living at the clubhouse.”

  Now that trip, I remembered. Dad had never been gone so long before and Mom was sad. Because she missed him. Guess there was more to it.

  “You missed my go-cart race. I was mad at you for being gone because I won and you didn’t see me win.” I scoffed. “But you were in town the whole time.”

  “I watched you win that race from behind a pair of binoculars about a hundred yards away.”

  “You lied to us.”

  He nodded. “Because your mom asked me to.”

  “You don’t get to blame anything on her,” I snapped. “Ever.”

  Dad held up a hand. “I’m not. This is on me. All of it.”

  “So while you were living at the clubhouse, Amina came up for a visit,” Bryce said.

  “Yeah. We had a party. The pair of us got drunk and high. Things are hazy but I took her to bed. The next morning, I woke up and knew I’d made a horrible mistake. Told her the same. She started crying and confessed to being in love with me. Amina hated herself for it. She loved Chrissy too.”

  Who the fuck cared about Amina? She didn’t get to love Dad. He wasn’t hers to love. And she sure as hell didn’t love Mom, not if she’d fuck her friend’s husband. For the first time, I couldn’t find it in myself to feel sorry that Amina had been stabbed to death.

  And I’d never forgive Dad for doing this to Mom.

  “I hate you for this.”

  Dad let out a dry laugh. “Son, I’ve hated myself for twenty-six years.”

  “And Mom? Did she hate you too? Because you came home. You seemed happy. Or was that all bullshit?”

  “I came back. Got on my knees and begged your mom to let me come home.”

  “She forgave you?” My eyes bulged. “No way.”

  Dad’s face paled as his eyes filled with tears.

  “You never told her,” Bryce whispered. “She never knew.”

  “She never knew.” His voice was hoarse. Thick. “Amina and I both promised to keep it quiet. She knew it would crush Chrissy, so she went home to Denver and didn’t come back. It ate at me. I’d finally decided to confess. To come clean. But then . . .”

  “She was murdered.” My voice was flat and lifeless, like my mother’s body alone in her grave.

  “I let your mother down in every way possible.” A tear fell down his face. “I’ve wished for years I’d had the courage to tell her about Amina because then she would have left me. She should have left me, then she wouldn’t have been planting flowers that day. But I was a coward, scared to lose her.”

  “You lost her anyway.”

  Another tear fell, dripping down his cheek and into the beard he’d grown since the arrest. “My silence was the biggest mistake of my life.”

  My throat burned and my heart broke. What would have happened if he’d told her the truth? Would Mom still be alive?

  “What about your daughter?” Bryce asked. “She doesn’t know about you.”

  “Because I didn’t know about her. Not until Amina called me last month and asked me to meet her at the Evergreen Motel.”

  I closed my eyes, not wanting to hear any more. But I couldn’t find the strength to stand. So I sat there, thinking of my beautiful mother and how unfair this was. All she’d done was love a selfish, cowardly man. And he’d destroyed her. He’d had a child with another woman.

  “We talked about Genevieve that night,” Dad said. “It took me a few hours to get my head wrapped around it, that I had a daughter. And I was furious that she’d kept it from me.”

  “But you fucked her?” Again. He’d fucked that bitch again.

  He lowered his eyes as I fumed. It was like he’d spit on Mom’s grave.

  Bryce’s hand on mine squeeze
d tight. “Did you do it, Draven? Did you kill her?”

  I opened my eyes, locking my gaze on him. It would be so much easier if he said yes. Then he’d rot in a prison cell and I’d never think about my father again.

  “No. I didn’t kill her.” It was the truth. “I calmed down and we talked for hours. Amina was sorry about keeping Genevieve away, but she was scared. She knew Chrissy had been killed. She knew being in my life could put her daughter at risk. So she stayed away.”

  “Why did she come back now?” Bryce asked.

  “She said it was time her daughter knew her father. I think she got word the Gypsies had shut down and waited to make sure it was safe.”

  Safe. I surged from my chair and walked to the window. “Has it ever been safe?”

  Both of the women who’d loved my father had died violent deaths. He hadn’t stabbed Amina, but he’d killed her all the same. Like he’d killed Mom.

  “You deserve to spend the rest of your life in prison,” I said to the glass.

  “No question,” Dad replied instantly. “I do.”

  No matter how angry I was at him, I wouldn’t let that happen. Not for Dad, but the rest of us. If someone was out to get Draven Slater, there was a very real possibility the rest of us were up next.

  Besides, Dad should have to live in this house for the rest of his life. It was the prison of his own making. He could live out his years alone here, surrounded by the ghost of his dead wife. And no judge or jury would ever punish him the way he’d been punishing himself.

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Okay.” I turned and walked away from the window, straight out of the room.

  Bryce hesitated, but when I didn’t pause, she hurried to catch up.

  I was nearly to her car when Dad called my name. It wasn’t from behind at the side door. He’d walked through the front door to stand on the porch.

  Dad didn’t utter another word. Instead, he fisted his hands and took the porch steps one at a time.

  How long had it been since he’d walked those steps? On the last one, his foot hovered over the cement of the sidewalk, reluctant to put it down. When it landed, his boot was heavy and sluggish.

  Slowly, painfully, Dad walked down the path toward the place where Mom had been. The last time I’d seen him on that sidewalk had been the worst day of my life.

  Nick had rushed inside to call him. My brother’s screams had been so loud and frantic, they’d carried outside to the street. I’d knelt by Mom’s body, a scared boy crying and begging it to be a nightmare.

  Dad had raced home from the garage. When he’d jumped off his bike, he’d come right to Mom, pushing me aside. Then he’d scooped her up into his arms and wailed, his heart broken.

  Our lives broken.

  The memory snuck up on me. The pain in my chest was unbearable, making my legs weak and my head dizzy. My arm shot out, searching for something to grab.

  I found Bryce. She came right to my side, standing straight. She was my rock as Dad took one last step and dropped his head.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered to the ground, then he looked at me. “I’m sorry.”

  “You never should have started the club.” Words I never thought I’d say.

  I hadn’t blamed the club for Mom’s death. Nick had. But I hadn’t. I’d blamed the man who’d pulled the trigger, the one Dad had promised me had been dealt a cruel, slow death.

  Now? Now I wished I’d never been a Tin Gypsy.

  “You’re right.” Dad nodded. “I never should have started the club.”

  At least it’s gone now.

  I let go of Bryce, turning my back on my father for the car.

  She didn’t make me wait. She jogged to the driver’s side and got in, reversing out of the driveway and speeding down the street. Dad just stood in the same place on the sidewalk, staring at his feet like he could still see Mom’s body there.

  I leaned forward, dropping my head into my hands as I squeezed my eyes shut. My stomach churned. The pressure in my head was overpowering. White spots popped in my vision. The sharp sting in my head was like a dull dagger being pushed slowly into my temple.

  Was this a panic attack? Anxiety? I’d never had either, but I was three seconds from puking in Bryce’s car.

  “Want me to pull over?” she asked.

  “No. Drive.” I swallowed hard. “Keep driving.”

  “Okay.” Her hand came to my spine, rubbing up and down before returning it to the wheel.

  I focused on the hum of the wheels against the blacktop, breathing deep to fight the emotions. Miles later, when I wasn’t afraid I’d puke or cry or scream, I opened my mouth. “I miss Mom. She was so happy, and damn, she loved us. All of us. Even him.”

  Fuck. One tear slipped free and I swiped it away, refusing to let more fall.

  “I wish he had told her.”

  “Yeah,” I choked out.

  “But since he didn’t, I’m glad she never knew about Amina,” Bryce said gently.

  Part of me would have liked to see her kick Dad’s ass for it. To leave him and punish him for being unfaithful. But it would have broken her heart. “Me too.”

  Bryce drove through town, going nowhere as she turned down one road, then the next. Finally, when I had pulled myself together, I asked, “Would you take me to my bike?”

  “Sure. Are you feeling okay to ride?”

  “Yeah. I’m not sure what that was. Strange feeling though.”

  She gave me a sad smile. “Grief, if I had to guess.”

  “Never goes away.”

  Bryce drove a few blocks until we were on Central Avenue and headed for The Betsy. “Genevieve didn’t have a last name for Amina’s boyfriend. We’ll have to keep digging to find out who he is. If you even want to.”

  “You’re assuming I don’t want Dad to go to prison.”

  “I know you don’t,” she said. “You want the truth just as much as I do. Someone killed Amina, and that person deserves to be brought to justice.”

  “Agreed.” I wouldn’t let that person threaten my family. Nick and Emmeline. Their kids. Emmett and Leo. Presley. They were the only family that mattered now. “How do you want to go about finding the boyfriend?”

  “Genevieve didn’t have any pictures because I doubt Amina ever took them. Apparently, she didn’t talk about him much. All Genevieve knew was his name, Lee.”

  “Genevieve.” Her name tasted bitter.

  I hated her already.

  It wasn’t logical, but emotions were gripping the handlebars today. Genevieve was no sister of mine. She was someone I’d do my best to forget was breathing.

  “Yes, that’s her name.” Bryce frowned. “Before you condemn her for the actions of her parents, remember that she just lost her mother too. She’s a sweet person. Kind and genuine.”

  “She means nothing.”

  “She is your half sister, like it or not. Before this is over, she’s going to learn about Draven. About you. Right now, she thinks he’s responsible for killing her only parent. How do you think she’s going to feel when the man who she thinks murdered her mother is actually her father? Take it easy on Genevieve. She doesn’t deserve your anger. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Jesus,” I grumbled. “Do you always have to be so reasonable?”

  “Yes.”

  I fought a grin. “So now what? The daughter—”

  “Genevieve,” she corrected.

  “Genevieve is a dead end. What’s next?”

  “I don’t know.” She sighed. “Honestly, with everything that’s happened over the last couple of days, I need some time to think. To let it breathe until it comes to me.”

  Breathing and time sounded good to me too.

  The parking lot at The Betsy was nearly empty when we arrived. My bike was parked beside the building where I’d left it last night. No one who went to The Betsy would dare touch it.

  Bryce stayed in her seat as she waited for me to get out of
the car. “Bye.”

  “Call you later.”

  “You don’t have my number.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

  I’d had her phone number memorized since the day she’d come to the garage for a fake oil change. Willy had given it to me when I’d called him. I doubted Bryce knew her employee had once been a frequent guest at our underground fights. He’d always bet on me and I’d made him a lot of money, so there wasn’t much he kept to himself whenever I called.

  “Fine. Whatever. Call me later.”

  She left me at my bike and I watched her drive away.

  I waited a whole five minutes before digging my phone out of my pocket.

  “Seriously?” she answered, a smile in her voice. “Do I need to be worried that you’re turning into a clinger?”

  Yes. There was no keeping my boundaries with her. She’d stood by me these past twenty-four hours and things were different. From the beginning, everything about her had been different.

  “Got a deal for you,” I said, straddling my bike. “I’ll fold the rest of your laundry if you cook me dinner.”

  “I’m making breakfast for dinner. I feel like biscuits and gravy.”

  My mouth watered. “I could eat breakfast.”

  “I’m making the biscuits from scratch. It’s a pain in the ass and makes a mess. Toss in cleanup with the laundry and you can come over at six.”

  How was it this woman could make me smile after the afternoon we’d had?

  Sorcery.

  “I’ll be there.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Bryce

  “Good morning,” I said as I walked into the Clifton Forge Garage. One of the men I’d seen the first day I came here was working on a motorcycle in the first stall.

  “Hey there.” He glanced over his shoulder from his crouched position on the floor.

  This one wasn’t Emmett. Emmett was the bigger guy with long hair. “You’re Isaiah, right?”

  “Yep.” He finished tightening something—a bolt?—with a something tool—a wrench? I’d have to work on my car terms if I was going to hang around here. He put the tool down, then stood. “You’re Bryce.”