Swamp Happens: The Complete Swamp Bottom Series

by Cora Kenborn

  Turning toward Pope, I shoved a finger into his chest. “You stay here.”

  Visibly tensing, he palmed the back of his neck. “Why?”

  “Have you met my sister? You go in with guns blazing and any chance you have at fixing this goes up in flames.” I placed a reassuring palm against his chest where my finger had been. “I need her to think I came here alone to get her talking.”

  Shoving his hands into his pockets, Pope leveled a hardened stare at me. “You have ten minutes.”

  “Aw, and you’re welcome for everything I’ve done for you, Pope.” Smirking, I gave him a quick pat before dropping my hand. “No need to thank me.”

  Leaving him rigid and ready to combust on the front porch, I reached for the doorknob, my stomach churning. Savannah Dubois operated on two ready to fight modes: dressed to kill and homicidal hobo. Deciphering the dress code before cultivating a plan of an attack was not only smart, it was a safety issue.

  As kids, I always knew when a boy had broken her heart or a bitch was getting ready to die simply by her attire. Level one was mismatched pajamas with pigtails and meant her heart was broken, but she cared enough to be upset. Level two consisted of full makeup, jewelry, and spiked heels, meaning she’d bypassed pissed and driven straight into Fuckville.

  Opening the door, I gasped as I crossed into the living room.

  Level three.

  Savannah lay sprawled out on Babs’ plastic covered floral couch, watching a daytime talk show about paternity tests and baby daddies. After slugging Dr. Pepper straight from a two-liter bottle, she let out a competition-worthy burp while spooning Funfetti frosting from the can with a butter knife.

  Mismatched pajamas would’ve been an upgrade. Taking a few steps back, I took in the creature who ate my sister. The one dressed in a cornflower blue terrycloth bathrobe and fuzzy, knee-high Big Bird socks.

  “Sav?”

  Letting out a startled scream, she flung the butter knife across the room, effectively spraying my face and the wall with rainbow frosting.

  “I not clean,” Babs announced from the kitchen. “You make mess, you fix.”

  “Jesus fuck, Ads!” Savannah yelled, grabbing her chest in shock. “Don’t you have anything better to do than chase me around the state of Louisiana?”

  Before I could cultivate a smart-ass answer, the front door flew open and a wide-eyed Pope barreled through it. “Savannah? Are you all right? I heard screaming.”

  Groaning, I covered my face with my hands and sighed. “I thought I told you to stay outside.”

  I might as well start talking to walls.

  Savannah spun around to face me, her eyes shooting venom. “Traitor!”

  Realizing he’d screwed up, Pope stepped between us and held up his hand. “Sav, please let me explain—”

  “No!” Savannah screamed, scooting to the back of couch while doing her best Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon imitation. “This is my happy place, and you just shit all over it! You can’t chase me like some criminal, Pope. It doesn’t work that way.”

  Pope’s eyes flared with restrained panic. “Sav—”

  “No!” In an impressive Cirque du Soleil move, my sister completed a full one-eighty turn and perched on the arm of the couch with her back to us.

  With a buzz of anticipation filling the room, the voice of unreason filtered in from the kitchen, giving Pope a light slap on the cheek only a grandmother could get away with. “You like vodka?”

  “Well, I…” Pope glanced to me for help, and I just grinned.

  “Come, we drink,” Babs announced, shuffling him toward the kitchen.

  Pope looked like he’d stumbled into a den of rabid honey badgers. “Isn’t it too early for vodka?”

  “Bah, never too early,” Babs mumbled. “In Soviet Russia, whole family take shot when first wake up. I drink vodka out of baby bottle.”

  “Isn’t that illegal?”

  Oh shit.

  Pausing at the threshold to the kitchen, my sweet old grandmother yanked out her teeth and spat right by Pope’s feet. “You Americans and your rules.”

  After Babs and Pope disappeared into the kitchen, I took a seat next to my sister and stared at her back until she broke.

  Cocking her chin over her shoulder, she shot me a death glare. “Welcome home, Judas.”

  “Savvy, just hear me out before you crucify me. You don’t know how upset he was when he didn’t know where you were. It tore him apart.”

  “I just took a page out of his own rulebook, Ads,” she said, sliding from the arm of the couch to the cushion. “For the record, complete honesty isn’t one of them.” Snatching the remote out of my hands, she raised the television volume to rock concert levels.

  Stealing the remote back, I hit the power button and turned the whole thing off.

  “Hey, I was watching that!”

  “Damn it, Savvy. You’re my sister, and I love you, but you’re sabotaging something really good with him over a misunderstanding.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “A misunderstanding, is that all it is? Then why do his friends get to meet his parents while he tells me they’re out of town?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Exactly,” she said, taking the remote back. “Glad you see it my way.”

  Nope. Not today, little sister.

  Grabbing the remote again, I tossed it across the living room. “What I do know is that you won’t find the answer hiding in Terrebonne while wearing a bathrobe and Big Bird socks.”

  “Am I just supposed to forgive and forget?”

  I thought for a moment before answering, knowing I was headed into hypocritical territory. “No, not right away. But how can there be anything to forgive if you won’t hear him out?”

  Silence.

  “I hate you sometimes.”

  “I know.” Patting her leg, I grinned at her. “I’ll go tell Pope you’re willing to talk to him. After that, get a shower. You have swamp ass.”

  As I stood to leave, she grabbed my hand, pulling me back. “Hey, Ads?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You should take your own advice.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll stop running when you do.” Giving my hand one last squeeze, she disappeared into the kitchen.

  29

  Shooting Stars

  Adelaide

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  For the second time in a week, I sat outside DuBlanc’s office building in tears.

  For the second time in a week, it was because of Zep.

  After Babs had forced Savannah and Pope to take repeated shots of vodka, the alcohol tore down their defenses enough for them to stop arguing and start listening. They stayed in the kitchen forever, laughing, crying, and from the slurping sounds coming from in there, either acting out the pasta scene from Lady and the Tramp or kissing. Raw-faced and googly-eyed, they emerged hand in hand and disappeared into the backyard.

  After giving repeated hugs, we said our goodbyes, promising Babs we’d return in a few weeks for her famous Sunday Gator Grill, and then I drove Daddy’s truck back to New Orleans alone.

  Apparently, if Savannah and Pope didn’t kiss for five fucking seconds, alarms sounded, and they burst into horny flames.

  Once we returned home, they headed for the stairs, and even noise-canceling headphones couldn’t drown out the sounds of their reunion. It wasn’t that I didn’t want them to be happy, but the constant declarations of love were just too much to handle.

  Needing to escape somewhere quiet to clear my head, I left a quick note for Savannah and grabbed the keys to the truck. It was Tuesday, meaning Zep and Bam-Bam would be out on the boat. With Savannah and Pope indisposed for the rest of the day, I’d be alone, free to wallow in my misery.

  Plus, I did kind of skip out on my own business for an entire day. Just thinking about the mountain of paperwork and voicemails that awaited me made me twitch. Now, staring at the building while barricaded inside the truck, I wondered if head
ing to a bar might be a better option.

  This is crazy. Be a woman and man up.

  After battling back and forth with myself on the merits of working as opposed to getting sloshed in the middle of the afternoon, my work ethic finally won out. Wiping my eyes, I collected my shit, put on my big girl panties, and walked across the parking lot while giving myself a much-needed pep talk.

  You are strong.

  You are a rock.

  You are an independent woman who doesn’t need a man.

  I reached for the doorknob, attempting to convince myself that whatever Zep and I had done had been a product of repressed lust and a defunct decision-making ability. As I argued with myself, the door jerked open, and I stumbled head first into a hard chest, the scent of sea salt and spice tickling my nose.

  This is not my life.

  “Addie?”

  I tried to be professional and keep my eyes just on his shirt, but “Horny Addie” kicked “Professional Addie” to the curb and roamed his entire body. Taking my time, I memorized the muddy work pants and plain white T-shirt he wore. For a woman who’d spent the better part of her adulthood married to a man in a three-piece suit, I wondered how Zep’s fashion-victim laundry basket look managed to shoot my desire into overdrive.

  Pushing off him, I smoothed a hand over my wild hair. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Zep barked out a harsh laugh. “I work here, which is more than I can say for you.”

  “Your car isn’t here.”

  “I met Bam at the docks this morning after leaving your house,” he said with an edge to his voice. “After docking the boat, we realized we needed more supplies, so I convinced him to drop by to check on the place since someone refused to answer my texts.”

  Busted.

  “My cell phone died.”

  His bored look clearly meant he didn’t buy it. “You’re full of shit, Addie. You’re not Savannah. You charge your phone the minute the battery hits forty percent.”

  “I didn’t think anyone would be here.”

  “How nice,” he answered with a smirk. “I see you decided to play the role of a business owner today.”

  Obviously, Zep and I couldn’t have a civil conversation without hurling insults. Words were bad, and actions were worse. Combined, they were a nuclear bomb that kept us running in circles.

  Dropping my keys in my purse, I barreled past him. “Not now, Zep.”

  Cursing, he grabbed my arm and twisted me around to face him. “Yes, now. Regardless of how you feel about me, I didn’t work my ass off for ten years to let you ruin what my Gramps and your Pappy built.”

  Word bomb dropped. Target ready to strike.

  Something inside me snapped, and I screamed while hitting him with my purse. “One minute! Can you give me one fucking minute to process the last twenty-four hours without demanding something from me? Jesus, Zep, you won’t let me breathe.”

  Tightening his grip on my arm, he closed the distance between us. “What’s with the hot and cold shit, Addie? You hate me one minute and the next you’re all over me. Make up your fucking mind.”

  I had made up my fucking mind.

  Hadn’t I?

  Unable to think with him so close, I jerked out of his hold and stormed past him, but he reacted too quickly and circled around me.

  “Answer me.”

  “Why is everything on me, huh? You don’t think you’re the king of mixed signals?” My world spun out of control as words I didn’t want to admit tumbled out of my mouth. “I threw myself at you, and you rejected me. What guy does that?” Almost at my breaking point, I tried to go around him, but he blocked my path again.

  “Oh, now you’re insulting my manhood?”

  “No,” I smirked. “I’m insulting you. If I wanted to insult your manhood, I’d say I’d seen bigger dicks on a sonogram.”

  Lie.

  I’d never seen bigger.

  In person or otherwise.

  Snorting, he raised an eyebrow. “Really? That’s surprising considering how loud you screamed last week.”

  “Shut up,” I said, shoving against his chest. “Zep, you couldn’t handle me thirteen years ago, and you sure as hell can’t handle me now.”

  “That’s what this is about? You think I’ll hurt you again?”

  “I don’t think,” I hissed through my teeth. “I know.”

  A defensive smirk curled his lip. “Tell me how you really feel, Addie.”

  “You listen to me,” I said, crowding him. “I’ve lived the last ten years as an acceptable choice instead of the one my husband couldn’t live without. I was a project, Zep—a fucking doormat he wiped his designer loafers on every night. I never expected to come back home, and I sure as hell never meant to find myself back in your bed.”

  “You didn’t.” His eyes darkened. “We started out on the table.”

  “This conversation is over. I’m going home.” I made it to the door before rough hands grabbed me from behind and spun me around. Slamming me against the door, he wedged a boot in between my legs.

  “No, you’re not. I can’t take this anymore, Addie. This? The way we are? The shit isn’t working. I can’t concentrate. I’m fucking up on the boat, and I haven’t slept in days. I swore if I ever saw you again, I’d do whatever it took to convince you I’d changed, but shit, Addie… I don’t think it’s me who needs to change.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugged. “Enough is enough. Either you’re in, or you’re out. You decide right now what you want because I can’t keep taking cold showers every five fucking minutes.”

  “Are you giving me an ultimatum?”

  “Yeah, I guess I am,” he said, running his free hand through his hair. “We don’t do middle ground, and you know it. Either we’re in this one hundred percent, or we drop the bullshit and move on like normal human beings.”

  When I convinced myself to walk into the office today, I had no idea I’d step through the door and run into another crossroad. When Zep wasn’t around, it was easy to convince myself he was just a physical manifestation of my surging independence. In the thirteen years since I left home, I’d managed to vilify Zep and turn him into the living embodiment of evil and destroyer of my happiness. The minute I came back to Terrebonne, he rocked the perfect world I’d created for myself and made me question everything I believed.

  I’d run my whole life.

  I ran from him. I ran from Terrebonne. And I ran from Sugarbirch.

  I’m tired of running.

  Zep ran a hand down the length of my hair, and I weakened under his touch. I felt like a shaken can of soda ready to explode.

  Palming my cheek, he held my stare. “This is on your terms.”

  My terms.

  It was the first time I felt in control. Zep willingly handed over a decision that affected both of us. Shocked, I realized it gave me the confidence to finally say what needed to be said.

  The moment I opened my mouth, he shoved his cell phone in my hand. “Call him. Tell him you’ll give him back his fucking name and be done with it. You don’t need it. Give him what he wants and then give me what I want.”

  I froze.

  “Don’t you see how strong you are?” he continued, bending his knees and gazing at me from eye-level. “He didn’t break you. You’re still my Addie.”

  The warmth of his hand and the heat of his stare spurred me on. He was right. Roland didn’t break me. “Old Addie” did what everyone else wanted. “New Addie” took what she wanted.

  And she wanted Zep.

  Until the phone in my hand chimed.

  Hey Big Sexy! Did you say to meet you at five or five-thirty?

  “New Addie” also wanted to come first for once.

  As my heart dropped to my feet, I shoved the phone in his face. “Your date.”

  His eyebrows squished together as his eyes scanned the text. “I can’t stop my friends from texting me, Addie.”

  “Friend,” I repe
ated, choking on the word. “Is that all she is? Look me in the eye and tell me you’ve never had sex with her.”

  The moment I issued the challenge, I already knew the answer. His face fell, and his jaw ticked with unspoken truth as his phone chimed again.

  “Addie…”

  Turning his phone around, I read the words that put a final nail in the coffin then handed it back to him while hugging my purse tightly. “Enjoy your date, Zep.” Swallowing hard, I opened the door and nodded toward the phone in his hand. “She’ll be ten minutes late, by the way.”

  His cynical voice forced a stumble in my step. “Jo was before you came back to town. Jesus, did you expected me to be celibate for ten years?” When I didn’t respond, he grabbed my arm again. “Maybe if we were together, I wouldn’t need other friends.”

  And maybe if we were together, I’d just end up pushed to the back of the stage again.

  “I can’t be duck number twenty-seven again, Zep.”

  Without giving him a chance to respond, I closed the door for the last time.

  Gone to Pope’s

  I want to surprise him when he gets off work. Don’t wait up. *wink*

  By the way, you really need to take a vacay or something. Your insane work ethic is going to kill you one day.

  Sav

  Throwing my purse and keys on the floor, I balled up the note I found on a side table and threw it across the room. It landed next to a pile of dirty dishes and unfolded laundry, and I couldn’t help the dry laugh that fell from my mouth.

  God, Zep was right.

  We are fucking nasty.

  Comforted by the silence, I barely made it to the couch before collapsing into an explosion of tears. How stupid could one person be? If Josie’s text had been ten minutes later, I would’ve called Roland, and then Zep and I would’ve been naked and sweaty on top of my desk without a care in the world.

  Maybe this whole move to New Orleans was a mistake. Things weren’t so bad in Terrebonne. It was safe, familiar, and most importantly, Zep-free. Since we’d already moved the business, there wasn’t much I could do on that end. However, the drive from Terrebonne to New Orleans was just a little over an hour, doable for a commute.