Have Mercy
Page 10
She has the audacity to look guilty, even though I know damn well she’s the one that supplied him with the needle filled with a fast-acting sedative that’ll knock me out for at least five to six hours.
I glance back at Malachi, already swaying to the side of the chair. “Goddamn you.” My eyes waver, drooping. “I’m going to beat your ass for this, you fuckhea—”
I can’t even finish my threat before my lights turn completely out, then I’m gone from the here and now.
17
— Jamie —
Present
I’m startled awake by what sounds like the front door being kicked in. My eyes snap open and for a brief moment I forget where I am. Then the night comes back to me and I realize I crashed out waiting for Jenna to return home.
“Mom!” I hear yelled from the railing overlooking the living room. My tired and heavy head glancing up to see Danny standing barefoot on the landing in only a pair of black basketball shorts. When his eyes grow large, I swing my head to see why he’s so concerned.
He’s down the stairs before I’m able to take in the large guy walking in the door. He’s tall, and that’s an understatement. The man is huge, with long, straight black hair that hangs down his back. When my gaze lands on his face, I know immediately who he is. Don’t remember the guy’s name, but I’m almost certain it’s who I’m thinking of.
“Did you fucking drug her? Again?” Danny emphasizes.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” he says, an eyebrow arching up.
I sit up, taking stock of everything as Brandon walks lazily down the stairs. Cole stirs from where he was asleep at one end of the couch. Trey had crashed at the other end at some point hours ago, and Seth is lying on his stomach across from me on the other couch. He’s still unmoving, which doesn’t surprise me. Seth can sleep through a 5.0 earthquake on the Richter scale.
“Well, did you, Uncle Mal?” he demands, crossing his arms over his bare chest. The boy could put a lot of grown men to shame with his size, maybe even me. I work out like it’s my religion, even when I’m on tour, but I’d be willing to bet he’s in the gym daily.
Uncle Mal?
Malachi.
That’s exactly who I first thought of, though he still looks similar if memory serves me correct. He’s also very, very different from the piss-ant little kid I remember that used to fawn all over Julia back in high school.
“You bet your ass I did.” He nods his head. “Move and let me deposit her in bed.”
What the hell is going on? The burning sensation below my skin is starting to sizzle, but I know I need to keep my cool. He may be bigger than me and he can probably take me, but if he hurt her, so help me God, I will beat him within an inch of his life.
I stand, my teeth grinding in my mouth.
Cole scoots up, his legs dropping to the rug beneath the couch. Trey lifts, then turning, he tosses one arm over the back of the couch, watching Danny disappear behind Malachi as he strides down a short hallway where they enter the last door on the right. That must be Jenna’s bedroom. I haven’t ventured far from the living room except for when I went down that same hall last night to locate a bathroom to take a piss.
“That’s the second time this month,” Danny whisper-yells, coming back out of Jenna’s room, Malachi following him and shutting the door after exiting.
“What would you have me do, Danny?” he asks, striding back toward the rest of us. Once they are both back out in the living room, Danny turns around, eyeing Malachi as he’s being addressed. “Wait until she’s gone forty-eight hours without sleep? Or maybe seventy-two is the number before I should step in. You know what happened the last time, and I’ll be damned if I let her fuck up like that again. She doesn’t have nine lives like she seems to think.”
Danny nods in agreement with his course of action.
Under no circumstance was drugging her acceptable.
“Malachi Hayes?” Trey offers, cocking his head to the side. “Didn’t we go to school with you?”
His gaze travels over, taking each of us in, except for Cole, which strikes me as odd seeing as Cole came off more nervous than not when this guy walked through the door.
“Surprised you remember me, to be honest, Thompson,” he says, addressing Trey by his last name. Something about his tone rubs me the wrong way, but then again, I never liked this fucker.
“A little hard to forget the scrawny little kid that used to be obsessed with my wife,” I cut in.
He snorts, pissing me off. “And here I thought she was your ex-wife.” His expression suddenly changes from easy to lethal. “That cunt is the last person you need to bring up in front of me. Remember that, Hart.”
I glance at Brandon before training my dark gaze back on Malachi. “Really?” I ask. “In front of my son you’re going to call his mother that?”
“Nothing he hasn’t heard before.” He places his hands on his wide hips. “See, unlike Jen, I don’t sugarcoat shit in front of him.”
That makes Brandon burst out in a laugh. “Since when does Jenna sugarcoat anything? Especially around me or to me.”
Taking in my son’s demeanor, he doesn’t seem the least bit upset by the way Malachi referenced his mother, and that has me a bit concerned. We may be divorced, and I may hate the bitch and think she’s a cunt myself, but I’d never show that sentiment in front of Brandon. He should have come to her defense like I already know Danny would have if that had been said about Jenna.
“She does when it comes to you,” Malachi remarks. “You’re just oblivious to it.”
“Yeah, okay.” Brandon nods, even though it’s evident in his tone he disagrees.
“She does, actually,” Danny says, agreeing with Malachi. Danny reaches up with this right hand, grabbing the back of his neck and for the first time since I’ve laid eyes on my son, he appears vulnerable, and something tells me it’s rare for him to let his guard down. He looks like he didn’t sleep at all.
After Danny found out I’d taken Jenna’s necklace, he spent the next hour in a sour mood, glowering out the window, waiting for his mom to come home. He finally stalked up the stairs to his room and Brandon soon followed, though I noticed he walked into a different room than the one his brother did. It didn’t go unnoticed that it did seem a bit odd, though I guess they are a bit too old for sleepovers so perhaps Brandon sleeps in a spare bedroom.
“Jesus Christ, Danny, you look like Hell warmed over.” Malachi’s brows wrinkle with concern and disappointment. Seeing other male authority figures interacting with Danny, first Cole and now Malachi is pissing me off more and more as each minute ticks by.
“I didn’t get much sleep,” he bites out.
“If you were worried then you should have just called her. She would have answered, and you know that. Hell, you could have called me.” He sighs, shaking his head. “You know the only time she doesn’t answer her phone is when she goes dark, and when that happens, she prepares you well in advance, kid.”
“I’m fine.”
“You aren’t.” He pins my son with the same type of stare I’ve given Brandon dozens of times when I’m calling bullshit on what’s coming out of his mouth. As a parent, I’d like to think I can tell when something is bothering my child. Then again, after what I learned last night—my son’s overdose—maybe I’m not as in tuned as I thought. “Now go get back in bed.”
“Can’t. Gotta be at the gym in an hour.”
“You step foot in that ring, and he’ll wipe the floor with you. Either text him and cancel or I’ll do it myself. And boy, if I have to do that shit, you better bet your ass I’m going to wipe the floor with you the next time you step in a ring with me,” Malachi breathes, his face relaxing. “Don’t make me tell you again, Danny. Get your ass up those stairs.” He raises his arm, pointing his index finger in the direction of the stairway. “And get some damn sleep before I shove a sedative down your throat.”
Danny raises an eyebrow, almost like a challenge.
“T
ouch him and it’ll be the last thing you ever touch again,” I say, unable to hold back any longer.
He has the audacity to laugh, and yeah, sure, he’s a hell of a lot bigger than he used to be, but that doesn’t make a bit of difference to me. I might have found out about Danny less than twelve hours ago, and his mother and I have yet to talk, but that doesn’t negate the fact that he’s my son and I’ll be damned if anyone harms him while I’m around.
Malachi makes a move toward me, rounding the couch but Cole stands in a second flat, stepping between us.
“Now isn’t the time to throw your weight around,” he says, his hand flattening against Malachi’s broad chest. “He just found out about Danny. Give him a break.”
“Last I checked,” Danny mouths, “I don’t need anyone coming to my rescue.” And with those last words, he turns, heading toward the stairs.
Malachi grabs Cole, fisting the material of his white T-shirt in his hand and yanks him to where their chests are inches from each other. Taking a step back, I eye them in a different light.
“Really?” Cole gestures. “In front of the kids?”
Brandon laughs, then turns, tailing his brother up the stairs while he tosses over his shoulder, “Like we don’t know that you two bone.”
They do?
Since when is Cole seeing anyone? And if memory serves me right, he was just talking about some chick he banged yesterday at the bakery down the street from his house. Sure, he bats for both teams, but he’s usually a one-man or one-woman kind of guy. Never is he promiscuous.
I’m not so sure I’m okay with this. Not Cole having a relationship with another man. I don’t give a rat’s ass about that as long as the guy is good to my best friend. Malachi, on the other hand, seems like a douche, and from what I remember of his obsession with Julia, I know Cole can do much better and deserves better.
I may be pissed at him at the moment, but the rational side of me knows he wouldn’t have kept something this vital from me without a damn good reason. I just want to know what that reason is so that I can understand why. Right now, there’s nothing inside my head that I can fathom any reason good enough that he’d go along with keeping the knowledge that I have another son from me. I just can’t. There’s nothing logical, and I keep asking myself the same thing over and over again. Why?
“I should ask you why he and your other two bandmates are here. She’s going to be pissed when she wakes if you don’t get them the fuck out of here.”
“He isn’t going anywhere until he’s had a talk with her,” I bark. “If she’s going to be pissed at someone, my bet’s on you, seeing as you admitted to drugging her.” My blood boils as the words roll off my tongue, wanting to kick his ass for whatever it was he gave her.
Who does something like that? And why is the better question.
Does she really work herself to the bone so often that she doesn’t take care of herself? Or was she just avoiding me?
Guess I’m not going to get those answers until she’s conscious.
She better get whatever rest she needs, because as soon as her eyes open, she’s gonna start talking. I’m not leaving here until she does.
18
— Jenna —
Twenty-one years ago
I see Jamie standing in front of his locker, inserting a thick textbook, then retrieving another in equal size. He has Algebra next period, so I won’t get to see him until school ends at three-twenty this afternoon. It sucks. Now that I’m in ninth grade, in high school, I thought I’d get to see him a lot more than when he was a freshman last year and I was still stuck in junior high.
I only get maybe sixty-seconds between a couple of classes. Not even our lunch times are the same. I’m always leaving the cafeteria, going back to class when his class breaks for lunch.
Stopping next to him, my backpack hanging around both of my shoulders, I lean against the locker next to his, praying that whoever it’s assigned to doesn’t walk up, interrupting us.
“Hey,” I say, greeting the hottest boy in Thatcher High School. His jet-black hair is short in the back, damn near to his skull, neat and trim, but the strands on top are much longer and his bangs hang down in front of his eyes.
He closes his locker door and the lock snaps in place automatically. He grabs me by the waist, pulling my body flush with his own, not wasting a second of our time together between bells.
“What’s up with you and that new girl?” he asks, tipping my chin up so I’m staring him in the eyes.
“What do you mean?” I lift up on my tippy toes to give him a chaste kiss on his lips. That’s all I usually chance while we’re at school. There is no telling when teachers are watching. They don’t like when boys and girls or even when same-sex couples display what they deem inappropriate behaviors. They catch you, chances are you’ll end up in detention, and if that happens again, my parents are going to kill me. It’s only the beginning of the year and I’ve already had to stay after school twice this month.
“You’ve never hung out with other chicks before.” He squeezes my butt, obviously not giving an ounce of care if anyone sees us. It’s one of the many things I love about him. “I don’t know. It seems like you’ve taken her under your wing or something.”
“Jamie.” I cock my head, looking into his gorgeous indigo eyes. “She’s new. She didn’t have any friends. I thought I’d be nice for once. Good karma and all, besides, she seems cool. Don’t you think?”
“Maybe. But you’re way cooler and I miss my girlfriend hanging out with me and the rest of the band.”
“I doubt Cole does.” I laugh. “And we both know Seth couldn’t care either way. He’s just there to play.”
“Cole can kiss my ass. You’re right about Seth, but Trey likes you. Sometimes, I think he likes you a little too much.”
I laugh again. “Trey just likes bouncing girl stuff off me and having someone to bitch to. The rest of you don’t ever want to hear it.”
“Because we’re not bitches with pussies.” That earns him a backhand against his toned stomach. He chuckles, and we both know my hit didn’t faze him one bit. “I’ll tell you what,” he says. “Why don’t you bring her over with you. You can be all girl-friendly and still hang with me.”
“You sure?” I know he is. He wouldn’t have offered if he wasn’t cool with it. Still, I don’t want to get in the way or be a distraction when all four of them are working their asses off on new music. They’re starting to get local gigs, so they need to spend as much time together outside of school honing their talent.
The bell rings again, signaling we have thirty-seconds to be in our next class with our butts in the seat or get marked as tardy. I don’t need any more of those either.
“Yes. Now make sure this fine ass”—he squeezes my butt cheek—”is at my house by four. Later, babe,” he says, releasing me and jogging down the hall so that he isn’t late. Something I need to be doing too, just in the opposite direction as him.
Present
I dream about him more often than what has to be considered normal. It’s been nearly two decades and I still have vivid dreams, or nightmares if you really think about it, about my high school boyfriend. My only boyfriend, seeing as I haven’t dated anyone since him. Hell, until last night—
“About damn time.” His voice coats my skin, making goose bumps pop up on my bare arms and stilling my thoughts.
He’s here.
He’s here in my house.
Logically, the only way he would have found out where I live is if Cole told him, or if he called Brandon and got him to tell him. Either are likely. Brandon isn’t a good liar. Sure, he can withhold the truth, but once something is known, he isn’t apt at withstanding pressure. God I love the boy, but that is where he and Danny differ. But then, I trained my son to be exactly the man he’s turning into. Strong. Resilient. Unbreakable.
I have my reasons for being as hard on him as I am, and every one of them is because I love him more than life itself.
A couple of years later when I finally met Brandon for the first time—an unplanned meeting on my part—it was like that little blond boy coated my heart in honey. Sure, he was half Julia, but there was so much more than the DNA that made him up. He was him, and instead of being sad or pissed off over what Anne had done, he made me smile and laugh. I think that was the third time in my life that I fell in love.
“Are you okay?” he asks when I don’t acknowledge his presence.
I sigh, letting out a tired breath, then I look over to my right. Long seconds of silence pass, but then my eyes bug and it’s only now that I realize he’s in my bed—with me. Jamie Hart is lying on his side, resting his head on his hand with his tattooed elbow digging into my mattress.
His flesh wasn’t marked by ink back when he was mine. Not that I’m complaining now, because I’m not. They’re hot, and as much as I wish I didn’t think he was, Jamie’s still hot too. Like the shadow stalker that I am, I’ve memorized every single one of his tattoos. He’s a famous musician, so it isn’t hard to know when he’s gotten new ink when he’s in the media and fans post his picture on Facebook and Instagram daily. I know this because I have an alert on my phone for the hashtags #JamieHart, #BleedingHart, and last but not least #BleedingHartSummerTour. Yeah, I’m fucking pathetic.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, ignoring his question. By the scowl that graces his face, he doesn’t like me not answering him. After a beat and he doesn’t respond, I ask again. “What are you doing in my house, Jamie?”