“So Cole and I were talking—” he glanced at her “—about Poughkeepsie and safety and stuff. How are you feeling about it?”
She closed one eye and exhaled. “I don’t know. That’s a tough one. I guess I’m shaken. I fought for a lot in Poughkeepsie. I grew up there. Married you.”
She made eye contact and smiled. He counted.
“But by the same token, there’s enough to worry about every day without wondering if someone after Beckett and Eve will drag our kids into the crossfire—even though I know he’s trying to be a different person now. I think we could stay if it was just us, but I can’t look at their faces and not want to protect them.” She shrugged.
“So, do you think we should move?” Blake would do anything for her.
“I wish there was a way we could stay. And that Beckett could stay too.” She looked out the window and traced a raindrop’s descent on the window with her finger. “But the kids come first. I think we have to talk to Beckett.”
Blake nodded in agreement even though she wasn’t looking at him. She’d summed it up perfectly.
5
Sevan
Sevan Harmon needed two things: More money, of course. Always more money. And more respect. His life was forever a chess game played on a roulette wheel. He’d had to take precise, informed, ball-dropping gambles to get where he’d been.
As he smiled at yet another topless model, toasting her with his martini, he plotted. She knelt. He was willing to bet she had no clue he was on four hit lists and at least six hundred dollars overdrawn in his bank account. Based on the impeccable tailoring of his white linen pants and the gleam of his expensive watch, he suspected she thought she was about to deliver a semi-public blow job that might result in actual cash coming from the tip of his penis. Happy December from the heart of paradise, currently found in Mexico. Screw snow, ice, and tiny, cold dicks.
As she leaned forward and tested her gag reflex to its limit, Sevan ordered himself to put his concerns out of his mind. Living for the moment, or even the second, was how he’d always made ends meet, but his balls tensed and his erection loosened as he pictured his latest venture going belly up. His resort plans in Dubai were dead in the water. He tried to focus on the woman between his legs. Her name was eluding him.
Katrina?
Lucia?
He had been so positive things would work out. He’d used the investment capital he’d “borrowed” from Mary Ellen Vitullo to get investors excited about his luxe blueprint: villas filled with the most expensive touches. And Sevan knew expensive. But after taunting Mary Ellen, Sevan had fully intended on returning her money. Maybe even getting her to marry him. He’d done some damage, but there’d never been a heart he couldn’t unbreak. He’d been sure he could just wink and say, “C’mon, Mary Ellen, you know you love me.” And she would’ve wet her panties for him. Of course, now she was dead.
Katie?
Annabelle?
He was fully flaccid now, but she was working hard, adding moans as his dick slipped around in her hands like the corpse of a slug. He took another swig of his drink and stared hard at her ass, slapping it to add some motion to the flesh her thong revealed. In the harsh sunlight, the ridge of her buttock implants showed. Swallowing, he took his hand from her ass to her breast. When she didn’t notice he was touching her nipple, he knew it was numb, cut off from the rest of her body. It was acting a part as much as she was. He sighed. Damned if she wasn’t like an animated mannequin. He poured the dregs of his martini over her head. She tossed her hair and pretended to like it, licking her lips until he pulled himself out of her hands and repositioned his pants.
He watched her grow furious.
“What? You no like what I do?”
He slid his sunglasses in place. English was not her first language, nor was it her last. She’d been able to interpret six different conversations using eight different languages for him during his last meeting. She was fluent in many different curses and told them all to him, professionally, as his investors backed out. They wanted their money back.
“No. You’re fat. You’re fake. You’re not pretty. I can’t even make it stand up for you.” She was gorgeous. He just picked the words he knew would hurt her the most. A woman who took such care with her appearance would take these insults personally, no matter how many languages she knew. She kicked sand at him and swore him up and down before stomping off.
It was a dick move, even for him, and he knew it. Depression was starting to set in. He’d had such a high when his pockets were full of other people’s money. He’d been so high that when Beckett Taylor’s hot piece of ass had suggested he return Mary Ellen’s money, he’d been able to agree. Or at least that’s how he preferred to remember the exchange. His bank account had been bloated with investors’ money. He could afford to please her, shock her even, by returning the money to Rodolfo Vitullo.
It was during that phase that Sevan had convinced himself he’d get out of the drugs and weapons business. It was interesting, when he was “rich,” how he could laugh off the threats of the shady people he’d been trafficking illicit items to. But now he sank down low in his beach chair. They were all he had left.
And while he was busy pretending to be someone he no longer was, his organization was unattended, falling apart. Getting involved with these types of people was like petting a tiger. It had seemed manageable, but now he wasn’t sure he could escape. He should have kept Mary Ellen’s damn money.
“Blaming her ’cause you can’t get it up? I feel like I’m in a bad Viagra commercial.” A man sat next to him in the empty beach chair.
Sevan composed himself. “Maybe I don’t play for her team? And you can kindly go fuck yourself.” He knew better than to turn and look the man in his face. He tried to place the voice. He failed.
“I don’t need to fuck myself. My equipment is titanium any time a woman needs it.” The man tossed an envelope in his lap.
Sevan flinched despite himself.
“I’m doing a job for someone. They’re looking for you. Call that number. Soon.” The man stood.
Now Sevan looked him up and down. Handsome fucker. Scruffy beard, light-colored eyes that were crinkled up, trying to defeat the bright sun. Hard chest, American-style bathing trunks.
“And your boss is…?” He didn’t touch the envelope.
“I don’t have a boss. But I’m going to find that topless chick and satisfy the living hell out of her, Sevan.”
He held up his middle finger as the man left. Exasperated, he opened the envelope. In it was an American phone number. He dialed his cell phone, which was on the verge of being shut off due to non-payment.
“This phone was ringing like a goddamn coward. This must be fucking Sevan.”
This voice he did recognize. They’d done business in the past. No one would forget this asshole. “Taylor. I’m in the middle of an amazing vacation. You better tell me something worth my while. I’m on my way to shop for yachts.”
“Really? They sell yachts in hell or are you really buying yourself a new fucking douche canoe?” Taylor shouted orders in the distance.
Sevan said nothing.
“Listen, get your broke ass to Poughkeepsie. You’re pissing off the Dubai movers and shakers, and yes, I have friends everywhere. If you make it here alive, I might have a use for you.” Taylor started what sounded like a large vehicle.
“No way. I’m staying far away from Vitullo until he’s as dead as Mary Ellen.” Sevan couldn’t think of a more dangerous place to go.
“Shark found you, fuck monkey. He’s bringing you back to town—either to me or to Rodolfo as a goddamn Christmas present. Your choice.”
Taylor disconnected the call.
Sevan wanted to punch something, but the only solid thing close enough was his own goddamn face. He had to sit and wait as Shark winked at him and proceeded to perform what had to be spectacular cunnilingus on Fake Butt not even a rock toss away. He waited while she returned the favor to S
hark.
Instead of being the mac daddy getting his on a semi-public beach, Sevan was busy watching and waiting, ironically, with a dick that was finally hard.
Cole was exhausted. How one little human could stay awake so long was a mystery. He felt like a zombie, and Kyle looked like one. But one glance at JB made all the surreal, am-I-awake-or-dead feelings evaporate. He was so small and so present and such a light bundle that he made Cole’s heart feel so full. Kyle and he were tremendously thankful for the time they’d spent with their niece and nephew throughout the years. The diapers and feedings seemed mostly like common sense.
Still, Kyle was calmer than he was, easy with her new title. A mother in the waiting room at the pediatrician had even thought JB had to be her second or third child because she was so relaxed.
Cole had been rocking his son in the chair in the nursery, and it was time to finally put him down, but he couldn’t quite get there. His protective instinct was so strong. He gazed at JB and wondered at the miracle of his thin eyelids, at the violence that had brought such a perfect example of God’s love into the word. He was so staggeringly grateful for his brother. This love he had for his son was a quiet thunder in his soul.
He prayed over him all the time. Maybe it was the exhaustion taking a toll, but he felt such an understanding of the world from his place in the rocking chair. And then, out of nowhere, there was the searing hate. He almost wanted to put JB down so the emotions coursing through his veins wouldn’t be wrapped around his son.
There should be forgiveness, but Cole hadn’t evolved that much. He hated his mother. To think that she’d held him as a babe, the same size as JB even, and instead of love, she’d seen a means to an end. All this time he’d been blaming himself on some level, thinking that as a child he must have failed. He’d failed to make his mother fall in love with him. The cracks inside him he’d blamed on himself.
And now, holding his own child, he knew for certain it was never his fault. It was hers. She was able to hold her baby and not understand the miracle in her arms. God gave her a gift, a version of His only son, and she’d found only the evil inside herself to hurt him. She’d found the way to be an observer to his pain over and over.
Kyle padded quietly in, smiling first at JB and then putting her gaze on his. He was so very good at locking people out, but not her. He knew she saw the pain retreating into him. She gently lifted JB and kissed him on the forehead, light as a wish, before putting their son in his crib.
She pulled Cole out of his chair and led him back to their bedroom. By the time he stood by their bed, his shell was in place, all his pain and anger locked inside.
“No. I saw that. I saw you. Talk. Tell me.” She pulled him onto the bed and curled up in his arms. “This is a no-silent-treatment zone.”
“We should sleep. Sleep when the baby sleeps.”
“No, you say what you’re dealing with. And even if I can’t fix it, you won’t be alone with it.” She kissed his lips and looked at him with sure, unfailing trust.
This woman was his strength.
He sighed. It took a while to unwind the tight grip he had on this thing. She smoothed his hair and traced his lips while she waited.
“It’s just, you know, holding him is so amazing it hurts. I feel like I’m getting to look God in the face. I’ve never been so affected. Between JB and you, I feel like my heart is splayed open. It scares me, but even more than that…it makes me so angry at her.”
Kyle nodded. He could tell she knew who her was.
“All this time, I figured I was lacking something she needed. But now, I know I had it, she just never cared. I was a whole person. I deserved space in her world.”
He stopped. The tears were climbing his throat. His defense was always to stop—stop talking, stop feeling.
They were quiet for a while.
He tried to make her feel better. “Listen, it’s not fair for me to—”
She covered his mouth, and honored his beliefs by starting to pray.
“Dear God, this man before you is a husband and father. Grant him the strength to process his newfound knowledge. Forgiveness for his mother is a task that neither he nor I may be able to grant in our lifetimes. But I thank her for bringing me this man, and through him my beautiful son. In front of you, I want to make a promise to Cole.”
She put her hands on his face, framing it for a moment. She touched his forehead, his lips, and finally returned her hands to his cheeks.
“I promise you, Cole Bridge, that in honor of the little child you once were, I will never forget that JB is a gift from God. I will honor his unique, gorgeous person with enough love for both him and the memory of a little boy who deserved so much more than he got, for as long as I live and beyond.”
She kissed his lips.
“Amen.”
He held her close and kissed her hard, her tears salty on both of their lips. “You are so much. I have no words.”
“I know,” she said. “I feel that way about you too.”
The love they made was tender, a promise to a brand-new family that it was, first and foremost, bound by love.
It was a lovely Wednesday morning in early December, and Beckett strolled toward his front door feeling good. He’d just handled a drug dealer stationed near a school, thanks to a tip-off from his repurposed douches, and he felt quite accomplished. Until he arrived at the front door and found it unlocked. Instantly, he was pissed.
When he entered, Eve stood in the kitchen, making a salad.
“Do we not keep you fucking safe anymore?” he demanded.
Without looking, she launched the knife she was using to chop the salad at him, barely missing his head. The blade sank into the plaster of the wall.
“I knew it was you.” She smirked. He could only see her blond hair.
He cursed her in his head, because she was still healing. He wanted to put her on the counter and screw her so hard. Instead he gently slipped his hands around her waist. “How you doing?”
“Stir crazy. But you knew that.” She turned and hugged him before kissing him.
Her smile was lighter fluid to his testosterone. He was full caveman for a few heartbeats. “I do know that. I remember how you took care of me when I was stir crazy.” Years ago when he’d been running from the law, she’d kept him hidden, and only their rough sex kept his brain from leaking out his ears. “Which is, painfully, not an option right now.” Beckett sighed. “We could go upstairs and have some nice, easy Good Housekeeping sex? Make gentle love and all that shit?” He grazed her neck with his teeth.
“That sounds awesome. Then can we decoupage? Please? Let’s make cat sculptures, and they can be headstones on the graves of our dead sexuality.” She laughed as he made a face at her.
“You funny today?” He gave his best smolder.
“Today, I am.” She bit her lip and wrinkled her nose. The doorbell rang, and she looked slightly worried. “Speaking of funny…” She held his arms when he went to go to the door. “I made a plan with a friend for today because I know you have that meeting.”
“Why are you nervous about that?” He switched the grip so he was holding her arms instead. The bell rang again. Gandhi woke himself up from his drooling nap with a bark.
“I just never got a chance to tell you that I need to start taking walks. Dad was pretty specific about my recovery.”
Beckett gave her a hard stare. He knew now who was on the other side of the door. “Really? No one else could go with you?”
“He’s a friend. I get to have friends.” She sighed.
“How ’bout picking friends who aren’t in love with you?” He let go of Eve and jumped over G on his way to the door. He swung it open to see the very predicable Ryan Morales on the other side, holding two water bottles in his gloved hands. “Rip his nut sack off, G.” Beckett pointed at the man’s crotch.
“Your dog can’t handle that big a meal, pus chunk.” Morales looked past him to Eve. “You ready?”
Beckett stepped in front of her, blocking the cop’s line of view. “She was just sitting down to a salad. So, no.”
It was a tension-filled moment. Beckett was not done talking to Eve at all.
She put her hand on his shoulder. “I was making the salad for later. It’s done, and I’m ready to go.”
Beckett gritted his teeth. Eve put her hands on his cheeks.
“Settle down.” She gave him a fairly generous kiss, which made him happy.
She tugged on her jacket and gloves. Beckett added his scarf around her neck. “It’s cold.”
“This is what dad said I had to do. Expand the lungs and all that.”
She turned and walked out of his door.
He tried one more time, calling after her, “We can get a treadmill!”
Morales turned with a smirk. “Doc says fresh air’s the best for her lungs.” Then he mouthed “sucker” just for Beckett.
He mouthed back, “You packin’?”
Morales moved his jacket to show his police issue. Beckett knew Eve would be armed. She always was. He slammed the door behind them and cursed his way up the stairs. Damned if he was going to be a jealous pussy. Still, it burned in his chest. But it was time to suit up and get out to Rodolfo’s. He was thankful Eve hadn’t asked any further questions about the meeting, as it was the last place she needed to be.
As he changed, he steeled himself, thinking again of the conversation he’d had with Cole and Blake last night. It had added some direction to the wheels he already had in motion. He’d popped in to visit JB and found Blake there as well, just back from his Disney adventures. Cole was on his last day of paternity leave from the school, and Blake was showing off an iPad full of pictures. Cole had lamented, “I wish this town was more like it was when we were in foster care. I feel like it was less dangerous, or I was just ignorant?”
Beckett hadn’t responded right away, just looked down at JB’s sweet face in his slumber. Three kids, so fucking little, who were now pawns in a game he didn’t even really want to play anymore. “I think it was a little of both, bro. A little of both.”
Saving Poughkeepsie Page 7