by Susan Gable
“Takes one to know one.”
“That’s the honest-to-God truth. So, now that we’ve established we’re cut from the same cloth, I want you to explain to me exactly how you ended up with a backpack full of spray paint and pot you claim wasn’t yours. Just remember, my BS detector is finely honed, so let’s skip the crap and cut straight to the truth.”
Nick fidgeted in the passenger seat. After another block and a half of silence, he finally muttered, “There’s this girl...”
An enormous sense of relief eased the tightness in Hayden’s chest. This was familiar ground. He’d had this conversation with numerous students in his capacity as teacher and coach. He grinned over at the kid. “A girl, huh?” Then he chuckled. “Letting the wrong head do the thinking already? As you can see, that just gets you into trouble.”
Without warning, Nick slammed his fist into the dashboard, muttering words Hayden hadn’t dared use in the presence of an adult until after he’d enlisted in the Marines.
Hayden started, hands gripping the steering wheel harder. “Hey, sport, easy on the car, huh? What’s the problem?” While he’d just laid into the kid for disrespecting his mother, these curses clearly meant something big was up with him.
The boy folded his arms across his chest. “I didn’t want to ever be one of those guys.”
“What guys?”
“The ones that let the wrong head do the thinking.”
This time the laughter burst forth fully, causing Nick to glare at him. “You don’t know it, but I’m laughing with you. Nick, we’re all that guy at numerous points in our lives.”
“Well...I wasn’t going to be.”
“Welcome to manhood.” Hayden swallowed hard. It should have been Ian having this conversation with his son. “At least tell me you’re smart enough to use protection. You need condoms?” He reached over, popped open the glove box. “There’s a few in here.”
“Damn, Unk...” The kid slammed the compartment shut, once more rattling the entire dash. “You’re as bad as Mom. ‘Here are some condoms, Nick. If you need them, use them,’” he mimicked.
“Your mom offered you condoms?” Hayden knew what too many fourteen-year-olds were doing these days—hell, he taught sex ed, although sometimes he wasn’t sure who was educating who. He liked sex just as much as the next guy, probably more, but even he had to marvel at some of the stories and problems his kids came to him with. But he hadn’t expected Ronni to offer her fourteen-year-old son protection.
Nick shifted in the seat. “Hello? Teen mom?” He snorted. “She’s been preaching condoms since I turned twelve. Makes me feel like I was one giant mistake she’s horrified I’ll repeat.”
Hayden steered to the side of the residential neighborhood street, which was mostly empty at this time of day. He popped the stick shift into Neutral and unbuckled his seat belt, turning to face the boy. “I know that’s not the case. In fact, it would break your mother’s heart to hear you believed that. No, they didn’t plan on you. But once she found out you were on the way, both of your parents were thrilled. Much to the dismay of their own parents. Look, Nick, parents want the best for their kids. Your mom’s had a tough row to hoe.” Holy crap, was he actually saying these things? Had he suffered heatstroke from the suit?
But it was the truth. He’d been present for moral support the day Ian and Ronni had told their parents, one set at a time. What the kid didn’t need to know was how hard Ronni’s parents had lobbied for her not to have him. And then threw her out of the house when she’d defied them and continued the pregnancy. “She wanted you more than anything. She just wants your life to be easier. Which means waiting to have kids. Which means making sure you do the thinking with the head on your shoulders.”
“You ever let the wrong one do the thinking?”
He laughed again. “Yes. I speak from experience.”
“I figured that, what with all the girls you date.”
“Hey, hey, watch it there. There’s a time and place for everything. Keep that in mind. No point in getting too serious yet. The world is filled with women, Nick. Don’t let one tie you down too soon. Especially not one who’s already getting you into trouble.”
“Wasn’t there ever a girl you liked enough not to care if you got into trouble?”
Hayden refastened his seat belt, then pulled the car from the curb. They still had a few more blocks to go to reach Greg’s house.
“Uncle Hayden?”
“What?”
“I asked if there was ever a girl who made you not care about getting into trouble.”
“Yeah,” he finally said. “There was a girl like that once.”
“What happened?”
“One of my brothers asked her out first.”
“Which one?”
“Never mind. Ancient history.”
“What did you like about her?”
Hayden sighed. Dangerous territory, given how his morning had gone. And yet the memories stormed him. Hazel eyes that twinkled when she smiled. How excited she could get over the simplest things. The way she’d chide him and Ian when they’d dared to do things she considered bad or risky. A lump swelled in his throat when he compared those memories to the pale woman he’d seen that morning, with dead, haunted eyes. He forced it down, forced himself to answer. “When she laughed, I thought I could just float on it. Even better if I was the one who made her laugh.”
The boy scowled at him. “Lame.”
“Okay, she was damn cute, too.”
“How did it work out for your brother?”
“In the end, badly. Let it be a lesson to you.” It sure as hell had been for Hayden. "In the animal kingdom, cute or colorful or amazingly attractive serves as a warning of danger."
Nick shook his head. "So how come I never see you with an ugly woman?"
"Once a Marine, always a Marine, boy. We eat danger for breakfast. And when, exactly, have you seen me with any woman?" Hayden had rules that governed his relationships. Never bring them to a family function was one of them. Women got strange ideas when you took them to meet your family. Ideas he'd never wanted to encourage.
"Facebook. Some girl started a fan page for you."
"Seriously?" He glanced over at the boy while turning into the narrow driveway of Greg's three-story house. Shannon's battered Taurus—the one she refused to give up as long as it ran, to his brother's dismay—was pulled all the way to the back. Greg's Tracker wasn't there, or on the street in front. His brother had gotten a temporary stay of execution.
"Yep. Lots of pictures of you there."
"Any of them I wouldn't want your grandma to see?" He had strict photo rules. If he'd be embarrassed for his mother to see it, he didn't let anybody take it. A wise rule in this day and age. Still, that didn't mean someone hadn't snapped something when he'd been unaware of it.
The boy shrugged. "Why are we at Uncle Greg's house?"
"Got something I need to take care of. You in a hurry to get to school?"
"Nope."
"Didn't think so." Hayden reached into the back seat to grab his duffle bag, then slid from the Camaro, resisting the urge to pull at the spandex wedgie the costume briefs had given him.
He settled for shaking his right leg as he closed the door.
Greg's death would be slow and painful. Death by spandex seemed fitting. He'd find a creative way to accomplish it.
Climbing the front steps of the wrap-around porch—a porch he'd helped sand and refinish—sent a pang of longing through him. He and Finn had lived here with Greg for several years...until Shannon and Ryan had come into his life.
Then Hayden and Finn had moved on to another big old house out in North East, redoing that one. Finn's restaurant, Fresh, took up the first floor of the old Bed & Breakfast. Hayden had been appointed caretaker when Finn had taken off for Maine, chasing after Amelia and their two children. They'd returned to Fresh only a month ago.
And after a lifetime of living with his family, or in dorm rooms and barrac
ks, or with his brothers, Hayden had a place of his own.
And hated it.
A perfunctory rap on the heavy wooden door, and he strode into the house, Nick on his heels. "Shannon?" he called.
"Back here," she responded from the kitchen.
He barreled down the hallway, fingers already loosening the knot of his tie. It got stuffed into the pocket of his sports coat, which he also had off by the time he entered the kitchen. He tossed it onto the square wooden chopping block that served as a work island. The duffle bag thudded to the floor next to it.
Shannon rose from the kitchen table. "Hayden. What's up? Greg mentioned you'd called him several times this morning."
"Did he mention I plan to make you a widow when I catch up with him? Hope his life insurance is paid."
Shannon laughed. "I think he might have said something about that, yes. What's he done now?" She peered around him. "Well, hi, Nick. I almost didn't see you there."
The boy waved at her.
Hayden began unbuttoning his shirt. "This is what he's done now." He threw the shirt down on top of his jacket and stood there—Captain Chemo from the waist up, bottom of the costume still covered by his navy dress pants.
Shannon's mouth dropped open for a moment, then she pressed her hand over it. Snickers escaped from behind her fingers.
Nick didn't even try to be polite. Guffaws of laughter pealed from him.
He sounded just like his mother.
Hayden's stomach tightened again and he cursed under his breath. "You wouldn't laugh so much, boy, if you had any idea what community service your Uncle Greg and I have cooked up for you. You—" he pointed at Shannon "—get me the hell out of this thing. The zipper is stuck again."
The chk-chk of a camera made him glance at his nephew, who had his cell phone out and pointed in Hayden's direction. "Delete that now. If that shows up on the internet, especially on my so-called Fan page on Facebook, you won't have to worry about probation. And just remember, payback's a bitch."
The kid shook his head. "Touchy, aren't you?"
Hayden raised his eyebrows as Shannon crossed the kitchen to stand behind him.
"All right, all right," Nick grumbled. He stabbed at his phone. "It's deleted."
Hayden toed off his dress shoes, then his pants, standing in the middle of the kitchen in all of Captain Chemo's glory. Well, sans the mask and cape, which were in the duffle bag.
Several minutes later, a new stream of sweat trickled down Hayden's back as Shannon tugged at the material and unrepentant zipper.
"Get a knife," he finally told her through clenched teeth.
"Are you kidding me? Greg will have a fit."
"Don't sweat it. Dead men don't pitch fits."
"Try some soap," Nick piped up from the seat at the table where he'd draped himself, occupying himself with text messaging or something on his phone. As long as he wasn't uploading that picture, it was all good.
"Soap?" Hayden asked.
"Yeah. The dishwashing kind. When I was little, my mom had this winter coat she got from the Salvation Army."
"I like your mom already," Shannon said as she opened the cabinet under the kitchen sink.
Hayden glared at her.
"The zipper on it got stuck a lot. She used to rub it with dish soap to make it work."
"Why didn't she just buy a new coat?" The top of the suit drew tight against his neck as Shannon pulled on it. A drop of cold, slippery liquid beaded on his spine, making him shudder.
"Sorry," Shannon said. "Not sure how to manage this."
"We couldn't afford it. That was before she married Scott."
Hayden wasn't sure when Nick had stopped referring to Scott as Dad—something that had always rankled Hayden—and switched over to using his first name. Mental note, check into that.
"The salon helped pay our bills, but it was a good thing we lived with Babcia." Babcia was Ronni's paternal grandmother, who'd taken her in when her parents had kicked her out, six months pregnant. After cosmetology school, Ronni had opened a salon in the basement. She and Nick still lived in Babcia's house, which she'd passed on to Ronni at her death. Hayden imagined Ronni's father had been pissed as hell at that.
"She always bought me new stuff, but for herself..." The boy shrugged.
It took about ten minutes, and a demonstration from Nick on the proper technique of getting the soap into both sides of the zipper a little bit at a time before Hayden held the top part of the suit in his hands, having stripped out of it as soon as he could wiggle his arms free. Shannon had just about reached the base of his spine. "I think I can take it from here, thanks. You go any further, and you're going to see more of me than you bargained for." Especially since the costume demanded a jock—cup optional, but well-advised when appearing before small kids or obnoxious teenagers—for underwear. That wouldn't leave much for her imagination if he lost his grip on the fabric.
She chuckled, patting the left cheek of his butt, precisely over his tattoo. "What, you mean this? Seen one, ya seen 'em all. Especially since it matches Greg's."
It matched Finn's, too. All three of them had gotten the tats to honor Ian.
"I beg to differ. Mine's much better looking," Greg said from the archway to the hall. "Lucky for you two I'm not the jealous type. Otherwise, if I came home for lunch and found my brother, half-naked in my kitchen, with my wife fondling his ass, I'd have to hurt you, Hayden."
Nick snorted.
Greg's eyes widened. "Oops. Sorry, Nick. Didn't realize you were here. Excuse my language."
"Trust me, he's heard worse, judging from his own vocabulary," Hayden said, marching across the kitchen to stand toe-to-toe with Greg. "And if you'd gotten this thing fixed weeks ago, when I first told you about the zipper, your wife wouldn't be undressing me and fondling my ass. Not that I can blame her for the fondling part. What can I say? I'm irresistible."
"If that's what gets you through the day, hold onto the delusion." Greg glanced around Hayden, gaze landing on the boy at the table. "How'd it go?" he asked softly.
"Friggin' ducky," Hayden replied, equally low. Then he raised his voice. "I need a quick shower. Shannon, maybe you can get Nick something to eat? He'll miss lunch period by the time I get him back to school. Greg's coming to finish peeling me if the zipper gets stuck again."
"Sure," Shannon said. "Nick, what would you like?"
Hayden didn't wait to hear his nephew's response. He gathered up his clothes and duffle in one arm, held the suit top with the other, then brushed past Greg, heading upstairs.
"I see you managed not to get thrown out of the courthouse, or arrested. I take that to mean it went well," Greg said from the bathroom doorway while Hayden dumped his clothes on top of the wicker hamper and turned on the water.
"If that's your criteria, then yeah, it went well."
"And?"
"And what?"
"What did you find out?"
Hayden lifted one shoulder, sticking his hand inside the shower to test the temperature. "I found out our boy's on the threshold of manhood, and there's a girl involved. I also found out he thinks his mother feels having him was a huge mistake."
Given his memories of a much younger, much more vibrant Ronni, and how being around her had made him feel, Hayden was beginning to think the only mistake had been his.
"I don't think I can do this," he told Greg. "You do it. You're the therapist."
"You're the high school teacher. And the godfather. Besides, you promised Ian."
Hayden cursed, stripped down, and jumped into the shower, dragging the curtain along the rod to block out Greg's earnest expression.
Yeah, he'd promised Ian.
And despite his misgivings about Ronni...he’d make good on it.
CHAPTER THREE
A LANDSCAPER RAKED FRESH mulch across the flower beds in front of Walnut Creek Manor as Ronni crossed the parking lot and headed for the building. Outside the automatic double doors, she paused to take a deep breath. Her shoulders slum
ped. The place was a prison of sorts. For her, as well. But she came every morning. This made today’s second trip. After a moment, she drew in another breath, straightened up and strode on in.
In the waiting area, Vera launched herself from one of the chairs. A young woman hunched over a notepad, and a ponytailed man holding a camera plastered with the WEGL logo sat in chairs beside the one Vera had vacated.
“Ronni! I’m glad you’re here. The staff won’t let us go back to Scott’s room. These folks—” she waved at the two newspeople “—are here to tell his story for a special Memorial Day feature they’re doing at the end of the month.”
“I know, Vera.” She took the woman by the elbow. “Excuse us,” she said to the news crew. “We need a moment to talk.”
She steered Scott’s mother toward the hall, well out of earshot of the media reps. Willie, the receptionist, offered a sympathetic smile as they passed.
“Look, Vera, I understand that you’re proud of Scott and want him honored. But please, think about it. Why don’t you invite these folks over to your place, show them Scott’s service picture and some of his medals, and just do it that way?”
“But that’s the point, Ronni. He’s still alive. That would make it seem like he’s dead.”
Ronni didn’t think video footage of Scott in his current state would make him seem alive. She did know he’d hate it. “We’ve had this argument before, Vera, right after he came home. This isn’t how Scott would want people to see him. Please. With everything else that’s been taken away from him, don’t violate his pride, too. Not any more than it is on a daily basis.” And given what a proud man her husband had been, and the indignities he suffered as part of his regular routine, it was probably just as well he didn’t know what was going on.
Vera’s blue-gray eyes filled. “I just want him remembered on Memorial Day.”
“I know.” Ronni rubbed Vera’s arm, then pulled her into an embrace. “I know. But not this way.”
Sniffling, her mother-in-law broke away from her, fishing a tissue from her purse and swiping at her nose. “You’re right, Ronni. You usually are. I’ll take them home and show them Scott’s stuff. Oh, I know. I can show them all his baseball trophies.”