Since I was working part-time at Bold Beginnings and working toward my master’s degree for the purpose of replacing the preschool’s retiring director, I approached the board and shared my sob story. They increased my salary, enabling me to move into the much nicer apartment complex next door. I only had one bedroom now, but my washer and dryer were in my unit, rather than in the basement, and falling through the floor was no longer a concern.
Now that I was finished with school and working full time, I could afford to move into a nicer place if I wanted to, but I liked living within walking distance to Beth and the school. Most of my college tuition had been covered by academic scholarships (turns out it paid to be a nerd), but I did have one small student loan. I’d been chipping away at it for the past few years, and maybe once it was paid off, I’d buy a house in the neighborhood like Beth’s. Maybe I’d even get married and cover the walls with pictures of my own kids.
My future was uncertain, but I did know one thing for sure: Long after Landon pulled his Houdini act and disappeared again, I’d still be in the High Point neighborhood of Seattle, looking after his mom.
I could feel his gaze on my back as I let myself into my apartment and locked the door behind me. Light flooded the small space, and I blinked until my eyes adjusted. Inside the front door, immediately to the left, a bar separated the kitchen from the entryway. Two upholstered stools were tucked under the bar so it could serve as a dining area if I ever decided to get fancy, but I mostly ate sitting on the overstuffed sofa that took up the majority of my crackerjack box of a living room. Beyond the living room, a sliding glass door led to a balcony that was barely big enough for two lawn chairs and a small plastic end table. The balcony overlooked the parking lot and the field beyond. Sometimes I drank my morning coffee out there while watching the sunrise over the city.
To the right of the living room, down an absurdly narrow hallway that had been a pain to fit my queen-sized bed through, my room was on the left, and the bathroom on the right. My entire living space was only a couple hundred square feet, but it was clean, organized, and comfortable, decorated in earthy tones with plenty of overstuffed pillows and gauzy drapes to add warmth and make it feel inviting. Last week, I’d sprung for a live Christmas tree and although it was only about three feet tall, and currently perched on my coffee table, it made my entire apartment smell like pine.
And, my apartment was efficient. In less than ten steps, I was able to turn on the kitchen light, hang up my coat and umbrella in the entryway closet, and plug in the Christmas tree lights. I sighed heavily, feeling the stressful day dance away to the tune of two-hundred twinkling lights and a handful of glass ornaments. Feeling much better and more at peace, I headed into my kitchen and started dinner.
Spaghetti was on tonight’s menu. Not the homemade kind that Beth made. Simmering sauce for hours when I honestly couldn’t tell the difference seemed like a gross waste of time. My immature palate was no doubt a product of my poor upbringing, but Beth was teaching me to cook, and my jar sauce was light years ahead of the frozen meals I’d grown up eating. Tonight, I was even getting fancy by adding ground sausage and mushrooms.
I had the sauce simmering, the noodles boiling, and was just about to put the garlic bread in the oven when my phone rang. Hoping it wasn’t Ben calling to cancel on me, like he was notorious for lately, I checked the screen. It was Janet, my friend from Child Protective Services. CPS usually assigned case workers to cases and not schools, but Janet and I worked well together and had common goals, so she always requested my cases when they came in. And Janet had been with CPS so long she had seniority and usually got what she asked for.
“Hi, Mercy, how are you?”
Trapping my phone between my shoulder and ear, I opened the oven and put the bread in. “Good. Today was a bit eventful, as I’m sure you’ve heard. Did you get my voicemail?” Then, I gave myself a good smack on the forehead. I sucked at small talk, but thankfully Janet knew that and liked me anyway. “I mean… how was your day? Do you have any plans for the weekend?”
She laughed. “Busy, and I’m hoping to rest this weekend. Especially since I was able to find a nice foster family to take in Toby.”
I knew Janet couldn’t give me specifics, so I never asked. “Thank you so much for letting me know. He’s a sweet kid. He doesn’t deserve this nonsense.”
“Few of them do, Mercy.”
Even though she couldn’t see me, I nodded. “Were you able to get a hold of Sheila?”
“No. The officer who went to check on her and let her know we have Toby said nobody was home.”
That was worrisome, but at least Toby would have a family until it all got sorted. “Thank you. For everything. I seriously don’t know what these kids would do without you.”
“I was going to tell you the same thing. I know it’s not always easy to call us, but you made the right call, Mercy. You know I can’t get into Toby’s evaluation, but I’m not going to give this one up easily.”
My chest squeezed as my mind spun, wondering what sort of messed up crap Toby had been subjected to. At least Janet would be keeping an eye on him from here on out. “Thanks again.”
“Of course. Please give Sheila my number if you hear from her.”
I promised to do so, and we said our goodbyes. Before I even set my phone down, it was ringing again. Opening the oven to check on the bread, I answered.
“Hey Mercy.”
“Hey Ben.” My voice was heavy with disappointment, but I didn’t have the strength or the desire to try to hide it. “You better not be calling to cancel on me again.”
My egg timer dinged. The bread was done, so I pulled it out and stuck the baking sheet on a hot pad before turning off the burner under the noodles and hunting through my cupboard for the strainer.
“Sorry, sis, but something came up.”
I put him on speaker phone and set my phone on the counter, so I could drain the noodles. “Something always comes up. I haven’t even seen you in three weeks, Ben. What’s with you lately?”
Bentley used to be reliable. We had different mothers, but we’d always been close, despite the five years that separated us. His mom, Alyssa, was an even bigger deadbeat than mine and had started dabbling in drugs toward the end of Ben’s middle school years. I found out and nagged our dad until he pulled his head out of his ass and got involved, suing Ben’s mom for custody. Ben lived with Dad until Dad’s penis overruled his brain and went on the hunt for yet another wife. Ben moved in with me to finish high school, but he moved out on his own shortly after graduation, six months ago, and I’d rarely seen him since.
“I’m busy working, living the dream, you know how it goes.”
“Working?” I asked, not buying his excuse for a second. “At six forty-five on a Friday night? What the hell kind of work are you doing, Ben?”
“The kind that pays the bills. We’ll catch up later, okay?”
No. I was not okay with any of this. Ben never lied to me. Our parents lied to us so much we’d promised long ago to always be honest with each other. So, instead of lies, he fed me vague answers and skirted around the truth when he knew I wouldn’t approve. He didn’t want to disappoint me, but not telling me where he was working wasn’t disappointing; it was terrifying. My gut told me that my little brother was into something dangerous or illegal, or both, and there was nothing I could do about it.
Bentley was eighteen now, and nagging or pressuring him would only push him away. Swallowing back all the warnings and wisdom I wanted to bestow upon him, I cradled my head in my hands and said the one thing I could.
“I miss you, Ben.”
“I miss you too, sis. We’ll get together soon, but I gotta go now. Love you.”
I huffed out a disappointed breath, frowning at the pot of spaghetti that would be way too much for me. I’d be eating pasta for days. “Love you, too. Be safe.”
He hung up and I finished dinner. I had a ton of food, but suddenly no appetite. Determined to eat
anyway—I mean, dammit, I worked hard on this meal, so someone should enjoy it—I dished myself up a bowl and carried it into the living room. The lights on my tree were still twinkling, but I didn’t have much Christmas spirit anymore, so I unplugged it and set it on the floor.
Realizing I’d forgotten to invite Ben to Beth’s for Christmas dinner, I sent him a quick text before turning on the television. Surfing channels while I ate, my cozy little apartment suddenly felt entirely too quiet and lonely.
I should have just had dinner at Beth’s.
There was only one problem with that thought: Landon, the asshole. The handsome, gentleman asshole who looked positively delicious in his Army uniform.
I clicked through reality shows, sitcoms, dramas, and action shows, but nothing drew my interest. Bored and suddenly all too aware of my terminal single and alone status, I finished eating and pulled my laptop out of my bag. No use dwelling, especially not when I had plenty of work to keep me busy.
Chapter 5
Landon
Reconnecting with Mom was nice. I’d expected things between us to be awkward and tense, but nothing could be further from the truth. Being around her now reminded me of how close we used to be. I’d forgotten about all the times I’d heard her defending me to Dad, all the times she tried to cheer me up after Dad had torn me down. Being back home, surrounded by memories, I realized that Mom had always been in my court.
I felt like a dumbass for not seeing that sooner.
After dinner Friday night, we lingered in the kitchen and caught up before I retired to my bedroom. Mom had kept my room exactly how I’d left it, but everything seemed smaller, the space even more cramped than I remembered.
Drifting over to my bookshelf, I let my gaze linger on the science and math awards hanging on the wall before pulling out my senior yearbook and thumbing through the pages. I stopped on a basketball group photo, smiling at the faces of my friends. We’d won state that year. If I closed my eyes, I could almost see my cheering teammates, almost remember the euphoric feeling of our victory. I’d been riding high that day, like I was the king of the school or some shit like that.
I had no idea how far I was about to fall.
My gaze drifted down the page to the names of my teammates. Marc, Tristan, Gabe, Jaime… what had happened to them all? They’d tried to keep in touch with me, but after Dad’s death, I had a hard time connecting with anyone. They wanted to talk about colleges, careers, and girls, and I was struggling just to make it through the days.
They couldn’t understand my pain, and I didn’t want to drag them down into my bullshit. Only months from graduation, on the cusp of adulthood, they didn’t need me yapping about the guilt I felt at hearing my mom crying herself to sleep every night. About the way I’d felt so helpless as my dad collapsed on the floor, his vacant eyes staring up at me, still disappointed at what he saw.
I didn’t want to talk about that shit and they didn’t want to hear it, so I slowly distanced myself from them. I bailed on enough get-togethers that they finally stopped inviting me.
Having no friends to stay for and everything to want to get away from made it easy to sign my life away to the Army. And enlisting was the smartest thing I’d ever done. It had helped me find a purpose and pride in myself and my abilities. My job could be hard as hell, but all the lives I’d saved and the soldiers I’d helped made it hella rewarding, too.
Curious, I thumbed through more pages until I found the sophomore class. If Mom had ever mentioned Mercy’s last name, I couldn’t remember it, so I had to scan the first names until I found her. Her hair was shorter, her cheeks were a little chubby, and her smile… her smile took my breath away. She looked so young, innocent, and optimistic, I could hardly believe this was the frosty beauty who’d just cold-shouldered me.
Closing up the year book, I put it back on the shelf before roaming over to my old dresser. I thumbed through the drawers, pausing when I found an old Seattle SuperSonics T-shirt. Memories of the night I’d gotten that shirt tugged me back to a better time, a time when things weren’t so tense between me and Dad. I was fifteen when he took me to the last game our Seattle Sonics would ever play at KeyArena. It was an April game against the Dallas Mavericks. The game was close, and we barely squeaked out a win with a final score of ninety-nine to ninety-five. It had been the best night of my life.
Watching basketball together, rooting on our home team, had always connected us. Once I hit my teen years and Dad started preaching at me about becoming a man, watching the Sonics play with him was the only time I didn’t feel like he was trying to measure me against some yardstick I could never aspire to.
The Sonics relocated after that season, becoming the Oklahoma City Thunder. With our team gone, our common ground fell out from under us, turning the divide between me and Dad into a gaping chasm.
The faded T-shirt felt too sacred to my childhood to wear as an adult. I set it down and grabbed a different one, smiling at the Nirvana logo. Since Dad hated my music, this one was free from memories. I stripped out of my uniform shirt and attempted to replace it with the old band shirt, but felt like the Hulk trying to bust through my clothing. Fabric stretched and seams strained until I gave up and tossed it back into my drawer. I didn’t realize how much the Army had changed my body, but there was no way my arms and chest were fitting into a men’s medium ever again.
Damn, I was a scrawny kid.
Looking around, I realized I’d outgrown the entire room. I rolled onto the twin bed I remembered as being comfortable to find that it was even shorter than a boot camp bunk. My feet hung off the end as I stared up at the ceiling, trying to force myself to sleep. It was a little after eight p.m. Factoring in the time change, I’d only gotten about four hours of sleep in the past forty-eight hours. And the days prior to that were filled with Smiley’s funeral and even more travel.
I was exhausted, but not sleepy.
Reflecting on the day’s events, I realized nothing had gone the way I’d anticipated. Mom was warm and welcoming, and her only tears were from joy. I’d expected to be plagued with memories of my dad and crippled by the guilt of his death, but the only thing I felt guilty about was that I’d barely even thought of him, and my memories were accompanied by a strange numbness, not pain.
Apparently seven years of that shit had been enough.
No, the only thoughts plaguing my mind had to do with a certain blonde campfire and her icy barrier.
“Where have you been for the past seven years, Landon?”
“You could have used any one of the two hundred and ten days you were allotted over the past seven years to come home and see her.”
Mercy wasn’t wrong. I’d stayed away because I couldn’t handle the memories and guilt, and assumed Mom needed space from me for the same reason. I mean, how could she even look at me without missing Dad? I’d left because it was the right thing to do, and I’d stayed away to give us both time to heal.
But I probably should have called more.
And I definitely shouldn’t have waited seven years to visit.
There was no help for that now, but I was determined to do what I could to make up for lost time, so I spent all weekend with Mom, doing whatever she wanted. Saturday, we went shopping and bought me some civilian clothes that actually fit before donating most of what was in my dresser. Then we took Dad’s truck out and searched the remaining stock at a few different Christmas tree lots until we found the perfect Douglas-fir. I retrieved the decorations from the attic and set up the tree while Mom made us cookies before joining me to decorate.
Halfway through decorating the tree, I realized how late we were putting it up. There were only three days left until Christmas, and Mom usually had the tree up and decorated by the first of December. “Mom, why isn’t the tree up already?” I asked.
“Oh, you know, I’ve been busy,” she replied, hurrying into the kitchen with a strand of outdoor lights. We were setting them on the table until we finished the tree. Then we planne
d to unravel them and come up with a plan for decorating outside.
Her quick exit felt a lot like brushing off my question. Concerned, I followed her and kept at it. “But you always have the tree and your decorations up before now.” Mom loved Christmas. No matter how poor we were, every year she went all out with decorations. Then we’d turn off all but the Christmas lights and sip cider in front of the tree. Some of the happiest memories of my childhood were due to the effort Mom put into Christmas. “You weren’t going to decorate at all, were you?”
Head tilted to the side, she peeked over her glasses at me. “Don’t make a big deal out of this, Landon.”
I had my answer, as disturbing as it was. “When did you last decorate for Christmas?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Her eyes misted over, and she looked away.
“Mom,” I warned, my voice dipping lower than I’d intended.
“Don’t take that tone of voice with me,” she snapped, her head whipping back around to stare at me. “With you and your dad gone, who do you think I would have been decorating for? Myself? Do you really believe I did any of this for myself? Ever?”
Actually, yes, I had believed that. “But you love Christmas.”
“No, I love you. I loved watching you hang ornaments on the tree. I loved listening to you hum carols when you thought nobody was listening. I loved the way you’d sit on the couch and watch Christmas movies with me, pretending to think they were lame but getting caught up in the happy endings all the same. I loved spending the holiday with my family, Landon. I hated it the past seven years without you.” Her eyes were bright with moisture. She blinked, and a tear escaped, but she quickly wiped it away.
Rescuing Mercy (Special Forces: Operation Alpha): A Dead Presidents MC Spinoff Page 5