Unbreakable Hearts

by Harper Bentley

  Hell, this was more entertaining than an episode of Family Guy. Oz would make damn sure to be on the Streeter’s invite list for Christmas dinner.

  Chapter 8

  Graham was about to come unglued throughout the ridiculous Thanksgiving dinner where his wife’s mother complained incessantly about how the Botox injections she’d gotten the last time she’d gone to her cosmetic surgeon hadn’t done a thing for her. Then she’d gone on to whine with her idiotic swollen duck lips about how her doctor hadn’t injected enough collagen into them. Hell, the old bat could have Botox injected twenty-four-seven and it still wouldn’t help her. She’d had Brynne when she was thirty-seven, was now sixty-eight, and he wanted to tell her it was time to give up the goddamned ghost, she was never going to get her looks back no matter how much surgery or injections she got. The woman now looked like the fucking crypt keeper, her multiple facelifts having stretched her skin so taut it looked as if it’d snap off at any second. God forbid anyone ever slap her because he knew her face would probably pop just like a rubber band. To top it all off, her fake boobs, overly bleached and wildly poofed up hair, and the tattooed eye and lip liner only added to the macabre figure that was Blythe Cavendish. Jesus.

  He didn’t have time for this bullshit.

  That morning, after the photographer had taken off in the cab, he’d kept to his plan for an alibi and flown to Boston, gone to the office there, then flown back. And now he needed to find out if she’d actually caught him with her camera, not sitting at the table playing “Happy Family,” for fuck’s sake. He’d tried getting out of dinner by calling Brynne and telling her he needed to work, but she’d started crying, telling him that he had to be there, that Daddy was going to present them with something and he’d be angry if Graham didn’t show. Fucker better be presenting them with a Ferrari was all he could think.

  “When am I going to get a grandchild, Graham? Don’t you like sex?” Blythe asked, taking another deep gulp of her wine, the ash of her cigarette in the Cruella de Vil cigarette holder that was clamped between her claw-like fingers about to drop onto her plate as she gave him a salacious sneer.

  Graham granted her a spurious grin right back, used to her tactlessness. “Well, Blythe, you need to ask your daughter that. I’d love to have a child. It’s not from lack of trying to get her in the sack, let me tell you.”

  Brynne’s face turned red as she gasped at her husband’s insolence.

  “Oh, Brynne, lighten up,” her mother said with a snort. “I didn’t raise you to be such a prude.”

  While this conversation was going on, Theo Cavendish rifled through the Wall Street Journal without a care in the world, not paying one lick of attention to the people at his table, which wasn’t anything new. Hell, Graham thought, he’d do the same damned thing if he was Theo. Having to put up with Blythe on a daily basis would tend to make one uncommunicative at the very least. He cringed at the thought of being married to the old bitty.

  Two maids came in and started clearing the table as Blythe blathered on and on about how much she’d love to have a grandchild, wouldn’t it be lovely to have another child to spoil, and why didn’t Brynne check into in vitro, until Brynne excused herself to the powder room. When one of the servers stepped over to clear Graham’s place on the side away from his in-laws, he ran a hand up the back of her thigh, under the black dress she wore, running his finger between her legs and over her panties. She stiffened in surprise for a second then relaxed as she moved her hips subtly forward then back, riding his hand surreptitiously as she kept clearing the area in front of him. He’d had the young woman a couple times before, once in the kitchen pantry and once in the bedroom he and Brynne occupied when they stayed at her parents’ house, which had been particularly titillating since Brynne had been in the shower and he hadn’t known when she’d return to the room. When the girl had cleaned everything away, she stepped back to take the dishes into the kitchen, giving Graham a naughty look of invitation, smiling impishly when he ran his finger under his nose as he took in her scent.

  He’d have to see if he had time to indulge in her later, maybe after he returned from a visit to the photographer. Or who knew? Maybe the little shutterbug would be up for a bit of fun herself.

  ***

  Oz knocked on the door of his childhood home, waiting for his dad to answer. When his dad didn’t come to the door, he dug his keys out of his pocket and let himself in. Ordinarily, he would’ve just gone on in, but he wasn’t sure what kind of mood his dad would be in and he didn’t want to start some unnecessary shit with him.

  “Dad?” he yelled out knowing he was probably passed out in front of the TV, drunk on that nasty, cheap corn whiskey he was prone to drink. But when Oz walked into the living room, there his dad sat on the couch, and when he heard someone holler from the kitchen about making coffee, he knew his dad had company. Female company.

  “Hey, son! Did you have a good Thanksgiving dinner with the boys?” Saul asked, standing up.

  Mouth hanging open in shock, Oz wondered if he’d walked into the Twilight Zone as he stood there staring at his father who had on a nice shirt and khakis and was clean-shaven.

  His dad smiled at him. Yep. Definitely had entered the Twilight Zone. Then the woman walked into the living room and Oz’s mouth just about hit the floor. “John, this is Sylvia. Sylvia, this is my son John who I’ve been telling you all about,” Saul said.

  The woman, Sylvia, gave him a motherly smile. She was very pretty, her hair a stunning red that went well with her light coloring. “Hello, John,” she said, coming over to shake his hand.

  “Hi,” was all Oz could get out. How the hell had this happened and he hadn’t known?

  Sylvia then sat down on the couch next to where Saul stood, smoothing out her skirt. She was of medium build, and Oz could tell she’d worked for a living, her hand being strong upon his shaking it. He immediately liked her as she sent out a sweet and laid back vibe.

  “Have a seat, son,” Saul told him as he sat back down next to his date.

  Oz had a seat in the recliner his father usually occupied and had no clue what to say.

  “Your father says you used to be an Army Ranger. You must be very brave to have signed up for such a demanding and dangerous unit. I appreciate your service, John. Even though you probably don’t hear it much, it means so much to a lot of people,” Sylvia stated.

  Yeah, he liked her.

  “Thank you, Sylvia,” he said, feeling his face get hot. Wow. No one ever made him feel embarrassed and here was this sweet woman he’d just met doing just that.

  “Thank you,” she said with a smile. “Your father says you now work for a security company? What do you do there?”

  “Yes, Citadel Executive Protection, or CEP. I, uh, do quite a few things. Bodyguard, security systems, surveillance. Lately, I’ve been mostly chasing after skips. Um, you know, like a bounty hunter?”

  “Oh! Like Pat Garrett! Or Robert Ford!”

  Well, thank God. He just knew she’d throw Dog the Bounty Hunter at him. He liked her even more for not doing so.

  “Yes, I guess so, just not as famous,” he said with a chuckle, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, now positively embarrassed at being compared to the historically famous men who’d tracked down Billy the Kid and Jesse James.

  “That’s so interesting! And now you still continue to do service for your country. Saul, I didn’t realize what a hero your son is,” she said in a chiding tone as she looked at his dad.

  Damn. She was great. It’d been a long time since he’d just sat and talked with a woman of any age. Mostly, the women he’d dated the past several years weren’t looking for anything but a lay and maybe a free meal here and there. Jesus. His dad was outdoing him in the female department for damned sure.

  Saul snorted out a chuckle. “Yeah, he’s a real hero, all right. You should’ve been there when I was bailing his ass out of jail when he was in high school.”

  Sylvia frowned at him. “Now
, my son went through that stuff too. I think it’s just restless teenage boys is all. I’m sure John didn’t get into too much trouble.”

  Saul looked at his son and rolled his eyes. But then a proud gleam that Oz hadn’t seen in years filled them. “Well, he was the star quarterback. Got all kinds of offers to go play in college, Florida State, Alabama, Oklahoma. But he felt the need to bypass that all and serve his country.” Saul looked at his son in approval, which about made Oz fall out of his chair. “I guess he really is a hero.”

  Well, didn’t that just beat all? Oz really, really liked this woman.

  “Would you like some pumpkin pie?” Sylvia asked, getting up.

  “No, that’s okay,” Oz replied.

  “Well, we were just about to have some with coffee, so it’s no trouble,” she offered.

  “Okay. If you were going to get some any way, I’d like some, sure.”

  “Be right back,” she said as she walked out of the living room into the kitchen.

  Oz looked at his dad in shock.

  “What?” Saul asked.

  “Dad. She’s amazing. Where’d you find her?”

  Saul laughed. “She’s worked in the office the past year and I finally got up the nerve to ask her out last week. Thought I was gonna have a heart attack the way my fucking heart was about to beat out of my chest.”

  Oz laughed. It was nice to see his dad smiling much less laughing.

  “She agreed to go to lunch with me last Saturday and since her kids all live on the west coast she said she’d be alone for the holiday, so we decided to have it together.”

  “That’s great, Dad. I like her a lot.”

  “I do too. She’s been widowed for five years and I’m the only man she’s agreed to go out with since her husband passed, she told me.”

  Oz could see that. His dad was a handsome man when it came down to it. He had a little tough guy, jaw clenched, Clint Eastwood thing going on Oz had always thought, which now made him chuckle.

  “What?” Saul asked.

  “Nothing. I’m just happy for you, Dad.”

  “Thanks, son. She’s definitely a keeper. That is if she’ll have me.”

  Oz had to chuckle again that his usually churlish father was acting almost wistful. Sylvia came in at that moment carrying a silver tray with three plates of pie on it along with a coffee carafe and mugs.

  “I hope it’s okay that I used this? I found it in the pantry.”

  Oz watched his father carefully, seeing him tense up. It was the tray Saul had gotten Iris for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Oz had been fifteen years old and had gone shopping with his dad and helped to pick it out. When his dad had given it to his mom, she’d been elated, and through her tears she’d said that Saul had been so thoughtful, actually having heard her saying she’d wanted one to use when she hosted her prayer group. She’d hugged and kissed her husband like crazy making Oz uncomfortable and roll his eyes, as any teenage boy would’ve done.

  Saul now bit his lip as he realized what Sylvia was referring to, and Oz worried that his dad was either going to break down or start cussing someone out, probably him. But his dad took a deep breath throwing him a sideward glance then nodded, saying, “Yes, that’s fine, honey. You feel free to use anything you want.”

  The tension in the room immediately dissipated and Sylvia proceeded to place the tray on the coffee table then hand each man a pie-filled plate.

  “It’s a lovely tray, Saul. Was it your wife’s?” she asked softly.

  Saul cleared his throat. “Yes, it was Iris’s. I got it for our twenty-fifth anniversary.”

  “Oh, that’s so wonderful that you two had that many years together. I know Iris had to have been a remarkable woman.” Sylvia smiled sweetly at Oz. “My husband, Dave, and I were two years short of that milestone when he passed.”

  Oz sat looking at her in awe. It was so nice to hear about his mother in a positive light for a change, and by someone, even a complete stranger to him as Sylvia was, to honor her memory so. It seemed all he’d heard in the past eleven years was his father’s mourning her, not that he’d badmouthed her, but there was really nothing positive being said in her memory, and he’d always been afraid to say anything to his dad for fear of being griped out. And here Sylvia sat talking about her so easily and effortlessly the way it always should’ve been. Damn, if his dad didn’t ask Sylvia out again, he thought he just might, which made him smirk.

  Sylvia asked each what they took in their coffee, and when they both shook their heads and said, “Black,” she giggled.

  “My, such manly men,” she said with a grin as she handed each a mug.

  Oz chuckled. Yep. He liked this woman and hoped his dad would be smart enough to keep her around. He deserved to be happy after such a long time of being alone. His mom would be a tough act to follow, but he thought Sylvia just might be up to the challenge.

  Chapter 9

  “I cannot believe you made a pie,” Tilly told her brother. “I mean, I seriously can’t believe it.” She took a hesitant bite of the pecan pie Jeff said he’d made, a look of surprise showing on her face as she found that it was actually good.

  “Hey, I’m not a complete and total idiot,” he replied with a grin.

  He’d gotten to his sister’s after seven when his shift had ended and they’d eaten their Thanksgiving meal almost immediately because Tilly knew he’d be famished (as usual), but even more so since he’d called her three times to make sure she was cooking and telling her he’d skipped lunch. He’d barely changed out of his uniform before he was in the kitchen sneaking bites of turkey.

  “Tell the truth. What store did you buy it from?” she said with a chuckle when she saw him frowning at her.

  “I am telling the truth. I called Jen when I got home last night and asked her what ingredients I needed to make it. We had everything in the cabinets or the fridge including a premade piecrust and she talked me through it all. Keep questioning my baking abilities, and I’ll tell you what I talked her through afterward.” He grinned wickedly at her.

  “Gross.” It was Tilly’s turn to frown now.

  Jeff cracked up. “Just thought since you weren’t getting any from that fucking dumbass anymore, you’d like to hear.”

  Tilly smacked her brother on the arm. “Stop cussing before I tell you what I’ve been talked through in the past.”

  “Fuck,” he muttered. She opened her mouth to continue when he grimaced, holding up a hand. “Okay, okay, I’m stopping. Jesus.”

  Tilly laughed, shaking her head. “Thought that’d do it.”

  “Well, you do know I cuss on the job and with the guys and just about everywhere else, right? Even though I try to keep my mouth clean around her, Jen’s fighting a losing battle as are you.” He sniggered right as his phone rang. “Jen,” he said checking it as he got up from the table. “Hey, babe. Guess what? I haven’t been cussing,” he said innocently upon answering, looking at his sister with a smirk.

  Tilly shook her head and started clearing dishes off the table, carrying them into the kitchen when her doorbell rang. It was almost nine, so she had no idea who it could be. Jeff was in the living room as she walked through toward the door, and when he looked at her in question, she shrugged her shoulders back at him, just as clueless as he was.

  Upon turning on the porch light and pulling back the curtain to see who was there, she let out a groan, looking over at her brother, and mouthed, “Doug.”

  “Hey, baby, I’ve gotta let you go. Doug’s here. Yeah. I know. I’ll tell her. I’ll call you later, okay?” Jeff said his goodbyes and hung up, walking over to the door, telling Tilly, “Jen said to run his ass off. Damn it! Should’ve gotten on her for cussing!” He grimaced hilariously, but Tilly couldn’t laugh knowing that Doug was on the other side of the door. “You want him here?” Jeff asked.

  She sighed. “Well, I don’t want a fight. Guess it won’t hurt to let him in and see what he wants. I mean, he’s still a friend. I guess.”
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  “Hey, Jeff,” Doug said when the door opened. “Been a while.”

  “Yeah. What’s up?”

  Jeff held his ground until Tilly gently pulled him aside. There was no need to be rude. “Come on in, Doug,” she said.

  “Hey, Till. Happy Thanksgiving. Mom sent you some pumpkin bread and told me to tell you that she missed you.” He handed her the foil-wrapped bread.

  She couldn’t help but feel a little guilty over their breakup then. “That was really nice of her. Tell her I said thank you.” She walked to the kitchen to put the bread away thankful for a reason to get away from him to gather her wits a bit. “How is your mom?” she semi yelled thinking he was still in the living room, but upon turning she ran into Jeff who’d followed Doug who’d followed her into the kitchen. “Oh! Sorry, Jeff.” Jeez. What the heck?

  “What do you need, Doug?” Jeff asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest from where he stood in front of Tilly, his stance one of protection.

  She put a hand on his upper arm in an It’s okay; he’s not a threat kind of way. “Why don’t I cut the bread up and we can each have a piece? Okay? Have a seat, guys,” she suggested.

  Jeff cut her a look as if to say she was an idiot for allowing him to stay. She bugged her eyes out, giving him a look right back that told him she wasn’t going to be rude; therefore, she had no other choice. Jeff shook his head then went to the small table that sat in the breakfast nook in the kitchen.

  “So, Mom was wondering why you didn’t come by today,” Doug said.

  Tilly stopped cutting the bread and glanced over at him as he gave her his best pouty look. “You didn’t tell her we broke up?”

  He frowned. “I can’t tell her that. It’d tear her up, Till. Especially around the holidays. You know how upset she gets about things.”

  “Well, you need to tell her soon because you guys are over,” Jeff put out there.