by Shandi Boyes
I’ve heard rumors that alpacas have fire-retardant coats, but that doesn’t stop me from faking ignorance.
When I shake my head, Regan informs me, “Luca wanted to test the theory on my pet alpaca.”
“You have a pet alpaca?” Now my interests are genuine. Regan exhibits glam to the nth degree. Imagining her with a farm animal as a pet is an entertaining thought.
“Had. She went to alpaca heaven a few years ago,” Regan explains.
When I give her a look, she slaps my arm. “She died of natural causes.”
“Uh-huh, sure she did.”
She slaps me again, her giggle attracting the attention of everyone surrounding us. James smiles with glee, happy Regan’s back to her usual self. The female flight attendants aren’t as overjoyed as him. They prefer us bickering over bantering.
I like when we do both.
"Did I tell you about my brother's cunning ability to lick his elbow. . .?"
By the time we land at an airstrip just north of Texas, Regan and I have spilled a lifetime of secrets. I even shared with her the time I peed my pants in the first grade, and my brother covered it up by telling everyone I sat in a puddle. I don’t know how he got away with it. The wet patch was in the front of my shorts, not the back.
Regan laughed hysterically when I told her the infamous nickname Dane made up for me, and her cheeks turned beet red when I revealed my mom forces me to FaceTime with my cat once a week. I have no idea why she got flustered over that. From her wide eyes and inflamed cheeks, you'd swear I was confessing to more risqué activities. . .
My thoughts trail as reality dawns. Stopping halfway down the gangway, I lock my eyes with Regan. “I called Maxx a pretty pussy, didn’t I?”
She doesn’t answer me. She doesn’t need to. The leering grin stretching across her face tells me everything I need to know.
“How many times did I say it?”
“More than enough to keep my fantasies well stocked for the next few weeks,” Regan replies with a sassy wink.
While recalling the number of times she squirmed, blushed, and chewed on her lower lip during my confession, I guide her toward the exit I was told our driver would be waiting at.
Upon spotting my name sprawled on a white chauffeur’s board for a local hotel, Regan stops walking. "Ah. We're not staying at a hotel." She locks her massively dilated eyes with mine. Our flirty interactions the past two and a half hours have unjumbled the confusion in her eyes, leaving nothing but painstakingly gorgeous green irises. "If my parents discover I was in Texas and didn't visit, I'll be shunned from family gatherings for eternity."
“It’s just a night—”
"They wouldn't care if it was a ten-minute layover. When you're in town, you visit. No questions asked." She scans the gathering of people milling around the departure bay waiting for loved ones. "I'm shocked Daddy didn't sense my arrival. He has a weird intuition with his children. When his ears twitch, it's either going to snow, or one of his babies is coming home."
Before I can laugh, a deep barreling voice booms into my ears. “I knew it! My ears don’t twitch for no reason!”
My hand darts down for the gun I'm not carrying when Regan is hoisted from the ground by a giant man with dirty jeans and a smile more blinding than the low-hanging sun. He holds Regan so close to his body, I'm confident she's moments from being crushed to death. I should be rushing in to save her from the man with biceps as big as my head, but the only response I can conjure when Regan squeals her father's name is a long, penetrating glare.
The giant standing in front of me isn't close to what I pictured when Regan shared stories about her father. I was anticipating a meek, knee-slapping farmer with pencil thin legs and a crooked smile. My assumptions were so far from the bullseye, my throws didn't even nick the board. Her father is tall and wide, and glaring at me like I'm two inches of foam on his recently poured beer.
“Sir,” I greet with a dip of my chin.
When I hold out my hand in offering, he places Regan back on her feet. He doesn't accept my greeting, though; he merely bounces his eyes between Regan and me as though he's assessing if I am a random Neanderthal cozying in on family time, or I’m with Regan.
I drop my hand to my side when his eye does a weird twitching thing. Years of studying body language ensures I can't mistake his annoyance. Mr. Myers is not a fan of mine. He knows my intentions with his daughter aren't noble, and he has no qualms wordlessly notifying me of his knowledge.
My neck cranks to the side when a familiar giggle rings through my ears. It's the same laughter I’ve heard numerous times the past two hours. When Regan's amused gaze meets mine, I nudge my head to her father, demanding an introduction. She cocks her hip as her arms fold in front of her chest. She's not being straight-up rude; she just loves my uneasiness too much to alleviate it.
I give her a look warning of my impending retribution before returning my eyes to her father. With his daughter failing to jump in with an introduction, the task is left to me.
“Alex,” I introduce, once again holding out my hand. “I’m a friend of Regan’s.”
“Hmm-mmm. Friend. Right.” Any buzz still thrumming through my veins from our trip dissipates from the irritation in his tone.
When he lowers his eyes to Regan, she stops grinning at my uncomfortable swallow. “Is he your friend, baby girl?” His tone reveals precisely what he intends to do to me if Regan says no. I’m mincemeat.
Regan stews on her answer long enough a bead of sweat forms on my nape. It dribbles down my back when she eventually stammers out, “He came to support me at Luca’s memorial.”
Now, I’m not the only one sweating. Regan’s dad looks just as uncomfortable as me. His reaction makes it clear that this weekend is the first time Regan has attended Luca’s memorial. But if it didn’t, his next question leaves no doubt. “You’re attending this year?”
Regan halfheartedly nods before bumping her hip against mine. If she wants a hero to jump in and save her, she’s looking at the wrong man. I have no clue what to say to ease the pain in her eyes, except perhaps, “It’s time for Regan to move on. Luca would want that more than anyone.”
It dawns on me who Regan gets her knockout smile from when her dad grins as if all his Christmases came at once. I’m glad he got comfort from my reply, but Regan appears on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. The hurt in her eyes has returned stronger than ever, and once again, I am the man responsible for it.
“I’m proud of you, baby girl,” her dad assures, hating how pale her cheeks have gotten as much as me. “Your momma and I have wanted you to move on for years. We knew you’d eventually come around, because everything happens at its own pace.”
When he tucks her under his arm, she nuzzles her face into his broad chest. I’m left standing in the middle of a busy departure gate when he pivots on his heels and walks away, carting an unsuspecting Regan along with him.
Unsure if their gathering is a private party for two, I stay rooted in my spot. I want to comfort Regan in the same manner her father is, but to do that, I'd have to step over a father who is consoling his daughter. That would never be achieved without violence. And since there's only one time I've taken down a man double my size without a weapon—when I arrested Dwain at Substanz—I'm not eager to put those tactics into play.
If Regan discovers I can take down a man the size of her father, my cover would be jeopardized. Although I'd give anything to take away her pain, I can't let that happen. If she doesn't trust me, every inch of mud we've dragged each other through the past twenty-four hours will be for nothing. I'm standing in Texas for one reason and one reason only: to keep Regan safe. That comes before anything—even my position.
I’m saved from doing something desperate when Regan’s father shouts, “Fetch the bags, city boy, and be at my truck within five minutes, or hitchhike your ass home.”
His words barely leave his mouth as they disappear through dark tinted doors. Thankfully, Regan agreed to travel with on
ly carryon luggage, meaning there are no additional bags for me to gather. I'm on their heels in under thirty seconds, and in even a shorter amount of time, squished between a cage of baby chickens and a goat as we make the fifty-mile trek to Regan's family home.
Chapter Twenty
I twist my neck back to face Alex when he asks, “Do the goats always ride in the cab of the truck?” His eyes dart between mine and my dad’s glaring at him in the rearview mirror as he adds on, “I get the chickens—they’re just babies—but this goat appears full grown.”
Before I can assure him he isn't going crazy, my dad butts in, "That's Clancy—Regan's pet goat. When Regan's home, Clancy goes wherever Regan goes." He mumbles a few more words under his breath but they’re quiet enough neither Alex or I can hear them. "Pet him. He's real friendly."
Missing the brisk shake of my head advising him against it, Alex does as instructed. He pays for his trust not even two seconds later. Clancy’s bite isn’t firm enough to draw blood, but I’m reasonably sure Alex’s hand will bear the imprint of his teeth for the next three to four days.
I pat Alex’s knee, enticing his eyes to mine. “He’s a bit of a chewer—”
“That’s not true,” my dad interrupts, hating that I’m soothing the sting to Alex’s ego. “He just doesn’t like strangers moseying in on his turf.” He overemphasizes the word “strangers,” ensuring Alex can’t miss that Clancy isn’t the only animal in this truck harboring some disdain. “We don’t do well with city folk around here.”
Alex braces his chin on his chest to hide his smirk when I roll my eyes at my dad's pompous attitude. I've always loved that my dad is so big and brawny, he didn't just scare boys my age into being gentleman, he also petrified their fathers, but it doesn't have the same effect on me today. Alex doesn't want to hurt me. He wants to save me. Both notions are as frightening as the other.
When I return my eyes front and center to wordlessly warn my dad to quit the larks, a scrap of paper at my feet captures my attention. It's a receipt with flight details scribbled on the back.
After gathering the receipt in my hand, I shift my eyes to my dad. “Who told you I was coming? It was Maisy, wasn’t it? Or Beatrice?”
Heat surfaces on my cheeks as I run through the short list of women over seventy in our home town. They and their belittling ways are the reason Luca could never be who he truly wanted to be. He was too concerned about maintaining an image than pursuing happiness. That's why his depression was so hard to overcome. It fed off their negativity until it combusted in the most horrific way.
“Answer me, Dad! Which one of the know-it-all old biddies yapped in your ear this time?”
My dad keeps his eyes on the road, knowing he can’t look at me and lie. “No one. It was my ears. You know how they twitch when you girls. . .” His words trail off when I yank on his steering wheel, bringing his beloved truck to the very edge of the asphalt. “Rae! Have you gone tooting mad?! You could get us killed!”
Although I love the return of the nickname he hasn’t called me since I was twenty-two, the anger in his tone holds back my joy.
“You lied!” I shout, tossing the crumbled up receipt into his chest. “Those are the exact details of our flight today!”
His lips wobble, but not a word escapes them.
Recalling the strict rules my momma raised me with, I shout, "Out!" I nudge my head to his door, giving him his marching orders. "You lie, you walk. That's what momma always says."
“Rae—”
“Out! What's good for one is good for all,” I quote, using his words against him. “Liars don’t prosper. They also don’t get a free ride, so out you go!”
Alex remains as quiet as a church mouse when my dad throws open his door before clambering onto the roadside. He barely squeaks a peep when I slide into my dad’s spot, slam my foot on the gas pedal, and leave my dad in a pile of dust.
He doesn’t say a word until my dad is nothing but a speck of dirt in the low-hanging sun. “Rae. . .” He articulates my name more sincerely than my dad did. “You can’t leave him. We still have over thirty miles to travel.”
Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror. “So? That will give him plenty of time to cool down.”
"A cold shower is a much better solution for calming down an out-of-control Myers." He aims for his tone to come out cheeky, but all I hear is sexual innuendo. He's amused, but not enough to smile. It’s a pity for him I don’t need to see his grin to know it’s there.
I lower my speed to a less dangerous pace when Alex climbs into the passenger seat. I am as mad as hell, but I don’t want him getting hurt.
The anger blistering my veins simmers when a manly scent engulfs me. Even hours after his last shower, Alex smells clean and fresh. . . and a little bit like Clancy. It doesn’t dampen his appeal in the slightest. It suits him. He should wear country more often.
“Did you just sniff me?” Alex asks, sliding into the empty space next to me.
“No!” I immediately retort, lying through my teeth.
My bones jump out of my skin when Alex shouts, “Out!” He yanks on the steering wheel as abruptly as I did a mile ago. “What's good for one is good for all.”
“But I wasn’t lying,” I lie.
Alex waits for me to pull over before arching a brow. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. I can read the shit-eating pompousness beaming out of him.
Incapable of ignoring his stern glare for a second longer, my voice wavers, “It was barely a whiff; it doesn’t count!”
“You lied; get on your bike.” He leans across me to yank on the rusty door handle. When the driver’s side door pops open, he nudges me in the shoulder. “You better get a wiggle on; you’ve only got an hour of sunlight left.”
I slam the door shut. "I am not walking. There could be coyotes and rattlesnakes, or god knows what else hiding in the bushes waiting to pounce on me!"
"And honesty?" Alex asks with a twist of his lips. "There could also be that."
I grunt like a wild animal, unappreciative of his underhanded swipe at my integrity. “Who are you to preach?! You’ve done nothing but lie to me since the day we met!”
He says nothing—of course! A liar doesn’t defend himself with lies. He keeps quiet.
Enraged with anger at his continued deceit, I throw open the door I just shut, then slip out of the truck. I barely make it three steps away from the hood when Alex is on my tail.
“When have I lied to you?” his voice roars through both my chest and the deadly quiet afternoon.
I whip around to face him so fast I give myself whiplash. "Oh, I don't know, how about the accountant speech you gave me at the hospital?! Or what about the whole toolbelt incident instead of admitting you were carrying a gun—"
“That was Josie, not me.”
I continue talking as if he never spoke, “—Or the fact that you continuously deny me when I know you want me?! How many more examples do you want, Alex? A hundred? I can give you a hundred just from the number of times you’ve looked at me the past twenty-four hours.” He remains quiet, perplexed and blindsided by my honesty. “A lie doesn’t need to be vocalized to be heard. You just have to think it.”
“What do you see when you look at me, Regan? A man who can’t stop thinking about you? That you’re on my mind from when the sun rises to when it goes down, no matter what's happening in my day? That you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever fucking seen?! They aren’t lies. Nothing I’ve said or shown you are lies! They are omissions of the truth.”
“They’re still lies!”
“No, they’re not,” he denies, stepping closer to me. “A lie is something you do when you are deceiving someone. An omission of truth is sometimes the only option you have when you’re trying to protect someone you care about. I don’t want to lie to you, Rae, but I sure as fuck don’t want to lose you either.”
I clutch my chest, trying to lessen its leaps from his words. I thought it was just me. The crackling. The fire. I thou
ght it was all my imagination. But he just proved it isn't. He's as deeply invested as me. Just as confused, but definitely devoted.
Even with a hundred theories running through my head, I can’t help but ask, “Who are you, Alex? Really.”
If I were to believe the hunch I’ve been running with since the night we bumped heads in the elevator, he’s either an undercover cop or a spy. I honestly don’t know which scenario I despise the most.
He licks his cracked lips. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Can’t or don’t want to?”
“Can’t,” he answers without pause. “Yet,” he quickly adds on when he spots disappointment in my eyes. “But I will. One day.”
“Just not today?”
He smirks, hoping his heart-fluttering smile will have me feeling no pain when he confirms, “Not today. But soon. I promise you, Rae. When the time is right, you’ll know everything.”
Trusting the honesty beaming out of him, I ask a question I’ve wanted answered since we met. “Why do you call me Rae? There are only two times I’ve been called Rae. By my daddy when I was a child, and by the clients at. . .”
I didn't think this through. From what I've heard via the grapevine, Substanz is still in operation. Jayce is no longer at the helm, but the cabaret dancers and cigar-smoking clientele are still in abundance. Although I doubt Alex would judge me on my past, I like the way he looks at me. I don't want to ruin that for anything.
I raise my eyes to Alex’s. His quirked brow reveals he didn’t miss my fade-to-black comment. “I take it this is what you meant by an omission of the truth?”
With a smile, he nods. “It isn’t that you don’t want to be honest, just sometimes you can’t be. It’s like when my sister asked if her butt looked big in her prom dress, even if it was the size of a submarine, I’d never say it was. An omission of the truth isn’t about harm; it’s about keeping the other person from getting hurt.”
His words impact me more than I can explain. For the past eight years, I’ve felt like I’ve been living one big fat lie. Now it doesn’t feel so bad. I’m not lying to the people I love. I’m stopping them from getting hurt. Those are two entirely different things. So as much as Alex’s inability to be honest frustrates me, until I come clean on the lapses I’ve had the past decade, I can’t preach morality.