Now And Always (Crown Creek)

by Theresa Leigh

  I screeched into the gravel lot in front of the pool hall because this was where Claire said she’d found him. Heart in my throat, I gave my keys a savage twist, shutting off my overheated engine. In the silence left behind, the only sounds I could hear were the ticking of the cooling engine and the ringing in my ears.

  Revenge was the only thing on my mind. Making him pay. Hurting him. Finally delivering some long-awaited justice. I curled my hands into fists.

  And then looked down. And for a second, I remembered myself. I was a decent fighter, but four against one was shitty odds, and the Knights seemed to always travel in packs. I could probably go in there and land one solid punch before they put me in the hospital.

  With a sob of grief, I uncurled my fists. Fucking J.D. Why did he always get to win?

  He wasn’t going to. I wasn’t as good at fighting as he was, but I was definitely smarter. What would hurt him the most?

  He and his brothers were gearheads. Motorcycles specifically. They loved nothing better than roaring through town on their tricked-out, chrome-finished bikes.

  I fished around in my glove box until I found the penknife I kept in there. Claire would tease me if she knew I always kept a spare knife handy for whittling, but this wasn’t about her.

  This was about justice for me.

  I looked around, searching for their motorcycles as I palmed the knife. Slashing their tires was crude. But imagining the pop as I sank my knife in, and the resulting hiss of the escaping air made my lips curl into a smile. Imagining the way they’d shout and curse when they discovered it made me smile even wider. I squinted into the snowy darkness. “Where are you?” I spat.

  Then I realized what I was doing. It was the middle of December and snowing like a bitch. Even idiots like the Knight Brothers wouldn’t be dumb enough to ride bikes in this kind of weather.

  But what else did they ride? Panic gripped me as I looked around wildly, trying to discern which one of the mud-splattered pickups or rusted out SUVs on lifts belonged to them. They owned a garage. They had their pick of vehicles. How would I know which one they’d ridden tonight?

  What if they weren’t even here?

  I couldn’t just move through the lot, slashing at random. They had to know they were the targets. They had to feel at least a fraction of the fear they’d made me live with for most of my life. I wanted them to know what it was like to be wary.

  I wanted them to hurt. No one else.

  Before I knew what I was doing, I had slammed the door to my truck. The biting wind instantly sapped all the heat from my body as I sprinted across the lot and up the three sloping wood stairs. I burst through the door in a breathless gasp and inhaled the hazy smells of cheap beer and cigarettes. The smoke curled along the ceiling in defiant, law-breaking wisps, making me cough and squint as my eyes adjusted to the light. For a moment, I couldn’t see anything but blurry silhouettes.

  Then I heard a laugh that made my blood run cold.

  “What the fuck?” J.D.’s voice rose through the gloom. “Bailey, what the hell are you doing here?”

  I gripped my knife a little tighter.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Ethan

  He was coming toward me. "Bailey? You lost or something?"

  I sheathed the blade and palmed it in my hand, out of sight.

  “What’s up?” J.D. said as he reached me, smiling like we were old friends. I’d seen that smile before, though most recently in one of those sweating nightmares that jolted me out of a sound sleep and left me hungover with powerless self-hatred for the rest of the day.

  I hated that smile.

  “We keep running into each other,” J.D. went on.

  “You do?” His brother Maddox appeared at his side and looked between the two of us, his expression as confused as I felt.

  “Yeah, at the college and shit,” J.D. clarified. “Right?”

  “Guess so,” I mumbled, glaring at him. How could he smile like that? Had he really never checked in with Claire? How could he not call her the next day? Bring her flowers? Treat her right?

  With a jolt I realized the reason I was here. Blinded by my own fury, I’d let it crowd out the actual reason for my rage. J.D. was going to be a father and he had no fucking idea, because he didn’t even have the decency to pick up the phone and check in with the girl he’d screwed over.

  I knew right then that I was capable of murder.

  “Not used to seeing you over on this side of town.” J.D. was still searching my face. He deliberately crowded me, stepping into my space so I could smell the grease under his fingernails and the smell of leather that clung to him even though he was just wearing a faded black T-shirt. “You lost?” he asked again.

  Fuck you, I didn’t say. Instead I rocked forward onto the balls of my feet, crowding him just like he crowded me. “Nah. I just wanted to play some pool.”

  When his dark, slashing eyebrows shot up, I cursed myself. Why the fuck did I say that? The last thing in the world I wanted to do was spend a minute more in this asshole’s presence. I just wanted to figure out which car was his so I could shred his tires to ribbons.

  But I also wanted to figure out why Claire had done what she’d done. And more than that, I wanted to know what J.D. knew about her, what he thought about her. I wanted to steer the conversation to that night and find out if he’d been respectful of the treasure he’d been wrongly handed.

  Fuck running. The monster under my bed and I needed to have a little chat.

  “I didn’t know you played,” Maddox chimed in.

  I shrugged. “There are a lot of things you don’t know.”

  Maddox scowled, but J.D. laughed. “You got that right!” His heavy hand landed on my shoulder, making me jump, but instead of punching me, he gave an awkward pat. “Then come on over. I’ll spot you a game.”

  He and his brother turned back to the corner table. I followed slowly, with each step wondering just what the fuck I was doing following my bully into a pool hall.

  “Holy shit, is that— That’s Bookworm Bailey.” Rocco charged around the pool table. I dropped my weight back on my heels, planting myself evenly on both feet.

  But just like his younger brother, Rocco just clapped me on the back. “Whassup, man?”

  I gritted my teeth. Then realizing some response was called for, I mumbled, “Nothin’.”

  “Nothin’? Aw, bullshit, I’ve seen you goin’ to school and shit, right? Like my little brother?”

  I nodded even though I hated having any comparisons made between me and the scarily silent Lennon Knight, who, as if summoned, had uncoiled his long, lean body from where it slumped in the corner and now shadowed his oldest brother. “I’m taking a few classes, yeah,” I admitted. Every part of me screamed out a warning not to give them details. Not to give them ammo they could use against me.

  Rocco nodded again. “Yeah, I thought so. Bet you never thought you’d be goin’ to college with one of us, huh?” He grinned and looked up at his taller youngest brother with something close to pride. “But this asshole actually reads books and shit, unlike the rest of us.” He turned back to me with his eyes wide. “Shit, you used to read those big-ass books all the time, right? You still do that?”

  I ran my tongue along my bottom lip and then lifted my chin. “Yeah. I do.”

  Rocco nodded. And then, to my surprise, a flicker of regret crossed his face. “Shit.” He shifted his weight from one side to another, looking for all the world like a little kid caught with his hand in the candy jar. “Shit, I just remembered all the shit I used to give you about those books.”

  “Yeah, you did.” Anger burned my throat.

  He nodded. “I know. Look, sorry about that. I was never much of a reader in high school.”

  “Our dad wasn’t exactly what you’d call a literary genius,” Maddox supplied from across the table.

  Lennon hung his head and slumped back into the corner at that. I watched J.D. notice this and snarl, “Nah, he was what you�
�d call a fucking asshole.”

  I blinked. As far as I knew, the brothers idolized their swaggering blowhard of a father. This was surprising.

  But not as surprising as what came out of Rocco’s mouth next. “My lady reads everything she can,” he told me proudly. “Comes home from the library with a stack like this.” He mimed tucking books under his chin. “And she tears through them like nothing and goes right back for more. And she’s always wanting to talk to me about the stuff she’s learning, so I’ve kinda gotten into the habit now too.” He went to the corner and returned with his jacket. Fishing around in his pocket, he produced a slim paperback and held it out proudly. “You read this one?”

  “Of Mice and Men?” I read the title. “Uh, yeah. It was required reading junior year.”

  Rocco’s smile faded a little. “Yeah, well like I said. Not much of a reader then. But now I like it. So what I’m telling you is I get it, Bookworm Bailey.”

  The old nickname set my teeth on edge. But it was hard to hold on to that anger when he was apologizing.

  Apologizing.

  He was apologizing.

  How many times had I imagined this? But every time, the apology I craved had come after I’d bested him somehow. After I’d reduced him to a cowering, blubbering mess and forced it out of him. Not like this, with him looking me in the eye and outright handing it to me with grace and sincerity.

  I clenched and unclenched my fists, unconsciously trying to keep my grip on the reason I came here. Hold on to my hatred. And that’s when I remembered I was still holding my knife.

  Wordlessly, I slipped it into my pocket.

  Rocco’s eyes followed my hand. But if he saw what I was tucking away, he didn’t raise the alarm to his brothers. The corner of his mouth just kicked up in a private grin of realization.

  Then he held out his hand. “Like I said, I’m sorry. So’s J.D.”

  I looked down at his hand and then up at J.D., who nodded silently.

  I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t shake his hand. If it was just Rocco, maybe I could forgive. But not J.D.

  Not after what I’d found out.

  Slowly, Rocco let his hand fall. He nodded. “Okay, man, that's fine,” he said softly. “This shit takes time. I get it. Believe me, I do.” He gave me another clap on the shoulder that made me jump, then lifted his chin at Maddox, who handed him cue. My former tormenter held it out like a peace offering. “Now, how ’bout we stop gabbing like a bunch of old ladies and play some fucking pool?”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Claire

  I awoke to the distinctive sound of my mother in the kitchen.

  Slam went the refrigerator door. Slam went the cupboard door. TingTingTing went the handles of the ancient mixing bowls that were only brought out once a year.

  Christmas. The one time of the year my mother felt the need to drive herself crazy by baking.

  My eyes were still scratchy from last night’s crying jag. Tears crusted the corners, but I still managed to widen them in alarm.

  Woosh went the ancient farmhouse pipes. Splash went the faucet. Screech went the pantry door.

  Then I heard my dad’s rumbling voice. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but I knew he was making his excuses because the next thing I heard was the front door slam and the garage door whir open. I couldn’t help but smile at how obvious he was in making his escape. But I also felt a little sold out that he hadn’t come to my door to rescue me too. Now I was alone in the house and my mother was baking.

  I was in grave, grave danger.

  Crash went the oven door, followed by the first yelped, “Goshdarnit!” of what was sure to be many. My mother never swore, but she wielded her schoolgirl curses with the same fervor. “Goshdarnit” was pretty serious, but if she ever got to “God bless us, every one!” you needed to forget your shoes and just start running.

  There was a skittering noise, then the jingle of a dog collar. Even Duke, our ancient and mostly sedentary yellow Lab, was running for the hills. The hills, in his case, was my parents’ bathroom. I was certain he was wedging his huge body behind the toilet right now.

  Damn dog took the best hiding spot for himself.

  Another crash had me thinking about texting Ruby and begging her to feign an emergency that would get me out of the house. Maybe I could convince her take me on an interstate road trip so as to be outside of the blast zone radius in case this was the year baking finally drove my mother to the brink

  I reached for my phone. But as I closed my fingers around the case, I hesitated.

  My lips were still swollen with Ethan’s kisses. And my eyes were still swollen from crying over what happened next. The last thing I wanted to do was call someone who would try to make me happy.

  No, I felt like shit and I wanted to stay feeling shitty.

  And the best way to do that was to put on my big-girl panties, go downstairs, and attempt to coach my mother through her yearly stand-off with baked goods.

  If it all worked out the way I figured, she’d probably kick me out of the house by the end of it. Then I could feel even worse.

  Good plan.

  I pulled on a pair of fuzzy pajama bottoms and opened my door. I stood listening for the right moment to head down. But the rattling and “Jesus, Mary and Josephs,” continued without pause, and I finally realized there was no good time to do this, it just needed to be done.

  “Good morning,” I whispered from the kitchen doorway. When my mom was baking, it didn’t do any good to startle her. “Would you like any help?”

  “Do we have sugar?” she barked. Of course she had forgotten to confirm this fact until she she'd already mixed her other ingredients, but that didn’t surprise me.

  I nodded and quickly padded over to the spice cupboard. When I silently procured the sugar bowl, she nodded abruptly. “Three cups.”

  I pulled out the measuring cup and then paused. “You sure?”

  She narrowed her eyes at me and then squinted at the recipe book. “One third of a cup,” she amended.

  Breathing a sigh of relief on the cookies’ behalf, I pulled out another measuring cup and dumped it in.

  She started the mixer. I hovered there as she grimly mixed the batter, frowning like it had offended her. Or maybe she was frowning because I had offended her. The thick silence made me dizzy.

  I couldn’t take it anymore. “Mom, I’m sorry,” I blurted.

  My mother switched off the mixer. Setting it deliberately on the counter, she grabbed a dish towel and wiped her floury hands.

  Then pulled me into a hug.

  I stiffened in surprise. But only for a moment. “Mom,” I breathed, my voice catching.

  “Hush.” She stroked the back of my head as I rested my cheek on her shoulder. “Hush, my baby girl. Why are you sorry?”

  “For disappointing you?” I hiccupped and pulled back, wiping my eyes.

  She frowned and tucked my hair behind my ears. “Claire, look at me.” I turned away. “Claire,” she repeated sternly.

  Compelled to obey my mother, I turned back to her. “There you are,” she said, a soft smile crossing her face. “Listen to me. I am not disappointed. I told you last night, I support you. You could never disappoint me. I am proud of each and every thing you do.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not. I mean, I pretend to be. But I’m not.” My voice caught in a sob.

  My mother shook her head. “Claire, hush. You are your own worst critic.” She brushed her hands on her pants again and turned back to her cookies.

  “Don’t forget to grease the sheet,” I blurted automatically.

  She frowned and put the spoonful of dough down. “Right. Thank you.” She rubbed down the cookie sheet with butter, frowning thoughtfully. “You know, in a way,” she said, “I’m glad you never played in the band with the boys.”

  I inhaled sharply. This was an old wound, one that had never quite healed. Being left out of my brothers’ success simply because I was a girl was one of the main
drivers in my life. It was the yardstick I measured myself against. Even now, with the band broken up and all my brothers more or less settled down. Even though they’d fought for me, saying I was the best singer in the family, and refused to do the reunion concert without me there, I was still raw over being passed over. I still chafed when I saw people’s faces when they realized I was the only member of the King family who wasn’t famous. I hated the flicker of pity, but what I hated even more was the unasked questions that always lingered in the air. Why weren’t you in the band too? Was it because you aren’t good enough?

  I licked my lips, flexing my fingers before exhaling hard. My mother turned to me. Seeing my anger flaring up, she nodded. “I know, Claire. I know. But think about it. If you’d been in the spotlight like they were, how would you have felt?”

  “Wonderful,” I snapped.

  She shook her head. “Maybe for a little bit. Until you saw someone else who was doing better than you. Someone you thought was smarter or prettier or had achieved the success you thought should be yours. Then you’d be miserable.” She nodded as she watched me take this in. “Or worse, what if it wasn’t a stranger you compared yourself to? What if it was Jonah? Or Finn? What if they got more press than you, or had more solos on the albums?” She gripped my shoulder. “I know you wouldn’t mean to, but you'd keep score. It would have poisoned you against your own family.” She shook her head. “No. I’m proud of you for what you’ve accomplished all on your own. Without fame, without anyone managing your career. Think about it. You’ve forged your own path.”

  I stared at her. I opened my mouth. Then snapped it shut again and looked down at my belly. “My own path led me a little bit astray, don’t you think?”

  My mother slid the cookie sheet into the oven and shut the door with a resounding bang. “You are Claire King,” she announced in a voice that dared me to try and challenge her. “You know what you want. And if what you want maybe changes a bit, who cares? You know exactly what you need to do to go get it.”