EDGE OF REASON

by Barker, Freya

  I calmly wait out a scrutinizing glare from Ouray, until he finally let’s his eyes drift off. “Nosh caught two of the boys sneaking out of the kitchen after breakfast, half the damn pantry in their pockets.”

  Hmm, the natives are getting restless. It makes sense for street kids to go look for the security of food first. I get it.

  “Who?”

  We currently have five boys ranging from nine to fifteen living here. Matt was the latest addition. The other four kids already have their club names. It’s a tradition Ouray started back when he took over the hammer many years ago. A way to make the boys feel included, part of the tribe. It also serves to let them have a fresh start, one without the trauma some of them endured since a very young age that may be attached to their given names. Matt is a rare holdout. The teenager has a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas, and aside from his disinterest in securing a club name; we still don’t have much information on how he ended up on the street. The kid isn’t sharing, and so far, we haven’t been successful digging into his past.

  Probably part of why I fully expect him the first to be named.

  “Ezhno and Istu,” Ouray lists, surprising me. “I already had a talk with them. They’re in my office doing schoolwork.”

  Istu I can see. The youngest, he’s also the one who still scarfs down his meals like it’s his last one. Most of the kids do that initially, until they start believing there’s always a next meal. Istu doesn’t believe yet.

  Ezhno is a surprise. He’s probably the quietest of the bunch. Solitary but observant. There isn’t much he misses, but it’s difficult to gauge what he does with all that information.

  “Mind if I use your office?”

  He waves his hand. “Be my guest.”

  When I walk into the clubhouse I see Ahiga and Matt sitting at the dining room table, books open in front of them.

  Most of the kids are shuttled to the public school in Durango daily. Ahiga is hearing-impaired and for lack of better options for him locally, he’s being home-schooled. Matt’s legal status with the club is still uncertain, so we can’t enroll him in public school yet. Since he and Ahiga are about the same age, he tags along in Ahiga’s program. With ease, from what I understand. The kid is bright.

  His eyes dart up at me the moment I walk in the door, only to drop back to his workbook without any reaction.

  I sign a Hello to Ahiga when he notices me. I’m pretty decent using ASL, and have no problem holding a conversation. Sign language has come in handy working with some of the autistic children in the hospital program in Denver.

  The two pantry-raiders look up with guilt advertised all over their faces when I walk into Ouray’s office.

  “Boys. Wanna put those pens down for a minute and come sit here?” I point at the worn leather couch against the wall. Both boys comply, and I wait until they’re squirming uncomfortably in their seats before I pull one of the visitor chairs around and sit down facing them. “What’s the deal?”

  Istu looks sideways at the older boy, who is staring at the tips of his sneakers. “We was hungry,” he says, turning back to me.

  I sit back, cross an ankle over the opposite knee, and fold my arms behind my head. “Huh. Hungry? Didn’t Momma just feed you guys a big breakfast like she does every morning?”

  “Well…yeah, but what if we got hungry later?”

  “Shut up,” I hear Ezhno whisper under his breath before he darts a furtive glance my way.

  Dropping my foot back to the ground with a thump, I lean forward with my elbows on my knees, pinning the older boy with my eyes. “You missed a meal since you came here, Ezhno? Ever? You think Momma’s gonna let you go hungry? Ever?” My only response is a shrug of his shoulders.

  I get the sense I won’t be able to get more than that out of him. Rather than try to push the issue now, I decide to let both boys stew for a bit longer.

  “Just so you know, it won’t be up to me to decide on consequences for your actions—that’s up to Momma and Ouray—but I can tell you that honesty goes a long way.” I send each of them a firm look. “I’ll be in my office across the hall for the next hour, should either of you want to come clean. Choose wisely.”

  “Any luck?” Ouray is waiting in my office.

  I shake my head. “I could probably get Itsu to talk, but I don’t want to pressure him. I get the sense this isn’t just about pilfering food from the pantry.”

  “I’ll talk to Wapi,” Ouray suggests. “See if he’s picked up on any talk.”

  Wapi is one of the two prospects assigned to the boys’ dorm, a repurposed barn between Nosh and Momma’s place and the clubhouse. He and Shilah rotate weeks supervising the boys during the night.

  “Let me know. Any news on what’s going to happen at the apartments?”

  “Exterminator is scheduled to tent the building and fumigate this weekend. I’m looking at twenty-two fucking tenants and their families displaced from their home for two to three days. Aside from the cost of the exterminator, the cost of alternate lodging for the tenants is costing a whack. I wouldn’t be surprised if the bill attached to this latest clusterfuck is over twenty grand.”

  “Shee-it. Anything I can do, brother?”

  He runs both hands over his face. The man has aged ten years over the past few weeks. “Stay on top of the boys, will ya? We’ve got enough shit piling up from outside the club, don’t need any here at home.”

  “No problem, Chief.”

  I watch him leave the office; his shoulders slumped. I wouldn’t want that kind of responsibility on mine. Good thing he has a family to go home to at night.

  My thoughts immediately jump to Jaimie, and all the ways I’m fucking things up with her.

  I end up waiting two hours—time spent doing a lot of soul-searching—but when the boys still haven’t shown by five, I get up and close my office door behind me.

  My turn to face the music.

  Jaimie

  “Is everything okay?”

  I’m quickly jotting down the last of the details worked out during the long conference call, when Tahlula turns to me. She’d already been on the call when I came in, so we haven’t had a chance to chat.

  “Fine,” I answer a little cautiously. I don’t exactly feel like sharing all the conflicted feelings I have around her brother.

  “Did Trunk get there in time to dig you out?”

  To hide the flush suddenly heating my face, I bend down to tuck my notepad and pen in my purse. “He did.”

  “So?”

  I take in a deep breath before plastering what I hope is an impassive expression on my face and sit up. “Sorry, what?”

  The knowing grin on Tahlula’s face is a warning. “Girl, you do realize everyone witnessed what happened at my wedding, right?”

  “It was just a dance.” I don’t bother denying I know exactly what she’s talking about.

  “Is that what you’ve been telling yourself? Let me enlighten you then; it was the first time I’ve ever seen Trunk dance. With anyone. Anywhere. At any time.” She clearly punctuates each statement until I’m rolling my eyes.

  “All right, I get it. He doesn’t dance.” I lean forward over the table, tapping my index finger on the table. “Well, he was dancing with me, and then he was kissing me in his truck, and on my porch, and then he disappeared without a word for three fucking weeks, T. And then, he shows up at my house because you sent him, takes over without even a howdy-doo, let alone an explanation to what the fuck happened with him saying he’d be in touch. You know what he did? He kissed me again…asshole. What am I supposed to do with that, T?”

  A throat clears behind me and my head whips around to find Evan leaning in the doorway to the office. “Don’t mind me,” he says, lifting his hands defensively before turning to his wife. “Hanna’s having a nap and I’m running out to the store. Do you need anything?”

  “No, babe. I’m good.”

  “Jaimie? Anything?” I just shake my head. “For what it’s worth; my b
rother-in-law may have been shortchanged in social skills and is tragically lacking in finesse, but his heart is big and in the right place.”

  When he disappears, Tahlula puts a hand on my arm. “He’s right, you know. Trunk looks like an ogre, and half the time acts like one too, but he’s a good man. It’s not really my place to tell you what drives him, but I hope you’ll give him a chance.”

  “Okay, now I’m annoyed you guys are messing with my perfectly good snit,” I grumble, standing up and slinging my purse around my shoulder. “I’m going home. Mom’s making pork chops.”

  “Pork chops?” Tahlula does her best to hide her grin.

  “Don’t laugh. Mom’s serious about her pork chops, so I can’t be late. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  Her lusty laugh follows me down the stairs and out the door.

  Sometime during the afternoon it stopped snowing. Traffic is still light, though, and it doesn’t take me that long to pull onto my street. I almost slam on the brakes when I see the big black truck parked by the curb in front of my house.

  Sonofabitch.

  So much for a quiet night of pork chops and contemplation.

  I’ll hear him out, but then he’ll listen to me, and God forbid if he tries to shut me up with that lethal mouth of his.

  He’s sitting on the couch when I walk in, River standing by his knees. Trunk’s dark bald head bending low to my son’s blond one. Mom is in the kitchen, a smile teasing her mouth as she looks at me.

  “Mama!”

  “Hey, kiddo. Give me a minute, okay?” Apparently River doesn’t want to wait a minute. He drops to his hands and knees and races over while I’m still taking off my coat and boots. He started walking just after Christmas but still prefers crawling when he’s in a hurry, like now.

  I toss my gloves and coat on the hall table and bend down just in time to scoop him up. His little hands clap on my cheeks when I kiss his little face.

  “Miss me, kiddo?”

  “Mama.”

  “Yes, baby. Mama is home.”

  His little legs start pumping. “Da, da.”

  “You want down?” I set him on his feet and keep hold of one hand. He toddles immediately back to the couch, where Trunk is watching our every move with those dark, ebony eyes.

  “I asked Trunk to stay for dinner,” Mom announces from the kitchen. She doesn’t even have the decency to turn around so I can burn her with my glare. It slides right off her back. “Dinner coming up. Maybe you want to get him a fresh beer?”

  My eyes dart to the coffee table where an empty bottle is sitting, evidence he’s been here a while. Great. He’s still looking at me when I glance over, his face is as impassive as ever, but I swear his eyes are amused. I have to squash the urge to stick out my tongue at him.

  I do as Mom asks and fetch him another beer. When I hand it over, his fingers purposely brush over mine and an involuntary shiver runs up my arm. Our eyes lock, but when Mom announces food is on the table, I yank my hand back and pick River off the floor, carrying him to his high chair.

  Mom does most of the talking during dinner, with mostly monosyllabic responses from both Trunk and me.

  “It was good, Mrs. Belcamp. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, and call me Sandra,” Mom says, her smile bright as she gets up from the table. “Now, if you kids wouldn’t mind cleaning up, my grandson and I have a date with Jeopardy up in your bedroom. Don’t we, buddy?”

  Before I can launch a protest, Mom lifts my son from his seat and disappears upstairs with him. I’m left with Trunk, who raises an eyebrow at me.

  “What do you want, Trunk? Why are you here? Again?”

  “I fucked up,” he says, pushing back from the table and stacking the empty plates before carrying them to the kitchen.

  Okay, I have to admit that’s a pretty strong start, so I grab at the serving dishes and follow.

  “Shoulda called. Shit went nuts at the club, and I didn’t.”

  “Not sure that helps your case,” I warn him, opening the dishwasher and stacking in the rinsed plates he hands me.

  “Don’t bust my balls, James. I’m trying. The shit at the club, it’s starting to look serious. It’s impacting everyone, including the kids. Everyone’s on edge.”

  “Can I make a suggestion?” He nods, handing me the cutlery. “Why don’t you try telling me what’s going on here? What do you want with me? Because to be honest, my head is spinning. One minute you’re up in my space, and the next moment you’re gone.” He leans a hip against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest, but he listens intently. “I’ve been a convenience before, Trunk. It doesn’t feel good, and I don’t—”

  I promised myself I would not let him shut me up with another kiss, but when his big hands cup my face and he touches my nose with his, before brushing his lips over mine, I’m putty in his hands. “You’re not a convenience. You’re not. As for what’s going on; fuck if I know, but I can’t seem to stay away from you. I don’t know if that’s an answer that’ll satisfy you, but it’s the only one I’ve got. This, sitting down for a family dinner with a woman, is new to me. I’m discovering I like it. I like a lot of things about you.”

  My hands come up to grab his wrists, and I lift on my toes to press a soft kiss to his mouth.

  “It’s a good answer, Trunk.”

  He blows out a hard breath.

  “Well, thank fuck for that.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Jaimie

  “HOW ABOUT WE just do the New York one? You could fly in the night before, and head out after the signing. We’ll take care of everything else.”

  I called Karen the moment I finished reading her email. She’d mentioned sending me a detailed schedule for the release of Mens Rea next month, but she never mentioned anything during the conference call about back-to-back bookstore signings. Four of them: Boston, New York, Baltimore, and Washington DC.

  I told her right off the bat that wouldn’t fly with Tahlula, which didn’t appear to surprise her. She was probably aiming for the New York one all along, hoping we’d agree to the lesser demand if she started high.

  “You know I can’t make decisions like that without consulting her first.”

  “Sure, but maybe remind her of her contractual obligations regarding promotion.” There it is; the not so veiled threat. I swallow a sharp retort. “Our team could work with just the one appearance at the Union Square store if we did a morning and an afternoon session. Schedule a few interviews in between. A one-day deal, in and out.”

  “I’ll talk to her.” That’s as much of a commitment I’m willing to make.

  The travel isn’t a big deal for me, I have Mom to take care of River, but T is still nursing Hanna and for her it would be more complicated.

  “I’ll need a firm answer by tomorrow afternoon, so we can set this up.”

  “You’ll have it. Talk to you soon.” I quickly end the call before I’m tempted to show her the sharp side of my tongue.

  I pull the release schedule up on my laptop and try to fit in the trip to New York. It’ll make for a tight fit, but it’s doable. The next month is going to be hectic.

  I mentioned as much to Trunk the other night, when he asked me out on a date. It had been a bit of a surprise. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to do the whole dating thing. When I mentioned that, he told me he never took the time before. He seemed to get by just fine with quick and easy hook-ups he shut down the moment expectations exceeded what he was willing to invest. Which apparently had been limited to time in bed.

  His honesty had been a little disconcerting. My own dating life before marriage had been active enough, but I’d never been what could be considered an easy lay. A guy had to invest some time and attention before I’d think about sleeping with him. Not necessarily a good girl, just selective as to who I wanted to share my body with.

  “I’d like to earn that right,” he’d said, making my panties melt on the spot, before asking me out for dinner this weekend. Tom
orrow night in fact.

  Dinner I could do, but I warned him that time is not always my own with a young child and the current work demands around his sister’s upcoming release. He assured me he could be patient: that the promise of having me naked in his arms would be enough.

  I had my doubts around that.

  The possibility of getting naked with Trunk has been at the forefront of my mind ever since, and the closer we get to Friday, the more antsy I become. Mostly because I don’t know how far he’ll take things, given the chance, or how far I’ll allow him to go. I don’t seem to have much restraint when he has his hands on me.

  “Jaimie!”

  “Up here,” I call out to Mom. Luckily River, who is napping in his room on the other side of the upstairs landing, is a heavy sleeper.

  She sticks her head around the door to my office. “I was just tidying up downstairs and found this.” She holds out the box I last saw on the hall table before I tossed my coat over it.

  “I keep forgetting about that.”

  It’s addressed to me, but there’s no sender, just an Amazon logo on the side of the box. I grab the scissors off my desk and slice through the tape. When I pull out the packing material and see what’s inside, it takes me a moment to register, before I fling it on the floor.

  “What is it?” Mom bends over to pick up the box at her feet. “Is this some sick joke?” She holds up the toddler-sized camouflage pajamas sporting ‘Daddy’s Little Hunter’ on the front.

  Not hearing a word from my ex or his lawyer since our divorce became official had made me complacent, indulging in the wish for that chapter of my life to be over. One look at the package brings home how foolish I’ve been.

  There is no doubt in my mind it’s his doing, despite the fact he’ll likely spend the rest of his life in jail. He’s been found guilty from possession of illegal firearms to attempted murder, and everything in between. On top of that, the FBI is still looking into their suspicions around the militant nationalist group he was involved with. Despite the poor state of my marriage, I’d been absolutely clueless and beyond shocked to discover the revolting ideology he subscribed to. Not to mention the sick realization he’d been leading a double life almost the entire duration of our marriage.