CrissCross (Crossroads Book 1)

by Mandie Tepe

  The photos turned out beautifully, even though the mother of the groom fretted that she was attired in a five-seasons-old business suit, the mother of the bride laughed over the fact that she was wearing jeans and her ByWays Convenience Store uniform shirt, and the father of the bride had given the bride away in work jeans dusty from blowing and raking up leaves on the job all morning.

  After the wedding certificate was signed, the bride and groom treated the wedding party—including the officiant and his wife—and guests to a lovely lunch at TwistFusion where they had reserved a small side room for the private affair. Or that was the plan, anyway. When it was time to settle the bill, the owner—having a fond attachment to the maid of honor—took care of it in the guise of a wedding gift.

  By mid-afternoon everyone had drifted off back to their real world normal routines. Of course their normal routines where interrupted repeatedly as they made phone calls to spread the exciting news of the marriage with anyone and everyone who might be interested.

  The bride and groom loaded up and got on the road toward Lake of the Ozarks where Chance had reserved a suite at a nice resort. They would spend the weekend and come home to move Jimi into his place and settle the issue of transferring her lease to River. Then they would be well on the path they had decided to take at Chance’s crossroads.

  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

  When they returned from the short but romantic honeymoon (plans for a future more elaborate beach honeymoon in the works for several months later), the lease transfer went smoothly with Axel taking the liaison role with the owner. It was one of the first manager tasks he took on after arranging for security cameras to be installed. Next was to find a tenant for his previous apartment upstairs.

  They moved Jimi’s things into Chance’s, but left the bulk of her furniture for River to use since he didn’t have much. And what he did have wasn’t worth moving. Suzanne was on the hunt for good slip covers so they could disguise Jimi’s feminine upholstered living room pieces into more masculine ones. Suzanne had evolved into full-blown mom-mode and was doing all sorts of things to make up for not being there for her boys in their growing up years. It made them uncomfortable, but she was too big a force for them to reckon with so they were learning to pick their battles.

  Jimi did take most of her decorative pieces to add her own flair to Chance’s place. He never blinked when she added something new. She didn’t miss her furniture. His was nicer and, though it was masculine, she could soften it with toss pillows and throws made from some of her weaving.

  The most difficult part was wedging her weaving room stuff into his extra room. He decided to sell his larger work out equipment to make room. Since he had access to the gym at the police station he could do his workouts there.

  It was all coming together and they were settling in, dealing with the adjustment bumps in the road as they came. There was the occasional misunderstanding or disagreement but those were no different than what all newlyweds dealt with.

  Chance had learned a lot about marriage by watching his parents growing up. It had taught him how not to deal with things . . . like letting small things seem bigger than they actually were. And Jimi had lived her life among people she didn’t truly understand, but had learned to let them be who they were and to love them for it.

  It seemed to everyone that cared about them that they were going to be just fine.

  EPILOGUE

  It was the Monday after Thanksgiving and the courtroom looked like the site of a Crosswinds Apartment residents’ gathering . . . every single one of them—except for the Hanson’s young son—were seated in the room, surrounding Ben Tyler who was seated in the first row behind the defense table.

  When they had all filed in and began taking seats on either side of him, then filling the row behind, Ben was nervous. But they’d all greeted him cordially and he didn’t sense they were there to make a scene or complicate things for his son.

  Their attorney—Steven Colby—arrived, nodded reassuringly at Ben and took his place at the table. He opened his file box and began spreading paperwork before him. Ben relaxed a little and waited for the bailiff to accompany Shad out, which he did shortly.

  Soon, all the players were in their places and the court officer announced the judge’s entrance. After everyone was reseated the proceedings began.

  Ben sat through the prosecutor’s presentation of the charges. Of course the judge had been in on plenty of pre-procedural hearings and was aware of Shad’s involvement and the deal he’d been offered and accepted.

  When the judge asked for Shad’s plea, he stood with Colby and declared, “Guilty,” in a strong voice filled with conviction.

  As disappointed as Ben was in the choices his son had made, he couldn’t have been prouder of Shad at that moment for how he’d held his head up and taken responsibility. There was also the fact that Ben himself had a role to play in the way his family had gone off the rails. They all had. He was determined to set them back on track, though. Whatever it took.

  The judge announced Shad’s sentence. He would get six months incarceration in the juvenile detention center—suspended. The sentence would be reinstated and Shad would have to serve the time if he reneged on his agreement to testify against his co-conspirators. There were rumors that a couple members of the crew had jumped on board and would be pleading guilty—hoping for lighter sentences—anyway, so Shad would be off the hook in those cases. The judge would set bond so the defendant was free during the period of time for the rest of the trials to take place. That was unless he didn’t hold up his part of the bargain.

  Shad would be required to report to a probation officer weekly and submit to random drug testing. Added to the suspended sentence, the judge ordered him to perform one hundred hours of community service, citing that he believed if Shad had been kept busier he might not have gotten into so much trouble.

  The judge ordered Shad to stand again and gave him a scathing lecture about respecting others and their property, and also being cautious about the sorts of people he spent his time with. He then advised the boy to use his community service to his advantage and to keep a good attitude about it, informing Shad and his attorney that the assigned probation officer would get information to them about how to choose which agencies in which to volunteer his time.

  A rustling came from the back of the courtroom before a gruff voice announced, “I want him.”

  Ben turned his head, alarmed—much like everyone else craning their necks to see where this came from. His eyes zeroed in on Axel Alexander standing but leaning into his cane. The man’s eyes were staring intently at Shad who had gone pale.

  A murmuring had gone over the crowd and the judge lightly tapped his gavel on the bench. “Order,” he demanded. He gazed at Axel across the room. “I believe you’re Mr. Alexander . . . one of the victims in the case. Am I correct?”

  “Yes, sir,” Axel responded.

  “This is very unusual, but I’m going to ask you to approach the bench.”

  “Your honor—” Colby began in protest.

  “Mr. Colby and Mr. Staley, you’re welcome to join us as well.”

  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

  Axel lurched painfully up the aisle . . . past his fellow residents . . . through the swinging gate of the barrier . . . until he stopped directly in front of the judge’s high heavy carved wood bench. The courtroom was old fashioned because the courthouse had been built over a century earlier. As he stood there and waited for the annoyed lawyers to join him, he listened to the hushed whispers in the gallery.

  The judge was watching him carefully, assessing. Axel hadn’t dressed any differently than he did any other day for any other occasion. He was wearing his beat up Vagabonds cut over a black thermal, jeans and his heavy boots. He couldn’t ride any more. With his hip jacked up the way it was it was likely he never would. But he couldn’t make himself give up his boots.


  The lawyers crowded in and the judge addressed Axel. “Mr. Alexander, I understand that you must be angry and you have every right to be. It seems as though a major player in the situation that caused your current condition is getting off scot free, but I assure you that we need his help to bring the others to justi—”

  It was definitely not accepted protocol, but Axel interrupted the judge anyway. “You think that I meant that I want a pound of the kid’s flesh in retribution, but that’s not what I meant at all, your honor.” He felt both the attorneys relax a bit at that.

  “Alright, Mr. Alexander . . . do you want to explain what you did mean?”

  “I want him to work off his community service—if not all of it, at least in part—at the Crosswinds Apartments where the crimes took place.” There was a sharp intake of breath from the other three men. “I’m employed as the manager there now, taking his father’s old job.”

  “Can you give me the reasons you think this is good idea?” the judge asked suspiciously.

  Axel drew in a deep breath. “Look, I watched that kid wander that building like a ghost and I could see he was lost. But did I do anything about it? No. I could have reached out. He watched us when I was working on our bikes with my brothers in the parking lot—or even just hanging out—like he was dying of thirst. The Vagabonds . . . we’re an MC but we’re pretty tame for a bunch’a bikers. We could have spent some time with a kid that was obviously floundering. If I can put him to work, maybe try to be an influence—a good one—but one he finds cool . . . one who got caught up in his mess, but won’t treat him badly because of his part in it . . . well . . .”

  Mr. Staley challenged, “Do you really think you could do that? Treat him decent without prejudice while dealing with the injuries you’re dealing with? The disappointments they’re causing you?”

  “I believe so. The kid has guilt. That’s obvious. But so do I. I should have been a better person and reached out to him.”

  The judge looked over the baffled faces of the gallery. “What about the residents of the apartment building? Maybe they wouldn’t feel comfortable having Shad around. He’s admitted to tresspassing in several of their apartments, after all. And Ms Alexander, the hostage . . . isn’t she somehow related to you?”

  “My cousin. She’s actually been visiting him in the detention center. They’ve made amends, so I think she’d be alright with him being around.” Axel looked over his shoulder at his fellow residents briefly. “Everyone’s been talking about how we let the kid slip through the cracks. We saw that crew he hung out with around the property and none of us did anything about it. Everyone feels like we let him down.”

  The judge nodded. “So you’d like to mentor him.”

  Axel hitched a shoulder. “Whatever that means,” he said dismissively. “I want to set him on the right path and make things right with him.”

  “That sounds like a mentorship. You realize if I make this happen, you wouldn’t be considered a proper court-appointed mentor. You’d have to go through official training and be certified for that in this county.”

  “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” Axel said dismissively.

  The judge fought back a grin and ignored the choked off laughter emitting from the nostrils of both attorneys. He rapped his gavel and announced. “I’d like to see all of the residents of the Crosswinds Apartments that are present in my chambers, please. You too, Mr. Tyler.”

  A shocked silence overtook the room, but was soon replaced by the shuffling sounds of the residents making their way out of the courtroom via the door beside the judge’s bench.

  After they were all wedged tightly into his small chambers, he announced his reason for the impromptu meeting was about Axel’s request for Shad to do his community service at the apartment building. The shock soon wore off and grins began popping out on most everyone’s faces. Ben seemed to be watching in fear . . . then in relief . . . when he saw that everyone seemed to be receptive. And not in a vindictive way.

  The judge took a vote and it was unanimous. Shad was welcomed back to Crosswinds Apartments.

  Everyone filed back into the courtroom, some of the Crosswinds family sending nods and small smiles to Shad as they passed. He straightened in his seat, startled by that.

  As soon as everyone was settled the judge read, “Shad Mitchell Tyler is sentenced to one hundred hours of community service at Crosswinds Apartments under the supervision of Mr. Axel Alexander.”

  About the Author

  Mandie Tepe is a Missouri girl—born and raised. After growing up outside of St. Louis, she’s spent over the past 30 years living in Joplin, Missouri, in the southwest corner of the state.

  Being a life-long bookworm, she dreamed of writing her own books since taking a creative writing class in high school. It wasn’t until January 2009—after her husband tossed a spiral notebook into her lap and challenged her to “write it down . . . start making notes”—that she dove in and wrote the first of her New Beginnings series’ books.

  After finishing her ten-book New Beginnings series she began writing the Crossroads series in 2018.

  She has always favored books with likable characters that oftentimes are overcoming hardships with courage and humor. Since experiencing Joplin’s 2011 EF-5 tornado (which absolutely was not on her bucket list) she’s been even more inspired by the determination and resiliency of the human spirit. That’s what she loves to write about.

  Mandie and her husband, Jay (author of several books of his own), are parents to two grown sons and an amazing daughter-in-law, and are enjoying their roles as Nana and Papa.

  Watch for Axel and Isla’s story coming soon

  in CROSSROADS SERIES’ Book 2…

  C ROSSWISE

  CHAPTER 1

  Straddling his Harley, Axel Alexander flew along the winding river road north of his hometown of Carrefour, Missouri. If there were an actual feeling on earth of what being in heaven should feel like, it was this. He lifted his face to the summer sun, the tree leaves casting dappled shadows flickering over him, and reached up to pull the fastener of his helmet strap loose. He tugged the helmet off and shook his hair—worn long in the front, short in the back—out of his eyes and tucked the helmet between his thighs. It was illegal to ride without the helmet in Missouri, but on such a perfect day on his favorite run how could he not take advantage of feeling that hot air blowing over every part of him? He was riding alone . . . none of his Vagabond MC brothers following . . . nary a biker babe wrapped around him. As much as he loved his brothers and appreciated his women (not one of which he felt serious about) it was the way he liked it best. Just him and his bike on the twists and turns of the forested river road and riding way faster than was wise, but just the right speed to make him feel everything. Alive. Free. Content . . . no, not content . . . completely happy.

  A persistent beeping sound stole his attention from just being. Nagging consciousness crept in, stealing his bliss. Opening his eyes and twisting to reach for his cell phone—the source of the annoying wake-up alarm—pain shot through him forcing his breath out in a hiss. And he remembered.

  It wasn’t summer, but early December. He was in his bed in his new apartment where he could feel the chill of the first real cold snap of the season had invaded his room. He realized he’d forgotten to adjust the thermostat in anticipation of the overnight cold front the weathercasters had warned about. The stabbing pain in his hip reminded him that it was time for more pain meds—which he’d been trying to wean back. The pain itself was rough enough, but the real cruelty was the reminder it brought that it was likely he’d never again live the dream of riding full throttle along that roadway with the sun and warmth raking through his hair.

  He looked at the display on his phone. He’d slept through the alarm beeping for almost twenty minutes by the looks of it. Turning it off, he tossed the cell back to the bedside table and struggled to sit up on the edge of the bed. Sitting for a moment, he raked his fingers through his full beard
, not taking his feet immediately. It took awhile to do that these days as he pushed though the pain and stiffness. When he’d first left the hospital he kept his pain medication on the bedside table, but had learned that was a bad idea. He’d found himself taking the pills and lying there waiting for them to kick in and—next thing he knew—he’d wake up again a couple of hours later after drifting back off. He’d begun forcing himself to get up, limp to the bathroom, brush his teeth, and making his way to the kitchen to make coffee before allowing himself the relief his meds would bring.

  He might not be fit to go out on jobs with his crews, but he did have a new job besides continuing to run his own small roofing/renovation operation. He’d been hired on as the new manager/supervisor of the apartment building where he lived—Crosswinds Apartments. His taking the job insured that he didn’t waste his days away strung out on prescription medication and too much beer while indulging in self-pity after the shooting that derailed his life less than six weeks earlier.

  After he got to the kitchen and put the coffee on, he grabbed a tall glass of water and the pill bottle. Debating whether he should take the half-dose he’d been allowing himself or a full one, he decided to take the whole tablet. He had a physical therapy session later and would probably need the extra help. He was dreading it for more than the pain the session would bring, but he wouldn’t think of that now.

  Before the appointment, he had a couple of tasks to take care of around the building. Those wouldn’t be too physically challenging, which was good. The building owner was hiring the strenuous tasks out until Axel was stronger and better rehabilitated, but he had no one scheduled to come in to help him that day.