Breaking the Rules

by Tinthia Clemant

  She glared at him, but it didn’t daunt him from pressing.

  “Why now? What happened to give you this newfound courage to stand up to Justin?” He was leading her. He knew it, and he hoped she understood what he wanted to hear.

  The smile started out slowly, the corners of her mouth turning upward a fraction at a time until he found himself looking at a full grin, only it had nothing to do with joy.

  “You want me to say that I left Justin because of you,” she said.

  “I never—”

  “Cut the bull, St. John. I can see right through you. You want me to tell you the reason I’ve left Justin is because you came into my life.”

  “I…” Her narrowed brows shut him up. Yeah, he wanted to hear that, so sue him. He wasn’t made of stone. He wanted her to need him as much as he needed her.

  Chilling words fell his way.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you have nothing to do with my reasons. You want to know why now and not one, two, three years ago? I stayed because I was a coward.”

  She turned away, leaving him in silence to do battle with the voices in his head.

  Other women had come and gone—some wanting his heart, some wanting his cash, and some wanting both. None leaving a lasting impression.

  Until he’d met her.

  Something inside of him had snapped that first day he met her.

  And here he was, in love with her but too fucking afraid to tell her.

  She wasn’t the coward.

  He was.

  Chapter 34

  “The best thing we can do when it’s raining is to let it rain.”

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  “Mama, Mama, wake up.”

  Lying under the covers of the master bed, Shannon opened her eyes. “Sweetie, we just got home. Let Mama sleep a little more, okay?”

  “It’s Daddy.”

  Daddy? Was he calling from Disney or had he decided to leave Florida and follow them home? Her heart seized as she stared at the phone Chad held out to her. She wasn’t ready to do battle with Justin.

  “Daddy wants to take me camping. I have to pee.” He shoved the phone into her hand and ran into the bathroom.

  Was she still sleeping, or had Chad said Justin was taking him camping? Chad hadn’t seemed particularly happy about the news, nor had he seemed upset. Whether he was or he wasn’t, the bowels of Hades would be icy cold the day she let Justin take Chad on an outing. He’d be lucky if she let him take Chad into another room of the house.

  “PICK UP THE GODDAMN PHONE.”

  Justin’s voice blasted through the speaker and looped around her neck, cutting off oxygen to her brain. She squinted at the screen. She wasn’t ready to deal with him. She’d expected a call from him but not at four-thirty in the morning.

  Hanging up was an option although he’d just call back. She could toss the phone out the window. Most likely, he’d still find a way to reach her. Her last option was to suck it up and talk to him. At least he wasn’t standing in front of her.

  “SHANNON.”

  “I’m here. No need to shout.”

  “Where the fuck have you been?”

  “Justin, you woke us up. It’s early.”

  “Who cares? I’m coming home tomorrow around two. Some of the guys are taking their kids up to Twin Oaks this weekend, and I’m taking Chad. I’ll pick him up at—”

  “No.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said no. Tomorrow is graduation and the end-of-the-school-year BBQ. So, no, you cannot take him camping. And besides, Saturday is his birthday, or have you forgotten?”

  “My, my, aren’t we brave when you don’t have your boyfriend to hide behind? Now let me tell you what’s going to happen: I’ll be by to get Chad tomorrow afternoon at three. Have him ready and all his gear packed.”

  “No, I won’t. You can’t take him. You tried to steal him once, and I’m not giving you another shot at it.”

  “Funny you should say ‘shot.’ I also want my gun.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “Who does?”

  “I turned it in at the station.”

  “That was stupid. You might have needed it for protection.”

  She’d be a fool to let him intimidate her. “Goodbye, Justin. Next time, call my lawyer.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don’t you dare hang up on me.”

  She disconnected the call and noticed Chad in the doorway.

  “All set, munchkin? Come back to bed. I bought you a new book.”

  Chad’s face lit up. “Where is it?”

  “It’s downstairs in my office. Let’s go down, and I’ll take Jasper to pee, and then we’ll have hot chocolate and read.” She double sighed at the rain coming down in nearly horizontal sheets. “After I dry off, we’ll have some hot chocolate and read.”

  “Yay, hot chocolate and a new book. Let’s go, Jasper.”

  She lowered the phone’s volume and followed Chad, watching him jump from step to step. He wasn’t singing. That was okay. At least he wasn’t telling her he hated her like he had done last night.

  She still wasn’t clear what had set him off. He’d slept through the entire flight and the drive home, only to wake up when she’d begun dressing him in his PJs. Once he’d let loose, there had been nothing she could do to reverse the meltdown. She’d tried everything in her motherly arsenal short of promising she’d buy him a pony. If there’d been bourbon handy, she might have poured him a shot—and several for herself.

  In the end, under the power of his own exhaustion, he’d quieted down, but that hadn’t come soon enough.

  ‘I hate you.’

  Three words meant to transfer his suffering to her. She gladly accepted them, wishing she could have responded that, presently, she wasn’t too fond of herself.

  ******

  St. John propped his feet on his desk and watched the tall pines swaying in the wind. Not much happened in construction in weather like this so, basically, another day where he wouldn’t be at a job site. He could go into the office, but spending the day inside four walls might likely drive him crazy. Physical labor, hard enough to break his back, was what he craved. Pain so intense the loss of control he felt wouldn’t stand a chance.

  The text sat ready: How are you and Chad today? Nothing Shannon could misinterpret for anything other than friendly concern.

  He’d typed the damn thing over half an hour ago but still hadn’t hit send.

  This wasn’t him, questioning his thoughts and actions. He was a decisive man, even when it came to women. He didn’t pussyfoot around.

  By the time he was seventeen he’d had more notches in his belt than all the other guys on the football team. He never second-guessed his decision to go steady with Coleen. And when they found out she was pregnant, he’d jumped at the chance to marry her. He wanted her to be his wife, and he’d wanted the baby.

  The baby.

  He carried his coffee cup over to the sidebar, where he added a shot of bourbon and stood looking out into the glooming rain. The baby’s death had been tough on them both. He hadn’t known what to say or do. He still wouldn’t. What do you say to a woman who’s lost her child? ‘Sorry for the way things turned out. Better luck next time’? Coleen should have told him what to do, helped him understand. He would have gone through fire for her. But, as the story always goes, she found what she needed in his best buddy’s arms.

  Every Christmas the newsletter arrived, offering a glimpse into their lives: vacations to the Caribbean, a houseful of grandkids—Yup, Coleen and Barry had hit pay dirt.

  He saluted the air. “You’re welcome.”

  The invitations still came—birthdays, christenings. She always included him in the celebration, and he always responded with a polite decline. One time he’d actually said he’d come. It had been two years ago, for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.

  ‘Please come. If it hadn’t been for you, Barry and I would never have found each o
ther.’

  Who could resist such a glowing invitation? Thanks for having the emotional range of a block of concrete, St. John, and forcing me into your buddy’s arms. There’ll be cake.

  She’d been happy when he said he’d come, and he’d meant it, too. It would have been great to see them—a burying of the proverbial hatchet. He could have even brought a sexy plus-one to prove he was over getting trampled, but then he realized they’d see through the con, and he’d end up looking like a rich loser who had to buy affection. ‘Poor St. John,’ they’d whisper. ‘Still doesn’t have anyone who loves him.’

  Yeah, well, to hell with them. He’d learned his lesson and had no desire to put himself through the meat grinder again. Besides, there wasn’t a woman with a strong enough backbone to withstand his fucking truckload of baggage.

  Except for Shannon.

  Her features were etched across his brain: the green eyes that flashed when she was mad to the pattern of her freckles. And her smile. Damn, he could get used to seeing that smile every morning when he woke up and every night before he fell asleep. Plus, she could toss back a shot of bourbon like a pro, and she didn’t let him get away with any shit. And the way she looked at him, as if she couldn’t get enough of him, blew his mind.

  And, true to his nature, he’d gone and fucked it all up.

  He flopped into his chair. On the corner of the desk stood a silver frame containing the only picture he had of his adoptive mother. If he lost the photograph, it wouldn’t matter. Over the years he’d memorized it down to the tiniest detail, to the number of rosebuds on the neckline of the yellow sundress she wore. He still felt the press of her hand on his shoulder as he smiled at the camera. He’d been nine in the photo and Malcolm twelve: him on one side, Malcolm on the other, and her caught in the middle.

  He remembered the day being God-awful humid. He also remembered the sweetness of the lemonade she’d made as vividly as if he’d just taken a sip. That night, in the stifling heat of his and Malcolm’s bedroom, they’d lain awake listening to the sounds the outside insects made as they beat against the window screen. In that stuffy heat, they made a pact to never let anything come between them.

  They’d even carved their oath into the windowsill and had added two bloody thumbprints.

  Blood brothers for life.

  And now they weren’t speaking.

  How on God’s green fucking earth could he hope to give Shannon and Chad his love when he withheld the emotion from the one person to whom he’d promised solidarity?

  The short answer was he couldn’t. He had to rectify his relationship with Malcolm or walk away from Shannon.

  Too many people in the world were afraid to make the first move—he refused to be one of them for one second longer.

  He pressed the number stored in his phone.

  “Macy, Perry, and Sullivan. How may I direct your call?”

  “Hi, this is Adam St. John. May I speak with Attorney Sullivan?”

  “Hold on, please.”

  While he waited, he walked into the kitchen and poured a fresh mug of coffee. The receptionist came back on the line. “I’m sorry, Mr. St. John, but Attorney Sullivan stepped out of the office. May I take a message?”

  Malcolm wasn’t going to make this easy for him—which St. John had already known. “Look, I appreciate you’re just doing your job, but I want you to tell Mal… Attorney Sullivan to pick up the phone.”

  “He’s not—”

  “I disagree. I’ll wait. Thanks.”

  He hadn’t had time to blink before his brother’s angry voice got on the line. “Make this snappy, St. John. I’m busy.”

  “That’s not a very nice way to greet the brother you haven’t spoken to in ten years.”

  “You’re not my brother.”

  “Oh, sorry, half-brother.”

  “What do you want?”

  St. John scratched the new hairs growing on his chin. The urge to end the call was almost too strong to ignore, but he’d lose everything if he didn’t at least try.

  An aggressive “I’m waiting” cut through the phone.

  “How’s Bev and the kids?” St. John asked.

  “Bev passed the bar, and both the boys are new fathers. Is this why you called? To catch up on my family?”

  “Tell Bev I said congratulations. Is she going to join your firm? You two would make a cool power couple.”

  “Not likely. She’s going to do pro bono work for the downtrodden. No money in that kind of law, but it’ll keep her busy. Thanks for calling. Have a nice life.”

  “Stop being a dick, Malcolm. I called because I’d like us to bury the hatchet.”

  “If we’re burying it in your skull, I’m all for it.”

  “Funny guy. I’m serious. We’ve been through too much in our lives to let some petty bullshit come between us. What you heard wasn’t—”

  “Is this how you eat crow, St. John, by dredging up the past and pointing your finger at me?”

  “Would you let me finish? Meredith loved us both equally. I didn’t—”

  “I’m her biological son, not you.”

  “I know that. I didn’t steal her away from you.”

  “You tried.”

  “Oh, cut the crap, Malcolm. You know what I was going through at the time. My father had died, then my mother, and next I found out Merry and my father were… If it hadn’t been for her taking me in, who knows where I’d be now? She saved me; you both saved me. You and I, we made a pact.”

  St. John stood by his patio door and watched the rain. Why did relationships have to be so goddamn impossible for him? He could negotiate multi-million dollar projects but was incapable of retaining a connection with another human being.

  “Tell me, St. John, does this call have anything to do with my putting Mom’s house on the market?”

  “This has nothing to do with the house.”

  “Sure, and I piss wine.”

  “That’s a neat trick. Must come in handy at parties.” His brother’s quiet snicker heartened him to continue. “We’re not getting any younger, and the truth is I miss you, man. You’re my brother. We’re family, and we’re all we’ve got.” He was intrigued to hear Malcolm’s response.

  “You’re alone, not me.”

  Yup, his half-brother was still a prick. “I didn’t say you were alone. I meant you and I are the only ones left of Merry’s family. Tell me, do you think she’d be happy with us fighting?”

  The call ended.

  “I’ll never make that mistake again.” He was carrying his mug to the office when his phone rang. “Now what?” he said into the device.

  “I’m having a party this weekend to celebrate Bev passing the bar. Come tomorrow, and we’ll talk. I’ll text you the address to our place in the Hampton’s.”

  “Great, what can I bring?” he asked the severed call. “Prick,” he added to no one except himself.

  Chapter 35

  “Truth can be stated in a thousand different ways, yet each one can be true.”

  Swami Vivekananda

  “You two didn’t have to come over. Chad and I are fine.” Shannon set a tray of three mugs and a plate of cookies on the coffee table.

  “We’d be piss-poor friends if we didn’t,” Dee said, accepting the mug Shannon offered. “I’m really sorry for doubting you, Shan. Justin is a fucking jerk. If Jeff took the kids, I’d castrate him.” Pointing a biscotti at Shannon, she added, “I hope your lawyer cleans him out.”

  Peg bit into a cookie and moaned. “I love these. What are they called again?”

  “Honey-lavender.”

  “Yum. Anyway, Dee’s right: Justin sucks. I wish I had gotten your message Tuesday. I would have come over. How did you get through the night?”

  Dee agreed with Peg. “I’m sorry too. My phone died, and I hadn’t realized it.”

  “It’s okay,” Shannon said. “I got drunk and passed out.” She thought it best to leave out the part about St. John taking care of her. The less said,
the better. Besides, no sense getting Dee going. Chad was home, and St. John was history. She’d hoped he would have texted or something, just to check on Chad if nothing else but not a peep. Maybe… “Hang on, I’m going to check my phone.” She ran up the steps and into her bedroom. She hadn’t heard the text come through because she’d turned down the phone’s volume.

  How are you and Chad today?

  His text had arrived two hours ago. The guy must have though she was a bitch for not responding. As she walked down the staircase, she texted, Sorry, I had the ringer off on my phone. We’re fine, thank you for asking. Then she quickly typed, How are you? and hit send.

  Dee zeroed in on Shannon’s actions. “Who are you texting?”

  “Leeann,” Shannon lied. Damn, she’d forgotten to text Leeann back.

  “Yeah, what’s up with that?” Peg said. “She’s done a complete one-eighty. Justin’s little stunt rattled her enough that she’s now human. And…” Peg waved a biscotti at Shannon. “She’s now your biggest fan. Does this mean we can’t make fun of her name anymore?”

  “Whatever we call her,” Shannon said as she sat down, “I’m just glad she’s not out for my blood anymore. Do you know she’s even taken it upon herself to organize Chad’s birthday party?”

  Peg groaned. “Yes. All day yesterday with the texts: Have I heard from you? Where should we have the party? What kind of cake does Chad like? My God, she was a royal pain in my ass.”

  “Be grateful you got texts,” Dee said. “She called me. We’d hang up and boom, another call. I liked it better when she hated you, Shan.”

  “Hold on. I forgot to text her back.”

  Shannon typed a quick message and hit send. She realized her mistake from the hardened set of Dee’s mouth.

  “You just texted her,” Dee said.

  “I, um, meant to say I needed to add something to my text of before.” Shannon quickly turned to Peg. “Thanks again for taking care of Jasper.”

  “Aw, it was fine. When I came over to get him, St. John’s guys were here fixing the door. Did Justin break it in?”