by Sophia Henry
“I know, I know. I’m sorry, I really am.” I grabbed Holden’s hand and backed toward the door. I held up the trash bag. “I’m going to throw this out and drop Holden off. I’ll be back. I swear. Fast.”
“Okay, Mama?” Holden asked as I rushed him down the hallway of the office building and out the door.
Only after I’d secured my son in his car seat and collapsed into the seat of my car did I allow myself to break down.
Fuck Tim!
It wasn’t enough for him to fuck up his own life with his irresponsibility, he had to come back to town and fuck up the one I’d built for myself and my son.
After one huge mistake in my junior year, I’d never had a chance to be self-indulgent again. I had a kid to take care of. Which meant the responsibility of going to school and having two jobs. It meant no more Friday-night football games. No more hanging out at the movies with my friends. No more hanging out with my friends at all, since most of them ditched me as soon as I told them I was pregnant. I couldn’t blame them.
Honestly.
How many seventeen-year-old girls want to hang out with a baby if they aren’t making money watching the kid?
And how many seventeen-year-old guys want to date a girl with a baby?
Not that I thought much about dating. Especially when my baby’s dad was an idiot.
I read an article that claimed girls are attracted to men like their fathers. Which meant I was screwed.
Tim and my dad were two peas in a pod. Both of them just left. Neither looked back. Neither cared about what happened to their kids while they were gone. But when—if—they came back into town, they thought everyone’s schedule should revolve around them.
They were different, too.
My dad made his living on the road, driving a semitruck. One day, he drove out of town and never came back. Up until I was eighteen, he’d send cards on every other birthday, with a ten-dollar bill inside and a lame note about buying myself something nice. But I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spoken to him on the phone. He called a few times right after he left, but the calls became fewer and fewer, and stopped completely by the time I turned thirteen.
According to Mom, she and Dad didn’t have a horrible marriage. Just two people who weren’t on the same track in life. He wanted to drive across the country. Mom would never leave Bridgeland, the town she’d been born and raised in.
Especially not now, when she had her pick of the divorcés in Bridgeland. I thought she’d hit a big jackpot at the casino the day she came home from work screaming. But, no. Her excitement stemmed from snagging Mr. Kelso, former Bridgeland High School baseball stud, who now owned a GM dealership in town. He seemed like a nice guy, not the stereotypical sleazy-salesman type.
I’m like my mother in many ways. Hardworking. Family loving. Quick-witted and sarcastic. But I must’ve inherited my dad’s wanderlust.
Not that I had any plans to leave Bridgeland, but the thought of traveling to a new country or a different state made me giddy with excitement. Someday I’d have a reason to get my passport, even if it was just taking Holden on a trip across the border to Canada.
“Mama?” Holden’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Okay, Mama?”
“I’m okay, sweet boy. We’re okay.”
And that was true, for now.
But after today, with Tim canceling again and my boss on his last nerve with me, I wondered if I’d catch a break soon, or if I should start planning for when the bottom dropped out.
Chapter 7
Jason
Relief washed over me when I spotted Linden Meadows bobbing her head and swishing her hips to the music as she poured a pint for one of her customers from behind the bar at Peak City Steakhouse. Not only because she looked hot dancing, but also because Mom would’ve known something was up if I’d scanned the restaurant, then randomly decided to eat somewhere else.
Technically, Linden never told me where she worked when I’d pulled her over, but she mentioned a brewery. And since Peak City was the only brewery in town, I put two and two together and hoped for the best.
“Can we eat at the bar?” I asked the hostess, pointing toward Linden.
“Sure.” The girl bent down to grab two menus out of a large, wooden chest on the floor beside her and handed them to me. “Sit wherever you’d like.”
“Do you mind, Mom?” I asked.
“No, that’s fine.” She patted my shoulder. “You lead.”
I edged past a few high-top tables in the lounge area before pulling out a chair at the bar for Mom.
“Your father needs to see this place. I don’t think he’s been here yet,” Mom said, eyeing the row of taps behind the bar. She twisted in her seat as she hung her purse on the back of the chair.
Besides brewing their own beer, Peak City had an extensive selection of drafts on tap. My dad, a self-proclaimed beer connoisseur, had a personal mission to visit every brewery in the state of Michigan. At one time, he’d dabbled in brewing, but the sludge he’d made convinced him to leave the beer making to the pros.
“We’ll have to bring him here next time you guys come up,” I said.
My dad, a busy cardiologist in Detroit, hadn’t had a chance to visit me in Bridgeland yet. He had, though, spent many weekends as an undergrad visiting Mom, who got her degree in elementary education from Central State, the public university in town.
“Hi, folks. Welcome to Peak City.” Linden placed drink menus in front of us without looking up. “Can I start you with—” Our eyes met. “Oh, it’s you.”
Mom giggled. I tried to send her an evil side-eye, but she’d lifted her menu to cover her face.
“Well, hello to you, too.” I smiled, though my sarcastic greeting probably didn’t help pave the way to her good side.
“What can I get you, Officer Taylor?” Linden asked. She was a glacier; a completely frozen, not-a-chance-of-melting-even-in-global-warming kind of glacier.
I closed the drink menu. “We’ll have the sampler flight of beers, please.”
“That’ll be right up.”
The familiar scent of CK One by Calvin Klein wafted in the air, and I’d forgotten to spray myself tonight. I leaned into Mom. She smelled like a chick.
“Now I know why you brought me here when there’s a perfectly good steak house at the casino,” Mom said, teasing, and pinched my side.
“It’s not like that, Mom.” I brushed her fingers away.
“What’s it like, then?”
“She hates my guts.” I glanced at Linden as her fingers tapped the computer screen behind the bar.
“Well, that much is obvious. What did you do?”
“My job. Both times,” I muttered. Mom’s head cocked to one side, her disbelief obvious. “I swore at her little brother. In a game. Which is my job. And I pulled her over for speeding. Also my job.”
“Jason Riley! You swore at a little boy?”
“I said ass.” I defended myself. “It’s barely a swear word. And he’s not little. He’s seventeen.” No reason to tell Mom I used “fuck” after Linden had walked away.
“Here you go.” Linden lined up six half-pint glasses of the brewery’s beers on the bar in front of Mom and me. “Start on the left. They’re in order according to the menu up there.” Linden pointed to the huge chalkboard above her head, which described each of the six beers on Peak City’s current brew list.
“Thanks.” I tried to make eye contact again, but Linden didn’t even glance my way. She must think I’m one of those egomaniac jerk cops. I let her go with a warning. How did that deserve the cold shoulder?
“I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes.” Linden smiled at Mom.
As she spun away, I caught the CK One scent again and realized it was coming from her. My stomach tightened, excited at how much I liked the smell of me on her. I shook my head, trying to shake the thought. If she smells like men’s cologne, she’s probably been all over a guy who wears it.
“She called you
Officer Taylor. That’s not a good sign,” Mom commented before she took a sip of the lightest of the six beers. Must’ve been the ale.
“Better than jackweed or ass,” I said, remembering what Linden had called me at the ice rink.
Mom choked on a laugh, then brought her hand to her mouth as if covering a cough.
“Don’t even try to hide it, Mom.” I shook my head. “I didn’t think I was that bad. I let her off with a warning and escorted her home.”
Mom leaned back in her chair, her eyes wide as she questioned me. “You followed her home? Is that protocol?”
I shrugged. “She said she had a family emergency. I wanted to make sure she got there safely.”
“It takes less than ten minutes to get from one end of this town to the other. Was the police escort necessary?” Mom asked.
“No, it wasn’t necessary, but it would’ve been my ass if she got into an accident after I let her go.”
“Was she drunk?”
“No.”
Mom glanced at the chalkboard then scrutinized the beers in the flight. “You’ve got it bad.”
I rubbed my forehead to hide the truth and steer the conversation in another direction. “How ’bout those Red Wings?”
“I must be right on the money,” Mom said. “Okay, my dear, subject change. Have you seen Auden recently?”
And that’s one of the reasons Mom kicked ass. She got her digs in, but knew when it was time to change the subject. But, in true Mom style, she moved from one sensitive subject to another. For both of us, not just me.
When I first found out about Auden, Mom feared I’d pull away from her and try to have a relationship with my biological mother’s family.
I didn’t want any part of that mess. I know who my real family is. But I did want to get to know my newfound sister. I wanted a relationship with all of my siblings, from Auden and my “real” brothers—Landon, Calvin, and Nate—to the thirty-some foster kids who’d come and gone through the Taylor household over the years.
“Funny you mention her.” I stopped to sip the darkest of the ales in front of us. “This was where we came for Auden’s graduation dinner.”
“What’s she up to?” Mom asked with genuine interest. Because Mom doesn’t have a fake bone in her body. I appreciated that she approved of the relationship I’ve been trying to build with Auden. The entire situation is fucked-up for all of us.
“Living the life in Charlotte. That’s where Aleksandr plays now,” I explained, though Mom is a huge Aleksandr Varenkov fan and probably already knew that. “But she’s in Bridgeland now. I hung out with her the other day.”
“What’s she doing in town?”
“They’re getting married here next week. She wanted her grandparents to be there.”
“Are you going?” Mom asked.
“Yeah. It’s at the courthouse. She probably needs a witness.”
“The courthouse?” Mom cocked her head. “Why there?”
“Don’t know.” I shrugged. “She said she never wanted all the big-wedding stuff.”
“I think it’s wonderful that you’re going. She wants you there.”
I shrugged her comment off. “She needs a witness.”
“Jason Riley, she obviously doesn’t need a witness if her grandparents will be there.”
True. It was cool that my sister wanted me in her life. She’d treated me like a brother from the first day she waited on me at Johnny’s, even before either of us knew we were related. I always wondered if we’d been drawn to each other subconsciously. Must be the blue eyes we shared, our mother’s eyes, according to Auden.
Our dead mother’s eyes. Thinking about how much pain Auden must have gone through growing up without a mom made my stomach churn.
She felt the loss of Valerie Berezin a million times more than I did. And though I understand that our mom had to make difficult decisions, I still couldn’t shake off the bitterness I had toward her.
Valerie signed the papers to give me up for adoption minutes after I was born. It sucked, knowing how easy it had been for her to turn her back on me. Even though the Taylors had been awaiting my birth in the visitors’ lounge of the maternity ward, the pain of being the kid my biological mom gave away still rocked me to the core.
My adoption had been set up months prior. On one hand, it made me happy to know how much the Taylors wanted me. On the other hand, I always wondered how it could be so easy for my birth mother to let me go. Mom told me she’d met Valerie on two occasions during their interview process. Valerie had gotten pregnant in high school and her parents wouldn’t let her keep the baby. Deep down, I know she made the right choice for herself and for me.
As a cop, I’d interacted with a shit-ton of teenage moms struggling to survive, yet still bringing kids into their lives. So, in retrospect, I should be more appreciative of the choice Valerie made. She’d given me a better life than I ever would’ve had with her. I’d grown up with a family who’d provided me with unconditional love and support, as well as every opportunity I ever needed or wanted.
The logical side of my brain knew that.
But it was one of those “easier said than done” situations. It’s easy to see the good in someone’s choice when you’re on the outside. Deep down, it sucked to be given up because I wasn’t convenient. And if that wasn’t bad enough, finding out my biological mom got pregnant again and kept that kid definitely was. In my mind, that’s the ultimate fuck you, even though I knew Valerie was at a different place in her life four years later when Auden came around.
Although I still had issues to work out about the situation, my sister is the one who got the worst end of the deal. Valerie had gotten pregnant by the same guy—my father—but that dude ditched her before Auden was born. Then Valerie was shot and killed when Auden was six, and she had to grow up with Valerie’s parents.
It was a shitty situation all around. At least I had a supportive family to fall back on. Maybe that’s why I was adamant about forging a relationship with Auden. We were blood. Brother and sister. I already felt a fierce protectiveness toward her that only a brother can.
I clasped Mom’s hand. “Thanks again for being supportive about Auden.”
“I don’t want to keep you from your sister. You deserve to know her, to have that bond.”
“Landon is pissed.” Because, for some reason, my brother always feels shafted.
“Give him time. He’ll get used to it. He’s never had to share your attention before.” Mom squeezed my hand.
“He’s had to share me all his life.”
Landon and I had only a few solitary years together. More than thirty foster kids had come through Camp Taylor, which is what I started calling our house after the first dozen.
“Technically, yes,” Mom said. “But you two have been the only constants. You’ll always be his big brother, and he’ll always want your undivided attention.”
“Yeah, I get it. He’s still making too big a deal about it.”
“He’s allowed to feel how he wants. He’s always been the sensitive one.”
“Whiney little bitch is more like it.” I laughed.
“Jason.” One-word Mom-warning. “He’s feeling overwhelmed right now. He’s playing in the NHL. He’s got a girlfriend now.”
I could think of a few ways his girlfriend could help ease his stress, but Mom didn’t need to hear that. I’d call Landon later.
“Cry. Cry. I’d give my left nut for his kind of stress.”
Mom patted my leg. “You have enough stress in your life, dear. Don’t go making more by giving up your left testicle.”
Mom would sneak a joke in at the exact time I’d taken a drink. I grabbed a small square napkin from the bar and brought it to my nose before beer spewed out.
At just that moment, Linden chose to approach with a self-satisfied smirk on her face. “Are you ready to order?” Her voice was sweet, like an angel’s, and she was obviously getting the utmost joy out of watching me struggle. I’d ge
t her back in time.
Chapter 8
Indie
I’m not usually the type of bartender to eavesdrop on conversations, but because of my proximity to customers, I can’t help but hear some of them. It sounded like Officer Jackweed and his mother were arguing. At least, I assumed the woman was his mother, because she was definitely older than him, and she’d slammed him for dropping the f-bomb in front of her.
Not that my own mom would have cared. My mom had been using every inappropriate word in the English language for as long as I could remember.
“What do you recommend, Indie?” the woman asked, glancing at me before dropping her eyes back to the menu.
“Um, well,” I said, faltering. How did the cop’s mom know my name? Had he told his mom about me?
“She read your name tag. Don’t get your hopes up.” Officer Taylor nodded at my chest.
Warmth rushed into my cheeks as I skimmed my fingers across the badge pinned on the right side of my shirt. Name tag, duh. Stupid overactive imagination. Of course he hadn’t told his mom about me. He probably hated me.
The silly disappointment I felt was short-lived, lasting only until his snarky comment hit home.
“Well, the beef brisket is a customer favorite, but I’d recommend the ribs. I mean, everyone loves a pig, right?” I cocked my head to the side, pleased with my joke.
The cop’s lady friend choked on the swig of beer she had taken. She raised her hand and patted her chest.
“You okay, Mom?” he asked, clapping her on the back.
Aha! She was his mom. I knew it.
Taylor’s mom nodded. “Went down the wrong pipe,” she squeaked out before coughing again.
“Should I give you another minute?” I asked. I wanted to slink away. I shouldn’t have said that in front of his mother. I wasn’t a confrontational person. What was it about him that brought out that side of me?
“No, no. We’re ready,” she said and coughed one last time to clear her throat. “I’ll take the ribs.” She winked at me, then bit her lip to keep a smile away.
The cop’s mom was pure awesome.