“She’s not a guy, and it was fine until the head of the bureau dropped in.”
“Agent Wilson?”
He nodded. “He wanted to be brought up to speed on the case.”
“And?”
He shrugged. “I told him about Danielle and the inside informant, who knew some of the other girls—girls she suspects are now dead, too. I told him I’m working her to get the location where Danielle was killed. Obviously, I left your connection to Jane out of it, for both our sakes. By the time I was done briefing him, I couldn’t tell if he was pleased or disappointed.”
“You know you can’t afford for him to be the latter, right? Screwing up your first major case is a career killer.”
“I’m well aware, but I appreciate the concern.”
I locked up the house as he walked to his car. Once we were on our way, he turned the focus of conversation to me.
“What did you do while I was gone?” he asked.
I thought about the file I’d found, and my adrenaline spiked. Telling him about that was a surefire way to start a fight, and I wasn’t up for that. Especially not before our date with AJ, which would have me refereeing the second we sat down. Dawson was a little too good at playing his role of possessive ex-boyfriend when AJ was around. I couldn’t tell if he did it to torture AJ or me—possibly both.
“I cleaned up my room, did some homework … nothing crazy.”
He eyed me sideways as he pulled onto the main road through town. He didn’t bother responding.
“So, what exactly have I signed on for tonight?” he asked, his tone uncertain.
“I have no idea. My guess is a total shit show.”
And, boy, did that prove to be true.
When we pulled up to Matthew’s Ice Cream Shop, the lot was packed. I secretly hoped that there wouldn’t be a seat in the place and we’d have to bail, but no such good luck. Instead, we walked in to find Tabby and AJ sitting in a booth together. She jumped up and waved when she saw us, and I knew we were sunk.
“After you,” Dawson said, stepping aside so I could lead the way. The entire place seemed to be staring, and, unless my ears were playing tricks on me, I’d say a hush fell over the room. Whispers soon followed—some I could discern, others not so much. It didn’t matter though; I knew what they were about.
By the time we reached Tabby and AJ, the whisperers had grown bold.
“It was one hell of a game tonight,” some underclassman I didn’t recognize called out.
“Yeah. No thanks to her,” another replied. I stopped dead in my tracks, doing all I could to curb my rising temper, but I was failing miserably. As others joined in, putting me on blast, I felt my hands ball up into fists.
“Hey!” AJ shouted, jumping up on his seat. “I have news for all of you. Our season didn’t rise or fall based on one player. It takes a whole team to win. And that player tried to kill her and put Garrett—his former teammate—in the ICU because he beat him with a baseball bat!”
Silence dropped on the room like a concrete slab.
I tried to ease the tension in my shoulders, but Dawson’s lips were soon at my ear—they did nothing to help.
“The kid that throws the football is the town hero and the girl that catches a would-be killer is public enemy number one?” he asked. I nodded. “This is one ass-backward town, Danners.”
Couldn’t argue with logic like that.
Once AJ was satisfied everyone was done, he sat back down. Tabby looked at me with her big moony eyes and I sighed. If she hadn’t been before, she was full-on #TeamAJ after that performance. Dawson was in for a long night.
“I take it you won?” I asked, sliding into the booth.
“Barely,” AJ replied with a smile. “But yeah. We did.”
“Congrats,” Dawson said.
AJ hesitated before replying. “Thanks.”
Just as the awkwardness started to settle in, Tabby shot up and offered to go to the counter and order for us all. I suggested I should go with her, but she shut me down. The redhead was officially on my shit list.
The three of us made painful small talk until Tabby returned with a mountain of type 2 diabetes on a tray.
“Good Lord, Tabs! My extreme-ice-cream-eating days are over. Just ask AJ. The last time I tried that, it didn’t end so well for me.”
“Boys eat a lot,” she argued, placing the food down on the table.
Thankfully, with food in our faces, conversation was sparse. I tried to drag the eating process out as long as I could, hoping that the night wouldn’t end up a total debacle if I succeeded. But then the topic of my childhood came up, and both Tabby and Dawson were too eager to listen. AJ, having always loved an audience, was more than happy to feed them stories of me growing up while I sunk lower and lower in the booth, hoping maybe I could just slide under the table and slither away unnoticed.
“So Ky was a fighter?” Dawson asked. I shot up at attention hearing his incredulous tone.
“Yeah,” AJ answered before I could launch into my rant. “She’s been training in Muay Thai since she was little.… You didn’t know that?” The note of amusement in AJ’s tone was impossible to ignore.
Dawson turned at me and smiled. “No. She never told me.”
“I didn’t really train when I was in Columbus,” I said, trying to fluff over the subject. “That’s why.”
“She was really good,” AJ continued. “I think her record is still 12 and 0.”
“You went to her fights?” Tabby asked. “Was that when you were dating or before?”
Yep. The ginger was going down.
“Both, actually. I loved watching them, but it was so hard seeing her get hit, especially in the face.”
“Funny,” Dawson said before taking a long sip of water. “I’d have been far more worried about a head injury than how she looked.”
Oh boy …
“I cared about both,” AJ replied, his expression darkening.
“Cared or care?” Dawson pressed. “I just want to be clear on where you stand.”
The desire to run from the building screaming was hard to control. The dick-swinging contest had hit epic proportions, and I saw no sign of it stopping. The two of them calmly went back and forth until I reached under the table and squeezed Dawson’s leg so hard my hand started to cramp.
“I’ve got to pee. Are you guys going to be good if I leave?” I asked, staring them both down.
“We’re fine, Ky,” AJ said.
“Just ironing some things out,” Dawson added.
I looked over at Tabby, who seemed a bit overwhelmed by the turn of events but had nothing helpful to offer.
“Tabby, if they get out of hand, whack them with this,” I said, handing her a long ice cream spoon. “Right over the knuckles. It hurts—a lot.”
She clutched the spoon, smiling devilishly as she looked at the boys. I hoped for their sakes they behaved.
I hurried to the back of the building that housed the restroom and tried to devise an escape plan to implement when I returned. Once I did what I had to, I headed back down the hallway of photos. Taking my time, I scanned the pictures until I came upon one in particular, surrounded by countless others. Somehow, in all my years of going there with my family and friends, I’d never paid enough attention to realize who was in it. Two young men, late teens or early twenties, wearing army green pants and tees with dog tags around their necks looked back at me. The one had his arm slung over the other’s shoulders while they posed for the camera, a medical tent in the background. One was a much younger Gramps. The other, upon deeper inspection, was a youthful, unscarred Mr. Matthew.
“This must be from Vietnam,” I said to myself, realizing that’s where the picture had likely been taken. I leaned in close to see the bloody bandage poking out from the hem of Gramps’ sleeve—and the blood all over Mr. Matthew’s hands. Gramps must have just been patched up.
I wondered if Mr. Matthew had saved him.
I’d heard bits and pieces
about Gramps’ time in the army, but he wouldn’t talk about it much. Gram, either. She would always tell me those were dark times for my Gramps—Mr. Matthew, too, given the napalm burn he’d sustained on the side of his face and neck. Some things are better left alone, she’d say, so I never asked, and they never told.
Pushing that thought aside, I made my way back out to the main dining area, stopping at the front counter to order something to take home for my Vietnam vet. A little treat to say thanks for how hard he was working. I was surprised to see the other person from that photo restocking the cups and cones.
“Mr. Matthew! I didn’t expect to see you here. Shouldn’t you have teenage minions doing these kinds of tasks for you?”
He looked up and took me in for a moment, not realizing who I was right away. When recognition set in, he laughed, the puckered scars along the right side of his jaw tightening as he did.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Kylene Danners, how are ya, girl?”
“Full, thanks to your banana split.”
Another hearty laugh echoed through the building. “Then what is it that I can do for you if you’re stuffed to the gills?”
“I wanted to get something I can take home for Gramps.”
“How is that old dog, anyway?” he asked. “I haven’t seen him ’round here in ages.”
“He’s been working more. A lot, actually.”
His expression sobered, reading between the lines.
“I’m sorry to hear that. He should be taking it easy these days. Lord knows he’s earned it.”
“Well, our situation doesn’t really lend itself to that right now.”
“No,” he replied. “I don’t imagine it does with your daddy where he is.”
“Yeah.…”
“How’s your mama doin’?”
“I’m not sure. She’s out west right now.”
He hesitated for a second. “Got it.” I could see his mind working on something while he stared at me. “You know, if you find yourself with too much alone time on your hands and in need of a job, you let me know. I’m sure I can find somethin’ for you to do.”
“Like be your cones-and-cups-refilling minion?”
He smiled wide. “Maybe more than that, if you can be trusted.” He threw in a wink at the end for good measure, making me laugh.
“I think I could make a mean sundae.…”
“I’ll just bet you could. Now, what can I get you to take home for your gramps? Anything you want—it’s on the house.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“You wanna argue with a Vietnam vet, or you wanna tell me what flavor you want to take home for that old coot?”
“Chocolate chip, sir!” I said, snapping to attention.
His smile grew to a grin. “Atta girl.”
He turned to grab a cup from the stack he’d just restocked, then bent down to scoop Gramps’ ice cream from the display freezer. I shot a wary glance over to where AJ, Tabby, and Dawson were sitting, wondering if leaving those three alone together for so long was a good idea. But then I saw Tabby throwing her head back in laughter and AJ actually smiling at whatever Dawson had said and let out a sigh of relief.
Maybe that spoon had come in handy.
“Here you go, Kylene,” Mr. Matthew said, pushing the ice cream across the counter to me.
“Are you sure I can’t pay you for this?”
“Downright positive, young lady. And you remember what I said. If you need some extra cash, you let me know. Always somethin’ around here that needs doin’.”
“I will. Thanks again for the ice cream.”
“Tell your gramps I said hi.”
“Yes, sir!”
I saluted him with my free hand and made my way back to the table where my friends and Dawson sat. Tabby’s laughter had died, and AJ’s smile had faded. My anxiety spiked for a moment until Dawson looked over his shoulder at me with ice cream in hand and waved.
“You ready to go, Kylene?”
Kylene, not babe. The boy could be taught.
I waved the ice cream in the air.
“Yep. I need to get home before this turns into chocolate chip soup, so let’s get a move on.”
Tabby got up to give me a hug goodbye while AJ just looked on, a strange expression on his face. I told them to behave, then rushed Dawson toward the exit before the moment could sour.
“I see why you like Tabby so much,” Dawson said, opening the door.
“She’s a good egg.”
“She is. And downright nasty with that spoon.…”
I laughed at that. “You two deserved it. Not sure what in the hell all that was, but I’m glad it’s over.”
“Just playing my role, Danners,” he said, leading the way to his car. “How many teenage boys would be overly gracious with the competition?”
Fair point.
“I know, it’s just so awkward and uncomfortable.”
He turned to smile at me, pure wickedness in his eyes. “Not for me.”
I groaned as we climbed into his car. “Could you maybe bring it down a few notches from now on? For my sake? Please?”
He let my question linger for a solid minute before answering. He fired up his car and backed out in silence. I nearly crawled out of my skin in the interim.
“I’ll dial it down a bit—for you.”
“Thanks,” I said with an exhale.
“But I don’t think that’s going to solve your problem.”
“I know,” I muttered under my breath.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry that you’re in this spot. I don’t envy you.”
I turned and looked to see if his expression matched his sentiment. Much to my surprise, it did. His profile was tight, like the situation I was in bothered him more than it should have. Maybe Dawson was more capable of sympathy than I’d thought. Or maybe he was a hopeless romantic wrapped in a barbed-wire shell. I could relate to that.
He drove me home, then pulled into Gramps’ driveway and put the car in park.
“I’m going to be busy working on the case this weekend,” he said, his gaze fixed on my garage door.
“Okay.…” I stared at his profile, but it gave nothing away. “Was that an invitation?”
A muscle in his jaw feathered. “I’m not sure.”
“I’ll be out of town in the morning,” I said. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”
He took a deep breath. “Come over when you are.” My jaw dropped. “Now close your mouth and get out of my car before I come to my senses and change my mind.”
I was halfway out the door in a second.
“See you then,” I said before slamming his door and running to the house. I didn’t look back, not wanting him to see the grin I wore. He’d have reneged his offer if he’d seen it.
With my luck, he would anyway.
Like a good date, Dawson made sure I got into the house safe before taking off. I dropped my stuff on the kitchen table and put Gramps’ ice cream in the freezer, then walked over to the couch and flopped down. My sugar high was too great to even attempt going to bed. Instead, I tried for the second time that night to distract myself with a movie.
I hoped that time it would work.
NINETEEN
I woke up the next morning to find Gramps in the kitchen. It felt like ages since I’d seen him.
“Did ya have a nice night out?” he asked, flipping the eggs in the pan.
“Yeah. For the most part.”
He looked over his shoulder, trying to read the subtext in my expression.
“You wanna talk about it?”
“It’s nothing. I went for ice cream with Tabby, AJ, and Alex.”
“I saw my present in the freezer. Thanks for that,” he said with a devilish smile.
“Mr. Matthew told me to tell you hi.”
“I should try to get by there and see Grant soon. It’s just been hard to find the time.”
I gulped down my guilt. “I saw the picture of you two in
the hallway there last night—from the war.” He stilled in front of the stove, spatula in midflip. “You looked like you were close.”
He nodded. “We were before we left. Even closer when we got back.” He didn’t say anything else for a minute or two. Once he plated our breakfasts, he came to join me at the table. “So, enough about me and Mr. Matthew. Why don’t you tell me why your night wasn’t all it shoulda been. Is it because Garrett wasn’t there?”
“No—I mean, yeah, that always puts a damper on things, but that’s not the only reason.” He looked at me expectantly, and I took a deep breath. “AJ and Alex … they don’t really get along.”
“Oh,” Gramps said, leaning back in his chair. “Well now that’s not that surprisin’, is it?”
“Not really.”
“Did ya have to pry ’em apart?”
“Nothing like that. It was just tense, that’s all.”
“It was, or you were?” he asked, quirking a brow at me.
“Both?”
He looked as though he wanted to say more but took a bite of his eggs instead.
“That ain’t an easy situation to navigate—but you’ll find your way.”
“Thanks, Gramps,” I said.
We finished our breakfast and I cleared the table.
“I have to run up to Columbus today to see Striker. He wants to make sure I’m doing all right after everything.”
“And are ya?” Gramps asked, the tension in his tone palpable.
“I’m getting there,” I replied. I walked over and kissed him on the cheek, then grabbed my purse and headed for the door.
“You gonna be home late?”
“No, but I promised Alex I’d help with his homework. Poor boy can’t speak Spanish for beans.”
“At his place?” he asked, squaring his shoulders as though preparing for a fight..
“We’re not together, Gramps. It’s homework. Nothing more.”
He frowned. “I want you home no later than ten, okay?” Gramps said, his business voice in full force. “Emancipated or not, I don’t want you over there late. No sense courtin’ a whole new kind of problem, if you get my drift.”
“Gramps!” I shouted, totally mortified. “I am not sleeping with Alex. And, even if I was, I’m pretty sure we could have sex before 10:00 P.M.” He turned to shoot daggers at me over his shoulder. “But, we’re not, so it’s a moot point.”
Don't Say a Word (Hometown Antihero) Page 11