Keagan (This is Our Life Book 2)

by F. G. Adams

  After I handed out treats of a few apples and carrots, I fed all the horses, filling their buckets with their favorites: oats, barley, and corn.

  When I made it back to the house, I was worn out, exhausted from the chores. All I wanted was a shower and a quick nap before I got at it again. Momma was standing in the kitchen making waffles. The smells of vanilla and almond made my stomach growl. Sage was helping her by cutting up bananas and strawberries. Grayson was in his booster seat at the table, making his own kind of music by banging on the wood surface with a wooden spoon and attempting to sing Old McDonald. He was precious.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” Momma sang out to me, then continued chanting Old McDonald with Grayson.

  “Morning, family.”

  “Morning sister. How’s Cyclops, JoJo? Did he nip at your tushy again?” Sage giggled.

  I grinned back at her. “No, not today,” I answered, shaking my head. “He’s just been mad at me is all. I haven’t taken him out for a good run in months. He’s cranky. But I plan to remedy that today.”

  “Sounds like fun. I wanna go, too. I can ride Stormy. Can I go with you?” Sage pleaded.

  “Sure, Buttercup. It’s a date.”

  “Oh, Jo. I almost forgot.” Momma stopped before pouring more batter into the waffle iron. “Keagan called about an hour ago. He’s leaving this morning and wanted to say goodbye.”

  My attitude took a nosedive from the momentary peace I had found. He was really leaving.

  “When? What time? Where?” I yelped out.

  “Hold on, Jocelyn, I wrote it all down. I didn’t want to forget in case you wanted to go,” Momma replied.

  She handed me a piece of paper with all the information of Keagan’s departure. He was leaving from the bus depot at 10:42 a.m. The clock on the stove indicated I had fifteen minutes.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “Of course, sweet girl. Hurry before you’re too late. Do be careful.” Momma looked at me with understanding as I grabbed my keys off the hook and exited the house.

  I didn’t even have time to change clothes or brush my hair. The bus station was about ten minutes from the ranch if I didn’t have any unexpected stops along the way.

  I made it to the bus station just as a bus was pulling away. Exiting my car, I ran as fast as my legs would allow in cowgirl boots, stomping up the pavement like I was being chased by a ghost. But I was too late. I watched the bus as it rounded the corner, falling out of sight.

  Sinking to my knees, I grabbed my head and pulled tightly on my hair as the waterworks started. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why didn’t I say goodbye before? Now he was gone and I didn’t know if I’d ever get to talk to him again.

  I felt a large, yet gentle hand touch my shoulder. My eyes moved to the hand and followed up until I saw him. Keagan’s dad. His face wore a mask of indecision and sorrow, a face that bared the remarkable likeness of Keagan.

  “C‘mere, Boo.”

  He helped me up off the concrete and guided me to an empty bench out in front of the bus stop. I noticed that no one was around. We were alone. The fact that Keagan was really gone seeped into my skin, causing nausea in the pit of my stomach.

  Mr. Fontneau put his arm around me and pulled me in for a comforting hug, but the only thing it accomplished was more tears.

  “Is he … is he really … gone? I missed him, didn’t I?” I voiced through ugly sobs.

  I felt his nod as he sniffed then groaned, pulling back slightly.

  “Lady bug, you smell terrible. It’s like you’ve been wallerin’ around in horse dung. Poo-yee-yi, sugar. My ‘pologies, but you stink.”

  He got a laugh out of me. It was a little bit hysterical, but a laugh just the same.

  “Yes sir. I… was doing my chores when I found out. I didn’t realize it was today.”

  “I know. We’re never really prepared for change, but it comes just the same,” Mr. Fontneau explained. “Why did ya come here, Jo?”

  I pondered for a moment, then answered, “I wanted to… I don’t know. When my momma told me this was it, I had to be here. To say goodbye. I owed him that much for the friendship he gave me.”

  Thinking about the question again, I was struck by the fact that Keagan was my best friend. At one time, I thought he would be my best not-boyfriend forever—until Fallyn left and I began to push him away.

  “I understand what you’re sayin’, Boo. There are times we don’t realize what we have until we lose it. Now I don’t know much about your personal family stuff, only what Keagan shared with me. Do ya mind if I give ya a little piece of advice?”

  Mesmerized by his Southern Cajun drawl, I nodded my head for him to continue. This was the closest I could get to Keagan right now, so I’d take it.

  “Baby girl, you’ll have a chance to see him again. I have no doubt.”

  His cryptic words cause my head to spin as another piece of me fell back into place.

  “But you gotta pull yourself together. Fix what’s broken inside ya. You’re no good as a friend or otherwise with this dark cloud hangin’ ov’r your head, cher. I know ya feel abandoned an’ ya lost someone ya love the most. That’s just life, darlin’. People come and go, in an’ out of our lives. It’s the impact they leave with us that makes the difference. Yeah? It’s what we do with the knowledge that creates the ripples in the pond. Good or bad. Fuh sure,” he finished up and looked down at me.

  Words escaped me. I actually heard what he was saying. For the first time in forever, I heard the words of wisdom being given. And within the deep anguish of my heart and brain, I grasped onto every syllable he delivered. Something shifted inside, telling me it was time to release the heartache and move forward.

  “Thank you, Mr. Fontneau,” was all I could muster, and I think he understood.

  Nodding his head in agreement, he squeezed my shoulder once more before he got up to leave.

  “Ya know, K is gonna be in the thick of things for a while. Got to keep his head on straight with no distractions, Boo.”

  I caught his meaning and he was right. I wouldn’t be an interference that could get him hurt, or worse, killed.

  “Could you give a message to Keagan for me? When you talk to him?”

  “Sure thing, cher.”

  “Would you tell him thank you for being my friend? That I’m going to believe again? And I’ll never give up.”

  “Ca c'est bon, Boo. That’s good.”

  With that, he smiled and walked away from me, leaving me alone at the bus station to think about what I was going to do with my life. My mind was going to war with my heart, and like the phoenix rising from the ashes, so would Jocelyn Blackwood.

  Those words Mr. Fontneau spoke to me all those years ago created a defining moment in my life, an expectation I’ve tried to live up to. Even as simple as they were, the effect they had on my life was monumental. The reason people awaken is because they have finally stopped agreeing with things that insult their soul. This was my logic for moving forward.

  I’m curious as to how Mr. Fontneau is doing. Last time I heard he was retired and Mrs. Fontneau had him traveling all over the world. I need to ask Momma next time I talk to her.

  I lost Keagan as a friend, lost all contact with him. My choice, of course. Although, the lesson he taught me by being my friend pushed me on the path I lead today. He gifted me friendship and showed me to always believe that anything was possible, that even though I felt alone or felt like part of the shadows, I really wasn’t. There was someone who could see me, my best friend who could pick me out of a crowd easily and be happy to do it. That’s who Keagan was. He made me feel important. Special, even.

  I wanted to help others in that same way. In the background, at a distance, or in the middle, it didn’t matter. I transformed myself into the successful psychologist I am today. However, with the job I have, I’m in the thick of it, on the front lines taking up for those less fortunate or in need of help.

  I’m curious if he ever thinks about me. Wh
at’s he doing right now? Crazy, I know. Those kinds of dreams are not in the plans for me. Maybe they were once long ago before everything went to hell in a hand basket. The reason I can’t seem to let go is that I still have hope.

  Getting comfy on my couch, I open my laptop to start my research. I’ve got work to do. I need to gather as much information I can about Calista and Desmond Payne. It’s the beginnings of what I will need to make my case, if I find out things aren’t kosher with the couple. After a few more keystrokes and dead ends, I give up. There is nothing out of the ordinary I can find.

  Calista has her hands in many different high society pools. She has won Mother of the Year, Best in Show for her amazing flowers and home gardens as well as being part of several nonprofit cancer organizations. I’m sure those are because of her late husband, father of her twins, who lost the battle three years ago. For all appearances, she seems perfect.

  Mr. Desmond Payne is an enigma. He showed up on the social scene about five years ago and has climbed the ranks quickly. He’s been featured in GQ, frequents local talk shows at the television stations, and is squeaky clean. Mr. Payne has grown his wealth through tourism. He now owns more than seven luxury resorts in some of the most prestigious places to visit in the state. Destin, Palm Beach, and Miami, to name a few.

  I know this is going to take more than average work. I’ll need to spend many sessions, one-on-one and together with the twins, to gain their trust and figure out what’s really going on in their lives. They lost their dad only a few years ago and their mom’s remarrying could be a contributing factor.

  Like Mr. Fontneau said, we’re never really prepared for change, but it comes anyway. Maybe that’s it: too much change is causing the twins pain. It’ll take time and I’m committed. I have to help them.

  “So you do know how to talk,” Gunner snidely comments as the windows seal and the cool air tunnels from the vents on the dash.

  “When necessary,” I shrug.

  I put the truck in drive and look in my rearview mirror for oncoming traffic. The road is deserted when I accelerate towards Gainesville. We should arrive at the planned stop within the hour, which is enough time to learn more about Gunner and form a new strategy. With all that’s at stake here, my patience is thinning and I can’t afford it to, not now.

  “Well, you handled that situation, and it could’ve gone south fast. I would’ve hated killin’ them. Make no mistake, Crash. If it came down to me or them, they would’ve been toast. I ain’t going to jail for nobody.”

  “Big words from someone who almost cried like a baby a little bit ago. You got the balls to back ‘em?”

  “Yep, sure do. Never leave home without it.” He reaches behind him and draws a 9mm pistol. “This here is my insurance.”

  “Insurance?”

  “I’ll either kill or be killed. Nobody’s takin’ me without a fight.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got two options, and neither of ‘em work for me. I sure as hell ain’t ready to die yet. Put that gun away. You can go down in a blaze of glory when I’m not around, mister dead man walking.”

  “Fuck man. You don’t know shit. I’ve got stuff happenin’ and it’s real. I’m gonna be rollin’ in the dough soon.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Your loss.”

  I concentrate on driving and ignore the simmering man sitting beside me. A few miles later, a bump in the road jars the truck and Gunner sits up from leaning on the passenger side window.

  “I need a vacation. Somewhere on a deserted island with a long leggy blonde with tits the size of watermelons and a never-ending liquor bar. I can imagine it now. Mai Tai and Piña Coladas all day long.”

  “You’re dreaming, douchebag. Those are girly drinks by the way.”

  “Hardie har har, Crash. You’re so funny,” Gunner jokes. “Nope. I’m gonna have it. Just as soon as I make this last delivery happen.”

  “Yeah, must be a humdinger of a delivery to make that kind of cash.”

  “Special order from a well-paying client.”

  I glance at him with a questioning look and return my focus to the highway.

  “Some clients have specific tastes. And, this client, well let’s just say he’s been waiting for this package for quite some time now.”

  “So, you’re just the delivery boy?”

  “Fuck you, Crash. I’m more than that. I’m the one who finds a way into the merchandise and delivers the how-tos to get it. This delivery is going to thrust me into retirement, baby.”

  “You seem confident. What happens when your ‘special’ client wants more of what you’re supplying? Then what are you going to do? Un-retire? Shit, kid. You don’t have a clue what you’re up against.”

  Gunner sits quietly gazing out the window at the passing trees. He hasn’t answered me back. He seems caught up in his own thoughts and judging from the look on his face, they aren’t good ones. Maybe there’s hope for him yet. Probably not. His type doesn’t learn from words, but actions. So far I’m getting nowhere on this little adventure.

  We pull into Grady’s Pit-Stop, a one-shop hole-in-the-wall joint, a restaurant, gas station and motel all-in-one. The motel has ten rooms, and the vacancy sign is blinking in the large lobby window. I put the truck in park and turn the engine off.

  “Stay here. I’ll go get us some rooms and then we can find some grub.”

  “Whatever. I got no wheels, so I’ll be right here, daddy-o.”

  I flash him the finger and exit my truck. Stupid fucker. He’s got a comeback for everything. I would almost like the guy if he wasn’t wrapped up in some scary shit.

  I open the glass door and walk into the lobby. There, sitting on the other side of the reception desk, is my buddy Grady “Bulldog” Johnson. Grady and I go way back. His dad served with my pop. We grew up the same, always moving from base to base. We went to high school together in Texas before I moved to Lakeview my senior year. He occasionally helps Trident out when we’re in a pinch and need his expertise.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in. Keagan Fontneau. What the hell have you been up to, man? Haven’t seen you ‘round my neck of the woods in a while.”

  I clasp his outstretched hand and we bump shoulders in greeting.

  “Bulldog, long time no see. Phone call just ain’t the same, huh? I’ve been trying to stay out of trouble. You know the drill.”

  “How’s the family?”

  “Pop’s driving maw crazy since he retired. They bought a place down south near a little fishing village on the Gulf. They’re either fishing or traveling somewhere to fish. She wants to visit Wade and his crew up in Alaska and he keeps saying it’s too damn cold to wait for summer.”

  “Sounds like your pop. Never liked the cold, did he? I remember that year he and Pop did a tour in Germany. He bitched every chance he got about freezing his ass off.”

  “Yep. He still does every chance he gets. Won’t let maw forget it either. He only went because she wanted to say she’d been there. What about your parents?”

  “They’re good. Staying busy helping Parker with his youngins. Since Missy died, he’s been a mess.”

  “Yeah, maw told me what happened. Fucked up mess.”

  “You have no idea. Parker about lost it. If they hadn’t been there, I don’t know what would have happened to my nieces.” He glances out the window towards my parked truck and nods. “Gotcha a friend with you?”

  “Yeah. We need a place to crash under the radar while Georgia passes through.”

  “Work?”

  “Yeah. He’s the job.”

  “Expecting trouble?”

  “I’ve got it covered. He’s not a problem. Wouldn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. Shouldn’t be any problem tonight, and we should be long gone before anyone suspects a thing.”

  “Well, then, it’s your lucky day, bro. Only the regulars are here. Got two rooms side-by-side with an adjoining door.”

  “That’ll do.�
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  “Here’s the keys. Rooms 8 and 9. Down the hall on the right. Kendall should have dinner ready within the hour. Bar doesn’t open for another few, but I don’t suspect we’ll have many showing up tonight with the weather being as it is and all.”

  “Thanks, Bulldog. I owe you one.”

  “No problem, Crash. That’s how we roll.”

  I walk back to the truck and get in. Gunner’s got his hackles up again. His fingers thrum along his thigh. He eyes me for a few and then leans back against the window.

  “Got two adjoining rooms. We can stay tonight and pull out once the weather is better.” I hand him the key to Room 8.

  “Fine and dandy, man. I just want a shower and something hot to eat.”

  “The guy at the desk said dinner would be ready soon. Bar doesn’t open for another couple hours. Let’s get settled first.”

  I crank the truck and pull over into the slotted parking space. The wind has picked up in the last few minutes. A gust gently rocks the truck. Gunner grips the “oh shit” handle and I chuckle.

  “Didn’t grow up around here, huh?”

  “Nah. I’m a New Yorker. Born and bred. How did you know that?”

  “‘Cause if you did, you would know that’s nothing compared to what’s in store for tonight. The tail remnants are the worse. Once the eye passes, depending on which side you’re located on, can be brutal. C’mon man, let’s get you inside.”

  We get our bags and walk into the tiny lobby. I nod at Grady as we pass by and head down the hall to our rooms. I watch as Gunner unlocks his door and enters the room marked 8. The door closes behind him.

  I move further down to the next door. The number 9 is painted in neon orange on a green door. Entering my room, I’m instantly thrown back into the 70s with the cheesy orange bedspread and shaggy green carpet. But what catches my eye are the mirrored tiles placed strategically on the ceiling and, smack dab in the middle, a metallic ball is hanging loosely. Holy Shit! Whoever thought the disco era decor was hip should be strung up and shot.

  A knocking on the adjacent door echoes in the room followed by Gunner’s shout, “Open up, Crash.”