Bad Boy Heroes Boxed Set

by Patricia Ryan

  “Nope.” Matt pretended interest in his schoolwork.

  “Thought of any of those sports idioms?”

  The kid swallowed hard and glanced at the magazine. “No.”

  “Matt, I—”

  “Do you mind? I got homework to do.”

  Drawing in a heavy breath, Joe shook his head. “Yes, I do mind. Especially your attitude.”

  Sulky blue eyes leveled on him. “I don’t care what you think.”

  “Well, I care what you think. And I’m not going to give up on trying to forge a relationship with you.”

  Matt said nothing, but Joe saw the need in his eyes. To believe. To make peace with his father. He’d seen it a hundred times in the kids he worked with.

  And remembered vividly having felt it himself.

  “However, I won’t allow you to hurt Faith because you’re mad at me.”

  Little-boy innocence won out. “Hurt Faith?”

  “You were nasty about the meal. You knew she was excited about it.”

  “I wasn’t nasty.”

  “Yes, son, you were. Because you’re mad at me.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “What?”

  “Son.”

  Joe hadn’t even realized what he’d said. But he’d go with it. “You are my son.”

  “Yeah, some father you are.” He threw back the chair. “I don’t wanna be with you anymore.”

  Joe snagged a handful of his sweatshirt and held him back. “I’m sorry to hear that, Matt. Because I want very badly to be with you. I’ll let you go now, but remember what I said about Faith. Don’t take your anger at me out on her.”

  As soon as he released the shirt, Matt bolted away. Joe heard heavy footfalls on the steps, then a door slammed. .

  Sighing, he mentally repeated his mantra. Remember why you’re here. You can do this. You’ve changed.

  His gaze fell on the Sports Illustrated under Matt’s book. Leaning over he slid it out and perused the cover. His spirits lifted when he saw it was an older edition, and in big black letters on the bottom of the cover, “Where did those sports terms come from?” He glanced after Matt. Maybe this wasn’t such a disaster with his son as he thought.

  Chapter 9

  *

  LINC BOLTED AWAKE, his body covered in sweat. He was breathing hard and didn’t know where he was. Immediately, he reached for Margo, but his hand landed on a hard surface. Sucking in air, his eyes began to focus. He was in his church apartment. On the couch. He was thirty-eight, instead of seventeen.

  And Margo was not here.

  Lying back on lumpy cushions, he glanced at his watch, the lighted dial telling him it was almost midnight. Now he remembered. He’d come back to his apartment from an emergency hospital visit and found a message from Margo. It said she wasn’t home and wouldn’t be able to talk tonight.

  But he could tell by the tone of her voice, she didn’t want to talk to him. Pissed off at her distancing, he didn’t bother calling her back.

  Not a good idea, son. God’s voice came to him in the darkness.

  No?

  You know it isn’t. You can’t help her if you don’t talk to her.

  Does she need my help?

  What do you think?

  Come on, God. Give me a break. Just answer the damn question.

  God paused. All right, call her.

  And?

  Don’t blow it. Be patient. Kind. Understanding.

  Hey, that’s me to a tee, he thought, even though sometimes, with Margo, he reverted back to Jesse James.

  I liked Jesse, too, you know?

  Oh, sure , he told God as he picked up the cordless and dialed her number.

  After four rings, he heard a slurred, “’Ello.”

  “Aw, geez, I woke you.”

  “Linc?”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry. Listen, baby, go back to sleep.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Midnight. You’re a night owl, and you’re usually still up.”

  “It’s fine. Actually, I dozed off on the couch reading some specs.” A rustle. A chuckle. “I was dreaming about you.” Her defenses must be really down from sleep for her to tell him that.

  “Funny, I was dreaming about you, too.”

  “Bet mine was better, Rev.”

  “Yeah?” God, she could be a tease. “Don’t count on it.”

  “It was X-rated.”

  “Mine, too.”

  “Shit.” She sighed. “This isn’t doing us any good.”

  “Margo, can’t we—”

  “No!” Her voice lost its husky teasing. “Why’d you call?”

  “It’s Sunday night.”

  “Didn’t you get my message?”

  He could lie. But he caught a glimpse at the cross she’d given him, illuminated from the outside streetlamp, and decided not to. “Yeah. I was hoping you’d be back by now.”

  “Nothing’s wrong, is it? With you or Beth or Annie?” She drew in a breath. “That goddamned Murphy didn’t do something, did he?”

  “Please, honey. Don’t take God’s name in vain.” Usually she didn’t, out of deference to him.

  “I don’t believe in God, Linc.” Her tone told him she was exasperated.

  “I know. And I can’t tell you how sad that makes me.”

  A very long pause. Then, “Why would I, Linc?”

  He stilled. She never wanted to talk about this. God was right in advising him to call her. “I know you suffered at the hands of the commune, in His name. But that wasn’t God working there. It was evil.”

  “If He existed, He should have helped me.”

  “I think we’re what we are today because of the troubles we had then.”

  “I think He abandoned us then. I’ll never forgive him for that. I’ll never trust him.”

  “God never abandoned any of us. He got us through it all.”

  “You got me through it.”

  “Then you owe me. Give God a chance.”

  “No.”

  “Think about it.”

  “No.”

  “Please.”

  “Either change the subject or I’m hanging up.”

  Change the subject, boy.

  “All right, how’s work?”

  Her hesitation was just long enough to alert him. “Good. We’re going hot and heavy on the new products.”

  “And Pretty Boy? Is he still going hot and heavy for you?”

  I told you to be kind and understanding, Linc.

  “I’m sorry,” he said before she could answer. “I hope everything’s okay with him. I know you were upset about his hitting on you.”

  “I think I overreacted, Linc.”

  “What?”

  “I overreacted. He misread the signals.”

  Linc’s whole body froze. The only thing he could feel was the rapid tattoo of his heart. “You mean, you…” He couldn’t get the words out. “You…led him on?”

  “No! Of course not. But we spend a lot of time together. And he’s a toucher, you know. I realized I let him be affectionate, maybe more than I should.”

  A long pause on his end this time. Finally he asked, “Margo, what are you saying?”

  “Nothing, this is coming out wrong.”

  “Exactly what signals did you give him?”

  “Don’t interrogate me.”

  Calm down, Linc. This isn’t helping.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again. “Really. Please, talk to me.”

  “Linc, he and his wife are having problems.”

  Oh great. “Margo, that’s the oldest line in the book.”

  “No, really, he’s messed up because of it. We’re friends. He turned to me…it was no big deal.”

  Use your degree in psychology, jerk. “You thought it was a big deal Friday night.”

  “I was just upset about Ronny. And Tucker Quaid showed up. And seeing Joe again. Fuck it, Linc, that was emotional for all of us.”

  “I know. But don’t fall for Philip’
s lines, honey.”

  “They aren’t lines.” Her voice had gone cold.

  “The hell they aren’t.”

  “Linc, you’re pushing. You can’t run my life anymore.”

  “I don’t want to run it. I want to be part of it.” A big part. Bigger than she’d allow.

  “You are. But we can’t depend on each other like we used to.”

  “Why?”

  “ You know why!” Now she was pissed.

  Well, so was he. And just like in the old days, her temper spiked his own. “If you’d try to get over your hang-up about religion and put some trust in God, maybe we’d have a chance.”

  “Hang-up? How dare you? Of all people, you should know…” She stopped abruptly. Then she said, “This conversation is over. Good night, Linc.” And the phone went dead.

  He stared at the receiver, feeling like he’d just gotten off a roller coaster. Disoriented. Displaced. How the hell had the conversation taken that turn?

  You weren’t kind and understanding, son.

  No kidding.

  You blew it.

  Should I call her back?

  No, you’ll just make it worse. Go to sleep. Things will be clearer in the morning.

  It took all of Linc’s willpower to listen to God’s advice. Slowly, he got up and headed toward the bedroom.

  *

  AFTER HANGING UP, Margo rose from the couch and strode into her bedroom. As she undressed, she thought about the phone conversation with Linc. She couldn’t stand fighting with him. But he was so hardheaded sometimes, and she got so mad at him.

  For asking her to think about God.

  For choosing God over her.

  Ah , she thought as she slid into three-hundred-dollar silk pjs. There’s the rub.

  She went through her nightly routine. Brush her teeth. Clean her face. In the minor, she caught sight of her eyes. They were troubled. She dropped the soap in the sink. Damn it, she hated hurting Linc. It made her sick to her stomach. And attacking him tonight would hurt him in a way nobody else could. She knew she had power over him, knew she could inflict a kind of pain that would stay with him for a long time.

  “You’re a bitch,” she told herself. “A first-class bitch. He’s the nicest man you know, and you jab him about religion, jab him about his life all the time.”

  Finishing in the bathroom, she padded to the bed and slipped underneath the Ralph Lauren sheets. It was dark in her room. Dark like…

  Usually, she short-circuited the images. But tonight she didn’t. Instead she let them come.

  Because, if she was honest, she was tempted to think about God. Okay, so she’d think about Him. About what He’d let happen to her. In His name.

  It was dark, then, like now.

  Only she lay on dirt, instead of silk sheets, and she was cold, so cold, she was shivering…

  And crying. “Mama, please, let me out of here.”

  No answer.

  Then she heard it. The scratching. Oh, no. She was in the basement of the commune. In a small room off to the side. It smelled like rank water and old potatoes. They kept food down here and it must have spoiled.

  Something was after the food.

  Rats.

  “Mama, please!”

  She didn’t know why she was yelling. They wouldn’t hear her. They’d left her here forever. She wasn’t sure how long, because there was no light. But it had to be more than a day. She was starving, and cold.

  “Mama…”

  Maybe she should just pray. Get it over with. If she did what they said, if she gave in, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. She could bide her time until Linc got her out of this godforsaken town.

  God. Where was He?

  More scratching, then something scurried past her. She screamed. Her whole body shook. Okay, she’d try it. The words fell clumsily from her mouth. “God, please, if you’re there. Please, help me, I can’t stand this. I’m so scared.”

  Nothing.

  She waited.

  Still nothing.

  She tried three more times.

  And nothing happened.

  Except a rat ran across her foot making her yell out again. Except that she got sick to her stomach from the fear that it might bite her. Except that she had to wait hours and hours more until at last someone released her…

  She shook herself out of the past; she was cold and hungry and shivering again. It always happened when the images came. She sat up and switched on a light. She was no longer that vulnerable fifteen-year-old girl.

  Who had indeed prayed. To a God, who could have helped her but hadn’t.

  If you’d try to get over your hang-up about religion and put some trust in God, maybe we’d have a chance.

  Like hell, she thought, lying back down but leaving the light on.

  Linc was wrong. There was no God.

  *

  “YOU LOOK LIKE you just lost your best friend, big brother.”

  Linc peered up at his sister from the turkey soup he’d been stirring, staring at, and occasionally sipping. “I think I have.”

  Beth wiped her hands on the towel around her waist and leaned over the counter of her diner. The bright lights were dimmed to a pleasant glow in deference to the late hour. “Margo?”

  “Give the lady a cigar.”

  “Something happen?”

  “Yeah, we had a whopper of a fight on the phone last night.”

  “A fight? You two? That’s headline news.”

  He grunted. He’d been an ass. He’d tried to call her at work and apologize, but she’d been in a meeting and never called him back.

  The meeting was probably with Pretty Boy. Was she with him right now?

  He misread the signals.

  Beth gave him a quick squeeze on the arm. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you.” There were few secrets between sister and brother. There never had been.

  With uncustomary vehemence, Linc slapped the countertop. “You know, just when I think I’ve accepted not being able to have her like I want, it starts again.”

  “You’ve seen a lot of her lately.” Beth bit her lip. “Because of this thing with Ronny. Maybe that’s why.”

  “Maybe.” Proximity had never been good for them. Sometimes, when she was in touching distance, Linc remembered vividly what it was like to be inside her. They both knew it and limited their contact as much as they could. “You miss sex, Bethy?”

  “Yeah, I do.” She glanced toward the end of the counter. “Lately, especially.”

  “Me, too.” He studied his sister. “Sorry you gave up on Roman Becker?”

  “No.” She grabbed a cup of coffee and circled around to sit next to him. Facing sideways, she hooked her feet on the rungs of his stool. He was reminded of the time they spent at their grandparents’ home after their parents died. They were forced to share a room because of the tiny house. Sometimes, at night when she was scared, she’d crawl into his bed and they’d sleep back to back. “He isn’t my type.”

  Linc glanced at the wall of pictures. “Just Danny, huh?”

  Thoughtful, his sister shook her head. “I could love again, Linc. It’s been a long time since Danny died. It’s just that nobody in Glen Oaks has pushed any buttons for me.” She nudged his boot with her toe. “What about you?”

  “Me either. I wish…” He didn’t finish. Verbalizing it made it worse.

  “You need a good woman, Reverend. And kids.”

  “I do.” He sighed and shook off the mood. “Until then, I’ll have to be satisfied watching out for Ronny.” He glanced at the clock. “Want me to go get him at the lake for you?”

  “No, I’ll do it.”

  “I’ll ride with you.”

  “No, you won’t. You’re exhausted.” She stood and began to massage his shoulders. “You’re trying to take care of too many people, Linc. Annie, Margo, me, Ronny, the church women.”

  He sighed as she kneaded his sore muscles. “Margo calls it my savior complex.”

  “She’s
right.” Beth grinned. “Sometimes I miss Jesse James—the preacher’s son.”

  “Ironic, huh, what he was?” To break the pall, he swiveled off his seat, stood, spread his legs and pretended to pull guns from an imaginary holster. “Jesse’s still around, ma’am. Best you remember that.”

  Rising too, Beth smiled. “Yeah, so is Bonnie.” She looked away. “Sometimes, I wish she’d surface more, though. That girl who took chances, risked…things.”

  Her tone sobered him. “What would you risk, honey?”

  “I’m not sure.” She ripped off the towel around her waist and tucked in her flannel shirt. “Do I look okay?”

  “To go get Ronny?”

  “Um, yeah. I mean, is my face clean? Do I have spinach in my teeth?”

  He wondered about her self-consciousness. “You hate spinach.”

  She grasped his hand. “Come on, Jess, I’ll walk you out.”

  *

  TUCKER stood outside of the back room Doc had converted to an office and watched the old man and Ron at the computer. Backdropped by a wall of windows facing the lake, filled with a scarred desk and a couple of chairs, with stacks of racing books and magazines on the floor, the room was Doc’s favorite.

  “Now, watch, boy. You ain’t gonna believe this one.”

  A pause. “Holy shit, Doc, how’d you do that?”

  The old coot had finally found a playmate on that thing. For years, Doc tried to interest Tucker in the design of race cars using the newest computer programs to hit the market, and some that he’d developed on his own. Tucker didn’t give a hoot about car design, computers, and especially not NASCAR websites.

  Sipping his Corona, tanged up with just the right touch of lime, he studied the two of them as they bent over the keyboard. Ronny’s face had lost its earlier starkness—because Doc had asked him about jail. Tucker had stood in the shadows listening, this time in the kitchen. The kid hadn’t said much, just that he’d been in his cell most of the time and he was bored to tears. But Tucker had heard the fear in his tone. Prison was prison.

  He wondered how Beth had dealt with it. What had Ronny told her? If unspeakable things ever did happen there, would he tell his mother? Tucker hoped not. Ron should have a man to talk to about it. Beth didn’t need to know.

  “Can you show me how to get on that website again, Doc?” Ron’s voice held a burgeoning affection for the old man. Tucker understood it, as he’d been about Ronny’s age when he’d met up with Doc. And like Doc, and now Ronny, he’d loved the sport, too.