His Kind of Trouble

by Terri L. Austin

  The older woman’s brows rose a fraction, and she unfolded herself from the lounger. “Darling! How are you?” She dropped the magazine and strode forward, taking both of Monica’s hands. At five foot five, Monica was hardly statuesque, but Pix made her feel like it. Diminutive in stature with sharp features in a heart-shaped face, she looked a dozen years younger than she actually was. Vitality swirled around her, affecting everything in its path. Monica felt a little more alert just sharing space with Pix. Cal must have gotten the charisma gene from his mom.

  Monica accepted Pixie’s air kiss. “I’m well. You’re looking fab, as usual.” Cal’s mom wore tight slacks patterned in bold black-and-white stripes. Her hot-pink blouse revealed a risqué amount of cleavage. One more undone button, and her boobs would have been on parade.

  Pix flipped a mass of dark hair behind her shoulder. “Oh, Monnie, you’re so very sweet. Whatever are you doing here?”

  “I brought Cal.” Monica stepped closer and lowered her voice. “He’s pretty angry right now, so you might want to tread carefully.”

  Pix squared her shoulders. “He’s angry with me, is he? We’ll see about that.”

  Monica began backing up. She didn’t want to be in the same room when Cal’s heated anger met Pix’s haughty demeanor. Sounded like a perfect recipe for disaster. “Where’s Jules? I’d like to meet her.”

  “Game room, down the hall.” She flung her left arm in one direction as she looked toward the doorway, waiting for Cal, no doubt.

  She didn’t need to be told twice. Monica retreated to the hallway, and when she heard the sound of pool balls clacking, she headed toward it.

  Her first sight of Jules came as a surprise. The younger girl only vaguely resembled the picture Cal had shown her earlier. Jules’s warm brown hair looked longer now, and she’d added a few platinum extensions. Obviously a fan of the spray tan, she displayed too much skin from her neck all the way down to the stacked heels any stripper would be proud to wear. She leaned over the table with her pool cue and lined up a shot.

  “Hello. Jules?”

  The girl straightened slightly. “Yeah, who are you?” Her brown eyes flashed over Monica and dismissed her. Not waiting for an answer, she bent back over the table, and with a smooth jab, whacked the six ball into the corner pocket.

  “I’m Monica, a friend of Cal’s.”

  “Cal’s friend? You?” Her perusal was slower this time, taking in Monica’s hair, her jacket, her matching slacks, down to her brown flats. “You?” she asked again.

  Monica laid her purse on a bar stool. “I’m not sure what you expect me to say.” She picked out a shorter cue from the row hanging on the wall and faced Jules. “Want to rack ’em?”

  “You’re dating my brother? Cal. Calum.”

  “Yeah.” Sort of. Monica would characterize it as hooking up, but she wasn’t about to admit that to his sister.

  “Saint Monica. You’re not what I expected. That suit is a tragedy. Seriously, it’s making me want to weep right now.”

  “Your outfit isn’t doing much for me, either.” She plucked the triangular rack from beneath the table and tossed it at Jules, who caught it in her left hand.

  “What do you two have in common, anyway, you and my brother?”

  “Not a lot, actually.”

  Jules arranged the balls in the right order. “So it’s just sex, then. You don’t look like the type.”

  Monica almost laughed. Looks could be deceiving. Back in the day, Monica’s slutty behavior had gotten her into more trouble than she cared to remember. And now that she thought about it, sleeping with a guy because he rode a Harley or had ink covering fifty percent of his body or told her she was pretty—it had left her empty. Oh, it was rebellious and exciting while she did it—which made the sex feel even better—but only because she’d been acting out. Waking up the next morning, hungover and staring at a stranger, left her self-esteem bruised and battered. That was the difference between then and now. Cal might be wrong for her, but Monica was having the time of her life. Plus, she liked him. She was even beginning to respect him. He’d been a frazzled mess when his sister disappeared. That said a lot.

  Monica’s gaze flew over Jules once more. If she had to place a bet, she’d guess that Jules wasn’t nearly as brazen as she pretended. This in-your-face look was for shock value. “Cal was worried sick about you today.”

  Jules rolled her eyes and removed the rack, tossing it back to Monica. “He can’t wait to send me home. So he can shag you, would be my guess. Though you don’t look that cracking to me.”

  Monica ignored the dig. “We spent hours searching for you at the Miracle Mile.”

  Jules’s pink lips parted. “How did he know I was there?”

  “Lucky guess. You could have answered at least one of his forty-three phone messages.” Monica struck the balls, managing to sink just one into the side pocket.

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

  Hmm. Defensive. Jules watched as Monica made two more shots, then missed. “No, but you might want to have an excuse ready for Cal though.”

  “Is he very angry?”

  “Yeah. He’ll probably give you hell. Siblings are like that. You can yell at each other, terrorize each other, but when it’s all over, you hug it out.”

  Jules took a turn and scratched, sending the cue ball into the corner pocket.

  “I wouldn’t know. Cal and I aren’t like that. He’s always jetting off somewhere or holed up in his garage. And of course he was gone all last year.”

  “Australia, right?” Cal hated talking about it. Maybe Jules could fill in a few blanks.

  “Yeah. I haven’t seen him in ages.”

  Monica and Brynn only saw each other every couple of weeks, but Brynnie would be there in a heartbeat if Monica needed her. And Allie, well…Al would take a bullet for Monica. She’d bitch the whole time and never let anyone forget it—probably show off the scar every chance she got—but she’d do it. “So you and Cal aren’t that close?”

  “Not really.” Jules leaned her hip against the table and sighed. “In fairness, Daddy doesn’t want him around, but no matter where he is, Cal always flies in for my birthday. Except for this last year, when Babcock was so ill.”

  “Babcock was sick, huh?” That explained a lot.

  “He took care of her.”

  Monica set the cue on the table. “What was wrong with her?” She felt a little guilty, asking personal questions about Cal. Not guilty enough to stop, though.

  “Something with her heart, I think.”

  Monica’s pulse sped up. “He was with her until the end, wasn’t he?”

  Jules nodded. “Yeah. She died this past spring. Poor Cal was a wreck. I didn’t hear from him for weeks.”

  He’d said Babcock was like a mother to him. Watching a loved one die—she and Cal had something in common, after all.

  Her suspicions were correct: Calum Hughes was a good man. That didn’t fit in with the image she’d had of him for the last five years—the bad boy who partied and fucked his way around the globe. He still wasn’t partner material, but he was honorable.

  She glanced up to find Jules watching her intently. “You fancy him, don’t you?”

  Monica ignored the question. “It’s none of my business, but maybe you could cut him some slack. Sounds like he’s had a pretty shitty year.”

  “Well, so have I. I mean, it’s not the same, really, but my year hasn’t exactly been one for the memory books.”

  “How so?”

  Jules crossed her arms. “Daddy’s been nagging me about college. He thinks I’m more clever than I really am, and I hate school. It bores me fucking senseless.”

  Monica let out a laugh. “I was you, eight years ago.”

  “Get. Out. You’ve never been anything like me. Being a do-gooder is as snore-worthy as it gets.”

  “I hate to break it to you, kid, but I was exactly like you. With better makeup.” She raised one brow at Jules’s
incredulous expression. “I started skipping school and didn’t get to graduate with my class. I moved out of my dad’s house and shacked up with a loser—the first of many. I got arrested too.”

  “What happened to turn you into the paragon you are now?”

  “I finally got my shit together.”

  “You don’t look together. You look—”

  “Yes, I know. Tragic.” Monica was getting a little tired of the Hughes sibs railing on her clothes. “I work for a cancer foundation. I’m not going to strut around in tube tops.”

  Jules snorted. “You might get more donations that way.”

  “You may have a point.”

  They both grew silent. Monica thought about Cal and all the pain and loss he must have suffered over the last year. She could relate.

  Then she heard raised voices. She and Jules exchanged a glance and both took off out of the room and down the hall.

  * * *

  Cal restlessly circled the living room, his hands fisted at his hips. “Why didn’t you call the minute she showed up? How irresponsible can you be?” His voice rose with every word.

  Curled up on the chaise, Pixie watched him pace. “I was responsible enough to raise you, Calum.”

  “Don’t fool yourself. Babcock raised me while you played dress-up.”

  “That’s not true,” she cried.

  “It is true. You went to events and parties and had affairs while Babs did the boring bits.”

  Cal felt his neck grow hot. Monica had warned him to stay calm, but when he’d seen his mum sitting there like a bristly cat, anger overrode his best intentions. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Monica and Jules standing near a stuccoed column. He pointed at his sister. “What have you got to say for yourself?”

  “Bugger off, asshole.” She spun, almost tripped in those ridiculous heels, and clomped up the stairs.

  Monica tipped her head to one side. Palms facing the floor, she pressed her hands downward. “Chill out, Cal. Just calm down. Yelling at everyone isn’t going to help.” She threw a glance at Pix before following Jules up the winding staircase.

  Calm? Jules had been here for hours. He’d been bloody frantic all afternoon, and Pix didn’t even have the courtesy to ring him. “My sister”—he enunciated each word—“has been missing since noon. I’ve been worried sick, and you’re playing games. As usual.”

  Pixie unfurled herself and stood, her tiny body shaking with anger. “She begged me not to call you. She absolutely forbade me to call your father, said she’d leave if I did. I finally calmed her down enough to let me get in touch with you. I’m sorry I’m not perfect, Calum. I don’t do things the way you would.”

  He stopped pacing and stared at her for a moment. Then he clapped his hands. “Very good, Mum. Brilliant performance. Quite the martyr. And you’re so bloody far from perfect, it’s laughable.”

  All of the defiance left her, and she dropped to the chaise like a deflated balloon. Placing her fingers to her temples, Pix sighed. “I have such a headache.”

  Cal had no sympathy to give her. “Why did Jules come here? How did she get your address?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “From your phone. She said you were going to send her back to California. If anyone understands how difficult your father can be, it’s me. How I lived with that man for eight long years, I’ll never know. Jules is lovely. Very tan, that girl. She’s welcome to stay for as long as she likes.”

  Cal pressed his lips together. “She’s not staying, and neither am I.”

  “Oh, do sit down. I’m tired of staring up at you. I’ll order us some tea.”

  “I don’t want tea.”

  “Of course you do. Remember how Babs used to make it? With a little drop of brandy? I miss her too, darling.” A smile drifted over her lips, wistful at the corners.

  Cal thrust his hands into his pockets. “She loved you, Mum. She took care of the both of us for years. She devoted her life to us, to you. And you didn’t come to see her once. Not one goddamned time. I’m ashamed of you.” The anger he’d been feeling all day, so scalding it left his throat dry, subsided. Grief crawled its way back to the fore.

  “And you better not have filled Jules’s head with a load of bullshit. She’s not staying here. She’s going back to California. She can’t just run away and forget her problems.”

  “Like I did?” she asked. “That’s how you see me, isn’t it? Haring off and ignoring my problems.”

  “Yeah, Mum, that’s exactly how I see you.” It was how Cal saw himself, and he didn’t like it a bit. He wasn’t sure he could change, wasn’t sure he wanted to, but he desired something better for Jules. He didn’t want her to suppress her personality, as Monica had done. But Cal wanted his sister to channel her gifts and become something wonderful.

  Pixie gave him a tearful smile. “You and I are more alike than you care to admit.”

  “Possibly.” Cal rubbed his cheeks. He looked at his mum sitting there huddled in on herself, and for once, she looked her age. He always thought of Pix as larger than life, but right now she appeared small, frail almost. “I don’t resent you for dragging me around with you. I don’t. But I’ll never forgive you for abandoning Babcock when she needed you.”

  “Darling, you still don’t understand. I would have been useless to her. I can’t even make a decent cup of tea.”

  She still didn’t get it. She never would, his mum. “It wasn’t about you. It was about her. Giving her back some of the comfort she’d given you all those years.”

  “She would have been comforting me,” Pixie said, “not the other way around.”

  Cal slowly shook his head. “You should have been there for her.”

  “I’m not strong, Cal. I couldn’t bear to watch her fade away.”

  “Then you should have been there for me.” Until the words left his mouth, Cal hadn’t known he’d felt that way. Abandoned. Alone.

  He couldn’t stand here and listen to any more of this. He didn’t want her excuses, didn’t want her self-pity. He strode out of the room, his work boots making a dull thud against the white-marbled floor. As he took the stairs, two at a time, he grasped the wrought-iron handrail.

  Cal felt out of sync. His chest constricted, and heat prickled his skin. Anger and hurt and confusion and bitterness—all rolled into one jumble. Babcock was gone. His mother cared, but in her own limited way. And it wasn’t enough. Cal wanted something he couldn’t even put a name to. This…lack, it ate at him, leaving him hollow.

  At the landing, he heard voices coming from a bedroom down the hall. Cal shortened his steps as he drew near.

  “What am I going to do if he kicks me out for good?” Jules’s voice cracked.

  “Then you’ll figure it out,” Monica said. “But Cal won’t let you down. You know that, right?”

  “He’s never been there for me—why would he start now?”

  Jules needed him. She was in a right poor state if he was her go-to person, but he wanted to help her pick up the pieces and start over. Maybe he could start over too.

  Cal peeked through the doorway. They sat on the bed, side by side. Monica pulled something from her purse and handed it to Jules. “Call me anytime. Hey, I know your dad is annoying, but it’s because he cares so much.” Cal fought an unexpected smile. She may not advertise it, but Monica Campbell was a nurturer. She gave a damn about people. That was possibly her most endearing quality.

  “No, he doesn’t. He just wants to control me.” Jules swiped her nose. “I’m sick of hearing his boring lectures. He’s from the Stone Age, so he thinks he knows everything.”

  “The Rolling Stone Age? Your dad’s what, sixty, sixty-five, tops?”

  “He may as well be six hundred and fifty the way he carries on.” She adopted a deep voice. “In my day, we went to proper school. In my day, a gap year meant something, not an excuse to pickle your liver. In my day—”

  Monica laughed. “Yeah, I get the picture. My sister Allie’s the same way. And living i
n your dad’s house, eating at his table, you’re kind of asking for it. That’s the way it works.”

  “Life rather sucks, doesn’t it?” Jules asked.

  Monica nodded and rubbed circles along his sister’s back. “Sometimes. But it beats the alternative.”

  Cal cleared his throat to announce his presence. “Sorry to interrupt.”

  Monica stood. “There you are.” She glanced down at Jules, who’d lowered her eyes to the floor. “Why don’t I go wait in the car, and if you don’t need a ride, just text me, and I’ll head out.” She gave him a smile on her way to the door.

  When Monica was gone, Jules glanced up. “At first I thought she was boring. The clothes threw me.”

  “Me too.”

  “But she’s nice.”

  Cal smiled. “That she is. Let me preface this little talk by saying if you ever pull this crap again, Father’s tirades will seem like a treat. Got it?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. I just panicked. He hasn’t talked to me in days, Cal. He won’t even look at me. It’s like I don’t exist.”

  “If you don’t like it, become independent. Get a job and take things on yourself. But if you’re living at his house—”

  “I have to live by his rules,” Jules finished. “Mummy says that constantly.”

  “And what about your mum? Is all this putting a rift between her and the old man?”

  “Maybe. I’m not going back. I mean, I will for the trial, but I won’t stay there with Daddy freezing me out and Mummy pretending it’s business as usual.”

  “Jules—”

  “No, Cal. My mind’s made up.”

  He scanned her face. Behind all that makeup, she was full-on serious. “What do you plan on doing? You have no money—except what you stole from me.” Jules had the decency to blush. “You don’t have a job or a place to stay. You’re due in court next month.”

  She studied her shoes as if they were terribly interesting rather than hideous. “No need to keep banging on about my situation. I know I’m up shit creek. But Pixie said I could stay here.”

  “No.”

  Jules leaped to her feet, squaring off with him. “I can do as I bloody well please.”