by Eden Bradley
“The way I heard it, her family would’ve disowned her for having me.” Catie tried not to let the bitterness creep into her tone, was glad the diner was mostly cleared out so no one could hear the story of her life and times.
From the start, she’d dreaded getting into this with Flo.
“Marie’s family would’ve forgiven her. Your momma should’ve stayed here. You should stay here. Come back, help us rebuild—don’t spend a lifetime repeating her mistakes.”
“That’s great, now you’re accusing me of running?”
“Your family’s history is here. Your brother’s across the country in school. You told me you moved from town to town growing up—you have no home base. You need roots.”
Flo was right—all her life, Catie had been floating along with her momma. Now that she was on her own, Catie was simply looking for a place to settle in, a place to belong. And as much as Catie wanted to see the sale of the Bon Temps as a means to an end for her future, she’d still wanted to feel something when she’d first arrived in Bayou Rouge, an instant connection that let her know she belonged, that she was meant to come here to her mother’s hometown. Instead, the people who worked at the Bon Temps made her feel unwanted, and she’d been easily overwhelmed. After meeting Flo, she had some inkling of what life might’ve been like growing up here, but it wasn’t enough.
Still, since Bat had arrived, the feeling of ease had grown, almost enough to make her forget about the incident with Darren.
Right now, she could only chalk that up to lust and Bat’s protective nature. Imagining it was something else would only serve to confuse her more, and she was tired of being confused. She wanted a clear path for herself.
“I’ve got everything I need, Flo,” she said. “After the Bon Temps sells, I’ll have even more.”
Coming back here—to a past, a family that could’ve been hers but wasn’t—made every resentment rise up in Catie’s mind, until her head hurt.
Her past was going to pave the way for her future and then she was out of here. She’d find her own roots someplace.
Bat had known something was wrong the second he’d picked Catie up from the diner—she’d been waiting at the door, looking agitated, and damn, he didn’t like seeing her upset. His body had hummed the whole time he was in the hardware store and he’d wanted to find her as relaxed as she’d been when he’d dropped her off.
The owner, Flo, who he remembered from when he was a boy, had stared between him and Catie Jane and he could just imagine the stories Flo told her. But Catie refused to talk about it, told him that nothing was wrong, and he was smart enough not to press the issue. Yet.
He barely took the time to eat the take-out breakfast from Flo’s before he was dealing with deliveries and payroll, all things Catie had handled over the past few weeks. He’d been doing this kind of thing for so long, he streamlined the process quickly. Now that the Bon Temps was no longer taking its liquor deliveries POD, it could begin a slow climb out of the red.
And Catie was still absently staring out the window.
“Time to stop brooding—tell me what’s wrong, Catie chere.” He pulled the stool she sat on toward him so that he was between her legs.
She paused for a minute as if weighing telling him the truth, and then he saw the tears in her eyes. “Flo grew up with my mom. They were best friends when they were younger. Best friends up until the time my mom left town.”
“You’re upset. She upset you.”
“I’m okay. Really.”
“Do you always pretend you’re okay when you’re not?”
“Do you always pick up on everything?”
He slid closer, pressed his body to hers and waited for her to answer, would wait there all day if he had to, even as he wondered when the hell he’d grown a patience gene.
“My mom got pregnant with me young. Left this town because she was ashamed and scared, and she never came back,” she said finally, with a hitch in her voice. “The break she had with her family was because of me.”
“No,” he told her fiercely. “It wasn’t you. Nothing to do with you at all.”
“Flo asked me if I was going to keep running, like my mom.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her that I didn’t think I was running, that I came here to sell the bar and then go on to school.”
“Do you feel like you’re running?”
“Do you?” she shot back.
“It’s the nature of my job to move from town to town.” That was the truth, but he still felt like a goddamned liar when the words came out of his mouth.
“Flo said that I should stay. Get in touch with my family’s history.”
“And that’s not what you want.”
“Maybe if my mother had come back here at all—if she’d stayed in touch with her family, even, I’d feel something for this bar or this town. I wanted to feel something when I got here. But there’s nothing here for me—it’s just a run-down bar and a family that’s gone.”
“But you wanted there to be, and you’re scared that you’re making the wrong decision by selling the bar.”
There was that jut of the chin she probably didn’t even realize she did when she was trying to prove something to him—and to herself. “I’m not scared.”
No, terrified would be a more accurate description, if the tight fists she made were any indication. And still, he couldn’t help but feel she was a hell of a lot tougher than he was. “Putting down roots doesn’t happen overnight. What is it you want, Catie? What do you really want?”
“I want things to have turned out differently. Flo told me about my father, how he was killed before I was born. How he never even knew about me. And I wonder so many things. Would my momma have been happy if she’d stayed here and married Ed? Would he have reformed?”
“Why are you looking at me like that when you ask that last question?”
“Because you’re the man every momma warns her daughter about. Every mom except mine.” She gave a short laugh, ran a hand through her hair. She’d let it loose from the ponytail and it was messy and sexy. “They never would’ve been happy. Things like that never do work out.”
“And you’re never going to know the answer to that one, Catie. Why bother going over it again and again? The ending’s not going to change, no matter how badly you want it to.”
“I’ve got work to do.” She suddenly pushed at his chest and he moved away from her so she could slide off the stool.
“You’re mad now.”
“What do you care? You’ve got no investment in what I do—beyond your money.” The words shot out and straight into him, and he noted that she couldn’t even bring herself to look at him, had already turned her back and was walking away.
His gut twisted—was that really what she thought of him? “Yeah, I guess you’re right, Catie chere, no investment at all,” he drawled quietly.
Catie spent the better part of the afternoon in the storeroom and felt as if she’d made no progress beyond working off some of her anger. She’d had to splash her face a few times—when she looked into the old mirror and saw tears streaking her cheeks, along with smudges of dust and dirt from the cleaning she’d done.
What was she doing, letting a past she’d never known or cared about rise up to bite her like this? And why was she taking it out on the one person in this entire town who’d helped her? The only person she’d really connected with in a way she’d never connected with anyone, and in such a brief span of time.
When she finally emerged, Bat was nowhere to be found in the main area of the bar. She went to grab herself a soda, and heard a sharp knock on the front door.
Hesitantly, she moved toward it and looked out the peephole, to see the local policeman who’d come to the bar several times on her first nights here, to break up fights.
Terrell Johnson was in his early thirties, also a town local boy made good, and he’d been nice enough, but he’d told her that she couldn’t keep calling
him to break up bar fights. It was after one such night that she’d called her old boss in New York who she’d bartended for, gotten Dominick’s name and hired Bat.
She opened the door and Terrell nodded at her. “Afternoon, Catie Jane. I’m looking for Bat Kelly.” His tone was formal—this was no social call.
She stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “I’m not sure where he is, but he should be back soon.”
“I’ll just wait for him here, then. I have some questions for you too—might as well get those over with.”
She stepped aside as Terrell walked past her into the bar, asked, “Is everything all right?”
“You haven’t heard?” His eyes were dark and serious as he flipped open a small notepad. Her stomach tightened.
“I’ve been in the storeroom all day. Cleaning. And I’m not exactly in on the gossip loop in this town.” Besides Flo, no one really talked with her. After this morning and the way she’d been almost rude to Flo when she’d left the diner abruptly, Catie wasn’t even sure Flo would talk to her anymore.
He looked up from the notepad. “Darren White is dead.”
Her hand flew to her mouth.
“Time of death was sometime after three this morning. After the Bon Temps closed,” Terrell continued.
“What do you want with me and Bat? Do you think he had something to do with this?”
“Darren was found with a bullet between his eyes. A sniper shot. Bat has the kind of experience it would take to kill a man like that.”
“So do a lot of other people.”
“Not with the kind of motive Bat has. So you two are dating?” Terrell asked without looking up from writing.
Dating? She didn’t think they were even speaking after her outburst. “No, he works for me.”
That was the simplest of truths.
“Everyone at the bar heard him threaten Darren,” Terrell pointed out.
“That’s because Darren tried to hurt me two nights ago in the alleyway,” she protested.
“Why didn’t you report that?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t realize it was Darren until last night, when he told Bat that he wouldn’t stop coming after me. Bat’s a smart man—do you think he’d challenge Darren so everyone could hear him and then kill the man?” she asked.
“Bat Kelly is a smart man, ma’am. So yes, that’s something I’d expect from him.”
“It sounds like you know him.”
“I used to know him.”
“We used to be best friends.” Bat’s drawl was deep and unhurried and she turned to find him leaning against the door frame, smoking a freshly rolled cigarette. His eyes held hers for a second, the translucent green dark with anger, hurt, maybe even some shame. But there was no guilt there. She’d never been more sure of anything in her life. “How’s it going, Terrell?”
“Heard you were back in town, Bat.”
“Yes, I’ll bet you did.”
“A man can’t outrun his past, no matter how hard he tries.”
“It’s a good thing I wasn’t trying all that hard, then.” Bat hadn’t moved away from the door. “Are you still holding a grudge about me dating your sister?”
“You broke her heart, left town without saying good-bye. To anyone. But I’m not here for a walk down memory lane. You need to come with me for questioning.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“No.”
“Then I’m staying right here. I didn’t have anything to do with Darren White’s death.”
“But you did threaten him.”
“I did. He attacked Catie in the alleyway and he made threatening statements in front of me and the entire bar. Did your sources conveniently forget to mention that? Because I’ve got witnesses of my own.”
“Can you tell me your whereabouts between the closing of the Bon Temps last night and five this morning?” Terrell asked.
She knew Bat was going to tell Terrell no, and so she piped in. “He was with me.”
“Ma’am…”
“He was in bed with me.” She stared at Terrell, daring him to say another word about it.
Terrell stared between her and Bat for a long second. “This nice lady here just gave you an alibi for the murder. But I don’t want you leaving town until I’ve done a complete investigation.”
Bat took a long drag from his cigarette and didn’t answer.
“He’s working for me—he’s not going anywhere,” she said.
“Nice to see things haven’t changed for you, Bat. Still got the ladies sticking up for you,” Terrell said.
“Things have changed, my friend,” was all Bat said.
“He has no loyalty, to anyone or anything,” Terrell told Catie. “I’d be real careful if I were you, miss. Real careful.”
“I always am,” she told Terrell, and yes, until she’d met Bat, she always had been. Now she wasn’t sure of anything except Bat’s innocence.
“Why would you do that?” he demanded once she’d closed and locked the door behind Terrell.
“Wait a minute—you’re pissed that I stuck up for you?”
“You didn’t have to do that, put your reputation on the line. You’re having enough trouble around here without that.” He stubbed the cigarette out in an ashtray on a table. “I’m moving downstairs, into the office.”
“Oh.” The heavy weight bore down on her chest again. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Catie, I’m not going to have you be with a man under suspicion of murder.”
“You haven’t forced me into doing anything so far, and you’re not forcing me now.”
“Don’t you get it? I’m capable of killing Darren, of killing any man, exactly the way Terrell said.”
“You were serving your country. That’s completely different.”
“Look at the line of work I’m in. Everything I’ve done can make a violent man more violent.”
“You’re not violent,” she told him fiercely. “Your work might require you to use force, but you’re not a violent man, Bat Kelly. A woman knows these things. I know this about you.”
He wasn’t sure why it was so important that she believed that. “No, I’m not.”
“You’re not sleeping in the office. You’re sleeping with me, in the loft.” She pulled him into her arms and he didn’t bother to protest or pull away, because it felt damned good to be in them, to have someone who believed in him.
“I’m sorry about before, what I said about trying not to think about the way things might’ve been if your mom had stayed…or if your dad hadn’t been killed. I try not to think in the past or think in what-ifs. You can drive yourself crazy that way.”
“No, you were right about that.” She pressed a cheek against his chest, against his heart, and just kept it there for a few moments. “But you also said that you can’t outrun your past, and I don’t know if that’s what I’m trying to do. I wish I thought that it would be easier to stay, but to stay here—to know what I’d missed, to know what’s not here anymore…”
“I know what that’s like. Coming back here, to a place I never thought I’d be again…” He didn’t finish, didn’t tell her that something just felt right about being back here, a feeling he hadn’t expected at all. How much Catie had to do with that feeling was something he’d been avoiding thinking much about.
“Why did you leave?”
He shrugged. “My parents drank too much. Fought too much. Pretty much ignored me and my sister. She got pregnant and left when she was eighteen. I kept getting into trouble. I guess I thought getting out of here would solve everything.”
“Did it?”
“It made me grow up. Made me realize that things in my childhood could’ve been a lot worse.”
“Sometimes I do feel like I’m running by selling the bar, just like my mom did, and I feel so weak that I can’t stand it.” She whispered the words as if she could barely bring herself to speak them in the first place.
“You’re not weak—you’re a s
urvivor, Catie.”
“I always hoped that there’d be more to life than surviving,” she said, her voice still soft and full of threatening tears.
That was something he’d never considered, not until she spoke the words earnestly, until he laid in bed with her, her body twined around his, limbs tangled until there was no beginning or end. A continuous press of flesh to flesh. She was undoing him at every turn, every time she drew him, every time she captured him with her charcoal. Stripping him down on the outside the way she had before, when she told him that he wasn’t violent. And she was threatening to do so again as she just held him, stroked her hand down his back.
He’d never been very good at comfort, had never wanted or needed any. Until now.
“I’ve been thinking about slowing down, retiring from this line of work,” he admitted into the quiet of the bar, his words feeling a bit like sacrilege, but they were also a relief.
“Why’s that?”
“Because it is dangerous. And I have family to think of. My sister and her little girl—they’re down in Florida.” He paused. “Her daughter needed an operation that insurance didn’t cover. Would’ve wiped out her business—she owns a bakery.”
“So you lent her the money.”
“I gave her the money,” he corrected. “It’s what you do for family. I guess it took me a long time to realize that I still did have family.”
“That’s why you didn’t leave me here that first night.”
“Part of it. The unselfish part.”
She smiled. “So what will you do when you retire?”
“I don’t know. I’m not like you—I don’t have this burning passion for one particular thing.”
“Well, what do you like to do?”
There was the question that hit him right between the eyes. He tried to think as he stared out the front window, into the breezeless late afternoon.
What did he like to do? It had been so long since he just sat back and enjoyed. Hopping from place to place stopped him from getting caught, for sure, but it also stopped a lot of other things as well, stopped him from getting close to anyone or anything. Allowed him to keep a safe and reliable distance from everyone and everything.