Loverboy (Dartmoor Book 5)

by Lauren Gilley

  A car on the highway slowed, and then turned in at the gate, red dust pluming up beneath the tires. Kev didn’t know what kind of car it was – he thought it was a Cadillac – but it was long, and white, and shiny, even as the dust boiled up over it. It was a strange car, one he’d never seen before, and it dipped and swayed on the uneven pack of the yard, finally coming to a halt beside him.

  The driver door opened, and out stepped Daddy.

  Kev took after his mother, fair, and dainty, and blue-eyed. His father was spare, but broad-shouldered, dark-haired, dark-eyed as a shark. Today he wore a pale blue suit and a skinny red tie that the breeze tugged over his shoulder. His hair was starting to get thin at the temples, a little further back off his forehead than it had been the year before.

  He looked at Kev over the top of the car. “Hey, boy.”

  “Dad.” Kev got to his feet, dusted off his knees. Just a year ago, he might have rushed around the car to hug the man. But he was beginning to grow wary of unsteady affection. He might be hugged, or he might be slapped. There was no telling.

  The passenger door opened, and a woman climbed out, right in front of Kev. She was thin as a pencil, in a black dress splashed with big white flowers. Her hair shone bright red in the sun, piled up on top of her head and secured there somehow. Her face – angular, harsh – was dramatized with lots of makeup, much more than Mama wore. She had a rough voice, when she spoke, like old Mrs. Hawkins who smoked two packs a day.

  “Well, hi there, sweetheart.” She squatted down a little, so they were on eye level. Her smile struck him funny, made him want to take a step backward. “Aren’t you just pretty as a picture.” Her head tilted, like some sort of bird, and her eyes went all the way down to the scuffed toes of his sneakers, and then back up again. “What’s your name?”

  “Kev.” He had an army man in one hand, and squeezed it tight.

  “Cute.” She smiled again, and again he wanted to retreat. “I’m a friend of your daddy’s. You can call me Miss Carla.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  The screen door opened with a groan, shut with a slap, and Mama stood on the porch, hand shading her eyes from the sun, mouth twisted to the side with unhappiness. The breeze caught her flyway pale hair, streamed it out behind her.

  “David?” she called. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Ah, Jesus, Judy, can I not even get a decent hello?” Daddy called back to her, face screwed up in a scowl.

  “I haven’t got any money this time,” she said, sounding defiant. “I’m not setting any aside for you anymore.”

  Miss Carla straightened, and turned toward Mama. “Oh, don’t worry, ma’am, we’re not here for money. David’s doing real good for himself these days.”

  Mama’s frown deepened.

  Daddy walked toward her, tie still flipped over his shoulder, flapping against the back of his neck. “I came to see my boy. Is that a crime? Can’t I see my own son?”

  Kev didn’t hear what Mama said because Miss Carla was in his face again. “How’d you like to see the inside of a real Cadillac, Kev? Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  He shrugged. He didn’t really care, he just knew that when adults said things like “wouldn’t that be fun” that he was supposed to do what they said, that it wasn’t a suggestion at all.

  Miss Carla led him to the back door of the Cadillac, opened it up, and ushered him inside. “Isn’t it nice? Smell that real leather!”

  He slid across the cool leather seat, wide as a public park bench, cushioned and new-smelling. The inside of the car was still cold from the AC, and goosebumps chased across his skin. This was nice. Nicer than anything inside or outside of his house.

  He heard footsteps crunch in the dirt, and then Daddy’s voice, real low, talking to Miss Carla.

  “What’d I tell you?” he said.

  “He’s heaven,” Miss Carla said. “Just beautiful, pretty as a little girl. Those eyelashes! And the hair! And thin as a reed.”

  “He’s a little fucking fairy alright.”

  “Don’t make fun of my fairies. They’re responsible for this car you’re driving.” She laughed and it turned into a rattling cough.

  “So you want him?” Daddy asked.

  Miss Carla caught her breath. “Absolutely.”

  What were they talking about? Kev slid toward the door…

  And it slammed in his face.

  Daddy and Miss Carla popped into their seats, shut their doors, and the locks engaged with a thump.

  Daddy tossed Kev a small smile. “We’re gonna go for a little ride, Kev. How about that?”

  “Okay…”

  The Cadillac started with a roar and Daddy slammed it in reverse, sped backward. The big car swung around and nearly threw Kev into the floor.

  He twisted around to look out the back window as they headed for the highway. He saw Mama running toward them, mouth working, eyes wide with alarm. Reaching toward him.

  Then the car turned onto the street and she was gone.

  ~*~

  They drove, and drove, until Kev was exhausted and starving by turns. He asked once where they were going, and when would they get there, and Miss Carla had turned around, patted his leg, smiled, and said nothing.

  Finally, they turned in at a McDonald’s. It was dark now, and when Daddy opened the back door for him, he heard the sawing of crickets, and smelled unfamiliar smells beneath the typical grease and frying-meat smell of the restaurant.

  “Where are we?” he asked, as he slipped from the car. His legs were like jelly and it was hard to stand upright, soles of his feet on pins and needles from sitting for so long.

  “We’re at McDonald’s,” Daddy said with a grin, and ruffled his hair.

  Inside, Miss Carla gave their order to a pimple-faced, sour teenage employee who slapped their cups across the counter without making eye contact. Miss Carla paid for the food, and handed a cup down to Kev with a smile – still that smile that left him feeling funny.

  “Get your drink, sugar. You can have whatever you want.”

  He got a suicide, because he’d never had one, and because Robert wore they were great. Coke, and Sprite, and root beer, and orange soda, all mixed together. The tickle of bubbles under his nose made him laugh. The drink tasted strange, but he sort of liked it.

  Daddy found them a table by the window, so he could watch the passing traffic, headlights coming at them in neat rows.

  Miss Carla brought the food on a tray and sat down on the plastic booth beside Kev. “There. Isn’t this cozy?”

  She gave him yet another smile.

  The first bite of cheeseburger was perfection, because he was so hungry. But after a few more bites, once the hunger was dulled, he began to worry, and to grow homesick, and slowly he set the burger down.

  “When am I going home?”

  “Sweetie, aren’t you having fun?” Miss Carla asked. She had a fleck of salad dressing at the corner of her mouth.

  “Yeah, but…”

  “Just don’t worry about it,” Daddy muttered, face growing dark. “Always like your damn mother. Worrying about shit.”

  “David.”

  “What? He is.”

  “Eat your food,” Miss Carla told him.

  But Kev didn’t want to anymore.

  ~*~

  Another car ride – a shorter one this time – took them to a one-story motel with ice and vending machines right outside the door. Their room had two double beds with flowered spreads, carpet dark with stains, a TV Daddy couldn’t get to work, and a faucet that dripped…dripped…dripped in the bathroom.

  “I don’t have any pajamas,” Kev said. He was tired, and still a little hungry, and his tummy hurt, and he wanted to cry.

  “You don’t need them, sweetie,” Miss Carla said. “You can just sleep in your underwear.”

  “This fucking thing,” Daddy said to the TV, and whacked the side of it with his hand. “I just want to know the damn score. Jesus. Shitty-ass place.”


  “Can we call Mama on the phone?” Kev asked.

  “No.”

  “Maybe in the morning,” Miss Carla said. “Come on, sweetie, you can share the bed with me.”

  The sheets smelled like wet dirt, and were scratchy against his skin. He curled up on his side, and Carla curled up right behind him, an arm across him, like Mama used to do sometimes. But it didn’t make him feel safe and warm, like when Mama did it. Miss Carla had bad breath that whistled in his ear, and she snored. It was too dark, and he imagined creepy, crawling things coming across the carpet toward the bed, climbing up its edges.

  He wanted to go home. He closed his eyes, and chanted like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz.

  But the next morning, he was still in the motel, and he didn’t know it, but he’d never go home again.

  ~*~

  “Your old man kidnapped you?” Mercy asked, brows lifting.

  Kev was on his third mug of coffee, and starting to shake a little. “Yeah, more or less.” He took another sip, and damn the shakes. “I found out later he sold me to…to…Carla.” It was still hard to say her name, after all this time. The images it conjured, the way it felt like a spell that would summon her here. “I found out later he was a shopper for her. He found little boys. She liked them to have a certain look, and to be young, so they could be trained and molded. Less defiant that way.”

  “Jesus,” Mercy whispered.

  The shaking intensified. Tango slopped coffee out of the mug and onto his hand.

  “You wanna stop for the day? Pick back up tomorrow? Or the next day?”

  He felt like a total puss, but he nodded. “Yeah. Maybe that would be better.”

  “Whatever you want. You just tell me.”

  He sighed and looked down at his trembling fingers. The dominoes inked into the backs of them. “We didn’t get very far.”

  “Who says we have to get far?”

  Tango sent him a smile, feeling shy and stupid. “Thanks.”

  Mercy nodded. He leaned back against the couch and spread his arms across the top. Throughout the story, he’d leaned more and more forward, until his elbows were braced on his knees, chin cupped in his hand.

  Tango felt terrible about that; felt bad that his life was affecting anyone in any way.

  “I talked to Aidan at the shop before I came over,” Mercy said. “He said Whitney spent the night with you last night.”

  Tango fidgeted. “Not like you think.”

  “What happened?”

  “Her sister-in-law kicked her out, and she doesn’t have any other family. She doesn’t have anywhere else to go. So I told her she could crash here for a little while.”

  Mercy smirked. “That’s not the kind of happening I was talking about.”

  Tango wanted badly to bury his face in his hands. Instead, he sighed and let his head flop back. “I sort of…jumped on her. But,” he added, in a rush, “I stopped. I didn’t actually jump her bones or anything. Only tried.” He grimaced. “Shit, I can’t believe I did that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she’s a nice girl! And because she’s, like, twelve, or whatever.”

  “Bro, you’re talking to a guy who got a very nice seventeen-year-old girl pregnant once. Don’t overthink the numbers.”

  “How about the part where I used to take it up the ass for money, and God knows if I’ve got HIV or something?” he blurted, shocked by his own bluntness. Mercy had said he couldn’t he shocked, after all.

  And to his extreme credit, he didn’t look shocked now. He shrugged. “So go get tested. All I’m saying is, you really like this girl, and she really likes you, and from what I can tell she’s sweet. You need sweet. Hell, you deserve sweet.”

  He swallowed. “I don’t deserve anything.”

  “Not true. What have you ever done that was evil? Nothing,” he said before Tango could answer. “You got the real shit end of the stick, my friend. So finally, destiny’s handing you something worth a damn. Take it. Just…maybe buy it dinner first, yeah?”

  Tango couldn’t help but smile. “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “I think you’re probably an awesome therapist.”

  Mercy made a self-congratulatory face and tossed his hair. “Totally nailing it, right?”

  Nine

  About three o’clock, Whitney’s stomach began to grind with nerves. She set down her bag of pretzels half-eaten and tried to concentrate on answering each and every customer service call with gusto and helpful redirection.

  She did a decent job, she thought, but still the churning continued. When the clock struck five, she was actually sweating a little, sweater clinging in her armpits and to her back.

  What awaited her back at the apartment? She didn’t know if Kev would be hiding in his room, still, too mortified to face her. Or if he’d be awkwardly trying to apologize, or, worse, pretending it hadn’t happened. She’d never been in this situation before, and the unknown was driving her nuts.

  At five-fifteen, she sat in her car in the parking lot and texted him. Should I pick up dinner?

  He texted her back in about ten seconds: Already taken care of. :-)

  A smiley face. That was good, right? That meant they’d be able to actually look at one another and speak, right?

  She didn’t know. And so her legs were quivering with stupid nerves by the time she parked in the alley behind the bakery and hiked up the stairs to the apartment door. It was unlocked, and when she let herself in, she was assaulted by savory smells.

  “Kev?” she called as she hung up her purse and jacket. “It smells nice.”

  “I’m in here.” And that was in front of the oven, the door of the old-fashioned unit cracked open as he peered inside, frowning professionally. “Come see what you think. Does this look done?”

  “What is it?” she asked, joining him.

  “It’s supposed to be mac & cheese.” His nose wrinkled and it was adorable.

  Her nerves melted. “Well, let me see.” She stepped up beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder, close enough to hear their clothes brushing together; his hair tickled against hers.

  A big rectangular casserole dish bubbled inside the oven, the edges golden brown, the center a lovely cheddar color, cheese sauce hissing and popping.

  “Wow,” she said, truly impressed. “It smells and looks amazing. Is that bacon on top?”

  “And potato chips,” he said, a note of pride in his voice.

  She elbowed him, smiling. “You’ve been holding out on me. I didn’t know you could cook.”

  “I can’t, actually. But I called Mags and had her give me very careful instructions and a shopping list.”

  She stepped back from the oven and looked up at him, chest swelling with hope. “You went shopping? And you cooked?”

  He dragged a hand through his hair and became self-conscious. “Some accomplishment. Two things everyone else in the world does every day.” He sent her a fleeting, skittery look, eyes hooded and nervous.

  “Progress is progress,” she said. “And I think it’s ready.” She wasn’t going to let him get stuck in his head, feeling down on himself, she decided. “I’ll get us something to drink while you take your masterpiece out of the oven.”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  She liked the way they moved around the kitchen, crossing each other’s paths, but never colliding. It felt easy, this sharing of space, the completion of the all-important evening meal, and she marveled at the way it wasn’t strange, despite what had happened last night.

  They sat down across from one another at the table, steaming plates of mac & cheese in front of them, Coke instead of wine, because that had so not been a good idea last night.

  Kev stared at his plate a moment. Gave the noodles an experimental poke with his fork. “I hope it tastes alright. There’s cut up hot dogs in it. For protein, Mags said. I need more protein.”

  “You do.” She took a bite, decided it needed more pepper, but she wasn’t going to tell h
im that. “It’s delicious.”

  His brows lifted. “You’re not just saying that?”

  “Would I do that?”

  “Yeah, you would.”

  She grinned. “Try it. You’ll like it.”

  He took a deep breath – she tried not to laugh – and took a tiny bite. Then his brows jumped. “It doesn’t suck.”

  “Definitely not.”

  He ate with real appetite, bigger and bigger bites, fork already loaded before he’d swallowed. So Whitney kept quiet, tending to her own dinner, stealing glimpses of him that made her heart warm with gladness. He was shopping, and cooking, and eating. This was progress. This gave her hope.

  Finally, he set his fork down, plate clean save a lonely hot dog round and a smear of cheese sauce. He exhaled like his belly was too full and that made him uncomfortable, but God bless him, he’d eaten all of it.

  Whitney set down her own fork, unable to keep quiet any longer. “You’re better today,” she observed.

  He took another deep breath, and met her gaze with an open and vulnerable one of his own. A sharing sort of gaze, like he hoped she wasn’t going to think poorly of him. “I started therapy today.”

  “Kev, that’s wonderful.”

  His eyes flicked away, and he picked up his fork again, dragged the tines through the cheese sauce smear on the plate. “Yeah, well…It was good. I think. I hope. I don’t know how it’s gonna go…”

  “Kev,” she said, cautious, “things were bad for you for a long time, right?”

  He nodded.

  “So it will take a long time to get better. There’s nothing wrong with that. The important thing is that you’re taking the right steps.”

  Another nod.

  “I’m really proud of you.”

  He smirked a little. “Be proud when I don’t attack you like a rabid dog.”

  She had to swallow. Remembered sensation chased across her skin. “That’s…that’s not what you did.”

  He sent her a wry glance from beneath his lashes.