Embody (Full Circle #1)

by S. E. Hall

Twenty-Eight

  JT

  OKAY, ANOTHER POTENTIALLY deadly oversight on my part—I probably should’ve asked if Bellamy knew how to drive before getting her a car— ‘cause she sucks something awful at it. How did my dad not notice and eject himself from the vehicle, while moving?

  I’m following her in my new Tahoe, praying for our, and everyone else on the road’s life, as she drives to her apartment in her new Acadia.

  Sincerely praying.

  A call comes in and against my better judgement, I push the Bluetooth button (yes, I set it up before leaving the lot) and dart my eyes back to Bellamy’s “Circus on Wheels” as quickly as possible. Still no horrific accident; thank God.

  “Mr. Kendrick, are you there, sir?” Megan’s voice fills the car.

  “Yes, I’m here. Not sure for how long,” I groan as Bellamy rolls through a stop sign and I have no choice but to do the same in order not to lose her.

  “The background check you asked me to run came back all clear. It’s her real name, with a spotless record, and while the business has a very low profit margin, it is legitimate.”

  “Thank you, Megan. Good work.”

  “Of course, sir. Have a great day.”

  One less thing I have to worry about. And, a positive I can offer up to counteract the very negative lecture I’m about to give Miss Bellamy “Brake Check” Morgan about her driving.

  After what seems like for-damn-ever, we pull into her apartment complex. I take a deep breath, wait for my asshole to unclench, then get out and walk toward her…where she’s taken up two spaces to park.

  “Baby,” I start gently, taking both her hands in mine, “do you work Saturday or Sunday?”

  “Both, but only short shifts, four hours on Saturday and three on Sunday, why?”

  “Just wondering,” I brush my lips over hers. “Go on up, I’m right behind you. I need to make a call real quick.”

  “Okay,” she gives me a kiss of her own, pivoting gracefully and scampering toward the stairs.

  When her bounding ass is out of sight, I pull out my phone and cue up the Internet browser. According to my hasty research, waitresses make…$2.13 a fucking hour? I’m seconds away from calling the Department of Labor and making their ears bleed when I read a little further down.

  Oh, well, silly me for getting angry. Says here if their tips don’t make up the difference, which I’m willing to bet a nut they don’t in the hole-in-the-wall, almost always empty, Pit Stop, their wage gets bumped to a whopping $7.25 per hour.

  So worst case scenario, Bellamy will be missing out on a whole fifty-one dollars by calling in for her weekend shifts.

  Which she is most certainly going to do.

  I ring Megan back at the office and fire-off a recon plan I need her to get done ASAP and call me back even faster. She assures me she’s got it and I hang up.

  One last call before Bellamy starts to wonder what the hell’s taking me so long.

  “JT, how are you, boy?” my Uncle Evan answers.

  “Good, Uncle Evan, how are you?”

  “Don’t suppose I can complain. Nice to hear from ya, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Need a favor.”

  “Name it.”

  “You know that extra land you bought? Mind if I use some of those trails this weekend? Maybe stay in the house Saturday night, unless you’ve got it rented?”

  “No,” he sighs, “it’s not rented. Know anybody looking?”

  A long time ago, Uncle Ev had purchased a nice piece of land, complete with a two-story house, so they could often stay closer to the rest of the family…which really meant, so Judd could be closer to, and attend school with, Skylar. ‘Cause that’s what we do in this family—anything it takes to be together.

  “No, not that I can think of,” I answer, no sooner than a spontaneous thought travels from my mind, out my mouth, “but don’t ever sell it, okay?”

  “Why?” He laughs. “Judd and Sky got their own place now, in the city, where your sister’s better suited. Who’s ever gonna want it?”

  “Me. I mean, maybe, someday.”

  “Well alright then, I’ll hang onto it. You know you don’t even have to ask. Day comes you wanna make it your own, all yours, kid. So why you going out there this weekend? You get a dirt bike or something?”

  “No, I got a girlfriend. A girlfriend whom I then got a car, who can’t drive worth a shit. Need to give her some serious driving lessons out in the boonies, where the only thing she can possibly hurt is a tree, or maybe an unfortunately slow-moving squirrel.”

  He fills my ear with undiluted laughter. “Lord have mercy, that’s some funny shit. You finally get a girlfriend, one who’s got you ‘Sawyering’ her up from what I hear, and she can’t drive to boot. Hell yeah, bring her out. In fact, might swing by, if you don’t mind; oughta be a hoot to watch. Whatcha gonna do about your Aunt Whit, though? She’ll have something to say about ya’ll sleeping in the house together. You know it as well as I do.”

  “Whatever she says. Her house, her rules. You know I won’t disrespect her in any way.”

  “Right answer, son. And because you gave it, I’ll handle your aunt for ya.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Evan. Guess we’ll see you sometime Saturday.”

  “See ya then.”

  I’ve taken four stairs when Megan calls back. “What’d you find out?” I ask anxiously.

  “Nine-fifty an hour and a thirty-percent employee discount.”

  “Hell yeah, much better. Thanks, Megan. Go ahead and take off early for all your help.”

  “You’re welcome, and thank you, sir.”

  I’m so damn happy I’m whistling as I fly up the rest of the stairs, rapping my knuckles on Bellamy’s door as I open it.

  My stomach drops as soon as I see her, sitting on the couch, knees pulled up to her chest as she cries into the phone at her ear.

  “I swear, Daddy, I was gonna call soon. I’ve just been so busy.”

  There’s silence as she listens and I rack my brain on how to help…with what exactly, I’m not yet positive. But if my baby’s crying, I’m gonna do something. Surely to God there’s a “Boyfriend 101” Manual written…I need to check on that.

  “Daddy, it’s not a big deal. A better apartment came open two floors up, furnished and the same student-discount rate. I’m sorry I forgot to tell you my address changed, I really am, but I don’t understand why you’re so mad?”

  I go make her a glass of iced tea and sit beside her on the couch, close enough to hear his response blasting through the phone. I don’t catch all of it, but I’m able to distinctly make out the words “boyfriend” and “new job.”

  Guess she told him quite a bit before I got here.

  And then I hear him say the words that I know will have her crying even harder.

  “His family knows you, his dad helps my little girl pick out a car that I don’t even want to know why this boyfriend of yours is buying you, but we aren’t worthy of a simple phone call? How do you think that makes your mother feel, missing out on her only child’s new, unrecognizable life?”

  I jump up and grab a piece of paper and pen off the kitchen counter, scribble down a message and hurry back to her side, holding it in front of her to read.

  ‘You go take a relaxing, hot bath and don’t worry about a thing. I will fix this, Bellamy. Now hand me the phone.’

  Her eyes flare with wide-open worry and she shakes her head frantically.

  I respond with wordless finality; a tight, thin-lipped smile, an adamant stare with brows arched in challenge…and my outstretched hand.

  “Um, Daddy, Jefferson’s here with me and wants to talk to you,” her words are a quivering whisper.

  ‘Go,’ I mouth, pointing to the bathroom, taking the phone in my other hand.

  I wait until the door shuts and I hear the water come on before stepping outside and putting the phone to my ear. “Mr. Morgan, this is Jefferson Kendrick. Nice to finally talk with you, sir.”

/>   And that’s all I get out for the next fifteen or so minutes. The man scarcely takes a breath, much like I’ve witnessed of his daughter, and I gotta say, could give my own father one helluva run for his money.

  I listen while he vents all his concerns, then answer his questions when he arrives at the portion of the conversation he’s deemed as my turn to speak. I lie straight through my teeth. For Bellamy. And I don’t feel a bit damn guilty about it either.

  “Mr. Morgan, I wasn’t supposed to tell you this, and I’d die before betraying your amazing daughter in any way, but I think you and your wife need to know.”

  “I don’t care how much money you come from, boy. You got her in the family way and I’ll kill you.” His voice is ruthless—he’s not joking even a little bit.

  “No sir, nothing remotely close to that, I swear to you. Bellamy’s been working very hard to plan, and save for, a way to take me and my family on a weekend visit to you, or to pay for you and her mom to come here. A meet and greet holiday of sorts, so we can all get to know each other. She wanted it to be a surprise, and she really wanted to handle it herself. Wouldn’t let me even talk about chipping in on costs.”

  Jesus. Housewarming gifts, meet and greets? This girl has turned me into Martha Fucking Stewart.

  “Oh, uh,” his voice dips to a shamed octave and he clears his throat. “She didn’t mention any of that.”

  “Like I said, she wanted it to be a nice surprise for everyone, especially you and her mom. Again, you can’t tell her I told you, please. Two things I admire most about your daughter are her selflessness and pride.”

  “Me too,” he mutters. “So, what should we do, Jefferson?”

  “You can call me JT. Bellamy kinda likes to keep Jefferson reserved for herself.”

  “All right,” he almost laughs, “what’s the plan, JT?”

  “Up to you, sir. Would you like my very large, enthusiastic family to descend upon you or would you and your wife prefer to come here?”

  “Can you give me a while to consult with the Mrs.?”

  “Of course. How about you take my phone number and call me back, anytime, to let me know what you decide and I’ll take it from there? We can turn Bellamy’s surprise into one for her.”

  “Hmm, sounds like you’d do just about anything to make her happy.”

  “That’s because I would.”

  “Do you love her?” Oh yeah, he and my dad are gonna get along just fine with their blunt asses.

  “Honestly sir, I don’t know the answer to that yet. What I am more than sure about is that I have never felt this way about another woman in my entire life.”

  “Good enough for me. And young man, I respect the hell out of the fact that you got on the phone with me. I’ll get back to you soon on the other. In the meantime, tell my girl I said ‘Daddy was wrong, but not for too long. Will you give him a break, cure his ache?’” He does laugh this time. “Don’t worry, she won’t think you’re insane. She’ll know what it means.”

  “I’ll tell her. And nice to meet you, via phone, and I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

  “Why would you be hearing from my dad, and tell me what?” Bellamy startles me, sneaking up from behind just as I hang up.

  I turn and there she stands in the doorway, wearing only a barely-there robe, arms crossed over her chest and beautiful, green eyes shooting darts of suspicion at me.

  “Let’s talk inside. That robe isn’t covering near enough of you for a chat out here.”

  She heads in first and damn, that thing’s even shorter in the back, a little bit of ass meets thigh peeking out to taunt me in the very best of ways.

  And then my heavenly view is gone, planted firmly on the couch. “What happened? Talk! I’m dying here.”

  I run a slow hand up and down my jaw, trying to process it all. “Honestly, I don’t even know where to start. Would’ve thought it impossible to fit one more thing into this day. Never a dull moment with you, is there, baby?”

  “Nice try, but I’m pretty sure all the hub-bub showed up when you did,” she laughs. “Before I met you, I would’ve said I had the dullest life possible. Pathetically so.”

  “Damn sure not the case now. We got a lot to talk about, but I can’t focus with you in that tiny ass robe, woman. And I’m starving. So how ‘bout you go change and I’ll run out to grab some food, then we’ll tackle one thing at a time. Sound good?”

  “Sounds like it requires more patience than I have in me right now,” she snips, stomping down the hall.

  Twenty-Nine

  Bellamy

  I HAVE NO idea what this ton of stuff we need to discuss is, nor how his talk with my dad went. Which is why, by the time he gets back with dinner, my stomach hurts too bad from worrying to eat.

  He unpacks the bags onto the coffee table and joins me on the couch, digging right in to his meal with gusto…and an obvious lack of concern about bothering to do much actual chewing before consumption.

  After he’s finished inhaling his burger and fries, he finally notices that the only thing I’ve been gnawing on is my fingernails.

  “You gotta be hungry. Why aren’t you eating?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Could be because you tell me we have so much to tackle that you don’t know where to start, after talking on the phone with my very angry father, then walk out the door and leave me hanging. I’m nervous enough to puke from nerves alone. No need to add food to the chaos.”

  “Yeah.” He scratches his head and frowns. “I could see that. Sorry babe, wasn’t thinking. Too hungry.”

  “I could tell. The way you were eating, I was waiting to give you the Heimlich. But now you’re fed, so tell me something, anything, already!”

  “Sheesh, I was just gonna,” he teases with feigned annoyance. “So impatient.”

  “My dad, Jefferson. What did he say?” I’m losing what little patience I have left…and my sanity.

  “He told me to tell you what I think is a poem. Something about being wrong-”

  “But not for long. Give him a break, to cure his ache,” I finish with a huge smile.

  Jefferson taps his nose then points to me. “That’s the one.”

  “Oh my God!” I catapult myself onto his lap, straddling him with my legs on either side of his hips. Best seat in the house. “That’s our poem he made up when I was a little girl, to settle our disagreements. It’s his way of saying he knows he was wrong. I mean, it says so verbatim! The call, with you, ended by him asking for my forgiveness. What did you say to him?” I pepper kisses all over his gorgeous face.

  “Um…about that.” I freeze, mid-pepper, at his ominous tone and lean back to search what lies unsaid in his eyes.

  Guilt.

  “Where would you say you stand on the line between lying and white-lying for the greater good, precisely?” He grasps for amnesty with one of his sexy winks. Nope, not this time, mister.

  “Just tell me.” I start to climb off his lap, which he doesn’t permit, firming a steel grip on my hips.

  He takes a deep breath and as fast as he can talk, legibly, explains how it came to be that our parents will soon be meeting at a surprise party, that despite what he told my father, I wasn’t selflessly scrimping, saving and planning for—suddenly turned surprise on me.

  “Are. You. Insane?” I push on his chest. “What the hell are we supposed to do now?”

  “Easy. Depending on what your dad decides, we either load up my family and some party shit for a road trip to Mississippi or we let my mom and aunts plan a partypalooza in my parents’ backyard and get the guest room ready.” He thinks he’s got it all figured out, beaming proudly and stealing a kiss.

  Huh, I think he might have it all figured out.

  “No more lying,” I throw in for good measure. “Next time it might not be so easy to cover your ass.”

  “Yes ma’am. And you’re welcome, baby.” He tilts me back, kissing up my throat. “Say thank you,” he growls in my ear when he makes it there.
>
  “Thank you,” I pant, turning my head to give him more room to work.

  But I’m denied, and pulled back up. “Don’t get me started or we won’t get all the rest sorted.”

  “There’s more?”

  “Yep. And I’d like to preface “the more” with a reminder that you’re crazy about me, largely due to the fact that you know, deep down, everything I do is for you. Because I care about you, very much.”

  “Silly me,” I scoff, “here I was worrying. You should’ve told me there was a pre-speech, not at all foreboding as hell. Could’ve saved me the agony.”

  “You want me to keep that flippant lil’ mouth busy?” He stares at my lips while his own curls up in salacious challenge. “Or go on?”

  “Go on,” I husk out my second choice.

  He forces his eyes up to mine, glazed with a sheen of purpose. “Try not to say anything or argue ‘til I’m done. Please.” He places a chaste kiss on my lips, clears his throat and begins spinning the tale of his research on how much, at most, I could make from my weekend shifts at the diner.

  My mouth gapes as a big lump of realization forms in my gut. I’d never really stopped to think about it—thank God, because it’s depressing as hell—but he’s right. Fifty-one measly dollars for four trips on a bus that, put together, almost last longer than my shifts, and bring my total down to forty-seven dollars!

  “Bellamy, baby, don’t get sad. There’s good news.”

  “Should’ve started with that,” I mutter, feeling a fool.

  “You have the job offer from the little store you loved, remember? Take it babe, be happy. You’ll make better money, shop at a discount, and the nice owner you talked about and the business are both on the up and up.”

  Men. Truly the world’s most mystifying creatures. They swear women are the irrational ones, acting on impulse and emotion, yet they never conduct themselves in opposition of that exact description.

  Nope, they try to be the boss, with their “innocent suggestions,” blabbing, unchecked or filtered, gift-wrapping and handing us more information than we probably would’ve thought to ask about in the first place. “Outing” themselves, all the while thinking we’ll appreciate their Neanderthal nosiness.