by Freya Barker
“She needs toys and treats,” Britt announces.
“Consider it done, Short Stack.” He grins at her before facing me. “I don’t know how long I’ll be, but why don’t you guys go ahead and order some pizza? I’ll see you later.”
Off he goes, without a touch or a kiss. I’m so frustrated I could scream. Rationally I know this is likely not even about me, but it’s hard not to feel a little rejected.
Twister is back on her trail of discovery, sticking her nose in my purse sitting on the couch.
“Nosy dog,” I observe, as my niece pulls herself up on a stool while I fill a glass at the tap.
“Auntie Will?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Do you think Mom’s gonna call?”
I turn off the tap and swing around, leaning my butt against the counter.
“Sure she will,” I tell her, trying to inject as much conviction as I can muster into my voice. “She loves you like mad. You know that, right?”
“Whatever,” Britt mumbles, shrugging. “I like it better here anyway.”
There’s not a doubt in my mind my sister loves her kid, despite the arguments they seem to get into all the time, but it worries me she hasn’t called at all. Other than her text a week ago saying she’ll be in touch, I haven’t heard a thing, and what’s even more concerning; I haven’t been able to get her on the phone.
“What’s going on at home, Britt?” I ask her gently.
Her eyes fill with tears.
“They fight, Aunt Will,” she sobs. “They fight all the time.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Willa
I gave up waiting for him around eleven thirty.
It had been a long hard night, discussing a few difficult subjects with my niece. I wasn’t really up to launching into another one with Dimas.
Britt talked about my sister and Jim and their more frequent loud fights these past few months. How she overheard her mother call him a cheating bastard. She was crying so hard at some point I ended up on the floor with her in my lap, Twister nudging close to complete our huddle.
Then she asked me in a shaky voice why someone was shooting at us. I’d been waiting for her to ask. She’d seemed so normal all day; I didn’t want to bring anything up if she wasn’t ready to talk about it. I contemplated whether to deny knowing why or giving her a condensed version of the truth. I opted for the latter and reminded her of the promise Dimas made her to keep us safe.
She wanted me to put her to bed not long after that, and I sat up waiting for a while before letting Twister take care of business in the yard one last time.
Britt was in the spare bedroom already asleep on a mattress on the floor, so I crawled into Dimas’s bed. Five minutes later, Twister started whining outside the bedroom door and the next moment I heard the front door open.
When he finally crawled into bed, I was curled up on my side but found myself hauled across the mattress. His arm around my waist pulled me into the curve of his body. I waited a long time for him to say something, but he stayed silent until I could hear him start to snore softly.
This morning he’s already up by the time I drag myself out of bed. I find him in the kitchen with Britt, eating toast and cereal. My focus is on the coffeepot as I make a beeline straight for it. I feel him move up behind me and his arms slip around my waist as he presses his face in my neck.
“Come sit down, sweetheart,” he mumbles there. “I’ll get you coffee and toast. Please…” he adds.
I let him guide me to the stool he just occupied and sit down next to Britt.
“Morning, honey,” I tell her, leaning over to give her head a kiss.
She mumbles something I can’t quite make out. My niece needs a little time in the morning to get going. Normally I’m a morning person, but today I need a little extra time too. I did not sleep well.
Dimas slides a mug toward me and I almost groan out loud at that first hit of coffee. I keep my eyes closed while waiting for the caffeine to make its way into my bloodstream. A secondary benefit is that I don’t have to look Dimas in the eye.
I hear the sound of the sliding door opening and the next moment a wet tongue hits my bare feet.
“Morning, Twister,” I mumble, reaching down to scratch the dog’s head.
“Can I watch TV now?”
I turn to look at Britt, but she has her eyes on Dimas, showing him her empty bowl. Apparently there’d been some kind of deal made between the two I wasn’t privy to.
“Sure, but use the TV in my bedroom, okay? Remote is on the dresser.”
Britt slides off her stool, shuffling down the hallway to the master. I’m hoping he sent her to watch TV in the bedroom so he can talk to me. God, I want him to talk to me.
I’m not going to lie; it hurt, having him shut down and disappearing on me last night. Granted, the emotional conversation with Britt had taken its toll as well, but his silent absence had cut me.
Dimas slides a plate with toast in front of me and I finally look him in the eyes. I see none of the reservations that had shimmered there these past couple of days. No shields up this morning.
“You eat while I talk,” he says, nudging the plate closer.
Despite insecurity gnawing at my stomach, I sink my teeth into the toast.
Dimas
I hate I put that doubt in her eyes.
These past few days, I’ve had some serious questions myself, but never about her.
I’ve been shot at before, been hurt before, but I’ve never felt cold fear like I did a few days ago. The episode during the night and discovering the next morning I’d hit Willa, at some point during my fugue state, left me crippled with self-loathing. That only intensified when I couldn’t seem to stop myself from being an asshole. Fuck, I even snapped at poor Britt, who looked at me with suspicion this morning. I can’t blame her. It’s like I was trying to prove to myself through my behavior I’m not worthy of Willa.
Hell, she never gave me reason to believe that. In fact, she’d been understanding and supportive until I barked at her niece. Then she confronted me fiercely and it scared the shit out of me.
Brad met me on the trail along the river and walked beside me for hours. I talked, I listened, and there were long periods of silence where I processed. At the end of it, my head was clearer and the nausea of guilt eating at my stomach gone.
“I’m in love with you.”
It’s clear that’s not what she was expecting me to say as I watch her eyes grow big. Fuck, it’s not what I intended to start off with, but it came flying out anyway. I run an agitated hand over my beard. Christ, I’m already fucking this up.
“I’ve been an asshole and I’m sorry.” That’s better. “The thing that scares me most is you getting hurt, and somehow that’s exactly what I’ve ended up doing.”
“Dimas…”
Her voice is gentle as she reaches across the counter I’ve purposely kept between us. Already she’s forgiving me, making it too easy.
“Hear me out,” I plead, waiting for her nod in acknowledgement. “I struggle. Not often, but I get nightmares sometimes. On rare occasions a sharp sound or a bang can unnerve me. This…thing, it feels like existing on parallel levels in different worlds, where something as simple as a car backfiring or the slamming of a door can blur the wall between the two. I’m used to it. When it happens it’s no more than a disorienting moment until I can feel my feet under me in the present.” I lean my elbows on the counter and take the hand she left stretched out, in mine. “That night, that wall wasn’t blurred, it was gone. I know it happens to some, but that had never happened to me. I was scared after. Even more so when I discovered I’d hurt you at some point, and I have no recollection at all.”
“Honey.” The endearment slips from her lips as she covers my hand with hers. “You can barely see it now. Look.” She turns her face into the light and sure enough, the bruise is already fading. “I shouldn’t have touched you. I know better. I’m as responsible as I would be
if I got this running into a door.”
I open my mouth to object but catch myself. There really is no point in arguing about this, we clearly both regret it happened. I lift our joined hands and kiss the back of hers.
“I met with Brad last night,” I confess. “Talking to him helped. Even just being with someone who experiences what I experience helps. I didn’t mean to shut you out, but I needed things clear in my head and—”
“You don’t need to explain. I’m glad you guys have each other, I’m even happier you can talk to someone who understands where you’re at. Plenty of people don’t have that, so I’m grateful.”
Holding onto her hands, I move around the counter as she turns to face me.
“Did I mention I’m in love with you?”
Her smile beaming up at me has a lump stick in my throat. How did I get so fucking lucky?
“I vaguely recall,” she teases, snaking her arms around my waist and pressing a cheek in the middle of my chest. “I feel the same way.”
I move slightly back and tilt her head back with my hands.
“Look at me and tell me.”
Her eyes are warm and faintly amused when she locks eyes with me.
“I’m in love with—”
I swallow the rest of it when I cover her lips with mine. Everything I’m feeling I pour into the kiss. I feel her fingers dig into the muscles of my back, pulling me between her spread legs. My cock is already hard when she slides forward, pressing her hot core against me.
“Gross.”
Visions of Willa naked on my counter evaporate at the sound of Britt’s voice and my head snaps up. As she dives into the fridge for something to drink, Willa chuckles with her face buried in my shirt.
“Good,” I tell the young girl. “I hope you keep thinking kissing boys is gross for another twenty years or so.”
Britt surfaces with a bottle of water and glances at me, tilting her head.
“I didn’t say anything about kissing boys being gross. I’m talking about old people.”
“Hey!” Her aunt lifts her head. “Who are you calling old?”
Snickering, Britt disappears to the bedroom, Twister following behind.
Reluctantly I let go of Willa to grab the coffeepot for a refill.
“She seems to be in a good mood,” I note.
“We had a long talk last night. I was gonna bring that up with you today. I may need your help.”
“Talk about what?” I ask, studying her concerned face as I stay safely on the other side of the island. Getting caught once is enough.
“Connie and Jim, her parents. Britt says they’ve been fighting more and more lately. From what she tells me, it sounds like Jim’s been stepping out. I’m worried, Dimas, she still hasn’t answered any texts or messages I’ve left.”
“When’s the last time you heard from her?”
“Friday a week ago. The day before Mom and Dad dropped Britt off.”
“And she didn’t say anything?”
“Just that she’d be in touch.”
I grab a pad of paper and pen I keep on top of the fridge.
“Give me their full names and phone numbers.” I jot down the information, ask for their home address, as well as any contact info she might have. “What about your parents? Had any contact with them?”
She shakes her head. “No, they don’t believe in cell phones. I could contact the Airbnb they usually stay at, but I really don’t want to worry them for nothing.”
“I’ll look into it. Why don’t you go grab a shower while I make some phone calls?” I suggest, leaning over the counter to kiss her forehead.
The moment she disappears into the bedroom, I grab my phone and the pad and walk out on the deck.
“Radar? Grab a pen and paper, will ya?”
I pass on the information and explain what I’d like him to look into. I have a bad feeling about this. It’s one thing for her sister not to follow through on her promise to get in touch, but her daughter is here and Willa’s been blowing up her phone. If I were a parent, I’d be worried something might be wrong with my kid.
Apparently Bree is in the office as well and wants to speak with me.
“Just got a call from my guy at the police station. Guess who was just brought in by the State Patrol?”
“Parker? Awesome.”
“Got it in one. Apparently his lawyer was at the station already waiting for him.”
“Figures. I forgot to ask Radar; he dig up some more on those financials?”
“Pretty much hit the mother lode on that. The transfer came from an account in the name of Elizabeth Woodbridge, an eighty-three-year old living in a full-care facility. She has close to three million dollars in her account, and guess who has power of attorney?”
“I give up,” I immediately return.
“You’re no fun,” she complains. “It’s her son, one Dr. Brantley Parker.”
“That stuff needs to go to Underwood.”
“He can’t use it.”
“Call it in as an anonymous tip, I don’t care. He’ll have to come up with justification to pull those records. He won’t want Parker to walk.”
“I’ll give Yanis a call, see if he has any ideas.”
“Fine. Krupcek talking yet?”
“Not that I’ve heard.”
“When you’re dropping anonymous tips, you might wanna suggest they let Krupcek and Parker see each other at the police station. Bet you that’ll loosen tongues.”
It’s been a lazy day.
Willa did some laundry—she offered—and we all watched a Rockies’ game this afternoon.
I just let Twister out back and I’m digging through my drawer of takeout menus, while Willa is putting the sheets back on the beds. It’s close to five and I’m starting to get hungry.
The dog starts barking outside moments before the doorbell rings. Britt jumps up from the couch and runs for the door.
“Hold up, Short Stack, better let me,” I call out, making my way to her.
I gently move her behind me as I peek out the small window in the door to find Yanis standing outside with an armful of brown paper bags.
Fuck. I totally forgot about dinner. Unlocking the door I move aside to let him in, when suddenly my parents step into view, big smiles on their faces.
“Surprise!” Mom yells while my father rolls his eyes behind her.
I throw a dirty glare at my brother, who seems to think this is hilarious.
“You could’ve warned me,” I growl at him, but I’m already being hugged by our mother.
“Don’t take it out on your brother. We surprised him too. He said he was coming here for dinner, so we decided to tag along.”
“Good to see you, Mom.” I tighten my hold on her before setting her back and accepting a hug from my father.
“Oh my, aren’t you gorgeous? Who is this pretty thing?”
Fuck. For a moment I forgot about Britt and Willa. I quickly turn and wrap my arm around the girl’s shoulders, pulling her to my side.
“This is Britt,” is as far as I get before Mom pulls the poor girl into one of her bone-crushing hugs.
“You are too precious,” she coos. “Where did you come from?”
I’ve always suspected Mom would’ve liked a girl to break up our testosterone-filled household, although she’s never admitted to it.
“I came with Auntie Will.”
I see the confused look on my mother’s face and I quickly clarify.
“Willa. She’s my—”
“Hello,” I hear Willa’s tentative voice behind me and turn around, reaching out to take her hand in mine.
“Mom, Dad, this is Willa, my girlfriend.”
Instantly my mother starts blinking.
“Here we go,” Dad grumbles, when the first tears start rolling.
Mom claps her hands over her mouth as she stares at Willa like she’s Janis Joplin incarnate.
“Oh, my goddess.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Willa
I can’t keep my eyes off their mother.
She’s a sight to behold, with full gray waves falling down to the middle of her back, a Rastafarian beanie perched on top of her head, an embroidered boho tunic, and ripped jeans covering her rotund body. She looks like a throwback from the sixties.
Her husband is tall like his sons, but lanky and a little stooped with age. He’s completely bald with the longest goatee I’ve ever seen.
Ana and Max.
Judging from Ana’s reaction I may well have been the first woman Dimas has ever introduced to his parents. At first I thought she was calling me a goddess when she mumbled it over and over again, while squeezing the air from my lungs with her stranglehold, but then I discovered she was calling out to some divine deity.
Max was far more laid back, with a dry wit—often at the expense of his overexuberant wife—that had me chuckle quite a few times during dinner. He may have pretended to be annoyed with her, but I’d caught him looking at her more than once like she hung the moon.
Although entirely unexpected from what I gather, their visit provides a welcome distraction.
We’re camped out on the back deck—Twister moving between bodies, lapping up as much attention as she can—digesting the Indian food Yanis had picked up on the way.
“More coffee?” Dimas asks, as he gets up.
“Half for me, please. I don’t wanna be up all night.” I hand him my mug and watch him walk inside.
“I’ve got just the remedy for that,” Max says, pulling a Ziploc baggie from his shirt pocket, containing a handful of carefully rolled blunts.
“Dad, not here,” Yanis warns.
“Why? It’s completely natural.”
“Not with a kid present.”
“I don’t see why not? We didn’t hide anything from you guys and you grew up just fine.” He opens the baggie and takes a deep sniff. “Best stuff too. Wouldn’t hurt for you to mellow out a little too, Son.”