It didn’t say much for him but Cal was glad Susie’d been caught up in it. He’d fucked her, they had one night, she was good but he was done and she’d almost acted like Kenzie when he didn’t want seconds. Difference was, Susie wasn’t annoying when she wanted something, she was a total bitch. How she thought she’d get what she wanted acting like that, he had no idea. Likely because her Daddy spoiled the bitch rotten. He thought that maybe she’d take a look at her life when some psycho, serial killer shot her. Susie didn’t. She was still a bitch, therefore, as far as he knew, she was still alone.
“Don’t know,” Colt answered his question. “Took awhile but she pulled her shit together though I haven’t heard from her for months. Don’t think I will, what with Jack bein’ born and the wedding comin’ up.”
Cal didn’t disagree. Melanie didn’t seem the type to hang on. Cal wished his ex was the same.
“You know why we split?” Colt asked, Cal looked at him, lifted his brows and Colt carried on. “Couldn’t fix her.”
Cal pulled in breath through his nose and looked away, muttering, “Colt.”
“Tried, man, years, fuckin’ years I tried. She wanted a kid so fuckin’ bad, Christ, obsessed with it. And she hated it when Feb would come into town, pissed me off, she’d get so tense when Feb was here. Melanie thought I’d stray.”
Feb and Colt had been in item in high school and after it. When they broke it off everyone, even Cal who was young back then, maybe sixteen, had been surprised. They seemed solid, more solid than anyone he knew. And Feb was gorgeous.
On the one hand, he didn’t blame Melanie with Feb being Colt’s ex, having their history. On the other hand, Colt was Colt and that kind of shit was not Colt’s gig and everyone knew that too, the person who should have known it most was Melanie.
“Sucks,” Cal muttered.
“Nope,” Colt muttered back, his eyes on the yard, he took a pull from his beer, then continued. “She didn’t take off, I’d have a lifetime of that crap and I wouldn’t have Feb.”
Surprised, Cal glanced at Colt. That was cold, Colt wasn’t like that.
Colt didn’t take his eyes off Cal’s yard as he kept talking. “Had years of that shit, tryin’ to fix her, bustin’ my ass to figure out what was in that fuckin’ head of hers, wonderin’ where I was goin’ wrong,” Colt’s eyes slid to Cal. “Then I got a woman doesn’t need fixin’, not anymore, and now life’s sweet.”
“Colt –” Cal started.
“Mike’s into her, Cal, but Vi’s into you.”
“You think she don’t need fixin’, you’re wrong,” Cal told him.
“Patchwork, man, not major fuckin’ repairs. Been there too, the job doesn’t last long and it’s worth the effort.”
Cal looked at the yard and took another pull of his beer.
“We do our own thing,” Colt continued. “The day starts with Feb in my bed then we go our own way and, Cal, man, you wouldn’t believe how sweet it is knowin’ at the end of the day she’ll crawl right back into my bed.”
Cal was pleased Colt had that. Good man like him deserved it. Good woman like Feb deserved it too.
But after what went down with Bonnie, Cal quit thinkin’ about what he wanted, his mind focused entirely on the end game. Retire early, kick back, do his own thing in his own company. He’d take his fill of women along the way and after he got where he wanted to be but all he’d ever wanted growing up was a family and, what Bonnie did, he wasn’t going to go back there. He’d given too much the first around, he was empty.
There was no way he was telling Colt this so Cal stayed silent.
Colt didn’t take his hint.
“You fixed her garage door opener.”
“Yep.”
“It back on?”
It was none of his business but Cal repeated, “Yep.”
“Cut her loose, Cal.”
Cal looked at Colt and with the way he did most men would cringe.
Colt just held his gaze.
Cal stayed silent.
“You should cut her loose,” Colt reiterated quietly.
“Not your business, Colt.”
“It works out with Mike, it’ll be good for them both.”
Cal knew that, he knew Haines, not well, but he knew him. Haines was a good man. Haines would shovel her snow. His wife was that big of a bitch, Haines would appreciate what he had in Vi and he’d let her know it.
Cal looked away and stared at his yard.
“In a minute, we’ll sit and drink beer. Now I’m tellin’ you, you’re all kinds of crazy, havin’ her next door, into you and not makin’ some effort to see where it’d lead. You’d be good for her but, better, she’d be good for you. You don’t wanna make that effort, your call, but you should stop fuckin’ with her head and let her get on with her life and find someone who’s willin’ to put in the effort.”
When Colt stopped speaking, Cal continued contemplating his yard.
After awhile, he asked, “You done?”
“Yeah,” Colt answered.
Cal didn’t do anything, not even nod. He just looked at his yard and took another pull of his beer.
Colt did the same.
* * * * *
I walked up to Mike’s townhouse, a new build but not that new. The trees had filled in a bit, it’d been around a few years; with a discerning eye I decided maybe five, maybe a couple more.
It was a development, a few detached or duplex ones but mostly rows of townhouses, party walls. In Mike’s row, Mike was in the middle. There was a narrow two car garage at the front, most of the house on top of the garage but there were rooms to the side.
I knocked on the door and didn’t wait long for Mike to answer.
“Hey honey,” he said, stepping aside, letting me in.
“Hi,” I replied, walking by him.
He closed the door, I looked up at him at the same time his arm hooked me at the waist, pulling me to his body and his head came down.
He obviously saved the stealth kisses for the first date or maybe special occasions. He didn’t give me a stealth kiss, patiently building the heat. His mouth opened over mine, his tongue slid inside and, essentially, he threw a kiss Molotov cocktail and I ignited.
When he lifted his head, I’d plastered myself to his front and again had both my hands in his hair.
“Wow,” I breathed.
He smiled, I gave him more of my weight, that’s how much I liked his smile, and he took it, his smile getting wider.
Then I thought, I was such a freaking slut.
“Sorry about Wednesday,” he said.
“I was a cop’s wife for fifteen years, I know the drill,” I told him.
“Your man stand you up a lot?” Mike asked.
I shook my head. “No, but he liked his job, he only ever wanted to be a cop and it was important to him. Since it was important to him and he didn’t make too much of a habit of it, I didn’t throw a hissy fit when he had to work. You learn to deal and with two kids it wasn’t like there wasn’t always something to do.”
His arm got tight but he didn’t reply. Then he let me go but took my purse, threw it on a chair in the little foyer and led me to the left into a kitchen.
It wasn’t the greatest kitchen in the world. Mine wasn’t huge but it was long and had a lot of counter space. His was newer, better appliances, was in a u-shape, small and had shit counter space but whoever designed it did the best they could do with the space they had. There were tons of cupboards; a five burner stove set in the counter; wall oven built into a unit, a microwave over it, cupboard over and under the appliances; a huge double door fridge that would hold enough food for a battalion; and there was a small table sitting in the bay window facing the front of the house.
“You eat meat?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“Good.” He went to a bottle of wine on the counter. “You drink red?”
I grinned at him. “Yep.”
He grinned back. “Good.”
&nbs
p; He opened the wine while I asked, “How long you been here?”
“Bought it with my half of sellin’ the house. Audrey and I sold before the divorce, she didn’t want me to have it and she couldn’t afford it. Been here about nine months.”
“You like it?”
“Would prefer livin’ closer to work but need three bedrooms and this has that, couldn’t find anything in town that’d work for me and the kids.”
“Where does… um… Audrey live?”
“Apartment in town. Two bedrooms, kids hate it, they have to share. Jonas is fourteen, Clarisse twelve, they’re way too old to share…” he trailed off and handed me a glass of wine before he finished. “She went through her take from the house in about a month. She drives a brand new Merc but lives in a two bedroom dump, can you believe that shit?”
I shook my head, not able to believe that shit, thinking unhappy thoughts for him and his kids, taking a sip of my wine and noting instantly it wasn’t cheap.
“Sweetheart,” he called and I focused on him. “You should know I’m goin’ for full custody. Talked to my lawyer two weeks ago.”
He said this like a warning, like he’d expect me to think this was a bad thing.
“Good,” I told him.
His eyes moved over my face, something working in them, I didn’t know for certain what but it wasn’t like Joe studied me. I could see plain as day whatever he saw he thought was good.
I felt my stomach flutter.
When his eyes caught mine, he said, “We’ll eat in awhile. You wanna see the house?”
“Okay.”
He took my hand and led me out of the kitchen. “Got an HOA, they take care of the greenspace, doesn’t look like yours,” he said, drawing me down a hall off his foyer and looking back to me. “They should hire you though.”
It was a quiet compliment, not effusive but effective.
“Thanks,” I whispered, my belly fluttering again.
He showed me the living room at the back, it ran the length of the house and it was huge. There was a dining room table to one side set to seat four but you could see it took leaves to make it bigger, two more chairs at the wall. The rest was family furniture, big sectional couch, a couple of recliners, comfortable, sturdy but attractive. Stuff you lounged on with your kids and watched TV. There were pictures of the kids and Mike and other photos of other people, his parents (I could tell) and others, maybe his sisters, brothers, their families, friends and they were all over the place. There were shelves with books, DVDs, music, games and a large, flat screen TV, tables everywhere to put drinks on, a nice stereo. Two bay windows, one by the dining table, the other in the living room area, French doors in the middle with tall, slim windows at their sides that opened on a deck. I could see a huge, electric grill and decent furniture on the deck, not a bad-sized yard which a dog was lying in, golden retriever, staring at the doors, tongue lolling, knowing there was company, waiting to be let in so she could give her greeting.
Looking around, I saw that Mike had made an effort. This wasn’t a bachelor pad townhouse he brought his kids to when they came for their time with him. This was their home, a place they could lounge, a place they’d be comfortable and feel safe. I didn’t know a man could do something like that and I didn’t know, in knowing it, that something like that could be so attractive. But it was.
“You have a dog?” I asked.
“Got custody of Layla in the divorce.”
“Layla?”
“Clapton. Great song,” he looked out the windows, “great dog.”
He was right, it was a great song. He had good taste in music.
I looked out the windows to see Layla was now at the door, her tongue still lolling, her body shaking because her tail was wagging so hard.
“She do something to be put into doggie prison?” I asked.
Mike looked at me and asked back, “Pardon?”
“She’s in the yard, there’s a guest, she’s obviously being punished.”
He grinned at me and shook his head. “She’s excitable. I didn’t want her jumpin’ on you,” his head tilted to the side and he finished, “least, not ‘til I got my chance to jump on you.”
There it was, that flutter again.
“You should let her in before she explodes,” I suggested.
“You like dogs?”
“Love ‘em, Keira’s gettin’ her first next week. An American husky.”
“You should go golden,” he advised, walking to the door and Layla was watching him and pacing, her tail still wagging, her tongue still lolling.
“Keira has her heart set,” I replied, he opened the door and Layla burst in. Completely uninterested in her Daddy, she ran straight to me and jumped up the minute she got to me, butting me with her nose, her hind legs bouncing, her front legs pawing at my chest.
“Layla, down,” Mike ordered, his deep voice commanding and she instantly obeyed but she still butted my legs with her head, her body shaking and moving, even though I was bent over her, giving her head a rubdown while trying not to spill my wine on Mike’s nice carpet.
“She’ll calm down as soon as she gets used to your scent,” Mike said, coming back to me.
“She’s okay,” I assured him.
He took my hand and I straightened as he guided me away from Layla and out of the living room, back down the hall to the foyer that I now saw had a door leading to the garage, another to a half bath and a set of stairs. Layla followed or I should say, she eventually led the procession, knocking me into Mike as she forged ahead of us on the stairs then stood at the top, waiting for our arrival, her tongue still out, her face set in the doggie question of, “What’s taking you guys so long?”
We made it to the top and Mike showed me Jonas’s room, Layla sweeping in and running through it like she was an enthusiastic tour guide, and I saw his boy was obviously into music. There was a drum kit set up and a guitar on a stand and the walls could not be seen for all the band posters on them. The bed was unmade and the drawers were open with clothes spilling out.
“He’s not big on pickin’ up his room,” Mike told me.
“I would guess that’s in the Teenage Boy’s Handbook seeing as it’s also in the Adult Man’s Handbook. Gotta train ‘em early.”
Mike chuckled and showed me Clarisse’s room, Layla again running through it even over the bed, which was made. His daughter’s room looked almost identical to Keira’s except not pinks and purples, instead blues and yellows and instead of daisies, there were butterflies and there was not a mixture of boy band and teenage vampire posters, there were only teenage vampires.
I looked up at Mike. “You load your gun with silver bullets?”
“Clarisse tells me that only works on werewolves.”
I burst out laughing and Mike smiled at me before he threw an arm around my shoulders and then he showed me a smaller room with more shelves and a high-backed, black leather swivel chair in front of a large desk with built-in storage and a computer on it. There was a comfortable looking armchair in the corner with a table and a standing lamp beside it. A study for him, for the kids, a private place to be, to do your homework or read. It was nice.
Then he led me out of there and took me down the hall, showing me his room.
That was nicer. It had more French doors, a small, private deck leading off. The room was huge, so was his bed, and his bed was cool as all hell, a dark wood, heavy sleigh bed with a taupe, tan and chocolate paisley comforter. Layla didn’t play tour guide here. She got to Mike’s room, she ran straight up and jumped on the bed, settling on her belly, her head on her paws.
I ignored the dog’s invitation to join her on Mike’s bed and Mike told me there was walk-in closet and showed me the master bath with double basin, separate bath and shower. The bath was bigger than most, oval, sitting in a platform with a step up. The bathroom was enough for me to buy this house. It was awesome, a woman’s dream.
He led me out and I was feeling weird about taking a tour of his
bedroom. I hadn’t been on a second date since I was in high school but I was thinking this was unusual.
I felt so weird, I didn’t think before I remarked, “That’s quite a bed.”
“Audrey paid six thousand dollars for that bed,” Mike replied.
I stopped dead and stared up at him.
“What?”
“Yep, six thousand fuckin’ dollars. She loved that bed. Won’t say much for me, honey, but, seein’ as I actually paid for it and I knew she loved it and no way we could sell it and make that cake back, I made certain I got it in the divorce. Our divorce wasn’t pretty, she fought me on everything, had no ground to stand on, lost huge,” he smiled, “lost her fuckin’ bed.”
Since he did pay for it and he should get it and it was a great bed, I smiled back at him.
“Anyway, Clarisse and I got a thing, Scary Movie Friday Night. She’s with me on a Friday, we watch horror movies, bowls of popcorn, tubs of ice cream.” His head tipped to the wall where there was a flat screen TV installed. “Jonas even stoops to join us every once in awhile. Bed’s perfect for Scary Movie Friday Night.”
I thought of Mike with his unknown daughter having a Scary Movie Friday Night, a twelve year old girl watching horror flicks, cuddled up to her big, tall, strong, handsome Dad and I didn’t have a belly flutter. My eyes filled with tears and I looked away.
“Hey,” Mike called.
I took a sip of wine and stared at the wall.
His hand came to my jaw and he repeated, “Hey,” as he forced me to look at him.
“Can I use your bathroom?” I asked, staring at his nose.
“You can, you look at me and tell me why you got tears in your eyes.”
I blinked back the tears, swallowed then looked at him and whispered, “Sorry.”
“About what?”
“It doesn’t happen much anymore, but when it does it throws me, always,” I shut my eyes tight, then opened them and repeated, “always.”
His hand with his wine glass curled around to the small of my back, pulling me closer, and he asked softly, “What doesn’t happen much anymore?”
I shook my head, putting my free hand on his shoulder, my hand with the glass to his waist. He didn’t seem at all hesitant about sharing about his kids, his ex, and being totally honest about it.
At Peace Page 25