Lucky 13 (Deadlines & Diamonds)

by Kearns, Morgan

  He watched his hands form fists. “I won’t tell Ricky.” His hazels flipped up. “But I think you should. He deserves to know.”

  “The past is in the past and after I take care of this, it’ll stay there.”

  “Just like you thought it would all these years.”

  “Don’t push me on this.”

  Frankie cleared her throat. “I agree with Matthias. Ricky deserves to know. Does Matt know who his father is?”

  “No, and I don’t want him to either.”

  X reached a hand out and covered hers. “That’s the problem, baby sister, when you have skeletons in the closet, it’s only a matter of time before somebody strides into the walk-in.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him where he could stick his opinion, but he continued, “When we goin’ on our little daytrip?”

  ***

  “So, when you gonna be my dad?”

  “Shayne?” Ricky raised a brow.

  Matt’s eyes became laser beams, burning her soul. He cocked his head.

  Her heart went cornered-rabbit and she grasped for a believable lie. “I haven’t heard anything from my attorney.”

  Okay, so that wasn’t a lie. She hadn’t heard from Megan because the ball was in her court. Day after tomorrow, she’d have a better idea of what came next.

  Ricky paused, fork midair. “I can call mine.”

  “No.” She wanted to slap herself for the not-so-subtle outburst.

  Matt choked on his water. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, then went about the task of mopping the table.

  “I mean, there’s no need to get another attorney involved. Megan already has all the information. She’s probably just on vacation or something.”

  Oh, what a tangled web we weave… Shayne had memorized that poem as a kid and now, as a grown ass woman, the thing still rang true.

  She hated lying to her boys. But what they didn’t know definitely couldn’t hurt them and this kind of information would destroy Matt and devastate Ricky. No, it was best to keep it between her and her brother.

  “If you’re sure.” Ricky plunged his fork into his mashed potatoes, scooping up another mound.

  “I’m sure.”

  Uncomfortable seconds ticked by.

  Chirp…chirp. Chirp…chirp. She’d love to squish that proverbial cricket!

  Matt cleared his throat. “You know how there’s a dance next week at school?”

  “Yeah.” Ricky took a sip of his water.

  “I’ve had like six girls ask me to go with them.” Matt’s frown dominated his face.

  Ricky smothered a chuckle. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  He pushed a few remaining peas around his plate. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Shayne knew exactly what she would say, but bit her tongue and let Ricky take lead.

  “Here’s what you do; you’re gonna tell those girls you’ll see them at the dance, but that you’re not allowed to date. Blame me. Go ahead and tell them your dad’s the biggest jerk on the planet and that I really piss you off.” He took another sip of water. “Then you’re going to go to that dance. With your friends. You’re gonna dance with every single one of those girls and any others who want to take a spin on the dance floor. After you work your mojo, I’ll pick you up and we’ll go for ice cream where you can tell me all about your little harem.”

  “Okay.” Matt beamed.

  So did Ricky.

  Matt stood and began to clear the dishes, disappearing into the kitchen.

  Ricky glanced at Shayne, smile still firmly in place. “How’d I do?”

  She put her hand on his and grinned back. “Couldn’t have done better myself.”

  Matt returned. “Is it okay if I go finish my homework?”

  “Yeah, go on. I’ll load the dishwasher tonight.”

  He jumped to slap the top of the arch on his way out. She rolled her eyes and Ricky shook his head. Their son couldn’t help himself. If there was an arch, he had to jump up to slap it. Drawn to it like metal to a magnet.

  Ricky stood, stepped over to her chair and extended a hand. She rose, right up into his embrace. Neither said a word. His huge hands moved over her back, soothing her. She sighed and fought the tears. Dread curdled in her gut.

  She hated, hated, lying to Ricky, and didn’t love X being right. She knew she should tell Ricky about her past and the circumstances surrounding Matt’s conception. But she also knew her husband. Ricky knowing the hows and whys wouldn’t solve anything. It’d only make him insane angry and she didn’t want to consider how Matt might feel about it.

  Ricky leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek. “I’m going to change my clothes and check in with Pierce.”

  She nodded and numbly watched him leave. Somehow, someway, she found herself standing in front of the mountain of dishes. She plugged the sink, turned on the hot water and added a huge squirt of Dawn. As bubbles filled the sink and the smell of lemon saturated the air, she stuck her hands into the suds. Out the small square window over the sink, she lost herself in the shadows darkening the backyard.

  Mindlessly, reflectively, she scrubbed each dish. Two days. She only had to make it through the next two days then she could move on with her life. With her family. And lock her skeletons in the damn closet.

  Hands on her hips made her jump. Lips on her neck made her sigh. Ricky stepped in close and she tried her best to accept his comfort.

  ***

  “Why you doing it the old-fashioned way?”

  “Just felt like it, I guess.” Her quiet thoughtful tone turned his insides to snakes. Wherever her head had strayed Ricky didn’t like the destination.

  “Want me to rinse?”

  He didn’t wait for her answer, just stepped to the side and ran the water in the other sink. As the level rose, he laid out a dishcloth to play drying rack. He hated the uncomfortable silence that always seemed to crop up between them lately.

  Before the wedding, they’d been able to talk about anything and everything—and absolutely nothing. Now, it seemed like they couldn’t carry on a conversation to save their lives. Thankfully, Matt never hesitated to interject his two cents into the quiet.

  Ricky loved his wife. More than life itself. And it killed him every time she drifted away, getting lost in her own thoughts. He didn’t know how to fix things, because he didn’t know what was wrong.

  More than once over the last couple of weeks, he’d cradled Shayne next to him, waited for her to drift into oblivion, and simply listened to her breathe. He wouldn’t consider himself a religious guy. In fact, the only time he stepped foot inside a church was when his mom asked him to join her for midnight mass. In the quiet moments, in the dark, with the love of his life’s breath whispering across his chest, in those moments he’d prayed. He implored whoever might be listening to bring back the carefree woman he’d married.

  He hadn’t really expected an answer, which was good since he didn’t get one.

  Now, with water running down his forearms, the same kind of helplessness drenched him. He plunged his hands into the water, braced himself, flexing his fingers on the bottom of the basin.

  “Shayne, are you okay?” He couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

  “Yeah, just a little tired.” She scrubbed a plate in slow rotations. Her not looking at him didn’t go unnoticed.

  He gathered his courage, pulled his hands from the water and, wiping them on a dishtowel, turned to face her. “Are we okay?”

  Her hand stopped. She dropped the scrubber. It plopped into the dishwater. She whirled. Her hand came to his cheek, the warm wetness soothed. “We are most definitely okay. I love you.”

  “Then why do I feel like you’re slipping away? You don’t talk to me.”

  “I talk to you.”

  His frown bent his lips so hard they hurt. She closed her eyes and stepped back.

  “Whatever’s going on you can talk to me.”

  “Nothing’s…going on.” She tried to drop her gaz
e as the lie trickled off her tongue, but he saw it plain as day.

  He ground his teeth together to keep from snapping at her. He plowed his fingers through his hair. “Look, I’ve said it before—I meant it then and I mean it now—if you don’t want me to adopt Matt, I won’t. A stupid piece of paper isn’t going to change a damned thing. I love that kid as if he were my own and I will love him until the day I die.” With each word, his voice grew louder.

  She didn’t accelerate the situation by arguing or trying to defend herself. She did, however, cross her arms over her chest. The motion plumped her breasts. He told himself not to look, but…yeah, he did have a Y in his chromosomal makeup. His eyes darted to her cleavage and he wanted to pluck the damn things out. With an icepick.

  She sighed. “Are you finished?”

  He glared at her. His breath raced in and out of his nostrils, making him sound like a charging bull. He didn’t answer for fear of tearing into her again.

  She uncrossed her arms and took a step toward him. He stepped back. The look on her face and pain in her eyes wounded him. But he couldn’t bear for her to touch him. Any time those slender fingers and dainty hands came anywhere near him, the possibility of thinking with the brain north of his belt disappeared.

  Again with the arm crossing. This time, however, was different. Instead of defiance or irritation, the act became hold-herself-together. And didn’t that make him feel like a total ass.

  She looked up into his face, her eyes shimmering like melted chocolate. “I love my son. Our son.” Her voice wavered in its soft strength. “And I love you, Ricky. You two are my life and I want that damned piece of paper that tells the world you are his father.” She glanced down at her clasped hands. “I am bothered by the process. Not the adoption. That part I am most certainly sure of, but the waiting is making me nuttier than a freakin’ fruitcake.”

  This time when she moved toward him, he didn’t move back. He opened his arms and let her dissolve against his chest. She’d said everything exactly right. Her speech couldn’t have been more perfect if he’d handed her the script.

  She stretched up on her toes and kissed his jaw. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” He tipped her chin with a crooked forefinger and lightly tapped her lips with his. He hugged her close, refusing to let her go until morning forced him to face a new day. “Come on, mujer bonita, let’s call it a night.”

  “The dishes—”

  “Can wait until tomorrow.” He lifted her, eased her legs around his waist and carried her to the bedroom.

  22

  Shayne had never been to prison.

  And had no intention of ever coming back.

  Even with her enormous brother at her side, she couldn’t shake the vulnerable. The echo of their footsteps on all the concrete surfaces rattled her so badly her bones shivered. She put her hands into the pockets of her linen pants to keep from plugging her ears and screaming to high-heaven. Every nerve ending buzzed, making her feel like overhead powerlines. She lingered behind Xavier just in case. She’d hate to electrocute him.

  She allowed herself the brief smile that thought brought. She didn’t have that kind of power. She’d never been strong. She was a survivor, however. Somehow she’d perfected perseverance. Not that she’d enjoyed the classes or, in most cases, the teachers.

  As the guard led her and X into a long rectangular room, Shayne marveled at how right the cop shows got it. A long table stretched from one side to the other, separated every few feet by partitions and Plexiglas protecting the public from the criminals.

  Behind her, the grinding of X’s teeth startled her and she wondered if maybe, in some cases, that see-through safety net didn’t protect the criminal from their visitor.

  Toward the center of the room, the guard motioned for her to stop. “When he comes in, you can use the phone to talk to him. If you don’t talk into the phone, he can’t hear you. Understand?”

  Shayne managed a nod, even as she wondered when she’d floated out of her body.

  “You said you had a form for him to sign?”

  She dug into her briefcase and pulled the legal forms out, handing them over. “Yes. It must be notarized as well.”

  The guy glanced down at them, not wasting an ounce of time or energy to actually read them. “Okay. So you know, the notary only comes in a couple times a week. I think he’s back tomorrow.”

  Motion on the other side of the glass stopped her heart. She slumped down in the chair because, frankly, her knees no longer supported her. It’d been a very long time since she’d looked into the dark, dead eyes of the man drawing closer to her.

  X put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “You can do this, baby sister.”

  Her brother was right, of course. She could do this. Because, once again, she had to. Do or die. If this monster, who dropped down into the seat across from her, didn’t sign the papers, she’d have to go to Plan B. And tell Ricky—and Matt—everything.

  When Shayne knew Alex Boreno, as scarcely more than a kid, the guy had been big. Huge shoulders, barrel chest, enormous hands. That was nothing to what prison had done to him. Now he could probably bench press a car and he’d added some primitive ink—to his face. He looked at her through soulless eyes, black with cocky hatred. She swallowed. He jerked his head toward the phone on the wall.

  Her hand trembled so badly she barely got the phone off the hook. Bringing the handset to her ear, she gripped it tightly to keep from clonking herself with it.

  Alex chuckled dark and menacing. She kept her shudder to herself. He leaned forward, cocking his head, narrowing his eyes. The cold smile curdled her blood. “I remember you, beautiful,” he said in the same voice that had once tempted her, “but you’re going to have to remind me of your name.”

  “Sh- Shayne—”

  He snapped his fingers. “Xavier.” Pride twinkled in his eyes as he came even closer to the glass.

  A shiver snaked up her spine. She knew it had to be her imagination, but damned if she couldn’t feel his breath, hot and foul on her face. She leaned back.

  Xavier dropped down to his haunches, putting himself in the bastard’s line of sight.

  Alex grinned. Keeping his gaze on X, he said, “I’ve not had a woman in a long time. You come to provide a little charity work?”

  Xavier slapped his hand on the table. The snap louder than any clap of lightning. Guards hurried over, one from each side. Alex flipped an uncaring glance over his shoulder, a sarcastic chuckle rumbling through the phone. “You better tell your boy to control his temper or he’ll end up in a place like this.”

  Judging by the way X’s jaw jumped and his fists clenched, he hung on by a thread. Shayne tooth-and-nailed it by a hair. At any moment one of them would snap. Either she had to get this over, ask her question, or get up and leave or…

  Shayne Santiago dug deep, found her big-girl-panties and refused to back down now.

  “You don’t scare me, Alex.” Her voice didn’t quaver. She leaned forward, nearly pressing her nose to the glass. She glared a little hatred of her own. She cleared her throat to ensure her next words came out strong and clear. “When you raped me—”

  X growled softly.

  “Oh, come now, Shayne.”

  “When you raped me, I got pregnant.”

  He rested back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. A slight change came over him. His expression softened. His posture relaxed. His chin dipped and lifted in slow succession. “And where is this son of mine? He is a son, right?”

  She wanted to yell it was none of his damn business, tell him he’d never set foot in the same state as her son. But she had to be smart. It took nearly biting her tongue in two, but she managed a quiet, “At home.”

  His lip quirked. “Does he look like me?”

  “Don’t.” She shook her head, narrowed her eyes. “I’ve come to ask you to relinquish your parental rights.”

  “And why would I do that?”
>
  “It’s not like you’re ever getting out of here.”

  “Fair enough.” His eyes grew shrewd. “Why now?”

  Her heart beat hard, too hard. She had to get this over before it burst from the rat race. “The why doesn’t matter. I’ve given the guard the paperwork. I’d really like for you to sign it.”

  “Why after all these years?” He tipped his head, his ear almost meeting his shoulder, lifted his chin. “I didn’t even know the kid existed. Why you come traipsin’ in here now? It’s been a long damn time.”

  “I got married.”

  His eyes flicked to X. “Congratulations, man.”

  Shayne didn’t see the need to clarify. She had to convince Alex his son…

  Just thinking the words had bile racing up her throat. She swallowed convulsively, wishing she had some water to get the bitter taste out of her mouth.

  “He has a good life.”

  “I’m glad.” He cracked his knuckles and the image of his hand coming toward her face, to cover her mouth, slammed into her. She squeaked a little. “I’m actually a little glad you stopped by.”

  He said it like they were old friends and she’d stopped in for tea. The urge to laugh, long and hard—and maybe a bit maniacal—bubbled in her gut.

  “I owe you an apology.” He actually looked contrite. “I’m not a very good person, Shayne Xavier, but I’ve found God.”

  His words were such a cliché, she didn’t have a chance to bite back the giggle. It burst from her in an amused scoff.

  He nodded. “You can think what you want, but I’m sorry for what I did to you.”

  She almost believed him. She wanted to believe him.

  “I’ll relinquish my rights, sign whatever papers need to be signed to make sure my son has the life I didn’t have. On two conditions.”

  Please don’t say you want to meet him. She choked down her heart. “Which are?”

  “One, you make sure the man who adopts him loves him.”

  “Done. What else?” She braced herself, crossed her legs at the knee. Her toe circled like a pinwheel. Give her a second and she’d soon be airborne.