Dirty Talk

by Megan Erickson

  When his shadow fell on the paper, she looked up. And wide blue eyes met his. She was cute, with rosy cheeks and a little mouth. Her lips were pursed as her eyes took him in.

  She looked a little scared, which she probably was, because he was looming over her like a freak.

  He crouched down in front of her, weight on the balls of his feet. “Well hey, who’s the princess?” He looked at Jenna, who was eyeing him with amusement. “We’ve never had a real honest-to-goodness princess in here.”

  The little girl didn’t move for a minute. She clenched the crayon so tight that her knuckles were white. When she spoke, her voice was a whisper. “I’m not actually a real princess.”

  Brent donned an exaggerated shocked expression. “Really? You’re not?” He raised his voice comically at the end, and a ghost of a smile flickered over the girl’s face. She was a hard nut to crack. “Huh. Could’ve fooled me. Only princesses wear those things on their heads. What’re they called, Jenna?”

  “Tiaras.”

  “Tiaras,” Brent repeated. “And you have the best one I’ve ever seen!”

  “Really?” The girl’s voice was stronger now.

  “Yep, seen a lot of tiaras in my day but none as special as yours.” God, he didn’t know he had this in him, talking about tiaras and wanting to make little girls smile.

  A pink flush rose on the girl’s cheeks. “Mommy said it’s to protect me and keep me safe.”

  “A tiara with magical powers?” Brent said incredulously.

  The girl nodded.

  “That’s pretty special, kid.” He rose to his feet and said to Jenna, “Her mom getting her car worked on?”

  Jenna shook her head. “No, this is Alex’s niece.”

  “Niece?”

  “Yeah, her sister, Ivy—this is her daughter.”

  Brent stared. Ivy. Ivy’s daughter. Ivy had a daughter. He looked at the little girl again, whose head was bent over her coloring, although he saw her stealing looks at him from under her lashes.

  “Daughter?” was all he managed to say.

  “Yeah. Have you met Ivy?”

  Last week and then every night in my dreams. “Yep.”

  “She has an interview with Delilah. I guess Alex was supposed to watch Violet, but she must have forgotten, because she went to Brookridge to get a part.”

  Violet—the little girl’s name was Violet. Ivy and Violet. He needed time to process this. Was there a man in the picture? He’d looked at Ivy’s hand. There’d been no ring, not even a ghost of a ring. Alex had said Ivy lived with her, so it didn’t sound like there was a man around.

  And why the fuck did he care if a man was around? Ivy thought he was a jerk. And damn if that didn’t make him sad. He was going to get drunk on Friday and cry into his Stella to Davis and Honeybear.

  “Your name is Violet, Princess?”

  Violet peered up at him.

  He never thought of himself as sentimental or overly sappy. But looking into this little girl’s eyes, something shifted inside of him, something heavy and big, and it made him a little queasy.

  “Violet,” she said.

  “That’s a pretty name.”

  She blushed. “Thank you.”

  Jenna studied him, and he figured he should get the hell out of this office before she started asking questions.

  Ivy had a daughter. A little girl who wore a tiara and pink sparkly shoes and looked like a princess.

  He walked out to the garage, rubbing his hand over his chest, because all of a sudden, he had a hard time catching his breath.

  IVY GOT THE job. She grinned like an idiot, but she was now the new associate of Delilah’s Drawers. She could work while Violet was at school and alleviate some of the financial pressure from Alex’s shoulders.

  Ivy wanted to go celebrate. With wine or a doughnut, or heck, she’d take a Snickers bar, but she wanted to get back to the garage to see if Violet was okay. She hated leaving her with Jenna, who was mostly a stranger, but Ivy hadn’t wanted to reschedule her interview.

  Her heels clicked on the pavement of the parking lot, and Ivy winced as her toes screamed at her to relieve them. When she walked into the office of Payton and Sons, it was empty. No Violet. No Jenna. No Alex.

  Ivy placed her hand on her hips and looked around. Then she made her way out into the garage so she could head to the back room, thinking Violet was there with Jenna or Alex. As she walked, Brent’s voice rose over the sound of the traffic outside.

  “So this here is the oil cap. Now, you gotta wear gloves or use a rag if you do this shortly after you turn off the engine. Because this can get fu—” He paused. “Fudging hot, okay?”

  Other than the cleaned-up swear word, Brent was talking in his normal tone. Ivy stepped closer, wondering who Brent was teaching.

  “So you twist this here. And pull out the dipstick. I laugh every time I say dipstick. I don’t think most mechanics do that, but then I’m not most mechanics, right? Okay, anyway, so you pull this out, and see these little holes here?” He paused again. “That tells you how much oil you got. See, I wanna see the oil up to here.” Another pause. “But it’s only to here.” Longer pause. “That makes the car sad, which means the owners are sad, and so I’m sad. You get me?”

  Ivy took another step until she saw Brent’s back, bent over the hood of the car. And next to him, standing on a crate was . . .Violet.

  She only knew it was Violet because of the sparkly shoes peeking out from underneath an oversized T-shirt that covered her little frame down to her ankles. Her daughter also wore a motorcycle helmet with the visor rolled up. She stood, nodding as Brent talked to her like she was any other customer.

  Brent leaned forward on his elbows and looked up at Violet, his face smudged with oil. He wore a pair of old jeans, boots, and a plain white T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. Ivy hated to admit that she couldn’t take her eyes off him. His hair was a little long in the front, with his bangs catching on his eyelashes when he blinked. His smile was dazzling, and most of all, he was talking to her daughter.

  And her daughter was listening.

  Violet was spending time with a full-grown man without shaking or crying or calling for Mommy.

  She didn’t know what secret talent Brent had, but he had something.

  “Ivy,” said a voice behind her, and Ivy spun around to see Jenna approaching. “Hey, I hope it’s okay that Violet is with Brent, but she wanted to work with him and got a little upset when I told her to stay in the office.”

  “Mommy!” Violet called, her voice muffled through the motorcycle helmet. She tried to jump off the crate, but stumbled as her little heels got stuck.

  “Whoa, princesses don’t just hop off crates without help,” Brent said, lifting her up and placing her gently on the floor. “You got servants for that, remember?”

  He took the motorcycle helmet off her head before she ran to Ivy, arms outstretched, hair sticking up from static. “Hi, Mommy! I changed oil with Brent, and we talked about cars and how sometimes, they are a fudging mystery. Right, Brent?”

  He grimaced as he walked toward them, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Uh, yeah, fudging mystery.” He mouthed sorry over Violet’s head, and Ivy clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

  “Did you get a lollipop?” Violet asked, tugging on Ivy’s arm.

  “What?”

  “Did you get a lollipop? I always get lollipops when you have appointments,” Violet insisted.

  “Oh no, honey, it wasn’t that type of appointment.”

  “If she wants one,” Brent cut in, “Cal has some in the office. He quit smoking but still has that oral-fixation thing going on. You want me to get one for her?”

  “Sure,” Ivy said.

  As Brent turned around, Ivy saw he had the side of Violet’s crown tucked into the back pocket of his jeans. She bit her lips as Jenna said, “Hey, Brent?”

  “Yeah?” he said over his shoulder.

  “You, uh, got a tiara i
n your pocket.”

  He paused and then widened his eyes with a laugh. He pulled it out of his pants and set it on Violet’s head, with a wink at Ivy, before walking off toward the office.

  Ivy’s heart skipped.

  “Ivy!” a voice cried. She turned around to see Alex running from the parking lot, hair escaping from her ponytail. “I’m so sorry! I totally forgot. Shit, did you miss your interview?” She came to a halt in front of Ivy and Violet, her blue eyes distressed.

  Ivy had been irritated, but it was an honest mistake. “It’s okay. Jenna and Brent took care of Vi, and”—she paused for dramatic effect and then threw her hands in the air—“I got the job!”

  Alex’s face immediately split into a grin as she tossed her hands in the air too. Then they were hugging, jumping in a circle like little kids and not women in their twenties. It didn’t matter, though. Ivy didn’t care what it looked like. Because the Dawn sisters were nothing if not self-reliant. They’d been knocked down, but once again, they’d picked themselves back up.

  When they detangled from each other, Ivy heard a throat clear. She looked over to see Brent standing beside them, a lollipop in his hand and one dangling from his mouth. There was a smirk to his lips—always that damn smirk. “You wanna keep jumping up and down and stuff, I’ll get the hose out, and we’ll make it really fun. Wanna join in, Jenna?”

  Jenna just stared at him with a bored expression.

  “I heard that!” came Cal’s voice from the back room.

  “Motherfu—fudger,” Brent said, catching himself. He unwrapped the lollipop in his hand and gave it to Violet. “Here, Princess.”

  Violet accepted it with a smile, leaning her shoulder against him, and popped the treat in her mouth.

  Ivy didn’t mean to stare, but her daughter hadn’t been this comfortable around men since the early days of Robby. This was a miracle that no one would really understand except for . . .

  Alex.

  Who was now staring at her niece and coworker like they were aliens. Ivy waited, and Alex slowly swiveled her head until the sisters locked gazes. Alex did that bug-eyed thing she did when they needed to communicate without words. Do you see what’s happening over there?

  Of course I see what’s happening.

  She likes Brent.

  I know!

  But he’s a Neanderthal.

  I don’t care if he’s a missing link in the evolution chain. He’s a man, and Violet likes him!

  Jenna’s gaze was ping-ponging between the two of them, but Brent was oblivious to them as Violet taught him a song with hand motions.

  “Down by the bank at the hanky-panky where the bullfrogs jump from bank to bank,” Brent sang as he clapped hands with Violet.

  “It’s not hanky-panky!” Violet giggled.

  “Oh, right, sorry. What was I thinking?” Brent looked up at Ivy and grinned and then returned his attention to Violet.

  Ivy took a deep breath. “Are you done playing now, honey? We should get back home and get dinner started for Alex.”

  Violet turned around. “Can we come back and visit Brent?”

  Ivy shifted her gaze over her daughter’s shoulder to meet Brent’s. He wasn’t smiling now; his eyes squinted slightly as he studied her, waiting to hear what she would say.

  “Of course, sweetie,” she said. Because what else could she say? Nothing, really. She was hesitant to introduce a man into her daughter’s life, but Brent was Alex’s coworker, not Mommy’s boyfriend. And it was good for Ivy to be around a male figure who was kind to her, who played with her, and who treated her well.

  Of course, that male figure ended up being Brent Payton, of all freaking people, who was still looking at her with that expression like he couldn’t wait to continue prodding all the places she was soft.

  She needed time to harden, to get her thorns in all the strategic places she could, because something told her this battle with Brent Payton wasn’t over.

  Chapter Four

  BRENT SQUINTED THROUGH the sheet of water on his windshield and turned his wipers on faster. At a stoplight, his tires slid a little on the slick road, and he cursed under his breath.

  “I think she really likes it.” Davis’s voice on the phone cut through the sound of the rain pounding his truck.

  “Of course she likes it,” Brent snapped. “You made the fucking dog beef stew. She’s going to start demanding things now, like a bed and her own cell phone.”

  Brent had given Davis a key to his house and asked him to help out Honeybear every once in a while if Brent got caught up at work. Davis had ignored the “if” part of that request and instead let himself into Brent’s house at any old time to pamper the shit out of the dog.

  “You need your own dog,” Brent grumbled. He slammed on his brakes as the school bus in front of him stopped to let off a couple of kids.

  “But I like yours,” Davis said distractedly. The sound of the Honeybear’s collar jingled in the background. “You wanna take her to that dog park near River’s Edge? I read about it in the paper. Just opened up. How does Honeybear do with other dogs?”

  It was like they were dating. “I don’t know. Okay, I guess.”

  “We should get her out as much as we can in the fall before winter sets in.”

  Okay, more like married. But Davis was a cool guy and a fucking hero, so Brent was okay with that. “Sure, that’s a good idea.” The school bus stopped again, letting another kid off. “Jesus, how many damn stops are on this road? I swear we dropped about three kids off right outside their houses. Don’t kids have to walk anymore?”

  “That’s what’s wrong with this country,” Davis said, and Brent wasn’t sure if he was serious or mocking him. “Kids don’t have to walk anywhere anymore.”

  “Seriously.” The road opened up, and the bus in front of him picked up speed. Brent had to strain as his windshield wipers flew over the glass. Fwap. Fwap. Fwap. “This rain is insane.”

  “Bunch of accidents, according to the news,” Davis said. “Take it easy.”

  “I should probably get off the phone, then.”

  “Yeah, pay attention, and don’t hit any kids in that huge truck of yours.”

  Brent lifted his hand to the top of the steering wheel as he prepared to take a sharp curve in the road ahead, nicknamed Dead Man’s Curve. “My truck is the shit.”

  “Your truck is clearly overcompensating for something.”

  Brent barked out a laugh. “Fuck you, Davis.”

  “Fuck you back.” There was amusement in his voice, and then Honeybear barked in the background. “Later, man.”

  “Later.”

  Brent threw the phone into the passenger seat of his truck. He only had to pick up a part from a shop down in Brookridge and then drop it off back at Payton and Sons, and he could go home. To his spoiled dog and his overbearing neighbor. He eyed the bus in front of him, which seemed to be going fast for the weather conditions. Construction on Dead Man’s Curve was slated for next year to make it . . . well, less deadly. The township had to take some homeowners’ properties to fix it, and that had caused all kinds of griping, but it needed to be done.

  He followed the bus, calculating in his head how quickly he could be home, in his recliner, with a beer in his hand and a palm on his dog’s head.

  He almost didn’t notice it at first, the odd fishtailing of the bus toward the center of the road, so slight he figured the driver had corrected it and gotten the bus under control.

  But then the end of the bus swung wildly to the shoulder of the road, clipping on the guard rail, which was old and not strong enough to support the weight of a vehicle full of kids.

  Brent gripped his steering wheel with two hands, breaking hard, while trying to keep his own truck under control as the whole scene played out in front of him like a Final Destination movie. The black-and-yellow bus leaned to the side, tipping. Oh shit! It was going over, past the guardrail, over the bank of the shoulder, and right into the creek that ran alongside the roa
d. The creek that was swollen from the torrential downpours that had now lasted for two days.

  Brent didn’t have time to think. The bus was on its side in a fucking creek, water surely rushing inside. His truck hadn’t stopped yet; it was still careening, hydroplaning on the water that coated the road. He threw up the emergency brake and braced himself as he finally came to a halt about ten feet from where the bus had gone off the road.

  His heart beat in his throat; his entire body had a sensation of racing needles as he scrambled for his cell phone. It had fallen to the floor, and he picked it up, jumping out of his truck, leaving the key in the ignition and the door open. He dialed 911 and raced to the bus, his boots splashing in the water coating the ground, soaking his jeans, as the water from above poured down unrelentingly on his head and shirt.

  He reported the accident to the operator over the line, and by the time he splashed down into the creek, he could hear sirens in the distance.

  The driver was confused but alert as he crawled upward and out of the window beside his seat. But Brent was already moving on. There was water in the bus, moving swiftly over the kids, who looked to be elementary-school age. One of the larger kids, who wore a badge and yellow vest and was some type of monitor or leader, Brent assumed, had opened up the back hatch and was helping the kids out of the bus. Fortunately, this area of the creek was lower, and while the water came to most of the kids’ hips, they seemed okay, although disoriented.

  Brent called out directions along with the bus driver, guiding the kids to a spot on the bank where there was moderate tree cover.

  He carried the smaller kids as they clutched his neck with their little arms. Most were crying, shouting “Mommy” and “Daddy,” and whimpering. All he could tell them was that their parents were coming soon. That they were safe. He didn’t know what else to do. He wasn’t trained in this, as much as he wished he were. In his mind, all he could do was prioritize getting the kids out of the cold, rushing water and to the bank.

  The bus driver was counting heads, a frown on his face, as Brent half-dragged the last kid to the bank—he was protesting because his book bag was now floating down the creek.