by Amarie Avant
And then Lincoln pulled him aside. The tears in Junior’s eyes began to sparkle, and he laughed outrageously in the middle of the pastor’s eulogy.
Just be strong.
Connie’s arm falls over the side of my knees, and she begins to whimper in her sleep. I rub her back. Damn, I thought my heart was crushed into a million pieces before, never to beat again with the loss of Hosea. But my heart unravels quickly and shatters once more due to memories stolen before they’re able to transpire. No mother to wipe away tears when Everett is learning to become a man and no father to walk Connie down the aisle. I’ve gotta do better than the most expensive toy for Christmases and birthdays.
“Fruit, crackers?” Lincoln arises. Everett Junior does too.
“No, I’m fine.”
“I’ll bring you something to eat. Breakfast was ages ago. Toast and tea was hardly enough nourishment. You must eat,” Lincoln replies with the usual finality, walking away at that.
“I lo—” Silly smile on my face, the three-word phrase is natural until they choke in my throat. Thank God Lincoln is engaged in conversation with Junior as he walks away. I notice he does a lot of squatting and meeting the kindergartner eye to eye.
I see you…
Crap, I thought I’d been talking like a deranged fool during our first encounter, but the situation does apply. Lord knows I had a broken heart. Everett Junior and Connie also.
The couch sinks in next to me. Everett’s family member that everyone calls Aunt Lisa, sits down. “You’ve been hogging that baby this entire time.”
She’s one of the few who’ve endeavored to break the monotony of this somber occasion.
“I’ve missed her, I’ve missed them both.” I smile at Aunt Lisa.
“We are grateful that you were able to make it,” Aunt Lisa says. Connie stirs, peeks open an eye and then jumps up like Sleeping Beauty after the prince’s kiss. “That’s my beautiful baby,” Aunt Lisa adds, as Connie’s chocolate cheeks puff up with happiness as she climbs into Lisa’s lap.
“This child will go from arm to arm,” Aunt Lisa says, delicately pushing down the puffed organza material of Connie’s dress. “And we love you for it, Connie. Every last one of us is gonna spoil you rotten, and we won’t stop, baby.”
Aunt Lisa happily taps the tip of Connie’s nose, though her voice almost cracks with declaration, I see strength in her.
Squeezing Connie, she turns back to me. “Siobhan, where were we? Oh, just grateful that you could come. Also, I had helped Ramsey with a few of Everett and Regina’s odds and ends–”
“Yes, you did, Aunty.” Ramsey squeezes down on the opposite side of me. This love sofa with its thick droopy cushions fit two very well, and a broken-hearted Everett Junior, but I slide closer to Lisa, and she starts to arise with Connie.
Feeling Ramsey’s eyes all over me, I readjust myself on the couch. Ramsey is Regina’s younger, creep of a brother. Man, had I forgotten the extent to his creepiness as his red-rimmed eyes glared at the coffins this morning. A black suit drapes over a thin figure, and really, he, Lisa, and I could have probably sat on this two-seater couch with no problem, but something tells me he plopped down closer than necessary.
I offer a grimace of a smile. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Ramsey.”
He shrugs. “My loss, your loss. Reggie used to see you as a sister, thicker than blood.”
“I’ve always seen Regina as a sister as well.”
“So, you know she didn’t kill that lazy-ass husband of hers.” His voice lowers somewhat.
“No, this is a nightmare. They loved each other too much.” I’ve added emphasis on the adoration Everett and Regina had for each other.
“But he couldn’t very well have stabbed himself countless times, shot her at point-blank range and made it seem like she was the crazy one.”
Though his intensity confines me to this single spot, I break away from his leer. Lincoln is standing next to an assortment of prepackaged cookies and brownies. Junior jabbering in his ear. He exchanges glances with me. My eyebrows rise, but then I offer a confident smile. Ramsey has always been weird. Where would my head be at if I were in his predicament? So instead of sending Lincoln a signal to rush to my side, I turn back to my best friend’s brother.
“That your new boyfriend?” Ramsey juts his chin Lincoln’s way.
I nod. “Yes, Lincoln Zager.”
“I know,” he retorts.
“Ramsey, are you all right?”
“Should I be al right? Should I smile, Siobhan? In fact, you’re in marketing, you’ve the ability to spin fool’s gold into the real deal.” He glances me up and down as if I’m the fakest person he has ever encountered.
My face contorts. When we were little, putting Ramsey in his place was always necessary. “Ramsey, excuse m—”
Ramsey arises. “So you’re the one keeping Siobhan away.”
Lincoln and his new shadow stand there. I hadn’t noticed them at all. Lincoln’s feet are planted wide; Everett Junior’s are too. I don’t know if Junior realizes that he’s mirroring Lincoln’s intimidating features to his real uncle.
They shake hands.
“Oh, you’re suave, Mr. Zager.” Ramsey turns back to me. “Like Aunt Lisa said a few moments ago, she helped me go through Regina’s cell phone returning calls and text messages.”
Text messages? My throat goes instantly dry. I distinctively recall messaging Regina about Lincoln and me.
“Bravo, Mr. Zager, you fucked Siobhan way quicker than the lover boy. Hosea wasn’t one to go around bragging, but I can say the faggot returned home from college one summer with a certain pep in his step, if you get my drift.”
I stand up abruptly. Tone lowered. “Ramsey, if you don’t shut the…”
Lincoln steps in front of me, blocking my path. He quietly addresses Ramsey while rubbing his temple. “I can’t fathom why you’d argue with my woman like a fucking ninny. But I’m gonna assume that you’re a man. A man so distraught, you’ve decided to project your feelings on others. On my woman. Listen good, you bloody wanker. Do not speak to her and do not look her way. Have I made myself understood?”
“All right, Mr. Zager.” Ramsey ascends on his tippy toes, addressing me over Lincoln’s shoulder. “Siobhan, adios for now. We’ll chat later.”
Ramsey walks away.
“That disrespectful little shit.” Frown creasing my face, I start to –
Agile as a full-bodied red wine, Lincoln takes my upper arm firmly and kisses my forehead. “Stay here, Siobhan,” he growls. “Clearly Ramsey doesn’t understand simple English and that he will leave you be.”
“I can handle myself.” I try to rub his hand away from my arm, but no amount of coaxing will force Lincoln to let me go. “FYI, if it wasn’t clear that Ramsey isn’t perceptive to talks or threats just now, then you’re crazy as he is. I’ve popped Ramsey a thousand times before for his mouth, so what’s one more?”
“Nah, and don’t ever fucking call me crazy. The problem here is he thinks he can talk to you like shit.” Lincoln leans closer to me, grin more of a sneer. “But while I’m here, if you say or do something that forces him to react in a certain manner, I will be placed in a predicament. Simple physics, beautiful. And, Siobhan, you don’t want to place me in a situation, do you?”
My mouth is tense, lips glued together. His eyes flash the darkest black like they did after he was slashed by the stalker and promised murder.
“Junior, hand your godmother the cookies you chose for her, keep her comp’ny,” Lincoln says, patting Junior’s head.
“What’s company?” Everett Junior’s face is baffled.
“Tell her a story. Later I'll show you the mint condition Spiderman.” Lincoln smiles.
My heart almost melts at how tender and caring he is with my godson. He makes comic books out to be so magical. I can't wait until Lincoln tells me the story behind this beloved pastime of his. I almost smile fondly, until he mouths for me to sit.
My eye
lid twitches. Dad was so right about not needing a man to take care of me. I can’t see myself not snatching Ramsey by his bony arm and telling him about himself. So I glare at Lincoln, with thoughts of doing exactly what he forbids. Handle myself.
Lincoln’s face is emotionless as ever, even with a debonair smile cutting through the stark seriousness of his demeanor.
I sit. But dammit, I’m not happy about it.
Hand on the lapel of his black tailor-made suit, Lincoln moves through the horde of family and friends, issuing kind words as he goes. Ramsey is none the wiser when he catches up to him.
After all these years, I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that his mouth is fit for washing gas station toilets. Even in grade school, Ramsey had this knack for pissing off people in his wake. Tall students, short students, fat ones and skinny alike.
Keeping my ears perched, I respond in exaggeration while Everett retells the latest cartoon movie he saw.
“I think the character is at Disneyland,” I chime in. “I’ll have to take you and Connie this summer.”
“Disneyland?” Everett Junior’s eyes brighten. It’s a good thing I’ve the habit of keeping my promises. And just the smile on his face at the mention of Disneyland brings life to my bones.
“I took you once. You probably don’t recall. Connie was a baby, too little to do anything. You were the age she is now.”
“Connie is still a baby,” he chuckles.
“All right, I’m going to the restroom. Thank you for the cookie.” I arise just as Lincoln and Ramsey step out of the French doors leading to the side of the house.
Pretending to pick through cheese and sausage slices at the table parallel to the door, I peek out of the glass. The house is on a golf course, and with the rolling grass, the top of their heads are visible since they’ve walked somewhat down the slope.
“What in the world are they doing?” Dad asks.
Crap, my shoulders tense. He had silently appeared beside me, just as interested in the outdoor festivities as I am. There’s a square saucer in one of Dad’s hands, full of meatballs. He plucks one of the toothpicks and gets to munching.
“Ramsey showed his ass, a usual with him. He said something stupid to me.”
Dad grins. “I take it Lincoln is handling it. Let’s get a better view.” Opening one of the doors, he quietly mentions, “Sheesh, there was a day I’d beat a man silly for just looking at your mom’s ass. Damn, did your mom have a great ass.”
“Dad, you better quit it. Otherwise, I will send you back inside,” I whisper, one heel impacted into vibrant green grass.
“Ain’t no way I’m missing this,” he grunts out.
I slip the stilettos from my feet, one after the other, hook the straps through my index finger, and bend my other hand through my father’s waiting arm. The darn look on his face shows he is enjoying this.
Dad stops at the top of the slope. If they look up, they’ll make us. The haughty look in Dad’s eyes reads that he doesn’t give a flip either way. We are now within hearing distance.
Ramsey is wearing his idiotic mask of confusion.
Lincoln rubs a hand at the back of his neck, a mannerism often utilized during arguments with potential comic book traders.
“I just told you not to come anywhere near Siobhan, mate, and you say you'll chat later?” He glares down at Ramsey.
“Yeah, that's exactly what happened.” Ramsey nods in satisfaction. “Look, I'm happy for you. Siobhan was stuck up while with Hosea. He probably ran away from her.”
“That motherfucker,” Dad whispers. He restrains himself although we are both ready for Lincoln to react. This prick just made a low blow.
“Keep talking, Ramsey. Dig your grave.”
“What's your malfunction? I got nothing but respect for you for keeping that bitch in line.”
Bitch. Regina used to get on him for saying that word.
“Nay, it's not respect.” Lincoln stands next to him, puts his arm around his neck as if they're friends walking together. He does something where his hand is dug into the opposite side and toward the back of Ramsey's shoulder.
Ramsey's body tenses. Drool begins to slide down his chin, and his eyes start to close. He’s no longer capable of uttering any idiotic statements.
“Lincoln,” I call out. He's going to render the creep unconscious.
“Shh.” Dad squeezes my arm in his pudgy bicep. “I've only seen this technique done in movies.”
“Lincoln!” I unhook my arm from my father, and begin down the slope.
“Okay, okay.” Lincoln lets him go. Palms out.
Ramsey’s body is so tense that he instantly timbers backward.
“At least I opted not to declare war,” Lincoln says, walking away before the other man’s body even has a chance to hit the ground. The same hand that shut down Ramsey's nerve twines into mine.
Lincoln smiles at my father, and as his lips brush my ear he whispers, “I'll be wanting my consolation prize later.”
“Humph!” is all I will say. Though it was noble of him not to smash Ramsey's lights out, the fucker called me a bitch.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Siobhan
“I bet you’ll never offer to accompany me on a road trip. First Monterey, now I co-signed you to attend a double funeral.” I give a wry smile to Lincoln, while my left hand is draped across the wheel, navigating the freeway in San Antonio.
“Perhaps, the verdict is still out,” Lincoln chuckles, a mixture of pure sexiness and testosterone.
We’ve changed out of our funeral attire. Now I'm dressed in an ultra-tight pencil skirt, blouse and cardigan, he in another pair of jeans worthy for a designer jean commercial, Armani black button-down and boots.
“Well, while you make up your mind, I’m not all that spontaneous. Be sure to add that to the equation,” I quip.
He reaches over, his hand slipping into my silk camisole, thumb flickering over my nipple. “I don’t need spontaneity, Siobhan. The delicious taste of your pussy has already bewitched me good enough.”
My mouth hitches to the left as I zip onto the overpass. “All right, down, boy, we will get to me pleasing you and that’s a promise. For now, I’ll offer a taste of my hometown. I couldn’t very well bring you here for no less.”
We dine at my favorite Asian restaurant overlooking the San Antonio boardwalk. The summer heat has faded. The stars are but a spray of diamonds above, and the glow from the standing heaters and dim lights magnifies the romance of this place.
As Lincoln orders sake, my mind wanders to Hosea as I gaze across the river. There’s a crew of people on the boat, and if I strain my eyes, I see him and me dressed in our high school hoodies, and jeans. We never got a chance to dine here, though my parents took me a few times. Hosea’s mom was sick during our graduation. He didn’t attend the party I had here afterwards with friends.
Lincoln’s steely voice summons me toward the present as he says, “You must think I’m barmy, arguing with a grown man about how he addresses you.”
His breath is minty, and tickles my ear. A smile instantly tugs at the edges of my thick lips. “Me aside, you’re probably not the first to express your distaste of Ramsey. Not saying that he doesn’t always rub someone the wrong way. People usually dish him exactly what he deserves.”
“Bollocks, I could have given him a good thrashing? I restrained myself for you.” Lincoln’s eyes twinkle.
“You didn’t restrain yourself at all. Actually, you acted perfectly. He feeds off the arguments he starts. Years ago, I came to the conclusion that Ramsey just wanted attention.”
“But to argue with a lady? I cannot fathom the necessity of it. My grandfather taught me that a man should never engage in an argument with a woman. Not even with one’s wife, God forbid the truth is on his side. There’s safety in compromising.” He almost seems to smile at that.
“You had a very wise grandfather.” I scoot a tad closer to him. “Hmmm, I guess that’s why my dad, Lord
knows how big his mouth is, shuts down rather quickly when Mom has had it.”
Lincoln nods. “Precisely. And I wouldn’t have allowed Ramsey to argue with you. As I’ve warned, if he said anything to cross the line…”
“Then you would’ve passed the stage of forcing his body to shut down? Give him that whoopin’ his pops never got around to?”
He doesn’t readily smile at my joke. Lincoln rubs the stubble across his jaw mumbling, “My father only came around every so often.”
Lincoln bringing up his dad? That’s a first. The few times he’s mentioned his father it almost seemed like an obligation due to my openness regarding Hosea and the stalker. And obligatory or not, he hadn’t shared like I had. He hadn’t shared until it hurt his core, and I know that regardless of what I’ve been through due to some nameless, obsessed psycho, Lincoln has hurt more.
“My mother was not blessed with the outward appearance of good looks, or so my father told me. He said her shitload of money was compensation enough to force himself to withstand her presence.” Lincoln shrugs. I grimace to the sting of his father’s sordid values. Lincoln adds, “When you’re a child, and someone loves you, they are beautiful. And so, regardless of what the bloke said, no person was as gorgeous to me as my mother.”
I caress the stubble across his jaw. Jesus, I could fall for this man.
“My mother read historical Regency romances, where the handsome bloke had redeemable qualities. Silas didn’t. He still doesn’t have a fucking heart.”
“Silas? Silas D’Ross?” My eyes widen. I recall the first time Lincoln mentioned his association to the Duke of Arlington, Silas’s son. The queen’s son, Silas, has made it into gossip magazines countless times over the years. The man is a notorious whoremonger. Being so far away in the line of succession, due to his older siblings, Silas has always been a bit of an asshole.
“Bugger me, I take it you’re aware of some of the shoddy stories surrounding Silas?”
I nod, a grimace plastered on my face.
“All true. There aren’t many wealthy dukes in this day and age. Silas used my mother for her family fortune. It was a blessing and a curse that my grandfather lived way past his years. Thus, my grandfather’s desire to ensure that I had a strong mind, by demanding such rigorous tutoring sessions. Grandfather monitored my mother’s spending. Her allowance dwindled each time Silas returned to her life. Grandfather never considered her as capable of officiating Zager Manufacturing so once I came of age, he handed all rights to the company to me instead.”