I thought for a moment. We’d been through four baby books twice. “Why not Carter?”
“Your middle name? I was actually trying to think of first names to go with Carter. If we made it his first name, what will his middle name be?”
I shrugged. “Travis.”
“Carter Travis Maddox,” she said, pausing to get comfortable. Even moving made her breathe hard. “You don’t think that would be confusing to have a Travis Carter and a Carter Travis in the house?”
“No. Well, possibly, but I still like it.”
“Me too.”
“Yeah?” I beamed.
“Kind of goes along with our theme of naming the kids after us … sort of. James after your dad. Jessica after me … ish.”
Jessica James was the name on Abby’s fake ID. It was how she got into bars when we were freshman, but more importantly, how she gambled in Vegas. I remembered watching her in awe as she went head to head with gambling legends, hustling them for thousands, all to save her dad from being killed over an unpaid debt to Benny Carlisi. That trip to Vegas, fighting for the balance of what Abby didn’t make, and the fire at Keaton Hall was the cosmic trifecta that landed us in our present situation. I was investigated for my involvement in a fire that had broken out on campus, resulting in the deaths of dozens of my classmates, and my brother just happened to be investigating Benny. When he learned my girlfriend was the daughter of a washed-up Vegas gambler who had ties to the Carlisi family, I was brought into the federal fold in exchange for immunity from prosecution for the fire.
I was relieved that when Abby had figured out I’d been drafted into the FBI for most of our marriage and had lied to her about it, she’d helped me bring the Carlisi case closer to a conclusion instead of leaving me. I was able to hand over years of bank account statements, emails, letters, and text messages Abby had gathered by hacking into her father’s email account and phone, all tying Carlisi members to various felonious crimes.
Abby thought that would mean I’d be home more. Instead, the Bureau was going a hundred miles per hour trying to close the case. Now that Benny was dead and they were hell-bent on vengeance, we were all racing against the clock.
Abby smiled, resting her head against the couch cushions. Her hair was shorter than it was in college. Her caramel locks now just grazed her shoulders. She combed back what she called side-swept bangs with her fingers, but they fell right back into her eye. Abby would turn thirty in September. As wise as she was at nineteen, she was nearly clairvoyant now. I was sure that only made her more dangerous, but she was on my side—thank Christ. Her gentle curves filled her maternity jeans, her cleavage bursting from her bright tank top, and I chuckled thinking about how many times I’d begged her to have another baby—shamelessly enjoying the changes her body went through to carry our sons and daughter.
“What?” she said, catching me staring at her tits … again. Would I ever grow up? If it meant I had to stop appreciating how sexy my wife was, I hoped not.
I cleared my throat. “I’d like to meet Liis at the airport, but”—I looked at my watch—“you’ll be leaving soon to pick up the kids.”
“You should go.” She sighed, struggling to lift her chest to get a full breath.
“No,” I said, shaking my head.
“I can get the kids from school,” she said. “Wren is here. He can drive us if you’re nervous.”
I frowned. “This needs to be over.”
“And it will be,” Abby said, standing. She walked over to me, sliding her hands under my biceps and locking them at the small of my back. She had to bend over slightly to nuzzle her head under my chin, pressing her cheek against my chest, but even her sweet touch couldn’t cheer me up. We both knew the end of one case only meant the start of another. Abby was responsible for the break in her father’s case. Mick Abernathy was a washed-up gambler who had an in with the Vegas mob. She had found out I was working for the Bureau and only wanted to help end a case that kept me away too much. Since handing over information that would put her father and the underboss away, she was asked to be an occasional consultant for the FBI. They were still waiting for her answer, and so was I.
Her tip had allowed me to climb the ranks quickly. No legal employment in Eakins would pay what I was making with the Bureau. If Abby took the consultant job, she would be able to stay at home with the kids. Either way, we’d made a good life here.
“Dad is excited,” Abby said, “to see Stella.”
“It never gets old, I guess. No matter how many kids his sons keep spitting out, there’s nothing like holdin’ a grandbaby for the first time.”
Abby wasn’t amused. “I believe it’s the daughter-in-laws who do the spitting.”
I kissed her on the forehead. “Touché.”
“You should go to the airport, Travis. I’ll pick up the kids from school with Wren and meet you at Dad’s. Thomas would have wanted you to.”
My brows pulled together. Hearing Thomas’s name in past tense was unsettling. “Make sure Wren stays out of sight. Dad already knows something’s up.”
“He knows, Trav. He’s known. I’m pretty sure since the beginning. He knows about the twins, too.”
“What about the twins?” I asked.
Abby simply giggled, shaking her head. “You Maddox boys are terrible liars.”
My face twisted in disgust. “No one’s lying.”
“Omission is lying,” she insisted. “Making up cover stories is lying.”
When I was recruited into the FBI at just twenty, I was also obligated to keep it from my wife. Unfortunately for the Bureau, Abby was too smart and stubborn to remain oblivious. Unfortunately for me, Dad was equally as sharp, and it was a full-time job to keep it from him. I wasn’t sure how Thomas had been able to do it for over a decade. According to Abby, he hadn’t. She was sure my father had known the entire time, too.
I kissed Abby’s soft cheek, still smelling faintly of chocolate from the cocoa butter she slathered all over her skin the moment she’d started to show. That prompted me to kiss her again before heading out to my truck.
I used the small radio clipped to the lapel of my sports jacket to call Agent Wren. “Heading to the regional airport for pickup.”
“I’m sure Agent Lindy will be happy to see a familiar face, sir.”
I sighed. “Maybe. Maybe not.” I slipped behind the wheel, taking in a deep breath before twisting the key in the ignition. Liis had traveled halfway across the country with a newborn. A funeral was the only reason she would risk it, especially knowing the mafia were committed to punishing her by targeting the only weakness Liis Lindy had: the people she loved. It wasn’t enough anymore that she was surrounded by the Bureau. She needed the Maddox family now. She knew we would keep Stella safe.
I kept a tight grip on the steering wheel until the gates of the regional airport were in sight. No one had followed me. The security guard at the gate seemed alert but relaxed. I showed my ID, and he allowed me to continue. It was unlikely anyone in Vegas could have found out Liis was heading home to Illinois in enough time to beat her here.
As I pulled up to the terminal, I could see the Bureau’s jet already parked near a county hangar. It was swarming with suits: men and women clearly armed and dangerous. The moment my truck rounded the corner, they were focused, ordering me to slow down, park my vehicle, and show my hands.
I did as they commanded, holding up my badge. Most of them knew who I was the moment I stepped onto the tarmac.
“Travis!” Liis called from behind a wall of men.
I jogged over to her, pushing agents to the side to get to my sister-in-law. Her red-rimmed eyes were puffy and tired. “Oh my God, your face,” she said, gently touching my purple, swollen skin. Liis wasn’t the most affectionate person, but she immediately melted into my arms. “You came,” she said softly.
I placed my hand on the back of her long, dark hair and kissed the top of her head. “Damn right, I did.”
“Abby?” she asked,
looking up at me. “Everyone’s all right? Nothing suspicious?”
“Everything is good. They’re all waiting to help you with the baby.”
“I haven’t slept in three days,” Liis said, her almond-shaped eyes staring up at me.
“I know,” I said, holding her to my side as we walked toward the truck. “I know.”
CHAPTER SIX
SHEPLEY
I HELD OUT MY HANDS in front of me. “Stop! No! Don’t do it!”
My sons stared back at me with their mom’s no-bullshit, round, sapphire eyes, ice cream cones in hand. Ezra, Eli, and Emerson were all standing on our porch, their faces as filthy as their shirts. Their mom would freak if they went inside like that, and they knew it. I’d taken them out in the first place to give her some quiet time to clean the house the way she wanted without one of our little monsters messing it up behind her. If I let them in covered in milky, sticky goo, America would kill us all.
“Guys,” I said, still holding up my hands, “I’m getting the hose. Don’t. Move. Mom is in there. Do you know what she’ll do if you step foot inside the house?”
Eli looked at Emerson with his trademark evil grin.
“I mean it,” I said, pointing at them. They giggled as I took the three steps from the porch to the sidewalk and then veered off into the grass toward the side yard to find the spigot.
America and I were both only children, and we knew we wanted more than one, and close together. By the time we’d had Emerson, we’d decided we were in way over our heads. Ezra was just a month older than Travis and Abby’s twins. Eli came two years later. Emerson two more after that. Unlike Travis and Taylor’s sons, mine were all quick to throw a punch, taller than every kid in their perspective grades, and unmistakably Maddox mean. Good thing I’d had some experience with that.
I grabbed the nozzle and pulled it from the retractable hose reel, unraveling it as I walked toward the porch. As soon as I rounded the corner, I dropped the hose and ran. The door was wide open, and the boys were gone.
“Damn it!” I growled, running toward the sound of America’s shrieking.
She was in the kitchen, already moving at warp speed. Emerson was sitting on the counter with his bare feet in the sink under running water while she was temporarily blinding Eli by yanking a shirt over his head. She was already threatening Ezra.
“If you move, so help me God!” she warned.
“Yes, ma’am,” Ezra said, standing uncharacteristically still next to the refrigerator.
The boys weren’t great at listening to me, but none of them dared to test their momma when she’d had enough. She wasn’t afraid to let us know when we were close to crossing that line, either.
“I’m sorry, honey,” I said, grabbing several rags from a drawer.
America was in the zone, far away from me. There was no time for meaningless apologies—or her acceptance of them. She was concentrating on the next thing that had to be done. By the time we’d wiped the last of the melted white mess from their mouths and hands, the boys were already running at turbo speed to their rooms, and America was sitting on the floor looking spent.
“God bless Diane for keeping your cousins alive for as long as she did,” America said.
I sat beside her, resting my forearms on my bent knees. “House looks good.”
“For the moment,” she said, leaning over to kiss me. “Still questioning our decision to remodel before they leave for college.”
I chuckled, but that faded as I pushed up to stand, bringing my wife with me. We both groaned, our aging bones just beginning to show signs of three decades of wear and tear. We’d spent a lot of time on that kitchen floor, making meals, making babies, and then on our hands and knees replacing the linoleum with updated tile. The popcorn ceilings scraped, granite countertops and new carpeting or tile installed throughout, every room but the boys’ painted Tony Taupe, lighting updated, and hardware replaced. The only things untouched were the oak wood cabinets and trim. Our house was nearly as old as we were, but America liked character and turning old into new rather than living in a space that didn’t need us.
Emerson ran in and hugged America. “Love you, Mom.” He darted off just as fast as he’d appeared, and she held out her shirt, revealing a white smear.
“We missed a spot,” she said, exasperated. “I wonder how many more spots we missed. We should do a second sweep.”
“He loves you, Mom. They all do.”
America’s eyes softened as she looked to me. “That’s why I let them live.”
From the moment two lines appeared on the pregnancy test, America was in love: more than she loved her parents, more than she loved Abby—more than she loved me. She made no apologies for putting the boys first, even before herself. When America took it upon herself to help me wrangle my roommate and cousin, Travis, neither one of us knew she was practicing to be a Maddox boys’ mother herself. The way she commanded their respect and retained her soft maternal side reminded me of my Aunt Diane almost daily.
“Summer camp?” I asked. I was a football scout for the Chicago Bears and traveled for a good chunk of the year. America was a saint. She never complained and never resented me for being on the road, or continuing in a job I loved, even if it meant a lot of lonely nights and solo parenting. Even if she had, I’d still think she was a saint. Sometimes, I wished that she would.
“Oh, yes. Fishing, camping, and starting fires. They can’t wait. We still have insurance, right?”
“Right.”
America sighed, intertwining her fingers in mine. Covered in cleaner, fingers pruney, and with a dust bunny hanging from her blond ponytail, she was stunningly beautiful. I felt a pang in the pit of my stomach. “I love you,” she said, and I fell in love all over again.
I opened my mouth to respond, but my phone rang. I rolled my eyes and then used my index finger and thumb like tweezers to pull it from the front pocket of my khaki pants. “Hello?”
“Hey, Shep. It’s, uh … it’s Trent. Are you home?”
“We’re home. What’s up?”
“You should come over.”
I paused, not expecting his answer. “N-now?”
“Now,” Trenton said without hesitation.
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, already uneasy. “Is it Jim?” As expected, my question caught America’s attention. “Is he okay?”
“He’s okay. We just need you to come over.”
“Sure,” I said, trying to keep the worry from my voice. I knew Jim had been off lately, and I imagined that he might have gotten bad news from the doctor. “We’ll be there in twenty.”
“Thanks, Shep,” Trenton said before hanging up the phone.
“Jim?” America asked.
I put my phone away and shrugged. “I don’t know. They want us to come over.”
“Sounds urgent,” she said, watching my face for clues.
“I honestly don’t know, honey. Let’s just herd the boys toward the car. Twenty minutes is optimistic by anyone’s standards.”
“I can do it,” she said, walking toward the hall. “Boys! Car! Now!”
I watched her disappear into Eli and Emerson’s room and then searched for my keys and phone for a full minute before realizing they were both in my pockets. I cursed under my breath all the way to Ezra’s room, and then encouraged him to put on his Chuck Taylors so we could go. I knew for a fact America had started cleaning their rooms before even thinking about the rest of the house, and Ezra’s floor was already covered with clothes, toys, and …
“Rocks? Really?” I asked.
“Got them from James. He won them in a poker game.”
I subdued a smile, knowing exactly where James got his hustling skills from. “Tie your laces. C’mon, buddy, we gotta go.”
“Where?” Ezra asked in his mini-man voice. He reminded me of Thomas, always needing to know the details.
“To Papa Jim’s,” I said.
Travis and Abby’s twins had come a little early
, making James and Jessica just a month younger than Ezra. Even without the influence of Travis’s kids referring to him as Papa, my kids would’ve still considered Jim their other grandpa.
“Yessss!” Ezra hissed, slipping on his Chucks without tying them and running for the door.
“Tie your shoes, Ezra! Ezra!” I called after him.
America was already standing next to the car just inside the open back door, reaching over Eli to buckle Emerson into his car seat. Ezra slid in on the other side, his laces dangling. America simply nodded to his feet, and his knee was bent, following orders.
“How?” I said, walking to my side.
“They know exactly what they can get away with,” she said, pulling open the passenger side door. She clicked her seat belt and then leaned back, taking the precious few minutes we had in the car with the kids strapped down to relax. I barely heard her next words over the engine igniting. “Every kid has a currency, love. They also know I will annihilate theirs.”
I chuckled, knowing full well she was serious. I’d seen many a toy plane and racecar bagged up and taken to charity or stored until the boys earned it back. America was militant at times, but she was right. One day, they would be bigger than she was, and it was important for her to establish respect before that happened. As I drove to Jim’s, I thought about what it would be like if Diane had been around to raise my cousins. Everything America did as a mother was exactly the way I pictured my aunt. I wasn’t sure how an only daughter kept a handle on a brood of rowdy Maddox boys, but from the moment she pushed Ezra into the world, she somehow always knew when to be soft and when to be tough.
I pushed down the blinker, waiting for oncoming traffic before turning left into Jim’s drive. The two gravel slits on each side of a runway of freshly mowed grass sat on the left side of Jim’s house and ran deep, past the backside of the house. So many cars were already parked, the ass of my minivan hung out into the street more than two feet. Good thing the parked car in front of Jim’s house would keep the flow of traffic away from the van.
“What the hell?” America said.
A Beautiful Funeral: A Novel (Maddox Brothers Book 5) Page 6