Lucky’s Naughty Angel

by Scarlett King

  “That’s true enough, Reverend,” Aaron responds with a touch of relief in his eyes. For a moment, I feel guilty. But then I remember how he shook when I kissed him, and how his whole huge, solid body turned to putty in my hands.

  Oh no. We’re definitely not done with this. I smile to myself before looking up at my dad and nodding. “Let’s get started, then.”

  Aaron and I settle back into our friendly rapport for the rest of the afternoon. By the end of it, we’re stocked up, and so is everyone on our donation list. We’re also both exhausted and sore.

  “I gotta get a shower before my shift,” Aaron groans, stretching and rolling his massive shoulders. For just a moment, he shoots me a smoldering glance, which tells me he wishes I would join him. But being Aaron, he’s back to not saying a thing.

  Probably because dear old Dad planted himself right beside us after he found us in the elevator, watching us both like a very irritated hawk in a clerical collar for the rest of the afternoon. Dad doesn’t miss much. I know I’m in for a lecture when we get home. He’s out of bounds, but I’ll have to take it anyway, because he loves me, and he’s too stressed right now for me to fight it.

  But that kiss…it told me everything. I hadn’t been deceiving myself. The guy I’ve been waiting for has been waiting for me, too. My dad will have to find a way to cope with that eventually. I just don’t want him to deal with it now.

  I also don’t want to deal with him dealing with it now. I can only imagine the tidal wave of drama that will be set loose once I finally tell him my intentions—to be with Aaron forever… It’s the damn holidays. I’m tired, I’m in love, and I want to be happy. I also want Dad to be happy.

  Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.

  Unfortunately, he’s already suspecting something. When I finally get home, shower, and get into my purple sweatpants and a giant, pink flannel shirt, he’s very quiet as he heats up the lasagna I fixed for tonight.

  He hasn’t turned on his jazz station. That’s a huge red flag—I’m definitely in for a lecture.

  I come down the narrow stairs with a little sigh, looking out each of the little windows lining the stairway as I pass them. Our house sits behind the church, a tall, slim Victorian half hidden in the trees. Like a lot of buildings up here, it’s painted white with green trim and a red door. Unlike a lot of buildings up here, it’s surrounded by gravestones from the churchyard.

  It makes for an interesting view as the sun sets and the snowflakes swirl down. Just that Nightmare Before Christmas touch that I like best.

  I prepare myself mentally as I walk. All my life, Dad’s been overprotective of me. But once we lost Mom, he got…brittle.

  Before then, his portrayal of the stick-up-the-ass minister had a humorous edge that was gentled by my Mom’s presence. But now, it’s like part of him has frozen over, making him cold and stiff, and too easy to snap. I handle him carefully, not just because I hate the drama, but because I realize that these days, drama’s really not good for him.

  I wish Mom was here.

  Mom would have loved Aaron. Her dad used to be a Hells Angel before he settled down and started his own motorcycle garage back in California. Grandpa took me riding a few times when I was tiny, and I remember Mom laughing as I squealed with delight, while at the same time, Dad fluttered his hands slightly and made small, nervous protests.

  I’ve always wished that I could run off on some adventure on a motorcycle, like Mom once did, before I’d have to do the responsible thing and settle in for church duties and seminary. But losing Mom meant that someone had to step in and help Dad, at least part time. That’s what I do now, when I’m in town, and over the phone or online when I’m in Buffalo.

  It’s good practice for the job I want: taking over this place and letting my Dad enjoy his retirement. He’ll still volunteer his head off, of course. But once I’m the one wearing the collar around here, I can shoo him off to his books and jazz when he gets too overwhelmed.

  Dad knows I’m an adult and has seen what I can do, but he just can’t back off with his hovering and protectiveness. I know why, so I don’t normally complain much.

  His head’s still full of nightmares over Mom’s loss. He’s scared to lose me, too. Of course, I understand.

  But sometimes, trying to fight against his overprotective fears makes me crazy with frustration. Thus, I take a couple of minutes to focus myself before joining him in the dining room.

  “You did good work today,” he starts off, as I settle into my seat across from his. Dad always starts and ends serious discussions with the positive, so we start with our ears open and end without wanting to keep yelling at each other.

  “It needed to be done. Besides, it was just amazing. Everyone’s fridge will be full well before the storm.”

  I move our entree in front of me and set to work with a knife and spatula. He’d set out the lasagna in its baking dish, like a giant TV dinner. At least he remembered a trivet.

  He nods mutely and just watches for a minute as I cut generous squares of lasagna for each of our plates. It’s a one-dish meal, full of beef, cheese, spinach, mushrooms, homemade red sauce, and spices. I cook for fun, and to see the way the men in my life light up when I set a good meal in front of them.

  “You okay, Dad?” I ask him gently as he sits stiffly at his seat instead of starting prayer.

  “I’m worried about you, Julia,” he says very gently, and my smile freezes on my face.

  Here we go. “Okay, what’s got you worried? I told you I’ll start saving for the four wheel drive instead of that cute Kia. You’re right, commuting to and from Buffalo in winter isn’t safe in a small city car.”

  He blinks and sits back slightly. “Wait, you did? I was…very tired this morning.”

  I nod. “That’s okay, maybe I wasn’t clear.” It’s always best to pretend obliviousness to derail suspicion. Also, he is right about the damn car.

  He nods briefly, seeming just a touch more relaxed. At least he can see that I still have my common sense. “Good. But—no, that isn’t what’s worrying me. I knew you’d make the right decision about trading in your truck.”

  “Okay, so, what’s the concern?” I look down at my plate. My mouth is watering. We don’t take a single bite before prayers in this house, which means I either have to resolve his worries quickly, or let my lasagna go cold.

  “You and Mr. Gates. I’m concerned about his influence on you.” He watches my face.

  “This may be the twelfth time in two years that you’ve said that, Dad, and in that time, Aaron hasn’t been a bad influence on me. If anything, we’ve been a good influence on him.” And Aaron has come back strong. I remember a time when getting him to smile or make eye contact was a Herculean task.

  My father rubs his face and then looks up at me, his eyes a little bleary from exhaustion and frustration. “That’s very likely true. I’m not discounting the improved state of Mr. Gates’s soul, which has been remarkable. He does a great deal of good work for us, and since he’s gotten back on his feet, he has asked for little in return.”

  “Then what’s the issue? Seriously, Dad, you keep coming back to this, and then nothing ever happens to make us regret my friendship with him.” I am trying to point out the history of his suspicions and all the times he’s cried wolf about Aaron.

  “The guy cares about me. About you too, for that matter,” I add.

  “That’s different.” He looks away. “I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “Why do you think he would hurt me?” I’m genuinely astonished.

  “Julia, he may care about you, but he has a history of violence. He was in jail for ten years for beating a man nearly to death. What if he can’t leave that violence behind?”

  “He has. Dad…I’ve told you that he went to jail in his brother’s place. He’s innocent.”

  “If he’s innocent, he would have fought for his freedom and his reputation. He tells a story about taking the fall for his older brother, but how b
elievable is that?” His frown doesn’t waver. He’s genuinely worried, and I’m not quite sure how to reassure him.

  “Dad, this is a guy who gives all his weekends to us, provides the town with thousands of dollars of free labor every year, and has worked like crazy to leave his old life behind. He makes big sacrifices for others all the time—and for his brother. I believe him, Dad, and I think that time will prove me right.”

  He winces and looks away, his expression so troubled that I fall silent. “You’re in love with him,” he says very quietly. “And so you’re defending him. Just like your mother did with her father during his hell-raising days.” His eyes rise to mine slowly. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

  “Dad, look.” My heart is banging away and sending ice water rushing through my veins. Oh God, please help me out here, I’m trying to ease his fears without treating him like a child. “First and most importantly, it isn’t that I thought you would not notice anything. It’s that I thought you would trust me to show good judgment, and to know that if I trust Aaron enough to want him in my life, there are good reasons for that.”

  That catches him by surprise, and he relaxes a little more, taking a deep breath. “You’re concerned that I’m worried because I’m not in full possession of the facts?”

  “I think that’s part of it.” But my Dad doesn’t want or need to be in full possession of the facts, not if some of them are nonessential and would hurt his peace of mind.

  Aaron didn’t influence me to kiss him. He didn’t push a kiss on me. I kissed him under the damn mistletoe, and I have no regrets. But it would still freak my Dad out to learn about it.

  “Fine. What facts am I not aware of?” He looks down at the cooling lasagna and sighs. “Briefly.”

  “The one you should most know is that he’s anything but violent, Dad. Go into the bar some time while he’s working, and you’ll see it in action. He has a job that could be violent if he made it so—he has drunks from three counties testing his patience all night.”

  That catches his interest. He nods, brow furrowing. “Go on.”

  “He has never raised a hand to any of them. He’s trained in judo and just marches them outside; sometimes he even holds them for Earl when the cops need to be called. Nobody has ever complained of rough treatment except for one guy who Aaron pulled off a woman who was calling for help.” These things are important. All of them.

  “Dad, I’m not asking you to take me at my word. I’m asking you to look at the man that Aaron is, the man he proves himself to be every day. Even if he was a bad man once, he’s done his penance, and he’s been seeking redemption. He’s also a really responsible guy.” This is going better than expected, but I still wish I could plow through and soothe myself with too much lasagna.

  “He’s old for you.” That protest is a bit weaker.

  “He is.” I run into a wall for a moment. Come on, come on, you were doing so well a moment ago. “But I want the kind of guy who is stable, responsible, wants to get serious, and has his own money. And I’m sorry, but have you met guys my age?”

  College-age guys often appear to be exactly the kind of people my father and I despise: horny, faithless, thoughtless, and often, seemingly brainless. Maybe I just have incredibly bad luck, but I keep running into guys my age who seem bent on fucking the ministry student like it’s a personal challenge—with no other interest in me at all.

  He lets out a soft laugh. “Sadly yes. I was one. You have a point. I just…worry. I admit I’d prefer you settle down with someone who lives here rather than someone over in Buffalo. There…isn’t someone else in Buffalo, is there?”

  I roll my eyes. “Dad! We wouldn’t be having this conversation if there were someone in Buffalo!”

  He relaxes more, and even lets out a little laugh. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want you making any decisions you might end up regretting.”

  “But Dad,” I say patiently, “everyone has regrets sometimes. I know life’s full of trials and disappointments, and I need you to trust me to be tough enough to handle it. Okay?”

  He smiles faintly. “Okay.” But then he frowns, half-theatrically. “But don’t let me catch you kissing that biker!”

  “Dad, if you catch me kissing that biker, there will be mistletoe involved.” Because from now on, we’re doing our kissing in private.

  He folds his arms. “All the more reason for me to pull down every sprig of the stuff I see.”

  “Humph,” my only response. But at least he’s satisfied enough by my answers to say prayers and let us eat.

  We both go down for a nap after our very early dinner. Dad has to take some of his sinus meds and ends up conked out for good. I feel bad for him…except that it means he won’t wake up for at least eight hours.

  I can do a lot in eight hours.

  I dress very carefully—I don’t want to look too obvious, with too much makeup or fancy hair. I don’t want there to be any chance of gossip when I’m seen around Aaron.

  The warm, sheepskin lining of my coat rubs softly against my skin, teasing me as I think about his hands on me. The thermal bottoms are a little scratchy, especially where they tuck into my snow boots, and so is the simple blue wool scarf I tuck into my collar at my throat.

  They do the job, though. When I finally walk outside, the cold doesn’t get through, despite my…modified…outfit. If Dad knew what I was doing he would flip. But the thing that would make him flip the most is that I’m the one on a mission.

  I leave the lights on and bring my phone, pretending that I’m going out on an errand. If Dad wakes up unexpectedly, that’s what I’ll tell him. We’re out of eggnog anyway.

  The snow has stopped again, leaving a thin icy crust on the sidewalks. It’s such a short walk to the gas station convenience store and the bar across from it that I can excuse going out without my truck and being in the area. From there, it’s a short walk up the hill to Aaron’s land.

  And his trailer. And his bed.

  I’ve never felt like this before in my life. I know it’s because of him. That first kiss was off-the-scales awesome—definitely worth the wait. But now that I’ve had a taste of him, I don’t want to wait any more.

  Chapter Five

  I know I’m in for a really shitty shift when I come in and hear a familiar voice yell, “Hey, Lucky!” from the corner of the bar.

  I stop dead, squeezing my eyes shut, the euphoria from that kiss with Julia vanishing like smoke. There’s only one guy around anymore who calls me that, and I never wanted to hear from him again.

  I open my eyes and look over to the voice, and see my big brother Daniel leaning toward me from his seat at a corner table. Older by almost twenty years, with gray in his hair, but with the same dress and manner that I remember. He’s grinning wide enough for the scar on his cheek to crease like a bad seam in his leathery skin. Not again.

  “Give me a sec.” I send a beer over to him to mollify his alcoholic ass, then check in with my boss, Eddy, who nods at me and twitches a small smile as I approach. “Hey, I’m in for the night. Any problems? Like with him?”

  We both look over at Daniel, who is still grinning—obviously drunk—his face red beneath the road tan and his overlong curls sticking wetly to his forehead. He looks like me if I was a foot shorter, ate nothing but cheeseburgers and booze, and got beat a few times with the ugly stick.

  He’s also an asshole. But he’s family, and he knows I make sacrifices for my loved ones. So the first thing I wonder is what he’s here to ask me for, and how much trouble he plans to cause until he gets it.

  “That guy? No problem, except he should probably be cut off about now. He’s kind of a jackass, but I saw the resemblance, so we didn’t throw him out.” My boss offers a lopsided smile.

  “I wouldn’t have taken it personally if you had thrown him out,” I admit. “I’ll go deal with him. Yell if you need me.”

  He nods, likely knowing it wouldn’t be necessary. Being in prison has left me with an instinct f
or trouble. Even if Daniel wasn’t my brother, I would still be keeping a closer eye on him than on anyone else in here, for just that reason.

  He’s smirking as I walk over. It’s all I can do not to grab him by the collar and haul him off his feet—and as he sees the look in my eyes, the smirk fades. “Hey,” he says in that used-car salesman tone that he uses when he wants to talk me into something. I’d hoped never to hear it again.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Daniel?” I demand in a low, hard tone as I walk up to him.

  In response, he pushes out the chair across the table from him with his foot. “Just a little talk.”

  I take a deep breath. Eddy’s watching us like a hawk between serving drinks, in case I need backup. I need to keep this job. I smile tightly, settle into the seat and then say, “We shouldn’t be having a conversation at all.”

  He chuckles. “I’m hurt. Yeah, yeah, I know, you said after everything you did for me, you wanted out of the business and me out of your life. I get it, I do, and I know you’re a stand-up guy. Not every guy will do a dime and change for his brother.”

  I stare at him. “The deal was, I do that for you, and then you walk out of my life and take the gang and all your crazy baggage with it. The drugs, the guns, everything you dragged me into when I was fifteen and too dumb to know better.”

  “Oh yeah, I get it, I do. And you got a pretty raw deal in prison, or so I hear. Only got one working kidney left, isn’t that right?” His voice has a wheedling tone of mock sympathy to it.

  “Yeah, that’s right.” I lean forward, knowing three things: I’m bigger, fitter, and tougher than him; he’s on my turf and drunk as hell; and he owes me way, way too much to be coming back for another favor now. “Now, once again, why the fuck are you bothering me? Are you dying? Is Dad dying?”

  “I don’t know. Old bastard doesn’t talk to me anymore.” He shrugs nonchalantly and takes a deep swallow of his beer. “And I know he hangs up every time you try to call. Doesn’t he?”