by Cait Jarrod
His smile lightened the tension in his expression. “Don’t worry about it.” Larry removed her hand and held it. “That night, I warned him. I told him in no uncertain terms that the next time he hit her, one of us would end up in the hospital, in jail, or the morgue.”
“The next time? You didn’t throw his ass in jail then?” She grimaced. “Darn it, I interrupted again.” She resumed holding her lips.
Given that he didn’t remove her hands this time, the next part of this conversation was probably hard for him to say.
“No one knows what really happened except for Jake. The Director knows only what he needed to know to keep me out of trouble, at his request, not mine.”
She lowered her hand and held his.
“My mom phoned. This time, the call came from the house I purchased just after I graduated from the academy. For a brief moment, I thought she’d left him. Her voice was angry and firm, not shaken or scared like the other times. When I arrived, I spotted three cars. My mom’s…dad’s…and my girlfriend’s.”
An eerie feeling went through Charlene.
“I came into my home…heard odd noises. Found my mother withering in the corner in a chair in the living room. Her clothes had been torn, face black and blue. The sound grew louder. I pulled my gun from the holster and edged my way toward my bedroom.”
Charlene closed her lids against the pain in his eyes and voice. When she opened them, moisture formed in them. “And,” she said gently when he made circles on her hand with his thumb.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. He sucked in a deep breath, released it. “And…I found my father banging my willing girlfriend in my bed.”
Charlene gasped, froze. She didn’t know what to say, how to react. How did someone move past such a betrayal?
“Dad was an evil man.” Larry made a scoffing sound. “When he noticed me, he sneered.”
At a loss for words, she managed, “I’m so sorry.”
“My father nodded toward me and got off. My so-called girlfriend screamed his name. The sick fucks!”
Outraged for what Larry suffered, her eyebrows slashed downward and her mouth fell open. “Oh my god…?”
“I must have been in shock, since I don’t remember him putting jeans on, but he had before he lunged at me. I had the sense to holster my gun and fight him, but then the situation grew worse. My supposed girlfriend came after me. My mother went after my father. I grabbed the girl, handcuffed her to the staircase banister in the hall. Hell, I don’t even want to say her name.”
Charlene knelt on the floor in front of Larry and rested her hands on his knees. “You don’t have to.”
“When I returned to the family room, my father was clutching my mom’s throat. He and his brother have this sick game where they try to make a person submissive by pretending they’re choking them. They apply pressure, but not enough to make the person pass out. This time, his grip was tight. I yelled, ordered him to release her. He wouldn’t, so I pulled my gun.”
Her mouth opened and closed. She couldn’t think of anything to console him.
Larry waved his hand. “The end—I shot and killed my dad.”
Charlene cupped a cheek and kissed him. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing can be said to alleviate the burden. It is what it is.”
“You’re such a strong man.” She kissed his eye, then the other one. “I’ve dealt with crap…I can’t imagine what you went through.”
“I have battle scars, but I’m okay.”
Charlene gave into the nurturing and compassionate emotion that tightened her chest. She wanted to help him like she did when Henry needed someone to understand what he went through. She slid her arms around his neck, pressed her breasts into his chest, and held him.
He squeezed her so tight and for so long, she started to think they’d stay that way for the rest of the day.
The first brush of his lips against the curve of her neck sent an electrifying current throughout her system.
A powerful force within her demanded him closer. She eased back to gain access to his mouth.
Larry kissed her hard…the glide of his tongue, against her lips, demanded her to open. She did. Remorse, sadness, happiness from their pasts, the present, went into the mating of their mouths until the lack of oxygen forced them apart.
“Wow,” he said, his intense gaze flicking between her eyes and mouth.
A crushing need to have him, to be a part of him, slammed into her chest, embedding Larry in her soul. She let out a long breath to relieve the tightness threatening to shut off her air supply. “I shouldn’t have interrupted you,” she said, in an attempt to reduce the passion throwing her heart against her ribcage.
His eyebrows arched, his hands gripping the curves of her waist. “Oh yeah, you should have.”
She laughed and kissed him again before scooting backwards onto the couch. “I feel like you have more to say.”
“You’re perceptive.”
“Go figure.”
“Unlike what you have with your mother, I don’t have much of a relationship with mine,” Larry said. “The only times I hear from her is when her new husband is beating her. She holds me accountable for my dad’s death, her true love.”
When she thought Larry’s story couldn’t possibly continue in a more tragic way, it had, dumbfounding her. “Your mother’s second husband is beating her, too? She blames you?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Here’s where you’ll want to run. My mom married my uncle.”
Charlene slumped against the leather couch. She thought she’d heard everything. The crap Andrew put her through didn’t compare to what he survived. “Your father’s brother?” The question was rhetorical, but with the craziness he voiced, she had to hear him say it.
“Yes.”
“After dealing with one husband who beat her, how could she marry a man who does the same?”
“It’s a vicious cycle.”
The front door clicked shut. They remained quiet, watching a squirrel using a nearby tree as his playground.
Charlene replayed what Larry had said: the beatings, the gun, his girlfriend, and his mother’s pattern for getting involved with abusive men. A nagging thought hit her then it settled into a full-blown concern. “Are you worrying that your uncle…stepfather, will make a move on me?”
He shook his head, his mouth in a firm line. “No. I’m not.”
She didn’t want him to feel worse than he already did, but questions flew through her mind. “Did your mom follow your dad…to the house that day?”
Larry leaned an elbow on his knee and rubbed his forehead. “Evidently, my dad had a fling with Chelsea.” He groaned. “I didn’t mean to say her name. Doesn’t matter,” he said with another wave of his hand. “Mom overheard their conversation on the phone and followed him. When mom walked into my house, he hit her and forced her to stay in the corner until he finished.”
“Gross!” The word came out a yell rather than a comment.
“The whole situation is twisted. See, this is why you need to run for the hills.”
She eyed him and saw a genuine, caring man. One that would protect when necessary, not control her like she first suspected. Her battle scarred conscience wanted this, him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
As if the sun appeared for the first time in days, relief washed over Larry’s features then flicked to seriousness. “So,” he said, moving to sit beside her on the couch. “Want to tell me why you didn’t come to me?”
Honesty, Jake had told her. She wanted to confide in Larry, yet dealing with Andrew on her terms was necessary for her to attain closure that she desperately needed. If she shared with him, he would no doubt want to help and offer advice. She expected no less from a man of his character. “Pamela insisted I talk to Jake about Andrew.”
Larry curled his arm around her and stayed silent.
Every instinct screamed she’d be lost if Larry wasn’t in her life. Unknowingly, he gave his support
by the integrity he possessed, showing her that decent people did exist. Learning about Larry’s past today cemented her first opinion of him. He was honorable and was sincerely compassionate. Given these traits it made what she needed to tell him harder to say. “Larry.”
“Uh-oh, I don’t like the sound of this.”
She forced a smile. “I have some things I need to take care of on my own.”
Refusing to meet Larry’s eyes, she stared at his chest and clutched his shirt. “I don’t know if I can do what you want, not until I resolve issues with Andrew.”
“And what is it that I want?”
“Have a relationship,” she said.
“Huh? You want to be fuck-buddies?”
While the question was vulgar, it’s exactly what she wanted. “To start. Actually, I call it non-committal friends.”
“Same thing I said last night, friends with benefits.”
He had, but what he shared today put their relationship on a different playing field. “Friends with benefits don’t worry about what’s going on in the other person’s life. If they do, then it becomes a relationship.” She waited for the impact of her words to hit, hoping he wouldn’t be offended and wouldn’t pry for more information about the issue she had with Andrew. Larry was smart: if he hadn’t already figured out that in order for her to move on with her life, she’d have to deal with Andrew, he would soon.
His grip tightened. “Makes sense to me. One more thing.”
Had her determination dissuaded him?
“Yeah?”
“Know this, I will protect you and at times you will probably think I’m controlling. I’m not. I’m looking out for my interest.”
She split her gaze back and forth between his eyes.
Mirror reactions coursed through her brain. Admiration that Larry would do anything for someone he cared for, and anticipation for when others’ decisions didn’t impact their relationship. “I can live with that. While we’re friends with benefits, I promise to be exclusive.”
His chuckle turned to an outright laugh. He kissed the top of her head and held her to him. “You phrase what we have any way you want. I’ll say okay.”
“Wuss.”
He laughed again. “Only to you, sweetheart. Only to you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Driving her mother’s decade old, white interior plush car that rode like she’d imagine a tank might, Charlene turned out of Old Towne Detective Agency and headed toward Colonial Beach to talk to Andrew’s best friend. The secret Larry had shared meant a lot. She understood his need to protect her, actually loved the idea. Her mother had called it right: Larry was a keeper.
If he knew where Charlene headed, his face would turn red…sweat would bead on his brow….and his eyes would darken. She sighed. Excitement from picturing him above her in the throes of passion sent a thrill through her blood. Her center clenched.
She’d have to put aside her lustful thoughts of Larry. With any luck, she’d finagle a way for him to come by tonight after Henry went to sleep. Letting her son know she and Larry were seeing each other this soon could give him false hope. She’d rather wait until her feelings reached the point of no return. Though, the strong sensation she experienced but tried to bury deep inside her came close to the dangerous ‘love zone’.
Nearing the outskirts of Colonial Beach, her thoughts turned to Andrew. Her anger boiled, remembering what he’d taken away from them. Her beloved Café, and her home. Her prize belongings lost due to his inability to manage money. His insistence on doing the restaurant’s books when she wanted to hire an accountant should have flagged something was amiss. Andrew had hated math in school.
Those possessions were near and dear to her heart, but they weren’t what cut her to the quick. Andrew’s behavior toward their son sliced through her as if a butcher knife had torn her heart to shreds.
The new lengths Andrew used to achieve what he wanted flabbergasted her. To threaten their son… An ache shot through her, stopping her from completing the thought. Any possible sentiment she had toward him dissolved into a puddle when Andrew touched Henry’s hand, indicating he had more regard for money than his only child’s life. In a million years, she didn’t think Andrew could stoop that low.
She had no words…no tears, just blazing fury.
Charlene passed the familiar ‘Welcome to Colonial Beach’ sign. Nostalgia struck with the sight of her restaurant and placed a heavy weight on the center of her chest.
“The son of a bitch!” She whipped the wheel. Tires squealed and she screeched to a halt in the parking lot in front of the café and shoved the gearshift into park.
Andrew may have ripped her heart out, stolen her foundation, and made her life a living hell…but damn it, she would reclaim it.
She bolted out of the car, ready to speak with the new owner. A sea of churning memories surged into her brain, faltering her steps and throwing a cold bucket of water over her anger.
The decorations around the atrium structure looked the same as when she left. Impossible. The wooden chairs and tables she purchased from a retailer in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, stayed fixed in the spot she placed them five years ago. Balloon party lights she received for a wedding present dangled from the canopy. They’d have to go.
Scooting along the cement sidewalk flanking the restaurant, she dragged her fingers over The Café’s swaying sign, and took in the picturesque view of the Potomac River. A soft breeze drifted from the water, gently tossing her hair and brushing her cheeks. The river’s scents drifted toward her: briny, algae, musty. On their own, they’d reek. Together, they were a memory. She tilted her head up and closed her eyes, letting the sun warm her face as she had done a thousand times before, and enjoyed the moment until seagulls squawking drew her attention and had her opening her eyes.
She looked from the people lounging alongside the Potomac to the people sitting under the awning on the Riverside Deck and glimpsed a piece of yellow. Time stopped. Near the kitchen door, a yellow plastic baby swing suspended from the rafters by four pieces of rope…Henry’s toddler swing. The swing hadn’t moved from the spot from where she had spent countless hours pushing him. When he outgrew it, she didn’t have the heart to take it down.
Why would the new owners keep it? Questions engulfed her. Why did they not change the décor? Why not make the restaurant theirs?
Emotions roiled through her as she marched toward the front, climbed the steps, and pushed open the door. Customers filled the rows of picnic tables, covered in brown paper for all-you-can-eat crabs. Servers, carrying trays, weaved in and out of the chaos. Bartenders split their attention between two counters on either side of them, one facing the water, and the other opened up to the inside of the cafe. Identical to before.
“Miss, how many for lunch?”
Charlene turned toward the voice of the woman she helped after her husband died in the war. She’d given her a job and friendship. “Gloria.”
“Charlene! How are you?” Her words escaped on a high pitch.
Gloria Heart jumped up and down, her long, blonde ponytail waving behind her, before she crashed into Charlene to give her a hug.
“I’m okay,” she managed to say through Gloria’s tight grip.
“I’ve missed you so much.”
Funny, if Gloria missed Charlene, why hadn’t she called? Once after the kidnapping, she had while Charlene had left messages for her friend a few times, but Gloria never returned her call.
Gloria shifted, her expression changing from happy to a scowl, thanks to slashing eyebrows, and she played with the cloth belt draped around the waist of her black, ankle-length dress.
Bracing for the worse, Charlene folded her arms and stared at Gloria. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much. I’ve been working nonstop. Between Todd and working here, my time is pretty much booked. I’m sorry I haven’t called. We should get the kids together for a playdate.” Gloria’s voice ended on a high note and rounded eyebrows.
&
nbsp; Why was Gloria acting strange? “I’m glad life is treating you well. What else has been happening?”
“What do you mean?”
“We worked together too long for me not to pick up on the indicators that you’re hiding something.”
“Oh.” Gloria waved a dismissive hand. “I’m wound tight, trying to get the schedule covered for next week. Nothing more.”
“You are?” Charlene’s manager, Dean Wilkens, had managed The Café when she owned it. “Is Dean not working here anymore?”
Gloria pressed her lips together. “No. He left when the new owner wouldn’t let him be partner.” She reached out, looking as if she wanted to touch Charlene’s arm, then withdrew her hand. “I’m sorry the bank foreclosed on your café and home.”
Charlene didn’t want to discuss what happened. She was here to figure out a way to get her business back. “Is the owner here?”
“Yes.” Gloria gave a slight nod, but didn’t give any further information.
“May I speak with them?”
“What’s this in regards to?”
The question shot irritation through her body. Charlene gave her a sideways glare. “Excuse me. This is between me and them.”
The door opened and a party of four stepped into the foyer. Charlene moved aside and waited for Gloria to seat them.
“Come on,” Gloria said, when she returned and motioned with her hand to follow.
Charlene trailed behind her through the throng of tables, waving and smiling at familiar faces. She didn’t slow to chat, though. Another day, she would have. They passed by the bar toward the back of the restaurant. Gloria opened the door to Charlene’s old office and waved her arm, signaling for Charlene to step inside.
Again, the furnishings stayed from when she ran the café. She moved toward her old desk. Her planner, sticky notes that she had scribbled, even a cup a customer had brought her the last day she worked sat on the aluminum desk.
Gloria closed the door and raised her hand, palm forward, a silent gesture for Charlene to listen. Tears filled Gloria’s eyes. “Here’s the thing. I didn’t call you, ‘cause I didn’t know how you’d take what I did.”