Path of Destruction

by Cara Dee

  She made a face and winced, then watched kinda unseeingly as I filled a plate with food, just to have something to look at. "I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that." So there was more she was uncomfortable with, hence no eye contact. "I'm not sure how Dr. Anderson would react, to be honest. On the one hand, he's very ethical, passionate about helping, and fair. On the other, he's Dr. Houston's best friend, it's their livelihood, and I don’t know how much credibility I can bring to the table without any concrete evidence."

  I stabbed a fried shrimp with my fork and shoved it into my mouth while I thought about what she'd said. And it didn’t make any sense. Her concerns were valid, weren't they? Nothing to hide or to be embarrassed about.

  "If I were strong," she said, "I'd go to him. Or I'd confront Dr. Houston. But I'm a coward who can't lose this job."

  Now, it made sense.

  "What if you didn’t have anything to lose?" I asked.

  "But I do."

  "What if you didn’t?"

  She sighed. "I don’t know, Lincoln. I guess in that dream scenario, I'd confront them both, one violently and one not."

  I smirked around a mouthful of beef stew and rice. "So it's not about strength. It's about priorities. I don’t know anyone who would call you weak for putting your kids first. Kids who literally landed in your care when you were what, twenty-two?"

  Not only had she been young, she'd been alone, without any higher education, probably still processing her own trauma…and even then, she'd given two boys a home.

  The last thing I'd ever call her was weak.

  Ade was quiet for a while. I wouldn’t say she ate. Lost in thought, she nibbled and picked at some vegetarian dish I wasn’t sure why I ordered.

  How much would her claws come out if I offered her money? The way I saw it, she'd been dealt a crap hand. There was nothing fair about it, and she deserved a damn break. So if a bank and loans with high interest and bad terms could put her through college so she could get a higher paying job, why couldn’t I?

  Then there was pride. I'd be a liar if I said I was good at accepting help from others. At one point, when I should've gone to the police, I didn’t.

  "I've missed this," she admitted quietly. "I don't think we even had this before—open communication like now—but you were always easy to talk to."

  I tested a smile and nodded with a dip of my chin. "Yeah… I owe you some honesty." Done with my food, I leaned back to get comfortable, and I inched close enough to reach her hand. I gave it a careful squeeze. "Considering I've made you feel…hated? Like I don’t wanna be near you—based on what I've said…I'm wondering if that’s why you get insecure and anxious around me." She opened her mouth to respond, while keeping her eyes fixed on our hands, so I spoke up before she could. "If that’s the case, I'm sorry. I don't hate you, Ade. I don't think I ever did. What I do know is I've been a bitter son of a bitch."

  It was easy to get defensive. It was easy to take your anger out on others.

  "I understand." She took a shaky breath and leaned back, too. "You have a good reason to be bitter where I'm concerned."

  "You don't get it." It wasn’t until now I got it, either. Suddenly, it was painfully clear. "I'm bitter 'cause I lost." At that, her gaze flickered tentatively to mine, and my pulse kicked up. "I lost everything. My career, my freedom, my friends…I lost you."

  My chest expanded, and I couldn’t make head or tails of what I felt. There was relief in having that out in the open, 'cause it was fucking true. It was uncomfortable unlike anything else because who in their right mind enjoyed feeling exposed?

  Ade's eyes welled up, though this time, she seemed determined to keep her cool. "I hated losing you, Lincoln. I broke." So much for keeping her cool; tears spilled over at the same time as my throat closed up.

  "Come here," I managed. With my hands hooking under her arms, I hauled her close to me, and I hugged her tightly. Holy hell. I exhaled heavily. There was an explosion of pressure being released just 'cause I was able to hold her again. I didn’t wanna let her go so quickly this time.

  I never stood a chance against her.

  "I've missed you for ten fucking years," I murmured thickly.

  Ade whimpered and threw her arms around my neck, and relief rolled off of me. I needed her in my life. Tightening my hold on her, I buried my face in her hair and screwed my eyes shut. I need her in my life. How had I been able to fool myself into thinking any different? I remembered how raw my hatred used to be. How I'd blamed her and cursed the day we met.

  *

  Ade went home for a while shortly before Pop returned, but she made it clear she wouldn’t mind hanging out some more as soon as we could have some privacy.

  That’s how she and I ended up on my porch after he'd retired for the evening. The heaters blasted on, allowing us to exchange jackets for hoodies and a blanket. She'd even brought snacks.

  "I don't think I've had these since I was a kid." I stuck a Rice Krispie treat into my mouth and brushed some crumbs off my shirt. The bars were homemade and covered in dark chocolate, perfectly chewy. "Fuckin' A."

  "Abel inhales them, and they're cheap to make," Ade said with a grin. "When I bring snacks for hockey practice, he usually requests Rice Krispie treats and my mac and cheese cups."

  I smirked, side-eyeing her. "You've become a soccer mom."

  "Hockey mom," she corrected. "We're more badass."

  I chuckled. "Noted."

  Now that I'd gotten used to her having kids—or I was getting there—I had to admit it was a role that suited her. She was caring and motherly.

  I wasn’t sure I could imagine that on a regular basis, though. Being all domesticated and…regular. Didn’t it get mundane?

  Routine and I hadn't been a good match before prison. I craved variety and having the option to do what I wanted. Which, while locked up, I'd been served the opposite of.

  "Have you played on your new guitar yet?" she wondered.

  I shook my head.

  Don't ask me.

  "Would it be too much if I asked you to?"

  Did it matter? No matter what she asked, I gave in. "It feels weird." It was a hang-up I couldn’t figure out. "I don't know. I played a little in prison." And now I was out. Free. Ish. Would I just feel stupid? "It's different now—I don't know why." Like I'd be some fucking poser. "Maybe I'm not there yet. I sound like shit, too."

  Ade stared at me with a blank expression. Then she twisted in her seat so she could point inside the house. "Lincoln Hayes, that's the most ridiculous thing I've heard all day. You were the guitarist in one of the world's biggest rock bands. Get your ass in there and grab your guitar."

  My brows lifted. The fuck did she get the balls from?

  It was sexy as hell.

  Her stare didn’t waver, either. She eyed me firmly until I huffed and dragged my sorry ass inside the living room.

  My forehead creased as I picked up the guitar, the familiar weight of it always causing the same sense of longing. And now it was Adeline who was gonna listen. That was ten times worse than having the guys in prison requesting oldies. 'Cause she'd seen me at my best.

  She's seen you at your worst, too.

  Stifling a sigh, I returned outside and sat down next to her. She looked too damn pleased, and she spread the blanket over my lap with a smug little smile.

  "You can still be a right bitch, can't you?"

  That made her laugh. "Oh, you have no idea, rock star."

  Fuck. The amusement left me, and my jaw clenched. Rock star. Her name for me. Dark desire flared up within me, hard to suppress. I looked away before she could catch on and wonder if she'd said anything wrong, which…goddammit, she hadn't. If anything, it felt too right. Way too right.

  I swallowed, adjusting the guitar on my lap, and tuned it absently. Much like the guitar was something I felt maybe I hadn't deserved yet—out here in the free world where actual musicians roamed—I'd lost the privilege to be her rock star. But fuck if it didn’t sound amazing falling
off her lips.

  "What do you wanna hear?" I muttered.

  She drew up her knees and leaned back, eyes closing. "Just tinker. That was my favorite."

  Interesting. I thought "Tiny Dancer" had been her favorite. Tinkering, I could do. It was mindless strumming, following melodies that came out of nowhere.

  "Why was it your favorite?" I watched her as I played.

  The song took a turn for the serene. She kept her eyes closed and wet her bottom lip, a sight that sent a slow, rolling wave of heat to my cock.

  "It's a glimpse inside your head." She lolled her head in my direction along the headrest and opened her eyes. "You're strumming your thoughts."

  Should've known she still got it. She understood my music and what it represented.

  "No lyrics," I pointed out.

  "Unnecessary." She smiled lazily.

  Yeah, fuck me if it wasn’t. I flicked my gaze to her lips, then diverted it to the strings. I hummed quietly, the song building alongside the growing hunger for what I coveted. Could she really decipher all of it? Could she fucking explain it to me? Because I was at a loss. I knew what I wanted to get my hands on, I knew I was ready to fuck her six ways to Sunday, I knew…I knew the lust and the urges. What I didn’t know was how utterly screwed I was—how far it went. How far the drop to the ground would be.

  Ade shivered and exhaled through a tremor.

  I didn’t think it was the cold.

  Chapter 27

  Adeline Ivey

  Waking up in the morning with a smile on my face was weird. The house was quiet, so I threw the covers over my face and grinned into my pillow. Gah, what's he doing to me? That damn Lincoln. I'd have to be careful. Only a week had passed since I'd ended up crying all over him, which had so not been the plan. I felt ridiculous about it even now. My selfish plan had been to bitch and moan a little about work, not necessarily divulging too much information on the whole Dr. Creep thing. Instead, I'd fallen apart like a moron, and then…he played for me. He'd charged the air with his tinkering on that black guitar.

  I sighed and lifted my head to check the alarm clock.

  8:04

  Only a week had passed…

  And I was already changing.

  Lincoln and I didn’t spend a whole lot of time together; we didn’t see each other every day or anything, but when we did meet up, everything he said made an impact. It was his language. His blunt, crass way. I responded to it, and when he called me "fucking ridiculous" for being insecure about my parenting, there was no room for wallowing. Rather than dwelling and asking for reassurance, I snapped out of it—to an extent. Insecurities didn’t fade overnight, though there was an improvement.

  He wouldn’t say anything—ever—merely to appease me, and there was comfort in that. When he pinned me with his facts, I listened and took them to heart.

  Dragging my butt out of bed, I put on a pair of pajama bottoms, an old tee, and my wool socks before padding downstairs to start breakfast. Lincoln and his dad were coming over at nine because Keith was going home today. Abel, in particular, was struggling with that. They'd grown close.

  We still had food from Christmas, so I started making breakfast sandwiches with leftovers.

  One day, I wanted our holidays to be less low-key. Being surrounded by people made me wish for things, like big family get-togethers and celebrations. Not that Christmas hadn't been nice; it had. We'd eaten dinner with Lincoln and Keith, then dessert in the living room while Abel and Jesse opened presents from the Hayes men. As a joke, I'd given Lincoln a thermos.

  For cold evenings on the deck where I listened to him play. I wanted more of them, regardless if the house was empty or not.

  The day after, once I'd celebrated Christmas Day morning with the boys and Madigan, Lincoln stopped by with a gift for me, too. I could admit I'd cussed him out a bit. My present to him had been a joke, but he insisted.

  He surprised me with a vintage Creedence T-shirt.

  Was our past on his mind, too?

  It was a slippery slope, this newfound friendship. The foundation on which we built it wouldn’t be stable until we broached the topics we were avoiding.

  "Morning."

  I glanced over my shoulder and smiled at Madigan. "Good morning."

  He rolled his shoulders, his neck sore, and poured a cup of coffee.

  "Are you ready to take my room yet?" I asked. Possibly my most common question to him. He'd slept on the couch for months and months now. I was at least a head shorter and would be more comfortable there.

  "No, but I think it's time to buy a pullout," he muttered sleepily. "Or maybe I can take Lincoln's bedroom when he starts spending the night here."

  What the crap? "Why would he do that?" I washed my hands after finishing the sandwiches.

  "Oh, come on." He rolled his eyes. "The man checks out your ass every chance he gets, and he hasn’t gotten laid in a decade. Cut him some slack."

  I made a noise, information overload, and there were so many things wrong with what he said. I didn’t know where to begin. Lincoln and I were…tentative friends. Nothing more. And I was getting the feeling he hadn't been completely celibate in prison. The way he spoke of a guy he called Kid left some questions.

  "My ass is decent to look at," I defended, heat rising. "It's probably because I'm a woman that he checks it out." What the fuck was I saying? I didn’t even know if what Madigan said was true. I hadn't noticed Lincoln watching me in that way.

  "Are you blushing, Ivey?" Madigan narrowed his eyes.

  "Shut up!" I scowled and stalked out of the kitchen to get dressed before Lincoln and Keith came over.

  I picked the tightest pair of jeans I could find, for no reason at all. And my new T-shirt.

  Goddamn, how small did he think I was? I flushed as I crammed into the T-shirt, and maybe it wasn’t too tight, though I'd have to be careful not to show any skin around my hip.

  *

  I got a cocked brow and a knowing smirk from Madigan when I returned downstairs. If Lincoln liked what he saw, he hid it behind a fleeting look and a frown before turning away.

  I felt like an idiot. What was I trying to accomplish?

  Oh, you fucking know.

  I tensed up and quickly found a distraction. "Where's Jesse?"

  "Asleep, I guess," Madigan answered. "Sit down."

  "I should wake him up. Keith is leaving—"

  "Or you can have a seat, hon," Keith told me. "Let the boy enjoy his break."

  I hmph'd and sat down at the head of the table. I was classy. Elbow on the table, legs pulled up so I could sit cross-legged. Abel and his sleep-tousled hair sat next to Keith, and across from them, Madigan and Lincoln were inhaling their sandwiches.

  "Keith is gonna visit for my birthday." Abel reached for his glass of milk and looked to Keith. "Right?"

  Keith nodded. "I wouldn’t miss it, champ. If it's okay with your mom, we'll go to a game, too."

  I smiled, loving how close they'd gotten. "I don't mind at all."

  "I reckon you're his new favorite," Lincoln told Abel.

  "Oh." Abel flicked a curious smile between Keith and Lincoln. "Is that all right?"

  I laughed softly.

  Keith grinned and ruffled Abel's hair. "He'll live."

  Lincoln winked at Abel and then tucked back into his food.

  Christ, that man's all sin. At the unbidden thought, I abruptly looked away and grabbed a bacon and egg sandwich. What the hell was I thinking? There was a line somewhere, and I shouldn’t cross it. Why…? Because…because like he'd told me himself, there was too much bad history. Connecting through his seductive guitar strumming didn’t mean anything other than I found it seductive. Maybe lyrics would've been helpful, after all.

  My heart constricted, and for a handful of seconds, spiraling thoughts ran amok in my head. You still love him. You always did. Was there a chance? What would happen if I went there? Would he laugh, scoff, look at me as if I were insane? You can envision everything with him. I
was nothing but a silly fucking girl with hopes and wishes that belonged in a fairy tale.

  "Oh my God—" I bemoaned, only to freeze. I said that out loud. Great, four sets of eyes were now watching me. Abort, abort! "The food," I coughed. "Didn’t it taste awful?"

  "Awfully delicious," Lincoln replied with a frown. "You all right? You look flushed."

  Madigan let out a guffaw.

  I wanted to scream.

  *

  "You sure you don't want me to go with you to the airport?" Lincoln asked, stepping out on the porch.

  Keith waved him off. "Then you gotta take a cab all the way back. Nah." He gave his son another hug. "I'll see you in a couple months. Don't do anything stupid."

  "I won't," Lincoln chuckled.

  Jesse had woken up shortly after breakfast, and we'd said our goodbyes to Keith already. As he was getting ready to leave, so were Madigan and Jesse. Work for one, friends for the other. I told them dinner was at seven, and then they left. I stayed in the doorway, Abel plastering himself to my side.

  "Can we visit him sometime, Mom?" he asked quietly.

  I glanced away from Lincoln and Keith, unsure of how to answer. In the past month, we'd heard a lot of fishing stories from Keith, and Abel wanted to try.

  "Maybe…" I was hesitant to make any promises. Even if I could scrape together enough money for the trip, I would have to take vacation days, which sure wouldn’t be paid.

  Why couldn’t he live closer? To be honest, I didn’t know much about their hometown. It was called…Camassia Cove or something, and it was in Washington. Keith had spoken fondly of thick forests, mountains, lakes, and rocky shores.

  "I'll do my best." I kissed the side of his head and smoothed down his hair. "You get taller and taller, sweetie."

  "Yeah, it's biology," he snickered.

  I pinched his neck playfully, then refocused on Keith and Lincoln.

  It wasn’t long before the elder Hayes was getting in his rental to return to Washington.

  Abel waved until Keith's car was gone, and then he was a little mopey and announced he was gonna go up to his room and play his new Harry Potter game. That left Lincoln and me.

  "Coffee?" I asked.