Shame the Devil (Portland Devils Book 3)

by Rosalind James

  It took about one minute, during which Harlan tried to think what to say and couldn’t. Jennifer came back with a tissue clamped in her fist and an effort at a smile on her face that hurt him worse than the tears. She didn’t look at him, just sat down on the couch again and said, “So I guess I proved the point, Grandpa, that I’d say no. And Dyma, I think I should say that I was worried about you going to college. About how I’d pay for my part of it, and this helps us do it. You and Annabelle can keep each other company, too.”

  “All right, first, Mom,” Dyma said, “you’re not doing some big noble-sacrifice thing for me. I told you, if I have to defer my school for a year, I’ll do it. Or I’ll apply for more loans. I’m not going to get off track. You need to do what you want to do. I can’t believe that’s having another baby, but whatever. If that’s the deal, I’ll help you. You don’t have to ask Harlan.”

  It was all delivered with a scowl, but Jennifer seemed to think it was a declaration of love, because she got up and hugged Dyma and said, “Thank you, sweetie. I’m not just taking Harlan up on his offer for you, though. I’m doing it for me. I need to change my life.”

  “Well,” Blake said, “that’s one way, I guess.”

  “Also,” Jennifer said, “who has their boss sitting here for their life-implosion? Could this be a little more awkward, please?”

  “Probably not,” Dakota said, “but it’s OK. Blake’s used to screwing up his life.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “You’re welcome,” she answered. “I’m used to it myself, if it helps.”

  Dyma said, “There’s a problem with this plan, though.”

  “Only one?” Jennifer asked. Still going for the cheerful thing, despite the earlier tears. He had a feeling Jennifer thought she wasn’t strong. He wondered how on earth she could think that.

  “That my school year isn’t over,” Dyma said. “If this plan is meant to start soon. Except …” She got a faraway look. “My AP tests are over in about ten days. That’s four classes. You don’t do much in those classes after the exam’s over, and there’d only be another month of school.”

  “If you’re asking whether you can share Annabelle’s tutor, the answer’s yes,” Harlan said.

  Annabelle said, “That would be so awesome. I mean, I’m glad to be gone from home, but …” She gulped. “Sometimes, it’s a little lonely, you know? Especially with not going to school, and … everything.”

  “And,” Dyma said breezily, “if your house is big, you can probably have guests, right, Harlan?”

  He said, “If you’re asking if Owen can come to visit, the answer’s no. He’s got his own place in Portland. He can stay there. He’s always telling me it’s better anyway.”

  Jennifer said, “Thank you,” like she’d been holding her breath.

  Dyma said, “I don’t know why you guys are always making such a big deal of this. Who’s pregnant, exactly? Oh, wait, that’s you. Anyway, Owen won’t. He keeps saying he doesn’t sleep with high-school girls.”

  Dakota said, “Wait. Which Owen are we talking about?”

  “Owen Johnson,” Blake said.

  “The center?”

  “What, I didn’t tell you?” Blake said.

  “Well, no,” she said. “You didn’t. That’s quite the detail to omit.”

  “Never mind,” he said. “You can take it out of my hide later.”

  Jennifer said, “Wait. Grandpa.”

  Oscar said, “What about me?”

  Jennifer looked at Harlan, and he sighed and said, “Of course your grandpa’s welcome to come, too. Dyma can stay in the big house. The guest quarters have two bedrooms, like I said.”

  “What, I’m going to go live with this guy?” Oscar said. “No, thanks.”

  “But you’ll be alone,” Jennifer said.

  “How do you know?” Oscar said. “Maybe I’ll finally get Elaine Marks over at my place, sampling my meatloaf, if there aren’t so many people around all the time.”

  “Ugh,” Dyma said. “Grandpa.”

  “What?” he said. “I meant meatloaf.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Dyma said. “That’s just gross.”

  “Are you sure?” Jennifer asked him. “I know we’ve talked about it, but won’t that feel awfully lonely, if we’re both gone?”

  He snorted. “Of course I’m sure. I’ve lived in Wild Horse my whole life. My favorite coffee shop’s here. My best fishing spots are here. My friends are here, too, at least the ones who aren’t dead yet.”

  “You sound like Russell,” Dakota said.

  “Russell’s all right,” Oscar said. “Course, he’s a Mariners fan, but you can’t hold a guy’s bad judgment against him. See, I could watch some sports with Russell, if there weren’t all these women talking all the time.”

  “Careful,” Dyma said. “You just lost Elaine Marks and the meatloaf-sampling.”

  Oscar said, “This doesn’t matter anyway.” He looked at Harlan from under his eyebrows. “So what you’re telling me is, you’re going to take care of Jennifer and Dyma.”

  “Yes, sir,” Harlan said. “I sure am.”

  “He doesn’t have to—” Jennifer started to say.

  “Yeah,” Harlan said. “I do. That’s my part of it, don’t you get it?”

  Jennifer said, “We’re friends. That’s it.”

  “I heard you the first time,” he said. It was hard to feel warm and loving when a woman was giving you that squinty-eyed look, not to mention when your proposal had caused her to burst into tears, and not in a good way.

  “Good,” Jennifer said. “Then I guess … we’re doing that.” She blew out a long breath. “Moving to Portland.”

  “Good,” Harlan said. “And can I just say … I’ve never negotiated so hard in my life. I feel like I needed my agent.” He was smiling. Why? He hadn’t gotten what he wanted. Nowhere close. He’d just promised to be friends. Who the hell wanted to be friends? Not to mention her big, strong new boyfriend.

  Yeah, that wasn’t happening. No way. She didn’t think he was good enough? He was going to be good enough.

  “You don’t need to look like that,” Jennifer said. “Like you won. You didn’t win.”

  “Oh,” he said, “I think I did. You know what? I think so.”

  43

  The Bigger Man

  Jennifer was sitting in a chair on her driveway in the mid-May sunshine, trying to hold firm in her mind to her rock-bottom price of eighty dollars for her actually pretty nice couch, when a black pickup pulled up. A familiar black pickup.

  Mark Mathison got out of it, looking fit and handsome and long-legged. Also annoyed.

  He came over to her table, hitched up his belt like he’d forgotten he wasn’t in uniform, did the manspreading thing, and said, “What, you’re moving?”

  Jennifer said, “Excuse me, please. I’m in the middle of something. What price could you pay?”

  Mark snorted like that was the worst bargaining he’d ever heard, which it probably was. The young brunette, with her hair in a ponytail, a toddler by the hand, and a baby in a stroller who was chewing on the ear of a stuffed dog, checked her wallet and said, “I could do sixty, I think. I just found a job, finally, and we were able to get a place of our own again, is why I want the couch. It’s so nice, not messed up and stained like all the other ones I’ve seen, but I just …” She blew out a breath. “Can you hang on while I call my husband?”

  Jennifer said, “You can have it for sixty, if you can haul it away today. I don’t have a truck.”

  “Really?” The woman’s entire face lit up. “Thank you. That’s so … that’s great.” She handed over the bills. “Could you hang on to it for me? Just for the rest of the day? My husband’s at work until four, but I’ll have him come over the second he’s done. And if you need any help moving stuff back into the house or anything, he could give you a hand.”

  “Sure,” Jennifer said. “I’ll hold on to it until then. And hey. If you want some curtains,
too—go on and take them.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Hey, I’ve been there. And congratulations on the new place. That’s such a great feeling, isn’t it?”

  The other woman, who couldn’t be more than twenty-five, blinked back tears and said, her voice choked, “Thanks. It’s just … everything costs so much, you know?”

  “Hey.” Jennifer stood up, reached across the table, and gave her a hug. “I know.”

  The woman gulped the tears back, fished in her diaper bag for a tissue, and said, “Thanks. I mean it,” before she moved off to check out the curtains.

  Jennifer wrote SOLD on a sticky note with a Sharpie, stuck some tape onto it, and told Mark, “Since you’re here, go stick that on the couch, would you?”

  He took it, but he didn’t go. He said, “You’re a terrible negotiator. She was probably lying anyway. You’re way too soft.” With a smile, like she was an idiot, but she was cute. She was familiar with that attitude.

  “That why you came over here?” she asked. “To tell me that? You could’ve saved yourself a trip. I already knew it. And my compassion isn’t for sale for twenty bucks. It’s not for sale at all.”

  “Hey,” he said. “Don’t be like that. I’ve been thinking about you a lot, that’s all, and I had the day off and thought—why not swing by? You’re looking great, by the way.”

  Since she was wearing cotton drawstring shorts, a red V-necked T-shirt, and no makeup, and also had her hair pinned on top of her head in an “oh-my-gosh-it-is-unseasonably-warm-and-I-am-moving-furniture” kind of way, she had a feeling she knew what he was referring to. “You mean my boobs are looking great. And I’m guessing you haven’t found anybody else who’s willing to have sex with you whenever you want it and cook your dinner half the time.”

  He said, “That’s harsh. Maybe I haven’t found somebody as sweet as you, how about that? And can I help it if I notice my favorite parts first?”

  “I still look fat in clothes, though,” she said. “And I’ve decided I’m not that sweet,” then broke off to sell her dining-room table and chairs. Ninety-five bucks. Could have been worse.

  “Aw, babe,” he said, when she was done. “Don’t be like that. I was mad, that’s all. You attacked me out of the blue, after four years together, and then you dumped me. What do you expect?”

  In answer, she stood up, took the Post-It out of his hand, said, “Watch my cash box,” and went over to stick the sign on the couch.

  When she came back, he was staring at her. Squinty-eyed. He said, “Wait. Wait. You’re selling all your stuff, and you’re … no, you’re not. You would’ve told me.”

  “Yep,” she said. “I’m pregnant. Four months.”

  He went pale under his tan. She hadn’t realized that was actually a thing, but she knew it now. She waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. He just stood there, counting backward in his head like he was watching his life collapse around him.

  She could’ve told him. Sure she could’ve. To be honest, though, she was enjoying this.

  “Hang on,” she said, and negotiated the sale of her dresser to a middle-aged lady, then walked over to straighten a table of lamps.

  She knew he was behind her when she heard him saying, “If you’re thinking I’m helping with this without a fight, you’re dreaming. Why would you have it, anyway? You had to know I wouldn’t want it.”

  She froze. If she turned around without some words formed, she was going to slap him. Her hands gripped the edge of the table, and she thought, Don’t hit. Don’t hit.

  It wasn’t working. Her hand had already come up, and she was turning when she heard the other voice.

  “You know,” Harlan said, “I’ve heard some lousy things in my life, but that ranks right up there.”

  Why was he here? He and Annabelle, because she was right behind him. What?

  Mark said, “Hey, buddy, get lost. This is a private conversation.”

  Harlan said, “You know? Not so much.” Mark had turned to face him, and they both looked ready to go, like a pair of bull elk in rutting season. Which was stupid, because the rut had already happened, and the better bull had won.

  Annabelle said, “What? Harlan …”

  Mark said, “Oh. You’re Kristiansen.” Thrown off-balance, then recovering to say, “You know what? I don’t care who you are. It’s still none of your fucking business. When your girlfriend gets knocked up after she told you she was on the Pill and traps you, I’ll come tell you what to say to her, how about that?”

  His voice had risen, and Harlan took a step closer and said, “Shut up and back off. Now.”

  All right. This was ridiculous. Half of Jennifer wanted to laugh, and the other half wanted to see if Harlan would actually fight for her. Well, not quite half, because from somewhere, her better nature had her stepping between them.

  Unfortunately, at the same instant, Mark’s arm shot out to shove Harlan, which meant he shoved her instead. Hard. In the breast. In the nipple.

  Pain like a lance. She cried out, doubled over, and clutched at herself, Mark jumped back, and Harlan grabbed him.

  Harlan had the guy’s arm twisted behind his back, and now, he kicked him in the back of the knee to get him down. The guy staggered, but kept his footing, and Harlan twisted his arm harder and wanted to break it. The red mist was rising, and he was …

  Jennifer was there again, forcing her way between them, shouting, “Harlan! Don’t!”

  He let go fast, stepped back, and grabbed her to shove her behind him, and the other guy staggered again and turned. Three women and a couple of teenagers had appeared on the driveway somewhere in there, too. The women were exclaiming, and one of the teenagers had her phone out.

  Jennifer wasn’t getting out of the way. She said, “Mark! Stop it! You’re not the father!” She shouted it, actually. And now, she was shoving the guy—Mark—the ex—back.

  Somebody said, “It’s just like Maury,” and both teenagers had their phones out now.

  Mark said, “What the hell?”

  Harlan said, “That’s right, asshole. I’m the father.”

  Mark said, “You were screwing somebody else? This guy? So all that talk about me not wanting to marry you was just, what?” His eyes widened. “Oh. I get it. I get it. You get knocked up, and you think you’ll get me to marry you. Not this time, sister. No way. Just because you can’t keep your legs closed, that doesn’t mean I’m—”

  Harlan was going for him, but Jennifer was already there, advancing on Mark like an avenging fury, shoving him in the chest with a hard palm, driving him back until he tripped over an end table and nearly fell. He came up spluttering, and she said, “Get out. You’ve got nothing to do with this. You’ve got nothing to do with me, because I dumped you and found a better man. You know why I’m moving? Because I’m going to live with him, that’s why! Because he asked me to. Me and Dyma. Because when he found out I was pregnant, he stepped up. He didn’t come ask me why I didn’t get an abortion and make his life easier! And I said yes. Know why? Do you?”

  “Gee,” Mark said, “maybe because he’s worth about a hundred million bucks?” He looked at Harlan. “You’re taking the kid, too? Yeah, good luck with that. She’s a pain in the ass.”

  “No,” Jennifer said. She was all but spitting now. “Because he’s ten times the man you are. He’s kinder. He’s stronger. He’s smarter. He’s … he’s funnier. And he’s so much better in bed, it was like waking up from a bad dream. Or just a boring dream. It was like … like going from eating bologna sandwiches out of a baggie to filet mignon on a china plate. And since I’m never going to want that rubbery, crappy bologna again in my life, you can Just. Get. Out.” Each of those last words was accompanied by another shove at his chest.

  “Yeah?” Mark said. “What, he’s willing to wait an hour for you to come?”

  The teenagers made some “Oh, my god” noises and kept filming, and Harlan stood back and crossed his arms. She was on a roll, no question ab
out it.

  “No,” Jennifer said, all but bouncing on her toes. “He’s willing to work an hour, if that’s what it takes. But guess what? It hardly takes any time at all, because he’s not rushing to get there, which means by the time he does, I actually want it. Oh, and he’s actually good at it, too. He can do things with his tongue that you can only dream about. He’s got positions. He can—”

  That was when Harlan took a couple steps forward, got his arm around her waist, and said, “OK, baby, I think you told him. Don’t let everybody in on all my secret techniques, now.”

  She stared at him like she’d just come out of the fog. He recognized the feeling. “I have more to say,” she informed him.

  He laughed. “Yeah. I bet you do. But you know … they’re recording.”

  “Oh.” She blinked at the two girls with the phones. “I don’t care. You don’t have to settle, girls,” she called out. “You can do better. You get to have an orgasm every time, too. If he’s not doing it, find somebody who will.”

  “All righty, then,” Harlan said. “Step away from the microphone.”

  Annabelle was laughing. Harlan had barely heard her laugh since she’d moved in, other than during his unfortunate swimsuit encounter, but she was sure as hell laughing now. Dyma was coming up the driveway, too, saying, “Mom? What’s going on? Oh, hi, Annabelle. And Harlan.”

  “Harlan and your mom are kicking your mom’s old boyfriend to the curb,” Annabelle said. “It was epic. You missed it.”

  “We’re posting it, Dyma,” one of the girls called out. “So you can see it. It was great.”

  Mark pulled his shirt down around himself and said, “Good riddance. I can do better, too.”

  “Yeah,” Harlan said. “That’s why you came over to beg her to take you back. There’s no ‘better,’ man. She’s as good as it gets, and you let her go. Your loss.”

  Mark looked like he still wanted to say something, but he glanced at the cameras, told Jennifer, “You’ll be back, but don’t come crawling to me,” and left, getting up into the kind of truck that made you wonder what he was compensating for and gunning it down the street.