Gannon (Kennedy Ink. Book 8)
Page 6
“I’m telling you that I can’t do it, Gannon. I can’t," she’d said. I’m worried about how they’re helping her cope in there because it doesn’t seem like she is making any progress when it comes to how to deal with longterm sobriety.
Sure, she’d stay sober while she was in treatment, but her first couple of nights out, she was right back where she started. That’s what she needs help with and I’d explained that to her therapist and her physician both.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this. You cannot be this naïve, dad!” I hear Shade yell. Today is a day for family drama it would seem. I rap my knuckles against the door a couple of times to announce my presence before walking in. I’ve been in this house more than my own house over the years growing up, so I don’t bother with formality anymore.
“I’d do the same thing for you, Shade. You’re both my boys," Mr. Mayson tries to explain before being interrupted by my pissed off friend. I quicken my steps to hurry into what sounds like the living room so I can hopefully deescalate my best friends temper.
“You wouldn't ever have to worry about it because I’ve never killed anyone!” Shade yells just as I round the corner and stop dead in my tracks at the scene. Shade is pacing the length of the room while Mr. Mayson is sitting on the edge of the coffee table, defensive posture, and furrowed brows. Behind him is an older than I remember and bored looking, Brock Mayson, who’s lounging as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. Holy shit. Brock is out of prison.
“I’ve done my time for that, little brother. I’m atoned," Brock smirks, no doubt to piss off his already pissed off brother. Shade scoffs in outrage and I can see his fists clenched at his sides.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Brock comments, bringing everyone's attention to me. “I see nothing’s changed since I’ve been gone, huh little brother?”
“What’s going on?” I ask, ignoring Brock and rudely, Mr. Mayson. I only have eyes for Shade.
“It would seem that Brock got out last night on the promise of daily check-ins and an ankle monitor for the next three months. Guess where he’s staying?” Shade spits, glowering looks between his dad and brother.
“Shade, if you would just listen-“
“You don’t have to explain shit to him, dad. Fuck him and his attitude," Brock says.
“Watch your mouth in my mothers home,” Shade warns quietly, his body coiled so tight I could see him ready to snap from here. I have to do something, quick.
“Shade,” I call, and his head snaps in my direction. I can see the thunder behind his eyes, he’s pissed. “Come outside with me for a minute. Catch your breath. You can tell me what’s goin’ on.”
“I’ll say again, Gannon, nothing going on here needs to be run by you. This is a family matter," Brock unwisely states.
“He’s been a bigger part of this family than you have been the last decade and a half, Brock. Hell, longer than that, really, and you know it. Just sit there and shut up! It doesn’t matter what I say, you’re here. You aren’t going anywhere, you can’t. So, I’ll just keep my distance until you fuck up again, and we all know that you will; and when you go back in, I’ll be here with Gannon to pick up the pieces," Shade tosses something into the recliner and walks past me, storming out of the house and slamming the door.
“Overdramatic ass,” Brock murmurs and Mr. Mayson looks conflicted about whether or not to go after Shade.
“I’ll talk to him,” I say to Mr. Mayson, making Brock chuckle and piss me off. “You’ve seemed to have found yourself a second chance, man. Don’t mess it up by shitting on the people you need at your back, because make no mistake, the way you live your life from one mistake to another, you will absolutely need him at your back. And there is no better person to have there," I declare. “It was good seein’ you, Mr. M. I’ll text you later."
Shade is leaning against my truck when I meet him outside. He looks a little guilty, but still pissed off.
“I can’t believe they released him without a hearing,” he sighs, “Shannon Franklin’s mom wrote a letter to the parole board talking about forgiveness and healing and shit. Three months of house arrest and three years parole. They decided all this with only the judge, Brock’s counselor and an assigned parole officer. How is that even legit?”
“Sorry you had to walk into that alone, I was talking to mom and then her therapist. You know Brock, though, there’s no way he’s gonna’ stay straight long enough to get off parole," I say and honestly believe it. Brock’s always been a dick and he’ll likely always be one, but if fourteen years in prison wasn’t the rock bottom he needed to change, I don’t feel like anything will be.
“Yeah, but at what cost? He’ll fuck dad up in the process; the house, his credit, his reputation, Brock doesn’t care about any of that.” Shade argues. He’s probably right, but his dad’s a grown man, one that’s fully capable of stopping any of that. He just has to be the adult here.
“We’ll try not to let that happen, Shade, but you know your dad has to man up. He can’t let Brock walk all over him. Maybe you can remind him of that when you’re not so heated, yeah?” I nudge him with my elbow and he looks up at me. All the heat is gone and now he just looks worried.
“He hasn’t changed a bit, Gannon, he might even be worse than before. Dad doesn’t deserve any of the shit that Brock is going to put him through.”
“Then he’ll man up. Let your dad worry about your dad, kay? You can check-in, you can help out, but he’s a grown man. He’ll be okay," I tell him, believing it a hundred percent. Mr. Mayson may be older now, but he didn’t often take shit lying down and he could handle himself. I tell Shade as much and he scoffs in agreement. Mr. Mayson had seemed larger than life when we were growing up. He could scare us to our core with only a look. That dad look. I’d never seen it before the Mayson’s kind of took me under their wing. Mr. M. treated me just like he did his own boys, lectured and grounded me as he did them, too. I appreciate it now, him taking on that role, but as a kid, he was the businessman; the bad guy, the rule enforcer. He was the bad cop to Mrs. Mayson’s good cop. He was a dad.
“You wanna grab a pizza and come back to the cabin? I might let you win Call of Duty…” I tempt, watching him smile.
“You only say you let me win because I actually win and you don’t wanna admit that you suck," he taunts, rolling his eyes at me.
“You know I suck, Camden Russell told you I do. Like a champ, was his wording, wasn’t it?” I tease, achieving what I am after when Shade coughs a surprised laugh and shoves me, making me stumble. His laughter is always contagious.
“You’re an asshole,” he tells me, good-naturedly.
“Yeah, sometimes, but, I’ll buy the pizza, so only asshole-ish, this time, right?” I shove him back playfully and he wordlessly agrees, then walks to his own truck and climbs in. Rolling down his window, he reverses until he’s at my side, his mischievous, gorgeous smile on full display.
“I’ll stop and get beer, so, order the meaty kind I like, not the one loaded in veggies. Camden Russell also told me you like all the meat in your mouth, it’s something we have in common," he winks and pulls off, laughing like a teenager that just told his first boner joke. Is it sad that he left me standing in his dad's driveway with half a chub imagining that?
“Gannon,” speak of the devil. Mr. Mayson jogs down the tiny walkway and stops at my open door that’s thankfully hiding my lower half. “He okay?” he asks, nodding toward the direction he just watched his son leave.
“He’s worried about you," I shrug, answering in truth.
“I didn’t do this behind his back. I had no idea that they’d let him out after midnight last night. Apparently, it takes several hours to process and all that, but I had no idea until he called needing a ride and someplace to stay that his PO could monitor him. I couldn’t tell him no, Gannon. He’s my son," Mr. Mayson explains, looking miserable. It might not have been my place to play both sides, but I understand where he is coming from. I truly do.
“Thank you, kid,” he whispers, giving my back a couple of slaps before letting me go. “Tell him to call me later?” I nod in acknowledgment and wave as I back out of the drive. I have pizza, beer and video games to get to.
----------------------------------------------------
Sitting in the parking lot of Marlo’s, waiting on our pizza to get done, I’m checking my texts after telling Shade that I’ll be home in about a half-hour and to go ahead and get the game set up. When my phone rings an unavailable number in my hand, I almost don’t answer it, but knowing that it could be my mother again, I reluctantly do. The obviously distorted voice makes my heart stop cold in my chest and I panic.
“If you want to see your friend alive, you’ll follow these three simple rules. Tell me you understand," My voice is choked and strained when I answer, but I confirm that I understand. This has to be a joke, this is Madison; this kind of shit does not happen here, it only happens in the movies. But, Brock... he was in prison, with other people who did things to end up in prison. It can’t be a coincidence, can it?
“Rule one: from this moment, you’ll alert no one. If I think that you have, your friend is dead. Say that you understand.”
“I understand," my heart and mind are racing, but I put the phone on speaker and shoot a text to Shade to see if he answers. I don’t know what kind of person would prank someone like this, but maybe it is, or maybe it’s a wrong number. Is it terrible to hope that they have someone else, instead of Shade?
“Rule two: I’m going to text you an address along with a picture of your friend, to assure you that he’s still alive. You’ll be in here thirty minutes and you’ll come alone. Tell me you understand.”
“I understand,” I answer immediately, wondering how I could get ahold of Wade or Cruz without risking them finding out. Were they watching me? Did they have weapons? I can fight if I have to, I’m trained in boxing and some mixed martial arts, though nowhere near Shade’s skill level and they got to him. Did they get him from my house? Where is he? I should be asking questions.
“Rule three, are you ready?” the voice asks and once again I don’t hesitate to answer.
“Yes.”
“Rule three,” the phone clicks and at once the distortion is gone. “Rule three is, you bring that meaty pizza to my house because we’ve ganked your bestie and he’s over here playing backyard darts with my husband.”
Kingsley fucking Kennedy.
It takes all of three seconds of my silence before several people begin cracking up over the line. I close my eyes and heave a breath, my heart actually spasming in my chest, I can feel it. I hate them, all of them, I’ve never been so scared in all my life. My shaking hands end the call and I sit here and try to remember how to breathe. What a fucked-up thing to do to somebody. Fucking Kingsley. They better have something stronger than beer, I am going to need it after that.
Finally, after taking a second to pull myself together, I call into the store and order four more pizzas, one especially for Kingsley, and I make one of them a veggie for me. I know it’ll take at least another half hour, so I run over to the liquor store a couple blocks down and grab a fifth of anything that I know will get me drunk. When I’m walking out, I get a selfie from Kingsley that shows him and Shade, thumbs upping the camera with giant smiles on their gorgeous faces. The caption reads - Proof of life.
After sending back a middle finger emoji, I wait for the pizzas to finish and then make my way to Kingsley and Morgan’s house. It’s a gorgeous little cottage that sits off the beaten path. It took me forever to find it the first time I’d been out this way, but the seclusion is well worth the hassle. It’s surrounded by forestry with a beautiful lake in back. I’m jealous as hell of this place.
Pulling up to Kingsley’s some forty-five minutes later, I can hear the music and loud voices carrying from their back yard. I grab the pizzas and plastic jug of rocket fuel that I hope Kingsley has something to chase with and walk around the house to the back gate.
“Madison Police! Open up!” I yell over the music and everyone’s startled eyes shoot to me. I laugh as they all yell their obscenities and Kingsley runs over to the fence to unlatch it and let me in.
“On a scale of one to ten, how mad at me are you?” he’s smiling so big I want to knock his pearly white teeth out.
“Thirty-seven," I push past him and ignore his guttural laughter. Dick.
Stacking the pizzas at the end of the picnic table where Joker, Jase, Finn, Jay, Murphy, Conner, and Cam are all playing a card game that looks like it has very little rules and a lot of slapping cards down and yelling. They all throw them down when they spot the pizza.
“This top one here is made special for King,” I tell them, pulling it off the top and setting it to the side.
“For me?” Kingsley walks up beside me and I see Shade coming out of the house with two beers in one hand and a stack of paper plates in the other. The way he’s smiling melts my grudge and I smile back, thankful he’s no longer upset from earlier.
When Kingsley opens the box and sees the pepperoni spelled out in obvious letters, both F and U, he throws his head back and thunders a deep bellied laugh that gains everyone's attention and amusement. I didn’t have to pay extra for that because thankfully, Marlo’s had a couple of high school kids doing the assembly tonight and they were all too happy to make a special order like that.
“What you do to piss him off?” Shade asks, handing me a beer and shoulder bumping me as he stands close. He obviously wasn’t apart of Kingsley’s dirty ass trick, so I decide that I don’t hate him.
“Oh, I’ve got it on video, don’t you worry," Kingsley winks as I send another middle finger his way, this time my real one.
“This okay?” Shade leans in and asks, “I saw Conner and Murph at the liquor store and they told me everyone was here. They didn’t think to invite us because I’d told Morgan that we were meeting with Dad tonight.”
“Yeah, it’ll be fun. You work tomorrow?” I ask, pulling him into the kitchen with me to grab a solo cup. Slamming the plastic jug of cheap vodka down on the counter, Shade raises a brow and smirks as I look at him.
“No," he answers. I nod, twisting the lid off and pouring half of the cup with the eighty-proof, gut rotting liquor. I probably should’ve eaten something first, but my nerves are still frayed and I want to grab my best friend and hold on, maybe kiss him. I need this drink.
“Good, you’re going to be my DD tonight,” I inform him, splashing enough soda in my cup to give the illusion that I am actually mixing it with something. Luckily someone had picked up several two-liter bottles of soda, or I’d be drinking this shit straight.
“What happened in the hour we were apart?” he asks, with humor lacing his tone. I take a healthy gulp of the fire-water and look at him dead in his eyes. I know it is meant as a joke and maybe tomorrow I’d think it is hilarious too, but tonight, still jarred from the few minutes of sheer panic, it isn’t.
“For the second time in my life, I thought I was going to lose you tonight," I toss back another mouthful and walk away.
Shade
My best friend on a backyard stage singing “Sweet Caroline”, with his arm entwined with Kingsley, is a sight to behold. Everyone has their phones out recording the show, and poor Jase is crying from laughing so hard he can’t breathe. It’s been a fun night, exactly what I needed to get my mind off the shit storm that came with my brother getting out of prison. Though I would’ve been happ
y playing video games and hanging out with Gannon at the cabin, being able to let loose and have fun with our friends is perfect.
When I’d run into Conner and Murphy at the liquor store, they told me they are having a little get together with some of the guys tonight. Morgan had gotten another clean bill of health this week and their babies were spending the night with the Kennedy’s little sister, Kaydence, and a couple of her girlfriends tonight. Kady took her job as auntie very seriously, and her mother Melissa was a type of stand-in grandma since both Kingsley and Morgan’s mother’s had passed. Since Morgan had gone trough treatment several years ago and had surgery to remove a very aggressive tumor from his brain, he and Kingsley celebrated every appointment that ended with “tumor-free”.
I’m glad that Gannon is having a good time. Kingsley had passed the phone around, showing the video Kayson took of Kingsley prank calling him when I’d gotten here. They used a Halloween voice distortion box that made Kingsley sound like the villain in every hero movie I’d ever seen, and he’d told Gannon that he was going to kill me. It was a mean trick, though I don’t see how Gannon didn’t hear the laughing in the background, I could hear how scared he sounded and I hated it. I had no doubt that Gannon would get him back eventually, but still, it bothered him.
“Your boy sounds good up there, huh?” Kayson joins me by the fire pit where I’ve been watching the idiots sway and belt out the most ridiculous version of the Neil Diamond song I’ve ever heard. Kayson’s smirky eyes are shining brightly but he doesn’t seem drunk. I snort a laugh when Kingsley botches the words, having to close one eye to see the screen correctly.
“They’re adorable idiots," I confirm, ignoring the “your boy” part.
“We didn’t mean to scare him like we did. I hope he’s not too mad at us tomorrow.”