We pause at the door. I face him, taking in the pools of green that feel like the safest place in the world at the moment.
“In case I forget to tell you,” I say, the words wobbling. “Thank you for bringing me here and coming in with me.”
His shoulders drop the slightest bit. “You’re welcome.”
I nod, gathering my courage. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“After you.”
He swings the doors open, and a blast of chilled air billows out of the building.
I shiver from the temperature and the surge of uneasiness as I approach the deep blue counter. A woman on the other side looks up.
The room smells of disinfectant and stale air. The lights give everything a strange white glow. It’s a place I hope to never have to come to again.
“Hi,” I say, feeling Boone’s presence behind me. “I’m Jacqueline Thorpe, and I’m here to see Sergeant Boudreaux.”
“Just a moment.” She picks up a phone and turns away from me.
Boone rests his hands just below my shoulders. The contact surprises me in its abruptness but also in its warmth. He runs his palms up and down my arms, easily encapsulating my biceps in his hands. It takes everything I have not to lean back against him in response.
“Miss Thorpe?”
A loud, thickly Southern voice comes from a doorway to my right. I jump and turn.
“Yes,” I say, stepping toward him. “I’m Jaxi Thorpe.”
“Please come into my office.” He looks over my shoulder. “And you are?”
“Boone Mason.” Boone extends a hand as we approach. The sergeant shakes it. “I’m a friend of Miss Thorpe’s.”
Sergeant Boudreaux smiles at Boone. “I know your father. He’s a good man.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“My father, he was in his eighties, used to play poker with your dad and his buddies,” the sergeant says as we enter his office. He shuts the door behind us. “He really looked forward to that every month.”
Boone and I take a seat across the desk from him. I shift my weight back and forth as I will the two of them to shut up so we can get on with it.
“Your dad was Duke then,” Boone says. “He was quite the character.”
Sergeant Boudreaux laughs. “That he was.” He shuffles some papers around on his desk, the levity falling from his face. “I was surprised that you were in town, Miss Thorpe. My notes said you were in Columbus.”
“I’m house-sitting,” I say. “I grew up here and have a cousin here. It’s just by chance.”
He frowns. “Well, it’s well-timed. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”
I run my hands down my thighs. “Okay. What is it?”
“Jeanette Hannigan is your sister. Correct?”
My stomach revolts against the stress. It churns and twists so hard that I lean forward slightly to try to ease the pain.
Boone angles his body toward me.
“Yes. She is my half sister,” I tell him. “We had the same mother but different fathers. Why?”
He folds his hands on his desk. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but your sister has passed away.”
What?
No. It can’t … She can’t be … dead.
I sink back in the faux-leather chair, my clothes squeaking against the fabric as I move. My gaze falls to an uneven grout line on the floor as his words echo in my brain.
My palms are cold now, the sweat having evaporated into the cold room. The pain in my stomach easing, only to have relocated into my chest.
Nettie died?
I blink slowly and try to pry myself out of the downward spiral in my head. I need to pay attention.
Boone’s hand rests on my forearm. I don’t really even feel it.
“What happened to her?” I ask. The words sound like they are coming from someone else.
“From what I understand, she went to the emergency room sometime in the past forty-eight hours and was diagnosed with sepsis. You need to talk to the medical professionals about that if you have questions.”
“Okay.”
My voice is as hollow as I feel. It’s a strange sensation to process.
I have seen my sister twice in the past fifteen years. Once when our grandmother died. I think Mom guilted her into attending the funeral. The other instance was when Mom passed away when I was nineteen, Nettie twenty-seven. We spent two days together for that six years ago. I haven’t seen or heard from her since.
“I always thought she was so cool,” I say, mostly to myself. “I would tell everyone she was my sister. You’d think she was a movie star or something by the way I talked about her. But if she was around, she’d emphasize half sister and then explain that we had different dads and different last names.”
The gazes of Boone and Sergeant Boudreaux are heavy. Still, I keep talking.
“She was so talented,” I tell them. “She would constantly be singing Mariah Carey songs, and she loved to dance. I used to watch her and then go to my room and try to mimic it.” I smile at the memory. “She was a better cook than our mom, even as a teenager. And she has the best hair.”
Boone squeezes my forearm. It causes the dam in my eyes to break and a cascade of tears to drop across my cheeks.
I sniffle. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cry.”
“It’s all right,” Boone says softly.
Sergeant Boudreaux hands me a tissue. “Crying at the loss of a loved one is a normal reaction, Miss Thorpe.”
I nod and dab at my eyes.
It might be normal, but I still hate it.
“There is one other thing that I’d like to talk to you about,” Sergeant says. His Adam’s apple bobs. “Are you aware that your sister has a child?”
“No,” I say, scooting to the edge of my seat. “I had no idea.”
“Well, she does. And your sister, Jeanette, signed a Last Will and Testament at the hospital and named you as her guardian.”
Whaaaaaaaaaaat?
My jaw drops to the floor as I let that bit of information sink in.
I hold my head in my hands. “She named me as the guardian. What does that mean?”
“It means that if you would like custody of the child, a little girl, then that’s what the State would like to do. But if you don’t, then the State will take custody and put her into foster placement.”
“No. I’ll take her.”
I answer quickly—probably too quickly, but there’s no way I can let that happen. This little girl that I’ve never seen before is my flesh and blood.
A flurry of questions and situations and potential problems catapult through my brain, and the influx of energy causes me to feel light-headed. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to stay balanced.
The sergeant says something that I miss altogether. I sense him getting up and walking to the door, but my gaze falls on Boone.
His eyes are wide, but the centers of them are calm. I grab onto them like buoys in a raging ocean.
“Miss Thorpe?”
I look up to see a woman in a black pencil skirt and tan blouse standing in the doorway. She walks toward the desk and sets a pad of paper on it.
“I’m Shera Wan, and I’m sorry for your loss,” she says.
“Thank you.”
“Sergeant Boudreaux told me that you are opting to take custody of the minor. Is that correct?”
All I can do is nod.
How is this happening? How the hell is this happening right now?
Nettie … Oh, Nettie. What happened to you? Why did you not reach out for help?
I blink back tears.
“Are you in a place to financially and emotionally care for the child?” she asks me.
I nod even though I have no idea if that’s actually true.
“Okay.” She scribbles something on the paper. “This is a process we will have to work through together. But because this is probably quite a shock to you, we will make it as painless as we can today.”
“I woul
d appreciate that.” My brain picks one question out of the queue and blurts it into the room. “So do I adopt her or … how does this work?”
She smiles. “You can. Right now, you’ll have guardianship. The State gives us a process to follow to ensure that the child is in the best environment.”
“I understand.”
Lies. I don’t understand at all.
She scribbles something again. “So you can care for the child. I just need to confirm that you have permanent housing and the address of that location, and we’ll be set for the moment.”
Oh. Shit.
Sweat dots my forehead as panic floods my veins.
I don’t have permanent housing.
The closest thing I have to that is in freaking Hawaii with a family that I haven’t even technically met before. And with Ted boning the neighbor, I can’t even stay with Libby until I figure this out.
Will they take a hotel room? Can I afford that long term? No, but I could get one for now and then—
Boone clears his throat. “It’s 7639 East Scott Street.”
My head whips to his. He ignores me.
“Does anyone else live at the home?” Shera asks.
Slowly, Boone twists in the seat until those gorgeous eyes find mine again.
“She lives with me.”
Eleven
Boone
I’ve said a lot of things in my life that I didn’t think through.
I told a girl I loved her after having sex with her on a pier. I told my father to shut up. I also made straight A’s one grading period my freshman year without considering that my mother would expect such greatness on the regular. Immediately following each of those events, I had an oh, shit moment, and the world felt like it was crashing down on me.
That time with my dad? It kind of did.
But the one thing I’ve never done—not even got close to doing by accident—is offering a woman to stay with me. A night? Sure. A weekend? Occasionally. But an open-ended commitment that I verbalize to a third party, for fuck’s sake?
With. A. Child?
Never.
She lives with me.
My words ricochet through my brain. I sit perfectly still and await a rush of alarm to sweep through my body. I search Jaxi’s wide and slightly panicked eyes and hold my breath.
Shera smiles at me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”
“I’m Boone Mason.”
“Great,” Shera says, satisfied. “Let me grab some papers that we’ll need you to sign, and I’ll get the child.” She heads for the door. “She is such a delight. I’d take her home myself if I could.”
Jaxi forces a swallow. “Thank you.”
The door squeals and then clicks shut again. The sound echoes around the room.
Jaxi collapses back into her chair. Her shoulders slump forward as she bites the inside of her lip. I can’t imagine what she must be thinking.
She sucks in a deep breath that shakes when she releases it.
“Are you okay?” I ask her. “That was a lot of information to throw on you.”
“I don’t know where to start in trying to wrap my brain around this.”
Her voice is weary but also resigned. She’s stuck—not just with the kid now but with me, at least for a while. And despite being fully cognizant that this whole thing might just blow up into a freaking nightmare, the alarm bells haven’t sounded in my head. Yet.
I’m fairly certain they’re blasting in hers, though. How could they not be?
“I’m sorry about your sister,” I say. “I can’t imagine what you must be thinking.”
“Thanks. I … I wish that I would’ve known her better. She was just so much older than me.” She gazes into the distance. “We bonded over our hatred of our stepfather when I was a little girl. But then she left, and I was still so young that … I guess I didn’t really matter to her, you know?”
Her jaw sets.
“I bet that’s not true at all,” I contend. “She probably just had to focus on her life and lost track of things.”
It’s a shitty response, a pathetic explanation for a woman who walked away from her family. But I wasn’t there, and I don’t know what happened so that’s the best excuse I can make for Jeanette.
“Yeah …” Her voice trails off. “You’re right. I mean, look at me. I lost track of my life and look where I ended up. I now have a child I’m responsible for and am squatting in a man’s house that I only met a couple of days ago. Fun times.”
“If you don’t want to stay with me, you don’t have to,” I tell her. “I know I blurted that out, but I didn’t know what else to say.”
None of this is coming out right. None of this is helping.
I twist in my seat to face her. “What I mean is that I kind of just said that because I know you don’t really have a permanent place, and I saw the panic and didn’t want them telling you that they couldn’t place the kid with you because of it. I was just trying to help, and I’m sorry if I just complicated things.”
She nods as she turns toward me too. “I appreciate you doing that.” She smiles faintly. “It seems like you just keep bailing me out of problem after problem, huh?”
I smirk. “I have always seen myself as a hero.”
This gets a real smile from her. That, in turn, gets me a reprieve from the tightness in my chest.
“I hate seeing myself as some damsel in distress,” she says.
“We all go through times in our lives when we need help. My grandma Annabelle used to tell us that if we didn’t help when we were needed, no one would be there to help us when we were down. That the universe took notes.”
She sighs. “Then you have some favors coming, buddy.”
The room grows quiet. The only sounds are the ones from the hallway outside. Each noise—clamoring of keys or buzzing of alarms—seems to be miniature reminders that we’re in a police station.
“Hey,” I say. “Did you lock Libby’s door?”
“I have no idea. I don’t think so.” She laughs sadly. “She’s probably going to get robbed, and that will be my fault.”
“It’s probably a stroke of luck.” I dig my phone out of my pocket. “Have you ever dealt with an insurance company? I mean, I haven’t, but I hear it’s a shit show. If he gets robbed, I’d venture to say that’s the universe taking notes.”
“Shit.” She sits upright. “I was supposed to get Libby’s stuff out of there before he gets back.”
She looks at the ceiling and pretends to cry. I’m not sure how far off from it she really is. I can deal with a lot of things in life, but a woman’s tears aren’t one of them.
“I’m going to have my cousin’s boyfriend run over there and get the stuff Libby wanted,” I say. “Can you tell me what all that was?”
Jaxi closes her eyes and rattles off a small list of items. “That’s it. Can he go soon? I don’t know what time Ted will be back.”
“I’ll see.”
I get to my feet and walk to the back corner of the room. I press Hollis’s number.
“Hey, man,” he says on the first ring. “What’s going on?”
“Hey, Hollis. I need a favor, if you’re not busy.”
“Shoot.”
I rub a hand down my face. Jaxi sits facing the opposite direction with her phone in her hands too. Her fingers fly across the screen in a wild spectacle.
“Do you remember Libby?” I ask Hollis. “She made homemade ice cream for us when we were cleaning out the garage.”
“Yup.”
“Long story, but I need you to go to her house and grab a trunk in the master bedroom. There may or may not be a Bible lying around. If you see it, take it too. Oh, and take Riss with you. Have her fill the suitcases under the master bed with some of Libby’s clothes and take all of that to my house. Riss knows the security code to my door. Libby’s is not locked. And I’d appreciate it if you could do this now.”
He whistles through his teeth. “Okay. Do I wanna know,
or is this one of those things we’re never talking about again?”
I chuckle. “Thanks, man.”
“I got you. I’ll fire you a text when it’s done.” He laughs. “This sounds so mafia.”
I snort. “Well, considering that I’m standing in a police station right now, let’s not say trigger words, okay?”
“Are you serious? What’s going on, Boone?”
“It’s fine. Everything is fine. I’ll explain later. Thanks for helping me out.”
“Yeah. Of course. Call me later.”
“I will. Thanks, Hollis.”
I end the call.
“Hollis and Larissa are going to go over there now,” I tell Jaxi as I make my way back to my seat.
“Thank you.” She sets her phone on her lap. “Look, Boone, I don’t know what’s going to happen. I didn’t plan for this. Clearly. But I promise that I’ll get a plan together soon and get out of your hair.”
I study the woman in front of me. The fear and dread etched in her features cuts through me like a hot knife. If I were her, I’d be calling my mom. But it seems like she only has me.
“If you cased my house out correctly,” I tease, “you’d know I have two extra bedrooms.”
She tries not to laugh but can’t help it. The sound eases both of our minds, I think.
“I’m not a good problem solver,” I tell her. “I go to my brothers when I really get my shit fucked up. But I think Wade would tell me to take this problem in sections and deal with it one part at a time. Wade is a pretty smart guy.”
She looks at the door. “That’s good advice, and I’m sure Wade is an intelligent man, but what am I going to do with a little girl? I can barely take care of myself.”
Fuck if I know.
I try to imagine something happening to Coy and me getting saddled with his kid. I’d take it, without a doubt. There would be zero hesitation. But then what? I’d call Mom. And she’d guide me every step of the way.
The thought terrifies me—for theoretical me and Coy’s kid that doesn’t exist at the moment.
“You’ll figure it out,” I say. “You don’t really have a choice.”
A pop of disbelief is shot through the air. “Gee, thanks.”
“Want me to lie to you?”
Reckless (The Mason Family Series Book 3) Page 9