by Devney Perry
It was Chrissy Slater.
She was beautiful and her smile lit up her eyes.
Goddamn it. How could you, Mom?
Loving Draven wasn’t an excuse to betray her friend, not like this. Was that the reason Mom hadn’t dated anyone in Denver? I couldn’t remember a time when I’d stayed home with a babysitter so Mom could go out with a man. Had she loved Draven all this time?
I feared the answer was yes, and that love was the reason she was dead.
Chrissy had loved Draven too. She’d also paid with her life.
“You hate me for her,” I whispered, sensing Dash behind me.
“Yes.”
“Fair enough.” I was the living, breathing reminder of our father’s adultery. I turned away from the photo. “I’m not my mother, but I loved her. I don’t agree with what she did, but she was my mom. Maybe one day you’ll see that I’m a victim here too.”
Dash said nothing. His eyes stayed on the photo of his mother as I slipped past him, joining Isaiah and Bryce in the kitchen. They were both chewing a cookie.
They each ate two more as I ate one.
Dash refused.
Did he know Mom had called them Chrissy’s cookies? His mother had given my mother the recipe.
And now it was mine.
Dash’s sullen mood clouded the air, so Isaiah and I thanked them for a lovely evening and slipped into the dark night, each driving our vehicles home.
“We survived,” I breathed, tossing my keys onto the kitchen counter in the apartment.
“Yeah.” Isaiah unzipped his jacket. His cheeks were red from riding in the cool night air.
“Am I a bad driver or something?” I blurted.
“Huh?”
“Am I a bad driver? I’ve never been in an accident or gotten a speeding ticket. But you won’t ride with me. Do you think I’m a bad driver?”
“Oh.” He toed off his boots. “No, you’re not a bad driver.”
“Then what is it?”
Silence.
“Isaiah?”
Silence again. He set his boots beside the door and padded to the bathroom.
I stared blankly at the door as he closed himself inside. The water turned on. The toilet flushed. And I waited, wondering what the actual fuck had just happened.
Isaiah came out of the bathroom in only his boxers. I gulped at the sight of his washboard abs, then walked to my dresser to get my own pajamas.
“Do you want to watch something?” He picked up the remote for the TV.
“Not really.”
He turned it on anyway.
I went to the bathroom and got ready for bed. When I emerged, he’d already shut off the lights and made up the couch. I slid quietly into the bed and stared at the ceiling.
Hello, tension. The television’s volume was low, but it couldn’t chase away my unanswered question. I didn’t dare ask again. I’d only get more silence.
The light from the screen bounced off the walls. A car raced down the street outside.
“Sorry,” Isaiah whispered, barely loud enough for me to hear.
“It’s fine,” I muttered. “Like I said before dinner, we don’t know each other.”
“No, we don’t.”
And with those words, I knew that wasn’t going to change.
Chapter Ten
Isaiah
“Lunch!” Presley hollered into the shop. She’d been teasing us all about buying a dinner triangle so she didn’t have to yell.
Emmett set his tools aside with a clank. Dash slid out from beneath the car in the third bay. Leo popped up from the opposite side, shedding his gloves.
I was almost done with a belt change on a Honda sedan. My sandwich could wait ten minutes.
Dash, Emmett and Leo had spent the morning working on restoring a ’61 Lincoln Continental. They’d been cutting out the swiss cheese floor, and though the whole car was rusted, it was salvageable. The owner had given Dash a huge budget and free rein to make it a collector’s dream in two months. They’d jumped right in.
Meanwhile, I was doing oil changes, tune-ups, tire rotations and a slew of other general maintenance activities. I was putting in my time, working from the bottom up. Dash knew I wanted to get in on the rebuilds, and I trusted he’d make it happen eventually.
For now, I tackled the jobs Pres put on the board and kept the routine work rolling.
“Isaiah, are you coming?” she called from the office.
“Be there in a few. I’m almost done here.”
“Okay.”
Over the past month, lunch had become something of an event at the garage. When I’d first started here, I’d packed a lunch. All the guys had. We’d eat whenever we were hungry, usually standing in the middle of the shop, shoving food in our mouths and wiping crumbs on our jeans.
But since the kidnapping and since Bryce had taken over Dash’s office as her own, the dynamic in the garage had changed. She and Presley pulled us together more often. The lunches had started out randomly; someone would forget to pack something so we’d all order from whichever restaurant was delivering. Then random became regular.
It was early October and the last time I’d packed a lunch had been before Genevieve and I had gone to dinner at Bryce and Dash’s place last month.
Every day we’d congregate in the office for lunch. We’d talk about nothing as we ate sandwiches or pizza or tacos. We paid for our own meals, and while it was more expensive than a peanut butter and jelly, I could afford it since I didn’t have rent and Genevieve and I split the other bills fifty-fifty.
Some days, I didn’t mind eating inside the office with everyone. Others, it was too much.
Before prison, I’d thrived in the center of a group. I’d lived for the noise and excitement of my rowdy friends getting together for some fun. Most of them I’d known since kindergarten. Most of them, not wanting to associate with a convicted felon, had forgotten my name before I’d even been sentenced.
There were a couple guys who’d reached out after I’d been released and had moved home with Mom. I’d ghosted their calls until they’d stopped altogether.
I didn’t need their pity.
The guys, Presley and Bryce didn’t judge my past because they didn’t know it. Dash knew I’d been convicted of manslaughter, Draven too. But the details behind it were not something I shared.
When we were working in the shop, the guys didn’t ask me personal questions. Lunch was a whole different story. Though I’d escaped it so far, it was only a matter of time before Bryce wanted to know more about my life. I’d deflect, like I’d done with Genevieve.
And I’d alienate them, like I’d done with Genevieve.
My stomach growled and I hustled to finish the job. As I was washing up at the sink, a cold wind blew into the garage. A flurry of snowflakes fell on the pavement, only to melt a moment later.
The snow had already hit in the mountains, and with it flying this early, winter was likely to be a bitch.
Not that I minded the snow.
The first winter of my parole, I’d spent a lot of time on Mom’s deck, looking over the smooth, snow-covered yard. There was peace in the snow. A clean blanket, it erased the death of fall. Maybe I’d brush off a picnic table in the barbeque area behind the garage and take my lunch breaks out there this winter.
On the days when the office felt too much like a cage.
“Hey, Isaiah.”
I shut off the water, turning from the sink as Bryce came over. She lifted up a lunch sack with my name on it.
“Thanks.”
“Sure. I didn’t want it to get soggy.”
I’d ordered the cheesesteak and after about thirty minutes, the bread tended to soften. I ate it anyway. Soggy bread was better than any meal I’d had in prison.
Bryce didn’t return to the office, but took a round, rolling stool a few feet away. She tucked her fingers into the sleeves of her sweater.
Guess we’re eating lunch together.
I pushed
over another one of the stools and tore into my brown paper bag. “Did you eat?”
She shook her head. “I ordered chicken salad, which seemed like a good idea at the time, but the smell got to me. Apparently, this baby only likes red meat.”
My cheesesteak was divided into two aluminum-wrapped sections. I held up one half. “Want it?”
“Would you mind?”
“Bring me your chicken salad later and we’ll call it a trade.”
“Deal.” She tore into the sandwich and took a huge bite, moaning as she chewed, then swallowed. “Genevieve said you’re from Bozeman. I didn’t know that.”
“Yep.” I dove into my sandwich, already wishing I’d gone into the office when Pres had called. Questions were easier to dodge in a group. One-on-one with Bryce? I was fucked.
“That’s where I grew up.”
My jaw stopped. My shoulders stiffened. Did she know? She couldn’t know, right? “Small world.”
“Especially in Montana. How old are you?”
“Thirty-one.”
“Oh. I’m thirty-five. We just missed each other in high school.”
There was only one in Bozeman. “You might know my older brother. Kaine Reynolds?”
Her eyes bulged. “Kaine Reynolds is your older brother?”
“Uh . . . yeah.” Shit. Why had I said that? I was a goddamn fool. I’d opened the door wide open to my past.
A blush crept up Bryce’s cheeks and a grin spread across her face. “Kaine was a year older than me, but I knew him. I think all the girls knew him.”
No shock there. Most girls in high school and middle school had been in love with my brother. Kaine had an effortless kind of cool. He didn’t have an awkward bone in his body. Where I’d had a miserably awkward teenage phase, Kaine had skipped it.
He’d been the kid who wasn’t in anyone’s clique because he’d had a clique of his own. He’d never needed a bunch of friends like I had. Or used to. He was content alone.
I’d stopped at nothing to be the center of attention in high school. I was the kid who took every dare. The boy who started fights when necessary. The class clown teachers dreaded to see on their roster.
That was before Shannon.
Now I was more reclusive than Kaine had ever been.
“I had the biggest crush on him,” Bryce admitted.
“Most girls did.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Good. Happy. He lives in Lark Cove, up by Flathead Lake, with his wife.”
“Glad to hear it.” She smiled. “Next time you talk to him, tell him Bryce Ryan says hello.”
“I’ll do that.” I took another bite, chewing furiously, wanting to keep my mouth full so we didn’t get into more about my life.
Maybe I’d dodged that bullet. Bryce didn’t seem to know anything about the accident. Hopefully, she wouldn’t go digging.
I’d come to Clifton Forge to escape my past, not talk about it. There were too many ghosts in Bozeman. Too many bad memories. Here, for the most part, no one cared.
Except Genevieve.
She’d been quiet lately and standoffish. I’d hurt her feelings last month when I’d refused to answer her question and I hated myself for it.
She deserved to know what kind of man slept on the couch beside her every night. But every time the window presented itself, I couldn’t bring myself to speak.
She’d judge me, rightly so. Coward that I was, I didn’t want to see fear or judgment in her eyes—not from her. Or worse, pity. Genevieve knew I’d been in prison, but she’d never asked for what crime. Ever since the cabin, she’d put me on a pedestal. She thought I was a good man.
I wasn’t.
But damn, it was nice to feel worthy for a change. To be worthy of a woman like Genevieve was nothing short of a miracle.
I wasn’t ready to throw a miracle away with the truth.
A car door slammed out front. Outside, a black Chevy Blazer had parked in front of the office. It was probably another simple job. Maybe someone wanted to get a jump start on ordering snow tires.
I’d swallowed my bite and set my sandwich aside, ready to go out and greet the customer, when I looked up and my heart dropped.
“Mom?”
She didn’t hear me. She was on her way to the office.
I hustled through the shop, dodging parts and tools on my way. “Mom!”
Her head whipped around, and a smile brightened her face. “Hi.”
“Hi.” I pulled her in for a hug, and she kissed me on the cheek. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s been months since I’ve seen you. You’re always so busy working when I call. I took the day off and thought I’d come for a surprise visit. You can show me the bike you’ve been working on. Maybe after you’re off, we can go out to dinner.”
“Uh . . . sure.” All things that would normally be fine.
Except for the fact that in a matter of hours, my wife would be home.
Shit. Genevieve had asked me if I’d told my family about our marriage. I’d dodged that question because I still hadn’t told them.
Mom and Kaine were the past. Genevieve was the present. I was doing everything in my power to keep the two from converging. It would be too painful, for all of us.
When Mom learned that I’d kept my marriage from her for months, she’d be destroyed. What the fuck was I doing? I should have called her from the motel on my wedding night. Hadn’t I hurt her enough?
Maybe if I got to Genevieve first, introduced her as my girlfriend, we could spare Mom’s feelings. Genevieve would be pissed, but in the scheme of things, the scales weren’t balanced. I could suffer Genevieve’s disappointment. I wouldn’t pile more on Mom.
“I’m pretty busy right at the moment.” I took her elbow, turning her back to her car. “What if you went shopping? Killed a couple of hours. I’ll try to get off early. Downtown has some nice places. A good coffee shop too.”
“Perfect.” Mom beamed. Suzanne Reynolds was pure sunlight. She was as go with the flow as a person could get. She had the cool vibe down and had definitely passed it to Kaine.
Mostly, she loved her sons. Even after all that Kaine and I had put her through, she adored us.
My mission in life was to avoid causing her any more stress. If that meant pissing off Genevieve, I’d take the hit.
“Sorry, Mom,” I said. “I wish I could get off now, but—”
“Don’t be sorry. I knew you’d be working when I decided to visit. I’m going to explore and see your new town.” She stood on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek again. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too.” I wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
We were almost at the Blazer’s door, almost in the clear, when a voice came from the shop.
“Hello.”
Damn it. I’d forgotten about Bryce.
She came our way, her hand extended. “I’m Bryce Slater.”
Introductions were unavoidable. “Mom, this is my boss’s wife. Bryce, this is my mom, Suzanne Reynolds.”
“Oh, hi.” Bryce’s face lit up. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too.” Mom clasped both of Bryce’s hands in her own. It was how she always shook, like she was giving your hand a hug.
“Are you visiting?” Bryce asked.
Mom nodded, taking my arm and hugging it. “Yes. I thought I’d surprise Isaiah. I haven’t been to Clifton Forge before.”
“That’s so great.” Bryce looked to me. “You should take the rest of the day. I’m sure Dash won’t mind.”
“I’ll ask him if I can get out early, but I need to finish up a couple of jobs first.” And call Genevieve. “Mom’s going to go shopping and grab a coffee.”
“Oh, well, if you’re heading downtown, you should swing by Genevieve’s office. I’m sure she’d love it.”
Fuck. My. Life.
Mom’s forehead furrowed. “Who’s—”
“She’s working,” I told Bryce, taking Mom’s elbow
and pushing her to the Blazer.
“Isaiah,” Mom scolded. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing. I’m just in a hurry to get this work done so I can meet you for dinner. And I don’t want you to miss out on any of the shops. Some of them close early.”
“Okay. Fine.” She scowled at me, then looked past me to Bryce. “Lovely to meet you.”
“You too.” Bryce stared at me like I’d lost my damn mind.
Maybe I had—three months ago when I’d married a stranger at the courthouse.
Mom was seconds away from getting in the car. Her foot was on the running board and her hand on the door to step up.
Then Genevieve’s Toyota rolled into the parking lot.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
“What was that?” Mom asked.
“Nothing.” I hung my head, sucked in a deep breath and looked up. “Better get down. Genevieve’s here.”
“Who?”
“Genevieve,” I spoke quietly so only she could hear. “Someone I want you to meet.”
Mom side-eyed me, no doubt because Genevieve was clearly a female’s name. The last time I’d introduced Mom to a woman had been years ago. Before Shannon.
Genevieve parked in her spot beside the office and climbed out of the car. When she waved, there was a pair of shoes in her hand and her feet were bare. “My heel broke. I came home to get a new pair.”
I frowned. “You should have called me.”
“I’m fine.” She waved a hand up and down her body. “Unharmed. Jim escorted me to my car and you can follow me back.”
We’d talk about her leaving without texting me later. “Come here a sec. I’d like you to meet someone.”
Bryce stepped closer, her eyebrows coming together. “They haven’t met yet?”
“Mom’s never been here,” I explained. “And we’ve been busy and haven’t gone to Bozeman yet.”
“Ah.” Bryce nodded. “Then this will be exciting.”
If exciting meant painful.
“What’s up?” Genevieve walked over on her toes, trying to keep the hems of her black slacks from dragging.
I sucked in a deep breath. “Genevieve, meet my mom, Suzanne Reynolds.”