Croc's Return (2 page)

The welcome sign to town loomed.

Bitten Point.

The image on the massive billboard consisted of a large gator head with its jaws wide open saying, “Welcome, won’t you stay for a bite?” The colors had faded since he’d last seen it, and the population on it had moved from seven hundred and sixty-five to seven hundred and ninety-six.

Life had flourished while he was gone.

Just past the billboard, he couldn’t help but note that the Itty Bitty Club had gotten a new sign, a neon monstrosity that showed the silhouette of a woman wearing a tiny bikini. An itty-bitty bikini.

For as much as the more puritan-minded tried to get it shut down, the strip club remained, offering visual entertainment, expensive beer, and jobs to those who didn’t mind baring a bit of skin.

Main Street remained much the same with the town hall and post office sharing the same building. The grocery store had gotten a facelift, as a chain one had apparently moved in.

There was the pharmacy, right next door to the vet, whose practice had flourished evidently, given they’d also taken over the video emporium that used to fill the space alongside.

As soon as they left the main road, a rapid right turn that sent his ass skidding, signs of civilization, at least the modern kind, faded. Out here, this close to the Everglades, greenery took on a life of its own, determined to thwart progress’s encroachment of its territory.

They were in bayou land now and, even better, shifter land.

In the movies and books, humans always feared the shifters living in the city, using the paved streets and alleys as their hunting ground. In reality, with the exception of a few groups, most shifters preferred to remain close to nature, to have quick and easy access to acres of wilderness so, when the beast needed to emerge, they didn’t need to fear discovery—or bullets.

Even then, though, they had to be careful. Being a rather large crocodile in bayou country wasn’t always a safe thing. Caleb didn’t have the scars to prove it—only silver truly ever left a permanent mark, silver and fire to be specific—but he did remember the pain of getting shot.

Damn Wes and his not-so-funny pranks.

The truck turned suddenly, but having expected it, Caleb held on to the sides and let out a triumphant yell. “Missed!” A taunt that almost had him biting his tongue as his brother steered into a deep rut. “Bastard!” He yelled it with laughter, a humor that faded with each mile they got closer to his childhood home—and Ma.

There came that fluttery feeling again. But this was a normal trepidation, not the gut-wrenching fear when he heard the crackle of flame devouring tinder.

Would his mother be happy to see him?

Ma certainly hadn’t been too pleased when he’d left, and they’d not talked since. His fault. He cut off everyone in his life.
Everyone…

So how would Ma react to her son coming home?

He still remembered her parting words…

“That’s it, leave, just like your father did. He didn’t come back, and neither will you.” She might have thrown the words at him with vehemence, but her voice had also choked with tears.

It was true his dad had joined the military, just like Caleb, except his dad hadn’t come back alive.

The flag they presented his mother did not make up for the loss of the man who’d taught Caleb to fish and spit but who hadn’t been around to teach him how to control the beast.

Not having a father as the reptile within matured, flooding Caleb with its cold views and voracious hungers, meant Caleb didn’t have a mentor to teach him the tricks to remaining in control.

No one to teach him how to let the beast out safely.

Could he have asked for help from someone else? Yes. Did he? No.

Instead, I lost control.

Took a bite.

A bite that changed the course of his life. A fatal bite that forced him to leave the small town he’d grown up in, abandoning his family and deserting the one girl—

He punched himself in the leg, the hard blow veering his attention because he was not going there. For years he’d forced himself to not allow thoughts of
her
.

Don’t start now. Renny is better off without me.

Chances were she’d gone on with her life. Settled down with someone. Someone who could treat her right and make her happy.

Who made that growling sound? Apparently it wasn’t just the croc in his mind rising from his mental prison to snap its teeth that had a problem with Renny being with someone else.

Time hadn’t diminished some things, such as his jealousy issues. He’d always had a she’s-mine problem where Renny was concerned. Prettiest girl he’d ever seen and she’d chosen him.

But they couldn’t tell anyone about it, not with her dad crazier than batshit, especially after a drinking binge, and his ma determined that he go to college and make something of himself instead of
“Settling down too young and missing out on life
.”

At the time, all the reasons not to be together had made them only more determined.

Nothing better than sneaking out to her place and giving her a hand—on account he was such a gentleman—so she could climb out the window. The memory of those hours they spent under the starlight still had the power to arouse.

People often resorted to pills or toys or weird fantasies to bring excitement to sex, but Caleb still thought the hottest kind of fuck was the type where you were afraid of getting caught by someone’s father. A man who kept a loaded shotgun by the door.

The tame sex he’d enjoyed later on, in a bed, just never could compare.

Or was it because no one could compare to Renny?

Don’t go there.
He gave himself a mental slap, and yet, no matter how many times he told himself to forget Renny, his thoughts always seemed to stray back.

The truck rolled to a stop, the crunch of gravel louder for a moment than the singing of the frogs and crickets.

Shit, I’m home.

For a moment, his breathing quickened, his pulse raced, and it wasn’t the humidity that dampened his skin.

Don’t panic. Breathe, dammit. Breathe.

Spots danced in front of his eyes, and he felt himself losing his grip. The croc swam to the surface, veering for the weakness and looking to escape.

No. I mustn’t lose control.

Stupid anxiety attack. He’d hoped he was done with those. It had been weeks since his last good one.

This simmering bout proved all wasn’t well yet in his mental landscape. But he could handle it. The doctor in Kodiak Point had taught him tricks to calm himself. And when all else failed, there were the heavy-duty pills.

But he couldn’t just pop a few blue sleeping agents and drop off into a coma for a few hours. He needed to man up.

Step one. Take a deep breath.

Step two. Scratch his balls to remind himself he wasn’t a prissy fucking princess.

Step three—

“What the hell are you doing?” Constantine said, snapping him back to the here and now.

Doing? Why having a panic attack, of course, but that wasn’t something he was about to admit. “Just taking in all the changes to the place.”

And there were plenty to provide distraction. For one, they now actually had a driveway of crushed stone rather than the mud and flattened weeds he recalled. The house that had once sported weathered, gray planks and mismatched shingles was still there, but massively face-lifted with white vinyl siding and a light blue metal roof.

“Are those fucking shutters?” Caleb asked in disbelief, taking in the new windows that had taken the place of the wooden-silled ones
. How he’d hated those damned things. When it got truly humid they swelled so tight that they refused to open. When
one did open, he’d smashed his fingers in them too many times to count because he didn’t get the block of wood wedged under it in time.

“Not just any shutters, but hurricane-grade ones,” Constantine replied, his upper body hidden within the truck. When his brother leaned back out, he had his little dog tucked under his arm.

“So that’s what you did with my paychecks?” Just because Caleb had left home didn’t mean he didn’t try and improve his mother’s lot in life and, by default, his brother’s too.

“Not exactly. Mom used the checks to put me through college.”

“Yeah, because you need a college degree to fish for shrimp and crabs,” Caleb couldn’t help but retort. Full-time college had never been a possibility for him when he finished high school. He’d gone straight to work to support his family and then struggled through the part-time classes at his local college until he quit them to be with Renny.

Constantine saw right through his cruel taunt. “I don’t work in the bayou. Haven’t since you left, really. Ma wanted to make sure I had a different set of choices when I graduated.”

In other words, she didn’t want a second son going off to war.

“The place looks good,” he grudgingly managed to say.

“Thanks. Come on. We should go inside. Ma’s probably got dinner ready for us. She’s been cooking all day.”

Just ignore the drool, as if he could help it at the thought of one of his ma’s home-cooked meals. How long had it been since he’d enjoyed real food?

Stomach leading the way, Caleb vaulted from the truck bed and followed his brother toward the house.

Faced with a front door painted a dark blue, Caleb froze. This wasn’t his home anymore. So much had changed. His home. His brother.
Me.

Caleb wasn’t the same guy who’d left years ago. And he never would be again.

I’m damaged goods.
Both physically and mentally. He could handle the scars on the outside, even if within he cringed every time someone winced or grimaced at his appearance. What he still had a harder time with was the damned nightmares and panic attacks.

Was he so selfish that he would dump himself, and all his problems, on his brother and mother, who had obviously flourished in his absence?

“You know what. I think I should pop into town first. Maybe grab some groceries. Or flowers. Yeah. I need flowers.” Caleb turned on his heel and had his hands on the raised edge for the bed of the truck to climb in when he found himself yanked backwards.

With a firm hand on each of Caleb’s shoulders, Constantine frog-marched him to the front door. “Don’t be such a pussy. Buy flowers?” Connie snorted. “Ma doesn’t need anything but your ugly mug. Why, I don’t know.”

Neither did Caleb. They’d exchanged such ugly words. Angry ones. Hurtful ones.

Given he couldn’t tell her the truth, they’d not spoken since. As a matter of fact, he’d not spoken to anyone in Bitten Point until he called a number he knew by heart and his brother answered.

With his eyes closed and spots dancing behind his lids, Caleb had asked, “Can I come home?”

To his surprise, Constantine said yes.

And now, here he was, shaking like the biggest fucking coward.

Before Constantine could force Caleb to climb the painted porch steps—with an honest-to-god railing—the door opened, and there was his ma.

Unlike the rest of home, she hadn’t changed. Sure, there might be a few more gray hairs and a crease or two, but the blue eyes, the trembling smile, and the outstretched arms were—

Caleb took the steps in a single bound and yanked her into his grip.

In a voice choked—with a bug, dammit, never tears—he murmured, “I’m home.”

One more stop until I can go home.

Pulling into the driveway of the executive home, Renata Suarez—Renny to her friends—sat for a moment before getting out of her car. Every minute of every day it seemed as if she was rushing somewhere, having to do something. Sometimes she worried she’d get so damned busy she’d forget to breathe.

Heck, I’m lucky if I remember to feed myself sometimes.
Good thing Luke was around to remind her that sustenance was required or she might have wasted away.

Yet, somehow, despite all the trials, she was making it. She was providing for her and her son, but at what cost?

I’ve barely seen him grow up.
While the daycares she’d relied on over the years were great at taking pictures and videos, the sad fact was, Renny had missed Luke’s first step, the first pee in a potty, and so many other milestones.
But what other choice do I have?

The bills wouldn’t pay themselves.

At least now that she’d returned home, she had Melanie caring for her son before and after school, and at a totally rock-bottom rate. Nothing.

As Melanie explained it, “I’m stuck at home anyways because of my hellions. Might as well have your angelic one here, too. You never know, maybe he’ll rub off on my little demons.”

How I love that girl.
Melanie was the only reason why Renny hadn’t left Bitten Point once her dad died. Her best friend was the only thing helping Renny keep her sanity right now, and given all Melanie had done to help, she shouldn’t abuse her good will.

Stop lazing around, and go get your son.
Exiting the car, she took a few strides to reach the door. Renny walked right into Melanie’s house, just in time, too, judging by Melanie’s shouted, “I’m going to make you both into rugs if you don’t behave.”

What were the boys doing now?

Stepping into the living room, Renny caught her best friend since kindergarten with her hands on her hips, hair wisping in curls around her face, and her dark brown gaze focused on two little boys perched on the backrest of the couch.

Those two imps eyed their mother, expressions rife with mischief. Without saying a word, Rory and Tatum leaped.

Melanie screeched, “Demon spawn!” and the boys laughed. The two mini acrobats bounced on the sofa cushions, not at all repentant.

It was hard not to smile, so Renny averted her head, lest the children see her amusement. She sought out her son, Luke, and found that he sat in the corner at the play table, head bent as he scribbled away. She stared at him for a moment, but he never looked up. He ignored her. It was so obvious by the tight set of his shoulders and the furious stroke of his crayon.

Her son was mad at her, and with good reason. She was late. Again.

I won’t be winning the mother of the year award.
But in her defense, she worked two jobs, and neither of them would cut her slack.
“We’re short staffed, which means you need to work later today.”
Saying no wasn’t an option when she needed that money to survive.