Forever Promised (22 page)

“Fuck that. You were being
inaccurate.
I
was a whore, Kimmy. I allowed men to fuck me in back alleys on piles of trash so I could have enough money to fix.”

Kimmy winced, and Jeff actually
saw
the moment when the counselor in her took over. “Mikhail, you know that was your addiction—”

“Yes. It was my addiction. But I was the one who was addicted, and it would be a lie to say I remember every trick, but when I wake up with the urge to vomit, I know what was in my nightmares. So you see, I
know
what it is to be a whore.” His ferocity eased up for a moment. “And
you
know what it is to be fragile, and a victim to an asshole you trusted and who did not deserve you. I did not say it was a better memory, I said the word was inaccurate.”

Jeff had never wanted to hug the petty little tyrant so badly in his life.

Mikhail looked up and met his eyes, and suddenly Jeff too was absolved of any sins he had ever committed thanks to Mikhail’s precision.

“Jeff and Collin, they deal with the aftermath of their sexual history every day. But no one—not one of us—has ever thought worse of them for the virus they carry. How you could think Lucas would blame you for the blind malice of a brainless virus, I will never know, but you must stop it this instant, do you hear me?”

Kimmy was crying again, but it was a different brand of tears. “It’s different—”

“That’s bullshit,” Mikhail said implacably. And then his face and voice
truly
softened. He took a brief sip of his melting frappé and reached next to him and grabbed Kimmy’s hand. “You need to talk to him,” he said softly, and Jeff watched Kimmy put her spoon down and lean her head on Mikhail’s shoulder.

“I don’t know how to tell him,” she whispered, and suddenly so much was made clear.

“You haven’t
told
him?” Jeff asked, and before Kimmy could retort, Mikhail straightened up.

“You don’t have to,” he said, kissing her on the top of the head. “I did. He’s here. You need to trust your husband, Kimberly. He won’t let you down.”

Before Kimmy could sputter or give in to outrage or whatever her reaction would have been, Mikhail slid back out of the booth and grabbed his frappé first and Jeff’s elbow second.

“We’ll see you at home. Jeff will help me for the rest of the day—otherwise Crick will have to come help at Promise House, which is a bad thing.”

And with that, Mikhail dragged Jeff out of the store and into the stifling heat. They passed Lucas on the way, and he looked sad and frustrated—but not devastated and not angry. However, it was obvious Mikhail wasn’t taking any chances.

“You promised,” he said sternly.

Lucas nodded, his longish blond hair brushing his shoulders and his red-rimmed country blue eyes sober. “Thanks for calling me. I don’t see why—”

“She will tell you when she’s ready,” Mikhail said shortly. “Asking her now will not help.”

“Well, what does she need from me?” Lucas asked.

Jeff recognized that sound. Collin wanted to fix things for him. Whenever Jeff complained about the cats or the house or work, Collin wanted to step in and make it better. Lucas wanted to fix this.

“She needs you to love her, and she needs you to listen, and she needs you to not ever say she’d be a better woman if she could have children!”

Lucas took a step back, his massively muscular body actually recoiling from Mikhail’s words. “I don’t think that—”

“Good. Then you will be fine.”

They stopped and watched as Lucas slid into the booth next to Kimmy. She wouldn’t look at him at first, and Jeff’s heart quailed. Lucas leaned in and talked to her while she was stuffing her face with ice cream, and after a moment she looked up—and gave him a bite.

Lucas took the ice cream in his mouth and swallowed, then grinned at her and said something.

And Kimmy gave him a soft, sad little smile.

“Good,” said Mikhail. “It will be okay.”

A few minutes later the Mini Cooper was buzzing through the blinding heat when Jeff remembered something important.

“That thing you said, about me and Collin?”

“Yes?”

“That was really nice.”

Mikhail shrugged and sniffed. “Again, inaccurate. I spoke only the truth.”

Jeff laughed. “You know what the truth is?”

“I am quivering with curiosity.”

“The truth is that you constantly talk about not being worthy of your cop. And I swear to God, Mikhail, of all of us, you are probably the only one who is.”

Mikhail’s eyes widened with shock. “Lies!” he snapped. “I never suspected you of being cruel!”

Jeff shook his head. “All true. I swear on my God.”

Mikhail was looking out the window at side of the road. They were nearing Levee Oaks now, and the landscape was parched yellow and brown, practically smoking from the heat.

“If it is true, then perhaps your God exists,” he said quietly. “Benny is going to have Deacon’s baby.”

The non sequitur almost threw Jeff off, but he was getting better at following Mikhail’s brain. “I know. Crick called me this morning.”

“Yes, Deacon told Shane. They will keep running, I think, even when Jon is gone. But Benny’s pregnancy, it will be hard on her.” Hard on Kimmy.
Brutal
on Kimmy.

“Maybe,” Jeff said, thinking that for many other women, the jealousy might be divisive. “Maybe it will be a healing thing.”

Mikhail looked at him then and smiled just enough to be encouraging. “Healing is good,” he said. “We obviously all have wounds that are still healing.”

“We’ll hope,” Jeff told him optimistically, and Mikhail’s smile grew musing.

“I didn’t used to believe in that either,” he said. “Amazing what the world can bring.”

Jeff had to agree with him.

Deacon
:
Goal
!

P
ARRY
A
NGEL
was six, which meant her soccer team now had a goalie and keepers and forwards.

Deacon had coached the week before from the sidelines, on crutches, trying not to be frustrated that he couldn’t get in there and play. That was when he’d put his angel in as a forward, imagining she would be the best goal scorer and lead the team to victory. Her first try, she had dribbled the ball up to the other team’s forward and passed it to him.

He’d said thank you and scored in the opposite direction.

Deacon asked her why she did that, and she told him that she’d
had
her turn, and now it was someone else’s. Since the other team was a whole bunch of new people, she was just trying to make them welcome.

Collin spit out his vitamin water when she said this, and they spent the entire next practice—when Deacon could actually
play
with the kids—explaining the dynamics of soccer. Deacon was appalled at the number of kids who found this to be new information.

“But why can’t we all follow the ball!” one kid wailed, and Deacon had a brain flash.

“Because this way,” he said, “you can all take
turns
handling the ball.”

All those little faces lit up, and Collin just shook his head. “The killer instinct is dead,” he muttered to Deacon, and Deacon looked at those grubby faces, excited, hopeful, eager to please—

“Cheyenne, honey, get your finger out of your nose. Your mom told me not to let you do that.”

The little girl with the masses of blonde hair looked crestfallen, but she finished her excavation, popped the proceeds in her mouth, and looked back at Deacon expectantly.

Deacon turned to Collin and said, “Well, some things they still go after,” and left Collin to struggle for breath before he introduced them to the time-honored game of Sharks and Minnows to help them get the idea of “Us Keep Ball/Them Lose Ball.”

Collin recovered himself enough to run into the fray and start helping this one dribble and encouraging the other one to compete for the ball. The parents
on the side of field looked up once in a while from their
reading/texting/homework/laptops and cheered their kids on. Deacon had come to appreciate the casual indifference a lot of them had to the actual
game
of soccer—most of these parents weren’t there to foment budding soccer stars.
Most
of them were there because their kid had excess energy after school, and they thought a team sport would teach the kid all sorts of things that the kid wouldn’t get in the backyard by himself. Deacon figured that depended on which backyard they had, and enjoyed the fact that he had yet to experience one of those people who yelled at the refs, the coach, and the kids on the field about how everyone was stupid except for the bright and shining fruit of his or her loins.

Which was just as well, because Parry Angel and Cheyenne were currently picking the last of the tiny summer daisies that grew up in the badly maintained school field, and Tyler and Treven were…. Oh Jesus. What
were
they doing?

Deacon stopped suddenly and squinted as both boys—the little blond one with the wide, guileless brown eyes and the one with the dark skin, curly hair, and dimples—grabbed the sides of their silky soccer shorts and pulled them up into their little crotches and swiveled their hips.

“Hey, Collin?”

Collin came over from getting the little girls to try to get the ball from the clot of “minnows” in the center of the field, and looked where he was looking. “Are those kids…?”

“Yeah,” Deacon said, caught between horror and humor. “I think they are.”

They looked at each other, at a loss, when suddenly Megan’s voice shrieked over the rest of the chaos on the field.

“Jesus
Christ
, Tyler! Give your wiener a rest and play soccer!”

Collin was laughing so hard he tried to sit down, but Deacon grabbed his hand and hauled him to his feet. “This was
your
idea!” he hissed. “You stand up and go coach that little masturbator like a man! Shit!”

Now Collin was on his back, howling, and Megan was stalking up to them, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, Deacon,” she said, bulldozing her embarrassment like she’d bulldozed Deacon’s objections to coaching. “His teacher said it’s something ADHD boys do sometimes. It’s like they get bored and it’s the world’s greatest toy.”

“And it’s portable too!” Collin gasped before banging his head back down on the ground.

Deacon pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to summon some sort of response. “Well,” he said after a moment, “can’t really blame the boy, but, yeah. We may want to have a talk about doing that in public.” Treven was looking at Tyler in confusion now, but
unlike his friend,
he
was still apparently playing the wiener game with his shorts. “And, uhm….” He looked over to where Treven’s father was watching his son, head tilted to the side, with pretty much the same expression Deacon and Collin had just worn.

Dad’s eyes widened and he shouted, “Dammit, Trev, leave that thing alone!” at about the same time Deacon told Megan, “You may want to talk to Trev’s dad about, maybe, not yelling at him in front of the other kids.”

Collin was laughing on the inhale now, making a sound like a strangling seal. “Eeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhh…
hoooooooooooo…
eeeeeeeeeeeehhhhh….”

Megan worried her lower lip and nodded, obviously considering the suggestion. The two little boys had been (thank
God!
) largely ignored by the rest of the kids on the field, and when Deacon called, “Trev, Ty, c’mere and be minnows!” they dropped their equipment, as it were, and ran into the circle with their… uhm, other balls.

Deacon took two steps (gingerly, because his ankle was still a little shaky) toward the center of the grass circle when Megan said, “You know, Deacon, you’re a brave man. Most men would think twice about fatherhood after coaching a soccer team first!”

Deacon turned toward her, feeling a flush along every capillary. “Benny told you that?” he asked, and Megan’s nod was enthusiastic.

“Oh yeah! We’ve got a pool going on whether your swimmers are gonna take the first time or the second!”

Collin had been recovering himself and struggling to sit up, but when he heard that, his blue eyes nearly bugged out of his head and he said, “Take the first time—he’s good for it!” before collapsing back on the ground.

“You know,” Deacon said, trying for dignity, “I think if I could deal with this asshole as my copilot, I could pretty much deal with anything!”

“Hey!” It was hard for Collin to be indignant when he was still flat on his back on the crappy overgrown grass.

“Hey, Collin,” Deacon said meanly. “
Wiener
!”

“Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee….”

“Jesus….” Deacon finally made it to the middle of the field and declared the shark team the winner (because the shark team
always
won, it was the point of the game) and then said, “Okay, kids, goalie drills! Everyone set your balls down and get in formation—”

“Eeeeeeeehhhhhhhh….”

“Deacon?” Parry Angel asked when they were all in line, trying hard to get the ball past Tyler, whom Deacon had named goalie for this go round, figuring he didn’t want that kid standing still
ever
,
much less in line.