Into the Nothing (Broken Outlaw Series Book 1) (7 page)

Mom scoops up the plates as Caleb slinks back up to his room. Although he only pecked at his food, the rest of us did the exact opposite, filling ourselves to Thanksgiving Day levels. Mom scurries past me and slides a hand across my shoulders, giving me the wide-eyed ‘I’m going to say something and you’re going to go with it’ look.

“So Paige, with the wine festival next weekend, I was thinking maybe it’d be a good time for Xander get out and about and get to know some other people in town.”

“Mom, he’s still getting settled in. I’m sure he’d like to take some time getting used to us before being bombarded by the whole town.” Mom takes a seat again, smiling.

“What makes you think he’ll be bombarded? We aren’t a town of flesh-eating zombies, dear. If he’s going to be staying through the summer, he’s going to want to meet some other people besides us.”

“Mom, why are you talking about him like he’s not here?”

“You started it!” She pokes her tongue out at me and then turns her attention back to Xander.

“So, Xander, what do you think?” Without letting him respond, she begins her sales pitch. “I don’t know if you know this or not, but this part of Missouri has a lot of really good wineries. They’re all across the state. Not that I’m biased or anything, but my husband’s pinot noir is the best. It’s been voted number one in the state, six years running. And that’s out of about twenty-five!”

Dad smiles appreciatively at her. He reaches a hand over and caresses the back of her neck.

“I think the festival sounds pretty good. I like a good pinot noir,” Xander says.

Our faces say it all.

“What? I swear I do. I’ve grown to appreciate wine in my old age.”

Dad laughs as he gets up. He pats a heavy hand against Xander’s shoulder.

“You’ve got a
long
way to go, kid.”

Xander’s eyes follow Dad as he grabs more beer from the fridge. There’s a mischievous smile on his face. “Shit, what are you pushing, seventy? Seventy-five? I guess I do have some catching up to do.”

Dad crows, having trouble placing the four beers in front of us. “You better watch it! Remember who’s signing your paychecks.”

“Jack Michael, language!” Mom says sharply, though a smile is tugging at the corners of her lips.

Dad motions his beer toward Xander. “He started it.”

My Chewbacca text alert brings a wide smile and approving nod from Xander.

Brandi: Hey bitch, I kno ur off. Visit meeeee!

“Oh shit, I’ve actually gotta pass on another beer, Dad. I told Brandi I’d go up to Whittaker’s after I got off. She’ll be a baby if I don’t go for at least a few.”

“Perfect. Why don’t you take Xander with you, then?” Mom asks. “But if you two have more than a few, you call me!”

She gives me the motherly finger wag, but she knows me better than that. I would never drink and drive. I lost an uncle on my dad’s side to a drunk driver a few years back. It really messed the family up. Since then, it’s not even a question.

“That’s if Xander wants to go,” Mom adds.

“Yeah, I’m up for it.” His eyes meet mine. “You driving or am I?”

“I got it,” I say, sliding from the table. I smile to myself at the thought of how impressed he’s about to be.

Xander stands, as does Mom, and he stretches, patting his stomach.

“Ma’am, that was probably the best meal I’ve had in my entire life. And I’m not even kidding. I feel like I should be paying you for letting me eat here.”

Mom laughs and opens her arms wide. “As long as you’re living here, you’re a Watson. Now bring it in. I’m a hugger, and with that ‘best meal’ line, you’ve now become my favorite person in the house.”

She hugs Xander, disappearing into his arms. When she releases him, she makes her way to me, grabbing me and pulling me in.

Her lips meet my forehead. “You be safe. Call me if you need anything, okay? Love you, baby.”

“Okay, we will. I promise. Love you too, Mama.”

I
pull my ‘69 Chevelle SS from the garage and the growl of the 454 big block catches his immediate attention as he exits the guesthouse. His eyes are wide and fixated on my powder blue beauty. He climbs in the passenger side with the same expression on his face as I pull down the gravel drive.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“What?” I ask, acting clueless.

“Uh, this car. It’s amazing. How long have you had it?”

“You’re totally going to judge me.”

“I won’t judge.”

“Well, it was kind of a sixteenth birthday present from my dad.” Immediately, he huffs and rolls his eyes, and I give him a stern look in response. “Hey jerk, you said you wouldn’t judge.”

“I’m not!”

“Oh yeah? What’s this, then?” I do my best impression of the attitude he just gave me, but he just cracks up.

“Okay, okay… so, sixteenth birthday. But why a Chevelle?”

“I’ve always wanted one. I begged and begged, and Dad always said if I kept a 3.5 or above my first two years of high school, then he’d get it for me.”

“And I take it you did?”

“4.0, thank you very much.” I wink and instantly feel as if I’ve been too cocky. He doesn’t seem to mind though.

“Well shit, I’d buy you a Chevelle, too. I squeaked by with a 1.5 at best. School was about the last thing on my mind. I always assumed I’d play guitar for some famous band or something. Who needs school if you’re a rock star, right?” He chuckles to himself before looking back over at me. “So after you got the car, did your grades go to shit?”

“No sir. I kept them up, for the most part. I don’t want to talk about my grades though. Let’s go back to this music thing. Why
aren’t
you fronting a famous rock band? You’re amazing. Honestly!”

“I’ve got a pretty gnarly case of stage fright. It’s about the only thing that does really get to me. Singing, sharing a part of yourself with others… that’s never been my life. Never what it’s been about.”

“So what
has
it been about then?”

“That’s a whole other story for a whole other time.”

“Well, we’ve got all summer.” I pull into Whittaker’s lot and park. Scanning the lot for my ex’s truck, I’m relieved to see it’s not here.

We head inside the half-empty bar and Brandi squeals when she sees us. Making her way around the counter, she gives me a huge hug, nearly knocking me over in the process.

“Thank you! I’m sooooo fucking bored!” She lets go and eyes Xander from head to toe. “Well, hello again, stranger. Long time, no see. You get a hug, too.”

She stands on her tiptoes and wraps her arms around him with a squeeze before letting him go.

“Good to see you too, Brandi,” he says.

“How was your first day with the old man? He’s a fuckin riot, right?” She makes her way back around the bar and sets two cocktail napkins down. We each take a seat and she starts making my usual vodka, water and lime. “Xander, what are you drinking by the tonight?”

“Grab me a pale ale, please. One of the Schlafly. And yeah, it wasn’t bad at all. He’s a real good dude.”

She sets my drink down, pops the top off the beer and places it in front of Xander.

“Ethan is coming up later. Did he text you?” Brandi asks and I check my phone. There are two unread texts from him.

“I guess he did. What time?”

“He said ‘around eight.’ Then he said ‘maybe nine.’ I don’t know. You know how all over the place he is.” She rolls her eyes and wipes the counter aimlessly with a dirty dish rag.

“Yeah, no kidding.”

As she tends to a regular across the bar I turn my attention to Xander. “Ethan is a good friend of ours. Weird guy, but he’s sweet. The three of us went to school together, and he’s had my back with some stuff in the past.”

I bite my lip, fighting back the memory of Ethan grabbing Cody off me, only to get the living shit beat out of him. It was the first time Cody came after me, and it was the first time I left him.

Not long after was the first time I took him back.

“That’s cool. A friend of yours is a friend of mine,” Xander says, sipping his beer and then flashing me that smile I’m already too smitten with.

“So that ‘whole other story at a whole other time’ business… seems like as good a time as any.” I nudge him with my elbow.

“No, that’s not really bar talk. It’s not really ‘Hey, I just met you’ talk either.” He laughs and takes a swig of his beer. I know I should leave it be, but his vulnerability when I bring it up makes me selfishly want to know. It makes me
need
to know. In the end, I guess I’m as curious as my father.

“How about twenty questions?” I ask.

“I hate twenty questions.”

“How about five questions, then?”

He cracks a smile and lifts an eyebrow. “How about three?”

“Deal!”

“So, have I mentioned how much I fucking hate Tuesdays?” Brandi’s voice cuts right between us. Xander looks relieved.

Me? Not so much. ”Damn it, Brandi!”

“What?”

“Oh nothing. Can you grab me Fireball though? Pretty please. Two of them.” I look at Xander. “You’re taking one.”

“Three. I am too, bitch! Fuck Tuesdays!” Brandi calls out from across the bar as she begins filling the shot glasses from the Fireball chiller.

“Question one. You said you’ve been traveling awhile now, right? Do you ever get tired of it? Ever feel like settling?”

“Damn. Starting out with the heavy hitters, huh?” He eyes the shot glasses as if hoping it will somehow make them fill faster.

“Need me to go easier on you? Maybe a finger or two first before I go in with the whole fist?”

He looks at me in disbelief. “Did you really just say that?”

“Just answer the question, two fingers or three?”

“What am I going to do with you?” He laughs and shakes his head. “Shit, I didn’t even know you could talk when I first met you. I’m relieved to know you’re more than able.” He holds up a balled fist. “And no, I’m good with the fist. I’ve had practice.” He says with a wink.

My face contorts in disgust at the thought and he drops his hand, poking a tongue out at me.

“Anyway, to answer your question, I kind of settled in Georgia. As settled as I’ve ever been I guess. It never really did feel like home though. Come to think of it, I can’t say anywhere ever really has. Sometimes it’s easier that way.”

“Were you always in foster care?” I immediately regret asking. It isn’t my place, but my damn curiosity has gotten the best of me. “Never mind. I’m sorry I asked. I shouldn’t have.”

“It’s okay, really. It’s not really a big deal to talk about.” He clears his throat. “I spent the first few years of my life—seven or eight, I guess—with my biological parents. The rest were spent in foster care,” he says, swallowing hard. “I don’t have much in the way of family and Ocala stopped being home quite a while ago.”

Brandi brings shots over, interrupting our conversation. She sets ours down and lifts hers up. “To Xander getting acquainted with the beautifully miserable town of Truman Valley.”

“I’ll drink to that,” I say, raising my own, and we proceed to down them. She tosses the plastic shot glasses in the trash and makes her way around the bar to make her rounds.

“So did any of the foster homes actually feel like home?”
No filter I’m telling you.