Lifers (20 page)

But when I got home, I saw the cans of paint that Torrey had found at Hulk’s junkyard, and I had an idea.

I dug out some old paintbrushes from the garage and set to work. I didn’t need a sketch to know what I was going to paint. I did it for Mikey, for me and for Torrey. I hoped that if I used her gift, she’d see that I was grateful, and sorry for the cruel things I’d said.

First of all, I turned the ugly red smear that covered up the word ‘murderer’ into a boiling blood-red sea—the way it can look when the setting sun sinks into the ocean. Then I painted a large Celtic cross onto the door, the same image I had on my shoulder blade, the same image I had seared into my brain. Then I added the bleeding heart and Mikey’s name in a looping script across the whole design.

I’d probably been kneeling down for a couple of hours when I straightened up suddenly, aware that Momma was watching me.
How long had she been standing there?

“Reverend Williams came to see me this mornin’,” she said. “What have you been sayin’ to her?”

I blinked in surprise.

“Nothin’. I’ve hardly spoken to her. Why? What did she say?”

“You must have said somethin’.”

“She asked me how I was getting’ on at home. I said it was fine. That’s it.”

“And what about that girl of hers?”

My eyes dropped to the ground. “Yeah, I talk to Torrey.”

Momma’s eyes narrowed and her lips curved in a sneer.

“I knew it: that girl’s trouble.”

My heart started pounding.
What had Torrey told her momma? Surely nothing about us? Please God, not that!

“I haven’t done anythin’,” I said, my voice entirely lacking in conviction.

“Well, the Reverend has been around here again, pokin’ her nose in where it don’t belong.”

I didn’t know what to say, but I got the impression that Momma didn’t need me to speak either.

“Looks like we’ll have to keep you,” she spat out.

“What?”

“The Reverend said it was our Christian duty to keep you the whole time you’re on parole. So we will. We’ll do what’s right, but then I want you gone. Understand?”

“Yeah, I understand.”

“I don’t think you do!” she said, her voice shaking with fury. “Every time I look at you it sickens me! All I can see is your brother’s cold, dead body rottin’ in that grave, and you’re walkin’ around wearin’ his clothes, breathin’ God’s good air. It’s not fair. It’s just plain wrong!”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” I yelled back. “Don’t you think I wish a thousand times a day that it had been me and not him?”

Momma’s eyes snapped to mine. “I wish that, too.”

She slammed back into the house, rattling the door and frame.

I leaned over as my stomach emptied itself, splattering the open cans of paint with vomit.

Torrey

Two days in the city had been about my limit. Guess I was turning into a country girl. What a thought.

The barista training had been tedious beyond words, mainly because I didn’t learn anything new, just a bunch of marketing slogans they wanted us to use as we prepared a triple soy latte chai mocha with cinnamon shit. But I liked a couple of the girls I’d met, and we made arrangements to meet up in a few weeks to hit the clubs.

I’d been given the late shift at the mall for the first month—two till midnight. It suited me. I definitely wasn’t a morning person … although some things made an early start worthwhile.

I looked out of the window when I heard Jordan’s truck. I’d calmed down considerably since I’d last seen him. Thinking about it long and hard, I recognized that neither of us had a great track history with relationships. And if I was honest with myself, I knew that I’d tried to push him too hard. So I was giving him one more chance not to be a douchebag. He’d better damn well take it with both hands or I was kicking his ass.

I immediately noticed the incredible artwork he’d painted to cover up the ugly graffiti. Damn, he was some artist! I recognized the motif—it was the same as the tattoo over his back. It made sense now. It was a memorial to his brother, and it was obvious that he suffered Mikey’s loss every single day.

I looked at the small box lying in a plastic bag next to my bed, wondering again about the present I’d bought him. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, I wasn’t so sure. But as I’d already lost the receipt, he may as well have it. But getting involved with someone so … damaged? Now
that
was a really dumb idea. Pity being smart wasn’t enough to stop me jumping in with both feet.

Since I’d broken up with Jem, my first serious boyfriend when I was a college freshman, I’d made it a point of staying away from guys I liked too much. Instead, I played the field and kept it simple. Even my ex-boss was supposed to be casual. But there was something about Jordan; plus, I had a shrewd idea that the sex was only going to get better. The combination of his strength and softness, his firm fit body and kindness that he let out every now and again. Not that what we’d shared so far hadn’t felt pretty damn good at the time, but I sensed he had plenty more to offer. I was looking forward to finding out, providing he did the appropriate amount of begging my forgiveness, of course.

I staggered downstairs and took the time to make some coffee. Then I carried two mugs out onto the porch step. Jordan was already shirtless, wearing just his cut-off jeans, and hauling garbage out of Mom’s shed.

His smooth skin glistened with sweat, and I could appreciate again the breadth of his shoulders and his narrow waist, the fine curve of his ass, and long, strong legs. He was beautiful on the outside, but I think I was the only person who saw that there was beauty on the inside, too.

“Hey, cowboy! You forgot your damn coffee!” I shouted.

His head shot up, and I could see from the expression on his face that he hadn’t expected to hear from me again. It was kind of sweet how nervous he looked. I sobered quickly when I remembered the reasons for that.

He walked up and hovered in front of me, uncertain whether to sit or make a run for it.

“Put your ass down,” I said, pointing to the space beside to me. “Seeing you hopping from foot to foot is making me want to pee.”

He cracked a small smile at that and sat down on the step below me so I had a grandstand view of his strong shoulders and muscled back.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he said, softly.

“You’re lucky I’m a forgiving person,” I said.

“I am … lucky,” he agreed, nodding slowly. “I don’t deserve for you to even talk to me right now.”

“Oh, jeez! Not the pity party again! ‘Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, think I’ll go and eat worms!’”

He frowned and wrinkled his nose at the same time. “Worms?”

“I’m guessing you weren’t in the Boy Scouts.”

“Um, no! Not my scene.”

“Oh, right—resident bad boy.”

He scowled and looked down.

“You owe me an apology, you jerk,” I said, insistently. “And I’m not a very patient person.”

“God, I know,” he said, hanging his head. “I was such a fuckin’ tool.”

“Yes, you were. Here…” and I dropped his present onto his lap.

“What’s this?”

“For you.”

“You … you got somethin’ for me?”

He seemed stunned.

“Yup.”

“What is it?”

“Well, gee! Why don’t you take a look-see, numb nuts!”

He opened the plastic bag and stared inside.

“You bought me a cell phone?”

“Yep. Cheapest I could find. It’s pay-as-you-go so you’ll have to add the minutes when you need them. I put $50 on it to get you started.”

“You bought me a cell phone?” he repeated.

It really wasn’t sinking in.

“Yes, Jordan, I bought you a cell phone.”

“But … I don’t have anyone to call.”

I rolled my eyes.

“It’s so you can call me to apologize when you fuck up again. I programmed my number in already. And you
still
owe me a fucking apology. So get texting.”

I left him sitting on the step with his new toy. He wasn’t moving, but I was pretty sure he was still breathing, so I figured he’d be okay.

I guessed he wasn’t used to receiving presents.

It made me wonder what happened in prison at Christmas. I couldn’t imagine they had presents from Santa, but you never know. I’d have to ask him.

When I got out of the shower, my cell phone was blinking:
1 new message
.

I grinned to see that it was from Jordan.

I’m sorry.

Well, hardly Pulitzer prize winning, but it was a start. Clearly, he was a man of few words.

I couldn’t help smiling to myself as I read his message again.

I slid my new black polo-shirt out of the polythene sleeve and dressed slowly. My uniform was all black, showing that I was a barista. It was way cooler than having to wear a green apron like the rest of the staff, but not
that
cool. They’d promised me some uniform pants, too, but because they hadn’t had any in my size, I was allowed to wear my own jeans for now. Yay for me. At least they made my ass look good.

I decided to debut my new outfit to Jordan and make him another coffee before I left.

I was just about to bang on the kitchen window when I remembered that I was trying
not
to scare him to death. Instead I just took two mugs outside and waited for him to notice me. It didn’t take long.

“What do you think?” I said, holding my arms out so he could see the new uniform.

His eyes swept up and down my body and he swallowed several times.

“Uh, you look good. Great. You always look great.”

“Oh my God! Don’t tell me my barista uniform is turning you on!”

He gave a shy smile. “Well, yeah. I guess it is.”

I laughed out loud and fist-pumped the air. “Workers of the world unite!”

He sat down next to me and picked up the second mug of coffee.

“Uh, so did you get my text message?”

I smiled at him.

“Yes, Jordan. I got your effusive, heart-warming message.”

His cheeks flushed and he looked down.

“I liked your message very much,” I said, quietly.

“I mean it,” he said, still staring at the dirt by his left foot.

“I know you do. Apology accepted. So, do you want to do something on Sunday?”

“Sunday?”

“Yes, Sunday, the day after tomorrow. I’m working Saturday but I thought it would be fun to do something on the weekend.”

I paused, waiting for the penny to drop. Waiting … waiting … but … nope. No dropping pennies.

“Jordan, this is where you ask me out on a date!” I said, giving him a huge, Texas-size hint.

His eyes got big as he stared at me.

“You … you want to go on a date with me?”

“Well, jeez! You don’t have to! Way to make a woman feel wanted!”

I stood up to go, feeling the raw sting of rejection.

He leapt to his feet.

“No! I mean, yeah! I do! I just … I thought I’d blown my chance with you.”

“Well, you said you were sorry. I believe you, so … how about we try again?”

“God, yes!” he said, his eyes alight with hope. “Torrey Delaney, will you go on a date with me on Sunday?”

“I’ll have to check my calendar.”

His face fell instantly.

“I’m teasing you, Jordan. Yes, I would very much like to go on a date with you on Sunday.”

He closed his eyes, a small smile curling the corners of his lips. When he looked at me again, his pupils were dark and intense.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he said, huskily.

A pulse of desire shot through me. “Go ahead.”

He took a step toward me and placed his hand on my cheek, stroking it with the pad of his thumb.

Because I was still standing on the porch, we were nearly the same height. He simply leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine, sighing as he pulled away.

“So soft,” he whispered.

I wanted more.

Wrapping my arms firmly around his neck, pressing his body against mine, I pulled him toward me again.

It was like striking a match, except I didn’t get a chance to stand back before the flame burned. His explosion of desire awed me.

He grabbed me around the waist and took two quick steps up onto the porch, slamming my back against the wall of the house so breath rushed out of my lungs. I gasped and felt his tongue in my mouth, forceful and demanding. My legs wrapped around his waist and he ground his hips into me, a hard point of heat against my inner thighs.

His intensity was unnerving, but I was too lost in the moment to care.

“I want you so fuckin’ badly,” he growled, against my neck. “God, I want you!”

His grip was almost painful and I could feel his whole body trembling.

I was panting hard, mewling wordlessly.

“Please!” he begged. “Please, Torrey, please!”

Thoughts of being late for work, thoughts of any description flew out of my mind.

“Upstairs,” I gasped.

Still clutching me in his arms, he shouldered his way through the screen door and into the kitchen. His eyes darted around and I pointed toward the stairs. He almost ran up them, the weight of my body insignificant against his need.