Lifers (3 page)

I didn’t really like being here again, but I didn’t have a choice.

I stayed in my truck while the Reverend had a very heated discussion with ole Hector. I didn’t want to hear what names he was calling me, so I turned on the radio and sat listening to an Evanescence track that was playing—‘Bring Me to Life’. The irony wasn’t lost on me, and I flipped over to a Texas country channel instead.

I’d missed out on a lot of music over the last eight years. Since then, I’d spent most of my down time at my folks’ house listening to the radio while I worked out in the converted garage. Saved Dad and Momma from having to look at my face, too.

Eventually, the shouting subsided and Hector stomped back into his crappy little wooden house. The preacher-lady waved at me to come on down. She was smiling, but it wasn’t a real smile—it was one that she’d pasted on just to encourage me.

She dangled the keys to Hector’s car and dropped them into my hand.

“Sorry about that. He’ll be as pleased as punch when you’ve fixed it,” and she turned to go.

“Wait, you ain’t stayin’?”

Anxiety laced my voice and the Reverend laid a sympathetic hand on my arm.

“You’ll be fine, Jordan. Hector says there are tools in the trunk. Just leave the keys on the stoop when you’re finished.”

“That ole fucker will shoot me rather than look at me—pardon my language, ma’am.”

“I can assure you that Hector will be very grateful,” she said, hesitantly.

It sounded good every time she said it about one of the townsfolk, but it didn’t make it true.

She patted my arm again, and like the whipped dog I was, I set to look at the broken down Chevrolet that had been abandoned under an old oak tree.

The dust from the Reverend’s tires was still swirling through the air when the door of the shack banged open, and Hector stood there pointing a twelve-bore at my favorite stomach.

“Got my eye on you, boy!” he spat. “You might have done got the preacher-lady fooled but I know you’re bad to the bone. So jest you get on with what you’ve gotta do. One false move and I won’t be ashamed to let loose a barrel of buckshot in your direction. Unnerstan’, boy?”

“Yes, sir. You’ll have no trouble from me.”

Isn’t that the truth.

He waved the gun again, motioning for me to carry on, and I picked up the wrench that I’d dropped in the dirt.

I felt a cold prickle on the back of my neck. It just didn’t sit right with me letting that old bastard talk to me that way, and I really wasn’t happy turning my back to a man who hated my guts, and who happened to be holding a loaded shotgun.

I tried to ignore him and work out why his battered old Chevrolet sounded like a forty-a-day smoker.

The sun was getting high in the sky, and I’d worked up quite a sweat. I could feel the heat burning the back of my neck, even though I’d turned my Rangers baseball cap around to give me protection.

I looked over my shoulder, but Hector hadn’t moved. He was still sitting in his rocking chair, a bottle of beer beside him, and the shotgun still unwaveringly pointed in my direction.

“Uh, Mr. Kees, could I get a cup of water, sir? It’s hotter than a billy goat in a pepper patch out here.”

“You think I’m dumb enough to turn my back on you, boy? My momma didn’t raise no fool.”

I couldn’t even get a fucking glass of water in this town.

Then I remembered that I had the take-out coffee still sitting in the cup holder of my truck. It would be stone cold by now, but that was fine by me.

“Okay. I’m just gonna get somethin’ from my truck.”

The barrel of the shotgun followed me as I walked past him. The hairs on the back of my neck rose when I heard a double hammer being cocked. I backed out slowly, the paper cup in my raised hands.

“It’s just a cup of coffee,” I said, quietly.

He grunted, which could have meant anything. But at least he didn’t shoot me.

The coffee tasted strong but not too bad, and went some way toward getting rid of the dust in my throat. I drank it down and went back to work.

The Chevrolet was a hunk of junk but I reckoned I could get it running again.

Half an hour later, I finished up and turned over the car’s engine. It fired on the second try and a rare smile crossed my face.

I didn’t know much, but I knew cars.

I turned off the engine and the silence spilled out.

“Go on now! You skedaddle!” snapped Hector. “The preacher-lady has done gotten her good deed for the day and I don’t want you on my property no more.”

I nodded, expecting nothing less.

“Murderer!” he yelled after me, as I drove away.

I expected that, too.

With nothing better to do and nowhere else to be, I drove home.

Thankfully, the house was empty. Dad was at work and Momma—hell, I had no idea where she was. She hadn’t been around much since I’d come back. Maybe I should have felt bad for driving her from her home, but somehow I couldn’t care less.

I took a long cool shower then helped myself to the fixin’s for a ham and cheese sandwich, and sat out in the shade of the porch, finishing my chow.

When I heard her car pull into the driveway, tension crept into my stomach as her footsteps sounded across the kitchen floor behind me. I didn’t turn around, but I could sense that she was watching me.

“What are you doin’ home at this hour?”

Her voice rasped out through the screen door.

“Finished a job for the Reverend and come back to get somethin’ to eat.”

She didn’t reply, just walked away, leaving me alone.

That was okay. It was still a freakin’ holiday to be by myself.

I went inside and lay on my bed for a while, just thinking. I could spend hours lost in my thoughts. I used to wonder what my life would have been like if I’d made a different decision that night. But thoughts like that could drive a man crazy. Instead, I tried to do what my counselor had told me, and focus on what I wanted for the future.

I’d gotten my GED and taken a couple of college courses, but nowhere near enough to get my degree. It had been hard to keep any motivation under the circumstances, but now … Community college was a possibility, but there was no way I wanted to stay around here once my time was up. I think my folks were counting down the days as much as I was.

It was hard to make plans for what I wanted to do with my life when I didn’t deserve to have any. I didn’t deserve to live, but I was too much of a coward to do anything about it. I’d tried a couple of times and it just hadn’t taken. I guess my punishment was to carry on living.

My mind drifted back to the preacher’s daughter. That was one hot woman. I felt myself getting hard thinking about her. She was beautiful, too, but she acted like she didn’t give a shit about it. She knew she was sexy, but it was part of who she was—she didn’t use it as a weapon.

Thinking of her full lips had inevitably given me a boner, and I was gonna do something with it when I heard the floor creak outside my door.

I sat up right quick and made sure there was nothing obvious on show.

Momma’s voice hammered through the wooden panel.

“I’m headin’ out. You said you needed some jeans—I guess I’ll have to drop into Goodwill. What size are you now?”

I climbed off of the bed and cracked the door to look at her.

“Thirty-two waist, 34 long.”

She nodded and walked away.

The short conversation had sufficiently deflated me, so instead of going back to my room, I headed for the garage to lift some weights. Mikey had left a set in there and since I’d been back, I’d turned the space into a mini gym.

I worked out for a couple of hours until I heard Momma’s car crunch to a halt, immediately followed by Dad’s truck.

I debated whether or not to go into the house but decided to stay in the garage where I’d be out of the way.

After half an hour, Momma banged on the door.

“Supper’s ready.”

The kitchen smelled of fried chicken. Momma had a way of using a whole load of herbs, so it was slightly spicy and tasted amazing. It was the only thing I liked about living here.

The first day I’d arrived back, she’d set three places at the table so we could all eat together. I think every single one of us had gotten indigestion staring at each other while trying to eat. Since then, she’d left my food at the kitchen table while she and Dad ate on trays in the family room.

It had become our unspoken agreement that the least time we all spent together, the better we’d get on.

I knew they didn’t want me here, but for now we were all locked together with our memories—frustration and hurt on my part; hatred on theirs.

I knew the preacher-lady thought she’d done me a damn favor talking them into having me back, but I wished a dozen times a day that she hadn’t.

It didn’t help. Wishing was for fools.

I rinsed off my plate in the sink and stacked it in the dishwasher, before heading back to my room.

I hoped I’d be able to sleep through the night, but the nightmares had been pretty bad since I’d gotten home. The counselor had warned me about it—I just didn’t think they’d be so fucking terrifying. The first night back, I thought I was having a heart attack. Dad had shaken me awake, then left without a word. Guess I’d pissed him off by spoiling his sleep.

I wasn’t surprised to startle awake in a cold sweat at 3 AM, but at least I hadn’t roused the house this time. Or if I had, no one cared.

I blew off some steam in the garage for an hour, then headed back to bed. It was just after dawn when I woke again.

Another fucking day in Paradise.

Jordan 

“What are you doing here?”

I didn’t need to look up to know who was speaking—I recognized her voice. It wasn’t that hard. Apart from my family and the Rev, no one else spoke to me—unless it was to yell curses.

I didn’t want to look at her, even though she was fucking beautiful, so I mumbled an answer.

“Workin’.”

“What? You work for my mom?”

That did make me look up. I thought she knew. Wasn’t that why she gave me the coffee? Because she knew who I was—the local charity case.

I made a mistake when I met her eyes. I was immediately caught in her intense gaze.

“I thought you knew.”

“Nope, not till now. So you’re what, like a handyman?”

I nodded, unable to speak.

“Oh, okay.”

I couldn’t help my eyes drifting up across her body as she spoke. I guessed she must have just woken up because her hair was all tangled and she looked like she was wearing what she’d slept in. She held a mug of coffee in her hands and the smell of those beans had my nose quivering like a coon dog. But then she crossed her legs, and my eyes were drawn to the sexy boy shorts she was wearing and tight tank top showcasing the most fan-fuck-tastic tits that…

“My eyes are up here, jerk-off!” she snapped.

I felt the heat rising in my cheeks and dropped my eyes to the ground once more. I picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow and headed toward the back of the yard.

Stupid stupid stupid.

“Hey!” she yelled after me. “You forgot your damn coffee again!”

I looked back at her, surprised. She was holding out the mug of coffee with an amused smile on her face.

“Black, no sugar—right?”

I nodded, still unsure what she meant.

“Well, I’m not carrying it across the damn yard to you!” she huffed, wiggling her bare toes at me.

She cussed a lot more than any preacher’s daughter I’d ever met before. She put the coffee down on the porch step and patted the space next to her.

“It’s okay, I won’t bite.”

God, I really hope that isn’t true
.

I clamped my tongue between my teeth to keep from saying something dumb like that out loud.

Gingerly, as if she might change her mind and explode with anger, I sat down next to her and picked up the mug of coffee. It smelled like heaven. I took a small sip and almost moaned with pleasure.

“The good stuff, huh?” she smiled, raising one eyebrow.

“It sure is, ma’am. I haven’t tasted anythin’ that good since … since forever.”

“Ma’am?” she laughed. “Jesus, that makes me sound like I’m a hundred or something. How old are you, for crying out loud?”

“I’ll be 24 at the end of the year,” I answered, my head spinning like a pinball.

“Oh, me, too. I turned 24 in April.”

I stared down at my coffee, unsure if I was supposed to say ‘congratulations’ or something. She looked like she was expecting me to speak.

“Don’t get all Chatty Cathy on me!” she laughed, and nudged my shoulder.

Christ, I’m pathetic. A hot woman is talking to me, and I just sit here, dumb as a rock. I used to be good at this shit.

“You from around here? You sound like you are, but ya never know.”

A jolt of surprise shocked me.
She doesn’t know who I am!

“Yes, ma’am. Born and bred.”

“I told you—don’t call me ‘ma’am’. My name is Torrey.”

Even her name was pretty.

She paused, and I realized she was waiting for me to introduce myself. I guess the last eight years had robbed me of my manners, along with everything else.