Show Me How (2 page)

Deacon didn't respond, and after a ­couple minutes, he straightened in his seat and pulled out his phone for a distraction.

And I was thankful for it. I was able to breathe easier knowing he wouldn't try to talk to me again . . . knowing his eyes were busy.

But then the cemetery that rested just before town came into view, and I thought I might have preferred the sick twisting in my stomach from Deacon to the painful clenching of my heart over a guy who would never see or hold his son.

I
TRAILED MY
fingers absentmindedly through Keith's hair as he slept sprawled across my lap that evening. We had unloaded everything and gotten my things situated in the warehouse I shared with Jagger and Grey, but I hadn't been able to put off bringing Keith to the cemetery any longer. He'd been begging me ever since he'd woken up that afternoon, and no matter how much my heart rebelled against being here, I knew Keith wanted this . . .
needed
it.

I leaned back, putting my weight on one arm, and let my eyes move from my son to the stone just a foot from where the blanket ended that we were sitting on. The flowers Keith had picked out for him were resting across the base, and something about the look of them bothered me. Like this was all too fresh, too new.

Like I was being sucked back in time four years, to when Ben had been lowered into the ground.

Dozens of beautiful flowers had been on his casket, and even more had been placed on top of the freshly packed dirt. Now whenever we visited his grave with fresh flowers—­and Keith demanded we bring new flowers
every
time—­all I could think about was that day.

It felt like I'd never get away from it.

Like I'd never get away from the heartbreak and pain I'd gone through before and after he'd died, and then the years of secrets I'd gone through after.

 

Chapter Two

Charlie

May 25, 2016

“
H
AMMER SMASH!
”

There are those moments when you know something is about to happen; something you should try to prevent. But that feeling is mixed with confusion as you're slowly pulled from your dreams by the yell of your toddler, and it takes a second too long for your muscles to react. And then in a fraction of a second, you're yanked into awareness, and your world is filled with the bright lights of your room . . . and pain.

My eyes cracked open, and I only had a fraction of a second to understand why my son was flying through the air, and to tense my body, before Keith slammed down onto my stomach. I choked out a cough and rolled, sending him sprawling onto the bed.

“Hammer smash! Hammer smash!” he shouted, and jumped for another round of jump-­on-­Mommy.

Now that I was more alert, I shot my arm out to prevent him from landing on me, and waited until I saw his blue eyes directly in front of my own before I released my hold on his waist.

“Mommy, I see you!”

“Morning,” I wheezed out, and rolled onto my back again.

Keith scrambled up until he was sitting on my stomach, and beamed down at me.

Despite the lingering pain in my stomach, my chest swelled with love for the little monster sitting on me. I ran a hand through his dark hair, and asked, “Who are you today?”

His face fell. “Mommy! Hammer!”

I feigned confusion. “Who has a hammer?”

“I do!”

“And who are you?”

“
For
, Mommy.” His tone dripped with disappointment that I hadn't guessed.

“Oh . . .” I drew out the word, and nodded slowly. “I thought I might have seen a little Hulk in you this morning, with the ‘smash' and all, but I was wrong. You are very clearly Thor.”

He sighed. “Mommy . . . Hulk smashes wiff his hands. For smashes wiff his hammer.”

I bit back my smile and tapped his nose. “
Hits
. Thor
hits
with his hammer. He also throws it.”

Keith took a second to take in my words, and then his eyes lit up. “Hammer frow!” he yelled, but just before he could throw an imaginary hammer at me, I threw my arm up in front of me.

“Captain America shield!”

Keith's hand hit my arm, and grabbed tight. “Mommy!” he whispered in awe, then released my arm to pat it. “Dood shield.”

I pulled him close to kiss his forehead, then asked, “What time is it?”

He shrugged against me. “I dunno. But Uncle J is tryin' to make breakfast.”

After months away with only weekends to see him, I wanted nothing more than to snuggle up for a few minutes with my son as I had the past mornings; but dangerous, dangerous words had just left his little lips.

Jagger messed up cereal. He'd burn the warehouse down if he actually attempted to cook something.

“Is he?” My voice rose in alarm as I hurried to move
Thor
off my stomach. “Well, I think we should go put a stop to that before we no longer have somewhere to live.”

Keith froze, and looked up at me with wide eyes once I was standing. “We can't live here anymore?”

I bit back a curse, and bent so I was at eye level with him. “Of course we can. But Uncle J shouldn't be cooking. Go stop him before . . . just go stop him.”

I gave Keith's back a little pat as he turned, and watched him race from our room. “Uncle J, Uncle J! Mommy said stop! Uncle J! Hammer frow!”

A smile lit up my face as I listened to Keith's voice trailing behind him.

Jagger had been brooding ever since I'd
informed
him that I was moving back to Thatch three days ago. But I would take his moody pouting if it meant I could wake up every day to “hammer smashes,” and hear my son's sweet voice echo throughout the warehouse at all hours of the day.

I pulled my long blond hair up into a high ponytail as I emerged from the bathroom minutes later, and padded down the hallways to the front of the warehouse.

This warehouse had been the home of our grandparents' business when Jagger and I were growing up, but had been cleared out and left to Jagger when they passed since they didn't trust our mother to hold on to it.

I didn't blame them.

Our grandparents had left their money equally split among our mother, Jagger, and me. While Jagger used a chunk of his for college and remodeling the warehouse into a place to live, our mom had blown through her third within two years of their passing. For years after, she tried to swindle Jagger out of his, and had even gone after Grey for money when she had spent most of Husband Number Eight's money.

But we hadn't seen or heard from Mom in a year and a half, and as awful as it sounded, our lives were better for it. She had never been a parent, only a person who brought endless heartache, and flitted in and out of our lives for as long as I could remember.

Jagger had raised me. I still had him and Keith. I didn't need anyone else.

My smile from earlier returned when I found Jagger and Keith play-­fighting in the living room with Aly crawling after them.

I sniffed dramatically and asked, “Is that burnt water I smell?”

Jagger paused and sent me a sarcastic look. “Ha h-­uh! Time out,” he wheezed as he slowly fell to his knees, clutching his stomach.

Keith's smirk was victorious. “For
always
beats Loki, Mommy!”

“Of course he does, especially when he takes a cheap shot,” I said teasingly, and pulled him into my arms.

“What's that?” Keith asked, excitement dancing in his eyes at the thought of learning something new.

“It's what you just did to Uncle J.” I forced back the laugh that was begging to be released when I glanced at Jagger, now lying on his back, still holding his stomach with one hand and attempting to stop Aly from flopping on him with the other. I directed my attention back to my son and whispered, “Can you do something for Mommy?”

Keith nodded vigorously, his blue eyes even brighter. “Yes!” he whisper-­yelled back to me.

I squatted down to whisper in his ear, and loved the way he wiggled with anticipation. “Can you go say you're sorry to Uncle J for taking a cheap shot?”

He deflated, and when I pulled back, was giving me a look as though I'd just crushed his dreams. “I guess,” he said with a sigh, and trudged slowly over to Jagger. With the same look and sigh, he mumbled, “Uncle J, I'm sorry for taking a cheap shit.”

“Oh gosh,” I groaned, and dropped my face into my hands as Jagger barked out a laugh. “Stop laughing,” I hissed, then looked back up at Keith. “Baby, it's
shot
. Cheap
shot
.”

Keith shrugged. “That's what I said!” He looked between Jagger and me, and I could tell he didn't know if he should start laughing as well, but the confusion held out. “Does this mean I didn't beat Loki?”

“Nah, you definitely won this one, bud,” Jagger said, his words still laced with amusement.

“Yeah! Hammer frow!” Keith yelled, then tore off out of the main room, back down the hall toward our room.

I walked over to pick Aly up, and lifted an eyebrow as I stared down at my brother. “Did you guys watch anything other than
The Avengers
while I was at school?”

Jagger's eyes widened. “Do you want me to name all the Marvel movies?”

“No need. I get it.”

The front door opened, and I turned to see Grey walking in with boxes of food.

I glanced quickly to the kitchen, but didn't see any food out. “I thought you were making breakfast,” I said to Jagger, accusation creeping through my tone.

He shrugged impishly as he walked away to help Grey. “Had to get you out of bed somehow.”

“Being jumped on by a toddler would have done the job, you didn't need to make me worry about the safety of the building.”

“She's so dramatic in the mornings,” he mumbled as he took the boxes from his wife and passed a kiss across her forehead. Jagger's eyes narrowed as they darted over Grey's face, and remained on her as he slowly stepped back toward the kitchen. “And you look extremely happy for someone who barely slept last night.”

I made a face. “Ew.”

“Not like that!” Grey said quickly.

“
Aly
, Charlie.” Jagger shot me an annoyed look. “She was up all night with Aly.”

“Anyway!” Grey took Aly from my arms, then swayed away from me. Her eyes were only for her daughter, but her singsong voice floated back to me. “Favor repaid, Charlie. You're welcome!”

“What favor?” When Grey didn't immediately answer because she was busy cooing at Aly, I thought of her excited smile, and wariness crept over me. “Grey . . . what favor?”

Her golden eyes danced when she nodded in Jagger's direction. “You have a job now.”

Jagger held up his box-­filled hands. “I don't know why she's gesturing to me. I didn't do shit.”

Keith's war cry announced his presence before I heard the sound of his slapping feet against the hard floor. “Cheap shit!”

“Well, that's rude and so not appropriate, bud,” Grey murmured.

“
Jagger
,” I bit out when he laughed loudly. “Keith, baby, it's cheap
shot
.”

“That's what I said!” Keith said in exasperation as he slowed to climb up in a chair at the table, where Jagger was now laying out the food.

­“People are going to think I cuss around him all the time.”

Grey bit down on her bottom lip, but the corners of her mouth still lifted. “We can just blame Jagger.”

“Heard that,” he called out without lifting his head.

“Again,
anyway
,” Grey began, drawing out the word. “I was talking to Mama while I was waiting for our food, and she mentioned needing another person or two at the café. I might have said something about you being back and in need of a job. One thing led to another, and . . . surprise?” she said uneasily when my face fell.

“You got me a job at Mama's Café?”

“Uh . . . yes?” When I didn't respond, she hurried to say, “If you don't want to work there, you don't have to forever. But it's
something
while you try to find a job somewhere in Thatch or around here. Or you don't have to work there at all; I can talk to Mama. I just thought since you pretty much got me the job at The Brew, I would—­”

“No! No, it's fine!” I said quickly, and smiled in an attempt to appease her. “I appreciate it, thank you. You're right; I need something and it's always hit or miss with trying to find openings around here. So again, thank you.”

Grey still looked worried, like maybe she'd done something she shouldn't have.

“I think working at Mama's will be great!” I said more sincerely. “I'll call down there after breakfast and see when she wants me to come in.”

“Um . . . well, she asked if you could come in tomorrow before ten so you don't get slammed with a breakfast or lunch rush right away.”

So soon. It felt like I had no time to prepare for being surrounded by ­people I wasn't used to. Had no time to prepare for what I had been attempting to avoid since I'd moved back to Thatch. For
who
I had been attempting to avoid.

Mama's only grandchild, and someone who frequented Mama's Café: Deacon Carver.

I forced my smile to remain, and nodded in acknowledgment. “Perfect.”

Deacon

May 29, 2016

“
I
T'S MY FAVORITE
part of the week!” I boomed as I watched one of my best friends and his fiancée climb out of his truck. “I get to feed Harlow!”

Knox's fiancée shook her head but smiled affectionately. “What do you mean
week
, this is nearly a daily thing,” Harlow called out.

“Dude.
I'm
feeding her,” Graham said, and shoved at my arm as we walked across the parking lot.

“You both realize by now that she feeds herself, right?” Knox asked once we were closer.

I scoffed. “No. Pretty sure we feed her.”

“She isn't a baby.”

“
She
also needs to fit into her wedding dress,” Harlow butted in, and kissed both Graham's and my cheeks in greeting. “So no more putting extra food on my plate.”

“You're no fun,” I grumbled.

“Warriors need extra food,” Graham added, his tone making it clear that he had no plans to stop.

As if we would no matter what Harlow or Knox said.

Underweight
couldn't begin to describe Harlow when she'd come back into our lives nearly a year ago.
At death's door
was a better description.

Beaten, but not broken. Literally skin and bones, but as Graham always said, still a fucking warrior. Bravest and strongest girl I knew, and Graham and I had taken it upon ourselves to get Harlow back to a healthy weight.

Didn't matter that she was nearly there, I doubted either of us would ever stop feeding her. The memory of her bleeding out in our kitchen and barely able to stand after running from her psychotic and abusive husband was burned into my memory, as I knew it was Graham's.

“Let's just eat, I'm starving,” Knox said as he pulled Harlow against his side and led her into Mama's Café.

We weren't in there for more than a few seconds before my grandma, Mama, popped around the corner.

“Well if it isn't some of my favorite ­people!” She hugged us all and then waved us away. “Your booth is there, as always. I gotta get back in the kitchen to make sure all's well.”

“The place will still run just fine if you take a break, Mama,” I called out, but knew she wouldn't bother with an answer.

If she wasn't everywhere in her café at all times, she worried it would fall apart. I didn't know why she allowed anyone to work for her since she just tried to do all of their jobs herself anyway.