Darker Than Desire (24 page)

“But she can't take care of me. She barely manages to take care of herself. If she gets mad or scared or worried, she'll start drinking again. Or doing drugs.” He hunched his shoulders. “I don't think she could stop. I … I don't want to live with her.”

His words finished in a whisper and then he looked up at Sybil, his eyes bright with tears. “I love Mom and I want to see her. But this is home. I want to be with you.”

Sybil moved in and grabbed him, hefting his weight into her arms. “Oh, Drew.” She breathed in the scent of him, Irish Spring soap and the Jergens lotion she had to force him to use. “Baby, I want you with me, too. But you are Layla's boy. We'll have to work this out, if and when the time comes. But I'll always be a part of your life and I'll always be there to take care of you. Promise.”

He sighed, his head on her shoulder.

It wasn't what he wanted.

It wasn't what she wanted.

But it might be what they had to live with.

Life kind of sucked that way sometimes.

*   *   *

David was helping Noah gut the empty building across from Louisa's when he saw her.

He didn't even
see
her, not at first.

His heart was pumping, his skin went tight and that was how he knew.

Slowly, he lifted his head and over Noah's shoulder he saw her coming up the sidewalk. Her eyes met his, and just like that she looked away.

“Come on, David; this is heavy,” Noah said, his voice rough with strain.

David glanced back at him, something ugly springing to his lips, and he stopped it only a split second before it left his lips. Tearing into Noah wasn't going to do anything to lighten his black mood.
Black. Bleak.
That pretty much described everything since the night he'd walked away from Sybil. The sun came up and went down, but it didn't shed any light on the shadows that seemed to fill his every waking moment.

Once they dumped their load, Noah dropped down on the ground and pulled a bandana from his pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow. “You going to tell me what your malfunction is lately?”

“Well, gee, Preach.” David gave him a sharp-edged smile as he picked up a bottle of water. “I get hauled in over Louisa's death because naturally, everybody thinks I snapped all because she jumped down my throat. She's done it to everybody, but naturally I'm the one who is going to lose it and kill her. People all are looking at me sideways and muttering as I walk by. You had somebody call and tell you to find somebody else to help finish a job if Thomas planned on keeping me with his group. I wonder why on earth I might be a little grouchy.”

“Grouchy.” Noah snorted. “
I
am grouchy. You're like a bear who just had his foot caught in a trap. So just get the trap off or chew your way free, whatever. Deal with it, before it gets worse.”

Deal with it
.

He curled his lip and looked away. “Mind your own business, Preach,” he said softly.

“You're my friend. That makes this … whatever … my business.”

Noah's voice was closer now and he turned his head, watched as Noah took another step closer.

“I can't help but notice that Sybil looks about as happy lately as you do. Also can't help but wonder why.”

David just stared at him.

“She's stood by you a long time,” Noah murmured. “I can't say I really noticed it, but looking back, I can think of a lot of times the two of you were together. Really together. If I'd actually been looking, I'd have seen it before now. All that time together and now, when things are rough, you're suddenly not. Why'd you push her away?”

“What makes you think I did the pushing?” David could have hit himself the second the words left him. He knew better, knew how Noah had a way of making people open up, spilling the words they had inside. He couldn't do that. Couldn't do this.

“Because I see how Sybil looks at you. Very little would make her walk. But I can see you pushing her away … probably because you want to protect her.” Noah shrugged. “I can't make you change your mind, but I can say that's a misguided sense of chivalry. I can't think of anybody who needs your protection less. She's handled Layla all her life. She can handle any bullshit the town might throw at her for a few weeks as things settle down about you.”

He opened his mouth, went to close it. Shaking his head, he just turned away, and that was when he saw Hank Redding standing in the doorway.

David's spine went rigid.

The look on Hank's face flooded him with tension and suddenly something wet splashed down the side of his leg. Looking down, he realized he'd crushed the water bottle he'd been holding, spilling all the water out.

“Hank.”

Hank didn't even look at Noah, just stared at David with a wide, unfocused look. “I … I need to talk to you, David.”

A hand came up, caught his arm. David turned his head and looked at Noah.

David just shook his head and moved forward.

He already knew what was going on. There was no avoiding this.

Without saying anything to Noah, David followed Hank out in the cool, bright light of the November morning. A few minutes ago David had been dripping with the sweat, and the brisk morning air should have felt good.

But he was chilled to the bone, and when Hank turned to look at him it only made it worse.

“I think it's time,” Hank said softly.

“Time?” David lifted a brow.

*   *   *

He'd been putting this off for too long, Hank realized. At first, he hadn't understood why he felt the need to speak so badly. But then he started to understand.

David had been right. It
was
poison, one that had eaten at him, damn near destroyed him and his marriage, his family. It had to be purged.

“I'm going to talk to Jensen Bell.” The words tumbled out of him, hard and fast like he'd change his mind if he didn't say them, but he knew he wasn't going to. He had to do this. Mostly because he'd seen the way his cousin, Clay Brumley, had been eying him the past few days.

Like he wanted to say something to him but wasn't sure how.

And he was almost certain things had happened to Clay.

If Clay was one of them, then things had to be done.

Clay had a six-year-old son.

This ugly, vicious circle would end. It would end now and it would never be formed again, even if Hank had to die to find a way to end it.

Feeling the weight of David's eyes on him, he looked up.

“Okay.” That was all David said. Simple and understanding acceptance.

“I—” He stopped, cleared his throat. “This sounds fucking weird and I know it, and you can say no, but I'd appreciate it if you came with me.”

David closed his eyes and tipped his head back to the sky. A vein pulsed in his neck and Hank was two seconds away from yanking the words back, saying,
Never mind, forget it
, when finally David slowly shifted his gaze back to him and then just gave a short nod. “Let me tell Noah.”

Not trusting himself to not lose his nerve, Hank ducked inside the building. In a few months he'd be helping with the new roof here, but for now it was up to Noah and the other guys. The hot, backbreaking labor actually looked like the sort of thing he needed to distract himself.

He went to offer a hand later on, but as he shoved off the wall he saw something from the corner of his eye.

Clay.

Watching him.

Just down the street, and his gaze was … off.

Swallowing, Hank moved deeper into the building, meeting David halfway across the floor. “This way,” he said curtly, cutting through the side door and moving down the alley.

David just shrugged, and as they strode down the alley Hank resisted the urge to look back. Until the very end.

That was when he saw Clay again. His cousin had moved down to peer down the alley, and there he was. Up there on Main, watching Hank, the way Hank watched him. Over the distance their eyes met, and Hank felt the impact of it down to the soles of his feet and he wanted to scrub himself clean, but he couldn't. This stained him to the soul and
clean
would never happen.

A shiver raced down Hank's spine and David must have seen something because he looked back as well. The second he did, Clay spun around and disappeared.

“What's he up to?” David asked, his voice soft.

“Not sure.” Hank shook his head, focusing once more on the sidewalk under his feet and what he had to do. “But lately, if I'm there, so is he. It's been going on a few days and I don't like it. I'd just as soon get this over with. I get the feeling he doesn't want me talking. To anybody.”

*   *   *

“How are you two related?” David asked softly.

“Our moms are—were—sisters. His mom died when he was a kid. Spent most of his life bouncing around between his dad and some of the aunts on my side of the family.” Hank shot David a look. “And some of the time, he lived with my grandparents.”

“Fuck.” David shot a look up the street as they exited the alley. “Let's take my truck. He'll probably be looking for yours.”

“Yeah.”

David gunned the engine and pulled out of the parking lot without another word. He could just imagine why Clay didn't want Hank talking.

The drive was a terse, quiet one. Noah hadn't said much of anything when David told him he had to leave. He'd just taken a long, silent look at Hank and then glanced at David.

As they climbed out of his truck a few minutes later, it seemed like every soul in town had their eyes locked on them. Judging by the way Hank hunched his shoulders and tucked his head low, he felt the same.

“I hate this,” Hank mumbled, his voice thick, cheeks ruddy.

David had nothing to say. He'd never made this walk, never planned on doing it. He'd told a cop—once. He still had the scars left from that. In the back of his mind, he could hear the sound the whip made as it whistled through the air, the crack of it on his skin—

“—long it will take—”

David jerked his head around, stared at Hank, realizing he had been talking.

“Sorry,” David mumbled with a shake of his head. An icy beat of sweat trickled down his spine and he fought the urge to shudder as memories started to slam into him.

In time, you'll be a man.…

Receive the honor …

Pain, digging into him, cutting through him. Hands, bruising and hard—

Sweat, thick and oily, was like a film on his brow and he wiped it off as the memories screamed at him. He swiped his forearm over his brow, saw that his hand was shaking.

Son of a bitch
. Furious, he closed his fingers, made a fist, so tight it ached.
Shut up. Shut
up
!
The memories continued to thud and pulse inside him until he had to slam them into submission. Slam them down, or go mad from it.

Hank's reddened eyes cut into him.

David had never wanted to turn his back and run so much in his life.

But he couldn't do it.

He wasn't even here to talk. Wasn't here to do anything. If Hank could do this on his own, then fuck it all, David could stop being a pussy and stand here.

“If you don't want to be here—”

David cut him off. “I don't,” he said sourly. Then he met the man's eyes dead-on, held them for a minute before he looked up at the police department, that simple brick building just ahead of them. “But you don't want to be here, either. You're here. So I'm staying.”

They headed up the steps, but before David went in he stopped, turning, and looked at Hank. “I told the cops. Once. I told Chief Andrews.”

Hank's eyes went wide and David laughed. The sound was ugly, broken even to his own ears. “You can imagine how well that went over. I was desperate, determined to get out. That was the beginning of the end. I told the chief, one night after a potluck at church.” David closed his eyes, remembering how the man's eyes had been so kind, so understanding.
Don't you worry, son. I'll handle this
.

When David got home, his father had been waiting.

Even now, David could hear the echo of their voices and the sound of that whip, their jeers. And he'd seen the chief's face for the first time when he lifted the mask.

Betrayal isn't tolerated, son
, he'd said sadly.

“I couldn't go to school for weeks,” David said. “I've got scars all up and down my back. All because I told the wrong cop.” He looked back at the doors and finally opened one. “I guess that's why I never tried again.”

“Hank!”

Both of them turned.

David saw it first, the matte black finish of the gun in Clay's hand. Instinct had David moving even as Clay lifted his hand, and he shoved Hank down. Something fiery hot tore through David's shoulder as he hit the ground and there were screams, startled shouts, and somewhere he thought he heard a crash.

The doors flew open and people pounded past him as he sat up, staring down the road. Clay was gone.

“Are you—shit, you're hit.”

He scowled up at Jensen when she jerked off her jacket and shoved it against his arm. As she made contact, he hissed and tried to jerk away. “Don't be a baby, David.”

“How about you be a cop instead of a doctor and go find Clay Brumley, figure out why he was shooting at Hank?” he demanded. He grabbed the jacket from her and held it in place himself, with a little less pressure. She was damn strong for somebody who looked like she barely weighed a hundred pounds. And mean, too.

“Clay?” Her eyes sharpened on David's, then moved to Hank.

Hank had just sat up and was staring dumbly at David. At the sound of her voice, Hank shifted his gaze to her and then nodded. “Yeah. It was Clay. He's … he's been kinda following me for a few days,” Hank said, his voice hoarse.