Devastate (Havoc Series Stand Alone Book 5) (13 page)

              On the back porch I sit in his rocking chair, his favorite glass in my hand, his dog on my feet with my brothers sitting on the steps staring out at the view.

              “It's hot as balls in this state,” Glove grumbles leaning against the railing. “And that's coming from someone raised in Texas.”

              “I was raised in Texas too,” Grim replies. “This is just a different kind of heat.”

              Glove whines, “I feel sticky...” The corner of my lip twitches. “Not the good sticky either. Not the kind of sticky that comes from Mandy licking chocolate off my--”

              “No.” Grim covers his face. “I can't. It's weird enough you're boning my wife's best friend--”

              “Every day,” Glove adds playfully.

              “But I won't listen to you describe it in detail.”

              “Maybe it would make Lordy feel better,” he teases, another attempt to put a smile on my face. “Would you really deny him that in his moment of solace?”

              “Maybe if I punch you that'll help?”

              The banter cracks another small smirk.

              “I swear, you're like children,” Jazz's voice calls from the doorway.

              Immediately, I turn around noticing Haven in the kitchen washing her hands.

              “Grim, how many times has Haven told you Glove is not a punching bag?” Jazz joins the attempt at lightening the bleak mood.

              “Today?” The remark is received with a smile from her.

              “Pa,” I interrupt. “How is he?”

              “Alive,” Jazz sighs. “I would've called to tell you but Haven left her phone here. Mine was dead. And I didn't wanna bother askin' Ma in her state.”

              My head seems to bob without my consent. “But he's alive?”

              “Yes. However he's not allowed any more visitors until in the morning.”

              “Why didn't Ma stay at the hospital with him?”

              She simply shrugs. “All she would say is, it's not what he wanted.” I go to counter again when she says, “According to Ma, you're the one he wants to see when he wakes up.”

              “I'll be there.”

              “Good. I'm gonna get dinner started--”

              “Is it take out?” Glove cautiously asks.

              “I can cook!” She screeches. The three of us tilt our heads at her in unison, our action getting an annoyed scoff. “Fuck all of you. Ugh. Haven's gonna help.”

              “And by help you mean you do it all?” Glove leads the conversation.

              “She shouldn't be on her feet that much,” Grim starts. “She--”

              “She's fine,” Jazz fights. “And the sooner you remember what happens when you treat her like a wounded pet, the better for your marriage. Now, you two, entertain yourselves. Lordy...Ma wants to speak with you in her room.”

              Quickly, I go to move past her, but stop in front of her instead. Lowering my voice to her ear I whisper, “I still have questions. I still expect answers. But for now...thank you.”

              Without making eye contact she nods as her reply. Anxiously, I cross through the house briefly waving to Haven who has started chopping something. Taking the quickest route there passing the downstairs study, library, and antique room, I branch off down the hall, approaching the sound of faint tears.

              Just steps away from the door, my body seems to freeze, suddenly in no hurry to walk into that room. What do I say? What do I say to a woman who almost lost her husband today? To the woman who doesn't get to spend the night at his bedside? To the woman I couldn't comfort the one time she needed me too? What is there to say when all I wanna do is ask a million questions and demand a million more answers.

              “Rascal, quit your lurkin' out in the hall and get in here,” she calls to me.

              Slinking my body inside, her room I let my sight settle on her. From the edge of the large bed she pats the spot on their mattress next to her. I stroll across the room that is a replica of the one we've been staying in except without the modern touches.

              “You doin' okay?” I wrap an arm around her shoulder.

              “As good as I can, Rascal,” she sighs. “I'll tell you one thing, I'm gonna yell at that old coot somethin' dangerous for givin' me this kind of scare.”

              Gently stroking her arm I shake my head. “I uh...I don't think he meant to Ma.”

              “Doesn't matter if he meant to or not. I'll show him,” the fussing to herself continues. “No more whiskey. No more fried chicken. Only peaches and salads for the rest of his life.”

              Pa would probably rather die today than live in those circumstances. Hearing his voice make a similar remark in my head forces me to smile and rest my head against hers. “It'll be alright Ma. He's alive and that's all that matters.” After a long beat I say, “I'm sorry I got kicked out of the hospital.”

              “It really wasn't your fault, Rascal,” she defends me. “That damn Jo has never known when to change the station. Swear that boy came out of the womb with a chip on his shoulder. I blame Jonny.”

              I let another moment pass before questioning, “About what he said...”

              Ma scoots her body over and turns so she's staring at me. Sweetly she places a hand on my cheek and shakes her head. “You're a good boy, Rascal...” Her hand drops and starts, “Jo was out of line for what he said to you.”

              “Because it's not true, right?” She doesn't deny it. Urgently my eyes search hers. “Because it's not true, right Ma? I'm a Lord. I belong in this family.”

              “Honey, you are more Lord than any of those other boys ever will be.”

              “Then why--”

              “Because that's not the whole story.” She folds her hands in her lap. “And I'm gonna tell it once, so I suggest you button those lips and listen well.” Following her instructions, I feel my body strain in anticipation. “Your mother is a lot like Mary Beth. She met your father and saw dollar signs. Pa and I both knew it, but we damn sure weren't gonna stop it. Jonny thought he was in love. Who were we to tell him something different? You know Pa. He's all about letting you boys make your own mistakes. Remember that time you went fishin' together and thought it would work better to bait your pole with caterpillars instead of worms, but then you couldn't find any caterpillars, so you were stuck with nothin'?”

              It wasn't one of my favorite days, but it was one I remember. Pa was all about letting me fail, so I could learn how to pick myself back again. He was always there ready to offer a hand if absolutely necessary in situations like that. For the most part though, I had lots of bumps, bruises, and scars from my own stupidity taking suit.

              “So, we did what we could to protect the company long term. Pa put in clauses right and left to keep the company intact for worst case scenarios of the future. Your parents had been together for a little over a year when the arguments started. First it was over long nights. Then it was over money. Eventually kids. Things were so touch and go, your father had even talked to a divorce lawyer. But one morning...Mary Ellen joins us for breakfast in tears, claiming she's pregnant. Your daddy hit the roof with excitement, but something felt wrong to Pa. He knew...he knew somthin' wasn't right. Time went on and things got better between them until the Smiths found out that Mary Ellen had been cheating on your father while they were separated...”

              The realization of where this story is headed causes the whiskey in my stomach to boil.

              “And your conception time...overlapped. Truth was, Mary Ellen had no idea whose baby you really were.” With a deep breath she continues, “Your father was livid, but he wanted you so bad, he ended up forgiving her. Claiming, he wasn't worried. You were his son. It was at that point Pa added a clause to his inheritance. It was stated, that no matter what happened, if he were to ever test your DNA to see if it was match, in any way shape or form, he'd lose it all.”

              “Why would Pa do that?”

              “You'll have to ask him that yourself, Rascal. He didn't consult me. He didn't consult anyone, but that lawyer.” She draws in a deep breath. “When you were born, your parents were over the moon about you. Hard to believe I know. But you were perfect. You really were, Rascal. Down to your fat little toes that looked like hogs waiting to be oiled.” The description gets a loving smile. “But then you started to grow. Your hair changed colors. Your eyes. Dark hair and dark eyes. Your father would look at you and curse your name because he saw less and less of himself in you every day. I tried explain' you were just a baby. Baby's change. It didn't matter. He wasn't tryin' to hear it. And the day he went to kick your mother out because he was sure as shit certain you weren't his, she announced she was pregnant again. This time he had no doubt it was his. They had barely spent time away from each other. Both of them began to distance themselves from you. Leaving you with Pa and me claiming they just couldn't handle it. Then Jo was born looking exactly like your father and that was it for him. He just knew, there was no way in hell you could be his. He wanted to give you up to the man he believed to be your birth father.”

              The lump that started off the size of a knot has developed into a bolder that can barely block the vomit clawing its way up my throat. “What happened to him?”

              “He had died before you were born, God rest his soul.” She shakes her head. “Volunteer firefighter.”

              Maybe that's where the pride in serving others comes from? No. No. Fuck that. I'm a Lord. I have to be.

              “Pa threatened him. Told him if he tried to give you up now, not only would he lose his inheritance, he'd lose his place at the company. They bickered and fought for weeks, but eventually it was decided. You would come live with us until he could come around to the idea of
maybe
raisin' another man's son.”

              “But I could be his!” I shout. “I could just as easily be his!”

              “Rascal, I know--”

              “Then why didn't y'all try harder!”

              “We did--”

              “Then why didn't y'all just let him take the test!”

              “That's on your Pa.”

              “On the day the man who raised me nearly dies, I have to find out that he may not even be...he may not even be...he--”

              “You shut your mouth right now Jody Eugene Lord!” Ma shouts back. “I don't wanna hear another word about may or may not be’s. You are a Lord. You were raised in the house with them. By them. We have never loved you any different and some nonsense piece of paper that you don't need wouldn't change our minds. Not then. Not now.”

              “This is why my brothers hate me.” I shoot off the bed in disbelief, pacing the room to keep myself somewhat calm. “Because they aren't my brothers. Because they knew--”

              “It's not certain--”

              “It might as fucking well be!” My voice booms and chokes a sob out of her. “I look nothing like them! I act nothing like them! The only thing we have in common is you and Pa...”

              “Rascal--”

              “That's why you call me Rascal isn't it? Because I may not even really be a Lord.”

              “Jody--”

              “No Ma.” I shake my head as I back out of the room. “I...I have to go.”

              “Jody Eugene--” is the last I hear before I'm out of the room, rushing out the front door, and down my old running trail desperate to get as far away from the house, the family that's not mine, and the friends that I may lose over the girl who lied to me. Apparently everyone lies to me. Apparently they always have.

Day 29 in Georgia

              After wandering the property until night fall, I ended up falling asleep in the bed of my rented truck. It wasn't the best possible sleep, but it got the job done. I couldn't be around my brothers who have no idea what it is to come from a fucked up family. What it's like to be so goddamn hated for just being born. Scrubbing my face with my hand, I'm not surprised to see the other face I didn't want to. Another tally mark increasing list of liars. The distinct clinking of her heels always act as a viscous warning.

              Jazz leans her arms on the edge of the truck. “Comfy?”

              Annoyed and groggy I grumble, “Extremely.”

              “You could've come to bed last night.”

              “No. I couldn't have.”

              “Lordy--”

              “No.” I stop her from continuing. “Don't.”

              “Fine.” She shrugs. “We will talk later. As for now, I suggest you hop in the shower because Pa has called three times already wondering why you aren't there yet.”

              His crazy ways have me smiling that he's still alive. I slide out of the bed of the truck.

              “Ma wants--”

              “No,” I deny her again. “I don't wanna talk to her either.”

              “You're just gonna shut everyone out and pout like a small child?”

              Aggravated I lean into her space resulting in a sharp gasp. “Yes.”

              Jazz swallows deeply and folds her arms. “Fine.”

              “Fine.” Stepping around her I mumble, “If you'll excuse me ma'am...”

              One hot shower later, I'm dressed and out the door for the hospital. Grim catches me before I'm completely out the door to let me know that no matter what happens, he and Glove are staying for an extra couple of days. He doesn't say much else, which is good because I'm not sure I would've listened. Even if our team has to be split when we return home, it won't matter. There's nothing that could ever keep us from the essence of true brotherhood. Not after the shit we've seen together. Not after the times we've saved one another. Not after facing death repeatedly side by side. No. Shepard may split us, but the fact we'll always be family isn't something he can just snatch away. There's comfort in that. As my entire world falls to devastation, there's slight repose in knowing that there is something stable in it.

              I give the hospital door a hard knock not surprised when I hear, “I told ya. I don't want any goddamn Jello!”

              Cracking it open to peek my face around the corner, I offer Pa a smile. “Not even peach Jello?”

              “Did you smuggle in some of Ma's?” He chuckles, which immediately turns into a cough.

              Worried I rush over to him, “You okay? You need somethin'? Should I get a nurse? Do you--”

              “Rascal.” He holds up a hand as he sits up. “I'm allowed to cough.”

              I try to give him another smile and nod that I understand. Once he's settled back down I flop myself in the chair at his bedside. “You feelin' okay?”

              “As good as an old man can feel on a day like today,” Pa sighs and turns his body to face me best he can. “Heard you dropped your brother in the waitin' room yesterday.” When I don't answer he finishes, “That's what he gets for runnin' his mouth like a woman at Bridge Club.”

              Shaking my head I stifle the urge to chuckle. “Sorry I couldn't be here when you woke up.”

              “You're here now,” he exhales deeply. As silence tries to settle between us he asks, “Did you bring my whiskey?”

              A laugh actually escapes me this time. “Pa! You know damn well you can't have whiskey in the hospital.”

              “I bet if I paid the right people I could get it hooked up to an IV.” His joke leads him to laughing, which leads him to another coughing spell. Before I start to fuss over him he holds up a hand to stop me.

              When he's settled, he slumps back down into his bed. Defeated. Exhausted. I know I shouldn't, but can't hold it back any more. “Ma told me everything yesterday.”

              In a mumble he replies, “I knew she would.”

              “How'd you know?”

              “Because Rascal, behind every great man is an even greater woman with a wooden spoon.”

              Moving past the odd sentence I demand, “I wanna know why, Pa.”

              “Why what?”

              “Why would you refuse to let him get me tested?” He doesn't answer. Feeling frustration shoot up the back of my neck I lean forward. “Why didn't you let him get me tested, Pa?”

              “Because you're a Lord.”

              “You don't know that.”

              “I do.”

              “I could be--”

              “No you couldn't.” Pa cuts me off the stress in his voice raising. “Whether or not the blood that pumps through your veins matches in letters or numbers to that which pumps through mine is not what makes you a Lord. When your father married your mother it was in sickness and health. Sickness don't always mean illness boy. Sickness means when a marriage is hard. When a marriage hits a rough spot. When a marriage is going to fail. That's when you love your partner in sickness. It was not your fault, she did what she did and there was no reason to punish you for it.”

              With a trembling jaw, tears ready to spill from being stuffed down so long I lean both my arms on his bed. “But Pa...”

              “There's no buts Rascal. You are my first born grandson. You are a Lord and you wanna know why?” I raise my eyebrows. “Because of what's in here.” He stabs me in the chest with a finger. “That's what makes a Lord a Lord. You don't have dollar signs in your eyes. You don't judge people by their skin color or what their last name is. You see people for the goodness that's inside. You give people a chance to prove their worth! You open your arms and know that the definition of family doesn't begin or end with some blood mash up! You know that being a Lord is about living! It's about giving! It's about standing for something or someone truly worth it! Standing for something that can never have a dollar sign put on it. That! That Rascal is what makes a Lord a Lord.” Hearing the description forces the tears out in a silent cry. “Your mother took that spark from your father, and I'd be damned if she took that from you too. So no. I wouldn't let them get you tested. Not without risking losing everything, which really said it all, didn't it Rascal? What matters more to them?”

              I use my thumb to brush away a tear and nod. “Money.”

              “You know what that's like? To know your own son cares more about what's gonna line his pockets than what he's raisin' in his house?” Pa shakes his head. “Love is a dangerous thing, Rascal. Don't forget that either. Turns good men bad and worse men into something great. Look at your brothers.”

              “They aren't--”

              “Not them.” He shakes his head. “At Grim. At Glove. Both of those bare the mark of men with burdens changed into something great. You wanna tell me love wasn't responsible for that?” Unsure how to argue his valid point, I merely continue to listen. “If you wanna know what that piece of paper says, then do it, but that should be your choice. No one else's. And no matter if it says you share my DNA or an alien's, you are my grandson Jody Eugene Lord. You are the essence of generations of good men that will live on in a world that needs it. Understand?”

              “Understood Pa.” I nod and sniffle away more tears.

              “Now.” A rough cough comes out of him. “Promise me somethin'?”

              “Anything.”

              “No matter what happens to me...you'll keep livin' on Rascal.”

              My eyebrows furrow. “Pa--”

              “Promise me Rascal.”

              “Pa--”

              “Rascal.”

              “Fine.” I huff flopping my back against my chair. “I promise. Now can you stop this argument and just...breathe?”

              He coughs a laugh and then starts rubbing at his chest again. “Love you Rascal.”

              “I love you too Pa,” the words are whispered as the machines around him begin to screech and his body twitches like the life inside of it is desperate to leave. Shrieking, I jump to my feet. “Nurse!” Pa waves a hand at me stubbornly trying to tell me he's fine, but I know he's not. He's not. He's...really...not.

              A nurse rushes in before popping her head out insisting she needs assistance. Slowly, I back out of the room, making space for people to resurrect my redemption for running away. The world somehow manages to drag down to a pace where movement damn near ceases to exist as my back hits the hospital wall across from the outside of his room. Feeling my chest constrict, shattering my lungs, vaporizing away every breath I'm struggling to clutch onto, I sink to the ground, eyes shutting. Around me there's humming, buzzing of machines and voices that sound so distant I'm not sure we're in the same building. It continues for what feels like decades before everything goes silent. The flood of tears rushing down the back of my throat feels as surreal as this moment. This moment where years of secrets kept from me, regrets for repressing my heritage, and unspoken gratitude, died.

** 

I'm not sure how I ended up in Pa's old recliner. I'm not sure who dragged me away from the hospital. I'm not even sure how I told Ma that I was the last to see him alive. A lump grows in my lungs as the loss of him rushes back at me like a freight train.

              “He was awfully photogenic,” a voice pierces through the pain.

              My eyes wander over to see Jazz sitting with Ma, a scrapbook open in her lap.

              “That old man could never say no to having his picture taken. It was a surprise we didn't end up in more scandals.” Ma giggles.

              “Ma,” I shakily call.  “You...You doin' okay?”

              “I'm fine, Rascal,” she answers not looking up, but turning the page.

              For a woman whose husband just died, her calmness is beyond unsettling. Clearing my throat, I request, “Jazz, can you give us a minute alone?”

              “Sure.” She rises to her feet, her presence barely registering to me. “Ma, I'll put this back in your room for you.”

              “Thank you sugar,” Ma coos at her.

              My eyes don't follow Jazz out of the room. They stayed plastered on what should be a woman wallowing in her husband's death. A woman who should be fragile and in pieces. A woman who should be feeling as fractured and devastated as I am, yet by the look on her face, you'd think Pa was coming home from hunting any minute.

              Carefully I ask, “How you doin' Ma?”

              “I'm makin' it,” she replies. “I really need to get those leftovers heated up and--”

              “Are you kidding?” My interruption clearly startles her. “You're worried about heating up leftovers?”

              “Someone has to feed you folks.” She glares back. “You damn sure aren't gonna do it.”

              “Your husband just died and you're worried about fucking cooking!”

              “Don't you raise your tone at me Jody Eugene Lord.” She rises to her feet. I open my mouth and she snaps, “You're damn right I just lost my husband, so you show some goddamn respect and mind that southern tongue of yours before you lose it.” The first real threat she's ever made to me since I was a teen has me clenching my teeth. “Now you listen hear boy. We all grieve differently. Just because you don't find it right, don't make it wrong. I'll grieve for your Pa the way I see fit and you do the same for you. Right now...I'm going to heat up leftovers, so wash your mouth out with soap as well as your hands.”

              Without another word she disappears from the room leaving me alone and feeling even emptier than before. Leaning forward I cup my face to take several long, deep breaths. None of this can possibly be real. It just can't. This isn't fucking happening to me. No fucking way. I drag my body out of his chair and up to my room to wash up. One thing at a time. One action. If I don't think any further, I can just...I can keep on until...until...until...

              Opening the door, I'm so surprised at the sight of Jazz it rocks me back. She's shutting the bathroom door dressed in a look I haven't seen in over a month. Black heels. A tight black pencil skirt. A button up maroon shirt and her hair wound tightly at the top of her head. The Jazz I first met, the one who's notorious for lying and keeping shit from us is in front of me. Back to business. On the day of my grandfather's death, she's back to business.

              I slam the door closed behind me, the vision of her so cold and cruel, the unsettled emotions lingering from Pa's death and my family secret, twisting something dark inside of me.

              “Why?” I growl out.

              Jazz's chest tries to remain steady, in an attempt to help her voice. “Why what?”