Rastor (Lawton Rastor Book 2) (22 page)

A couple days later, it was Thanksgiving, and I was alone – not that I cared. There was only one person who I wanted to spend any holiday with, and she wasn't talking to me.

It was nearly noon, and I was in the garage out back, working on the vintage car that I'd beaten with a crowbar in front of Chloe.

The car was still a mess, but not as bad as before. I'd replaced both headlights and the side-view mirrors. As for the rest of it, I had to be honest. It looked like shit. The windshield was still cracked, and the hood was still covered in big, ugly dents.

Funny to think I could write a check and have the car looking exactly like it had before. Or even easier, I could have a dealer find me a replacement car, already restored. With enough money, anything was possible, right? And I had plenty.

But for all kinds of crazy reasons, I was attached to
this
car. I'd restored it once, and so I'd be doing it again –
without
help. This time, it wasn't for fun. It was because it sucked, and I deserved to suffer. Writing a check would be too easy, and I didn't deserve to take the easy way out.

I stood back and studied the car with a critical eye. It was painful to look at, but not for the obvious reasons. It was because every dent, every chipped piece of paint, every spider-webbed pattern in the cracked windshield, it all reminded me of Chloe and how I'd lost her like a dumb-ass.

What was she doing today? Spending Thanksgiving with her family? I blew out a long breath and pictured us together, not just today, but every day. If things had turned out differently, Chloe would've
been
my family. At the thought, I tried to smile, but my face felt frozen, and my heart wasn't in it.

Stalling, I popped the hood of the car and was just checking the oil when something made me stop in mid-motion. My cell phone was ringing – and it wasn't just any ringtone.

It was Chloe's ringtone.

My hands were slick with motor oil. Frantically, I wiped the grease onto my jeans and white T-shirt, and looked around, wondering where the hell my phone was. I could hear it, but I couldn’t see it.

I circled the car and finally spotted it in the driver's seat. I yanked open the car-door, grabbed the cell, and answered with an urgent, "Chloe?"

"Yeah." She hesitated. "Listen, I've got a question."

I was clutching the phone with both hands. "Yeah?"

"You still want that beating?"

I paused. "What?"

"Sorry," she said with a shaky laugh. "Bad joke."

Finally, I got what she meant. When she'd been walking out on me, I'd practically begged for a beating instead of the alternative. The reason had been simple. And selfish. A good beat-down would've hurt a lot less than losing her.

I still felt that way. The dull ache of life without her was grinding me down like nothing else. Maybe she
was
joking, but that didn't change the facts.

"I remember," I said. "And for what it's worth, the offer still stands."

I meant it, too. I'd welcome that kind of pain, because the other kind was killing me. Even now, listening to her voice and knowing that she wasn't mine, it was salt in a wound that had been festering for weeks.

She hesitated. "Well, that's the thing, I really hate to ask, but I need a favor, and it's kind of awful."

"Whatever it is, the answer's yes."

"Really?" Her voice caught. "Because I know that I shouldn't be asking. And I wouldn’t, except I'm kind of desperate, and I don't know what else to do."

The hitch in her voice hurt to hear. "Hey," I said, my own voice growing softer, "just tell me what you need. No matter what it is, the answer's still yes."

"Alright." She paused. "I need a ride."

Just a ride? That didn't seem so awful to me. "Great," I said. "Just say when."

"Well, um, now actually."

I didn't ask where, and I didn't ask why. All I said, "Alright, give me five minutes to change."

"Actually," she said, "we don't have the time. I'm
really
sorry. But can you come now? I mean, like
right
now?"

I froze as a horrible thought slammed into me. "Are you hurt?"

"No," she assured me. "It's nothing like that. It's just that I've got to get to my dad's for Thanksgiving, and I can't be late. I mean, I
really
can't be late. It's
so
messed up. But if I don't make it on time, I'm worried that Josh will be in trouble."

I didn't get what she meant, but I wasn't going to waste time asking questions now. "I'll be right there," I said.

"I'm sorry to be pushy, but can you hurry?" Her voice grew more urgent. "It's probably already too late. It's just that I've got to try. I mean, seriously, if you could just grab the nearest car and leave right now, it would be
such
a huge help. My dad's place is like twenty minutes away, but I've
got
to be there in–" she paused as if checking the time "–fourteen minutes."

I glanced down. My clothes were greasy, and my jeans were ripped. I was out in the garage with only one set of keys – the keys to the car I was working on.

"I'm on the way," I said.

When I squealed into Chloe's driveway a minute later, she was standing near the trunk of her own car, waiting for me. At the sight of her, my breath caught. She wore a formal-looking green dress that was sweet and sexy as hell, with long, lacy sleeves and a scooped neckline that only hinted at the cleavage it was hiding.

She was holding a giant bowl of something leafy, probably a salad. On the concrete near her feet were two white bakery boxes.

Without cutting the engine, I jumped out of the car and joined her in the driveway. I looked down at the boxes. "We taking those?"

When she nodded, I picked them up and strode toward the passenger's side of my car. I shifted the boxes to one arm and opened the car door with my free hand. I set the boxes on the floor behind the seat and stepped aside, holding the door open for Chloe.

Moving quickly, she got into the car and settled the big bowl of salad onto her lap. She crossed her ankles, and I felt myself swallow, catching the curve of her thigh as she shifted in the seat.

The sight of her was heaven. And hell. Because I still loved her, I still wanted her, and yeah, I was wishing like crazy that this wasn't just a one-time thing.

She looked up, meeting my gaze, and that was all it took. Her eyes grew warm, and I saw a flicker of something that gave me hope.

Wishing? Screw that. Wishing wouldn't do a damn bit of good. I wasn't going to wish. Sometime, before I dropped her back off, I was going to act. How, I didn't yet know. But I'd figure it out.

She gave me a nervous smile. "Boy, are
you
gonna be sorry."

I grinned down at her. "Not a chance." I shut her door and circled back to the driver's side. I was still smiling. I couldn't help it. She might try to hide it, but that look in her eyes told me all I needed to know. She still loved me, and before the end of the day, I was going to hear her say it.

My smile was still there when I climbed into the driver's seat and shifted into reverse. Backing out of the long driveway, I gave Chloe a sideways glance. Her smile was gone, and she was biting her lip.

When she saw me looking, she let out a long, shaky breath. "I wasn't kidding," she warned. "This is gonna suck." She gave my clothes the once-over and winced. "Especially for you."

I knew what she meant. Just seeing the way
she
was dressed told me this wasn't exactly a casual thing. The way it looked, her family was the kind that got dressed up for holiday dinners.

I
sure as hell wasn't dressed up. My shirt was stained, and my jeans were ripped. I'd be outclassed and then some.

I didn't care. I was with Chloe, and nothing else mattered. I shrugged. "I think I can handle it."

She gave a weak laugh. "That's what
you
think."

At the end of the driveway, I stopped and asked, "Which way?"

She gave me general directions to her dad's place, and I backed out onto the street. And then, remembering she was in a hurry, I floored it.

The car was fast, and I wasn't afraid to push it to the limit. I still didn't get why she was so nervous about the time, but for whatever reason, she was. And that was good enough for me.

Sitting there within arm's reach, I wanted to turn and give her a good, long look. I wanted to see if she'd smile in that special way that drove me crazy. And yeah, I wanted to see that flicker of interest grow into a spark. And then, who knows? Whatever happened, I wasn't going to mess this up.

But first, I had to get Chloe there safely, which meant I needed to keep my eyes on the road. The streets were nearly empty, which was a good thing, because I was going almost double the speed limit. If we got stopped by the cops, it wouldn’t be just a speeding ticket. It would be reckless driving.

Totally worth it.

On the next straightaway, I gave Chloe a sideways glance. She looked nervous as hell, and for some reason, I didn't think it was because of my driving.

Looking to lighten her mood, I said, "So, this wasn't exactly the beating I expected."

She gave me a look that was almost sympathetic. "Trust me, by the end of the day, you'll be wishing for the other kind."

"I don't care," I told her. "I'm just glad you called."

She tried to smile. "Oh, that's what you say
now
."

"Ask me later," I said, turning my gaze back to the road. "I'll say the same thing."

She hesitated. "You didn't have plans today?"

I shrugged. "I had invitations. None I wanted."

"Yeah." She sighed. "I know the feeling."

I was still watching the road, but something in her voice – sadness, maybe – made me risk another glance. She was leaned back in the seat with her eyes shut and her hands fisted around the salad bowl, like she was holding onto it for comfort.

What was wrong?

In spite of the fancy dress, she didn't
look
like someone heading to a holiday dinner. She looked like someone heading to the gallows.

But who was the hangman? Me? I didn't think so.

Over the roar of the engine, I said, "For someone who's about to put me through the ringer, you don't look too happy."

"That's because I can't just send you in my place." She opened her eyes and reached for her cell phone. She checked the time and frowned. "We've got ten minutes."

"Oh c'mon," I said. "What are they gonna do? Lock the doors?"

"You don't think they wouldn’t?" She made a scoffing sound. "You poor, misguided fool."

From the corner of my eye, I watched as she leaned down to shove the cell phone back into her purse. As she did, the salad toppled off her lap. The clear wrapping came loose, and half of the lettuce spilled onto her shoes.

She gasped. "Oh my God. Stop the car! No. Wait. Keep going." With desperate motions, she righted the bowl and looked down at the salad, which was now half the size as before. Her face grew pale, and she sucked in a breath.

She looked terrified. What the hell?

She gave me a quick glance. "Oh jeez, sorry about your floor mat." She pushed a trembling hand through her hair. "I guess I should've apologized first, huh?"

"Don't worry about it," I said. "It's just lettuce. No big deal."

"Yeah, I guess," she said in a distracted tone. "Good thing it wasn't soup, huh?"

"Salad, soup, whatever, it all cleans up." We were on a long straightaway. I turned to give her a better look. "Baby, what's wrong?"

She glanced down at the salad and shook her head. "It's too small." She reached up to rub her forehead. "This is bad. What am I gonna do?"

"Chloe," I said in a low, soothing voice, "it's just a salad."

"No," she snapped. "It's not just a salad. You don't get it. This? It's a big deal. Because everything's a big deal."

Still driving, I reached for her hand. "C'mon, what is it?"

"Nothing. It's fine." As if seeking comfort, her hand closed around mine, and I felt her fingers tremble. "Watch the road, alright?"

She had a point. We were going way too fast for me to be careless. Still, it didn't take much to see that something was very wrong.

And before we got there, I was going to find out.

Chloe took a long, deep breath, as if trying to get a grip. I risked another glance and didn't like what I saw. She was leaned back in the seat again. Her eyes were shut, and her face was pale as death.

"Aw c'mon," I said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, "it can't be that bad."

"I hope you're right." Her eyes were still shut. "And this time, you'll be there, so–" She shrugged and let the sentence trail off.

"So? Go on."

"Well, normally they're a lot nicer in front of strangers." After a long pause, she opened her eyes to look at me. "And you're a stranger to them, so–" She shook her head. "Crap, I don't know. What if it backfires?"

"Chloe?" I kept my voice low. "Are you scared?"

She turned to look out the window. "No."

She was lying. I'd seen plenty of fear in my life, but whatever this was, it hurt to watch. For the life of me, I couldn’t see what was so scary about a Thanksgiving dinner.

"Baby, what is it?"

"Okay, here's the thing." She blew out a long, shaky breath. "I almost never go there, and when I do, it's always awful."

"What's so awful about it?"

"Like my dad," she said. "Whenever he has company over, he starts talking funny."

"How so?"

"Well, he's a commercial real estate broker–"

"A salesman?"

"Basically," she said. "So he's always trying to bond with whoever he's talking to, but he never gets it quite right."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, one time, Loretta had this Australian couple over for dinner, and by the time we hit dessert, my dad's talking in this weird accent, more English than anything."

I wasn't following. "But you said they were Australian, right?"

"Yeah, and the harder my dad tries to show that he's exactly like them, the worse everything gets. They start talking less. He starts talking more." Chloe was shaking her head again. "I'm pretty sure they thought my dad was making fun of them."

I had to laugh. "Aw c'mon, that's not so bad."

"I guess," she said. "And actually, it's a lot better than how he acts when it's just family."

"How so?"

"Well, when no one's there except us and Loretta, he's either giving me and Josh a hard time or kissing Loretta's butt."

"Who's Loretta?"

"My stepmother, who totally hates me, by the way."

"Oh yeah? Why?" I made a mental note. Loretta. I'd never met the woman, but she was already on my shit list.

"Mostly, she hates everyone, well, except for her own daughter." Chloe paused. "And my dad. Sometimes."

"What about your brother?"

"That's the worst part," Choe said. "She doesn't loathe him quite as much as she does me, but she still has this way of tormenting him, even when she's pretending to be nice."

In the road ahead of us, I spotted an oversized pickup, going a whole lot slower than we were. Reluctantly, I pulled my hand from Chloe's and downshifted to pass it. We flew past the thing like it was standing still.

By the time I shifted again, Chloe's hand was back on the salad. Probably, it was a smart move, all things considered. About everything else, I didn't know what to think.

If Chloe were any other girl, I'd say she was blowing things out of proportion, like her dad talking funny. Shit, in my old neighborhood, that would've been nothing. I gave her another sideways glance and reminded myself that she hadn't grown up in my old neighborhood. She'd grown up someplace nicer, where people were a lot more civilized.

And that wasn't a bad thing. I mean, that was one reason I loved her, wasn't it? Because she'd come from a better place. But then I remembered something else. All along, I'd been assuming that she'd come from money. And she hadn't. For all I knew, she'd grown up in a neighborhood as rough as mine.

But if that were the case, how had she turned out so sweet? I thought of my own sister. By some miracle, and a whole lot off male ass-beating on my part, she'd turned out sweet, too. But who had been looking out for Chloe?

A sick feeling was growing in my gut. Maybe no one had been looking out for her, not even her dad. And that royally pissed me off.

Her voice broke into my thoughts. "I know what you're thinking. You think I'm exaggerating, right?"

"I never said that."

"Uh-huh." She sounded sick with worry. "You'll see. It doesn't take anything to set her off."

"Like what?" I asked. "Gimme an example."

"Well, a couple of Easters ago, it was oyster gravy."

At the thought, that sick feeling grew and twisted. Oyster
anything
was enough to send me running in the opposite direction, and not only because of the taste. It was because of the fact that I was deathly allergic to shellfish, not that I'd admit it in a thousand years. It was fucking embarrassing.

But aside from that, who the hell made gravy out of oysters? I shook my head. "That's just wrong."

When Chloe said nothing, I looked over at her. "So…" I prompted. "The gravy?"

"Oh." She sounded distracted. "Supposedly, it's a delicacy. Or at least, that's what Loretta keeping telling us."

I wanted to look at her, but I kept my eyes on the road as we squealed around the next turn. "I've got this friend from Texas," I said. "Know what he'd say to that?"

"What?"

I said it the way my friend used to say it, in that Western drawl of his. "You can call it Nancy and put a dress on it. But I'm still not gonna eat it."

Finally, I heard the hint of a smile in Chloe's voice. "Say that to Loretta, and you're a dead man." She paused. "As much as I'd totally love to see that."

"So about Easter?" I said. "What happened?"

"Anyway, Loretta made this special batch of oyster gravy, and then flipped out when we didn't want any."

"You and your brother?"

"Yeah. And Lauren Jane too, except she didn't get in trouble for it."

"Who's Lauren Jane?"

"Loretta's daughter."

"Ah."

"And then there was my dad, no help as usual." Chloe deepened her voice in a decent imitation of a pissed-off older guy. "Loretta spent all morning in the kitchen making this for us, and the least you kids can do is have some."

"So did you?" I asked, risking another glance.

She nodded.

I had to ask. "How was it?"

She shuddered. "Awful. Like fish barf."

"But your dad likes it?"

"Nope."

"So he doesn't eat it."

"Nope."

I was shaking my head. "I don't get it."

"Don't get me wrong," she said. "He'd probably eat a smoking turd if Loretta asked him to."

"Better than fish barf," I muttered.

"On second thought, you know what? He wouldn’t eat it. He'd make
us
do it. That way, he gets the credit, and we get the shaft."

The more she talked, the more I wanted to kick her dad's ass. I was tempted to tell her so, but figured that some things were better left unsaid. Trying for a neutral tone, I said, "So
Loretta
likes the gravy?"

"I dunno," Chloe said. "Couldn’t tell you either way. She's always on a diet. So it's not like she actually eats the stuff herself. Mostly, she just picks at a salad or something and goes straight for dessert."

What the fuck? "So this gravy," I said, "who exactly was supposed to eat it?"

Chloe shrugged. "Me and Josh, I guess."

Listening to this, I felt a cold anger settle over me. Trying not to show it, I said in the calmest voice I could muster, "Go on."

"So like I said, there's no getting out of it. At least not for me. So I put some on my potatoes, and take a bite."

"And?"

"Like I said, it's awful." Chloe shuddered. "Worse than awful actually. But I know what I've got to do, so I smile and tell her it's delicious."

"Was she happy?"

"Loretta?" Chloe said. "Never. But at least she's not throwing plates. So I keep shoveling it down, figuring that once it's gone, the whole thing's over, right?"

"It wasn't?"

"No," she said, glancing out the window. "It was just beginning."