“Gina asked me to tell you guys that Preacher’s up on the patio,” Livvy said, pushing a stray curl behind her ear. “He’s using a cane now and can’t walk down this way. She wants you to break up the Boys’ Club and go on up.”
No one moved. John sucked in a slow breath before agreeing. “We’ll be up in a bit.”
Livvy leaned in and brushed a fast kiss across his mouth. Her sharp teeth snagged his lower lip before turning to walk away. He playfully swatted her retreating behind. She froze and glanced over her shoulder. “Did you just spank my ass?”
There was no way he could have missed the twinkle of humor in her eyes. Not bothering to mask his chuckle, he leaned back against the tree.
“Yep.”
She batted her eyelashes. “I liked it.”
Every single man turned to watch her walk back across the lawn. Utah groaned in delight and sang
bowchickawowow
, making the others laugh.
John gloated. She might be getting ogled by a dozen horny men but she was going home with him.
Mine.
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Standing with his tongue practically hanging out, Foxy croaked. “Damn, Shakespeare, where’d you find her? Under a honey tree?”
Fierce masculine pride made John’s chest swell.
“Sugar tree, Foxy, pure sugar.”
Preacher held court on the patio like the King of Siam. The deterioration of his body shocked John and made him feel certain that more than time was eating away at his former mentor. The once robust man was frail, his coffee skin grayed and loose on his bones. But the rich resonant sound of his voice was not hampered by the slight slur. If anything, it took on more of a gospel tone, soothing and gripping at the same time. His mind was keen as ever, sharp as a rip saw.
Twirling a straw between her fingers, Livvy laughed and teased as if she’d belonged in the crowd for years. Smoke—relegated to the far edge of the patio near a sand-filled coffee can full of cigarette butts—sang out a few words of
censorship whenever the guys got too coarse.
Mixed company manners were alive and well at Salvatori Construction. But the gentle reprimands were taken in stride. From the house, the sounds of muted feminine laughter could be heard. A few stray children chased fireflies in the growing dusk.
A sense of contentment hung in the air.
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Livvy gathered a handful of paper cups and napkins, stepping over his outstretched knees. She bent close and brushed a soft kiss across his forehead, then headed into the kitchen. She took his breath with her.
“Shakespeare.” Casanova, reclining in a chaise lounge, his very pregnant wife between his legs, motioned to the kitchen with his chin and nodded.
“She’s all right.” Highest praise from the biggest male slut—now repentant—John had ever known.
He nodded back, oddly touched.
Preacher began another story. He only made it halfway through when Gina came out and rested her hands on her husband’s shoulders. “All right gentlemen, time to get to work, break down the tables and clear out.”
Pete chuckled. “My name’s on the paychecks but you know who the real boss is, guys.”
A chorus of complaints sounded but within minutes, John was alone with Preacher. A huge bowl of peanuts sat in the center of the wrought iron table and he snagged a handful, popping one at a time into his mouth.
“So how’ve you been, Preach?”
“Fair to middling, son. Getting old ain’t what it’s cracked up to be. I hear you’re doing good.”
The nuts cracking in his jaw, he nodded. “Yeah, it was time for a change of scenery.”
“Read your books.”
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Caught by surprise, John jerked his eyes to the wise old man. Deep brown, undimmed by
sickness or age, the stare reverberated through him. Suddenly, he felt like that nineteen-year-old kid asking for a job. “Which ones?”
“All of them. Both Murphy and Flannigan.”
John’s stomach dropped. Preacher’s opinion was rarely given without request and he was surprised how much he wanted to hear it. Popping three more peanuts into his mouth, he gazed at the crew tearing benches down, careful to avoid looking at his former foreman. “So what’d you think?”
“You want pretty or the truth?”
John took his time before answering. “Never knew you to spoon-feed shit, Preach. Give it to me straight.”
A crack of old bones and a phlegmy cough
delayed the response, making John reach for more peanuts. He needed something to bite down on.
Nerves stretched as he went through the entire handful and yet Preacher didn’t speak. Not even waiting for his first major reviews had made him this antsy.
“I think you got a world of pissed in you, son.”
John snorted. “And this surprises you?”
“Sure it does. Thought you be long outgrown that nonsense. But that’s not all I thought. You Inez Kelley
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also got a world of hope in you, too. And that’s your problem.”
“Preacher, what in the hell are you talking about?”
The black man shook his head and sighed.
“You ain’t got the brains God gave a goose, do you, son? No man can live in two different worlds, least not in real life. And that’s where you are, straddling a fence with one ball on each side. You need to pick one and be done with it. Or maybe you done picked already and just don’t know it.”
Hard iron bit into his back and John shifted.
How could a man he hadn’t seen in over a year sum up his life in a few sentences? The writer in him was jealous, the man was wary. Preacher hit too close to home. The familiar weaponry of attack and insult thrust forward. “And maybe you took too much medication and are seeing shit that isn’t there.”
Preacher leaned back and grinned, ivory teeth shining in the torchlight. “Nope, got a little box with the days of the week on it. I’m good. You’re the one needs to get his head examined. Or your ass kicked. Or maybe just go on in the kitchen back there and get you some fulltime lovin’ from that gal of yours.”
“I’m getting plenty of loving, thank you very much.”
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The sharp jab of Preacher’s cane made him swear and grab his leg. Frowning over his pointed finger, the old man cemented him with a fierce scowl. “Don’t you be sassing me. I don’t care what you do between the sheets. You think I ain’t watched you today? That gal’s worming her way into your blood. You can’t pick a side, you’re gonna screw up and lose her ’cause you’re too damn dumb or hurt her ’cause you’re too damn bullheaded.”
“I may be many things, Preach, but I’m not dumb. Things with Livvy are fine how they are. I don’t need to change anything.”
“For now, maybe. But you think she’s going stick around when you don’t come up to snuff?
That gal ain’t some piece of spread-all-over white trash like that Emily. She’ll be looking for more than a romp in the hay before too long. You ready to put your name behind hers? If not, cut her loose now ’cause it ain’t going do either one of you no good.”
A monster roared in the deep recesses of his mind even as his heart leaped forward. Everything Preacher said was true but John couldn’t accept it.
He didn’t want to think about tomorrow or next week or next year. He wanted to think no further than tonight and Livvy’s arms. Right now, she was his. It had to be enough. He didn’t dare dream of more.
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“I can’t love her, Preacher.”
The old man laughed and slapped his knee.
“Son, you best close the barn door ’cause that horse done run for the hills.”
A ton of gravel slid into his gut and he heard the certainty in the idiom, read it in Preacher’s coffee eyes. He let Preacher’s observations take root. His jaw locked tight and he felt his molar crack but ignored the pain. Pain was nothing compared to the deluge of fear that spilled into his blood.
John glared at a man he deeply respected, one of the few people he wanted to respect him.
Preacher had kept his secrets, reported to his probation officer for over a decade, stood up for John when he petitioned for custody of Gina.
He’d also kicked John’s ass when he’d screwed up. If he could imagine having a father, it would be the man beside him.
He hated that Preacher gave voice to the words his soul couldn’t speak. Both hands skimmed through his hair before he crossed his arms in frustration.
“You see too much, old man. I wish I could be the man she needs, but I can’t. No matter how bad I want to.”
A rough cough rattled for a long while as John stewed, tonguing his now-aching tooth. All the while, the aging Freud stared into the deepening 234
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twilight. “Wanting ain’t that far from getting. Just takes hard work and you ain’t never shied from that.”
John fought the wave of guilt that surged from his stomach. Hard work he could muster, miracles he couldn’t. He’d caused enough hurt in his life.
Adding Livvy’s name to that list was a cross he just couldn’t bear.
The frail man grabbed his shirt collar with a surprising strength and pulled him closer. Firm kindness shone in his chocolate eyes and John swallowed. “You need to shuck off your daddy’s ghost before you can expect a miracle, son.”
Like battery acid, the wisdom ate at him with a searing sting. John pulled away, air whistling through clenched teeth. “You don’t pull any punches, do you?”
“I done threw my last punch years ago. Truth serves me just fine now. Time you faced up to a couple things. You need to shit or get off the pot.”
Chapter Nine
The foreman bid him goodnight with a wave before hobbling to the house, his cane making no sound on the stone floor. John watched until he was swallowed by the kitchen light then looked out at the night. Down in the yard, only a few men were left, tearing down the last of the tented pavilions and moving tables. Too many thoughts flowed through his head and John couldn’t stay still. He walked the perimeter of the huge patio, dousing torches and gathering paper cups but never thought about his actions. He was too busy trying to figure out where to get a miracle.
“Hey.”
Livvy’s voice stretched to him like a lighthouse beacon. Extinguishing the last torch, he dusted his hands on his jeans and watched her come to him in the dark. Preacher’s laugh rang in his ears. He mentally tried the phrases he’d been shying from.
I love Livvy. I’m in love with Livvy.
Through the sunscreen and Old Bay, the scent of buttercream teased him as she circled his shoulders. He stared into twilight eyes. His mouth went dry. Emotion rushed like a dam breaking and his knees weakened.
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I love her. Oh my God, I love her.
He reached for her without thinking, pulled her to him and then up until her feet left the ground.
Against his ear, her laugh chimed like music and he squeezed his eyes shut.
I love her and she’s
mine. Right now, if time would just stop,
everything would be fine.
“Your sister sent me for you.”
Unable to move, he just held her tighter and shook his head. “She can wait.”
John could have held her all night like this but she pulled back and looked into his face. Throat burning with unspoken words, he gritted his teeth and pain shot down his jaw. Her eyes widened in concern. He blamed the peanuts rather than his own emotions.
“We need to head home,” he said, fingering her hair. She nodded and tried to tug him toward the kitchen but he wasn’t ready to be in the light yet.
“Be there in a minute.”
Livvy stepped back into the illumination of the door and John drew an unsteady breath.
What am I doing?
Walking deeper into the shadows off the patio, his eyes trained on the starry sky. He scanned the dark heavens and took a timid step over the fence Preacher had spoken of, doing something he had not done willingly in nearly three decades.
He prayed.
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“I don’t even know if You’re real, if You exist.”
The wind stung his face and scratched his eyes but he refused to bow his head. His subdued, reverent tone was met with a sudden violent wind gust that snapped a smoldering torch back to life.
It flared with a loud whoosh beside him and the hair stood on the back of his neck. If that was an answer, it was a good one because his heart tried to climb out of his chest through his throat. He dared to hope.
“I’ve never asked You for a damn thing but I’m asking now. Let me keep this.”
The torch flickered out with a cough. Sounding a bitter snort, John wondered if that was his answer. He should have guessed it might be.
When had God ever heard him?
“Everyone’s gone.” Pete leaned his shoulder on the dining room doorframe and watched his wife.
John straddled a kitchen chair, his arms on the framed back. Gina was scrubbing the daylights out of the pristine stovetop. The dishtowel in her hand slowed as Livvy sensed a sudden tension in the air.
Pete reached over and took the sponge from his wife’s fingers, laying it to the side, eyes locked on her face. She braced her hands on the cooktop and nodded even though he hadn’t spoken.
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“I’m going to give the boys a bath.” Pete’s soft parting words earned a second nod before Gina resumed her scrubbing.
“Johnny, I need you to take the boys for a few days.”
“Sure,” he replied. “Once Tyler gets a little older—”
“No, Johnny.” Slamming her hand down on the stove, she pinched her eyes tight. “Now. Tonight.
I need you to take them and keep them for a little while.”
John’s spine straightened at her tone. “What’s going on, Gina?”
Gina spun around and tossed the sponge into the sink. It hit with a soapy splash as she locked her gaze on her brother. “I have to be at the hospital at six in the morning.”
John’s eyes widened and his lips flattened. The muscles bunched in his arms. “Why?”
His sister swallowed and reached for the
dishtowel, averting her eyes. Her voice was low and wet. “I have a lump.”
Like a razor against a leather strop, John’s harsh intake of air scored the air. Livvy’s eyes moistened as fear darted across his face and his chest begin to rise and fall.