Whiskey Sharp: Torn

  Cora hugged him. He knew she was trying not to cry but she failed. In some weird way it actually helped him stay calm. He kissed her, and then set her back. “I’ll be in touch. I promise. And I’ll be careful. You and Jez be careful today too.”

  She lifted a hand. “Love you.”

  “Love you too,” he said before driving away.

  Two hours later, he pulled down a dirt road and at the end of it was a small house perched on a river. His uncle sat on the front porch when Beau arrived.

  He’d forgotten how alike his father and uncle looked and it brought him to a momentary pause as he thought about the last time he’d seen them both. Remembered his father looking right through Beau, the son he’d beaten and had kept locked up on near starvation rations for asking questions. For wanting the truth. Remembered too, Obie standing next to his brother. His gaze had settled on Beau briefly and he saw pity there before it hardened and Obie had looked right through him.

  That had been the last time Beau had seen his father in person. In the intervening years he’d only seen grainy surveillance photographs.

  Beau sure couldn’t miss how his uncle had aged. He’d lost weight and most of his fiery red hair—same as Beau’s and his dad’s—had joined the pounds. Life on the run wasn’t glamorous.

  Beau didn’t know what his uncle had planned for their meeting, but Obie came off that porch and pulled him into a hug and the child he’d been a long time ago remembered the connection he’d had to his uncle. “Hey there, boy. How you been?”

  “Missing my children grow up. How about you?” he responded. Whatever that nostalgia, they’d stolen his fucking children and he wasn’t about to let it go.

  “I surely do feel bad about that. God’s honest truth. You made your choice though. You left us and in doing so, you lost your grace.”

  Beau barely withheld a sneer. He guessed having sex with a fourteen-year-old was so much better than calling it out as abuse. If he’d remained silent at other people’s suffering that truly would have stolen his god-given grace.

  “Where’s my mother now? Were you able to talk him into letting her get help?” Beau asked, rather than get into a pissing match with his uncle. Obie had something he needed. Once that was handled he could be as frank as he wanted. Until then, he’d hold his anger in check.

  “She’s still with your dad. He’s off praying about it. If I can come to him with that money, a clear and free way to get her help, I think he might be convinced to let her go. I was able to secure her a spot somewhere. A private medical facility. No, don’t ask where because I’m not telling you. Just know that your money will be a big factor in saving her life.”

  “Will they know where the money came from?” Beau asked.

  “I told your mom I was going to see you when I came back stateside. She’ll know. It’s best if your dad thinks I got it elsewhere. You look good, Beau. Your mom is real proud of you even though cooking is women’s work.”

  There was a lot there to parse through. Enough backhanded compliments to give Walda a run for her money.

  “What’s her outcome if she doesn’t get the treatment?” Beau asked. Obie had refused to say exactly what cancer it was his mother had, not wanting to give any more specifics than he had to. Beau wanted to assure him that knowing if his mother had liver cancer or lung cancer wasn’t going to help him sic the authorities on his dad.

  Beau wished it could. But his dad knew the score. Knew it had been nearly two decades and the authorities had other cases to pursue. George Petty had kept his head down, kept the group in places no one would find them unusual enough to investigate further, and in doing that, he’d stayed under the radar.

  He hated all the undercurrent of unsaid things between him and Obie at that moment. Beau knew his uncle still loved him. It was in his manner, even when he was being a judgmental prick. It was in the way he’d come to Beau, knowing he’d help his mother. Obie shouldn’t even be talking to anyone who’d been excomm’d from the group. Beau was pretty much Satan’s minion as far as the group members were taught. But the hug had been real. And in his own way, Obie was trying to help. At least that was what Beau had decided to believe.

  Beau held on to that small thing. It was more than he had before he’d shown up here.

  “Even with the treatment she’s got a thirty percent chance of survival. Without it she won’t make it through the summer.”

  Beau scrubbed his hands over his face. His mother hadn’t been in his life since he was seventeen years old. She’d been the one to refuse contact with him. But that didn’t mean he was comfortable with the idea of her death from whatever illness she was suffering through. She was still his mother.

  “You do what you need to. Make him understand. If anyone can, it’s you.” Beau stalked over to the truck and brought the money over, tossing the duffels at Obie’s feet. “Here. Now where are my sons?”

  “I can’t tell you where exactly because it would endanger everyone else. They don’t have phones or I’d just give you the number. I promise to work on your dad to get him to let your mom get medical help. And I promise to work on getting your sons to be open to contact.”

  Beau pulled out the envelopes with the letters he’d written. “One for the boys and one for my mom. Will you give these to them?”

  Obie nodded. “I’ll have to do it when they’re alone, but yes. I promise that too.” Obie paused. “I saw you on the TV at the airport. Cooking some kind of French fancy food. Glad to see you successful and happy.”

  Beau was in so many ways, but there was still that glaring empty spot where his kids should be.

  His mother was an adult. She’d made her choice to stay more than once. Beau wanted to give her the opportunity to leave and he had, twice since he’d left, but she’d refused contact with him both times.

  His sons, though they were adults now, weren’t when the choices for their life were made. And they’d been raised to hate him and think he was out to destroy the group and their lives.

  “Tell me if the boys are all right, at least,” Beau asked his uncle.

  “They’re healthy. Handsome like you. Their names.” Obie broke off a moment before speaking again. “Their mother changed their names when she took on a new church marriage. Dyed their hair until they got to be teenagers. They never complained. Always helped bring in the harvest if we was farming. Never once shirkers.”

  “Are they married? Did they get an education? Do they have jobs or are they only working on group land?” Beau asked, hungry for details.

  Obie shook his head. “I already said more than I should. They’re happy. And faithful members of the flock. I got places to be.” He kicked one of the duffel bags. “Gotta get things in motion now that I have the money.”

  “Will you be in touch?”

  Obie shrugged. “If I can. I’ll keep my promises. Even if you never hear from me again, know I delivered those letters and did all I could to help your mom. Take care of yourself, Beau. God bless and keep you.”

  Beau made it home, but once he turned the ignition off he could no longer hold back the shaking of his muscles and the ache in his heart.

  * * *

  CORA HEARD BEAU’S truck pull up and waited impatiently for him to come in. But after a few minutes she headed outside, concerned.

  And found him, head resting on the arms he had folded on the top of the steering wheel. Worry had her quickening her steps, opening his door, and then the look on his face broke her heart.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He turned and slipped from the truck’s cab, pulling her against him with a barely suppressed sob. Cora’s heart began to thunder, worried his mother had already passed or that his children had rejected him somehow.

  Worried because, damn it, she loved him so much and seeing him so obviously upset filled her with an urgency to make things better.

&
nbsp; She led him inside and into their bedroom, where she took off his shoes and settled against him, her head on his chest as he got himself under control again. Jezzy seemed to know exactly what was best. She laid over his feet at the bottom of the bed, giving him warmth and some weight.

  “I gave him the money. He promised to give the letters to my mother and my sons. He said my ex dyed their hair until they were teens. I don’t know why that hurts me so much, but it’s all I could hear as I was driving back.”

  These motherfucking people made her so angry. That they did this to him and called it religion really pissed her off.

  “A rejection of you? I assume they have red hair too so she erased that connection. She’s terrible and I hate her very much. It hurts because they’re yours and she’s doing all she can to keep them from you.”

  He didn’t say anything else for a time and it wasn’t necessary to. She simply wanted to be there. Wanted him to know she would always support him and listen to him. Would burn shit down on his behalf. All she could do was hope things turned out however was best for him. Knew most likely he’d be hurt again before the end, but hoping for the best anyway.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CORA LOOKED UP to see the receptionist walking toward her carrying a massive bouquet of flowers. So massive it hid the poor woman’s face and part of her upper body.

  “Delivery for you,” she said from behind the explosion of roses and peonies.

  Beau was really pulling out all the stops for their first Valentine’s Day together. She’d started the day with an excellent orgasm followed by chocolate chip waffles, and now she had a flower arrangement probably visible from space.

  She hoped her own preparations were half as awesome as his had been.

  She’d gifted him a massage at this great little spa near the house, along with a haircut and shave at Whiskey Sharp after that so he’d show up that night looking good, smelling good and feeling relaxed.

  “Dude, you’re killing it in the boyfriend department today,” Rachel said as she came in a few minutes later. Maybe was due in shortly as well and the three were going to have some tea and cookies to celebrate their Valentine’s Day.

  “I know! He just texted to tell me we had dinner plans and to be ready to be picked up here at six to go home and change into whatever is in some swanky box on our bed. He just sent a picture so I don’t know what’s inside.”

  Cora hugged Rachel and turned on the kettle to get water boiling for tea.

  “He’s got good taste. That dress he got you for Christmas that you wore to the New Year’s Eve party was perfect for you. Whatever it is, I bet it’ll fit perfect and make you look bangin’.”

  Maybe strolled in at the last comment.

  “Bangin’? I don’t think I’ve been banging since my teen years.”

  “Too bad for you. I’m bangin’ every damned day,” Cora said, giving Maybe a hug.

  Rachel laughed and ran a palm over her belly in an unconscious movement. So sweet. Full of love already for a little life that wouldn’t even be joining them all until mid-June.

  “I almost bought you several novelty pregnancy T-shirts day before yesterday when Maybe, Beau and I were at Pike Place. One of them said Pregnant AF and I still might get it for you because it was perfect and it’s not like your boss won’t let you wear it. And, in case you hadn’t noticed, you totally are pregnant as fuck. I love your baby bump.”

  “Most of the time I love it too. I’m officially sized out of my nonpregnancy pants. My god, can you even imagine what pregnancy was like before leggings became so easy to buy? I can’t say I miss pants with zippers.”

  Cora curled her lip. “There are pictures of my mom when she was pregnant with Bee and it was a never-ending nightmare of Peter Pan collars and big ass bows. With fabric that didn’t breathe. Blech.”

  Rachel’s nose scrunched up a moment. “I can tell you since we’re alone in here that I have been sweating like a whore in church at night. I looked in my pregnancy books and I guess that’s going to be a thing now. Along with perhaps too much spit. Can you imagine? Too much spit. Like a Saint Bernard?”

  “Like everyone who gets pregnant drools? Because I haven’t ever seen that.” Cora would have added her thanks for that information, but if Rachel really did end up as a drooler, Cora would only mock her behind her back so as to not upset her. Like a good friend did.

  “No. I guess it’s more of a some pregnant ladies have excess spit,” Rachel said as she looked at her phone to confirm.

  “Well, good. Let’s hope you can avoid that and all other less pleasant pregnancy side effects.”

  “She’s gassy though,” Maybe said as she snagged a cookie.

  “You need a dog so you can blame it on her. That’s what Beau does. Poor Jezzy doesn’t even know how quickly he throws her under the bus.”

  They chatted and laughed, had tea and cookies and complimented one another’s boobs. A perfect Valentine’s Day so far.

  Cora was saying her goodbyes, heading toward the door when her mother came in.

  “Hey, Mom. Happy Valentine’s Day,” Cora called out. Things weren’t totally back to normal after the scene on New Year’s Eve, but they were speaking once more, which was forward motion.

  Walda gave her a kiss and the flowers got a side-eye.

  “Aren’t they pretty? Beau is killing it in the boyfriend game. You and Dad doing anything special?”

  “He’s taking me to dinner shortly but we wanted to stop in to say hello and see if my painting had arrived.”

  Her parents had purchased a gorgeous painting while they’d been in Vancouver and it should be arriving any day now. Shipping to the gallery was far more common sense than to their house.

  “Not yet. I can call to check on it tomorrow if you like though,” Cora offered.

  “Yes, that would be fine.” Her mom paused. “Thank you.”

  A sleek limo pulled up out front and the driver got out and headed to the doors. “Oh! That’s my ride. I’ve got to run. Have a good time tonight, Mom.” Cora hugged her on the way out.

  Her mother looked long at the limo, but then seemed to break out of whatever she’d been thinking and said, “I love you,” instead of complaining or being mean.

  Cora paused in the doorway, pleased. “I love you too. Tell Dad the same. I’ll get back to you once I hear about the painting.”

  The driver held her door open. “Mr. Petty will meet you at home. He wanted you to help yourself to the champagne I’ve laid out,” he said.

  Indeed, a silver ice bucket held a bottle of champagne and a glass waited to be filled. Never one to pass up a lovely glass of champagne, she enjoyed it as they drove home.

  Beau hadn’t arrived yet when she went into the house. But he’d left a note that he was taking Jezzy for a walk and would be back shortly.

  It gave her time to get ready though, and she really wanted to see what was in that box on the bed so she hurried into their room.

  A beautiful green dress with cap sleeves and a heart neckline that showed off her boobs without putting them in jeopardy of loosing their bonds and surging free was nestled into tissue paper. When she pulled it from the box and the material slid over her skin, Cora fell a little more for Beau.

  Formfitting without being tight or making her self-conscious. He’d thought of everything, including new shoes and a bag. Damn, he really was winning the boyfriend game.

  A week before he’d come into her life she’d been in London, feeling trapped by her life, knowing she had to make some scary changes or get so mired she’d never leave her mother, never shake her life up and run the gallery like she wanted.

  Three days after that she’d made the choice for certain. She’d flown back to Seattle filled with conviction about her future, and then there’d been Beau.

  He’d never held her back. Never slowed her d
own or tried to manipulate her to make choices that were the best for him. No. He urged and supported her into making choices that were best for her. Over and over, he put her first. Even when he’d been a dumbass and hadn’t told her about some of the communications with the cult, he’d been trying to protect her. Trying to keep her mother from having ammunition against him.

  How could she stay mad at him once she knew that? Once she understood he’d done it to protect, not harm. And now he knew not to do that again. Knew her hard lines and he’d respect them.

  After years of a life with everyone else put first, here she was in the house she shared with her boyfriend and their dog. Living a life where she made her own choices. And yes, she did put other people first sometimes. When you loved someone, you did that when necessary.

  But she didn’t do it because she was being manipulated there. And her mother seemed to maybe finally be realizing that sometimes loving someone meant letting go enough for them to breathe.

  The front door opened and Jezzy came into the house, nails clicking as she ran toward the bedroom, knowing Cora was home.

  Jezzy had been to the groomers and sported a red bow on each ear. She was fluffy and clean and absolutely adorable, as usual. Beau came in holding dog-sized angel wings. “She was supposed to wait so I could put these on but she got one sniff and knew you were home so she bolted,” he said, and then stopped, checking her out from head to toe.

  “Well, a gal does love to be loved.” She bent to pet Jezzy and got some kisses in thanks. “I do love those red bows in your hair. You look very pretty for the holiday.”

  When she straightened, she caught Beau staring again. He said, “You look fucking gorgeous. Sexy and curvy and damn it I don’t want to leave the house now.”

  “We don’t have to.” She shrugged. “We’re adults. Oh, and I love the hair and beard. Maybe is an artist in her own right. How was the massage?”