Into the Nothing (Broken Outlaw Series Book 1) (22 page)

We fixed the deck ourselves, putting down new 2x4s and applying finish. Conversation was as frequent and vulgar as usual. It was around noon when things changed. He came back from taking a call in the house and hasn’t spoken a word since.

Three hours now.

Nothing.

I’ve tried engaging in conversation while we work, but all his answers are short and to the point.
He knows.

I wish he would just say something already. I wish he’d just spit it out.

“Xander.”
Ah, fuck
.

“Yeah, Jack?” Here it goes. My time here has come to an abrupt end.

“It’s a small town…” He pauses and I brace for it. “Shit gets around.” He stops again, scratching his graying five o’clock shadow. “This Cody character. He’s a dumb, worthless little prick… but he’s dangerous. He’s got a lot of dangerous friends. And some of my friends were out at Whittaker’s the other night.”

He scans my face, perhaps trying to gauge my reaction.

“You just gotta watch your back. Unfortunately, he’s just one of many that are taking over this town. It’s the kids these days. They’re bored after school, so they start smoking. Then they start snorting and shooting up. Just watch yourself, okay?”

“Yeah, Jack, of course. I appreciate that. I’ve been trying to avoid the guy, but I need to do a better job of not letting him get under my skin.”

“It’s a hard thing to do. But you also can’t go around kissing his ex right in front of him…in front of people he knows.” I freeze, hoping if I stand perfectly still, maybe—just maybe—I’ll disappear.

“Relax. I’m not going to hit you.” He laughs, and shakes the shovel he’s holding.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Jack.”

“Listen, I’m gonna let you explain yourself first. I think you should at least get that. Then we’ll figure out what’s next.”

“It was never my intent to disrespect you, Jack. Never. I just… I don’t know. I have genuine feelings for Paige. I fought any attraction I had early on because I
didn’t
want to disrespect you. Because I didn’t want to disrespect your home. But… I don’t know… it just happened.”
Dear Lord, man, shut the fuck up.

“I can stomach real feelings and all that. What I can’t stomach is the thought of you with
my
daughter, in
my
house.”

“Jack, I have never. I would
never
. Nothing like that has even happened. We’ve kissed, yes. That’s it. And that just happened like a week ago. I truly mean no disrespect. I’ll stop everything with her completely. I promise, though, we haven’t done anything else.”

He settles a bit. The creases in his forehead fade. “Okay, but if you could just stop talking to my daughter like that, I’m not so sure how real those feelings truly are.”

“I never said it would be easy, but I’ve felt bad enough as it is. I know in a way I’ve disrespected you by not telling you myself—by letting you find out from someone else. And I’m truly sorry for that.” I gauge his face for a reaction, but it’s blank.

“Well, I love my daughter. And all I’ve ever want is for her to be happy. I want what’s best for her—”

“I do, too,” I say.

“If that’s the case, then we shouldn’t have any problems. But just know, if I
ever
find out you have or do sleep with my daughter under my roof, a shovel will be the least of your concerns. Capiche?”

“I would never.”

“Anybody else working for me pulls something like this and their ass is fired without question. I want you to know that,” Jack says in a matter of fact tone as he starts to dig again. “You’re still here because I like you, and though I know the actions of young men all too well, I trust what you’re telling me. And I trust my daughter wouldn’t do something like that. Just be smart and don’t make me regret keeping you here.” He stops and looks up, waiting for my respons.

“I won’t, Jack. I won’t.”

“Well, then that’s all I got for that part of the conversation.”

“That part?” I ask.

“Yeah, that was Whittaker on the phone. He’s the one who let me in on your little kiss from the other night, but he was calling for a different purpose entirely.”

“What purpose would that be?”

“He wants you to sing there for a few hours on Friday night. His other performer came down with something. Said it could become a regular thing. I told him ‘I didn’t even know that motherfucker played music.’” He laughs, which is quite the sound after the conversation we just had.

“Surprise,” I say timidly.

“You been holding out on us, boy? You some kind of pop star and I didn’t know it?”

“Definitely not pop and far from being a star. I’m more at the alternative rock end of the spectrum. My music is too dark to be pop.”

“Oh, you’re into that type of shit Caleb blares in his room. That emo nonsense?”

“I actually do like that emo nonsense, I hate to admit it. I guess mine could fall into that category.”

“Well, if you’re interested in taking him up on his offer, Bryce Whittaker’s number is on the kitchen counter. I’d be checking this shit out if Teresa and I weren’t going out of town this weekend. Next time though.”

“Where are you off to?” I take my opportunity to change subjects without hesitation.

“Wine contest down in Kentucky we do every year. ‘Best of the Midwest.’”

“Coming home a winner?”

“I always do.” He smirks, heaving a dying plant into the wheelbarrow. A still silence sits between us as we continue to work and after the words we just exchanged, I couldn’t be more thankful for it.

A
s far as I can tell, Xander hasn’t had a drink all week… and he has the shakes to prove it. I hadn’t realized how much he actually drank before he cut it out completely. I guess I haven’t been much of a good influence in that department. We’re a drinking family, after all.

He’s also been very quiet lately—especially at dinner. As Dad pounds back beers, I’ve noticed Xander makes excuses as to why he can’t. That, and he’s been faking illness all week… or maybe not faking at all. He doesn’t look good, but he’s hanging strong.

Now he’s waiting backstage while they set up the equipment. Whittaker’s is pretty full already. Luckily, Brandi and I got here early and claimed a table in the middle, right where Xander asked me to be.

I’m so glad Brandi’s off tonight, since Ethan’s sitting across from us in a pissy mood—as usual. If I had to be here alone with him and force conversation, I don’t know what I’d do. He’s just not the same anymore. He’s always been weird, but it was a different kind of weird. It was weird in an endearing kind of way. Now it’s just taxidermy, German shit porn weird. It looks like he hasn’t showered in a week. He wasn’t even invited here in the first place. He just showed up and sat down, handling his Smirnoff Ices like he can’t get enough of them.

“You think Xander’s nervous? He hasn’t had a drink all night.” Brandi leans in and whispers, which makes Ethan huff up a storm.

“He’s gotta be. He looked sick as all hell earlier.” I take a swig of my Coors. “I think that’s why he went backstage already. He seemed crazy nervous with all these people here.”

“You think he’ll shit the bed?”

I give Brandi a dirty look.

“What?” she asks.

“I hope he doesn’t. You better knock on some wood.” She taps two knuckles on the table and smiles. Just then, a tall, burly man approaches us from my left.

“You Paige?” he asks, a confident twinkle in his eye. He’s looking past me though, right at Brandi. I turn and see she’s staring right back at him.

“Yeah, hey. Irish, I presume?” He shakes my hand and then leans in toward Brandi.

“And you must be Brandi…” She puts her hand in his, smiling wide, her eyelashes batting just the right way.

“That I am.” Her hand lingers there for a moment before he finally lets it go. Then he walks over to Ethan, who doesn’t so much as look at him but still shakes his hand. Irish shrugs and walks back around, taking the empty seat to my left.

“So, Irish, you live at Fort Leonard Wood, and you’re originally from… Iowa, right?” I ask. Brandi leans in for his response.

“First off, call me Chase. Only my boys call me Irish.”

“Well, how long they been doing that for, Irish?” Brandi asks from over my shoulder.

“It’s Chase to you, young lady. And for as long as I can remember.” He winks before ordering a beer from the waitress. I grab another Coors… and a shot. Anything to quell my own nervousness.

Chase leans back in. “Anyways, yeah, Iowa… Des Moines, to be more specific. My dad lives up there. My grandma too… and my ex.”

“Ex, huh?” Brandi asks, and I shoot her a disapproving look.

“Yeah, long, dirty story. One not worth telling. Just know she is an ex.” He smiles at Brandi before his attention is drawn by a commotion on the stage. I look, hoping to see Xander, but it’s just Bryson Whittaker messing with the mic.

“When’s my boy go on by the way?” He scans the stage.

“He’s backstage.” The moment I say it my thoughts go to Xander, who’s probably downing shots before he goes on. I wouldn’t blame him if he did. I don’t know how he could go on stage without some.

“I’m shocked he let you come watch,” I add.

“I was one of the very few people who ever heard that dude play. He used to have this habit of getting shit-faced drunk and playing for some of us in the unit. He never remembered it the next day, and we never reminded him. When he tried to pull some shit, saying this weekend wasn’t good for me to come over, I got him to talk.”

He accepts a beer from the waitress, slipping her a ten and telling her to keep it. The waitress thanks him and sets the other drinks on the table. I quickly down the shot of Fireball and Brandi hurries to play catch-up.

“Well, I’ll be damned. I see I’m not the only one that’s Irish here,” he says with a smile.

“Damn straight,” Brandi says through a grimace.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with that,” Chase says, raising his beer to her.

“So, Irish, what do you do?” Brandi asks. He smirks and takes a long drink.

“Well, Brandi, I’m working on getting out of the Army now. I’m a captain, and I was shot in Afghanistan. Long story short, I’m ready for some freedom.” He smiles at her. “What about you, young lady? What do you do?”

“I bartend at this fabulous establishment.” Brandi raises her hands and gestures at the bar with a used car salesman’s smile. She then puts two thumbs down and blows a raspberry. Chase laughs, and it’s one of those deep belly laughs only big guys can produce.

“What are you going to do when you get out?” Brandi asks, twirling her hair between two fingers. Chase is on his second beer and drinking them as fast as I imagine any Army guy would.

“Well, I race cars.” Brandi nods her head approvingly. “And I’m a carpenter. Learned from my dad. I do some stuff with that on the side.”

“So, you race cars?” Brandi asks, ignoring the last of what he said.

“Yeah, have been for a very long time. Nothing serious. Street stuff. Two things I learned from my dad: one, how to build anything with wood ,and two, how to race a fucking car.” He finishes the last of his beer and raises it to the passing waitress. Brandi leans in now, her chin in her hands and her elbow on her knees.