Reprise (11 page)

“Get in here, come sit.” He took her arm gently and pulled her into the apartment, leading her to his living room which just held a sofa with a TV on a plastic milk crate. He sat her down and parked it next to her, leaning back into the cushions. When she kept trembling he pulled her to his side, angling her to tuck her face in at his neck. One arm went around her back, the other played with her hair. “What do we do?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I can’t...I can’t kill it.”

There was a flare of relief, but he didn’t think he’d been worried about that. Not with her. “Okay. Good. That’s good.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t...I don’t know if I could make that call but I’m glad.”

“Should I put it up for adoption?”

He dropped his head back, eyes closing. He’d grown to like her, he really had. At first yeah, the sex had been great and her willingness to leave it at that was refreshing. But then she was staying the night, and he found waking next to her just as exciting as when she’d show up at his door without warning, climbing him like a cat and kissing him hard. Waking next to her, rolling her back into his hold as she slept on was...well, really sweet. He could get used to this girl, and he wasn’t fighting it. He’d take things as they came.

But fuck. This was more than fast. This was jumping ahead at light speed.

“Adoption is always an option,” Tiny said carefully. “I just worry that you make that decision now and then, as that baby is growing and forming and kicking at you...you might regret letting them take it.”

She nodded. “I’m scared of that. Of being attached but following through because I promised. Even if I don’t want to let it go.”

“So for now, not adoption. But don’t rule it out?” It was just suggestion. He’d support whatever she chose, and what was more: he’d be in agreement. He wasn’t going to leave it to her to make all the calls, take all the blame.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Good.” He held her a little longer until the crying turned into just hiccups. “So what else? This is more than the baby. What happened? You were already crying when you got here.”

She pushed away, but just to lean on his chest and look up at him. “I told my parents. My mom was...I don’t know. She locked down on me. But my dad...” her voice faltered again, eyes filling up. His stomach tightened. He didn’t like this, seeing her hurt, and he had the feeling the next thing she said would send him straight into fury. “My dad threw me out.”

He didn’t know if he made a noise or tightened his hold or what, but she froze and stared at him, tears forgotten. “Harlon?”

“He what?”

“He...are you okay?”

“He did what?”

“He told me to get out.” Now she was scared, not sad. And that was worse, but the heat rushing through his blood had no damper on it. He couldn’t shut it down.

“He threw you out?”

“He let me pack a bag of clothes then told me I couldn’t live there anymore.”

“Fucking cocksucker.” He got up so suddenly she toppled to the side. He grabbed his flannel off the back of the sofa and pulled it on, movements rough and jerky. All he could see was white-hot.

“Harlon—”

“Stay here. Don’t leave, don’t answer the phone.”

“Wait. Where are you going?”

She followed him the short hall to the door, then stopped when he jerked the door open and spun on her. “Mal, stay here. Don’t answer the phone. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“How did you get here?”

“I...I walked.”

Fuck. Her parents lived in a nice outer region of Cleary. It had to have taken her a forty-five minutes or so to get to him. His hand cranked down on the door knob. He thought his jaw might have cracked for how tight it got. “Don’t leave. Okay?”

Her arms were wrapped around her body, and she nodded. Tears were still in her eyes but she looked scared. “Just tell me where you’re going.”

“I’m going to get the rest of your things. Don’t worry.”

“Wait, Harlon, don’t—”

“Your old man doesn’t scare me,” he cut in sharply. “He’ll let me in and I’ll get your things. One bag of clothes is bullshit.”

He wished the apartment had the kind of doors you could slam, but they were weighted with that self-closing contraption that took that away. His boots pounded down the hall, and he was squeezing his keys so hard they might have drawn blood.

All he could see was the tears in her eyes, the utter ruin of her family turning her out when they should have been embracing her.

It took fifteen minutes to drive out to her folks’ place. It was mostly a blur, and he hoped he’d been obeying traffic laws the whole way. He all but yanked the storm door off its squealing hinges and slammed his fist on the inside door. He hoped, for their own sake, they didn’t keep him waiting long—

The door was yanked open aggressively and Harlon was more than ready for the confrontation. Her dad stood before him, face red. Small. Ineffectual. Insignificant. And an asshole on top of it all.

“Oh good,” the man snarled. “It’s you. What could you possibly want?”

Harlon wasn’t there to chat. He’d been to the house once before when the Becks were out of town, so he knew damn well where Mallory’s room was. He pushed past the middle-aged peacock and said only “I’m here for Mallory’s things.”

No one stopped him, but her father followed him. “She took everything she’s getting from me. The rest stays.”

In the bedroom Harlon turned a light on, then immediately went for her dresser. “Bullshit,” he snarled. “She bought her own clothes, so she gets to keep all of them.”

Then he yanked open the top of the little jewelry box on the dresser. “These pearls never came from you, they came from her grandmother. So did these diamond earrings. She gets those, too.”

“You son of a bitch.”

Harlon shook his head. “Nah man, the bitch is you. My mom would have never treated me like this. Get me a bag to put her stuff in.”

“Go to hell and get the hell out of my house before I call the cops.”

“Go on and call them,” he invited, searching the room. There was a large canvas duffle on the floor, next to the foot of the bed like she’d been s frazzled she didn’t know which bag to take. It had a few things inside, like she’d realized it would be too big to carry once she got it full.

“Grace! Call the police!” The little weasel left the room. All the better to get shit packed.

He tossed the duffle on the bed and shoved the jewelry box inside, then started emptying drawers. He did the same to the closet, and he was just going through the other items on top of the dresser when he became aware of sniffling from the doorway. It was Anabelle Beck, and at least she had the decency to look wretched.

“Is she...is she going to be okay?”

Harlon snapped his jaw shut. From all accounts Mal had given him, her mother was a soft spot on anything that her husband gave her permission to be. She might be worried, but she hadn’t done a damn thing to stop him, either.

“She will be. Once I get her away from you people.”

“Oh yes, that’s rich.”

Great, Dad was back. Tiny went back to grabbing the hair spray and brushes and all the other shit from the dresser, throwing it all in one mess into the bag.

“I’m calling the cops. You have three minutes to get out of my house.”

Harlon zipped the bag closed, grabbed it up in one hand and approached the door. The father had the balls to stand in his way, though. He glared down his nose at the man.

“Move or I will move you,” he warned, keeping his tone even.

“This is the man she threw it all away for,” the asshole said, looking at his wife in disbelief. “Isn’t that charming?”

“You’re still in my way.”

“Her things stay here,” the man snapped, eyes up on his now.

“She isn’t coming back here,” Harlon assured him. “I’m not going to let you hurt her like that again.”

The mother covered her mouth, her sobs getting a bit louder now.

“But she does get to keep her things. Because...” he had nothing to qualify it, then decided he didn’t have you. “Because, fuck you. That’s why.”

“Listen, you little shit. You may be able to pull one over on my dimwitted daughter but I’m a hell of a lot smarter—”

That thought wasn’t finished because two of his back molars were suddenly loosened courtesy of a cheap shot from Harlon’s left hook. He hit the carpet on his back, cradling his jaw and looking up in shock. Harlon leaned over, finger extended. “You don’t ever talk about her again. She’s not your concern.”

No one followed as he made his way to the truck and tossed the duffle in the bed. On the way back to town the numb wore off and he started to freak out.

Jesus. A baby. Fucking hell, he was going to be a father.

He didn’t go to his apartment. He went home instead.

Inside he could smell something for supper in the stove. His mother was in the kitchen, the water in the sink was running. The old man wasn’t around, or if he was, he was back in the garage tinkering.

He kicked his shoes off and followed his nose, coming into the small but cheery kitchen. His mom turned, her face immediately breaking into a grin. “You’re home! Are you staying for supper?” Then the smile faltered as he hung his head, covering his face. “Harlon—your hand is bleeding. What’s wrong?”

“I fucked up, mom. Shit, I fucked up.”

“Did you get in a fight?”

He dropped his hands, checking his knuckles. Sure enough, there was a split that had a bit of blood. But nothing too bad. “I...I got a girl pregnant.” Shit, he couldn’t look at her. The thought that she might be disappointed—

Her hands were warm as they clasped his right one. “That Beck girl?”

“Yeah. She’s pregnant.”

“Oh, dear.  She’s awfully young.”

“I know. I fucked up.”

She squeezed his hand. “What are we going to do about it?”

He looked up into those brown eyes, the ones he got his own from. She was warm, compassionate, and worried, but not upset in any way. “I’ll take care of it. I think she wants to keep it. I’ll help her. As much as she wants me.”

His mother beamed and touched his cheek. “Of course you will. How is she?”

“I don’t know. I think she’s worried about the baby, but right now she’s upset. Her parents threw her out.”

His mother jerked back like he’d cursed. “What?”

“She told them today, they told her to get out. She showed up at my door less than an hour ago crying.”

“Bring her here.”

He blinked, and it was his turn to react with shock. “What?”

“She can stay here until she sorts it out. If she can sort it out. If not, oh well. At least she’ll have someone around who’s been through it once.”

He had to blink. Shake his head. “What? Mom, no, I’ll take care of it.”

Again with the pat on the cheek. “Your apartment is a dump with a lot of stairs and no furniture.”

“I’ll get furniture.”

“I’ll take care of her when you’re on the road. Make sure she goes to all the doctor’s appointments you can’t be here for.  And honey, she’ll want another mother to talk to.”

His frown deepened, but he was starting to agree. “What about Dad? I don’t think—”

“Bring her here, son.”

They both turned to the back door. Harlon Senior had come in without anyone noticing, listening in for who knows how long. “Dad, are you—”

“Bring her here. You’re going to need to work and save up a lot of money for when that kid comes. She shouldn’t be alone.”

-oOo-

“...isn’t that right?”

Tiny shook himself back to the present. “Hmm? Sorry. Zoned out.” Knuckles had apparently asked him something.

“I was telling Mallory that when we have the Christmas party at the clubhouse you dress up in the Santa suit and let kids pull on your beard.”

Mallory was smiling broadly at him, her eyes bright. Damn, she still looked absolutely beautiful.

“Yeah. I’m the only one that fills the suit in,” he drawled sarcastically, and Knuckles laughed at that. Mallory joined in.

“He’s the only one with white hair. The ladies help whiten the beard with shoe polish, then the kids get it all over their hands and the Santa suit is trashed by the end of the day.”

Tiny shrugged and finished his beer. “As long as they have fun.”

“Yep. Kids love Tiny.”

Mallory leaned on the table with one elbow. “So...they call you Tiny?”

He had to grin. “Original, isn’t it?”

“What do you call him?” Knuckles asked. “I assumed he’d always been Tiny.”

“I called him Harlon.”

“So where did Tiny come from?” Knuckles mused, looked thoughtful.

“Prison, asswipe.”

“Oh.”

Mallory was still staring at him, her smile gone. “You did go to prison? I mean, I heard the rumor but—”

“Yeah, I did. I had logged twenty hours on the road, fell asleep at the wheel. Hit a car, killed two sisters. Found guilty of negligence causing death and sent away for four years.”