Between the Sheets (23 page)

That came as zero surprise to Ty.

“He’s out for the rest of the week.”

Ty waited for a reaction, but Brody was still silent. Maybe he didn’t understand the ramifications of that.

“He’s got nowhere else to go, so he’s going to have to hang out with me. He’s working pretty hard. It’s going to slow me down some, but it shouldn’t be too bad. But if this is a problem, and trust me I get it, maybe we should just shake hands and call it—”

“It’s fine, Ty. Stuff happens, no worries.”

“Still, I know it’s inconvenient.”

Brody took off his sunglasses and polished the lenses with his shirt.

“Ashley is real big on community. You know what that means?”

“No.”

“Yeah, me neither. But I think it means, it’s okay, Ty. You. Your kid being here. It’s all okay. I’ve never been a boss before.”

It was a relief. The fire in his spine was hard to sustain, especially now with Casey. “Really?”

Brody smiled—well, as much as he ever did, which meant he gave the impression of smiling without actually moving his face. “That’s a surprise?”

“Yeah, you just seem kind of like a guy people follow.”

“I suppose I have the Marines to thank for that.” Ty had the impression that it was more than military training, but he kept his mouth shut. “Anyway, you do good work, Ty. I’m glad you work for me and having your son here is just fine. Stop worrying.”

“Thanks, man,” Ty said, relieved and slightly embarrassed. Behind him there was the sound of a car pulling up, and grateful to end the conversation he turned expecting Sean or maybe Ashley, but it was a Bishop Police cruiser and two cops stepped out of it, adjusting their duty belts and sunglasses.

“Wyatt Svenson?” one of them asked.

Ty jerked in surprise. “I’m him.”

“I’m Officer Jenkins,” the bigger of the two said and
he nodded toward his partner, a compact black man. “This is Officer Debreau.”

“What can I do for you?” he asked, taking off his gloves and tucking them in his back pocket. The two men fanned out in a move Ty had seen a million times. Jenkins faced him, one foot up on the sidewalk, while Debreau took a look around, taking in the arbor and the tools. Brody came to stand behind him.

“There were some break-ins in a few houses out by you guys,” Jenkins said. “And we’re checking with some neighbors to see if they might have seen or heard anything last night.”

Ty shook his head, caught for a moment in the memory of Shelby. Of her heat and her softness and her wildness. “What time?”

“After midnight, before four a.m., best we can tell.”

“I was asleep at midnight. Didn’t hear a thing. Was there anything stolen?”

“No. Just messed with.”

“Messed with?” he asked. “Who breaks into houses and just messes with stuff?”

“Kids,” Officer Debreau piped up. “You know where your son was during those hours?”

From his head to his feet and all the way through, he just bristled with a sudden and all-consuming anger.

“Why are you asking?” he said through his teeth.

“Just covering the bases,” Jenkins said, but Debreau lifted his sunglasses away from his face, revealing hard eyes.

“Your son’s been in trouble at school. Fighting.”

“Three kids were suspended for that. You talking to the other parents?”

“They live on the other side of town.”

“Right, and Bishop is so big there’s no way they could get over to my neighborhood between the hours of midnight and four a.m.”

“Do you have a problem, sir?” Debreau asked, his hands on his belt. “Because you could answer these questions down at the station.”

“Max,” Brody said, his voice a quiet menace.

“Stay out of this, Brody,” Jenkins stepped in.

Twelve years ago, after Pop died and Ty just fell apart, he would have been the guy who had to be taken down to the station. The guy who wouldn’t quit pushing until someone pushed him back hard enough so he could feel it. Feel something.

But he had Casey to think about.

“He was asleep. In his bed. The whole night.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!”

Debreau backed away, his raised hands a gesture that told Ty that he shouldn’t get all worked up over nothing, a gesture that made him see red.

“If you hear of anything, or see anything, please let us know. We don’t want messing around to escalate into something more dangerous,” Jenkins said, and the two cops got back in their car and drove away.

Ty watched them go, and finally, when their taillights were no longer visible, he turned to Brody. “That your idea of community?” he asked.

“I’m so sorry, man,” Brody whispered.

“Yeah, me, too.”

Tuesday night, without looking at the screen Shelby picked up her ringing cell phone, her attention focused instead on the agenda for the Chamber of Commerce meeting next week.

“Hello?” she said, making a note to bring up the slowdown in City Hall to get permits. She had the high school art show in two months and so far no word on permits.

“Shelby?” Ty’s voice made her stop. It made all the hair on her body stand on end. She felt blood vessels dilating inside her.

Him
, her body whispered.
I want him
.

“Ty. How are you?” There was no way to keep the warmth out of her voice. The pleasure she felt just hearing his name, and she wondered what was wrong with her that that was her instinct—to deny herself and him.

“Good.”

She glanced up at the wall clock in the living room. Eight p.m. She was working in the house tonight because Mom had seemed very agitated, and even being in the barn felt too far away. “How are you?” he asked, his voice pitched low and quiet, and she tried to imagine him in his home and realized she’d never seen it. That seemed very not right.

For two people who had shown each other so much, they were total strangers in the practical sense.

“Fine. Just doing some Chamber of Commerce paperwork,” she said. “What’s up?”

“Well, I’m not sure if the cops came and talked to you—”

“Cops? About what?”

“Apparently there’ve been some break-ins around us, and I just wanted to check in and make sure you’re okay.”

“Was anything stolen? Were people hurt?”

“No. The cops think it’s kids, because things were just messed with.”

“Were you broken into?”

“No. You?”

“No!” At least not that she could tell; if things had just been messed with it would be nearly impossible to surmise a difference in her home from the mess they lived in on a regular basis.

“Well, lock your doors tonight,” Ty said.

She laughed. “I’m not sure any of these doors have ever been locked.”

“Country girl,” Ty murmured, “you need to take care of yourself.”

The silence between them seemed to pound with unsaid things and she stood up from her chair and walked through the house, locking doors, checking windows.

“Make sure you lock
your
doors, city boy,” she said, climbing the stairs. Mom was in her room, sorting through a box of keys. She could steal away a few moments.

“Have you always lived in Bishop?” Ty asked, and she paused on the steps, surprised by the question.

“I went to school in Savannah, Georgia,” she said. “I spent five years there before moving back to Bishop.”

“You don’t think of leaving?”

“Oh,” she laughed. “I think of leaving all the time. I can’t remember the last time I had a vacation. But I don’t dream of staying away. This is home.”

“Home.” He said the word like it was a surprise.

“You are unfamiliar with the idea?” she asked, and his rough chuckle warmed her from the inside.

“My parents moved around a lot. There
was
no home with them. But Nana and Pop had a big house on a bunch of land outside Ellicott City. That was home for a long time.”

“But you left it?”

“I blew it, actually. Started getting in trouble after Pop died. Nana kicked me out of the house, I was with Casey’s mom and running with her friends, and I just woke up one morning and knew I had to get out of there.”

“That’s when you went to St. Louis?”

“Man, I love that you remember everything.”

The tenderness in his voice was like the touch of his hand on her spine; it was like a thread slowly stitching
them together in the dark of their separate houses. Pulling around her, reaching across the distance to wrap around him.

The quiet huff of his breath through the phone made her warm, made her blood beat hard.

She knew so little of intimacy. So little—but this was it, she was sure of it.

It was shocking to realize that she did remember everything he’d ever told her, that all the things he’d said and done in the handful of times they’d been together had been cataloged somewhere deep in her brain.

“I remembered,” she said, feeling as if she were admitting something important.

“I was in St. Louis for two years, and I got bored and moved on.”

“To where?” she asked, imagining him loading up his bike, those cuffs around his wrists, riding off into a sunset somewhere.

“Everywhere,” he said. “Texas, Utah, Missouri, Illinois for a while. Until Nana had her first heart attack and I headed back to West Memphis and Pop’s shop and tried staying put for a while.”

“You don’t like it?” she asked. “Staying put?”

“It’s not easy, but I’m trying.”

“All that moving around sounds lonely.”

“I had friends,” he said, almost defensively.

“Friends are good.” She sounded far more coy than she’d intended.

Again she heard that dark laugh of his that reminded her of how he seemed to know what her body wanted better than she did. “Speaking of good, do you want to—”

“Yes,” she said, without hesitation, knowing exactly what he was going to ask. “But I can’t. Mom is restless and I don’t want to leave her alone in the house.”

“I understand.”

“I just … I don’t have a nurse here all the time,” she
said. “It’s just been the two of us for so long, I’m not sure if it’s such a good idea to introduce someone new. If that might cause more problems.” She laughed. “I have no idea why I’m telling you this.”

But she knew. She did. Intimacy. That thread in the darkness.

“Sometimes it’s just nice to talk.”

“Yes,” she whispered, though it wasn’t usually for her. But their relationship or friendship, or whatever it was, was miles outside of her “usual.” “It is.”

She stepped into her bedroom and shut the door, pressing her forehead against the wood. She was at loose ends again, doubting herself, feeling alone with her mistakes and decisions, and everything inside of her believed he had the power to settle the worst of her fears, her frayed edges.

“Where are you?” she whispered.

“My bedroom. You?”

“My bedroom.”

There was a pause and then the purr of his laughter. “Is this where I ask you what you’re wearing?”

She’d never done this before, but again she reached deep into the dark place where she buried all of those things she wanted—all those secret, shameful desires that never, ever seemed to scare him away—and pulled them out for him. For her.

“This is when I tell you how much I like your cock.”

“Oh Jesus,” he sighed and she heard rustling, the muted scrape of a zipper, and she bit her lip as pleasure poured through her. “How … how do you like it?”

She lay down on the bed in the dark of her bedroom and despite the distance between them, the stretch of road and the dark lawns, the cold plastic of her phone in her hand, she felt as if he were right there, his hands on her body.

Chapter 16

“Who is coming over?” Casey asked, pushing the second grocery cart up to the back of the truck.

“Just some friends.” Ty piled the cases of beer and bags of chips and the shrimp into the back of the truck. He stacked things strategically, hoping he could keep stuff from sliding around. The loaves of bread and bottles of wine would have to go inside the cab.

“Ms. Monroe?”

Ty paused, his hands on the bottles of white wine. He’d thought about asking Shelby, but truthfully, he wasn’t sure how that would go over. The people coming in tonight were from different parts of his old life. Friends he’d worked construction with in St. Louis. A few rich investment bankers who’d been buying his bikes since the first online auction. One of Pop’s old mechanics, and some of the guys from the Outlaws who had left the club after he did. Some of them had splintered off and done other things like him, some had joined other clubs, but all of them were about as far away from Shelby Monroe as the moon.

“No. Shelby won’t be there. Why?”

“This is just a lot of stuff. A lot.” Casey was looking at the cases of beer.

“It’s a party.”

“I thought you were auctioning off the Indian Chief.”

“I am, but first I just thought I’d have a party for some of the people who come by to bid. Does that bother you?”

“No.” Casey shook his head, but it was obvious he was lying. He was pale under his freckles. “It’s fine.”

“Casey, it’s just a party. Nothing will get out of hand—”

“I said it’s fine, Ty. Whatever.”

Casey stomped around to the passenger side of the truck and Ty guessed that was the end of the conversation.

There was a lot of work to do before the guys started showing up around seven. Cliff the auctioneer was coming at nine. Ty had polished up the bike last night after another phone call with Shelby. Christ, that woman. She was no end of surprising. Twice he’d called her over the week, just to check up on her, see how she was doing, and twice he’d ended up with his hands down his pants listening to her gasp and groan her way through an orgasm.

The impulse to call her, to hear her voice, was getting larger every day and Ty wasn’t very good at ignoring his impulses.

“Hey,” he said, digging his phone out of his back pocket and handing it over to Casey. “Call Ms. Monroe and ask her to come on over tonight.”

“Yeah?” Casey lit up like a Fourth of July firework.

“Yeah.”

Fuck it
, he thought. He wanted to see her and whatever was happening between them, she might as well experience this part of his life. Maybe she’d like it. Maybe she’d sit down with some of these men and women, look past the surface tattoos and hair and leathers and attitude, and see what he saw—good guys who’d found a place in the world that accepted them for who they were. Trouble and all.