Lifers (30 page)

“Ain’t you Jordan Kane?”

Fuck.

“Yes, sir. That’s me.”

“Who the hell you think you are showin’ yo’ face around here, boy?”

“I don’t want any trouble.”

“Well, trouble done found you.”

One of them looked straight at Torrey, his gaze running up and down her body. I tensed immediately. Those fuckers were
not
getting their greasy hands on her, even if it meant I ended up back in the pen.

“What you doin’ with a piece of shit ex-con like him, sugar? Why’nt ya come an’ spend some time with a real man. Sure we c’n be right friendly.”

Torrey tried to get past me, but I kept my arm out, holding her back.

“I wouldn’t piss in your ear if your brain was on fire,” she yelled.

“Ha ha ha! She done tole you, Eddy!” laughed the one with the mustache.

‘Eddy’ didn’t seem very happy about that and I thought things were going to turn bad. But for once, thank you Lord, luck was on my side.

Two cops came out of the station and immediately honed in on what was happening. While they weren’t fans of mine, it was pretty damn obvious that I wasn’t the instigator either.

“Y’all got a problem here?” the older cop said.

“We’s just havin’ some fun, officer,” said Mustache, giving a creepy, snaggle-toothed grin.

“Mmm-hmm. Well, take your ‘fun’ someplace else. Y’all git.”

Muttering to themselves, the men left. Immediately, the cops turned to me.

“It would be better all around if you didn’t go showin’ your face in town, Kane. Folks around here are mighty picky ‘bout the company they keep.”

“Oh for God’s sake!” yelped Torrey. “Those rednecks were just itching to start a fight. Jordan didn’t do anything! Hell, he’s just reported to your damn police station!”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I said, quietly.

“Let me give you a piece of advice, Miss Delaney,” said the older cop. “You get home to your momma and be careful about who you spend your time with. Some folk cain’t help attractin’ trouble.”

Torrey looked taken aback that they knew who she was. Then she rolled her eyes. “Maybe you should look up the whole concept of ‘innocent until proven guilty’,” she snapped.

“Do tell,” said the older cop. “Kane
was
proved guilty.”

“And how long does he have to keep on paying?” she hissed.

“Torrey!” I begged, tugging on her arm. “Now’s not the time, sweetheart!”

She whirled around and turned on me.

“When is the time, Jordan? When three rednecks have kicked the crap out of you for fun?”

“Watch your mouth, young lady,” said the cop. “You might be the preacher’s daughter, but that doesn’t give you any special privileges.”

I had to practically drag her out of there, still shooting sparks and spitting fire.

When I finally managed to get her back in the Firebird she hadn’t calmed down much.

“You can’t let them treat you like that, Jordan!” she yelled.

“Sweetheart, it doesn’t matter.”

“The hell it doesn’t! How could you just stand there and say nothing? We have a Constitution! They can’t just go trampling all over your rights!”

“And you think they apply to me as much as they apply to you?” I shot back, rapidly losing my temper. “Don’t you get it? They
want
me to fuck up. They want a reason to put me back inside. They’d love to just throw away the key!”

“Then fight back! Don’t let them! Don’t quit!”

I ground my teeth with frustration.

“I cain’t afford your fuckin’ principles!” I shouted.

Her face became pale with anger, and her blue eyes were as hard as sapphires.

“Fuck you!” she yelled, and drove off in a cloud of dust and smoke.

Great.

Torrey

I was so mad at Jordan. I wanted him to stand up for himself. I hated this subservient, cowed side of him. I understood it, sort of, but I was afraid he’d sink back into the darkness and depression that he’d been stuck in when I first met him. I was certain it was better for him when he fought back.

This day was really going to hell in a handbasket.

I drove to work angry and miserable. I looked at my phone, hoping that Jordan might have sent me a message, but the only contact on there was from my bank reminding me that I’d exceeded my agreed overdraft. Yeah, thanks. And I still hadn’t heard anything from Dad. I was hurt that he’d erased me from his life so easily to pursue
Ginger.

Bev picked up on my mood immediately.

“Someone’s having a bad day!”

“God, Bev, you have no idea.”

“Fighting with that fine man of yours?”

I huffed out a tired laugh.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“Is he worth fighting for, hon?” she asked, seriously.

“Yes,” I sighed, “he is.”

“How about I make you a Caramel Frappuccino?” she said, throwing me a wink. “Caffeine and sugar all in one delicious iced drink.”

Her dreamy expression made me laugh. “Better make it a light one, Bev. I think I might need several.”

“You got it, hon.”

It was good to have some girl time and get away from all the intensity that seemed to surround Jordan Kane. I thought again about what he’d said at the police station: mandatory drug and alcohol tests; visits and searches from his parole officer; curfews; travel limits; even his damn text messages were subject to examination. That was his reality. Did I really want to buy into all that? Hell, no sane person would
want
that.

But there was so much more to him than his past or even his present reality. He was sweet and funny and kind. He was thoughtful and caring, and even when we were just talking, I enjoyed his company. And did I mention that the sex was so hot I practically melted just looking at him?

It had been a few years since I’d let a guy get through to me like this. Why the hell did it have to be a fuck hot felon on parole? Life sure had a sick sense of humor. Or maybe I should go with Mom on this one: God has a plan for us all. Now
that
would be ironic.

I really hoped he’d stop by later.

Jordan 

I wanted to rip out my own tongue for yelling at Torrey that way. Damn, that woman was frustrating. And infuriating. Even when she was being a pain in my ass, she was still on my side.

It had been so fucking humiliating to have those rednecks talk shit to her, and just have to stand there and take it. I didn’t care what they said about me—I’d heard it all and worse. But to have her dragged down in the gutter with me, that definitely pushed my buttons.

I thought about texting her, but I really didn’t know what to say. I was sure she wouldn’t want to hear from me right now, so I decided to let her cool down.

Besides, I had to go talk to her momma. And after last night, I was beginning to see where Torrey got her firecracker spirit from.

I took a deep breath and headed on over to the Rectory.

The Reverend’s car was out front, which was a start. Maybe.

I guess she heard my truck because I was just fixing to knock on the door when it swung open in front of me.

“Uh, good mornin’, ma’am. I was wonderin’ if I could talk to you?”

Her expression didn’t give anything away.

“Very well, Jordan. Please come in.”

She stood back and allowed me to walk past her. I hesitated, wondering if she’d want me to go to the living room or the kitchen.

Instead, she gestured toward a small room I hadn’t been in before. It turned out to be her study—where she wrote her sermons, I guessed. A long bookshelf ran along one wall, and from what I could see, it was stocked with several Bibles and companion readers, but what really caught my attention were pictures of Torrey as a little girl: Torrey on a tricycle, Torrey sitting on a pony, Torrey in a ballet costume. So damn cute! The pictures seemed to stop when she was about 12 or 13, and I guessed that was when her parents’ marriage had failed.

“Please have a seat, Jordan,” the Reverend said, formally.

I lowered myself onto the edge of an armchair, anxiety shooting through me.

“Uh, I wanted to apologize for yesterday, ma’am. I didn’t mean any disrespect to you. Torrey and I … we’ve gotten … close. She means an awful lot to me, ma’am and I’m sorry if it seemed like I was takin’ advantage of you. Or her. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Thank you for saying that, Jordan. Do you intend to continue seeing my daughter?”

“As long as she’ll have me, ma’am,” I replied, honestly.

“I see. And would you say you have her best interests at heart?”

“I want only good things for her. Torrey is … she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I can see you believe that. But Jordan, are you the best thing that’s ever happened to her?”

Wow, sucker-punched.

“Um no, ma’am. I guess I’m not. But I really care about her.”

“So do I, Jordan. Which is why I hope you’ll understand when I say I cannot condone your relationship with her. And I would be remiss in my duty as a mother and as a moral guide to the people of my parish if I encouraged it by continuing to allow you in my home. I am, however, willing to allow you to work here, but not if you continue to see my daughter. The decision is yours.”

So, that was it.

I stood up to leave.

“Thank you for your time, ma’am. I appreciate you lettin’ me say my piece.”

“And your decision is?”

I looked her in the eye, knowing exactly what I wanted to say: “You know the ‘Song of Solomon’, Reverend?”

“Of course!”

“Then this is my answer:
I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine
.”

And I walked out.

Principles are great when you can afford them, but the way this day was going, I was down a girlfriend
and
a job.

Next stop, Hulk. Maybe
he
could save my ass.

The yard was pretty busy for a Monday morning. I guess in a recession folks go wherever they can to get a bargain and save money. Hulk was doing good business in car and truck parts—good enough to need some help, I hoped.

I waited until he’d finished taking payment for a manifold, muffler and catalytic converter on a Ford Bronco before I approached him.

“Thought you was gonna call me, kid? You miss me that much you gotta come by?”

“Yep, just wanted to see your smilin’ face, Hulk.”

“Heh heh! I’d rather look at that sweet girl of yours! Where’s she at? Kicked your sorry ass out yet?”

I winced. “Uh, that’s a maybe, maybe not.”

“Huh, women, eh? Sorry to hear that. You two looked good together. And what’s with the hair? Someone try to tar and feather you?”

“Funny! Well, I’m sure there’s some as’d love to try. Hulk, I was wonderin’ if you needed more full-time help around here. I need work, and a few paint jobs ain’t gonna cut it.”

He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Last I heard, you was handyman for the preacher-lady.”

“Well, I was.”

“I guess she didn’t like you sniffin’ around her daughter.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I said, testily. “Torrey, she’s … special.”

“Heh heh!” he coughed out another laugh. “You got it bad, ain’t you, kid?”