Quiet Storm, Season 2, Episode 6 (Rising Storm) (3 page)

As for Marylee, his grandmother would start tossing girls his way and arranging photo ops. Anything to get ahead of the rumors. His dad and grandmother had their heads so far up their asses, they were sure to think that even in this day and age, having a son who was gay was political suicide.

But it wasn’t. Was it?

Surely not. Storm, Texas, might be small, but it wasn’t that backward.

Or maybe it was. Maybe deep down Jeffry knew that it was, and that was why he was so nervous about telling people the truth. Because he knew they just might turn on him. And while Jeffry didn’t honestly care if his dad and grandmother disowned him, he hated the thought of losing his friends.

He cringed, thinking of Lacey. She probably thought he hated her, especially since he’d bailed the second she’d come near him in Pink.

The irony of course, was that he’d gone into the store specifically to talk to her. But then he’d gotten all sidetracked by Scott. And when Lacey’d come up, Jeffry had been sure that he had Serious Lust Face, and he just had to get out of there before she noticed and Jeffry had to babble some excuse.

Then she’d shown up again outside of Cuppa Joe, and he’d been mortified, because what if she’d said something about Scott in front of Mallory and Luis? So he’d said nothing, and now Lacey probably thought that he was snubbing her just the way that Mallory and Luis had, when that wasn’t what he’d meant at all.

Shit, shit, shit.

The truth was, Lacey’d been a raging bitch over the summer, but she was starting to chill. More important, Jeffry understood what was going on. Her world had been pulled out from under her. Hell, so had his. Maybe not in the same way, but he got it. He did. And he wasn’t one to disappear on his family and friends just because things got sticky. He hadn’t spent much time with her the last few months, and he didn’t like the fact that he’d allowed her bad behavior to push him away. She was his friend, after all. Even more, she was his cousin. Family. And she needed to know he was there for her even at her bitchiest.

And, yeah, some secret part of him hoped that she’d be there for him, too.

“A twenty for your thoughts.”

Jeffry jumped at the sound of the familiar voice. Familiar only because it had been going round and round in his head now for hours. “Twenty?” he said, standing and turning to face Scott Wallace.

He sucked in a breath, hoping he didn’t look awed. The guy really was hot. Like seriously hot. Like holy shit hot.

And Jeffry didn’t have the slightest idea what to do next. Flirting wasn’t exactly his area of expertise. And he wasn’t even certain Scott was gay. How was he supposed to know for sure? It’s not like there was a secret handshake.

Oh, god.
Was
there a secret handshake?

“—just isn’t enough,” Scott was saying.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Scott’s wide, gorgeous mouth twitched, as if he knew exactly what Jeffry had been thinking. “I was saying that twenty seemed appropriate. Because you don’t seem like the kind of guy whose thoughts are worth only a penny.” He tilted his head and smiled, his eyes fixed on Jeffry. “You strike me as a guy whose thoughts have depth. Value.”

“Oh.”

The word hung in the air, and Jeffry wondered if he could kick his own ass without Scott noticing.

“I just finished up my last delivery and was gonna grab an ice cream. I saw you sitting here and thought you might want one, too.”

“Oh,” Jeffry repeated, glancing toward the ice cream shop. “Yeah. Sure. Um, that sounds great.”

“Come on, then,” Scott said, walking slowly until Jeffry fell in step beside him.

“So you’re at UT with Max? That means you’re a senior?” That would make him at least four years older than Jeffry. A near-college grad who could drink and probably thought Jeffry was nothing more than a local kid.

“A&M,” Scott corrected. “And no. I just started my junior year. Then only four more to go.” He grinned wryly. “I’m planning on law school after I finish.”

“Litigation?”

“That’s the plan.” Again, he flashed that devilish grin. “I like to argue.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jeffry quipped, surprising himself.

“How about you? Politics like your dad?”

“No,” Jeffry said, the answer coming fast and immediate.

“Glad to hear it. You seem too...clean...for politics. Nothing against your dad, of course.”

“Don’t hold back. I know he’s oily. But you make clean sound like a curse.”

Scott stopped walking. “No. I meant it as a compliment.” His eyes drifted over Jeffry, and in the process, Jeffry completely forgot to breathe.

When he remembered, he started walking again, needing to put some distance between them. Were they flirting? Or was he reading more into this than what was there?

“Not politics, then,” Scott said, catching up. “What?”

“I want to be a reporter,” Jeffry said. “I work part time at the local paper, and I love it. Of course, I want to end up in a bigger market after school.”

“Maybe New York’s the place for you. Maybe that’s where you’ll win a Pulitzer.”

“Maybe,” Jeffry agreed, liking the way this guy made him feel about himself. As if jobs and awards were a real possibility. Not like his grandmother, who thought his job was beneath a Rush.

They reached the ice cream store, and Scott ordered vanilla while Jeffry got butter pecan.

“I’ve never tried that,” Scott said, wrapping his hand around Jeffry’s, so they both had a grip on Jeffry’s cone. “Do you mind?”

He didn’t wait for Jeffry to answer, just leaned in and licked the cone, his eyes on Jeffry the whole time.

It was just ice cream, dammit, but the second Scott released him, Jeffry had to shift away because the sight of Scott’s tongue on his ice cream had made Jeffry start to get hard. And that meant he needed to take a step back. One big, giant step backward.

He drew in a breath. “I should probably get going. I promised my mom I’d help her out tonight.”
Lie, lie, lie.

“No problem,” Scott said. “It was great chatting with you.”

“Right. Um, okay, then.” Jeffry started to head down the sidewalk. “Later.”

“Actually,” Scott said, and Jeffry stopped way too fast to seem casual.

“Yeah?”

“I’m driving into Fredericksburg tonight. There’s a theater there showing
Monty Python and the Holy Grail
.”

“I love that movie.”

“Great. Why don’t you come along?”

He wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to say yes. Instead, he shook his head and said, “I probably shouldn’t.” He met Scott’s eyes and shrugged, not sure if he meant that he shouldn’t go to the movie or if he shouldn’t go with Scott. Didn’t matter, he supposed. Either way, he was staying home tonight. “But thanks for the invite, you know?”

“Sure. Fair enough. I’ll see you around.” He started to walk away, then paused. “And if you change your mind, you know where I’ll be. Oh, and in case you were wondering, I don’t bite.” His grin widened and his blue eyes twinkled. “Not unless you want me to, anyway.”

He winked. And then he really did turn and walk away, leaving Jeffry looking after him, wondering what the hell just happened.

* * * *

Celeste pulled her blue bathrobe around her as she stepped over the threshold and onto her front porch. The tattered terrycloth smelled stale, and for a moment, Celeste tried to remember the last time she’d washed it.

She had no idea.

She should do that. Laundry. Dishes. Those things were important. They kept a person on track.

The thought wound through her head, poking and pushing at her. And it was that recent thread that had pushed her to the front door today, and then encouraged her on to the porch.

Now that she was here, though...

Well, what was the point?

The sky was a brilliant blue and the air was crisp. But how could she enjoy it? How could she kneel in the grass and tend to living, beautiful things when her own beautiful boy lay dead in a cemetery? How could she move forward knowing that he would never move again? And, worse, knowing that the possibility that a piece of Jacob might live on in a grandchild had been horribly, violently destroyed.

How? You just do. One step at a time, Celeste. You just have to do it.

Tentatively, she lifted her foot as if to step down off the porch. But then she drew it back hastily. She wanted to—dear god, how she wanted to climb out of this pit into which she had fallen. But she just didn’t have the strength.

Defeated and hating herself and so damn lost, she leaned against the siding, practically melting against the wall of the house as she breathed deep, gathering her strength before she headed back inside the building that was once a home, but now felt like a prison. It wasn’t fair to Travis and Lacey and Sara Jane—Celeste knew that—but she couldn’t shut the feelings off. She couldn’t feed the emptiness.

She was about to turn around when Lacey’s little yellow VW pulled up in front of the house. Celeste pressed back into the shadows, intending to go inside before Lacey called out to her.

But Lacey didn’t get out of the car. Instead, she killed the engine, then bent over so that her forehead rested on the steering wheel. Her shoulders heaved, and Celeste’s heart squeezed tight in her chest as she realized that her sweet baby girl was sobbing.

“Lacey.” The word was so soft it was barely a breath, but it burned through Celeste. She wanted to move down the sidewalk. She wanted to wrench the car door open and pull her girl into her arms. She wanted to make it all better.

But Celeste knew damn well that sometimes making it better was never an option.

With her own little sob, she turned away and went back inside. What else could she do? It was all too much. All too fragile.

She stepped carefully down the hall to the kitchen, walking as slowly as if she were recovering from surgery. She paused, her hand on the breakfast bar as she gathered her strength to go back upstairs to bed.

But then she shifted toward the pantry and took out a package of Oreos. She put four on a plate and left them on the breakfast table. She turned to a blank page in the spiral they used for a grocery list and wrote,
I thought you could use this. Love, Mom.

She ripped out the note and put it beside the plate.

She looked down at it before she headed upstairs to bed. The four store-bought cookies. The paper with the raw, spiral edge. It looked pathetic. But it also looked like a first step.

And right then, first steps were all that Celeste could handle.

Chapter 3

Joanne Alvarez wasn’t supposed to be here. She’d told her husband, Hector, that she was running to the market to get potatoes and carrots for dinner tonight, but instead she’d come here to Tate Johnson’s campaign office to sneak in a little work this Saturday evening.

Technically, she was still his campaign manager, but as far as Hector was concerned, she was no longer employed. For that matter, Hector didn’t really believe she’d
ever
been employed. At least not in a job as organized and responsible as a campaign manager. He seemed to think she was sleeping with Tate Johnson. As if that was all she was good for.

Dammit, that wasn’t all she was good for. She’d been doing an excellent job—building an incredible life—and Hector had to go and ruin it all by coming back. She didn’t want him here—
she didn’t
—but what could she do? She couldn’t push him away, because he’d push right back. He’d hurt her, but more important, he’d hurt her children. She’d spent more than twenty years protecting her children, and she’d become expert at it. Maybe she paid a price, but her kids were worth it. And what choice did she have? Hector was a monster, and he’d do whatever it took to win.

More important, he’d hurt anyone who stood in his way.

She shuddered, thinking of her son, Marcus, and the man who was his father in spirit if not by birth. Ian Briggs. Hector had seen the bond between those two. He knew he’d lost his son. And Joanne was determined to deflect any wrath that Hector might be about to unleash toward Marcus.

It wasn’t ideal, but when had her life ever been ideal?

These last few weeks. Working for Tate. Spending time with Dillon. With her children.

She frowned at the thought. It might be true, but that wasn’t her life anymore. Hector had come back.

And that changed everything.

A board creaked loudly in the hall outside Tate’s closed office door, and Joanne jumped. Her heart pounded as she saw the doorknob turn. She knew it wasn’t Tate—he was in Austin this weekend—and her mind spun as she tried to come up with a lie to pacify her surely irate husband.

The door opened. Her chest tightened—and then she let out a
whoosh
of air in relief as Dillon Murphy strode inside.

As quickly as her relief came, it was replaced by irritation. “What are you doing here?” Didn’t he know that Hector could come by any second? Didn’t he understand what Hector would do to Dillon?

Most of all, he’d lied to her. He’d run Hector out of town and then played the innocent. And, dammit, even if maybe she understood why he’d done that—even if maybe she was even a little grateful—he’d just made things so much worse.

“I was on the square. I saw you come in.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Joanne, we need to talk.”

She pressed her lips together. It had been days since she’d seen him. Hector had been out of control and she’d been terrified, afraid that this time he’d cross the line. That he’d—

She shuddered, remembering the coppery taste of fear. The certainty that this time her husband had gone too far and a trip to the ER wasn’t going to help her.

But then there’d been a sharp knock on the door, and the sound had pulled Hector back from the brink. He’d still been seething, but for right then at least, the danger had passed.

The man at the door had been Dillon. And even though she had begged him to go, she had been oh-so grateful that he’d come. He’d probably saved her life. He’d certainly saved her from more broken bones and bruises.