Carolina Dreaming: A Dare Island Novel (27 page)

Gale smiled. “I’ve got you covered. Jay, I’m taking a break,” he called to the other workman. “You finish before I’m back, go ahead and lock up.”

“Sure thing, Gabe.”

Gabe clipped the leash to Lucky’s collar before handing the other end to Aidan. They ambled around the curve of the harbor toward the Fishermen’s Motel, the dog pausing to pee on every telephone pole and stop sign along the way.

Aidan kept his head sunk between his shoulders, his eyes on the ground. “You said I could come talk to you.”

“Anytime,” Gabe said. “Me, or your mom.”

“I can’t talk to her. Not about this.”

“Okay,” Gabe said.

He really hoped the kid wasn’t going to ask about sex. Given that Gabe wanted to marry Aidan’s mother, he figured that task might fall to him sooner or later. But later would be better, when Aidan was more ready. Or he was.

Lucky stopped to sniff the grass at the side of the road.

Aidan tugged on the leash. “I don’t want her to feel bad. She feels bad enough about stuff already.”

Gabe cleared his throat. “Generally, I’m against making your mom feel bad. Of course, she might feel worse if she thought you were keeping secrets from her.”

“It’s not a secret. It’s just . . .” Aidan kicked at an invisible stone in his path. “Do people make fun of you for going to jail?”

Shit.

Gabe looked down at the top of Aidan’s head. “Kids at school giving you a hard time about your father?”

No answer. Which was all the answer he needed.

“They don’t make fun of me,” Gabe said. “Not to my face. But they have plenty to say behind my back. I figure that if people want to talk, that says more about them than it does about me.”

“When Ryan says something, I want to punch him right in his fat face,” Aidan said.

“That’s probably what he wants,” Gabe said.

Aidan shot him a startled look.

“Some reaction, anyway,” Gabe said. “You want to give him what he wants?”

“N-no,” Aidan said.

“Right. So, what else could you do?”

“He said my dad is a criminal. A bad guy. And that means I’m a bad guy, too.”

“Do you believe him?” Gabe asked gently.

“No.” Aidan’s gaze flicked up and away again. “I don’t know.”

Little boy, you are not your father.

But Gabe knew where the kid was coming from. It ate at you, when you had your old man’s blood. His eyes. His hands. His temperament.

But when Gabe looked at Aidan, he saw Jane’s smile. And Hank’s shrug. He saw . . . Aidan.

“Listen.” Gabe stopped and dropped down on his haunches so that he and Aidan were eye to eye. “You are a great kid. This Ryan guy, he can call you names. But you don’t have to let them stick. You don’t have to let him define you. You can define yourself.”

“But how do I stop him?”

“Probably not by punching him,” Gabe said. “You’ve got
to be the person you know you are inside, the best person you can be. You have to act like that person.”

“He’s still gonna tease me. He’s a big jerk.”

“So, what else could you do?”

“I don’t know. He just makes me so mad.”

Gabe smothered a grin. He could have been listening to a younger version of himself. Could he be grown-up enough to give this kid advice? “That’s not a good enough reason to fight. When you’re a Marine, you need what we call a desired objective. Like, what do you want?”

“I want him to shut up.”

“That’s a good objective. You think if you hit him, he’ll leave you alone?”

Aidan kicked at the ground again. “Maybe.”

Gabe decided to let that one go for now. “Okay. So, then you have to ask, what’s it going to cost me to fight? That means, what do you lose? And then you ask, can I win this fight? Say you punch Ryan. What happens?”

“He beats me up.”

“He beats you up, and you get in trouble, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So who wins?”

“He does. But he wins anyway. The other kids listen to him.”

“Not all of them. You’re a great kid. You’ve got other friends, right? People who aren’t jerks. Like that girl, Hannah, and, what’s-his-name, Chris.”

“Chris Poole.”

“Right. The thing about jerks is they can’t stand up to a crowd. So the next time this Ryan gets in your face, you walk away. You find your people. Your friends, the people who know you and like you the way you are. And you’ll be okay.”

Another sidelong look. “You’re my people,” Aidan said, testing.

A blow, straight to the heart. It knocked Gabe flat. “Yeah,” he said unsteadily. “I am.”

They resumed walking. Gabe’s pocket buzzed. He pulled
out his phone and checked his incoming messages. There was a picture of Jane, taking out the garbage.

“Hannah says when her mom gets married, Mr. Lewis is going to be her dad.”

Gabe smiled and slipped the phone away. “How does Hannah feel about that?”

“She’s okay with it. Mr. Lewis is cool.”

They stopped again while Lucky investigated a particularly intriguing mailbox.

“If you asked Mom to marry you, then you would be like my dad,” Aidan said, as relentless on the scent as the dog.

Another sucker punch.

Gabe took a careful breath. “That’s how it would work, yeah.” His cell phone buzzed again. “If she said yes and you were okay with it.”

“What if she says no?”

Gabe exhaled. “I’d be really sorry. Because I love your mom. But that wouldn’t change things between you and me. I’m buying a house. I’m sticking. I’m here. Your mom . . . You know she’ll always be there for you. But if you ever need me, I’m here for you, too.”

Aidan’s lips curved in a smile. “Cool.”

He put his hand in Gabe’s.

Together, they walked the rest of the way.

A
LL
THE
COOKIES
were mixed, scooped onto trays, and resting in the refrigerator, ready to be baked off in the morning.

Jane carried out the garbage, stopping to fill the pans of food for the cats. Spring meant kittens on the island, fuzzy kitty tails and wide kitten eyes hiding in the bushes, waiting to sneak up on her and pounce like joy.

She left the back door open as she did a final run-through, making sure the bakery was prepped for the coming week, pausing to arrange the lines of organic juices in the refrigerated case. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass. Smiling.

And why not? Maybe the season was trying to tell her something. New life. New beginnings.

Gabe was taking her and Aidan out to dinner tonight.

A noise from the kitchen scraped at her attention. Jane straightened as the door swung open.

“Hello, Janey.” He stood in the kitchen doorway, a rictus of a grin stretching his stubbled face. Jack Nicholson in
The Shining
. “I’m back.”

Her skin shrank. Adrenaline dried her mouth, flat and metallic as a penny on her tongue. “Travis.”

She glanced instinctively toward the entrance. Locked. Even if she got a head start, he would catch her at the door. So. No escape there.

At the end of the day, that’s when you’re most vulnerable,
Gabe had said.

Oh, God. Gabe.

“We’re closed,” she said. “I’d like you to go.”

Travis sneered. “Or what?”

I won’t live in fear
, she had boasted. But her stomach clenched just the same.

“Or I’ll call the police.” Assuming she could reach a phone. Her cell phone was in her purse on top of the filing cabinet, the landline in the kitchen. The security alarm was by the back door.

She looked past Travis at the swinging door into the kitchen, calculating her chances.

His eyes followed her gaze, calculating, too. He smiled, and something went cold inside her, cold and numb.

She forced herself to think. He must have come in the back way, in range of Gabe’s security camera.

So Gabe would get an alert, a text message.

Oh, no.

She didn’t want trouble.

Travis strolled forward a step. “What are you going to tell the cops, Janey? I haven’t touched you. I haven’t threatened you. I’m rehabilitated. A changed man.”

He looked the same, tall and rangy, with lank blond hair and faded jeans, a battered gym bag in one hand. Prison had not changed him. But something was different. Maybe the way she looked at him had changed.

He was . . . smaller somehow.

“My father will come.”

Or Gabe. Her heart pounded. Even now, Gabe could be on his way. She had to get rid of Travis before Gabe came.

“Janey, Janey.” Travis shook his head, as if her answer disappointed him. “Always with the drama. Every time I had a few, every time I didn’t toe your line, you’d start squawking and crying and carrying on. You used to whine I didn’t pay you any attention. Now you gonna freak out and holler for Daddy because I decided to pay you a little visit? I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“Not really,” she said, so dryly that his forehead wrinkled. “You need to leave.”

“You haven’t even heard what I want.”

His wheedling tone. This was how he operated, this was how it started. Charm, manipulation, threats, then violence. Whatever it took to get his way.

Her palms were damp. She was not letting him control her again.

This time he didn’t have Aidan in the car. This time he couldn’t threaten her with taking their son away.

“I don’t care what you want. We’re divorced now. I got a restraining order.”

He slammed the counter. “Fuck that!”

She flinched, body memory taking over at the sudden violence in his voice, her muscles tensing, her shoulders rounding.

“You owe me. I went to prison because of you. You and your bitch friend. You think your stupid piece of paper from your fancy lawyer gets you off the hook?”

His voice battered her. Her gaze darted over the counter. No frying pan, no rolling pin, no knives, nothing she could use as a weapon. Nothing but her own determination.

You’re no match for a grown man in a fight
.

She had to stay safe. She had to be smart. For Aidan’s sake. For Gabe’s. The thought of them steadied her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Using her fear, using the quaver in her voice to assuage him. She offered a trembling smile. “You must be hungry. Can I make you a sandwich?”

Get to the kitchen. Get to the alarm.

His eyes narrowed.

Her heartbeat quickened.
Crap
. She shouldn’t have capitulated so quickly. Now he was suspicious.

But he was used to her placating him. Doing as she was told.
Jane, the good girl, the obedient wife.

He smirked, appeased. He’d always been able to do that, turn his moods on and off like a switch. Like a toddler converting tantrums to smiles as soon as he got his cookie.

“I can’t stay. I got a little job down in Elizabeth City. I need to leave something with you. I’ll be back in a few days to pick it up.”

Back?
She shuddered in rejection.
You can’t come back.
Why would he need to leave something with her, anyway? Unless it was a ruse. An excuse.

She inched closer, edging toward the kitchen. “What is it?”

“Just a bag. Nothing much.” His mouth twisted, his eyes stabbed. “They don’t leave you with much in prison.”

Guilt seeped from an old wound like rusty blood. Travis had always known how to get to her.

“Do you want to go get it? Your package?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. If he left, she could lock him out, lock the door behind him.

“Right here.” He held up the gym bag.

The back door squeaked open. Light, quick footsteps crossed the kitchen floor, followed by a long, assured stride.

“Hey, Mom!” Aidan burst from the kitchen, the swinging door almost catching Travis in the back. “We—” He faltered. Stopped. His face was white. “Dad?”

Cold fear sliced her to the bone.

Travis jerked his chin in greeting. “Hey, kid. How’s it going?”

Gabe appeared behind Aidan, one hand dropping easily to the boy’s shoulder. He took in the situation with one swift, assessing glance before moving Aidan slightly to one side.

“Jane,” he murmured.

The sound of his voice melted the paralysis of her limbs, the ice around her heart.

Travis scowled.

Seeing the two men side by side for the first time, she was struck by the differences between them. Oh, there was a superficial resemblance. Both were tall and lean with sun-streaked hair. But Gabe was harder, more muscled, more solid in every way. Beside him, Travis appeared paler, softer. Under-baked.

Gabe’s gaze switched to Travis. “What are you doing here?”

“Paying a little visit to the family. Who the hell are you? The nanny?”

“Yeah.” Gabe’s voice was flat, his eyes as hard as stones. A different kind of fear moved in Jane’s bones. “Now get the hell out.”

Travis took a step back before he recovered. “I was going anyway,” he sneered. “Nothing to keep me in this shit hole.”

Aidan’s white face flushed red. His eyes were round and stricken. Jane held out her arms, but he stayed where he was, under the protection of Gabe’s hand.

Travis sauntered past them toward the kitchen, hefting the gym bag. “On second thought”—he glanced at Gabe—“I don’t think I’ll give this to Janey after all. But I got a little something for the kid.” He reached for his pocket. Gabe went very still.

Travis grinned. “Relax, nanny.” He pulled out a roll of bills and peeled one off. Smirking at Gabe, he tucked the bill into the collar of Aidan’s T-shirt. “Here you go, kid. Buy yourself a birthday present from your old man.”

The steel utility door swung shut behind him.

“Are you all right?” Gabe asked Jane.

She swallowed. Nodded.

“My birthday’s in October,” Aidan said in a small voice.

Jane’s eyes stung. “Boo . . .”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Okay.”

His mouth trembled. “I’m too old for baby names.”

She put one arm around his bony shoulders, gathering him as close as his stiff body would allow. Her boy. She rubbed his back, the tiny bumps of his vertebrae sliding under her palm. “All right.”

He hid his face against her throat. His hot tears seared her heart.

Lucky barked in the backyard.

“Call Hank,” Gabe ordered. He strode toward the door.

Panic seized her. Panic and doubt. “Gabe,
don’t . . .
”

He turned with a bleak and bitter look.

And whatever had been in her mouth dried up. “Be careful,” she begged instead.

His lips thinned. His face was flint. “Don’t worry.”

*   *   *

L
UCKY
BARKED
AND
snarled, lunging against the window of Gabe’s truck. Tillett was crossing the carport. From the wrong direction. He paused beside the cracked-open window. Taunting the dog, or . . . ?

Gabe made a noise in his throat not unlike the dog’s. “You touch my truck, I’ll kick your ass. Get out.”

Tillett turned and rounded the hood of the other vehicle, an old gray Dodge Neon. “I’m going.” He shot Gabe a sly smile. “Did what I had to anyway.”

He’d seen Jane. Aidan, too.

“Don’t come back.”

“What do you care? She’s not your wife. She’s not even a good fuck.”

Gabe had him by his shirtfront and up against the side of the car before he was aware of even moving.

Tillett’s eyes—brown, like Aidan’s—stared into his. His breath wheezed in his throat. He smelled rank, like prison and flop sweat.

“Go away. I see you around either one of them again, I’ll kill you,” Gabe said and dropped him.

Tillett fumbled for his door handle, scrambled into his car.

Gabe watched him peel out of the parking lot in a spray of gravel and oyster shells.

Maybe Hank would pick him up for speeding. Gabe hoped so.

He turned and saw Jane standing in the door, holding the phone, her free hand pressed to her mouth. He didn’t meet her eyes, afraid of what he would see there.

Her choked cry had followed him out the door.
Don’t
 . . . she had said.

No fighting
, she had said.
I won’t stand for fighting.

So he hadn’t fought. Hadn’t roughed the guy up or bashed his face in or done any of the things he’d been tempted to do.

But if he’d walked in and found Tillett with his hands on her, he would have.

And now she knew it.

He’d told Aidan he needed a reason to fight.
What do you want? What do you have to lose?

Sure, he’d won. Jane and Aidan were safe for now.

But what had his victory cost him in Jane’s eyes?

*   *   *

P
OLICE
C
HIEF
J
AC
K
Rossi had his notebook out on the corner table of the bakery’s dining room. Late thirties, Gabe judged, dark, cool, and quiet. The kind of guy who shaved three times a day and never broke a sweat.

Jane sat on the long bench opposite the chief, Aidan in the crook of her arm. Hank scowled from a nearby chair.

Gabe watched from the other side of the room, arms crossed against his chest, trying to hold in the fear and rage still pumping inside him. He didn’t belong here. Not in the family tableau or the police investigation. But so far nobody had sent him away.

“So he didn’t hurt you?” Rossi asked Jane, reviewing her statement. “Threaten you in any way?”

Jane had been murmuring to Aidan, but she raised her head to answer the chief’s questions. “No. He wanted to leave a bag here. Like a gym bag?”

Rossi glanced at his notes. “But he didn’t.”

“No, he . . . he changed his mind.”

“He’s in violation of a protective order and his parole,” Hank said. “That’s enough to sling his ass back in jail.”

“I shouldn’t have left the back door open,” Jane said. “It was just for a minute, while I closed, but—”

“You handled yourself,” Rossi said. “You handled the situation.”

“I couldn’t make him leave.”

Why was she beating herself up? She was a baker, not a Marine. What was she supposed to do? Smother him in fondant? Mace him with whipped cream?

“You kept your head,” Rossi said with calm reassurance. “You called 911, you didn’t try to be a hero and escalate the situation. Anytime we get a domestic disturbance that doesn’t end in violence, we call it a good outcome.”