“He has . . .” Cletus sighed, then looked away. “He has no family that he can claim.”
More messages between the lines. “So he’s like Isaac? He has parents and siblings, but choses to ignore them?”
“No. Repo was an orphan. He came out of the system in Texas. He has no parents or siblings.”
That made me narrow my eyes. “Then what did you mean? He has no family that he can claim?”
Cletus avoided my gaze.
“I can spot your double-talk a mile away. What does that mean? He has family, but he can’t claim them?”
The side of his mouth tugged upward, like he reluctantly enjoyed my ability to see through his truthful deceptions. “Fine, smarty-britches. Repo has kin, but it’s a secret. None of his MC brothers know or suspect.”
“But you do?”
“I deduced, based on anomalies observed over time.”
“Meaning, you were paying attention when others weren’t.”
“Indeed.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, peeking around the overgrown shrubbery toward the gate.
I considered this new information, then asked, “Is it a bad secret? Or a good one? What I mean is, is it—his kin, the circumstances—something that damages his character? Should my mother know?”
“I suppose, whether or not this secret improves Repo’s character, given that he’s a man who has dedicated his life to criminal activities and pursuits, depends on a person’s perspective.”
I crossed my arms. “That is not an answer.”
Unexpectedly, Cletus bent forward and placed a light kiss on my nose, saying, “I know, but it is the truth.”
The whirring of the gate, finally opening, almost had me jumping out of my skin. Cletus and I watched from behind the bush, tracking the two leather-clad forms as they pulled into the circular driveway, the gate swinging shut behind them. The smaller of the two figures looked left and right, as though searching.
I tried to feel relieved that the plan had worked thus far, but I didn’t. Yes, she was out of the house. But so what? This wasn’t the end, this was just the start. The start of her life on the run.
“Where’s Jenn?” My mother asked, pulling off her helmet as soon as the larger figure had cut the engine. “They were supposed to be here already, right?”
The man also pulled off his helmet, revealing Mr. Repo as he drawled, “They’re here. If I know Cletus Winston, he parked elsewhere.”
“What? Why?”
“Trust issues.” Mr. Repo paired this with what looked like an unconcerned shrug as he reached for my mother to help her off the bike. “Hey, come here.”
Cletus, crouching next to me, chuckled quietly, and glanced down at the dirt.
I tilted my head toward them. “Should we . . .?” I wasn’t yet convinced she’d be leaving tonight. But on the small chance she was, I was anxious to spend as much time with her—the real her, not the shadow she’d been since my father’s death, stuck at home, unable to speak freely—as possible.
Cletus placed his hand on my forearm, keeping me in place. “Wait a minute.”
Scrutinizing him, I could tell he wasn’t anxious or worried. Yet he also didn’t seem to be in a hurry to greet them or let them know we were close by, watching. Biting the inside of my lip, I settled on my haunches and turned my attention back to my mother and . . . him.
Mr. Repo took her helmet, hanging it on the handlebar. He hung his on the other. He then gathered her in his arms, and I braced myself for a sloppy and demanding kiss, or roaming hands, or something similarly off-putting and aggressive.
Instead, and to my surprise, he held her. He just held her.
Entranced, I stared. Her arms didn’t encircle him; she had her hands tucked under her chin, her ear pressed to his chest and her eyes closed. She looked relaxed, like she’d given him much of her weight and didn’t doubt he’d support it.
But it was his face that caught my attention and held me captivated. The big man looked . . . gosh, there’s no word for it except comparing his expression to something else. I guess he looked like how I felt sometimes at the end of a long day, the moment I lay down in bed and snuggled under the covers, when my burdens were behind me and only peace lay ahead.
Relieved was part of it. Content. Happy. And gratitude. A fair share of gratitude.
“Huh.” I tilted my head to the side, studying them as Mr. Repo’s head also tilted. Now he rested his cheek on top of her hair as he swayed gently, as though to sooth her. His arms were wrapped tight, like she was precious, and his hands didn’t move, didn’t roam. Nothing about how he held her looked at all aggressive.
“What’s going through your mind, Jenn?” Cletus whispered.
“I guess—I don’t know.” I felt myself frown, likely because my chest quite suddenly ached.
“Try. What are you thinking?” He leaned closer to me as we both continued to watch my mother and Mr. Repo.
Cletus had held me like that, and sometimes I did the same to him. His brothers and their significant others, Ashley and Drew, I’d seen them all do the same. Often.
“It’s just, I don’t think my mother and my father ever—” I couldn’t continue, my throat felt too tight. Forcing a swallow, I tried again, “Did your father ever hold your mother like that?”
I felt something in Cletus shift, a stillness followed by a sadness, and I looked at my beloved. “No,” he said. “No. He never held her like that. But Bethany held him like that. She held all of us”—he lifted his chin, his voice raw—“just like that.”
Chapter Nineteen
*Jenn*
“This is my last message to you: in sorrow, seek happiness.”
Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov
“What happened, Diane?” Cletus positioned himself next to me and leaned against the kitchen island, his arms crossed.
My mother looked to Mr. Repo where he sat next to her at the table, her eyes wide. “Didn’t Jason already tell you everything?” I got the impression she wasn’t looking for Mr. Repo’s approval or permission. More like she sought his support.
How strange it was to see them together, the easy way they were with each other. It . . . bothered me.
“Repo gave me a summary, from his perspective, but Jenn and I would like to hear your version of events.”
Cletus and I had eventually interrupted them outside where they embraced by the motorcycle. My mother had immediately come to me, holding me for a long stretch while I considered Mr. Repo over her shoulder. He’d met my scrutiny with calm indifference, giving away nothing of his thoughts.
Or maybe he’d met my probing glare with just calm and not indifference. I couldn’t tell.
Anyway, he and Cletus had watched us, allowing us to have a moment, then we’d all gone inside. Mr. Repo offered to make tea. I didn’t want any. Cletus also passed. The older man proceeded to make my mother a cup, exactly how she liked it, without having to ask.
Had my father known how Momma took her tea? Did he ever make tea for her?
I pushed the questions away because they unsettled me. But I continued openly scrutinizing this man, watching his every move as he took the seat next to her at the kitchen table and offered his hand, palm up, an unobtrusive request.