Home > Beautifully Cruel(52)

Beautifully Cruel(52)
Author: J.T. Geissinger

She clucks her tongue. “Your poor daddy was beside himself. You know it took him twenty years to hunt and stuff all those varmints. Now he’ll have to start all over from scratch.”

I can’t help but laugh at the image of my father mourning a smoking pile of charred stuffed animal corpses, his precious collection. Each of them had a little gold plaque on the wooden stand they stood on with their name—yes, he named them all—and the date they were “immortalized.”

It’s a miracle I grew up halfway normal.

“How did it happen?”

My mother’s voice turns dry. “He got himself a new Weber barbeque, didn’t he? A big, ol’ shiny gas one, with flames shootin’ out of the grill like the exhaust on that rocket-powered ship Evil Knievel jumped the Grand Canyon in. And he had to put the blasted thing right next to the shed because he wanted to enjoy his two favorite hobbies at the same time, the big dummy.”

I’m laughing so hard, my cheeks hurt. “Daddy burned down his taxidermy shed with his supercharged barbeque?”

“Mmhmm, he sure did. Ruined those nice T-bone steaks I got at the butcher’s that very mornin’, too. He’s been sleepin’ on the couch since last week.”

I laugh until tears stream down my cheeks. Liam stares at me like this is the most fascinating conversation he’s ever eavesdropped on.

My mother says drily, “I’m glad somebody thinks it’s funny.”

I take a few hitching breaths, wiping my eyes. “I’m sorry, but it really is.”

She harrumphs. “Story of my life. Married a man who can’t be trusted to change a light bulb without somehow causin’ a blackout four counties wide.”

“But this is why we love him.”

Her voice turns warm. “We surely do. Lucky for him, he’s got those dimples and that sweet Southern charm. Speakin’ of love, you datin’ anyone special, honey?”

My mind goes blank with panic. I force myself not to look at Liam and look at the ceiling instead. “Uh…”

She laughs. “Oh my. That sounds serious.”

“It’s, um, definitely…interesting.”

“What’s his name?”

I clear my throat. “Liam.”

The man in question perks up at the mention of his name, while my mother makes a purring sound. “Rawr. Sexy.”

“I’m covering my ears now.”

“How’s his relationship with the Lord?”

I sigh heavily. “For Pete’s sake.”

“Because you can’t trust a man who hasn’t given his heart to Jesus.”

I’m beginning to regret I accepted this call. “If you must know, I’d say his relationship with the Lord is estranged.”

I’m still looking at the ceiling, but I can see from my peripheral vision how Liam quirks a dark brow.

“Oh dear. Well, you work on that. Does he have a good job?”

I hesitate. “He’s very wealthy.”

She’s immediately suspicious. “That’s not what I asked.”

I think for a split second about what to tell her without fibbing, because I can’t lie to my mother. I can, however, stretch the truth. But I can’t do it in front of Liam, so I hop off the counter and wander away, lowering my voice. “He’s the CEO of an international corporation.”

She makes a sound of interest. “Is his corporation in good shape? Is there a strong future there?”

“I’d say it’s a growth industry.” I’m going to hell for this.

“Would your father like him?”

I think about that. “Well, he is a gun owner. And he’s definitely a ‘family’ man. He’s very protective of me, too.”

I can hear her beaming over the line. “Wonderful! And when are you and this Liam of yours gonna give me some grandbabies, honey?”

“Wow. It only took you three minutes to get there. I think that’s a record.”

She ignores me. “Of course, you’d have to get married first.”

“Thank you for that excellent life advice.”

She pauses for a moment. When she speaks again, her voice has changed. “Life is short, Truvy. Shorter than you think it will be. You can’t put things on hold too long, or it might be too late.”

Oh no. Not this. I stop walking near the door to the powder room and lean against the wall, closing my eyes. “I know, mama.”

“It’s his birthday next week, you know. He would’ve been twenty-seven.”

We’re quiet for a moment, sharing the silence and painful memories.

I say quietly, “I sit for the bar at the end of July. If I pass, I’ll apply to the state public defender’s office the next day. What happened to Michael will never happen to one of my clients, mama. I promise you that.”

She sucks in a heavy breath. Her voice cracks. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

In the background, there’s a crash and a holler. Then my mother groans in exasperation.

I say, “Go. Tell him I love him.”

“I will, honey. And we love you, too.”

“I know you do. Take care.”

We say our goodbyes and hang up. When I turn around, Liam is standing six inches behind me. I jump and gasp in surprise.

Without missing a beat, he says, “Who’s Michael?”

I press a hand over my thundering heart and take a breath. “You scared me!”

“Michael,” he prompts.

I can already tell he’s going to be like a dog with a bone until I tell him what he wants to know, so I go ahead and do it. Grudgingly. “Michael’s my brother.”

He examines my face. His voice drops. “Your late brother.”

I nod, looking away, not surprised that he guessed.

He gently takes my chin in his hand and turns my head back so I can’t avoid his eyes. “What happened?”

It feels like an invisible hand has taken hold of my heart and is squeezing. This is the last thing I want to discuss. I know from experience he understands that reluctance well.

Looking up into his burning eyes, I whisper, “I’m sorry, but I don’t like to talk about it.”

Liam gazes at me in blistering silence, a muscle working in his jaw. After a moment, he says, “Is he the reason you’re going into law?”

I swallow, feeling the sting of tears welling in my eyes. “When it’s too late for revenge, justice has to take other directions.”

His face changes. His expression turns from hard, laser-like focus to startled understanding. To recognition, as if he’s seeing me fully for maybe the first time.

Looking electrocuted, he whispers, “Exactly.”

We stare at each other, something huge and frightening blossoming between us. I can feel it in the air, this weird connection, an unspoken knowingness. A sameness. A shared experience that binds us in dark wrappings and has warped us in identical ways.

That experience is death.

However we might be different, in all the ways that matter, my wolf and I are alike.

He pulls me into his arms and kisses me like he’s starving.

From that day on, he doesn’t leave my side.

 

 

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