Chapter 9
Jagger
I’m bone-weary and ready for sleep by the time we reach my dad’s place.
Dawson’s truck is parked outside, which means I’m going to have to explain Stella to them both tonight.
The houses around are lit up, but as per usual, dad’s left his front porch in darkness and as little lighting on to conserve power.
I should probably take some time to tell Stella about dad’s little quirks, but I’m starving, need a shower, and just want to get her inside.
She climbs out, looking jittery as I grab the bags from the backseat. “Does he have ethernet?”
I stare at her for a second before I realize what she’s asking. “Not sure. You’ll have to take a look and see.”
She nods but her eyes aren’t on me, they’re on a figure walking towards us. I freeze, muscles priming until he waltzes under a streetlamp.
At the lazy grin and the scruffy blonde hair above cool blue eyes, I look to Stella. “It’s just my brother.”
She relaxes a fraction, and true to his easy-going nature when his eyes shift to Stella, Dawson’s grin spreads even wider and I know he’s going to roll with this.
His hand shoots out, and Stella accepts it. “I’m Dawson. You’re just in time for dinner. You like chicken? Almost all we eat around here.”
Stella flashes him a smile I know must be forced. “Stella and chicken sounds good.”
Dawson nods his head in the direction of the house. “Didn’t expect Jagger to bring someone home to hang out with dad so soon.”
Belatedly my mind connects what he’s saying and the confusion on Stella’s face.
I shake my head, ready to tell him I didn’t bring Stella here to keep dad company when I realize it could work.
I interrupt Dawson as we reach the house. “Can you give us a second? I want to go over a few things with Stella before she meets dad.”
Dawson nods and opens the door. “I’ll go set another place at the table.”
Stella looks like a deer in headlights as we stand in the hallway. Her eyes shift to the family photos hanging on the wall.
Dozens of photos of my mom and dad with Dawson and I of various ages, all wearing our Sunday best and cheesy smiles for the photographer mom made us go to.
“Didn’t your parents take any photos of you growing up?” she mutters.
I ignore her sarcasm and steer her up the stairs. “Bedrooms up here. And I think this could be a good thing, not just for you but for dad too. We’ve been thinking about a carer.”
The staircase is too narrow to walk beside her, but I know she’s none too keen when she freezes and she looks over her shoulder. “Carer? He’s sick?”
At the look of sheer horror on her face, I smother a smile. “He’s too blunt for most people and he’s lost touch with his old friends. Mom made him get out of the house, now he just sits at home and watches TV and complains about how stupid people are.”
She carries on, but when we reach the landing, a knot has formed on her face. “I can’t stay here long. Just until I get a new passport organized. And I’m not sure I’m the best person to help him. I think people are stupid.”
I nod and lead her to my old room, still decorated the way it was before I enlisted. “Exactly. Which is why he’ll like you. And he’s getting over the flu at the moment so it’s the perfect excuse to stay in the house for the next week.”
Stella smothers a yawn as she enters my old room. “I guess. And that should be enough time to get a passport.”
I lean in the doorway as she looks around the room. “And then what?”
She drops her bag down. “Then I start over. And try not to make the same mistakes again.”
I frown. “That’s what you think? You caused this?”
She shrugs and rubs at her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. The life I’ve built is over. The best chance I have is to disappear.”
Coming from anyone else, in any other situation, that would sound melodramatic, but her meekly accepting her fate makes my thoughts spin into places they shouldn’t. “But you still won’t be able to trust anyone. You’ll never stop looking over your shoulder. That’s not a life.”
She smiles weakly. “If you have a better suggestion, I’m all ears.”
My eyes drift to the hunting trophy I won in Scouts when I was fifteen, then to the photo of me and my training officer the day I passed boot camp.
It’s the last photo I put in here after mom died and dad seemed to change into a miserable old bastard overnight.
I blow out a breath and know Stella will never truly be safe even if she does make it out of the country unnoticed.
“Yeah. I have another idea, but I need time to come up with a solid plan,” I say.
***
Stella
Rather than the solution I’d hoped for, Jagger leaves me hanging and promises to talk when he’s had a chance to sleep on his idea.
Since he looks as tired as I feel, and I’m starving, I don’t push him, and instead, use the bathroom, and head back downstairs to meet the man who seems to have fathered two incredibly good-looking men.
And while Dawson has a cheeky open nature that reflects the cheery blonde woman in the family photos, Jagger is definitely the dark and broody brother and when I meet his father, I know where he gets it from.
The second I walk through the door and find him sitting at the head of the table, Walter Lincoln is wary making me relax a little.
He doesn’t smile as I sit beside him, just frowns. “Dawson says you were working with Jagger in Oregon. Why are you here?”
Jagger coughs as Dawson looks embarrassed but I answer before Jagger can. “I need a place to stay. Somewhere no one knows me.”
Walter’s lips tug into a frown. “Why? Are you on the lam?”
Since there’s no humor in his voice, I go with honesty and ignore both Jagger and Dawson. “Not from the police. Although I can’t say I trust them either.”
Dawson stops spooning mashed potato on his plate, his eyes wild, as Jagger growls at me. “Can we at least eat first?”
But Walter doesn’t seem to mind, just waves his hand at Jagger as if dismissing him. “You eat. I want to hear why I should let her sleep in my house.”
While Dawson looks horrified, I relax even more. “Someone wants me dead. And I can’t go home. Jagger offered to help.”
Walter’s bushy eyebrows raise, while Dawson nearly chokes on his water as he shoots a look at Jagger. “You can’t be serious?”
Jagger winces but starts eating his food. “Unfortunately, I am.”
Dawson’s lips press together and he pushes back from the table. “Could I speak to you? In private.”
Jagger frowns and snags a piece of chicken before he gets up from the table and leaves me alone in the kitchen with Walter.
Oddly, he doesn’t seem half as phased as his son does. “What did you do?”
I sigh and since the food is going cold, I dig into my own chicken and answer him between bites. “I piss people off, and this is the result, I guess.”
Walter barks a laugh. “Join the club. I assume all people are idiots until they prove otherwise.”
I smile as I demolish the honey basted chicken drumstick. “Jagger doesn’t think so.”
Walters smile slides slightly. “That’s because he has his mother’s sense of optimism. So does Dawson. You’d think they’d both have grown out of it, but she imprinted that pretty heavily while she was here.”
Since Jagger hasn’t told me the details, I take my chance to ask. “How did your wife die?”
He blows out a breath and has to cover a crackling cough. “Breast cancer. Slow and painful. Damn near destroyed me along with her.”
I shake my head. “That’s shit. She seems like a great mom.”
Not that I’d know anything about what that looks like.
He tilts his head and frowns. “She was. I don’t go in for all that sentimental bullshit, but everything went dark when she died. Like a light had been snubbed out.”
It’s such a raw thing to say, I wonder why he’s being so candid until he winks at me. “Relax. No one is going to rat on you. And I trust Jagger’s judgment.”
It’s such a reassuring thing to say, I stop eating long enough to give him a smile. “Thank you,” I say.
He grins and looks so much like Dawson, in a flash he’s twenty years younger. “You won't be thanking me tomorrow. I’m a complete bastard. Everyone says so.”
I snort a laugh, and return to my first ever home-cooked meal, feeling more at home in his messy kitchen than I ever did eating alone in my mother’s.
“I highly doubt that, but thanks for the warning,” I say through a smile.
