Blast from the Past (Men of Severn #2)

Chapter Six

Shane Blake

“Stay here,” I say once we get back to her house.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to make sure no one is waiting for us,” I say, knowing it’ll probably freak her out. But she needs to know the truth.

Inside, I check all the rooms on both floors until I am sure we will be the only people in the house. I remember what happened with Charlotte at Karmen’s house and I sure as shit will not put Mercy through that.

Thinking of Charlotte has my stomach clenching. I need to tell Mercy about that shit show, sooner rather than later. Living in Severn, I’m surprised she hasn’t heard about it already. Making my way back outside, I am shocked to find Mercy exactly where I left her. She rarely listens to anyone, much less me.

“What now?” she asks, staring up at me after I help her out of the truck.

“We need to figure out who could have a reason to send you something like that,” I say calmly while leading her inside.

Once we are inside the house I make sure the front door is locked before heading to the kitchen where I can hear her. Mercy is rummaging through cupboards and slamming the doors shut when she doesn’t find what she is looking for. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for booze!”

“Try the freezer,” I say. Seconds later, she is pulling a bottle of ice-cold vodka from the icy depths before finding a glass and pouring a generous helping.

After finishing off two glasses, she fixes her gaze on me. “Want some?”

“No, thanks. One of us needs to stay sober.”

She glares at me, and I can see her holding back some kind of smart-mouthed retort before she nods. “Where do we start?”

“Well, we need to work on a list of suspects. People who would want to hurt you,” I reply with a raised eyebrow.

“I can’t think of a single person I know that would be capable of doing something like that,” she says dejectedly.

She sighs before taking a seat at the little green Formica table that has been in the breakfast nook for as long as I can remember. Resting her head on her hands she breathes deeply. I remove all the bags that have been sitting there and put them on the floor, placing the pizza there instead.

“I get it,” I say, taking a seat beside her. “We never want to think we know people who are capable of this but somewhere, someone is.”

“Where do we start?”

****

Mercy West

Shane spends hours with me in the kitchen working on a list of suspects, asking questions I don’t necessarily want to answer. It’s embarrassing to admit I haven’t had a date in over a year. And when he asks about casual hookups, I blush beet red even though there have been none of those either.

But by the time the sun starts to rise we only have two names on my list: my old high school boyfriend, Kevin, who still lives in town, and another ex, Gavin, who lives in the city. I can’t see either of them doing something like this, but Shane fully believes we can’t cross anyone off without being one hundred percent sure.

I changed into shorts and a tank top a few hours ago, not needing to remain dressed like I was going to a meeting in my own house.

“I’m going to make some more coffee,” I say as I stand and stretch my arms above my head. “Black and bitter still good for you?”

But Shane isn’t listening to a word I am saying. No, his focus is centered on the strip of skin I exposed above my shorts while I was stretching. I know he is seeing what I always try to hide from the world, the scar beneath my ink. His gaze collides with mine, brimming with questions.

“Let me make some coffee and I will be back.” I sigh, knowing I can’t avoid this conversation. He is too bullheaded to just let something like this go.

When I have the coffee made, I leave it on the table before seeking him out. This is a conversation we should have while seated. I find him in the living room looking at old pictures that I put back up when I got to town. Some are family photos, but others are of me and one or more of the Blake brothers as we grew up. My mother loved those boys like they were her own, and Mrs. Blake always treated me like the daughter she never had. We were a little patchwork of broken families, glued back together and raised by two amazing women.

“I remember this,” Shane says and smiles. He points at a photo of me in my cheerleading uniform and him in his football kit. “We won that night and went on to the championship game.”

“It was a good night.” I smile.

“Until that idiot Tommy Smith tried to kiss you,” he says and frowns.

“Oh my God!” I laugh. “I forgot about that.”

Shane looks like he wants to say more but remains silent. I feel like the two of us, being here like this, may be good for our relationship going forward, if we can only talk and be honest without being hostile. But it seems like a default setting for both of us.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he asks quietly, and I sigh.

“There isn’t much to tell. I was sick and now I’m not.” I turn to walk away but he grabs my wrist and pulls me back.

“Mercy,” he says softly, staring at me, imploring me to tell him everything.

Even when we were children, he would do this. I never could keep a single thing hidden from him.

“I had cancer.”

“Had?”

“Yeah.” I fight hard to keep the tears at bay that spring up every time I have this conversation. “I got the surgery and some chemo, and now I am in remission.”

“When?” he asks but he already knows the answer.

“It doesn’t…” But he cuts me off with a glare. “It’s why I moved to the city,” I say softly.

“Jesus Christ, woman!” he yells, and I jump at the anger in his voice. “You left your home, the only family you had, to go through this alone?”

He is seething with rage as he runs his hands over his face, pacing the length of the living room.

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” I try to explain.

“Fuck off with that shit,” he roars. “We love you even if we don’t always know how to show it.”

“Shane,” I try to calm him down.

“You could have died.” I hear the pain in his voice, and the tears I have been fighting off finally fall down my cheeks. “I can’t be here right now.”

He doesn’t give me a moment to explain the logic I was following when I made my decision. He doesn’t want to hear that I know I made the wrong choice back then, or that I picked up the phone to call him a million times but never did. He’s hurt and angry and I don’t know if anything I say will ever undo the harm I caused years ago.

The door slams behind him as he walks out and my heart shatters. It’s not like my life could be any more complicated. I have a psycho sending me disgusting gifts, the only man I’ve ever loved just walked out, and I can’t stop fucking crying.