Chapter 9
She’d disappeared from his bed and house as mysteriously as she had appeared. He was left with the swamp singing its night song all around him in the muggy air and the little black dog who flopped dramatically at his feet as if she were offended that he’d gotten laid.
He finally fell asleep with the taste of her in his mouth and the smell of her on his sheets. He was still thinking about her when he woke up the next morning. He decided it was best to go try to get some work done to take his mind off her. He fired up the bike and rolled out onto the pavement, cruising down toward her farm. He could see her as he approached. She had a horse tied in the wash rack, with her back to the road. She wore a racerback tank top, and the muscles and the tanned skin of her shoulders captivated him. But she didn’t turn. He knew she heard the sound of his bike, because every other time he rode by, she would turn or at least wave. Now, she did neither.
His first impulse was to kick the bike into gear and roar off, but, remembering the day they met, he thought better of it. He’d spooked enough of her horses. Instead, he just cruised on by, mystified by how his gut clenched when she ignored him. It shouldn’t matter. He’d had plenty of one-night stands that he literally never thought of again. Why was this girl under his skin so badly? A long ride in the sun down to Dan’s latest acquisition ought to cure him of his sudden addiction to her. He swung out onto State Road 31, put his boots on his highway bars, and settled in to try to forget her.
“Evan, we got a problem,” was the first thing Dan said, exacerbating Evan’s already foul mood. He shouldn’t care so much that some chick snubbed him after a hot night of sex, but he did.
“Hit me,” Evan said, expecting to hear of some ordinary complication, like rotten wood they hadn’t expected to find, or an addition with no permits.
“Remodel Network called me this morning. They said that someone contacted them about you. They wanted to know if it’s true you were in prison.”
The bottom fell out of Evan’s world. Dan’s idea to help the victims of Hurricane Ian with their show had been brilliant. The thought of Evan’s prison time ruining it for Dan, ruining it for the people they were helping, ruining his own second chance, was more injustice than Evan could stand.
“What did you tell them?”
The years of rage that he had tamped down, swallowed down, drowned with booze and loud motorcycles, suddenly boiled up in him unchecked with a fury that almost frightened even him.
“Why the fuck did they call you and not me?” He slammed his fist down on the folding card table so hard that it cracked and collapsed.
“Jesus, man—” Dan started.
“What, calm down? Don’t tell me to fucking calm down!”
Evan turned to storm out and realized to his worsening horror that there was a crew from the show unloading in the driveway.
“Maybe we can keep it quiet,” Dan said. “I wanted to talk to you before I got serious with them. They just want to know if it’s true. I get the feeling they’re going to find out pretty quick even if you don’t tell them.”
The front door opened, and Evan saw that Duckie had arrived and was panning across the room, taking in the broken table and the fuming scowl he knew was on his face. Dennis flanked her, carrying the tablet that was more like an appendage.
“Evan, we received a call from a young lady named Amber McKenna who claimed that she saw you on TV, but your last name isn’t really Holton. And that you were just released from prison a few years ago,” Duckie said without any preamble.
“Amber,” Evan muttered. “I should have known.” To say things hadn’t ended well between them was an understatement. And she’d obviously seen him on TV with much more exposure than she was getting in her attempts at becoming a social media influencer. He knew just how that would sit with her. She would be compelled to try to ruin it for him and get herself some new subscribers in the process.
“Is this true?” Duckie went on.
“Yeah, it’s true. I legally changed my name. It’s all a matter of public record. I’m sure you don’t need me to fill you in.” Evan stalked toward the door.
He could hear Dan behind him trying to run interference. He didn’t care, couldn’t care. He stormed out to the driveway where he’d left his bike, mounted it, and kicked up the stand with force as it roared to life. He peeled out, leaving a rubber mark in his wake, and stormed down the road until the screaming thunder of the engine drowning out all the noise in his head.
He finally stopped to sit by the Gulf and calm down. His phone had completely blown up with text messages and voicemails while he was riding. Most of them were from Dan, but some he knew were the show’s producers, and a few he didn’t recognize. As he thumbed through them, he realized with dread that a few YouTubers were making stories about the controversy, led by none other than Amber herself. The last one was a link from Dan. It was a thumbnail for a video made by Amber—her face sporting an exaggerated look of shock with a title that read “Remodel Network Star Evan Holton’s Criminal Past Revealed.” He almost threw the phone into the Gulf. Their show had been more successful than anything else Home Improvement Channel had launched this year. Ratings had been excellent, and people seemed to like Evan and Dan as much as Duckie had thought they would. Amber’s YouTube channel was floundering, and she’d seen an opportunity to hit two birds with one stone. Get more subscribers for herself and try to take him down again. Hell hath no fury, he thought.
He needed to ride, long and hard. He’d just keep riding on and on, all the way out to Key West. It first popped into his brain because the thought of beating the crap out of his brother, Jake, right now seemed like the perfect solution and outlet for his rage. He wanted to blame it all on Jake, but the fact was, he had inserted himself into the situation trying to be the hero big brother, and he never would have gone to prison if not for that. Also, he should warn Jake.
Technically, Jake had stood by him through the prison bit along with Dan. Jake had been unreliable, going incommunicado for months at a time. Still, Jake and Dan were the only two people in the world who really knew what had happened and what it had done to his life. One of those two people was now the subject of gossip news thanks to amateur vloggers. And he should really warn Jake that he might become the subject of unwanted scrutiny. He was done protecting his brother at this point—but selfishly if they uncovered anything truly objectionable about Jake it would wind up being more fodder for the network to want to cut them loose. He simply could not keep losing everything because of Jake’s bad choices.
He instantly began to feel better as he imagined roaring past Naples and blazing onto US 41 Tamiami Trail, where nobody would stop him from doing a hundred miles per hour, scaring the shit out of gators and herons as he flew like a raging cannonball to outrun his worries…when he remembered…goddammit…now he had a dog. He sighed and decided there was only one solution. Evidently, she’d used him for sex. He could use her for dog sitting. With any luck, she’d decide to keep the damn dog, and that would be that.
Still sitting on the pier, he texted her:
Can you take care of the dog for a few days?It took her half an hour to reply.
Sure.
She’s in the kennel out back. Dog food is in my kitchen, it isn’t locked.
Okay.
With that done, he swung onto the bike and roared off for Alligator Alley, running from the past and, ironically, right back to it.
The swamp closed in around him in a cloak of dense vegetation. Big, fat gators lay on the side of the road here and there, sunning themselves. He was lost in the thick, humid heat, and the sun beat down on his shoulders. He dared it to burn the misery out of him. He urged the bike still faster, zooming around the occasional tourist gawking at alligators or taking pictures next to signs that read “Panther Crossing.”
The contrast wasn’t lost on Evan as he roared through the swamp with its deep, dark secrets. Black pools with mirror-still surfaces hiding prehistoric monsters alongside tourists in floral shirts taking pictures.
He’d been a bit of a local sensation when he got out of prison. After the years of isolation and constantly being on edge, the lights and the cameras were an unwelcome shock. What wasn’t unwelcome, at least at first, was the attention from girls. Amber had really fooled him. Coming from a modest family and having been locked up young, Evan didn’t have the life experience to see what she was really up to at first. Finally, he’d realized that she was trying to make it as an influencer so she didn’t have to work a real job. His fifteen seconds of fame and the payout from the state had drawn her attention as a way to get subscribers to her channel. It was one more betrayal that had practically sent him over the edge.
He’d moved here to help Dan flip houses and try to lose himself in the swamp after the media circus died down. He bought an unassuming little yellow house in the middle of nowhere with cows and horses for neighbors, mostly to hide his money and his identity. That was after he realized the bitch didn’t really have any interest in him other than fame and money. So, he’d invested some of the money and used the rest to start his little house-flipping venture with Dan, which had been surprisingly successful until Hurricane Ian.
He should have known better than to agree to go on TV, but Dan wanted it, and he owed Dan. Who had been there when the prison finally let him out? Not his brother Jake, who was more than half the reason he was in there. It was Dan, long before the money was even a thought. That was how he knew Dan was the real deal. He drove all night to pick Evan up, gave him a couch and a meal when Evan couldn’t bear to speak to Jake, and his parents didn’t believe him.
But it was too late to second-guess it all now. He was on his way to the Keys. Maybe he wouldn’t come back.
He rolled onto the seven-mile bridge at sunset, a spectacular show of cotton candy, pastel-colored clouds and glittering blue water as far as the eye could see. Riding the bridge on the big Indian felt just like flying low, and tonight, it was just what he needed. He eased off the throttle and swayed lazily back and forth within his lane, drinking it all in. Over the railings, he could see dolphins breaching the glittering sunset waves. What a spectacular show. It was times like this on the bike that he lived for. The nostalgia replayed memories of riding with his brother when they were young and wild, as he passed through the less famous keys, one after another, his battered emotions unwinding with every lowering mile marker on US 1 South until he finally got to mile marker zero. It was a fitting place for Jake to be.
Live music, the aroma of fried seafood, and hints of coconut suntan lotion wafted in the air as he cruised through town. It had been a long time. He pulled into the parking lot of Conch Republic Custom Choppers, half hoping it would be gone and Jake would be gone too. At least maybe it would be closed. But the lights were blazing and the parking lot decorated with brightly colored, long-rake custom motorcycles. Evan knew Jake secretly thought they were ridiculous, but they were popular with the rich biker-wannabe visitors to the island and made him a good living.
He let himself into the lobby to the tinkling of a seashell door chime. A girl at the front desk who was obviously selected as eye candy immediately took notice and batted too-long eyelashes. She was dressed like a typical biker tramp. She wore a black leather halter top that displayed the goods and sported a full-sleeve tattoo of brightly colored flowers.
“Can I help you?” she asked. He had the sense that she would be willing to help with mostly anything—not limited to the shop’s services.
“I’m looking for Jake,” Evan said.
Immediately, her face took on a false glaze of feigned ignorance, and he realized two things. One: she wasn’t actually a bimbo, and two: Jake was still involved in some nefarious business. She intended to decipher his intentions before she announced whether Jake was here.
“I’m his brother,” Evan added with more patience than he felt. She nodded slightly.
“Wait here.” She stood up from the desk. Evan admired the Levi’s jeans that looked like she’d been poured into and come-fuck-me boots up to her knees. Yeah—he was starting to feel better already. She disappeared through a glass door into the shop bay. A few minutes later, he saw the approach of a silhouette he would know anywhere—the wild reddish-brown hair sticking every which way and somewhat contained by a black bandanna wrapped around his forehead. Jake’s eyebrows shot up when he saw that it was actually Evan in his office. But before Jake could speak, Evan did.
“We need to talk,” he said grimly.
It wasanother unusual turn of events. Kayla put the last horse away and got in her truck to go get Evan’s dog. She wanted to get this done pronto, didn’t want to be poking around on his property after dark with nothing but a floppy, friendly little dog to protect her. As she came around the back of the house, a twinge of emotion turned inside her when she saw Abbey.
He’d set up a large dog pen off his garage. It looked like a few kennels strung together to create a pen that was approximately thirty by thirty feet. Half was grass and the other half gravel. There were pavers around the edge to prevent the little rascal from digging out, a shade cloth, a baby pool, and a doghouse. Abbey was lying on a little mesh dog cot, looking bored, but contented. It was obviously a new setup. Had he done this because she’d admonished him about letting the dog run loose? He cared what she thought, or cared about the dog, or both.
“Hey, you,” Kayla said. The dog leaped up off her cot, bouncing off the wall of the kennel in her excitement. “Look what Evan did for you.”
There was a leash clipped to the gate of the kennel, and Kayla clipped it to the collar of the exuberant little dog before letting her out. She knew the dog could be off like a shot and she would never be able to catch her. She tried to imagine Evan toiling over this pen for the dog so she could be comfortable and safe while he was gone. “I think maybe he’s starting to like you,” Kayla said as the dog writhed with joy against her.
As she started to walk the dog back to her truck, Abbey suddenly pulled toward the garage with such force that it caught Kayla off guard and yanked her to the door of the shed. There was a half-chewed raw hide that Abbey had obviously abandoned there. Kayla bent over to retrieve the chew, and as she straightened up, she found herself looking into Evan’s shed. There was a classic Indian in the process of being rebuilt. Pieces of gleaming chrome lay about on clean drop cloths. Behind that was a shining, restored custom Panhead chopper. There was a car under a cloth that she couldn’t help but peek under. Unless she was mistaken, that was a ’69 GTO. She knew enough to know she was looking at hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of vintage motorcycles and cars. A cold feeling seeped into her.
She knew they were filming a TV show, but she didn’t think the opening season of a reality show netted money like this. Especially since, judging from the state of different builds and the dust covering some of the projects, this stuff had been here awhile. Where had he gotten the money for all this and why was it seemingly hidden in his shed behind his deceptively modest house? Who was Evan, really?