28. Cody
Cody
“I Found” - Amber Run
S even has long since passed by the time we make it to the detachment. Marty and I came to a silent agreement to take the scenic route out of town so that Fairweather’s lawyer’s hands are tied and the brat will have to spend the night in a cell. That achieved, I make the executive decision to end my shift.
“Shouldn’t we interview Amy Nygard tonight?”
Yes, we should. “It can wait until tomorrow,” I tell him instead.
Marty frowns. “You sure, Cody?”
I have no desire to continue this endless day. Plus, Marty might have a good heart, but fuck if his optimism isn’t exhausting. “We’ll deal with the situation first thing.”
He nods, but I can tell he isn’t happy with my decision, and I don’t blame him.
It doesn’t take much to figure out that the Rabid Wolves gave Amy the drugs to pass onto Fairweather. It’d even explain why Amy was at the MC’s bar when I met with her—she should have been en route to school but was not only off-campus, but on MC territory.
I can see the tangled web ahead of me and know that it’ll end with Paulie’s baby sister, a kid he was proud of, a kid who was clever enough to earn her place in that snooty hellhole, not only being expelled from the fancy boarding school, but shoved inside a jail cell too.
Can I be blamed for wanting to put that off until tomorrow?
Bennett pops up as I make to leave, but I dump him on Marty, figuring that’ll keep him busy enough to forget about Amy until the morning.
Because I’m in a mood, I pump out some angry tunes and drive home because I have zero desire to stay at the detachment tonight.
The only things that’ll put me in a better frame of mind, however, are a beer, a blowjob, or Tee playing her violino piccolo for an audience of one. With the former achievable where the latter two aren’t, I head into the kitchen once I’m through the front door.
Grateful that Mrs. Abelman isn’t in her usual stomping grounds, I snag a bottle of beer from the fridge then trudge to the den.
Settling in my usual spot where I can check out the vista—a view that Uncle Clay used to love—I try to relax.
But how am I supposed to?
The uncle who turned my brothers and I into the men we are today was potentially murdered by the fucker who fathered us.
How am I?—
The soft sounds of the violino piccolo trickle throughout the room.
My arm freezes mid-lift and I wait, allowing the music to settle in my bones. I rest the bottle on the side, kick up my feet onto the coffee table, and find some peace.
How did she know I needed this tonight?
Tee once wrote me about the instrument and told me that it sounded baroque. It does. But she doesn’t play baroque. Tonight, it’s some Daughtry, I reckon. At least, I think I recognize the song. Baroque rock, who knew that could be a thing?
I close my eyes, unaware that I’m falling asleep until I wake up an hour later with the sight of Paulie’s plane exploding in front of my eyes, as raw a memory as it ever was.
My muscles have recorded the blast’s effect on my own jet as I steered like a madman away from him.
The doctors say I don’t have PTSD because, as T once told me, I disassociate like a pro, but coming back home has definitely triggered something.
I never slept this badly when I was staying at The Depot during training with a bunch of other cadets that made a barnful of cows look quiet.
Swiping a hand over my eyes, I rear up and jolt again when I see Tee sitting in the armchair opposite me.
It’d be less creepy if she were sleeping too, but she isn’t.
She’s watching me.
Her lips pursed.
Eyes narrowed.
God, she’s beautiful.
I doubt she even knows how hot she is.
“Do you have a request?”
The way she lifts the violino piccolo tells me she means of the musical variety and not the blowjob.
Clearing my throat, I rasp, “Have you ever heard the song ‘I Found’ by Amber Run?” I take her hum as a yes. “Can you play that?”
“I can play every song I’ve ever heard,” she counters, not even boasting.
The skill that takes has my eyes widening as she strides away from my couch, the violino piccolo under her chin as the wistful melody echoes through the space.
I don’t know why, but my heart pounds in time to the tune, and slowly, I sink back into the cushions, closing my eyes as I allow myself to relax…
The next time I wake up, she isn’t there. Dawn’s creeping into the den, and the lingering echoes of her music are only memories.
Agitated, I surge to my feet then stretch out the kinks that come from a night on the couch after I check the time.
Within a few steps, I’m staring out of a picture window that overlooks the prairie beyond.
In the distance, I can see the new bunkhouse that Colton built last year—I wondered why he’d put it in that quadrant, but now I know it’s for the refuge—and Mrs. Abelman’s chicken coop.
A part of me knew I’d return home. A part of me even knew that I’d be grateful for the welcome embrace of family, but I never thought I’d struggle to unwind here.
It’s only grown worse since I confessed my sins to Tee.
I didn’t realize how she was anchoring me until I bombed the chains linking us.
Last night, I slept more than I have in a week.
Because of her.
“I am so fucked,” I mutter, yawning as I check my phone, aware I should have looked through my notifications before crashing last night.
Finding an email from the security firm Callan hired, I scan the report on the ranch’s current status.
Impressed with its expansiveness but knowing there’s room for improvement, I head for the nearest bathroom once I’ve given it an initial read.
After using the facilities, I postpone a shower and grab a protein shake from the refrigerator. Mid-sip, I retrieve my running shoes from the mudroom and slip into them then rush out the door, knowing that Callan will either be on his way to the stables or on the range for his morning ride—a ritual I’ve been partaking in since I returned.
Just less frequently of late.
Jogging to the stables, I spot him twenty yards away from the doors. “Bro! You didn’t wait.”
At my grumble, he rolls his eyes. “You were sleeping. I wasn’t going to wake you up.”
“Must have heard the door,” I reason.
“I left via the mudroom. No way you could have heard me.”
“I have superhuman hearing.”
“I’d have believed that eight years ago, not so much now.” He snorts. “You looked comfortable.”
“I was.” Best night’s sleep I had all week.
I take a sip of my drink then pass it to him. It goes back and forth until the bottle’s empty.
We haven’t really talked about it, not with actual words, but I know Callan wants to bulk up.
I think it’s because of a girl, but I could be wrong because in all the time I’ve been back, he’s not once brought anyone around.
With a yawn, I tell him, “I received the security firm’s report.”
“Oh?”
No one else’d figure out he was nervous, but he can’t hide shit from me. “You did a good job, kid.”
His brows lift as he monitors the progress on the stables expansion—we’re going into horse breeding in a big way. “I did?”
“Yeah. They detailed all the actions you took to secure the property.” I clap a hand to his shoulder. “I’d be impressed if I expected anything less from you.”
His grin’s sheepish, though I can tell he’s pleased by the unexpected praise. “I didn’t want to let Colt down.”
“You haven’t,” I assured him. There were always going to be blind spots on a property this vast, but he plugged in the holes where he could and came up with alternate solutions, ones I’m pretty sure he didn’t ask for Colt’s approval on. Or the law’s. Not all of them are legal in this country. Lucky for him, he has an in with law enforcement. “I’m going to have men patrol the perimeter?—”
“I was hoping that wasn’t necessary,” he butts in.
“With the troubles we had with the MC?—”
“Colt told you?” His shoulders sag in relief. “Thank God. I didn’t know if he had. He’s been cagey about some shit since you joined the marshals.”
I’d noticed that too. Maybe Colt was more aware of the legalities Callan had been toying with than I initially suspected?
Family first. Didn’t they know I lived by that creed, dammit?
“Did Colt tell me they were growing weed on McAllister land and then showed up to warn us off?” I arch a brow at him. “Didn’t even have to drag that out of him. He’s not as pigheaded as you think.”
His lips twist. “Says you.”
Smirking, I assure him, “Marshals will protect the refuge too. I want eyes on the bunkhouses 24/7.” Together, we walk into the tack room once his inspection’s over and after he passes Levi, his horse, a carrot. “I’m going to have men drive by on rotation too. Just to be on the safe side.”
With the bare minimum imparted, and knowing that I’ll have satisfied his concerns enough that his inner control freak can relax, I don’t tell him the extents I’ll be going to to secure our properties.
Not just for the women who have found sanctuary here, but for my family too.
Clyde’s arrest has brought us under an exorbitant amount of scrutiny, never mind the security threats we already know about. Not only is this Mum’s home, it’s Zee and Tee’s.
If it costs half a million a month to keep them safe, I’ll drop it in a heartbeat. Not like Colt can’t afford it.
“What are you thinking?” Callan drags his saddle from its compartment. This place has his name written all over it—literally. Every compartment is bagged, tagged, and labeled. “You look angry.”
“Uncle Clay used to say a man’s home was his castle,” I mutter.
“How very medieval of him.”
Callan was young when Clay died. He didn’t get to learn any of his mantras other than secondhand from us. Colt and I aren’t exactly loquacious about our uncle.
My lips twitch. “Is he wrong?”
“No.”
“Well, then.”
Callan gives me the side-eye. “What’s with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been acting weird for days. Jumpy around Tee. She’s like a cat on a hot-tin roof whenever your name comes up. What happened?”
“I fucked up.”
“How can you fuck up? You barely talk.”
I shove my hands into my pockets. “I’m Butch Cassidy.”
“And?”
“What do you mean, and ?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to come out and admit it. She found out too?”
“Wait—you knew my call name? I barely used it around here.”
“Barely’s an understatement. To use it around home, one has to be home, which you haven’t been. I think in the past ten years, before you retired, you spent twenty days at the ranch. Total. You’re worse than Cole.” His tone’s flat. Which means I hurt him too.
Goddammit.
“I’m sorry, Callan.”
“Don’t be. I understand. I hate this place too sometimes.” His lips purse. “Did you tell her, or did she find out?”
“I told her.”
“Okay, so that’s better than her finding out for herself.”
“How come you didn’t…”
“Snitches get stitches. Cole rammed that lesson home when I was eight and he sat on me for three hours after I told Mrs. Abelman he was flirting with the housekeeping staff and sleeping with three of them at the same time.” He purses his lips. “Guess it makes sense why Tee’s been so flighty. I just thought it was PMS.”
“Callan!”
“What? I’m not being sexist. I’m being a realist. The amount of pain a woman can be in when she’s on her period is insane. No wonder they get crazy. I get crazy when I stub my toe. They’re being punched in the uterus for five days straight.
“Plus, when you’re as smart as we are?—”
“Thought she had an IQ point on you.”
“Really?” he sputters. “You had to go there now ?” Despite the topic, I hide a smirk. “ Anyway . When you’re as smart AS WE ARE, we’re closer to madness than most people. So, what are you doing to make it right?”
“You know. Stuff.”
“Like…?”
“Do we have to talk about this?”
“The woman might drive me to despair, but I like her, Cody. If I didn’t, I’d have told her who you were just to stop hearing about Butch freakin’ Cassidy and how clitoral orgasms shape the world. So?”
I hunch my shoulders. “It seems dumb if I say it out loud. Colt and I talked about this, but?—”
“You talked to Colt about this?” he grumbles. “The man who only married the love of his life because his father arranged the marriage behind his back? You’re going to him for emotionally intelligent advice? I might not have game, but I know how to woo a woman.”
“Oh, and how’s that?”
“It all started with letters. Why not fix it with them?”
I blink at him. “Huh.”
Then, he rattles off a few more suggestions and his gaze turns knowing. “I expect you to fix this. Fast. She’s maudlin. I can’t cope with her being maudlin. I never thought I’d prefer her insane, but she’s even better at games when she’s depressed and it’s bad for my ego.”
“Yes, sir,” I mock, saluting him.
Though he smirks, he tosses a saddle at my chest for me to catch.
“What else did he used to say?”
With an arm full of tack, I mutter, “Who? Colt?”
“No. Clay.”
“Oh.” I pause. “We’re back on that topic?”
“Sure. You and Colt don’t really talk about him that much.”
“Losing him hurt.”
“I know. It’s why I never asked, but…”
“He’d have liked you,” I reassure him. “Clay appreciated a man who worked hard for his family.”
That has him scowling. “How was he so different from Clyde?”
“Some shit you can’t breed out and we’re ranchers. We know breeding matters.”
“How didn’t he know about what Clyde did to Colt?”
I scratch the stubble on my jaw. “Colt went out of his way to hide it.”
“How do you hide those bruises?”
I think about my own run-ins with Clyde. “You just do. People see what they want to see, Callan.”
“Or don’t.”
Nodding, I concur, “Or don’t.”
I can’t help but think about the last few years of Clay’s life though. If Elena isn’t twisting the path and she was in a relationship with our uncle, then he kept that a secret. What else did he keep buried? Did he know about Colt’s abuse?
The man was more of a father to me than my sperm donor, so I can’t believe that. I just can’t.
Suddenly exhausted, I fail to hear Callan leaving the tack room. A part of me wishes I could go back to bed, but even there, there’s no rest for the wicked. Hasn’t been since I fucked up with Tee.
Fuck.
I am, aren’t I?
Wicked.
That’s the problem.
It’s why I can’t sleep.
If I weren’t wicked, I would never have treated her how I did.
‘Like father, like son.’
The death knell of my own words ricochets around my brain, unintentionally ramming home one of the reasons I wrote her that damn ‘Dear John’ in the first place:
Some shit you can’t breed out.