Darlin’

2. HellHigh Water

Hell or High Water

Under normal circumstances, I avoid fibbing, not because I'm morally against lying at all costs but simply because my memory reflects that of a goldfish.

But some lies are necessary. Justifiable even.

As long as I don't fall entirely through the rabbit hole, what's the harm in squatting inside for a little while, right?

"He's in California, apparently," I continue, keeping my voice level. Momma's like a bloodhound when it comes to deceit. "Can you believe it?"

I'm really counting on her believing it.

Perhaps if she and daddy think Beau called to make amends, they'd assist me in bringing him home.

Three years is too long to go without my best friend.

Beau was like the sunshine to my rain, always bringing light and laughter.

I've had to make do without him. I managed fine for a couple of years, but recently it feels like I've been living in the dark.

I want my little night light back.

"California..." The color drains from Momma's face as she nods slowly. "Oh." She clears her throat, patting her chest. "Well, that's nice," she says casually, as if I just told her my lunch order. She turns on her heel, straightening out her shoulders. "Let's go inside. We're late."

" That's nice? " I expected a frosty reception, but this? "That's all you've got to say?" I know she's hurt that he left without saying goodbye, but this is her own flesh and blood. How can she dismiss his reappearance so easily? "Aren't you relieved, momma? He's alive. Your son is alive."

"Well, he better be," she says, hustling toward our house. "I can't imagine that the dead can make phone calls." She glances over at me. "Hurry up, Savannah, we can't leave daddy waiting."

"Why aren't you happier, momma?" I ask, following her to the front door. It's getting darker by the second. "You'd think after three years of living in the unknown, you'd be over the moon finally hearing from him."

My mother's expression hardens as she glares at me. "Your brother abandoned this family, Savannah; I do not feel strongly toward strangers ."

"Strangers? He's still your son.” A foul taste coats my tongue. "Just because?—"

"Enough now," she hisses as our housekeeper opens the front door for us. Momma shoves her purse into Lucy's hands, storming through the foyer as I speed walk behind her. "I want no mention of this at dinner, you hear? Your daddy's under enough stress as it is."

"How is telling daddy that his only son is alive and well adding stress ?" I ask in utter disbelief. "If anything, it should ease that big ole head of his."

"I said enough ." Momma comes to an abrupt halt, spinning around.

I swallow as she marches up to me, waving that index finger of hers.

"I understand what you must be feeling right now, but your daddy and I have come to terms with the fact Beauregard is no longer a part of this family.

If you wish to maintain a relationship with your brother, that is your prerogative, but as far as this family is concerned, Beau made up his mind on the eve of his graduation. "

"He was seventeen , momma," I argue, crossing my arms defensively. "You can hardly hold his actions against him. He was just a kid. Probably felt a little suffocated by your vice grip and all."

"Suffocated?" Momma huffs. "Your daddy and I did everything for that boy. Everything! Don't you dare stand there and tell me that his leaving had anything to do with my parenting style!"

"Oh, God forbid any of the responsibility falls on you, huh?" I scoff. "I think you and daddy ought to change your campaign slogan from higher accountability to no accountability. That'd be more accurate."

"Why you little—" Momma winds up her hand but freezes as Daddy's voice echoes in the grand entrance.

"Caroline, Savannah, you're home," he says, and my mother spins around, morphing into an entirely different person.

She runs into his open arms, kissing his cheek.

The woman should've gone into theatre. Academy Award-worthy performance, yet again.

Daddy laughs, smiling. "Well, I've missed you too, pumpkin.

" He looks over Momma's shoulder, giving me a careful once over. "What's wrong, Savvy? Why so glum?"

"She's just worried about the pageant," Momma lies, looping her arm through Daddy's as she guides him toward the dining room. "I told her that Jeffery wasn't available, so I think she's in one of those moods again."

"Oh, who cares? She doesn't need that hack anyway," Daddy says, glancing back at me with a cheesy grin. "Savvy could win with her eyes closed and a potato sack as a dress, isn't that right, baby?"

"Sure," I mumble, dragging my feet as I bite my tongue. "Whatever."

"Savannah." Momma sighs as we reach the dining room. Daddy pulls out her chair and she sits down, placing a cloth napkin on her lap. "Your daddy's only here for the night, alright? Let's try our best to enjoy the next few hours, hmm? You can go and sulk in your room later."

I roll my eyes, smashing my purse on the table as I aggressively pull out my own chair and plop the half-drank latte on the table. Anger stews in my belly as I sit down and glare at the Queen of Bullshit. It's wild that she can flip on and off so easily. I wish I had that gene.

"Don't slouch," Momma whispers as Lucy and Rick emerge from the kitchen, platters of food in their hands. Rick serves my parents piping hot plates of chicken cordon bleu as Lucy places a garden salad with one, two, three, four, five prawns on top. "This looks delicious, thank you."

"Yeah," I mutter, picking up my fork and tossing the salad around. I stab a cherry tomato with a little too much force before popping it in my mouth. "Simply scrumptious ."

"So, how were the massages?" Daddy asks, holding out his glass. Lucy pours him some whiskey. "Are you feeling rejuvenated?"

"Of course, I feel fantastic." Momma smiles, taking a tiny bite of creamy chicken. My own mouth waters and I look away. "We might have to start booking weekly appointments."

"Wonderful," Daddy says, looking over at me. "And you? Feeling fantastic as well?" His brows pinch together when I don't reply. "What's wrong, Savannah? You're usually much chipper than this." He looks at Momma. "What'd you do to my baby girl?"

Chipper? Gosh, Daddy's as clueless as Cher Horowitz.

One of the many benefits of Momma's grooming is that I've been enrolled in singing, dancing, and acting since birth.

The latter bodes the most useful when it comes to parental deceit.

Too bad I'm not as good as Momma, something I'm reminded of almost every day.

Momma sighs dramatically. "I told you, John, she's in a mood."

"I'm not in a mood .” I glower defiantly at my mother, tightening the grip on my fork. I can't do it. I can't simply sit here and pretend that nothing happened. I have to try something. Anything . "I'm just...processing."

Daddy's always been a little softer than Momma. The gold to her silver. More expensive but much more pliable. Let's hope he's willing to bend.

"Processing what?" Daddy asks, gaze bouncing between me and Momma, who is in a silent battle of wits with me. Her jaw tightens as she attempts to penetrate my reserve, but I've got years of practice shielding myself from her fruitless attempts. "Well? Processing what? "

"John..."

"I got a call today," I say, ignoring my mother's frigid stare as I proceed with optimistic caution. Tread carefully; tread lightly. That's my John Kingsley motto. "It was from..." My heart rate quickens, but I swallow away the nerves. I got this. "From Beau."

Daddy blinks at me. "Beau?"

"Yes, Beau," I say slowly. "You know? Your son ? My brother ?"

Daddy clears his throat, stunned as he looks at Momma. "Did you know anything about this, Caroline?"

"First I'm hearing about it." Momma wipes the corner of her mouth with a napkin, shaking her head. Two Academy Awards in one night. The next Meryl Streep. "Why didn't you tell me, Savannah? This explains a lot."

I grit my teeth. "I'm telling you now, aren't I?"

"Where..." Daddy takes a sip of whiskey. "Where is he?"

"In California," I reply coolly. "He's um...working down there."

He perks a brow. "Doing what?"

I blink. "Umm...he's in uh— he's in sales or something, I think? It was a brief conversation."

"Sales, huh?" Daddy hums. "Well, that's...that's nice. I hope he's doing well." He smiles at Momma. "Pass the salt, please?"

"Seriously?" I gawk at him. " Pass the salt ?" I stand up, the chair scraping against the hardwood floor as I flap my arms. "Y'all are unbelievable."

"Sit down," Momma orders. "Where are your manners, Savannah? "

"Must be in the same place where your motherly love is," I state, crossing my arms. "I get ?Beau hurt both of you deeply when he left, but don't you care about him at all? Don't you love him?"

"Your brother is an adult now, Savvy," Daddy says, swallowing.

"He's had three years to contact us and let us know he was safe, but did he?

Did he extend us that courtesy? No. He did not.

So forgive us for not jumping out of our seats with joy that he finally decided to man up and pick up the phone. "

"Well, I, for one, do care about him," I say, clenching my fist. "And I'm..." I suck in a sharp breath.

A gang. He's in a gang . But he's my brother.

My baby brother. My best friend for seventeen years.

I owe him this. I'm not sure how he ended up with the likes of criminals, but I know the real him.

I know my brother. And he must come home.

He must. "I'm going to go to California to see him. "

"No, you are not," Momma barks, slamming her hand on the table. "That is out of the question." She whips her head at Daddy. "John! Tell her that is out of the question."

"You are not flying to California," Daddy states in a firm tone. "You will stay here with your mother until the elections are over. Is that clear?"

"Wow," I hum, letting out a disappointing scoff.

"That's it, isn't it? You're worried it'll affect your polls, huh?

' Runaway Son Found Slumming it in The Golden State ' doesn't fit your headline narrative?

I guess you're looking for the pity votes, huh?

'Grieving Parents of Troubled Runaway Teen Fight Circumstance and Win Election.

' That's what you want, huh? That's the better story, isn't it? "

"Watch your tongue," Daddy threatens, matching Momma's energy. Great. Two against one. "And sit back down. Now!"

"No." I stand my ground. "Y'all are being completely unreasonable and, quite frankly, very cold-hearted." I harden my gaze as I say, "I want to see my brother. I will see my brother."

"You are not going anywhere, Savannah," my mother seethes. "Especially not when we need to start preparations for the pageant."

"Screw the dang pageant!" My fingertips tingle as my voice rises. "It's not like we even need the scholarship money anyway"—my mother tries to interrupt me, but I forge on—"I am twenty-one years old, and if I want to go to California, I will . And there's nothing you can do to stop me."

"Is that so?" Daddy holds out his hand, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "In that case, I'd like my credit cards back." He smugly nods to my purse. "All of 'em."

"Fine!" I grab my bag, circling the table as I fish out my wallet and remove three credit cards. I slap them into Daddy's hand. "I don't need your money anyway."

"Right." Daddy lets out a cynical laugh. "I doubt the airline will accept star rewards as currency."

So. Rude!

"I'll have you know that I have some money of my own saved up, thank you very much," I say, wincing internally.

Shoot, after paying Calvin for three years, I hope I have enough for a ticket.

Teaching rhythmic gymnastics on the weekends to tots doesn't pay as well as one might think. "I'll be just fine ."

"John!" My mother flashes him a desperate look. "You're not actually going to allow her to travel across the country alone, are you?"

"She's not going anywhere," Daddy says with a confident side-eye. "She's just trying to rile us up."

"Oh, I'm going," I say, marching out of the dining room. "Just watch me!"

"Savannah!" my mother calls out after me, but I ignore her, running up the stairs to my bedroom.

Damn it! I throw my purse on my four-poster bed, perching down on the edge and burying my face into my hands.

What the heck am I supposed to do now? Am I really considering flying to California?

Alone ? I can't even go to a movie alone!

Okay, before freaking out, let's look at the facts, at the logistics. One thing at a time.

With a groan, I force myself off my bed and sit down at my computer desk. I open my laptop and pull up my inbox, rubbing my eyes as I scroll through all the spam until I find an email from Calvin Investigations.

Step one: verify.

Holding my breath, I click to open the PDF from Dylan Moore, my fingers trembling as I read through the document.

I stop scrolling when I reach page three.

Oh, my word...it is him. I stare at the mug shot, taking in the grown-up features of my little brother.

He's not so little anymore. His jaw is squared, his hair is.

.. greasy, and—I blink. Is that a flipping tattoo on his dang neck?

! What happened to him?! This is...this a nightmare.

Step two: research.

I close the PDF, hop over to Google, and search the Sons of Sorrow, immediately regretting that decision .

Racketeering. Drug Trafficking. Gunrunning. Money laundering.

My jaw hangs open as I skim the images of the terrifying-looking bikers. Leather vests, patches, tattoos galore, souped-up Harleys, and enough beards to knit every child in 'Bama a freaking scarf.

What has Beau gotten himself into? By the time I'm done reading through dozens of news articles, my eyes are red, dry, and chock-full of resolution.

Step three: conclusion.

I stare at a macaroni-framed photograph of Beau and me taken at summer camp ten years ago, my heart aching with longing. We were so young. So close. He may not be a child anymore, but he’s still my brother. With a sharp breath of resolve, I search through last minute flights.

"Come hell or high water, Beauregard, I am bringing you home!"