8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Deacon
Joy gave my shoulder a tap. “You’ve done enough for one night, kiddo. Why don’t you take a load off and have a drink?”
I placed the last bottle from the crate on the shelf and straightened, tucking my hands in the pockets of my jeans. “If you don’t have any other work for me, I’ll head home.”
She sighed. “You’re not getting it. I want you here so I can get a good look at you, not so you can break your back for me.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You need to look at me? I haven’t changed since the last time you saw me.”
She shook her head. “Do an old lady a favor and park your ass on a stool, all right?”
“You’re not old,” I gruffed, pissed at the idea of Joy ever getting old. She might’ve been nearing sixty, but I refused to think about her aging. “And if I don’t do the heavy lifting around here, you’ll try to do it yourself.”
She raised her arm, gesturing toward the shelves. “You stocked me up. Even if I wanted to carry a crate up front, there’d be nowhere to put anything. That’s why you can sit your ass on a stool and take a load off. Let me feed you.”
There was no arguing with Joy. I’d been about to do as she said when a guy who’d already had too much to drink hollered at her from the end of the bar.
“You hirin’ felons now, Joyful? Watch your cash register.” He snickered as the man next to him leaned away.
Joy whipped her head in his direction. “What did you say?” she hissed.
The guy kept laughing. “I’m just sayin’, having a Slater near your money is like having a paper cut and swimming with sharks. You’re living on the edge, Joyful.”
And there it was. I’d been stupid to think I could show up here to help my aunt out and fly under the radar. Didn’t matter I’d done my time and paid my due. The yoke of my last name would always hang on my shoulders in this town. I was used to it. And if it hadn’t been directed at Joy with Phoebe Kelly present to heat it, I wouldn’t give a damn what some drunk had to say.
That made it worse. She was dancing with her grandfather, looking so shiny and happy it was nearly impossible for me to tear my eyes off her. And her regal grandmother was perched near the asshole at the bar, taking in the entire scene.
Joy walked right up to the man and snatched his half-empty beer off the counter. “You’re done here, Bill. Get the hell out and find yourself a new drinking establishment.”
Bill raised his hands, still laughing. “Come on, Joy. You know I’m just joking around. If you can’t laugh at the Slaters, what can you laugh at?”
Joy fingered the bat under her bar. “That’s my nephew you’re talking about. I don’t play around when it comes to him, and I certainly won’t allow you to run your mouth about my boy. Now, are you going to get out, or am I going to have to force the issue?”
The men around Bill scooted away from him, making it clear he had no allies. That didn’t mean they disagreed with what he was saying; they were just smart enough to keep it to themselves. Joy’s was the only bar in town. They got tossed out, they were up shit creek, and they knew it.
After some grumbles and curses, Bill pulled his hat low on his forehead and stomped out. Joy scanned the other guys sitting at the bar. When no one had anything to say, she nodded and started refilling their drinks.
I took that as my cue to leave. Empty crate in my arms, I headed toward the end of the bar. As I passed Phoebe’s grandmother, she reached out, her manicured fingers snagging the sleeve of my shirt.
“He embarrassed himself, you know,” she stated.
I nodded, agreeing. Though only halfway. He might’ve made a fool of himself, but I hadn’t gotten off unscathed. My skin felt like it was burning from the cloak of shame I couldn’t seem to shrug off no matter how much distance I put between me and my family.
She huffed an elegant laugh. “Clearly, you don’t believe me, but as an unbiased third party, I have no reason to lie to you.”
That much was true. I’d never spoken a word to this woman, but I knew who she was. In Sugar Brush, Lily Smythe-Kelly stuck out like a sore thumb. Where most women wore jeans and cowboy boots, she lived in silk and high heels. She was older than Joy by a couple decades, but she was well kept, with pretty blonde hair and subtle makeup.
When I didn’t reply, she held up her near-empty wineglass. “Would you be a dear and pour me a refill before you go?”
“’Course.” I put the crate down and bent to check the cooler. There was only one wine bottle open, so I lifted it up. “This one?”
“That’s it.” She smiled, faint crinkles bursting next to her eyes. “Joy buys that brand for me. As far as I know, I’m the only one who drinks it, but she always has it when I come in.”
“She’s good like that,” I said as I filled her glass.
“She’s wonderful. Now, I’m not usually one to listen to gossip, but I couldn’t help overhearing you’re her nephew.”
“That’s right. She’s my mother’s sister.”
“Ah.” She picked up her glass, swirling the white liquid around. “Lucky her, she escaped the Slater name.”
I grunted in agreement and picked the crate back up so I could get out of there. I’d had enough for the night. Before I could, though, Lily grabbed my shirt again, bringing me to a halt.
“I grew up in a political family. In certain circles, the Smythe name was mud. In others, it brought expectations I always worried I couldn’t fulfill. But over the years, I learned someone was always going to have an opinion of me, and frankly, that was none of my business. The people who knew me didn’t give one damn about my last name, and they were the only opinions I valued.” She arched a brow. “Joy thinks very highly of you.”
“I think highly of her too,” I replied, unsure why this woman thought I mattered enough to tell me anything about herself, let alone find some way to relate to me.
“Don’t you think that means a whole hell of a lot more than what some idiot who can’t hold his drink thinks?” She raised her glass to her lips and winked. “I know I do.”
“Wish you weren’t the only one who thought so.” I tipped my chin. “Have a good night, Mrs. Kelly.”
“You too, Mr. Slater.”
I’d never had many friends. I’d stopped trying early on since most bailed when their parents found out who my folks were.
Chris had never cared about that. Rough as they came but loyal to the end. Besides my aunt, he’d been the only one who’d visited me in prison then had gotten me a job with his dad’s construction company when I got out. It wasn’t my dream, but it paid more than I’d ever expected and allowed me to breathe easy. With a felony on my record, landing any job was a feat, let alone one with security and benefits.
The thing about having a friend like Chris was he knew me well. When I did something out of character, he noticed.
“What’s that you’re making?” he asked, roaming his shed where he’d let me set up a carpentry workshop. The space offered me the opportunity to restart my side business, building custom furniture. And work was trickling in—enough to keep me busy when I wasn’t on a jobsite.
I kept my eyes on the pieces of wood clamped in a vise. “Planters.”
“Planters? Last I knew, you were working on a storage piece. Is this a new commission?”
I sighed, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand, then leveled my gaze on the hairy, sloppy bastard. Chris and razors didn’t mix. His beard reached his chest, and his hair was a scraggly mess on his shoulders. When he wasn’t wearing work clothes, he had on sweats that had seen better days years ago. It was a wonder his wife Tilly had given him a chance, but he’d managed to charm her. Tilly was always neat as a pin, while I’d never known him to dress up or make any kind of effort with his appearance.
They said opposites attract, and it seemed that was true. I didn’t know a lot about healthy relationships, but it was clear as day the two of them loved the hell out of each other.
“They’re not a commission.”
Chris stuffed his hands in his hoodie pocket. “You making them for yourself? Never knew you were so domestic, Deke.”
“They’re a gift.”
“A gift? Hope not for Tills. Love the woman, but she kills every plant she touches. Makes her sad every time.”
I couldn’t stop my grin. “That’s cute.”
“Cute? Sure. To you . Me? I’ve banned her from buying more. Can’t take it when she gets herself all heartbroken over a fern.”
“Well, don’t worry. They’re not for Tilly.” Since he wasn’t going to let it go, I continued, preparing myself for his onslaught of questions. “They’re for my downstairs neighbor. I broke her pots when I was moving in. She won’t take cash to replace them, so I’m making her new ones.”
His brows popped the way I’d known they would. “Your neighbor is a woman? Is she, by any chance, a pretty woman?”
“That has nothing to do with why I’m making her planters.”
“Mmmhmm. You not saying she’s pretty is answer enough. I like her.”
I frowned. “You don’t know anything about her.”
“I know she wouldn't take your money. That tells me a lot about her character.” He ran a hand down his beard and tugged on the end of it. “This neighbor have a name?”
Chris and Tilly lived in town, and Tilly worked on Sugar Brush River Ranch, so they were well aware of the Kelly family. Besides that, he and I had gone to school together, so he knew exactly who Phoebe was. If I thought I could have gotten away without answering him, I would have.
“Phoebe,” I grunted.
“The only Phoebe I know is…oh, damn. You’re tellin’ me Phoebe Kelly’s your neighbor? And you're building her some planters?” His laugh sounded like a witch’s cackle. “What are the chances?”
“It’s a small town,” I answered wryly.
“True, true.” He managed to contain his laughter, but mirth danced in his eyes. “Remember our senior year when you—”
“I remember.” I didn’t need him walking me down memory lane. The moment Phoebe knocked on my door, every interaction with her had come rushing back to the forefront. “Not a dumb kid anymore. I’m just being a nice neighbor and making up for breaking her pots. Nothing more.”
He scratched his beard. “Why not? You’re good-looking, gainfully employed and, as far as I know, bathe on a regular basis. If you asked her out, I bet she’d say yes.”
I turned back to the wood pieces on my worktable. Phoebe Kelly was a nonstarter. Watching her grandpa twirl her around the dance floor at Joy’s a few nights ago had only served to remind me how far apart our worlds were. There wasn’t a bridge long enough to close that gap.
Not that it had stopped me from wanting to experience a moment of twirling Phoebe around a dance floor for myself—to know what it would be like to live snatches of time that were nothing but smiles in the arms of a loved one. Soft, pink moments that were so commonplace, it probably didn’t even register how rare they were for others.
But thinking and talking about it was a waste of breath.
“I wouldn’t know the first thing about taking a woman on a date, and I’m not dating anyway. I’ve got other things I’m working toward. Even if I wasn’t…yeah, not happening.”
He went quiet for a beat, and I braced myself for what he was going to say. Chris was always honest and could be as blunt as a baseball bat to the temple when he thought it was needed.
“They took four years from you. That time is gone. Wasted in a cage. Sometimes, I think you forget you’re allowed to live how you want now. Why are you locking yourself down voluntarily? I don’t get it, Deke.”
“Don’t expect you to get it. I’m glad you don’t .”
I wouldn’t wish what I went through on my worst enemy, let alone my best friend. I was glad Chris had lived a life so good and clean he couldn’t begin to fathom the way I was moving forward with mine.
Sighing, he came closer, bending his head to look at the planters I was making. Constructed of reclaimed barn wood, they were about two feet tall and square. I’d added thin, crisscrossing strips of teak to the sides to make them more interesting. I didn’t know if Phoebe would like them, and it wouldn’t make up for the ones I’d broken, but I had to do something . I repaid my debts and repaired what I broke.
“These are incredible,” Chris said. “Really, don’t let Tills see them. She’ll want a pair of her own, and that’ll only lead to tears.”
I chuffed. “She wants some, I’ll put fake plants in them. No tears.”
“Nah, you need to focus on work you’re getting paid for.” He clapped his hand on my shoulder. “We both know you wouldn’t let me pay you if I tried.”
“Damn right. I’m using your shed for free.”
“It was full of junk you cleaned out for me. That’s all the payment I need.” He propped his hip on my worktable and leveled me with a hard gaze. “Friends do shit for each other and don’t keep score. When are you gonna get that through your thick skull?”
“Might be a while.”
He groaned. “How’d I know you were gonna say that?”
I smirked. “Think we’ve had this conversation before.”
Until I felt like we were on an even playing field, we’d probably keep having it. With all Chris and his family had done for me, it’d be a long, long time.