Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JENSEN
It feels like that one time I got kicked in the chest by a mule when I was in middle school. It wasn’t even hard, but it was a mule, so of course, it knocked the bejesus out of me and sent me dry heaving over the edge of the fence.
Dazed, I step out onto the porch. The shadow of Sovereign Mountain hovers in the distance. Usually, it’s a comforting behemoth. Tonight, it feels like the encapsulation of the threat breathing down my neck.
The wind hits the door and sends it slamming shut. I reach in my pocket and pull out the box of cigarettes, taking the last one out.
Brothers Boyd.
That’s a name I’d hoped to never hear again in my life.
When I fled Kentucky, I took nothing but a horse and a revolver. I felt, at the very least, I deserved that much to take me onward. It was a silly dream, a child’s dream, to be a cowboy. But when the sensible parts of the world fell apart, it was all I had left.
It worked. For nineteen years, I was left alone.
But not in peace. Every day, I look over my shoulder and wonder if the Caudills or Brothers will find me here. If I could do it over again, I’d have changed my name, but I didn’t know enough then. I was a kid, and all I knew to do was run as far as I could until I found a place to hide.
Nineteen years is a lot of hiding.
My shoulders sag. I bring the cigarette up and inhale.
The label taunts me, half crushed and flashing the emblem I used to look over and see on Holly’s nightstand.
Back then, I was too young to know better.
Both Holly and Brothers got their pound of flesh before I came to my senses.
I thought I’d gotten over that, but clearly, I haven’t, because I couldn’t let Della get on top of me like that.
I haven’t let anyone, not since Holly.
Ghosts don’t die, and mine are no exception.
BEFORE
Jensen - Age Twenty
I’m in my room, trying to get ready for church with Brothers. Holly stayed in my bed last night. There’s a slight fear in my chest that he’ll find out. But I’m more annoyed I don’t have any clean shirts. That’s my fault for shoving them on the floor instead of in the basket.
She’s sitting up against my pillow in her red silk nightgown. Her eyes follow me as I sort through my dresser.
“You okay, Jen?” she asks.
I glance over my shoulder, guilty she’s even in my bed on Sunday. Technically, we didn’t do anything wrong. Everything was over before midnight.
She came in from doing whatever she does for Brothers early. Dinner was plated in the kitchen. She ate standing by the stove. I had a cup of coffee while I talked to her about my day.
She said that Kyle was back from Lexington and living with her now.
“Did you tell him?” I asked, stomach twisted with guilt.
She shook her head. “No, but he’d like to see you.”
After everything that’s happened, what I did with his mother, there’s no way I can look Kyle in the eyes ever again. I might resent Holly for that, but I can’t tell.
I don’t know what I feel anymore when I’m with her.
She saw my face and said it was alright if I didn’t want to see him. I went upstairs and left her to finish eating on her own. It’s hard to believe Kyle was my family, and now that’s been replaced. Now, it’s Holly, Brothers, and me, the fucked up holy trinity of organized crime.
My eyes fall on a clean shirt, a pale blue button up. I pull it on and start fastening it.
“You’re so handsome,” Holly says wistfully.
I don’t answer. I thought I loved Holly, but she’s starting to grate on my nerves.
Now that I work closely with Brothers, I see other couples and wonder why I can’t have that normalcy.
All Holly and I do is fuck in ways that kind of freak me out.
I’m having trouble getting off from anything that isn’t mutual pain.
“Thanks,” I say finally.
She gets up, running her wine red nails down the front of my shirt.
“You want to do something later?” she asks.
I shake my head. “It’s Sunday.”
She pouts, frowning. “He won’t know.”
“He might.” That’s one thing Brothers Boyd is good at—knowing everything the minute it happens.
Her palm slides down, cupping me through my pants. “What about just a quickie, right now?”
I politely move my dick out of her hand under the guise of leaning over to grab my belt.
“I have church,” I say.
She snaps out of seduction mode, crossing her arms. Now, she looks the way she did when she used to yell at me and Kyle for getting mud on the carpet. That bothers me. I finish fastening my belt and push my wallet into my pocket. The mirror says I look pretty good, clean-cut and up and coming.
“You spend a lot of time with Brothers,” she says.
“Yeah, I work for him,” I say.
“But church? You’re not religious, Jen.”
I turn, halfway out the door. “Can you stop calling me that? It’s Jensen.”
Her jaw drops, and right away, I feel terrible. Closing the door, I take her by the shoulders and kiss her forehead. She melts against my chest. I soothe her, rubbing between her shoulder blades.
“Sorry, I’m just stressed with work,” I say. “But I do have to go. I’ll see you at dinner, okay?”
She nods, giving me a weak smile as I leave the room. I’m not stressed about work—in fact, it’s going incredibly well.
Everything is perfect, except for Holly.
I regret that day on the kitchen floor. At night, after we sleep together, I lie awake and turn the same question over in my head. Why? Why did I sleep with her in the first place? But I don’t know the answer—I think I’m in too deep to figure it out.
Downstairs, I unplug from worrying about Holly. Brothers stands on the front porch in his best suit, waiting. I step out, and he puts a hand on my shoulder, looking me up and down.
“You look good, Jen,” he says. “Ready to hit the road?”
I nod. “Let’s go.”
We do this every Sunday morning. Brothers is part of a Baptist church between Lexington and Byway, has been since he was a boy, according to him. We head down, attend the service, rub elbows with the people there. Then, we go out and have lunch with his business associates.
After that, if it’s racing season, we drive all the way up to Keeneland and have dinner and do business. Brothers calls Sunday his networking day. He starts with God, then moves onto the seersucker bourgeoisie.
“God, then money,” he always says. Then, he narrows his eyes, a sly smile on his face. “And by Monday, it's right back to bourbon and beautiful women.”
Today is a perfect day. It’s warm but not too hot.
The sky is clear blue, and the bluegrass is waving in the breeze.
We get to church with a few minutes to spare, and Brothers and I sit in his pew up front.
The service starts, but for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about my conversation with Holly this morning.
I don’t think we’re working out.
And that hurts.
I look up at the plain cross on the wall.
I’m not religious or spiritual, but I envy the way Brothers’ face transfigures when he walks into the building.
I glance sideways. He’s gazing at nothing, totally relaxed.
At first, I thought it was a joke that he goes to church.
He’s an organized crime lord, essentially.
But then, I realized there are no easy answers when it comes to Brothers Boyd.
My mind stays right with Holly. It keeps drifting to what we did last night. Then, I feel kind of guilty, because what if God is real, and here I am, thinking about bondage and sadism at eleven thirty on a Sunday morning? In His house too.
I give my head a shake.
“You good, Jen?” Brothers leans in.
I nod. “Yeah, all good.”
I gather everything up and shove it down, hard.
The service ends, and I float through, shaking hands with everybody I know.
Then, I follow Brothers out to the cemetery around the side of the church.
He’s got two second cousins buried there, everyone else is in his family cemetery.
We’re both quiet as he walks beneath the willow tree, looking down at the headstones.
“You never told me where your mother is buried,” he says.
“She was cremated,” I say. “It was cheapest.”
“Where did you spread her ashes?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t. They’re in Cherry’s house.”
“Oh, like a memorial urn?”
“No, she’s in a Tupperware container in the crawl space.”
He swings his gaze around. “Goddamn, Jen. Sometimes, you make me feel like my life was easy.”
I shrug—what am I supposed to say to that? Now that Brothers has provided me safety, I’ve had a lot of time to pick apart my life. I’m starting to realize I’m not a fortunate kid. I just never knew better than to be happy with the bare minimum.
“You know what? Let’s go have lunch at the diner today,” he says. “I’m tired of all this socializing.”
He can tell I’m having an off day. Brothers is the first person to give a damn about what I feel.
I’m grateful for that. He claps me on the shoulder, and I follow him to his fancy car parked around the side.
We don’t talk as his driver takes us through Lexington to a diner in the countryside to the west of the city.
It’s a quiet, hole in the wall place Brothers favors.
We go in through the side door. The inside always reminds me of my trailer growing up: wood-sticker walls, peeling linoleum floors. The difference is, the diner is spotlessly clean and smells like pancakes. We sink down in our usual booth, the second from the back, left row.
Our waitress, Ashleigh, appears. She likes Brothers, flirts with him every time, and he eats it up. Or maybe it’s the other way around. She’s about my age, curvy, with bombshell blonde hair and a sweet southern drawl.
“Hey, there,” says Brothers.
“Y’all out causing trouble on a Sunday?” she says, setting our coffee down.
“You know it.” He winks.
She rolls her eyes. “Alright, you want the usual.”
I nod. “Yeah, but can I get bacon, no eggs today?”
“Coming right up, sweetheart,” she says, scribbling on her pad. “And for you, Mr. Boyd?”