CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TESSA
My parents’ home is cozy with understated country charm.
They’ve got the dining room, great room, and sunroom transformed into a party space with round tables and chairs for the guests, a breakfast bar and buffet table littered with homemade dishes, and flowers that brag about my mother’s green thumb.
The wraparound porch has enough rocking chairs to lull their company into a food-induced coma after brunch.
It’s quaint and wholesome and boasts of community with the aroma of the potluck and the earthy, vinegary fragrance of the distant bald cypress trees. A vision of where I don’t fit.
Stuffing all the nerves plaguing me into a deep, dark hole reserved for activities I willingly participate in even though I’d prefer to be tied to a stake, I breeze over to the food spread and set down my covered dish.
The front door was open, and all the rooms are buzzing with life, but it seems most of the party is outside.
Like any summer day in Louisiana though, it’s already nearly ninety degrees, so people might eventually wander back inside.
My mother and oldest sister, Eden, are scurrying about the kitchen, completing the final preparations.
This is one of those awkward moments when I have a choice: I can offer to help, to which they’ll turn me down because they think I’ll get in the way, or I can join the party, and they’ll passive-aggressively claim I never do my part.
Neither of those statements would be untrue. I don’t do my part because I’m always in the way. Of course, that’s only here. Especially since …
My phone buzzes in my purse, so I check it quickly before anyone notices me.
Maddox: Morning, Nightmare. What’s it going to be today? A fun fact or my face between those perfect thighs until you’re hoarse from screaming my name?
I can’t keep the smile from blasting across my cheeks—a rarity when I’m standing in my childhood home.
The man is getting to me. Between the banter and his relentless flirting and the nickname he assigned me based on a movie I love, I’m in trouble.
But with the screen as a barrier, it’s harmless, so I indulge him.
Me: I’ll spare your ego. Instead of turning you down, again, I’ll blame my reasoning on the fact that I’m not at work. A fun fact is more practical.
Maddox: Practical isn’t really my style. I could be persuaded to make a house call.
Me: I’m sure you could. But you’d have to be invited in, Drac, and that’s not happening. I have a lot going on today. Think of your question and get back to me later.
Maddox: I’ve already got a question.
“Good Lord. Who died, Tessa?” That would be my big sister’s greeting.
A myriad of unkind responses flit through my mind, but I stopped taking the bait a while back, so I tuck my phone in my purse, set it on the counter, and play nice. “It’s lovely to see you, as always, Eden.”
My mother glances over her shoulder at me while stirring something on the stove. “I think she’s referring to your dress, honey. It’s eleven a.m. on a summer morning. Color won’t kill you.”
For the record, I am wearing a black prairie-esque dress that is modest and paired with the most cowgirl-ish combat boots I could find.
They might actually be corsair boots, but they’re gorgeous and close enough to the style my family gravitates toward.
Pirates and cowboys surely have similar taste in women.
It’s hot country-chic, gothic elegance at its finest. I’m not sure what they want from me.
“My hair is silver, my eyes are blue, and my necklace is amethyst. I’m practically a rainbow,” I counter, plugging in my Crock-Pot. “I brought the chicken and dumplings.”
“Oh, that was … thoughtful.” My mother keeps stirring. “But Eden already made that.”
Eden casts an impudent grimace in my direction that reminds me to take the high road.
“That’s odd since I texted Eden that I’d be making them, but at least it’s a loved dish. It won’t go to waste.”
“It’s Vi’s favorite, so I didn’t want to take a chance …” Eden leaves her insinuation dangling.
It’s the one accusation that boils my blood and cuts me deep. I am a lot of things, but I am never the person who doesn’t show up.
“Oh, sweetie,” my mother coos, reading my face like only moms can do.
“It’s fine. Maybe you could take it back home and even freeze it.
I’m sure you have a lot of dinners alone.
” After she twists the dagger my sister speared me with, she wipes her hands and saunters toward me, wrapping me in a hug.
“You don’t have to be alone. There’s someone anxious to see you. ”
Right. It’s so simple. Live life according to their rules and be accepted. It infuriates me, and yet I was doing okay when I gave in a little, until …
An unwelcome flash of that horrific night smacks me in the face.
Her cry hits my ears a second before I turn the corner.
I pull the knitting needle from my hair—it’s sharp.
It was a gift from my mother, even though she knew I didn’t knit.
I told her I’d put it to good use and proceeded to pull my silver strands into an updo with it, which actually made her crack a smile.
I’ve worn it in my hair for months as a reminder that we’re bridging things.
My locks cascade down my shoulders. It’s the last sensation I feel before blistering rage cloaks me.
“Please stop,” she whimpers, and he slaps her across the face.
He’s too incensed to hear me, and she’s too traumatized.
I creep the few remaining steps toward them and slam my fist into his carotid artery, my knitting needle lancing him so deep that the blood spurts out like a geyser. He topples backward, flopping to the floor and jolting like a fish.
If actions are our anthem, is this a ballad of valor or homicide?
“Oh my God, Tessa. What did you do? What the hell did you do?”
I stare at the bastard who defiled her. “I think I killed him.”
His eyes are jarred open, and the crimson pool encompassing him is soaking into the antique tongue-and-groove floor. I’m a bit stunned, noticing the way the moonlight gleams on it. Wet things are so pretty.
I must be going into shock, dissociating, so I shake it off and turn back to her. “You’re gonna be okay.”
“Call the police,” she wheezes, folding in on herself and sobbing.
Taking in the scene again, I already know there will be a lot of questions, and … I attacked him from behind. I’m covered in blood. I’ll be fighting for my life, and she’ll have to tell everyone what happened. My freedom will be contingent upon her reliving her hell. There’s a better way.
I drop down beside her, pull her into my arms, and drag a blanket over us. “I’ll call for help.”
My mother rubs between my shoulder blades, soothing me and drawing me back to the present. “What’s going on? You’re so tense. Are you nervous about seeing Hunter?”
She can read my face but understands very little about me.
“I’m okay,” I assure her, right before Eden starts hissing about something and corralling both of us into the coat closet.
This is where we share secrets. It’s like one of those terrible summer camp experiences where whoever is holding the baton gets to say whatever the hell they want. Regardless of what’s happening in the rest of the house, gloves come off in the closet.
The sunlight streaming in from the seams of the door and an amber-tinted night-light highlight Eden’s glower. “You brought your La Lune Noire goons here?”
Yeah, I knew that would be a problem, but I hoped no one would notice them since there were so many cars out front.
I suppose reasoning with Maddox was an option, but that could’ve made things worse.
Plus, I’m not opposed to the extra protection for my family and me since he has yet to fill me in on what’s going on.
So, I told the guards I had to stop by a picnic and to please not cause any disturbance. There’s one stationed at the end of the street, running the license plates of everyone who ventures down here. Eden couldn’t know that though. The others are in the driveway.
“Goons? Really?” I huff and roll my eyes.
It’s petulant, but my mother’s jaw is on the floor, and Eden’s hands are on her hips.
This is combat. “There was a string of crimes downtown that my boss got wind of,” I lie, “so anyone off work this weekend was given a security detail. It’s considerate, don’t you think? ”
“Oh, yeah,” Eden whisper-shouts. “They sound like super-sweet gangsters.”
I really can’t fault her there. I’d have had the same response in her position.
My mother is shaking and wringing her hands. “And they’re staying? I need to let your father know. See? This is why—”
“Please don’t make this a big deal when it isn’t. They won’t come near the house.” My eyes snag on a black-and-purple coat. “Is that the ski jacket I wore on my junior-high class trip, Mom? That’s what we should be focusing on. You’re a hoarder.”
“Oh, I am not.” She shoos that away. “You loved that coat.”
“It was mine first,” Eden gloats.
“Actually, it wasn’t,” I correct. “Yours was ugly. It had those gaudy pink princess bows on the shoulders. I ruined it so I could get my own. That’s why I loved it.”
Eden gasps, as if I took scissors to her wedding dress.
“Hush now, girls,” my mother reprimands, moving on. “I plan to make a quilt with it and some of your other things.”
“She made a beautiful one for Anna out of my old dresses,” Eden chimes in.
Anna and Adam are Eden’s kids. They’re nine and six, respectively. She probably tells them I’m possessed by the Devil.
“Can we get out of the closet now?” I ask, feeling like my head is about to explode.
“Only if you promise to hear Hunter out,” my mother boldly says, blocking the door. She’s not generally so outright manipulative.
They’re all so attached to him because he’s been around in some capacity as long as that purple coat.
“And if I don’t,” I snap back, “you’re going to, what, hold me hostage in here with the twenty-year-old quilt garm—”