35. Trick
35
TRICK
My leg is resting on a chair to take the weight off, but it doesn’t help much. If anything, propping it up only makes the dull ache sharper. I grit my teeth, determined not to show a hint of weakness. I might be dopey sometimes, and I might be the “fun one,” but I do know when it’s time to get serious. Right now feels like one of those times.
But I still can’t resist the urge. “You know, we did save your life, so maybe you can let this slide?”
“Do not test me, Trick,” Preacher growls.
But then we hear it. Sirens.
“Let’s put a pin in this for now,” Sam says, trying to bring us together. “We have bigger problems at the moment. Everyone got their story straight?”
“What are you talking about?” Marie asks. “There’s nothing to lie about?—”
“It’d be great if that were true,” I tell her. “But the thing is, those men out there—the bodies and the ones who are about to be bodies—they have wounds that your average minister, librarian, and tattoo artists wouldn’t be able to give them.”
“What’s that mean?”
Hugo explains, “That means it was very dark, and they couldn’t see that they had attacked one another in the dark.” He adds, “I have already shot out the streetlamps. It will make the story plausible.”
“Better to let them explain their own wounds than have us try to explain it,” Sam advises. “Everything else—what you did, how you made Crow leave—that’s fine. They can know about that. You’ll be a hero. But as for the bodies?—”
“We let them take the heat for that?” she asks.
“Precisely.”
When the cops come in, that’s exactly what we tell them. The five of us tell a consistent story about how they tried to force a trade of Preacher for Marie, how they shot out the streetlamps to make it harder to see when we arrived, how they attacked both us and each other in the black confusion. And Marie saved us all with her bravery and a knife to Crow’s dick.
Sheriff Copeland nods once, but a line forms between her brows. She’s not quite buying it. “And Marie, you were at their house late at night for…”
Shit. We didn’t think of an excuse for that. Um?—
“Bible study,” Preacher answers. “Marie’s been trying to convince them to come to church more often.” He puts his arm around her shoulders, and it takes an effort for them to pose as a happy family. “She’s been quite the little missionary.”
It’s all I can do not to make a joke about being inside his little missionary in missionary position, but now’s not the time. At all.
I half think Marie’s about to snap at him for that one. But she lets the lie breathe instead.
“Right. Bible study. You guys are known for being devout, aren’t you?” Sheriff Copeland asks slyly.
I grin. “You know what my favorite verse is, Sheriff? Ezekiel 23:20. Do you know it?”
Preacher winces.
She shakes her head. “I don’t think I do.”
I say, “You should look that one up. Truly enlightening.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She tucks away her tiny pad of paper and pen. “Quite a few bodies out there for them to all be friendly fire victims.”
Sam nods. “You’d think they’d be better at their jobs.”
She scans our faces one more time, then huffs a breath. “That’s really the story you’re making me put in my report? That a bunch of professional human traffickers got extra stupid and ended up killing each other?”
Hugo sidles up to her with a smile. “Come now, Sheriff. Could three tattoo artists, a librarian, and a minister have done all of that? What is more believable?”
She arches a perfectly sculpted brow at him. “Right. Well, I’ve got the parish coroner coming out with some vans and we’ll get everything cleared out in the next few hours. Stay inside, if you can. And on the off chance anybody like the FBI gets interested, keep your story straight so I don’t look like a small-town hick sheriff who didn’t smell your bullshit a mile away.”
“You got it, Sheriff,” I say with a smile.
She and the others get set up for processing outside, leaving the interior of the home just as uneasy as it was an hour ago. It’s as if we were alert puppets when she was in here, and now, somebody cut our strings.
And Marie…this woman just faced down a gang of human traffickers to help rescue her father, and somehow the biggest threat right now is his opinion of her love life. “Dad, you have to understand.”
“I’m trying,” Preacher says, voice low, “really hard…to get my head around this. But every time I try, I find myself coming up short. This goes against everything I believe in. Three men, one woman—my daughter. Not exactly a normal situation.”
Hugo clears his throat, stepping forward with a polite tilt of his head. “Preacher, none of us claim it’s typical. But normal is overrated. We only ask that you listen. We respect Marie. More than that, we?—”
Preacher holds up a hand, cutting him off. “I’m not ready for a lecture on respect and feelings. Not yet.”
I shift uncomfortably, wincing at the persistent throb in my leg. The bandage is tight, but I can feel the blood still seeping a bit. If the bullet had hit two inches higher, I might not ever get to have kids. Guess I got lucky.
Marie places a gentle hand on my shoulder, and warmth radiates through me. She might be behind me, but the contact says I’m here. Preacher’s glare snaps to that spot where her palm rests, and I can practically see him grinding his teeth. But she doesn’t budge.
“You’re hurt,” he says, as if grudgingly acknowledging that might be reason enough not to knock me out. “But don’t think that bullet gives you a free pass forever.”
I swallow. “Wouldn’t dream of it. But you need to understand that she’s the only one for us. This isn’t like all the other times when we’d find someone, have a good weekend, and tell her to bounce come Monday morning. Marie is all I want in the world. Period.”
“Same here,” Hugo says.
Sam nods. “And for me.”
I continue, “We’re in it for the long haul with her. For as long as she’ll have us. So, you need to get on board, Preacher. You’re mad now, and that’s fine. But…actually, I take that back. It’s not fine. Not at all.”
“You trying to tell me I need your approval for my anger?”
“No. I’m trying to tell you that, if love your daughter as much as you say you do, then you’ll trust her to make her own choices.” It’s weird saying things without a joke baked into them, and I’m kind of annoyed that he made me get serious.
“Dammit, Trick, you know I love my daughter!”
“And I also can’t ignore the fact that you and the guys rushed in to save my hide when things got dicey?—”
Preacher’s eyes flash. “ We saved you? Son, that might be overstating it. You put yourself in harm’s way, same as Sam and Hugo. My daughter is the one who saved us. ” He gestures to Marie with that same trembling hand, and she goes still at my back. “What she did out there…she saved us all.”
“Exactly.” I clear my throat, forcing my scattered nerves to settle. “Thanks for bringing that up. Obviously, she’s smarter than all of us. She saw an opportunity, and she stepped up. She’s…she’s incredible. I just wanted to make you say it out loud.”
Preacher glares at me like I’ve sprouted a second head. “I left the service for a reason. Settling down in Auclair was my shot at a normal life. It was her chance too. And the three of you are fucking that up.”
Sam’s voice rumbles behind me. “We’re not fucking anything up for Marie. She’s our mission now.”
Preacher exhales sharply. “Yeah, well, the mission I’m concerned with now is making sure my daughter isn’t…toyed with by three men who don’t know how to settle down.”
My stomach clenches at the word toyed. I open my mouth to protest, but Sam beats me to it.
“She is not a toy,” he says, each word weighted. “I’m not in the habit of messing around when it comes to something serious. If Marie decides one day that she’s done with us, we’ll respect that. But until she changes her mind, she’s ours.”
He says ours in a tone that would make lesser men cower. Even I feel the hairs on my arms stand up.
Marie doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m not changing my mind. I want to belong to them, Dad. And they belong to me.”
Hearing her say that makes me happy. But Preacher clenches his fists at his sides, looking from Marie to Sam, then to me, then Hugo. It’s a five-way stare-down, and not one of us flinches.
Finally, he sucks in a breath through his teeth. “You think I want to see my daughter parading around with three men at once? You think that’s the future I pictured for her?”
Hugo steps in, voice soft. “She is your daughter, but also her own person. And if you look at her, if you really look, you’ll see she’s never been happier. That alone should tell you everything you need to know.”
He exhales a harsh breath, hands still fisted. “I don’t know how else to say this…I don’t like it. I hate it, in fact. But she is grown. And if I’ve learned anything from your little rescue mission tonight, it’s that she won’t listen to anyone once she’s set her mind on something.”
A short silence follows. Sounds like he’s giving up. Maybe this is the closest to acceptance we’re gonna get right now, but it feels like something’s still left unsaid—like Preacher’s holding onto a final trump card. Another ultimatum?
I hope not. I don’t want Marie’s happiness to come at the cost of her only family.
“Dad,” she says, tone gentler, “I appreciate you letting me live my life. Even if you hate it, it means a lot that you won’t keep trying to bully me out of it.”
“I won’t.” I watch Preacher’s throat work as he swallows. Anger creases his brow, and for a heartbeat, I think he’s about to snap again. But then, in an abrupt motion, he throws up his hands. “You want to thank me? Don’t. This isn’t me giving a blessing. It’s more like an admission of defeat.”
A pang hits my chest. I might be on the outs with him for the rest of my life, but at least he’s not throwing me through the nearest window or telling us all to leave and never come back. I guess that’s something.
Sam clears his throat. “Preacher, for what it’s worth, we do want your approval eventually. Maybe once things settle and you’ve had time?—”
“Time,” Preacher interrupts. “Right. I suppose that’s all I can give.” Then his eyes narrow, turning slightly to Marie. “And your mother’s not here to weigh in on this, but I’m sure she’d— Actually, I don’t know what she’d think. You Durand women always did follow your own drummer.”
Marie’s face tightens at the mention of her mom, but she nods slowly. “Yeah,” she admits, voice laced with old hurt. “Dad, can we not go there tonight? Everything’s already…messed up.”
“Fine. I’ll stop talking. But if you want to make this official, or whatever it is, you’ll do so under my disapproving watch. We clear?”
Before any of us can nod or confirm, he adds, almost as an afterthought, “And since she’s about to…” He breaks off abruptly, like he’s reconsidering finishing that sentence.
A prickling sense of alarm travels up my spine. Preacher’s about to drop some bomb. Sam must sense it too, because he straightens, folding his arms tighter against his broad chest. Hugo tenses, a flicker of confusion passing over his composed features. And Marie…well, I can’t see her face from this angle, but I feel her entire body go rigid beside me.
Preacher sighs, scrubbing a hand over his mouth as though he’s cursing himself for saying too much. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
I’m not one to let a thread like that go unexplored. “Since she’s about to what ? You said something about her mother not weighing in. But that’s not what you were going to say next, was it?”
The truth is, Marie’s smart. Too smart for the likes of me. Since she came back to us, in the back of my mind, I’ve had that doubt. The suspicion that she’ll realize it, and end things. Or maybe that she’ll want to leave Auclair and go back to school for another degree. Or that she’d do anything but be with us.
Now, with a hole in my leg, I’m not exactly doing my best work picking up on subtext.
Sam’s eyes flick to Marie, then to Preacher, then back again. Hugo’s face is perfectly still, but I know he’s putting two and two together. My heart thuds painfully. We’ve been accused of having psychic conversations before because we move so well as a unit. Right now, I really fucking wish that were true.
Marie’s hand tightens on my forearm. Almost painfully so. “Dad…don’t.”
His glare softens, flicking to Marie. “You haven’t told them, have you?”
“Told us what?” Sam demands, stepping forward. Hugo glances at Marie with a quiet question in his eyes. They’re suspicious. I’m suspicious. Only Preacher and Marie know the punch line, apparently, and neither looks happy about it.
Marie exhales a trembling sigh, stepping away from me. The warmth of her hand disappears, leaving me cold. “Dad. Please. Not like this.”
“You think I want to be the one to spill it?” Preacher retorts, frustration cracking his voice. “You’re the one who blurted it out to me in a panic. Don’t lay this on me.”
“Blurted what out?” My voice is surprisingly hoarse, like my throat’s closing up. “Marie…talk to us.”
Her gaze collides with mine. “Guys…I was going to tell you. I just didn’t know how or when or if it was even the right time?—”
“Marie,” Sam says softly. “Spit it out.”
She inhales, shoulders trembling. “I—” she starts, then seems to lose the words.
My mind races with possibilities. Is it worse than leaving town for college? Is she sick? Dying? Did something happen during the fight we don’t know about?
Please, God, no.
Preacher finally exhales, waving a dismissive hand. “She’s about to have a baby, alright? She’s pregnant. There. Now you know.”
For three long seconds, the world stops spinning. In fact, everything stops. My breath hitches in my chest. Sam goes rigid, Hugo’s jaw drops, and Marie freezes.
Wait. This has to be a joke, right? Or maybe I passed out. It’s happened before when I was knocked in the head. “Erm, guys, I got smacked around a lot during that fight. I’m pretty sure I didn’t hear that right, because I thought you guys said something about Marie having a baby.”
But none of them break their nervous expressions. Hers only gets worse. She takes a breath, and says, “Well…”