27. Jameson
JAMESON
W ith Leah Mae at the spa with my sister, I spent the afternoon in my shop. My deadline was looming, and I still didn’t know how to finish the piece.
Dee had told me in the beginning that the client loved my style, and he’d prefer to let me use my creativity, rather than him dictating what he wanted.
I had the front elevation of the building—a drawing that showed what the facade was going to look like—and the location he’d reserved for my sculpture.
But aside from that, I didn’t have any direction.
I’d been excited by that in the beginning. It meant I could take any direction I wanted. And at first, I’d planned to create something that echoed the lines of the building. But what I’d actually sculpted was completely different than anything I’d done before.
I walked around her in a slow circle. She was ten feet tall and no doubt one of the heaviest things I’d ever made. It was going to take an engine hoist and probably some creative engineering to get her on the truck that would haul her to Charlotte. But we’d manage .
Usually my work looked like what it was—something made of scrap metal. That had its own beauty, and I was proud of my other pieces. But this didn’t look like she’d been made of scrap—hardly looked like metal at all. I’d taken so much care with each section, making everything flow together smoothly.
She sat in a cage shaped like an old-fashioned birdcage, her knees against her chest, her hands gripping the bars. Large wings drooped from her back, the tips brushing the ground outside the bars. Her head tipped forward, her face angled down.
An angel in a cage.
But she still wasn’t finished. And it was killing me that I didn’t know why.
I was running low on time, but I couldn’t deliver a piece that wasn’t done—wasn’t perfect.
As she stood, I was proud of her. There was no doubt in my mind it was the best work I’d ever done.
But I had to figure out what else she needed.
I’d never had this problem before, and it was driving me crazy.
My phone rang, making me jump. Luckily I didn’t have something hot in my hands. Didn’t want to admit how many little burn scars were the result of being startled when I was lost in thought out here.
It was Deanna.
“Hey, Dee.”
“Jameson,” she said. “Please tell me you’re almost finished.”
“I’m almost finished.”
“Are you lying?” she asked.
I cleared my throat. I wasn’t strictly lying. Almost was a relative term, and I was sure once I figured out what she needed, it wouldn’t take too long to finish. I hoped. “No. I’m looking at it now, and there’s not much left to do before it’ll be ready.”
She let out a noisy breath. “Oh thank god. Okay, they’re beefing up security at the opening, what with you being a sudden gossip-celebrity.”
I groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
“Kind of hard to avoid,” she said. “The girl’s pretty, though. You sure you know what you’re doing with her?”
A flicker of anger made me clench my fist, but Dee simply didn’t know the truth. “Yeah, I’ve known Leah Mae since we were kids.”
“Huh,” she said. “Regardless, your client is of course aware of the circumstances, and everyone there will be prepared.”
I still hated that I had to go, but there was no use grumbling about it. “All right, good to know. Thanks, Dee.”
“Sure,” she said. “You bringing her with you?”
“I’d like to.”
“Okay,” she said. “If she was just some sweet country girl from Bootleg Springs, it wouldn’t matter too much. But since she’s Leah Larkin, it does.”
I sighed. “She is just a sweet girl from Bootleg.”
“Right. Well, I’ll have the shipping company get in touch. I have you on their schedule, but they’ll need to coordinate with you for pick-up.”
“Sounds good. Thanks.”
“No problem,” she said. “Talk soon.”
“Bye, Dee.”
I hung up the phone and put it in my back pocket. At least she wasn’t trying to set me up with her niece anymore.
Tonight was poker night with my brothers, so after covering the sculpture, I went inside to shower and change.
Poker night rotated locations, and players, but the basics were always the same.
Food, beer, cards, and betting. We didn’t usually mess around with big money, especially when Scarlett was playing—that girl always cleaned up.
Five or ten to buy in was standard, and the most I’d ever won was a hundred bucks.
It was more about having a good time than winning a bunch of money off each other.
Truth be told, I kept my winnings and just kept rotating them in each new game. Sometimes I was up, sometimes I was down, but so far, I always had a bit of poker cash. Reckoned if I ran out, that was my cue to quit going to poker night.
Devlin was hosting tonight, and he had us out at Build-a-Shine. It had once been an old speakeasy, and now you could craft your own moonshine from their impressive selection of flavors. They also had a back room you could reserve for things like poker or birthday parties.
Jonah and I drove into town together and found our way to Build-a-Shine’s back room.
A round table surrounded by chairs was in the center, and there was food off to one side.
My mouth watered. Dev had found someone—I knew it wasn’t him, he was a worse cook than my sister—to serve up a taco bar.
There were tortillas, meat, cheese, beans, guacamole, and all the fixin’s you could ever want.
That spread was worth losing some money for.
Devlin was at the table with a beer and a plate, as was Bowie. Nash occupied another chair. I said my hellos, grabbed myself a plate, and loaded it up with tacos. Grabbed a beer from a bucket of ice and found a seat.
Gibson sauntered in and I slumped a bit. I’d been hoping Gibs might decide to sit this one out. He and I still hadn’t patched things up after our almost-fight at Bowie’s. Granted, he’d backed me up when it came to Leah Mae, but that didn’t mean what was going on between us was over.
Not that I expected an apology. Bodines didn’t generally apologize, and Gibson had taken that trait to a new level of stubbornness. But I’d be glad when we could both look at each other without angry glares. I had enough on my mind without dealing with my grumpy-ass brother.
As if he wanted to make sure I knew he was still angry, he paused next to the table, held the back of a chair, and glared at me.
I glared right back, meeting his eyes. Gibs was older, and bigger, but I was not going to let him intimidate me.
I’d go toe to toe with him any day of the week.
If he was gonna be like Dad and think I was weak, he was dead wrong.
“Grab some food and let’s get started,” Devlin said.
Apparently a taco bar was a bigger draw than trying to stare down his younger brother, because Gibs tore his eyes away and loaded up a plate. When everyone had taken a seat, we all tossed in our cash, got our chips, and Dev started dealing.
I kept my eyes on my cards and sipped my beer. Bowie and Jonah got into a heated, but good-natured, discussion about football. Gibson stayed mostly quiet, but that was typical. We played a few hands, ate some food, and drank our beers. I relaxed a bit. Seemed like tonight was going to go just fine.
My phone buzzed, so I checked. Leah Mae had texted me a photo of her and Scarlett with something smeared all over their faces, and they looked to be laughing. It said, looking sexy at our spa visit earlier .
Me: There’s my beautiful girl.
“Quit texting during the game,” Gibson said .
I eyed him. He was looking to start a fight, and I wasn’t sure if I was going to indulge him or not. Probably best to ignore him. But just to show that I wasn’t letting him get to me, I sent her another text.
Me: Have fun tonight.
“God, Jameson, quit being an ass,” Gibson said.
“I’m pretty sure I’m not the ass here.” I put my phone down. “You have that title squared away nicely.”
The tension in the room thickened, eyes darting around over fanned-out cards. Looking between me and Gibson.
“At least I’m not draggin’ everyone else through my shit,” Gibson said.
“Why the fuck are you making this about you?” I asked. “You’re not the one being followed around town. Who has to duck when he goes anywhere because every person with a cell phone has a damn camera. Why the hell are you letting this piss you off so much?”
“Because you didn’t give a shit about what this would do to our family,” Gibson said. “You were just thinkin’ with your dick.”
“Fuck you, Gibson.”
Gibson tossed his cards on the table. “No, fuck you.”
“Guys, come on,” Bowie said. “Let’s just play.”
My first instinct was to throw my cards on the table and walk out.
Go home. My brother could go fuck himself.
I didn’t have to take his shit. But I was getting damn tired of Gibson’s angry streak being aimed at me.
Growing up, I hadn’t ever been Gibson’s target.
He’d usually been the one sticking up for me, both at home and at school.
I didn’t like being the recipient of his assholery.
“You need to back the hell off, Gibs,” I said. “Mind your damn business. ”
“This is my business.” He took a slice of olive off his plate and popped it in his mouth.
That smug bastard. I grabbed a chunk of tomato and flicked it at him. “No, it ain’t.”
The juicy tomato stuck to his shirt and slid slowly down his chest, leaving a wet trail and a few seeds behind. His jaw worked, his teeth grinding.
Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I did. I dug at him a little more. “You got something on your shirt, Gibs.”
Bowie snickered, and it was all over.
Gibson tossed an entire taco at me. The contents—mostly meat and cheese—spilled into my lap. Bowie shouted something, but Gibson had already thrown food in his direction.
“You ass,” Bowie said, and tossed some avocado at Gibson.
I grabbed what was left of Gibson’s taco and threw it at him—hard.