“Are you guys gonna eat?” Ray asked, digging into her scrambled eggs before volleying her eyes between Noah and me. Then, she scowled. “What’s going on? Noah, what’s wrong?”
Noah shook his head. “Nothing.” Then, he hurried toward the couch and dropped onto it like a sack of potatoes. Crossing his arms and scowling toward the blank TV screen.
Ray stared at her son, stunned and taken aback. “What the heck? Noah, what’s—”
“I got this,” I interrupted gently, holding up a finger to ask for a second alone as I followed Noah into the adjacent living room.
He didn’t even look at me as I approached and crouched in front of him.
“I’m not gonna hurt her,” I said quietly, hoping Ray or her mother couldn’t hear in that little house without adequate soundproofing. This was between us. “And I’m not gonna hurt you either.”
He lifted his worried gaze to mine. “You swear?”
I laid a hand over my heart. “Buddy, you and your mom are the best things to happen to my life in a very, very long time—hell, maybe ever. And I swear I would rather die than hurt either of you.”
He tightened his arms to his chest and loosened the scowl on his face, making way for the panic and worry. “Good, ‘cause I-I don’t think I could actually beat you up, but I’d try.”
It was my turn to scowl. “You try to fight for your mom?”
His head jittered in a nod. “Sometimes,” he muttered.
Judging from the shame touching his downturned eyes and lips, I’d say he wasn’t very good at it.
“How ‘bout I teach you how to kick my ass?” I asked, fighting the urge to clench my own fists. “Just in case.”
Noah’s face was quick to shift from helpless to hopeful in a matter of seconds as his gaze jolted back to mine. “You’d do that?”
“I told you I’d do anything to keep you guys safe, didn’t I? And if that means teaching you to knock me on my ass, then you got it,” I replied, standing up and offering him my hand. “But let’s eat first.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
UPWARD SPIRAL
If someone were to analyze my life from the very start, they’d probably say I had been destined for failure. That no matter how hard my grandparents had tried, things were inevitably going to go south for me, given the circumstances with my mother and the shit she got herself into.
A self-fulfilling prophecy, they’d say when I started tumbling down that dark and twisted path of selling drugs.
And I thought, if I hadn’t ended up in prison, they probably would’ve been right. Because no matter how good my intentions and heart might have been, that road I was on never would’ve taken me anywhere good. Hell, if I hadn’t been locked up, there was a good chance I would’ve been dead by now, killed in a deal gone wrong or some shit like that. I never would’ve been given the chance for redemption. I never would’ve met Harry, I never would’ve gotten a job at The Fisch Market, and I never would’ve met Ray again or her son.
Needless to say, my downward spiral had officially been turned around the moment entered that barb wired fence. And right now, thanks to my second chance in River Canyon, life was definitely on an upswing.
A couple of nights a week, after I came home from the grocery store and did some work on the house, Noah would come over to hang out for a while, and I would teach him how to defend himself. I had no professional training, and I definitely had the advantage of size on my side. But while I couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t get his ass kicked in a fight, I was confident he’d at least get in a couple of decent shots—or make a solid attempt at trying.
Most weeknights, I ate dinner with Ray and Noah. Sometimes, Ray cooked, and sometimes, I did. A couple of times, Noah even took a stab at throwing a meal together. Afterward, we would watch a movie or play a board game together before Noah showered and went to bed while Ray and I made out on the couch.
On the weekends, Noah went to his grandparents’ house, and Ray and I went on our dates. Eating dinner, going for walks, having sex that very quickly began to feel like making love, and sleeping in each other’s arms until the sun came up.
Routine had settled in—a good one—and it struck me one day, as I walked into the grocery store to discover that Howard had finally moved the Produce sign, that life was truly, without a doubt, good.
Finally.
“Where did they put the canned beets?” Helen Kinney, mother to Officer Kinney, muttered to herself that same day, wandering down the aisle pushing a cart. “They were right over here a couple of weeks ago. So, where did—”
I looked up from mopping up a box of shattered sauce jars and pointed to the left. “Oh, all canned vegetables were moved to aisle four.”
She turned and offered a grateful smile. “Thank you so much, Soldier,” she said in her melodic Irish accent. “Why’d they have to go and move everythin’ around?”
I shrugged and leaned against the mop handle. “To make your life a little more difficult, obviously,” I teased.
She laughed lightheartedly. “Certainly feels that way!”
Then, with a wave of her hand, she was off, heading toward aisle four. I got back to my mopping as Mrs. Greta Montgomery tottered down the aisle I was working on.
Now, Mrs. Montgomery was a tough cookie. She was older than sand and bore the resemblance of a turtle with a hunched back, which only made her short stature even shorter. She was also a cranky old woman who didn’t lower her guard easily to newcomers. She didn’t trust me, and she made no secret of that by how she pointed her sour expression in my direction.
“I hope you’re changing the water in that bucket,” she said, jabbing a knobby finger toward the bucket at my feet. “If there’s one thing I hate at the church, it’s when they mop the floor with dirty water.”
I was certain there were a thousand things she hated more, but I wasn’t about to say so. I’d won plenty of fights in my time, but I wasn’t sure I could win against her.
“I’ll be changing it as soon as I’m done cleaning up this mess,” I promised, giving her my biggest grin.
“What’s the point of mopping if you’re just going to use dirty water? Might as well not clean at all.”
“Couldn’t agree more.”
“I feel the same way about that Facebook,” she went on, moving along and pushing the cart past me. “What’s the point of yammering away on there when you can just call someone?”
I shrugged. “I don’t have Facebook, so I couldn’t say.”
She stopped to glance at me with studious eyes. “You’re not on the World Wide Web?”
I stifled a snort as I lifted one shoulder in another shrug. “Not really.”
“How do you talk to people then?”
“I call or text all the people I care to talk to,” I replied. “Although, to be honest with you, most of the people I want to keep in touch with live here anyway, so …”
“What about family?”
“Don’t have family.”
She scoffed, shaking her head. “Everyone has family.”
“I don’t. My grandparents are dead, no aunts or uncles or cousins.”