Rev by Jeanne St. James
Chapter Fourteen
“We can leaveand go home, or stay the night since the room’s paid for.” Rev paced the small motel room with a restlessness he couldn’t rid himself of. It was like hundreds of fingernails scratching at him under his skin.
He thought he would feel better once he lifted the pillow and saw the blank stare, gaped mouth and unmoving chest of John Schmidt.
It hadn’t given him any satisfaction, especially since the man had been too weak to struggle. Rev had wanted him to fight and panic. Maybe even beg. Instead, the bastard welcomed the end with open arms.
Rev scrubbed the hand holding his hand-rolled cigarette back and forth over his hair as he took long strides across the short length of the small room.
He paused, lifted the whiskey bottle clutched in his other hand to his lips, tipped his head back and let the liquid worm its way down to his gut. He picked up his pacing again, swiping his palm over his hair for the hundredth time, unable to see anything but the man’s lifeless face in his mind’s eye.
By the time he had finished in the sitting room of his childhood residence and went outside to leave, Matthew’s cage was already gone and so was he. The man was smart to leave when he did, because Rev might have finished off the job if he’d gone out and saw him again.
What greeted him instead was Reilly leaning against his Bronco with her arms crossed over her chest and a very unhappy expression on her face.
Now sitting on their bed and watching him pace like a caged tiger, her mood hadn’t improved.
But then, neither had his.
“I don’t think you’re in any condition to drive.”
“Hate this fuckin’ place.” His feet stopped, he took another long swallow of the amber liquor and then returned to wearing a path in the carpet. “You drive, then. You drive stick, right?”
She grimaced. “No. I asked Rook to teach me.”
“Rook ain’t teachin’ you.”
“No shit since I don’t know how to drive stick,” she huffed.
He ignored her annoyed tone. “I’ll teach you. Shoulda asked me.”
“Really? I did. You blew me off.”
He stopped his pacing and spun toward her. “Think I needed that fuckin’ temptation so close to me when no one else is around? Both of us on some back fuckin’ road, alone in a cage together? Right.” He blew out a breath.
A smile grew across her face and she waved a hand down her body from her head to her toes. “You can’t resist all this, huh? Hot and tempting, like a donut fresh from the fryer.”
He narrowed his eyes on her. “What the fuck are you blatherin’ about?”
She rolled her eyes. “Never mind. You’re struggling to focus and I’m wasting my genius sense of humor on you right now.”
“Ya think?” He sucked down another mouthful of Jack. The smoke from his hand-rolled swirled in a white ribbon toward the ceiling.
She held out her hand from where she sat on their bed, propped against the headboard. “Give me some of that.”
“Not if you’re drivin’.” She probably just wanted to get the Jack away from him so he’d stop drinking.
“Listen, I know you’ve got a lot on your mind right now, but we just had this discussion, Rev. I can’t drive stick and unless you’re going to teach me in the next couple of hours, with how much you’ve already drank, we’re not going anywhere. We’re staying right here. And, honestly, I think it’s for the best. You need to process what the hell went on today and also what you learned. We both do. While this doesn’t have to be decided tonight, you also need to figure out what you’ll tell Saylor, if anything. If we head home tonight, we’ll end up going our separate ways and you won’t have anyone to talk to about this.”
That was a lot of fucking words jamming themselves in his already full head for her to simply say they should stay put for the night.
But, for fuck’s sake, she was right. He’d already downed a third of the Jack Daniels in the bottle he carried like a security blanket. He needed to smoke a bowl and, once his thoughts stopped ping-ponging around his brain, wrap his head around all the shit he learned barely over an hour ago.
Like the fact he had tainted blood. Both he and Saylor did. It might not be anything he could change but it was something he could forget.
He hoped to fuck he could. He didn’t want this haunting him for the rest of his life. He didn’t need the reminder that his twisted blood wasn’t any better than the Shirleys, those redneck motherfuckers who used to live up the mountain and probably would return as soon as the feds were done processing their compound.
Those goat fuckers weren’t his problem right now. He needed to figure out what to tell the most important person in his life. Saylor.
It might be best not to say anything at all. What would be the point other than to take a bad situation and make it a million times worse. He wanted to spare her any more pain. And finding out their uncle was also her father might send her spinning out of control like a hubcap falling off a vehicle while speeding down the highway.
Since arriving in Manning Grove and settling in with Judge and Cassie, she’d been doing really well. They were the best thing that ever happened to his sister and he’d hate to see that change. For once her life had been traveling a steady and smooth path instead of a crazy, bumpy roller coaster.
No, this was a secret he should take to his fucking grave. But he needed Reilly to keep it, too. She couldn’t say a fucking word to anyone.
“Ain’t gonna tell anyone about this, Reilly. Don’t even need to decide what to tell Saylor besides that our ‘father’ is now dead. It’s better she don’t know the truth. That means you can’t say a fuckin’ word.”
He paused and turned toward the bed, tucking his cigarette in his mouth and flooding his lungs with quality Amish tobacco. Just smoke and the booze wouldn’t do the trick. He was still wrapped as tight as a rubber band ball. One that was ready to snap and then explode into a thousand tiny pieces.
“I agree. She doesn’t need to know. It won’t change anything. I assume if it didn’t affect her, it shouldn’t affect her future children…”
He blinked. Future children? “Yeah, since we don’t plan on repeatin’ history with the brother-sister fuckin’ thing, I’m thinkin’ her kids will be good.”
“So will yours.”
He blinked again. “So will my what?”
“Kids,” she answered, sounding exasperated. Like she was tired of talking to a two-year-old.
“What kids?”
She shot him an irritated look. “Yourfuture kids. Holy shit, Rev. This is why we’re not going anywhere tonight. Your mind is a fucking mess!”
“No shit,” he muttered, taking another pull off the bottle and chasing it with a deep draw on his hand-rolled.
He never thought about having kids before because he’d first need to get himself an ol’ lady who’d be willing to have them. He was in no rush to claim an ol’ lady, either. He had plenty of time before he would even think about settling down and having only one woman in his bed.
Not only one woman, but the same one. Over and over.
He’d need to find one who wouldn’t annoy the fuck out of him. Or bore him, either.
One who liked to fuck. Was loyal. Would be a good mother to those non-existent snot monkeys.
He shook his head at his stupid thoughts and took another swig of whiskey to wash them away.
“You need food in your stomach if you plan on drowning your problems.”
“Yeah. Later,” he said distractedly. His gaze sliced from her to the drawer of the nightstand. Within two long strides, he was there, ripping it open and pulling out the motel-provided pad of paper and pen.
He went over to the counter that doubled as a desk and sat down, plugging the cigarette between his lips and planting the bottle on the countertop, keeping it within reach. “You know how to pack a bowl?” he threw over his shoulder.
He jumped when her voice came from behind him. “Not like you guys.”
He shook his head. “Grab the shit and bring it here.”
“That sure didn’t sound like an ask. That sounded like a demand.”
He glanced up from the blank pad of paper before him. He twisted in the seat, snagged both of her hands and pulled her between his spread thighs. She extracted one hand free of his and combed it through his hair, her expression switching from annoyed to soft in a second flat.
“I understand your world just got flipped upside down, but don’t take it out on me,” she said softly.
He closed his eyes and gently squeezed the one hand he still held before lifting it to his mouth and brushing his lips over her knuckles.
“I’m sorry this is happening to you,” came out of her on a wispy breath.
“Sorry for bein’ a dick.”
“You’re not being a dick, your brain is just on overload. I get it. My worry is that if I wasn’t here right now to stop you, you’d be driving home drunk. Or trying to, anyway.”
He had no idea what he’d be doing. Reilly being with him was one reason he had kept a tight grip on his fury. If she hadn’t been, he might be in custody of the pigs right now because, in his rage, he probably would have massacred everyone in that house. If his grandfather was still alive, he also would’ve gone over to that motherfucker’s house and done the same to him.
Not his grandfather. His father. Jesus fuck, his grandfather-father.
He wrapped his arms around Reilly’s waist and buried his face against her stomach, taking a moment to simply breathe. She smelled like a combination of her citrus body wash and whatever detergent she used to wash her clothes. But breathing her in still dulled the razor sharp edge slicing through him a notch.
One hand played along his hair, while her other stroked his back and he realized at that very fucking moment, he’d never been comforted like this. He’d never been held or hugged before this trip with Reilly.
Then he realized maybe Saylor hadn’t, either.
Having sex with someone was just that. Bodies slapping together, plain and simple, until all the parties involved got off. But holding someone because they needed to feel comforted, wanted or even understood… It was an entirely different thing.
He’d been missing this kind of contact his whole fucking life. The only time he’d had anything similar to this was when he snuck into Sarah’s bedroom and held her until she stopped crying. But every time he went in to help settle her to sleep, it made him more annoyed and filled him with even more hatred because he shouldn’t have been the one to do it. Even worse, it shouldn’t have needed to be done in the first place.
He would go in after the fact desperate to fix what John Schmidt broke.
He sucked another long breath in through his nose, trying to inhale Reilly the same as he would pot. To share her calmness and let it wash over and through him.
Once he got home, whether Saylor wanted it or not, he was grabbing his sister and hugging her so fucking hard. He needed to remind her that he was there for her no matter what. He also needed to show her instead of just saying the damn words.
Words spoken could be empty. They could also be full of lies.
When Reilly’s cheek pressed to the top of his head, he tightened his arms around her, pulling her into him even closer.
He had no idea how long he clung to her, but she never got tired and pulled away. As long as he was holding on, she remained holding on to him. There was something so goddamn healing about it.
Now he wished he’d held Sarah a lot more before he ran away. Once he left, she didn’t even have that. She had nothing.
He left her with nothing.
For fuck’s sake, he never should have left.
He should have stayed. For her. Then figured out a way to get them both out of that situation.
He fucked up. His fuck-up fucked her up even more. He was partly to blame.
Reilly cupped his face and lifted it to hers. She kissed him lightly and when she moved to pull away, he stopped her and took her mouth even deeper.
He wanted to hold her again, but while he was inside her. Not just to fuck her, but something more. Unfortunately, his head wasn’t there yet. He needed to get it there by smoothing out his jumbled thoughts first.
He ended the kiss and she pressed her forehead to his. “Wanna fuck you,” he whispered.
“Same,” she whispered back. “But that’s not going to happen if you get trashed.” She went to move away again and he let her go this time. “I’ll grab your pipe.”
“In a minute, help me figure this out. Sit.”
“There’s nowhere to sit. There’s only one chair.”
“My lap makes a good seat.”
She gave him a soft smile, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and settled on his lap. “Yes, you’re right, when nothing is poking me, it does.”
“Makes an even better seat when I’m hard.”
“When we’re both naked.”
“We’re both gonna be naked soon. Think I want you to ride my dick in this chair.”
“You think it can handle that action? It’s a cheap motel chair.”
He shrugged. “We break it, I’ll pay for it. Might be worth the cost.”
“Might not be worth the hurt if it breaks and we land hard on the ground.”
“We’ll figure it out. Need to figure this out first so I can try to put that shit outta my head… for now.”
“Do you think writing it down will help it make sense?”
“None of it will make fuckin’ sense.” But seeing it spelled out in front of him might help him wrap his head around it.
“True,” she murmured, her fingertips strumming the back of his neck.
That kind of touch shouldn’t make him hard, but it did. Despite his messed up head, he couldn’t ignore the fact he wanted her. More now than ever.
He curled his left hand around the pen so he could write one name on each rectangular sheet he tore free from the rest of the pad.
“I never realized you were a lefty before. Is Saylor?”
“Think so.”
“You don’t know?”
“She was still pretty young when I left, and I never paid attention if I saw her write.”
“How about when she colored with crayons? You should’ve noticed it then.”
He lifted his face to her in answer.
That was all it took for her cheeks to darken in anger. “You weren’t even allowed to color?”
If they wanted to do anything normal kids did, they had to do it away from the house, usually at school. Like when he got a chance to play baseball. He really wanted to play on a team, but that had been forbidden.
Once he had all the names written on the slips of papers, he lined them up along the counter. One name he omitted was John Schmidt since the bastard had no blood tie to him or Saylor. The man didn’t deserve one more thought.
He slid the paper with his grandfather’s name, Lorne, to the top edge of the counter. Under that he placed two more each with the names Rachel and Matthew. “Father, son and daughter.”
“That would be simple if those leaves on that family tree remained that way.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, moving both sheets with the names Michael and Sarah under his mother’s name. “This is what it should look like. Ain’t what it ended up bein’.”
He took the pen, drew an arrow from Sarah’s name to their mother’s name, then drew another arrow angled toward Matthew’s name, Sarah’s real father. He also drew an arrow pointing from his own birth name to Rachel. Then another arrow pointing up toward Lorne, Rev’s grandfather who also was his father.
He stared at those sheets, knowing he wasn’t finished. That more arrows needed to be drawn. But he couldn’t.
He fucking couldn’t. Instead, he took the pen and scribbled angrily over the names until the pen snapped and ink began to leak. “Fuckin’ motherfucker!” He threw the pen across the room and surged from the chair, forcing Reilly to her feet so she wouldn’t tumble to the carpet.
With his back turned to her and the counter, he scrubbed at his forehead.
Seeing it laid out before him didn’t make it better, it made it so much fucking worse. It was impossible to straighten out a crooked branch without breaking it.
And he was about to break.
“Grab your lighter,” she suggested from behind him.
Yeah, good idea since he really needed to get baked. He strode over to the nightstand, snagged his tin, pipe and lighter and when he turned, he saw her gathering the slips of paper from wherever they landed and stacking them together neatly.
She tipped her head toward the door. “Outside. Just bring the lighter.”
She headed out the door, leaving it open with an obvious expectation for him to follow. A few seconds later he forced himself outside, not bothering to close the door behind him. Most likely because she wasn’t wearing any shoes, she only went as far as the edge of the concrete sidewalk, where she squatted down and crumpled up the sheets of paper. Once it was in a ball, she held her hand up, not bothering to look behind her.
Once he placed the lighter in her hand, she flicked it until a flame ignited and she held it to one edge of the crumpled ball. A few second later it caught and began to burn.
When she rose, he stepped up to her and she moved to stand next to him, snaked an arm around his waist and leaned her head into his side. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
She had been his rock these last few days. Solid and supportive. Understanding and, for the most part, patient. Having her lean against him while he held her felt… right. Like they did it all the time and it was normal between them.
He couldn’t imagine anyone else but her coming along on this trip.
Thank fuck she had insisted on coming along.
Thank fuck she was a pushy, stubborn smart-ass.
Thank fuck she understood how fucked up parents could be.
They stood watching the tiny fire until it burned out and nothing but ashes remained. A light April breeze eventually blew the flaky ash away and they watched it disappear.
“There,” she finally whispered. “Gone for good. Both of our evil pasts are now reduced to ashes. Never to be thought about again. Deal?”
Never to be thought about again.
Once again, she was right.
He needed to forget what he heard and never think about it again.
He needed to move forward and leave this all fucking behind him and never look back again. Never return. Whether physically or mentally.
None of those people who used to be family were worth one more fucking moment of his time or effort.
Unlike the woman pinned to his side.
He turned her in his arms and tipped his head down to her. “Fuckin’ love you, woman.”
Whoa.
He blinked and his heart began to thump.
What the fuck did he just say? Was he that drunk already? Did that really come out of his mouth?
For a moment, he thought—and hoped—she would act like he never said it. That she would ignore how fucking asinine that unexpected declaration was.
Unfortunately, she didn’t ignore it. Instead, she sighed softly, patted his stomach in a patronizing way, and said, “That’s just the whiskey and messed-up emotions talking, Rev. You don’t mean that.”
Fuck him, she didn’t ignore it but blew it off, instead.
As she headed back into the room, he stood frozen on the spot and watched her disappear inside.
It hit him right then and there like a two-by-four across his forehead that she was wrong.
So fucking wrong.
What he said wasn’t because of the whiskey or his fucked-up head.
It wasn’t because of that at all.
Holy.
Fuckin’.
Shit.
