Broken Halo: The Montgomery Series, Book 2 Page 9

  He nods again but that’s it. He gives me nothing more.

  I don’t know if it was a broken condom or one of those few times we thought we were being careful but weren’t, because when we’re together, everything else melts away. It doesn’t matter now and I don’t care.

  Looking to the floor at his filthy boots, covered in dirt from the very land that’s been in my family for generations, the same land he works for my father, Trig contemplates … something.

  What’s he thinking? Because I know for a fact that dirt is a reminder to him just how different we are, but to me, it’s what brought us together.

  It’s my yin to his yang. He sees obstacles—every single one of them. All I see is us.

  When he looks up, his light blue eyes are different. They’re not upset.

  And I exhale because they’re not unhappy, either.

  A ghost of a smile kisses his full lips and my fingers itch to touch him. “March ninth is gonna rock our world.”

  I bring a hand up to my flat tummy. “It is.”

  He loses the smile. “Love you, angel.”

  I nod and he becomes blurry as my tears come heavy. “I know you do.”

  He comes to me and I’m up, wrapped in arms that I love more than anything.

  Other than our baby.

  I’ve known for less than twenty-four hours and my heart can’t take it. It’s bursting for the love we made together. And for Trig.

  For us.

  I wrap my legs around his waist and his lips bruise mine with a kiss I’ll never forget. When he touches his forehead to mine, we both have to catch our breath and he says, “I’ll figure it out. As long as your daddy doesn’t kill me first, I promise to make you happy.”

  I press my lips to his. No harm will ever come to Trig Barrett by the hands of my father. I’ll stand in the way if I have to.

  “As long as I have you, I’ll always be happy.”

  * * *

  It all comes flooding back. Like it happened yesterday, not years ago.

  Eli called Jen after sending poor Quinn home before I was able to get hold of myself. I’m sure I’ll never see her again and I’ll have to find someone else who barely knows payroll and wants to help me learn how to run a business. I really liked her, too, and thought we’d become friends.

  I mean, as much as two people can become friends during an interview and the first three hours of working together.

  And since my only true friend was buried a few days ago, I was hoping there might be a possibility that Quinn might be friend material.

  If she’s smart, she’ll stay far away from the freak show I’ve become.

  Eli assured me he’d take care of Griffin until Jen got there. Trig packed me and my stuff up in his G Class, and before I could stop crying, we were off. I was too upset to refuse or argue.

  But Trig didn’t take me home.

  I’m not sure my heart can take anything more today—hell, I’m not sure how much more it can withstand this decade. But here I am, sitting in a place I’ve sat so many times before but right now it feels different. Looking out the back windows of Faye’s house toward the lake, I listen to Trig banging around her kitchen.

  The teapot whistles and I pull my T-shirt up to dry my eyes. Pavlov’s theory is a real thing because right now I want nothing more than for Faye to walk into her sunroom and hand me a hot cup of tea, followed by a kiss right on top of my head.

  Over the past few months, our roles reversed. I’d make her tea and kiss her on her bald head that was usually covered in a wrap. Now I only have my memories.

  I never thought I’d return to Faye’s home. All the moments I’ve spent here with her—both happy and hard—come flooding back.

  Trig sets a steaming mug on the end table next to me where I’m curled in the corner of her white sofa. His expensive dress shirt is rumpled and stained with my mascara. He looks almost as tired as I feel and I wonder if he got any sleep last night after he left my house.

  I shouldn’t care about his sleep.

  I pick up the mug and my words come out rough. “Your mom always fixed me tea.”

  He sighs. “Me too and I don’t drink tea.”

  I put the mug to my lips and watch a robin fluttering around the dry bird bath in her flower garden that needs weeding. I wonder what he’s going to do with her house.

  “Your in-laws have been making calls to Texas and Eli doesn’t think it has anything to do with their dead son. Eli can’t figure out how they have a connection to the numbers they’re calling. He’s looking into them but so far isn’t coming up with much.”

  I’m not sure what I expected when we ended up at Faye’s house, but it wasn’t to have a chat about my legal issues. I take a sip and shrug. “Who knows why they do anything.”

  He settles into his deep club chair. “They’ve been making payments to a private investigator out of Houston since the day after their son died.”

  I grip my mug and my eyes fly to his. “What?”

  Trig nods. “Eli thinks they didn’t want to raise any flags by hiring someone local, but the guy has been traveling to the Dallas area for the last few months. Eli said his reputation is iffy at best. He’s not known for working a clean case, let alone by the book.”

  I frown. “Does Eli work by the book?”

  He shrugs. “I hope not. But in this case, he means this guy is known for investigations that are a means to an end, not always the truth. If your in-laws want to make a statement or bring you low, this would be the guy to find dirt on you, or, if there’s nothing to find, contrive something so it fits their goals.”

  “Shit,” I mutter and take another sip before setting it down.

  “Shit is right.”

  “What do I do?” I ask.

  “Let Eli do his thing and let me get you out of the bogus drug charge. It’s a misdemeanor and circumstantial. I’m not worried about it.”

  I nod and wonder if this is me giving in—allowing him to represent me when I have no desire to even be in the same room as him. And since he practically interrogated and dredged up the past in my office, not another word has been said about it.

  I set my mug down. “I need to check on Griffin. I’ve been such a mess lately, I hope he’s too young to remember any of it or else he’ll surely require therapy someday.”

  “Jen texted. Right after she chewed my ass for making you cry, she told me she took him back to her condo.”

  I rub my face. “I need to go get him. Jen’s trying to run a corporation, she does not have time to babysit in the middle of the day just because I can’t get a handle on life.”

  “She said he’s fine,” he insists.

  I turn to him. “I can’t do this, Trig. This is my son—he’s all I have. I cannot risk anything with CPS breathing down my neck because my damned in-laws feel like wreaking havoc in my life.”

  He leans forward and plants his elbows on his wide-stretched knees, his expression grave. “You think I don’t take that seriously? That I’d do something to put your child in jeopardy? I wouldn’t. I don’t give a fuck who his father is.”

  I close my eyes and turn away. And here we are again.

  “Between Eli and me, we’ve got it under control. That’s what I came to tell you today.”

  I look back to him. “So instead of doing just that, you chose to dredge up our ugly history? Thanks. That was fun.”

  “Your sister implied this morning that our history might be something entirely different than what it appeared. I want to know what she meant by that and I want you to tell me.”

  Damn her. I shake my head and a laugh bursts from my lips that lies somewhere on the scale between desperate and sarcastic. “Well, by all means, Trig. if you want something, just snap your fingers and make it happen. Guess what? I have bigger shit to worry about right now than what you want. Take me back to my car.”

  “Not until you tell me what Jen was talking about.”

  I get up and wish I’d argued earlier about him brin
ging me here instead of being such a blubbering mess. Walking into Faye’s kitchen, I grab my phone and pull up my Uber app. I hear him following and don’t look up until I’ve ordered a ride.

  “What are you doing?” he asks but I ignore him.

  I grab my backpack and move around him again. The way I fell apart at his touch earlier, I don’t trust myself. I head through Faye’s rambling ranch that might be thirty years old, but it was flipped right before Trig bought it for her. She told me all about it even though she never told me he moved back to Dallas. I remember the day I confronted her about it—the first time I came to visit her after Robert died. She didn’t look the least bit repentant and told me she knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it … just like she knew Trig wouldn’t be able to handle her friendship with me.

  She called it Old Lady Prerogative. How could I argue with that?

  Trig follows me out the front door. “Where are you going?”

  I don’t look back as I walk down the long circle drive. “Uber. I need to get back to Griffin.”

  He raises his voice. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

  I don’t give a shit that Faye’s neighbors are out and about on this warm day and turn to him, sticking my finger in his chest. “I tried to talk to you and you wouldn’t answer. You deleted my messages. You even fucking blocked me.” I poke him again, willing all my frustration to pour through the tip of my finger.

  He pushes my hand out of the way and takes a step so we’re almost touching. I feel the rage emanating through his dirty, rumpled dress shirt. “Dammit, Ellie. I was twenty-two. I moved across the country to try to start my life over. I’d just lost,” he pauses before taking a breath and lowering his voice, “everything. I spent months being accused of cooking and selling meth with my shithead father only for you to fly off to New York City and do nothing to help clear my name when you were the only one who could. You left me hanging and by refusing to provide my alibi spoke volumes. Sorry I wasn’t feeling chatty by the time Thanksgiving rolled around.”

  “You have no clue. No. Fucking. Clue.” I take a step back and a car rounds the corner that matches the description of my ride. When it gets close enough, I see the Uber sign. Thank you, God. I wave it down and the Toyota Camry comes to a stop at the curb where I’m having it out with Trig. “I’ll call Eli myself about my in-laws. Text if you have something to say about my case. Other than that, I have enough drama in my life. I don’t need any more from you.”

  I get in the car and unlock my phone to text Jen.

  Me: I’m on my way to get Griffin. And by the way, I hate you.

  I see the bubbles pop up but I toss my phone into my bag and ignore it when it goes crazy. I obviously don’t need any more help from her.

  10

  I Hated Myself More

  Sometimes when life’s miserable, the only way to find the root is to look in the mirror.

  Trig

  I moved to California after getting accepted to Stanford where I majored in pre-law. There, I wasn’t Trig Barrett, descendent of a long line of thieving, drug-dealing, meth-cooking lowlifes.

  I was dirt poor and worked every job I could when I wasn’t studying to claw my way out. The year after I moved was one of the hardest of my life because none of it was what I had planned. By the time spring rolled around, I should’ve been married, had a kid, and been fucking happy.

  Instead, I studied all day, worked all night, and did my best to fuck Ellie Montgomery out of my system.

  It didn’t work and it made me more miserable, so I stopped.

  I don’t even know how it started, but a couple years ago I actually had a woman in my life for more than one night. It lasted three months and it wasn’t horrible. Not until she started talking about marriage and babies and life.

  I was out.

  That’s when I decided everyone wants more, and since more sounded like hell to me, I put a stop to anything that resembled a second date.

  Ellie was married by then and living in Manhattan. I knew this not only because my mother persisted in tormenting me with updates of the ghost of the teenager that haunted every recess of my heart, but during a weak moment, after too much to drink on some random March ninth, I fell victim to the crushing beast called curiosity.

  I googled her.

  I read about her career on Broadway. Her marriage to a businessman who was the son of socialites from Connecticut. Their move back to Texas. I pulled up picture after picture of her while drinking my way to the bottom of a bottle of Pappy. I woke up the next morning, drooling on my MacBook with a headache that measured over eight-point-two on the Richter scale.

  I hated her. But I hated myself more.

  By that time, I’d fought my way to the top of my practice and was billing enough a year to make six figures times five. I was no wealthy oil man who got rich off his family’s land, but I was living large amongst the normal people. I didn’t look like someone who grew up on a compound from hell, littered with more junk than trees. I had the expensive bourbon collection to prove it.

  I was still fucking miserable, but money makes things less miserable, especially when you’ve never had it before and you worked your ass off to get it.

  My mom getting sick changed everything. I moved back for her but now she’s dead so it was all for nothing.

  Now I’m back in Texas, working for Montgomery Industries, and the one woman I’ve done everything possible to eradicate from my life, my head, and my fucking soul is being thrown in my face daily. She broke me years ago. It pisses me off that I still feel like some pathetic middle schooler who got dumped in the cafeteria in front of the whole school.

  Who the fuck am I?

  To top off the drama, Jen basically rocked my world, informing me the past wasn’t what it seems but refused to say more, leaving me hanging.

  Short of shaking it out of her, Ellie won’t tell me. Hell, she’ll hardly speak to me. I can’t blame her, but it still pisses me off.

  This shit has been brewing inside me for three days and I’ve done everything short of barging through Ellie’s door and starting World War III.

  I’ve tried to call her every morning—as her attorney, not some fucked-in-the-head past lover, because that would be lame—but she sends them all to voicemail. I’ve resorted to texting, and just like the woman she always used to be, she’s got a spine of steel and I can’t get her to bend.

  Me: Your court date is set.

  Ellie: I fucking know.

  Me: We should go over everything before your hearing.

  Ellie: No fucking chance.

  Me: I have an idea. Maybe you could answer just one of my calls so I can do my job.

  Ellie: I’m fucking busy.

  I decided to try a different tactic.

  Me: And you talked to my mother with that mouth?

  Ellie: I fucking did. You should go back to ignoring me if you don’t like it.

  At least I got more than three fucking words out of her.

  I resort to going back to being an asshole since that obviously comes natural to me.

  Me: I’m over this shit. How long are you going to play this game?

  Ellie: Ten fucking years.

  Dammit.

  Outside of work, Jen is also giving me the cold shoulder because, in her words, “You can’t keep your damn mouth shut and now Ellie isn’t speaking to me, either. Maybe instead of demanding information and making my sister cry, you should work for it. Quit being an asshole. Get a dog.”

  Pettit also won’t talk to me about Ellie, and when I asked, he just shook his head. “You’re not warming my bed at night. Sorry, man. You’re on your own.”

  He knows what everyone knows—everyone but me.

  Pettit is speaking to me about other things and keeps feeding me all the information he’s gathering on Ellie’s in-laws. The PI they hired must be shit at his job because Pettit seems to know every step he takes.

  The Kettemans’ PI has been nosing around admissions at Juilliard, talkin
g to companies she used to dance for on Broadway, and philanthropies she’s served here in the Dallas area.

  Pettit assigned one of his guys to trail him. He’s gathered all the information the other guy has and some of it doesn’t look good for Ellie. Seems she went through a phase while she was still dancing and seemed to enjoy a toke here and there. That might’ve been fine if this was today and she lived in a state where blazing is legal, but it wasn’t. It was very much illegal in the state of New York eight years ago.

  It’s hearsay, but coupled with the stash they found in her panty drawer, it doesn’t look good and looking good is important when dealing with CPS.

  I need to discuss this revelation with my newest and most irritable client, but my current errand takes precedence. I turn onto the dirt road and dust swirls into a storm behind my car. It matches the one brewing in my chest.

  I’ve spent the last two days tracking him down. He lost his last county election after a scandal killed his chances. From the sounds of it, it had to do with him interfering with an investigation.

  Imagine that.

  He got such backlash from the local media, he tucked his tail between his legs and retired even before his last term was up, doing his best to disappear.

  I get out, the thick air bearing on me with a force rivaling the bullshit circling my life like a dirty toilet bowl that just won’t stop flushing. When I make it up the wooden, splintered steps and rap on the door, I hear nothing but an old coon dog barking from somewhere inside the house.

  Finally, a light flips on, the door creaks open, and the old man peeks through the small space. “Yeah?”

  “Ron Logan,” I start and hold out my business card. “Easton Barrett. It’s been a long time.”

  “Get back.” He pushes the dog roughly with his foot so he can reach through the door to take my card. He tips his head and I can see the rusty wheels turning, slow and creaky. Narrowing his eyes, he looks back up to me in a way I call bullshit. “Do I know you?”

  I show no emotion because he doesn’t deserve any. He at least put my dad away which got him out of our lives for an entire decade. “I don’t know whether to be hurt or pleased that you don’t remember me. You helped put my father, Ray Barrett, away for ten years for cooking meth. You also tried to tie me to his shit when I had nothing to do with it. Ring a bell?”