Chapter 52
Justice
As F-bombs drop like Pearl Harbor, I softly pull the front door closed, allowing my weight to settle onto it. My forehead kisses the cool wood while I wrestle with internal conflict.
“Something bad’s gonna happen,” I whimper. C’mon, Justice. You’re not worried about him putting you first. Why did you let the invitation freak you out? Truth? Old habits die hard.
A soft smack emits when the palm of my hand raps against the shiny black wood. I’m still holding my forehead to the closed door, drowning in the vulnerability of love. Why’d Brody agree to the McFarlands’ version of blackmail over Wilmer’s attempt at extortion? The answer, Brody’s ego personified.
He’s also not marrying or having children until the ripe age of a hundred. I snort, softly tapping my forehead against the door again. There’s a method to his madness.
Damn girl, the method is Wilmer is one idiot, and the McFarlands are many. I spin around, resting my chunky ass against the door.
“No, can’t be it. He could have promised Wilmer the money then either gave it to him and killed him or met and killed him.” A tiny shiver inches up my spine. Wilmer’s dead now.
My cellphone rings. I slide it from my purse and answer.
“Hey, honey.”
Damn, Mom. I’m working out the mechanics of a madman. I edge out, “Hey, Mom, how are you?”
“Hmmm, you sound busy. You’re never busy at this time of the morning.”
“I’m—”
“Doing what young’uns do, I see. You’re with Brody MacKenzie! Put him on the phone. Your father and I never officially thanked him. I bought a beautiful card from Target. I’ve needed to ask you for his address. But I’ll say you’re thanking him for the two of us.”
“Momma—”
“That’s alright. The Lord knows the world is different than it was when we were young. You stay prayed up; you hear me? Now, put him on the phone.”
Talkative and insistent, that’s my mom. With my back against the door, I let my head tip to the sky. Well, damn. This is too much of a beautiful day, all blue skies, not a cloud in sight.
“Justice, put—”
“Yes. He’s, uh, in the shower. I’ll call you back, loveyoubyeee.” My words crash into each other as I terminate the call. I’m in trouble.
My heart is in trouble. The jumble of nerves that stirred my stomach never ceases from twining. Brody agreed to the McFarlands’ demands against his parents’ better judgment and his own desires. I know he initially agreed to keep the peace during Leith’s dinner party.But this other asshole, Hank, weaseled him into making the deal real. Brody doesn’t care about Erika that way. You’re being paranoid. That’s all, Justice.
“Dammit,” I mutter. One moment, I was sharing my feelings. The next, Brody threw me out. I just don’t understand why the man won’t give me a moment to think, especially after all I’ve been through. Brody MacKenzie has no idea how a relationship works. I’m not even sure if he knows what love is.
The coiling in my stomach spirals out of control. The invitation wasn’t the only issue. It served to highlight another. I’d have to settle and wait for Brody’s hair to grow white by the time he loves me. I need assurance about us. We need to talk. I’m about to knock on the door when I catch movement at the corner of my eye.
An elderly gentleman in a royal blue robe picks up a newspaper as his tiny cotton-ball puppy sniffs the lawn. Plastering on a smile, I wave, turn back around, and press the doorbell. The neighbor’s still there, boring curious holes into my back. I jab the doorbell again and shoot a quick glance over my shoulder. Yup, he’s still puncturing me with an old, bigoted gaze.
The doors open to the graphic view of Brody in all his naked, chiseled glory.
“What are you doing?” I squeak.
“Me? Clearly, ye have had a change of heart, lass.”
“You’re nak—”
He pulls me inside. “Aye, ye wee Bawbag!” He gestures to the neighbor and slams both doors.
“Why did you do that?”
“His mutt shites on my lawn.”