Page 30 of Jonny’s Redemption

“Spencer,” Vaughn Holbrook greeted.

Jonny gritted his teeth then forced himself to relax. At least his friend had stopped with his name and hadn’t tacked on an obligatory “good to see you” that might’ve pushed Jonny off the ledge he was precariously skirting.

“Vaughn.” The two men shook hands and under extreme duress, Jonny finished with, “Appreciate the call. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t, brother.” Fuck, he hated the pity in the other man’s tone, hated Vaughn saw his weakness. “Bobby Layne. Good to see this idiot here finally pulled his head out.”

It was hard to miss Vaughn’s flirtatious draw. Jonny certainly didn’t miss it; he also didn’t like it.

“How ’bout—” Bobby clenched his hand, halting Jonny’s outburst.

“I haven’t seen you in a minute. How’ve you been?”

Bobby smiled at his former colleague. Vaughn didn’t miss a beat when he returned, “You know me, I get by.”

That meant Vaughn locked himself behind a five-foot thick reinforced steel door and allowed no one access. Vaughn Holbrook made Jameson Grant—pre-Kennedy—look well-adjusted. Vaughn had followed Nixon Swagger back to Kent County, however, he didn’t want to work for Gemini Group. He didn’t want the responsibility of commitment. Nor did he want Nix, Jameson, Weston, Chasin, Alec, or Holden in his business so he slid under the radar. He was close to Nixon in proximity only. He checked in with the guys, mostly Nix, when he needed to. And that was only to appease Nix. If Vaughn had it his way, he would’ve gone off the grid and lived out the rest of his life in complete solitude. The only reason the man joined the sheriff’s department was because he wanted the appearance of normalcy. Again, that was to keep Nix off his back. Vaughn was good at his job. Too good—the former black-ops soldier had no business being a cop; his skills were wasted in a small town. But after what he’d seen and done, Jonny reckoned the man just wanted quiet.

“Did Chasin tell you about the concert?” Bobby asked. “You’re gonna come, right?”

Jonny wondered how Vaughn would wiggle his way out of the invitation when Bobby was staring at him with hopeful eyes.

“’Fraid not, sugar. We’re down a detective and the bad guys didn’t get the memo.”

So that was how he was going to play it—throw Jonny under the bus then roll the guilt on thick.

Bobby’s hand spasmed and Jonny looked down at her face carefully blank and looking beyond Vaughn. He allowed his eyes to follow her gaze and immediately saw what had caught her attention.

Anita Spencer. Dressed all in black like a grieving widow. Jonny wasn’t sure if he wanted to roar in extreme agitation or laugh at the insanity of the situation. And he wasn’t sure which was more insane, his mother being arrested or her grief-stricken over a man who treated her like shit, cheated on her, and had a bastard child.

He did neither. He also didn’t move. He remained rooted and fought to drag oxygen into his lungs.

How had this become his life?

The longer Jonny stood across the room from his mother in her proper black skirt and blouse, hair carefully styled, keeping up the appearance of a woman with high moral standing in the community, the more his gut tightened. Lies. More lies. Likely her eyes would be red-rimmed and it wouldn’t be because she’d been crying for her dead husband. That early in the day she would’ve started with vodka, she would’ve gone straight to the hard stuff so she could face the day. The bullshit she’d created. The false story she’d allowed her husband to make them live.

The man was dead and yet she was still covering for him. She was still choosing him. When would the time come when she chose herself? Chose him? Would she ever wake up and open her eyes to what she’d done to her son? Probably not. That wasn’t his mother. His mother had no backbone, no strength. She’d wallow in her self-pity and continue to care what her neighbors thought before she’d comfort her son.

What would the neighbors think now? Her arrest would be in the Thursday paper. The weekly county newspaper printed all arrests in the police blotter. Everyone would know Anita Spencer was charged with a DWI.

“Baker thought it was best we kept her here,” Vaughn cut into Jonny’s musings. “No reason to take her to the other side.”

The other side being the jail. There were holding cells over there. Jonny knew he should appreciate the courteous treatment the sheriff had extended his mother but he didn’t want favors. Anita had made her bed and maybe if she had to lie in it she’d understand her actions had repercussions. That was a joke; she would never learn and Jonny was tired of attempting to school her.

“Is she ready to go?”

Jonny ignored his friend’s flinch and the same went for the way Bobby squeezed his hand. He knew his tone was harsh and he no longer cared. Enough was enough. Things were going to change in ways his mother would not appreciate.

“She is,” Vaughn confirmed. “Sampson feels like shit. He didn’t want to—”

“He was doing his job and the right thing. Not only did she break the law but she could’ve hurt someone.”

“And herself.”

“Come again?”

“And she could’ve hurt herself,” Vaughn explained and Jonny’s jaw clenched.

“Right.”