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Despite the misery of being alone and heartbroken, she just couldn’t imagine doing that to Keith. She loved him and would do what she had to ensure the most horrifying moment in his life wouldn’t resurface and cause any more trauma than it already had.
Even if it meant she lost him.
Sparing him that immense pain meant more to her than her own happiness. She’d rather spend the rest of her life with this ache in her chest than have to witness Keith relive the moment he learned his mother had been prostituting herself to support her children.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“YOU HEAR THE news?” Jagger’s voice rang out in the garage, somewhere nearby.
“Yep.” Keith didn’t bother to roll himself out from under the car he’d been tinkering with for the past hour.
“And?”
“And what?” He felt around on the ground for the wrench he’d set next to the creeper. Where the fuck was it? Finally, his fingers grazed the cool metal.
“And are you gonna see him? Bail him out? Discuss it with the rest of us? I heard from a friend on the force that the old man’s facing serious time this go around. It’s his third arrest this year, and with it being a home invasion, he’s looking at a whole new category of charges.”
With a snort, Keith kept working. “Fuck no, I’m not bailing his ass out. He made his bed. Told you guys I was done, and I’m done.” Really, the final decision had been made the moment he confronted Mickie at the garage. Earl only added an extra nail to his own coffin when he showed up at Mickie’s home.
Somehow, despite quite a few arrests through his adult life, their slimy father consistently managed to weasel himself out of long prison sentences. The longest he’d served was sixty consecutive days in county lock-up a year or so back. If the courts wanted to put him away for a few years this time, more power to ’em. That’d be a few years of one less headache for Keith.
“So how long are we gonna do this, Keith?”
“Got a bit to do on this car then two oil changes with tire rotations before I’m done. Why? You need help with something?”
“Not what I’m talking about,” Jagger said.
“Then what?”
“How long are you gonna keep up this shit mood?”
Gritting his teeth, Keith cranked the wrench as hard as he could. Fucking bolt didn’t move. “It’s been less than two days. And no one’s forcing you to be in my company.” He tried again, this time groaning as the wrench dug a divot into his palm. Fucking finally, the goddammed thing loosened a smidge.
“You really are a miserable fuck.”
“Tends to happen when the woman you love shits all over your heart.”
Jagger grunted. Keith could imagine his brother standing near the hood of the car, legs spread, arms crossed, and a disapproving frown directed his way. “You know Ronnie’s been texting her?”
Of course, she was. Those two were thick as thieves. Shit, before Jagger came in, he’d managed an entire six minutes of not thinking about Michaela Hudson. Now he had to start the clock all over again. “There something you need, Jag? Or you just here to bust my balls?”
“Christ. Fine, I’m going. Enjoy your day, asshole.”
As Jagger’s footsteps retreated, Keith grumbled under his breath, but it didn’t take more than a minute for the guilt to set it. With a sigh, he let his arms flop off the sides of the creeper. It wasn’t Jagger’s fault that Mickie carved his heart out with a rusted knife. Nor was it his fault their father had been arrested the previous night on robbery charges. It just took less effort to be a dick than to make nice when he felt so low, and he didn’t have the energy to play the part of happy Keith.
Not when he hadn’t slept the past two nights. Obsessing for hours only to finally crash but then wake with a raging hard-on from erotic dreams would curdle any man’s brain.
Still, Jagger didn’t deserve the sharp edge of his tongue yet again, especially since he’d come to discuss the very real issue of their incarcerated father.
“Shit,” he grumbled, wiping his greasy hands on a rag from his pocket. “Jag, wait!” As he shouted, he rolled himself from under the car. He sat straight up. “Hold up, brother, I’m sor—Ralph.”
“You just missed him.” Mickie’s best friend stood at the open windows of the garage bay leaning on the frame wearing a long, trendy black coat, black pants and boots, as well as a black hat. If Keith hadn’t known better, he’d assume the man was heading to a funeral.
Still wiping at his oily hands, Keith strode closer. “Uh, thanks. Look, I hope you didn’t come here to plead Mickie’s case for her because I’m really not in the mood.”
