AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Marney mumbles something under his breath before he takes a cigarette from the pack on the counter and lights it. Scowling, Jude snatches it from his lips and smashes it on the counter. “No fucking smoking around her.”
Marney's gaze drifts from Jude to me. "Maybe you should’ve waited a little longer to tell him.”
Jude’s accusing gaze lands on me. “You told Marney and not me.”
“She didn’t tell me; I overheard her when…” Marney trails off, dropping his gaze to the counter.
"Who else knows?" Jude goes from sounding pissed to hurt, and the guilt digs into me.
The legs of Marney’s chair scrape the floor seconds before his hand lands on my shoulder. "Found her pouring her little heart out at Caleb's grave."
Jude's expression crumples. The air in the kitchen grows thick with grief. I feel like a shitty person for not telling him sooner, but I had my reasons. I still have this horrible feeling that Tom will come for me, that he’s just dragging this out to cause maximum pain. And if he kills me...Jude will have lost more than just me now. I didn’t want him to carry the weight of that, and part of me hoped that if Tom was going to make a move, he’d do it before now.
“No smoking around her," Jude demands before walking outside.
Marney puts an arm around my shoulder and guides me to one of the stools at the breakfast bar. "Sit down, sweetheart. I'll make you a tuna melt. With spinach." He grabs a skillet from the cabinet. “Spinach is good for the baby.”
Oh God, I don’t know if I can take six more months of Marney’s dodgy sandwiches. But I don’t have the heart to tell him how awful they are. So instead, I just smile. “Thanks, Marney.”
31
Jude
That was too damn much.
The screen door bangs behind me when I step onto the back deck. Morning sunlight streams through the trees, and I try to focus on that instead of the grief swelling inside me like a destructive tide. She told Caleb’s grave…
Caleb would have been a good uncle. The thought stabs at something deep. Something I can barely fucking stand. Tension winds through my shoulders, and I take a cigarette from my pocket, lighting it in search of some release.
My mind sorts through hazy memories of coming up to Marney's cabin when Caleb and I were kids—sometimes with Grace. Pops taught both of us to shoot on the very target I taught Tor, making it hard for me not to think about the memories. And damn, I don’t want to think about them. Not because I don't treasure them, but because they hurt. I’ve kept the pain bottled up, under pressure, and if I don’t give in to it a little every now and then, it’ll eventually blow. So I close my eyes and allow myself to grieve.
Pops steadies my hand, and my gaze homes in on the target. "When you shoot someone, you can shoot to kill them, or you can shoot to make them vulnerable. And what have I taught you boys about why you shoot someone?"
"To kill them," I respond.
"Right, because a dead man can't kill you."
"What happens if someone kills you, Daddy?" Caleb asks, and I spin around to glare at him.
His face is red, eyes full of tears from where he’s been crying all morning. He's only five, and he's scared of guns, but that's how old I was when Dad taught me to shoot. He has to learn. Dad has to know we can protect ourselves in case something ever happens to him. He's told me that countless times.
Dad glances down at him and scoops him up into his arms, placing him on his hip. "Oh, don't worry, son, no one's gonna kill your pops. I'll be here for a long time, and if I'm ever not here to keep you safe, your brother will take care of you. Won't you, Jude?"
I pull the trigger, watching as the bullet tears through the center ring of the bullseye. "Yep, I'll always take care of you, Caleb. Promise."
And that’s all I can take. The splintered porch railing digs into my palm as I tighten my hold on it, trying to release the anger flooding through me before I shut the memory down. I didn't take care of Caleb. I should have forced him out of this lifestyle the day my father died. He had a heart. He always did, and I never did until her…
The hum of an engine breaks the silence, followed by the crunch of gravel beneath tires, and that puts me on high alert. Marney’s cabin is the only one for miles. Anyone coming here is an unwelcome guest. I pull my gun from my waist, tapping on the back door and telling Marney to lock the door on my way off the porch. It’s been a month since the obituary went out claiming I died in a house fire, but I knew that would only buy so much time. Adrenaline fires through me when I hear a car door slam then footfalls over the gravel drive. I round the corner, gun raised, finger on the trigger.
