Really Fuckin’ Simple
Hixon
THE NEXT MORNING, Hix woke up again before six, alone in Greta’s bed.
He hauled himself out and went to her bathroom, flipping on the light switch and seeing poking out of her pail, with its bouquet of rolled washcloths, a toothbrush in its packaging with a blue bow stuck to it that was five times the size of what it was stuck to.
He grinned, did his thing, including brushing his teeth with a new toothbrush, went back out and got dressed but carried his boots with his socks stuffed into them down the stairs, dumping them at the foot and smelling sausage as he rounded the steps to head to the kitchen.
She was standing at the sink in her robe, body facing her windows that now had the sheer shades drawn up, a coffee cup held aloft in front of her, but her head was turned, eyes to him.
“Thanks for the present,” he said, strolling into the room.
“You’ll learn I’m bountiful with my generosity,” she joked.
He stopped close to her side, dug his fingers in her hair and held her in position as he bent and took her mouth in a morning kiss that shared far more gratitude than any toothbrush was worth.
When he broke the kiss and lifted slightly away, he watched her slowly open her eyes and breathe, “Today, I’m totally buying you dental floss.”
He started chuckling, doing it dipping in to touch his mouth to hers before he let her go and went to the coffee.
She went to the stove to turn sausage links.
Once he made his mug, saw hers was still mostly full, he rested the side of a hip against the counter, turned to her.
“I catch this guy, I’m taking you to dinner.”
Slowly, she pivoted to face him.
“Dinner?” she asked.
With the look on her face, Hix knew she got him.
“Dinner,” he confirmed.
“Hixon—”
“Not now,” he whispered. “Not now, baby. I need this, what you’re givin’ me. Need it to be easy. Need it to be uncomplicated.”
“Okay,” she said softly.
He said what he said but he still held her gaze and made sure she understood him.
“At dinner, you’re up for it, we’ll complicate things.”
Something lit her eyes, her face, making her early-morning, makeup-less beauty awe-inspiring.
Hope, maybe.
Excitement, absolutely.
“I’m up for it,” she told him.
He smiled at her.
She smiled back.
And there was the hope.
Christ.
Yeah.
Awe-inspiring.
“Since that’s gonna happen, sweetheart, feel at this juncture it’s not takin’ it too far to ask your last name,” he remarked.
She stared at him before she busted out laughing.
He was smiling at her because he liked her laughter and it was funny they were where they were and he didn’t know her last name, but he was just glad she also found it amusing, when she quit laughing and shared, “Dare. It’s Dare.”
Greta Dare.
He liked it.
“Bonus, my middle name is Kate,” she went on. “Not Katherine. Just Kate. Apparently my mother wasn’t into too many syllables.”
“It’s pretty,” he murmured.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
“Timothy,” he told her.
“Sorry?” she asked.
“Your bonus.”
She grinned then her eyes went strange and her body started visibly shaking. “Ohmigod,” her voice was shaking too. “You’re Sheriff Hixon T. Drake. You totally need to start going by that handle on your CB.”
He liked the fact she shared his and his son’s sense of humor, not to mention got in on a joke she didn’t even know was their joke.
“This has been suggested by my son,” he noted.
She gave him a blinding smile. “Well, that’s two votes.”
He shook his head. “Not gonna happen.”
“Shame,” she muttered, still smiling and turning back to the stove.
“You need help?” he asked.
“Nope,” she told the sausage. “Just need you to pull over the stools and sit your behind on one. You probably won’t be relaxing for a while. You do it over breakfast, get your belly full, you’ll be able to face the day.”
He stared at her back as she moved from the sausage to the counter by the stove, grabbed the handle of a spoon in a big bowl and started beating what sounded like batter.
Then he moved to her. Right to her, right into her space, fitting himself to her back and putting his hands to the edges of the counter on either side of her.
It was batter.
Pancakes.
Like she’d promised.
He dipped his head and set his lips to the skin at the side of her neck.
“Night before last you told me you liked me, and I didn’t share you got the same. But I’ll share more. It’s about pancakes. It’s about the way you sing. It’s about how amazingly beautiful you are, so beautiful, sometimes, if I don’t brace myself, it blinds me. It’s about you knowin’ I really need another bourbon and gettin’ me one when I’m tryin’ to do the right thing. It’s about you knowin’ better what the right thing needs to be. It’s about how hot it is when you fuck yourself on my cock. And it’s about how gorgeous you look when you come. It’s about stud muffins and gum drops. It’s about a lot of things, Greta.”
“That all sounds really complicated, Hix,” she replied softly, her voice breathy.
“No, sweetheart, all that is really fuckin’ simple.”
On that, before it did get complicated, he kissed her neck, moved away and got the stools.
He was ass to stool, sipping coffee, and she was pouring batter on a heated griddle when she commented, “I noted you chose stud muffin and not snuggle bug.”
Hix started chuckling.
She turned to him with happiness, playfulness and a little heat in her eyes, “I’ll admit, I prefer that one too.”
He busted out laughing.
Greta grinned as she set aside the batter.
She didn’t feed him pancakes.
She fed him big, fluffy buttermilk pancakes with sausage links and warmed syrup.
She ate beside him.
She was only halfway done when he’d finished, rinsed his plate, and got himself a syrupy-sweet kiss.
“Meet you on the porch?” she asked after he’d pulled away.
“Definitely.”
“I’ve gotta sing at the Dew tonight, snuggle bug,” she reminded him.
“I’ll see you there too.”
Her eyes gave him a smile.
He moved away but brushed his finger along the smile at her lips.
Then he moved out of the kitchen, sat on a step to pull on his socks and boots, and called out, “Later, gum drop,” on the way to the door.
“Later, stud muffin,” she returned.
He shot a grin over his shoulder at her as he walked out her door.
Mid-morning, Hix, with his ass leaned against the edge of the desk, his ankles crossed in front of him, Larry standing to his left, Donna and Bets to his right, Hal farther away but close to the whiteboard, stared at that damned board.
All their eyes were to it.
Larry had called Faith yesterday with the news they’d found the crime scene and he’d given her a call that morning just to check in.
They’d sifted through a variety of messages Reva and Ida had taken from folks calling in after seeing the website, none of them having anything to do with what happened on 56, none of them pertinent, so they’d also moved on.
They got their report that the slug and the shell casings were from the gun that killed Calloway. They also got their report that there were trace amounts of blood the rain hadn’t soaked away in the soil forensics took from the crime scene and that blood was Calloway’s.
So they had more.
They still had dick.
The slugs were not in the system.
None of the team’s legwork the day before got them much of anything. They didn’t have hardly any homeless problem in McCook so any homeless anyone noted were known, not drifters, not the kind to shoot a man down while stealing his truck, not even the kind to be out on that road, and definitely not being in the position to own a gun.
Regardless, his department couldn’t be seen rousting homeless and harassing them without reason—say a witness who saw them wandering 56 at any time, especially the day of the murder.
They didn’t have that.
No one had seen any drifters.
There were a number of fugitives to look into and Donna and Bets were on that. But unless they could nab them there was nothing they could move on, and they couldn’t deem them a person of interest unless they’d been spotted at least in the county, but better, around the place of the murder or dump location at the time of either.
Other than that, his crew had come up with zilch.
“I need to pay a visit to our meth man,” he said into the quiet room. “He doesn’t deal here but he probably knows who uses and may feel compelled to keep our relationship copacetic by helpin’ out.”
Donna looked to him. “A snake eats a rat, he doesn’t rat on a rat.”
He lifted his brows to her. “Got another idea?”
“Pissed to say I don’t,” she muttered.
The phones rang throughout the department but Reva was catching calls so the team just turned their attention back to the board.
The ringing stopped.
Seconds later, Hix’s line rang.
He reached across, picked up and put the handset to his ear, his eyes to the lights on the phone telling him he was getting a transfer from Reva.
“Yeah?” he answered.
“Call for you, Hixon, and you’ll wanna take it,” she said with urgency.
He unhooked his ankles and straightened, turning toward the phone. “Send it through.” He heard a click and said, “This is Sheriff Drake.”
“Drake. Miller. Ranger at Fort Robinson,” a man replied. “We think we got your truck.”
Hixon lifted a hand and cut his gaze through the room, snapping his fingers. He hit a button with his other hand and put down the handset.
“You’re on speaker, Ranger. Got my deputies with me.”
“Right. Found a Ford F150 this morning. Like you asked, we did a number of patrols so it wasn’t there yesterday. Found it on a patrol this morning. Seems dumped, no one around, engine cold, so whoever had it’s been gone awhile. Your plates but even if they’d switched ’em out, won’t matter. Back cab is filled with blood.”
Hal prowled out, yanking out his cell.
“It’ll take a while, but we’re coming with lights on, Miller,” Hix told him. “You call your locals?”
“Figured you’d want the news first, but they’re my next call.”
“Great. Thanks. It’ll be a trek to get up to Dawes, but we’re on our way. You got my cell in case you need to call?” Hix asked.
“Got it. See you when you get here.”
They disconnected while Hal walked back in.
“Forensics is on their way there,” he announced.
“Good, Hal, thanks,” Hix muttered then looked to Larry. “You’re with me.” He turned his attention to Donna and made sure she read his look that she wasn’t going to like what he had to say for a variety of reasons, but she was going to have to do it. “I’m on the road, we still gotta talk to our meth man. You’re gonna do that with Hal.”
Her eyes shared she didn’t like it but she just said, “Got it, Hix.”
Hix looked to Bets. “Bets, want you goin’ over any calls Reva takes. Do it while runnin’ names of known fugitives anywhere in the U.S. that have ties to McCook County.”
“Needle in a haystack?” she asked.
“Yup,” he answered. “Also, the McCalls don’t turn in their boy for spray painting the Mortimers’ barn after school today, you take a ride out there and have another chat with them.”
“Bryce did it?” she asked, eyes crinkling.
“Louella shot his dog,” Hixon answered.
“Art I’d paint on their fuckin’ barn’d be a lot more colorful, those assholes shot my dog,” Hal muttered.
Bets set her crinkle to Hal, muttering back, “Totally.”
Hal looked surprised she shared this with him, but Hix didn’t have time to feel relief it seemed his uncomfortable chat with his deputy yesterday might bear fruit.
He turned to Larry and said, “Let’s roll.”
“With you, boss,” Larry replied.
And they rolled.
Hix and Larry were standing next to Ranger Miller as the Cherry County forensics boys went over the truck when his cell rang.
He dug it out of his pocket, saw the call was from Donna, took it and put it to his ear.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Kavanagh Becker is a dickweed,” she answered.
Kavanagh Becker, their meth man.
Hix blew out a sigh before he asked, “What?”
“Won’t talk to anyone but you,” she told him. “And that would be you and only you, not you and another one of your deputies there for backup.”
He could strangle Blatt for leaving him this shit.
“He give any indication it’s worth my while to make that effort?”
“I don’t know. Think he’s scum but that’s not the only reason I wouldn’t play poker with the man.”
Damn.
“This gets done, I get back, I’ll take care of that. Anything else?” he asked.
“Sadly, no. There?”
One of the forensics men was heading his way so he said, “Not yet but I gotta go.”
“Right, Hix. Later.”
“Later.”
He disconnected and jerked his chin up to the guy as he shoved his phone back in his pocket.
“First, the good news,” the man started.
Which meant there was bad news.
Shit.
“Let’s have it,” Hix said.
“Guy didn’t have time to run a vacuum, so we got hair, we got some fibers, we got mud. Your vic took care of his truck so it’s tidy but not clean as a whistle. This may narrow some shit down.”
“Right, good, what else?” Hix pressed.
“Well, obviously, he couldn’t clean up that blood and reckon he knew it because he didn’t try. Also, your vic’s cell is in there. It’s stomped to shit but it’s his model. It’s not much but at least that mystery’s solved. ”
Hix nodded.
“Now, the bad,” the guy said. “Whole damned thing is wiped down. Steering wheel, dash, handles, windows, even the exterior. Hood to tailgate, thing’s been gone over with what looks like Windex. Streak free. Not even a partial fingerprint we could pick up.”
“Fuck,” Larry bit off.
“Larry,” Hix murmured.
“I’d say this is a fuck moment, Sheriff,” the guy put in, sounding frustrated himself.
Hix gave him a nod and turned to Larry. “On your cell, man. Call Faith, ask her if her husband happened to keep a bottle of window cleaner in his truck. He didn’t, get on to Bets and get her on the phone to every gas station and convenience store between Glossop and Fort Robinson to see if any of their clerks recall a man in a white Ford truck buying glass cleaner in the last three days.”
Larry nodded and stepped away.
Hix looked to the ranger. “We’ll arrange for this to be towed to McCook.”
“You got your hands full and I got a brother-in-law with a towing business. You want me to take care of that for you?” Miller asked.
“Be obliged.”
Miller nodded and stepped away.
Hix looked to the forensics guy whose name he now knew very well was John.
“We find this asshole, you come to the pig we’re gonna roast in celebration and I’ll have your favorite bottle waiting for you.”
“Cherry’s a big county, Sheriff, but can’t say we’ve had anything this interesting in a while, no matter how much what we’re investigating sucks. That said, never turn down a hog roast or a bottle.”
“Me either,” the other forensics guy, named Jay, called.
“Hope the next call you get from us is sharing the details of when you can roll up for that and not another request for you to roll out,” Hix replied.
“Me too, brother,” John muttered, turned and headed back to the truck.
Larry returned and immediately shared, “Bets is on it.”
“Right,” Hix said, staring at the truck.
“You figure his prints are in the system and that’s why he was so methodical about wiping that truck down?” Larry asked.
“I figure anyone with a TV set or who can read knows their prints in a truck owned by a man who was murdered would be methodical about wiping down the truck they transported his dead body in and then stole.”
“Yeah,” Larry mumbled.
“We’re out,” Jay said as he and John moved from the truck. “We’ll call we got a report.”
“Thanks,” Hix replied.
“Tow’s comin’,” Miller said, joining them.
Hix turned his attention to the man. “Thanks to you too, Ranger.”
“Skeeves me out, knowin’ that trash was in my park. But still, hope this gets you a step closer in catching him,” Miller returned.
Hix did too.
Larry was with Bets running down a lead at a convenience store in Alliance, where a man shared he’d sold a bottle of Windex to a man in an older model, white F150, and Hix was in his Ram heading out to their meth man’s fortress when his cell went.
He dug it out, saw the call was from his girl and took it, answering, “Hey, honey. How you doin’?”
“You have a girlfriend?” Corinne asked in accusation.
Fuck.
“Cor—”
“I can’t believe you have a girlfriend. You broke up with Mom like . . . a month ago.”
Not even close.
“Corinne,” he growled.
“She says we should prepare because you’re movin’ on and we’re gonna have to do it with you,” Corinne declared furiously.
But Hix felt a burn hit his gut.
“Who?” he demanded.
“What?” his daughter snapped.
“Who said that?”
“Mom, Dad, who else?” she retorted.
Hope.
Hope probably knew his Bronco was in Greta’s drive last night, and in retribution she’d told his daughter he was seeing Greta.
“She tell Mamie?” he asked.
“Just me and Shaw. She doesn’t want Mamie upset. And anyway, Mamie’s at dance. And by the way, not cool you told Shaw about it and not me.”
“I didn’t tell Shaw.”
“Well he knew and he was all up in Mom’s face about sharin’ something with your kids about their dad.”
As much as that had to suck for Hope, she’d bought it, and now she’d bought the fact that Hix was not going to do fuck all to help her rid herself of it.
“We’ll talk about this next week,” he told his girl.
“Will you be marrying her by then?” she asked snidely.
“First,” he bit off, “you do not talk to your father that way. Second, you need to calm down and think about this. Your mother and I have not been apart for a month. We’ve been apart a lot longer than that. And last, Corinne, we’ll talk about this next week.”
“So I’m sure you want me to keep it from Mamie like you kept it from me.”
“Yeah. That’d be nice,” he returned. “Seein’ as I would have told you myself if there was something to tell and I’d do it when it was the right time to tell you. I’d appreciate it if you let me at least do that with your sister if that time comes.”
“Whatever, Dad.”
“Again, you do not talk to me that way.”
She said nothing.
So he said, “I’m ticked at you but I love you and now I gotta go.”
“Right, later, Dad.”
He didn’t understand the emphasis on “dad” but he wasn’t going to ask and it wouldn’t matter. She hung up on him.
Hix drove and did something he didn’t like to do for two reasons, the new one—speaking to the woman at all—being the one he most disliked.
He called Hope.
She answered on the first ring.
“Fancy you phoning me,” she said sarcastically as greeting.
Like that wasn’t what she’d been angling for.
At least one thing was clear. She was over her urge to be there for him when he needed her.
“I told you we were done.”
“Yup, remember that, Hix. Vividly.”
“We weren’t. You’re the mother of my children. I was intent on finding a way to keep hold on that and find something good we could still share through it. But now, Hope, we’re done.”
There was a pause before, “What’s that mean?”
“That means you’re the mother of my children and that’s all you’ll ever be in a way I seriously hope you consider reclaiming your maiden name.”
There was a moment of stunned silence he actually felt was stunned through the line before, “Hixon, if you’re pissed I told Shaw and Corinne—”
“Yes, I’m pissed. And the way I’m pissed means you just broke the last straw, Hope.”
“Does she mean that much to you?” she snapped.
“No. Not yet. But my children do.”
On that, he disconnected and threw the phone on the passenger seat.
She called back four times in the six miles it took him to turn into the long drive that was on an immense plot of land where he had to ignore the man hanging at the opening of the fence, a walkie-talkie and a SIG Sauer on his belt.
He drove up to the massive, sprawling ranch house that had been built last year after Becker had scraped off his last not-quite-as-massive, sprawling ranch house and replaced it.
When he did, his phone rang again, and since he had to pick it up to take it with him, he saw it wasn’t Hope but Shaw.
So he took the call.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the game?” he asked in greeting.
“Yeah, Dad, but we need to talk.”
“Shaw, sorry, son, but I’m in the middle of something.”
“I get that, Dad, and I gotta be quick anyway ’cause Coach’ll be ticked he sees me on the phone. But just to say, I’ll talk to Corinne after she cools down and I want you to think about me livin’ exclusively with you.”
“Shaw—”
“She’s a bitch.”
Goddamn it. He had to defend her.
“Don’t say that about your mother.”
“Okay. Right. Sorry,” he clipped out each word. “I still wanna talk about livin’ exclusively with you.”
“We’ll talk later, Shaw. Keep your cool too, look after your sisters, have a good game tonight and we’ll talk, kid. Promise.”
“Okay, Dad. Be safe, yeah?”
“Always.”
They disconnected, Hix swung out of the Ram, rounded the hood and walked up the steps with his eyes on the man standing at the top, also with a walkie-talkie and a gun on his belt.
“Mr. Becker is waiting for you,” the guy announced when Hix’s boot hit the top step.
Mr. Becker.
Like he was a genteel landowner.
Priceless.
Hix lifted his chin and the guy turned, opening a hand-carved door that had to cost thousands and guiding Hix through it.
Hix didn’t bother looking around. The wealth and opulence enjoyed by a man who destroyed lives was of no interest to him. The man in front of him who was armed was.
He was led down a hall and then through a door to the left.
He’d barely cleared it and noted he’d hit a well-appointed study before Becker was moving to him, arms out, smile wide on his face, crying out, “Hixon!” like he was a beloved son returning home from war.
“Becker,” Hix replied, briefly taking him in.
Tall. Lanky. Aged fifty-eight but looking maybe forty-five, tops.
He didn’t look like a wealthy rancher rolling in it.
He didn’t look like a respectable meth-dealing businessman who was killing it (which was unfortunately what he was).
He looked like an aging rock star who was past it.
Faded jeans. Washed-out rock concert tee (Mötley Crüe). Salt and pepper hair heavy on the salt brushing his shoulders.
Hix never knew if Becker wanted to blend into the scenery of Nebraska and/or his clientele or if he wanted it known he might live in a house that cost over a million dollars, but he was true to his roots of being raised in a trailer in a trailer park on the outskirts of Dansboro.
His glance wasn’t so brief on the woman sitting like she belonged there in the chair behind Becker’s desk.
If Becker looked the aging rocker, she looked the aging groupie. It didn’t take intense scrutiny to see, shave a couple of decades off her, she’d be a knockout. But it was clear she still took care of herself and held on to as much as she could of beauty that had once been immense.
It also didn’t take intense scrutiny or her proximity to Becker to understand she was bad news.
Her eyes were sharp on him.
He turned his attention to Becker who stood three feet away, pretending to be miffed Hix had dissed him on a hug.
“Congratulations in order?” he asked.
Becker gave him another ridiculously large smile.
“This is Tawnee. My new babe.”
He was a fifty-eight-year-old man describing a woman at least in her late forties as his “new babe.”
And again.
Priceless.
Hix turned only his head to her and dipped his chin. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
For some reason she smiled at him like she’d just heard an in-joke that Hix didn’t understand, and she liked the idea he was on the outside.
“Sheriff,” she purred.
Hix fought his lip curling.
“Tawnee, Hixon, Tawnee,” Becker stressed, like Hix should know who she was, and with that name, maybe she was an aging groupie. A famous one. Maybe an ex-rock-video-vamp. “Tawnee Dare,” Becker went on.
Hix grew still.
“That’s why you’re here, only you, Hix,” Becker shared and faked looking sad. “Sorry to say, I don’t know anything about this horrible story of the young ranch hand cut down in his prime leaving his family widowed. But Tawnee wanted a word with you, and I figured you’d want her to have that privately.”
“He was a foreman,” Hix forced out.
“Say what?” Becker asked.
“Nathan Calloway. He was foreman at the ranch where he worked.”
“Well, that’s impressive,” Becker remarked, but did it like he didn’t mean his words.
“And I’m here to talk about him.” He glanced through Tawnee Dare, obviously—her last name, her beauty so extreme years only dimmed it, they didn’t fade it—Greta’s mother. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“Already told you,” Becker started, “I don’t know anything about this foreman. But,” he swayed his upper body back, wrapped an arm around his middle, resting his other elbow on it and his chin on his upraised hand, “seein’ as you’re fuckin’ Tawnee’s daughter, she thought she’d have a few words with you.”
“Yeah, Sheriff,” Tawnee said, gaining Hix’s focus. “Now, I figure you know my girl is a good girl, and you goin’ back for more, you know just how good. But thought, way I look out for my daughter and all, you also best know she’s connected here in McCook. She’s got family.” She smiled a smile the opposite of what her daughter could achieve. It did nothing to the rest of her face and eyes. It was just a movement of her lips she didn’t come close to meaning. “Family who looks after her, say someone thinks he can fuck her and then fuck her over.”
“So you wanted me out here so you could threaten me,” he said, and her eyebrows shot up feigning shock.
“Now, I wouldn’t do that. Though, won’t be no reason to, you don’t fuck my girl over.”
Hix looked from Greta’s mother to Becker. “You don’t have anything for me on Calloway I have no reason to be here.”
He gave Hix another massive smile. “Reckon not, since Tawnee said what she needed to say.”
“You’ve yanked my chain,” Hix stated.
“Say again?” Becker asked.
“You’ve yanked my chain.”
The roguishness sweeping clean from him, Becker studied Hix shrewdly and was wise enough to read Hix’s demeanor and keep his mouth shut.
They’d had barely any contact at all. Blatt had made it that way while Hix was his deputy and Hix had inherited that when he’d become sheriff. Becker didn’t really know him. Therefore, Becker didn’t know not to play games with him.
He’d just assumed since Hix had no choice but to fall in line with Blatt’s deal, this only because Becker never stepped over a line Hix could use to pounce, that Hix was someone who’d take a few not-so-friendly jabs aimed his way just for a meth man and his moll to enjoy some shits and grins.
“Friends don’t do that,” Hix educated him.
Becker got all business.
“Now, Drake—”
“Think on that, Becker,” he ordered, turned to Tawnee, dipped at the waist in a phony bow and capped it by touching his forefinger to his forehead and flipping it her way. “Ms. Dare. Pleasure.”
Then he turned on his boot and walked out of the room, out of the house and into his Ram.
He’d cleared Becker’s land and was driving down County Road 21 when he pulled out his cell and called Greta, eyes to the dash clock seeing it was after six at night.
“Hey, good timing. Just got done with my last client, everything cool?” she said in greeting.
“You gonna be home soon?” he asked.
“Yeah. You gonna be done early? Want me to pick something up or cook? Just to say, I have to leave for the Dew at around eight, but I might be able to push that.”
“I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“Okay, Hix, but is everything okay?”
“I’ll be there. Half an hour.”
It was hesitant this time when she repeated, “Okay, Hix.”
“Later, Greta.”
“Yeah, later, darlin’.”
Hix hung up and drove.
He didn’t park in her drive.
He parked at the curb.
He walked to the door that she had open by the time he hit her porch, her eyes to his Bronco at the curb before they came to him.
She pushed open the storm door for him but stepped back into the house the minute his hand went to it, her gaze never leaving him as he entered.
The storm door swooshed shut on a well-oiled hinge.
He didn’t fuck around.
“Met your mom,” he announced and watched the blood drain from her face.
Oh yeah.
“I think you can understand I can’t have any ties to a criminal element, Greta,” he stated the obvious.
She shook her head. “Hix, she has a record, but—”
Of course she did.
“You should have told me.”
“I didn’t think that—”
“During our conversation at the Dew. After one of the times you let me fuck you. Over breakfast. Your mother’s the moll of the only known drug pusher in the county. That’s somethin’ I need to know.”
Her eyes were huge. “Hix, I didn’t—”
“Now I got him callin’ me out to his fortress, thinkin’ he can fuck with me, standin’ there smilin’ as your mother threatens me, I don’t treat you right.”
She looked like she was going to move to him, saying, “Oh my God, Hix, I’m so—”
“This is over.”
She went solid and snapped her mouth shut.
“I can’t do it,” he continued. “Shouldn’t ’ve done it. Shouldn’t ’ve started it. Shit has a way of gettin’ complicated real quick, but Greta, babe, gotta admit, even with all Hope’s bullshit, you take the cake.”
She unfroze her mouth enough to start, “Can we—?”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “No. Your mom, she’s a real gem, Greta. Pure class.”
“God,” she whispered, her expressive face filling with dismay.
Oh yeah.
She knew.
She knew all along.
Fuck him.
“Coulda saved me from that,” he told her. “Coulda at least given me a heads up so I wasn’t blindsided like that. Walked in there, no clue. Just an evening’s fun for an asshole and his piece.”
She winced.
“Yeah, it went like that,” he bit off.
“I’m so sorry, Hix. Let me—”
“I am too, Greta. But now I know so I can untangle things before they get too messy.”
To explain what he meant by that, Hix was only a step in the front door, so he only had to turn and reach to the handle to open it.
He looked over his shoulder at her.
“I’d say take care of yourself, but it was made clear to me you got an army to do that so I won’t bother.”
He gave her that.
Then he walked out the door.
Greta
I sat on my ass on the floor by my front door with my phone in my hand and I called her.
“Well, hello, my doting daughter,” Mom answered jovially.
God, I hated her.
Hated her.
“He was the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” I whispered.
“I’m sorry, baby girl, Momma can’t hear you,” she sing-songed.
“Better than Keith.”
“Is that so?” she asked happily.
“Yeah,” I pushed out.
“Well, sounds like someone should have paid their mother’s cable bill.”
“Actually, sounds to me like someone’s got herself a sugar daddy,” I returned.
“Greta, Greta, Greta,” she chanted with fake disappointment. “You just never listen to me. Like I told you many times before, a girl has to play all her angles.”
“Scratch this one.”
“Say what?”
“Scratch this one,” I repeated.
“Hmm . . .” She pretended to consider it then stated, “Maybe I don’t want to.”
“You’re dead to me.”
“Now it’s drama,” Mom muttered in exaggerated exasperation.
“You’re dead to Andy.”
That got me silence.
“I’ve already called,” I informed her. “Taken you off the visitor list. If you try to see him at Sunnydown, they’re going to call the police.”
“So you think Sheriff Drake will come after me?” she scoffed.
“I think, after whatever you did to him today, he’d enjoy that immensely.”
She’d obviously chewed him up, something I already knew, but she gave that to me too because her voice went nasty and threatening.
“You think you can keep me from my boy—”
Her boy?
He’d never been her boy.
I cut her off.
“You’re dead to me. You’re dead to Andy. Your reign of terror is over, Mom. Long past due. Now, I hope this one lasts a while because if he doesn’t, you . . . are . . . fucked.”
I drew in breath as she snapped, “Greta.”
“Goodbye, Mom.”
I hung up.
I then blocked her calls.
Hixon’s words invaded my brain.
No, sweetheart, all that is really fuckin’ simple.
“Guess you were wrong,” I murmured to the darkening room.
And it was then, silently, I started crying.