Page 3 of Burning Demons (Burning Torments #1)
Chapter 3
Tate
Dad’s house was situated at the end of a quiet street. Thank God. I leaned against the far side of the house, the side without the driveway and little to nothing besides one lone tree, and smoked cigarette after cigarette. I should ration these, or I would run out in no time without a clue who would sell me more. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I would slow down and figure out how to make them last.
Back home, the old lady who worked most mornings at the corner store was blind as a bat. I could give her a kind word, and she would sell me anything. As soon as Franklin left for work this morning, I had rushed out of the house, stopped at that store, and stuffed one bag with as many cartons as she’d sell me before hitting the bank.
Franklin had given me a credit card to use for whatever, so as a birthday present to myself, I had gotten a cash advance for as much as the card would let me, then got the fuck out of New York.
My heart, which hadn’t settled since setting this plan in motion, finally thumped out a closer-to-normal beat after I had sucked down the first of several cigarettes, and I allowed myself to just—stop.
The afternoon was hot. Sweat dripped down the center of my back, and there was shit for shade on this quiet side of the house. I eyed the small tree as I took another hit of nicotine. I wasn’t sure if the thing was supposed to be that small, or maybe it was a baby. I knew fuck all about trees, and this place was covered up with them.
Dad had picked me up from the airport, full of hugs and smiles, and told me how much I had grown. Though we talked on the phone a lot, it had been a long time since we saw each other like this. Mother had introduced me to him when I was nine. She never gave me the full story with them, and I had never had the nerve to ask Dad about it. I spent a few school vacations down here, but not in several years. Well, not since Franklin came into the picture.
Winnie looked much the same as I vaguely remembered from a wedding photo Dad had sent me years ago. Wren was certainly not what I had expected. I couldn’t recall the pictures now, but I remembered mention of him and a younger, shorter, smaller kid with dirty-blond hair, probably the same shade as Winnie’s under all those highlights, with his face forever turned away from the camera. Having met Wren in person, I could guess the reason for that.
A wicked scar ran across his right cheek from eye to jaw. Deep and discolored from the rest of his face, it looked painful. At least once upon a time, anyway. I couldn’t imagine what had caused it and wouldn’t be an ass and ask. The skin closer to his mouth had an odd pull to it, not enough to give him a forever smirk, but almost as if he had a dimple that wouldn’t smooth out.
I hoped to hell and back I hadn’t been too noticeable when I kind of stared. I mean, it wasn’t as if I had expected it, but more than that, Wren was an absolute dreamboat. A ten. An Adonis. Fucking huge and manly, and maybe I had a thing for country boys because hot damn. Shoulders twice as wide as my own, a chest that could no doubt bench-press two of me, trim hips, and muscled calves. Good God. In a way, it was actually a little perfect my mind had still been in running mode , or I might’ve had to stop and wipe the drool from my chin. I shook my head and breathed out a full breath of smoke. Fuck me.
Wren hadn’t stuck around for long. He had walked out on Dad and me, which gave us more time to fumble through conversations. I liked my dad. Sam Patterson was a good guy from what I knew of him. The thing was, I didn’t know much about him. Sure, we had talked on holidays and my birthday every year, but those conversations were mostly me catching him up on what I had been doing. When Franklin got involved, those conversations got shorter and shorter.
On the long trip from the airport in Birmingham to his house, we had breezed right on through the easy stuff.
“You still work for the city?” I had asked.
“Oh, yeah. I won’t leave until I retire, I reckon,” he answered.
After a moment of silence, he asked, “You like to swim?”
I didn’t have an answer for that. Our building had several pools, but I never went to them. For too long, I had defined myself through Franklin, his wants and needs and attention. I had no clue who I was or what I liked, so I responded with a shrug.
Dad had then launched into describing the pool in the backyard and how he liked to grill most nights during the summer. We ate up the miles that way. Bouts of strained silence between us until one of us came up with something we could ask each other. A little awkward, but hopefully something that would improve with time.
I had been left alone to unpack, which hadn’t taken long. I had only brought clothes, cigarettes, and cash. Well, and the new phone Franklin and Mother didn’t know about. My old one, the one covered under Franklin’s family plan, probably still sat dead on my bed back home.
With everything put in drawers or hanging in the closet, I had stepped out of my new room to noise. The penthouse had always been eerily quiet. With thick walls and enough levels to keep out the sounds from the street below, it had been more like a tomb than a home. Mother employed round-the-clock maids and butlers to keep it spotless, immaculate, and cold. Lifeless. Dad’s place was not like that. Winnie’s hums filtered up the stairs. Bangs sounded from inside and out. What could they possibly be doing?
I had tiptoed down the hall, feeling like I didn’t belong. The second floor of the house held my room, Wren’s on the opposite side, and a bathroom in the middle. That was it. Picture frames of Wren growing up lined the walls, and my grin had grown with each one. Wren missing teeth and smiling proudly anyway. Wren, Winnie, and a guy who had his same smile and must be his dad. Every awkward stage of Wren’s childhood was cataloged here.
A stark change happened in the photos, though. One year, in what I assumed were school pictures, Wren smiled brightly with his big brown eyes, sun-kissed skin, and perfect little cowlick in his hair. The next photo over showed a severe child. The smile was gone. His eyes were dull and red-rimmed. His hair was a mess, and the scar made its first appearance.
I swallowed hard. Jesus, fuck. A familiar pain hit the back of my eyes and slid down my throat. He had only been a kid. The redness was probably from crying about having to take the picture. The wedding photos I remembered made sense now. As did the way he curled in on himself when we met. Wren didn’t like to be seen. I could understand and respect that.
I snubbed out the last cigarette, for now, and added it to a small pile I would have to remember to toss when everyone was gone or asleep. If Dad smelled smoke on me when I had met him at the airport, he hadn’t mentioned it. I would feel him out before announcing the habit.
Time to go be involved. Family. I had dreamed of what it would be like to have real parents, loving members of a unit that got excited just because I was around. Now that I was here, I was afraid. Mostly because I might fuck it all up, but also because I wasn’t sure how to be around them. I didn’t know who I was. What if I sucked as a person? Would Dad kick me out?
I washed my hands and splashed water over my face in the downstairs bathroom, then pushed through the swinging door that led to the kitchen just as Dad said, “Baby, where’s Wren?”
Baby ? I had never heard the endearment outside of movies and felt like a pervert for having heard it now.
Winnie startled at seeing me, her humming trailing off, then smiled. “I’ve got to get used to you bein’ around,” she said.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
She laughed from the gut. “Sweetie, it’s fine.” She turned to Dad. “Wren ran over to Sienna’s.”
“Ah, got it,” Dad said, which told me nothing. “I think Sienna’s parents still want those two to get together.” Which told me everything.
I didn’t like the way the news of the girl Wren was supposed to be with sat heavy in my chest. Was it a bit of jealousy from hoping I would get to have him to myself? As a brother, of course—err, stepbrother, a friend my age, but now he would be up some girl’s ass.
“Lord, yes. Her momma brings it up every chance she gets, but it won’t happen,” Winnie added, and I perked up. “I gave up trying to talk to Wren about it. All’s I know, they’re friends and nothin’ more.”
“You leave any friends in New York?” Dad asked me.
“No. Nobody close enough to keep in touch with anyway.” I fibbed a bit so I didn’t sound like too much of a loser.
“Want to help me with these?” Winnie gestured with her elbow since her hands were busy.
“Uh.” A tray full of cookie dough balls sat on one counter, and several racks held baked ones. “Sure. How can I help?”
“Y’all have fun. I need to get the grill ready,” Dad said and left me with Winnie.
Winnie sat down her spatula and picked up two small canisters. “Sprinkle or icing duty?” She shook them both.
Icing sounded out of my league, so I pointed at the small bottle of red sugar crystals. “Sprinkles.”
Winnie chuckled. “Must be a guy thing. Sam and Wren choose that one too.”
That had a real smile pulling at my cheeks I hopefully masked quickly enough. I didn’t need Winnie to know just how starved for validation I was.
As we worked, she chatted about Wren as a kid, promising to show me baby pictures at some point.
“Most of them I have saved somewhere. My computer is so cluttered with school stuff I need to sort through and put things in folders. He was so cute, though. Those brown eyes of his just took over his face.” I laughed when she did. “And the chubbiest cheeks. Ooooo, I could bite ’em.”
Weird, but okay. “Was he a big baby?” I asked.
“No, not at all.” Winnie paused while wiping a counter clean. “He was under seven pounds when he was born, if you can believe that, but all the men on his daddy’s side are big guys. I thought he’d take after me, but good Lord, when he hit puberty, he sprouted like a bean. I swear I had to buy shoes for him every week. Jeans too. Could not keep that boy in clothes that’d fit.”
I didn’t have any of these memories about myself to share. Franklin might have noticed me growing at some point, or maybe he hadn’t cared about that aspect of me. No matter, though. Winnie kept herself entertained without my input by continuing to tell me stories of Wren as a kid. I was both relieved and happy I didn’t need to make up any lies about my own childhood. The truth was too ugly to discuss over cookies.