Page 30 of The Locksmith’s Promise (The Promise Duet #1)

House Of Cards

B axter

Knuckles white, I held my cell phone tight to my ear at Maggie’s words.

“I’m at Jenny’s right now but heading home soon to make Corwin lunch.” She huffed out a watery laugh. “Can you believe it’s not even lunch time?”

“She told you,” I stated flatly.

“She did,” I replied quietly.

While I was relieved I hadn’t cheated on Maggie, the truth was ugly. The shame of my father’s despisal and my weakness in the face of it compelled me to hide.

To bury it, all of it, just as I’d done before.

Fragments of memory, horrifying soundbites and short but vivid clips played through the static in my brain.

My back burned, a phantom pain.

Jenny lying on my bed, her limbs arranged in such a way as to make her most vulnerable.

My voice failing.

Her tears.

His laugh.

Memories I didn’t want.

“I don’t know if I can stand up under this,” I muttered. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

I would never escape him. Not only had he left his marks all over my body, but he was in me.

His DNA, his voice in my head, even his fucking mannerisms.

I had his truck, his house, and his old job.

What else would I take on of his?

“You may not know who you are, Bax, but I do.” Her sweet voice shook. “And I should have known it back then. I should have paused and given you a chance to explain,” she rushed on, the words catching in her throat. “Both of you. If I hadn’t run, we wouldn’t have lost a decade.”

“Baby, baby,” I soothed. “This is not your fault. Don’t let him take any more from us.”

She sucked in a breath. “Bax, I know who you are. I just forgot for a minute. But you knew, Bax. You never believed you could do it. Deep down, you’ve always known who you are and what you wanted.”

“I do know what I want. And I know I’ll give all of myself to keep it. I won’t lose you, Maggie,” I stated fiercely. “And I won’t lose him.”

“You won’t,” she agreed.

“Maggie, there are some things I need to take care of.”

Things I didn’t want to touch any part of her life.

She replied immediately, “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

I gulped. “Promise?”

Voice soft, she assured me, “I’m not going anywhere.”

I ended the call and looked to Miller, John, and Eric. With a nod, I said, “Let’s finish this.”

Eric rubbed his hands together. “I’ll get the backhoe.”

“Don’t drive it into the fucking lake,” John jabbed.

“Fuck you, motherfucker.”

“Always so eloquent,” I quipped, adrenaline beginning to clear the fog in my brain.

Tipping his chin up at John, Miller ordered, “Grab the truck, and let’s fucking do this.”

“You got it, Chief.” John whooped and slapped me on the back. “You’re coming with me.”

I didn’t know how to do this.

Any of it.

But swept up in John and Eric’s enthusiasm, I didn’t have time to think about it.

We got to my father’s house just after two o’clock. Miller, John, and Eric outfitted me much like themselves and handed me a blowtorch.

“If anybody asks,” Miller shouted. “This is a training exercise.”

Miller stuck close, ensuring I stuck to the plan, while John and Eric were well-used to executing prescribed burns.

It was hot and smoky, like hell on earth, which was fitting because in my mind, that’s what I was burning.

When the surrounding field was reduced to ashes, Eric advised, “If there’s anything in there you want, best get it now.”

Jogging up to the door, I pushed it open. The truck keys along with the house key Vince had taken possession of lay on the table.

I looked around. The windows, now layered with smoke, allowed even less light in than before.

But this house harbored the darkness. I couldn’t remember much before my mom left, but perhaps it always had.

There were no happy memories here for me.

This was his house.

I didn’t have a key of my own until he died.

And I didn’t want one now. Reaching into my pocket, I retrieved the key that was his and tossed it on the table in exchange for the truck keys.

Donating his precious truck to the high school auto mechanics class would have him rolling in his grave.

Outside, Miller moved the small fire engine up closer and ensured it was ready to go if needed while Eric and John readied the fuel.

When they stepped back, Miller turned to me. “Are you ready to burn this bastard to the ground?”

Already, with all the brush burned back, the house looked even less significant.

“Never been more ready for anything in my life,” I stated.

Eric paused and turned to look down the driveway. “Someone’s coming.”

Sergeant Elliott and Maggie’s dad circled around the fire engine.

Sarge nodded at me before turning to Miller. “Chief.”

Miller nodded back, face blank. “Sarge.” He paused. “Are you here in a professional capacity, Sir?”

Sarge looked down at his Toronto Blue Jays hoodie, ancient, faded jeans, and cowboy boots. “Do I look like I’m here in a professional capacity, son?”

Miller smiled widely. “No, Sir.”

Sarge grunted and dipped his chin to greet Eric and John. “Boys.”

Eric grinned while John shook his head. “You dump a tractor in a lake one time, and they never let you grow up.”

Sergeant Elliott chuckled and looked at Maggie’s dad. “Keith, you got the sticks?”

Maggie’s dad raised a package of marshmallows and roasting sticks. “Yup.”

I swallowed hard, my chin dropping to my chest.

When the Sergeant’s boots approached, I lifted my head, but I couldn’t meet his eyes.

He suffered from the same affliction.

Reaching out, he grasped my shoulder and rasped gruffly, “I should have done more. But there’s just too many horror stories with children’s aid up in these parts. Figured you were better off with all of us keeping an eye.”

“You were always there for me,” I offered, knowing now more than ever that it was true.

“I threw your old man in the drunk tank more times than I can count,” he began. “But the times he got to you, those times fucking haunt me. Why didn’t you call?”

“Hard to do without a phone, Sir.” I cleared my throat. “You kept the physical stuff to a minimum.” Huffing out a sharp laugh, I accused, “You threw me into the drunk tank more than a time or two.”

He grinned. “You had so many of us up your ass you couldn’t get away with shit.”

Behind him, Maggie’s father set out two lawn chairs and cracked open a can of pop.

With a grim smile in my direction, he added, “Laurie packed a cooler full of waters and sandwiches for later.”

I gaped at both of them. They’d turned this into a fucking picnic.

Sarge cleared his throat. “If I don’t get a chance later, I want you to know, I’m proud of the man you’ve become. And I’m glad you’re home.”

I couldn’t answer.

But I heard.

And I replayed those words whenever I needed to in the years to follow.

Eric started up his backhoe and hollered. “Hey, fucker. You want to sit on my lap?”

I grinned and shook my head. “I’ll watch from here.”

Face serious, Eric nodded to all of us as he moved her into position. “Stand back.”

Shifting forward, Eric lifted the arm of the backhoe along with his own. With three fingers in the air, he counted down then dropped the bucket.

Just once.

And the shack of horrors toppled like a house of fucking cards.

I stood as the ceiling collapsed, and the walls fell back.

Flushed darkly when it exposed the shameful remains of my trashed bedroom for all to see.

My lips twitched at the one corner post left standing.

A snarl unfurled in my chest, my fury rising with every panting breath.

Spying John’s axe, I grabbed it and stalked toward that one remaining post.

Lifting the axe high, I brought it down with a harsh grunt.

“Fucking bastard,” I spat.

You never loved me.

With a harsh grunt, I swung the axe once more.

“I had a mother who painted doors blue and wore flowers in her hair.”

She left me to get away from you.

Swing.

“You and that fucking bottle drove her away.”

The same fucking vice that near swallowed me.

Swing.

“You tried to destroy me.”

My back burned, a phantom pain, the memory so crisp I arched to escape it.

Fucking drugged me and tied me to a chair. Lit that fucking cigar over and fucking over.

I sobbed, the blurry, over-exposed image of Jenny on my bed, her lovely body exposed, head lolling, eyes swimming with tears as she cried for me.

And called weakly for Deacon.

And that fucker laughed.

Swing. Swing. Swing.

I stopped, chest heaving, tears burning.

Maggie. My Maggie.

Running out of that house with tears running down her face and the fucker laughed then, too.

“Who’s laughing now, Dad?” I bellowed. “Who’s fucking laughing now?”

I paced back and forth in front of the rubble and poked myself hard in the chest. “I’m still fucking here.”

And you can’t hurt me or anyone I love again.

Especially not Corwin.

“This is for him. This is for the ten years you stole from him,” I snarled.

I lifted the axe over my head and brought it down.

Over and over again.

Reducing that post to a pile of fucking splinters at my feet.

Panting, I carefully lowered the axe head down to rest on the ground.

A harsh sound ripped through the chords in my throat as I tossed one last truth. “I’m fucking everything you never were.”

I let go of the axe.

Tipping my chin up to the sky, I spread my arms wide, opened my chest, and roared to the heavens.

Miller slammed into me first, followed immediately by John and Eric. Keith and Sarge brought up the rear, wrapping their arms around all of us.

I don’t know who said it, but the message was unanimous.

“We’ve got you.”

I began to laugh.

Miller leaned back. Tilting his head to the side, eyebrows raised, he studied me warily. “You okay, there, fucker?”

This only made me laugh harder.

“Your bedside manner needs some work, man,” Eric chimed in.

“He never was any good in that department,” John agreed. “Remember the woman who went into labour?”

Eric laughed. “He told her to relax, and she beaned him over the fucking head.”

Keith grasped my shoulder. His throat working hard, he couldn’t speak.

Sarge leveled me with his stare. “You good, son?”

I nodded.

“Okay.” John stepped back and rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Time to get this show on the road.”

Eric shook his head and huffed out a sharp laugh as he herded all of us backward. “Look away, Sarge.”

Keith took one look at what John carried in his hand and slapped a hand on top of his own head.

Sarge gaped. “Aw, for fuck’s sake.” His gaze sharpened on John’s grinning face. “I fucking knew it was you who set the old barn on fire.”

John’s eyes bugged out as he spread his arms wide. “Sarge! They were running a dog-fighting ring!”

“Took me four weeks to round up all those critters,” he grumbled, walking away. “So, Keith. Tell me. How’s the missus?”

Keith grinned. “This how we’re playing it?”

Sarge looked me straight in the face before answering. “They deserve this. All four of them.” Giving me a short nod, he ordered, “Bury him.”

And then it was just me, Miller, John, and Eric.

As it always had been.

Sleeping in their beds while they took the floor.

Their mothers feeding me.

Taking me in on the nights I couldn’t go home.

Paying for my fucking school fees.

I swallowed.

“I love you guys.”

Something that sounded suspiciously like a sob broke from John’s throat.

“And I love your moms,” I continued tightly.

“So not the time for a ‘your mom’ joke,” Eric rasped, handing me the lighter.

John handed me a bottle stuffed with an old rag. “Light her up, man.”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat.

Flicked the lighter under the rag and reveled in the first lick of the flames.

Facing my past head on, I whipped the bottle into the mess that was my childhood.

A splash of orange rolled into an angry, red ball of fire that roared into the night sky.

Eric threw his arms in the air and whooped.

John punched the air. “Fuck, yeah!”

Miller stuffed his hands in his pockets and stood beside me, shoulder to shoulder. He bumped me lightly. “You good?”

I bumped him back. “Yeah.”

He looked at John and Eric whooping it up. “Look at these fucking doorknobs.”

A rumble of easy laughter bubbled up in my stomach and filled my chest to overflowing until it escaped my lips. “Our fucking doorknobs.”

“Marshmallow?” Keith handed me a stick.

I shrugged. “Sure.”

It was the early hours of the morning before it was done, nothing left but a steaming pile of charred, wet wood.

Exhausted, I turned to Maggie’s dad.

He stayed the whole night, him and Sarge pulling out more lawn chairs for us and telling stories while we devoured Laurie’s cooler full of food.

And I knew, I just knew, he’d be there always.

“Sir?”

Eyes rimmed red from smoke and lack of sleep held mine. “Son?”

“I need to talk to Maggie.”

He smiled. “I’ll pick up my grandson on my way home.”