Audrey's Promise (20 page)

Ashe cracked a joke to the guy next to him and snickered, glancing back at them gripping his beer with jittery hands. An audience must be a common practice for Paul. Or maybe it was the unfamiliar, flashy journalist in tow. Not that Ethan wore flashy clothes, but his slacks and buttoned shirt didn’t fit the profile of the roughnecks around them.

But the red-eyed Thin Man in the corner was the only one with clear symptoms of crack addiction oozing from every shaky nerve ending, unlike most roughnecks. His skin hung loose on a bony frame and he flicked his fingers like a cigarette, one at a time in rapid fire.

“Reporters aren’t Audrey’s strong suit,” Paul started uncomfortably drawing Ethan’s attention from the pissy stickman.

The perfect cue-in to find Audrey’s weaknesses, and get more dirt for his story. The next question out of Ethan’s mouth should have been “why not?” But instead, he heard himself respond: “What is?”

Paul studied his beer bottle, pausing as he battled through his thoughts. Then sighed, almost a grumble. But he never got the chance to answer.

“Lying,” an edgy voice shouted for him, followed by an unguarded belch. Thin Man clunked his beer bottle on the bar and slid off the stool, jerking up his worn jeans over his exposed tightie-whities.

The noise in the whole bar quieted so suddenly, Ethan thought he’d gone deaf, if not for the soft cheers from the football game on TV. No one bothered hiding their stares at Paul anymore, except for the few who stared blatantly at Ashe. Waiting. Including Ethan.

“Lying is Audrey Biddinger’s strong suit. Real fitting trait for a politician, don’t you think?”

Ashe’s eyes grew more menacing by the second, keeping his glare on Paul’s neck, who still refused to acknowledge him. But the grief behind the man’s face was unmistakable.

“What’s she doin’ back in town, Paul? Campaignin’ for more votes?” Ashe leaned back to the bar and grabbed his beer, taking another swig and then let it dangle at his thigh. “Does that murderer really expect to get a vote from this town? Amazing they even let someone like her run. Should be a law against it.”

“Amazed you even know there’s an election goin’ on, Ashe. Since when do you care about politics?” Paul finally replied, roughly and without looking at him.

Ashe kept on as if he hadn’t heard. But instead stepped toward Ethan. “You lookin’ for a story, big city reporter? I’ll give you a story.”

Still twitchy and uncoordinated, Ashe flipped his middle finger at him, a playful smirk on his lips and hate in his eyes. “You see this finger? This finger should have a state championship ring on it. But there ain’t, is there?”

The putrid smell of beer and gingivitis wafted under Ethan’s nose. The grime on his yellowed teeth was almost as bad as the dirt covering Ashe’s hand, including underneath his fingernail, which he still held in front of Ethan’s face. The need for personal hygiene was the least of this guy’s problems.

“News flash. They don’t give state champ rings in peewee football,” Ethan replied dryly. He tried to turn away and focus on his coffee, but the snickers throughout the bar infuriated Ashe more. Ethan should have known his smart-ass mouth would get him in trouble again, but he just couldn’t help it. Thin Man needed to lose the ego. Instead, strong, jittery fingers yanked on his shirt and lifted him from his chair, dragging him to his feet.

How in the hell was this scrawny drunk strong enough to haul me out of my seat?
The redneck’s eyes flared only inches away from Ethan’s face, ready for a fight and giving him a whiff of hot, putrid breath. Ethan doubted Ashe was coordinated enough to actually throw and connect a punch, but his overall disgust could have a seasoned vet throwing up his hands for mercy. He was lucky Ethan stopped drinking. Otherwise, Thin Man would end up knocked cold on the floor while Ethan wondered why his knuckles were bloodied and bruised the next morning.
Hell, the insult wasn’t that good anyway.
Witty banter wasn’t fun with a staggering drunk.

“Funny guy, huh? Suppose that’s all you got…words. Lousy reporter and all.”

“Let go of my shirt, before you lose your teeth,” Ethan warned, low and deep. “Or what’s left of them.”

The two men battled each other with their eyes, waiting for the other to blink, flinch, or breath.

“Ashe, that’s enough,” Paul growled.

Slowly, Ashe released Ethan’s shirt and stepped back. Ethan straightened his shirt, feeling a hint of disappointment at being denied his fight, but grateful for the returned ability to breath fresh air.

“Of course you wouldn’t be interested in this gripping story. That thief probably has her claws into you, too. Two dozen guys in this town were robbed of that state champ ring, and a ticket out of here—all because of her. Should be the headline for…
Wall Street Journal
or something.”

“You read the
Wall Street Journal
often?” Ethan took his seat and sipped his coffee to hide the snickering. “Don’t recall it having a comics section or personal ads.” Laughter bubbled up Ethan’s throat. He couldn’t stop it. From the glare on Ashe’s face, it was the wrong reaction, but a few other giggles around the bar proved Ethan wasn’t the only one amused by the lanky man’s ignorance.

“Knock it off, both of you.” Paul threw a reproving glare at Ethan. “Ashe, finish your beer and go home. You’ve had enough for one night.”

“You’re not my father,” Ashe barked back. “Hell, if you were any kind of father at all, you’d tell your daughter to skip town or check into the nearest jail cell.”

The chuckles around the room stopped instantly. Not because of Ashe’s insult, but because Paul finally stood out of his chair. Even Ethan’s heart raced when Paul reached out and fisted Thin-Man’s shirt in his hand, yanking him forward faster than his jaw twitched. At full height, he easily towered over Ashe by half a foot. The kid’s frail shoulders and skinny arms were twigs compared to the massive trunk of Paul’s stature.

“If you want a job tomorrow, along with your jaw intact,” he gnashed. “Go home. Now.”

Ashe’s glower matched his boss’s, but he didn’t say anything back. That was the first smart thing he’d done all night. When Paul released him, Ashe took a final swig of his beer and slowly turned to the bar. Fishing a few bills out of his pocket, he tossed them on the counter.

“Better tell that reporter to watch his back,” Ashe threw over his shoulder as he trudged to the exit, tripping over a barstool leg. “Or he’ll be the next sorry sucker to end up dead.”

The words were drunkenly shouted as the door closed behind him. The bar was still silent. Paul still stood, braced for a fight. “Anyone else got somethin’ they wanna say?”

No one moved.

With a final twitch of his jaw, Paul finally took his seat again. “He’s a mean drunk,” he murmured.

“Hard to believe Thin Man was a footballer.”

Paul grunted. “A kicker. And shoddy, at that.”

Everyone in the bar turned back to their own conversations, watched the game, or pretended to ignore them. Ethan slowly twirled his coffee cup on the table, letting the heat penetrate his fingertips. The heat from the cup had simmered to dull warmth. “What am I missing?”

Paul lifted his eyes to Ethan’s, but didn’t answer.

“From what I’ve read, it was just a car accident. So, she wasn’t liked much beforehand, and when the QB was killed, it gave the players an excuse to dislike her more. But then why the whole town? What am I missing?”

A long moment passed with the two staring at each other. Whatever he was missing, this was the big part of the story. The crucial piece that pulled everything together. But damn, this man was hard to crack.

“Just now is the only ounce of defense you’ve shown for her. Not when Adam attacked her, not when everyone else is throwing insults at her. And you haven’t told Addy what happened either, that’s clear. Which means you think Audrey’s responsible for his death, too.”

Paul clenched his jaw again, but the anger in his eyes drifted into regret.

“You think it’s her fault, too. Along with everyone else in this town. Why?” Ethan nudged further. He had to get something out of him. When Paul continued to stare at the table, instead of answering, it was time for Ethan to change his tactics.

“Your daughter was dating the quarterback, the glory boy of this town. She was making good grades and ready for college. Why wouldn’t you be proud of that? What’s the
whole
story?”

Paul leaned his elbows on the table. “You never quit, do you?”

Never.

“That night…” Paul began, refusing to meet Ethan’s face. A myriad of emotions flickered across his face in that pause. As if he relived the last decade of events in the space of a few seconds. “There are some things fathers are never prepared to hear. Especially about their daughters. In the South, it’s impossible to overcome stigmas. Family shames. But now Audrey is making something of herself. I don’t want to see that destroyed because of town folk here who can’t get over a decade-old grudge.”

Whether Paul kept his voice low to avoid being heard by others, or couldn’t stand discussing what weighed so heavily on his heart, Ethan didn’t know. But ten years was too long to let a wound like this fester. Ten years was too long to be rejected by your father. Ethan knew that better than anyone.

“It’s best she doesn’t come back here,” Paul continued, guilt dripping with every word. “People are cruel. You’ve seen ’em. She should stay where she can really shine. Make a difference.”

“So you’re keeping her out of your life—at a mile’s reach—for
her
benefit? To keep her from coming back?”

The words hung between them, cruel realization hitting Paul in the face, and defensive anger filling Ethan’s. This whole time, the dejected aversion to comforting his daughter was his twisted way of protecting her. But he didn’t see that his behavior was far worse than anything any neighbors or strangers had done to his daughter.

“I’ve only known your daughter personally for a few days. Even I can see how wonderful she is. No matter what she was like in high school, I see the determined, confident, and strong woman she is now. And she
is
making a difference. The number of bills she’s helped pass, the people she’s supporting, just the amount of voters she has believing in her… Have you even
heard
her in a debate? She’s fucking brilliant.”

The shock on Paul’s face was nothing compared to Ethan’s as he realized the words that just came out of his mouth.

“Aren’t you the one trying to exploit her?”

Yes I am. But I’m no competition against the people she calls family.

“If you could see her at what she does best, you’d see that she doesn’t need you to protect her like that. She’s more than capable of protecting herself. But she needs your love. Your support. All children want approval from their parents, whether they’re five or fifty. Believe me, I know.”

“Are you saying you’re not going to write your article?”

When did I become a cheerleader for Audrey Allen?
Ethan’s mind went blank, and all he could see was Audrey. Her infectious smile, the long dark hair, her long lashes, those deep sapphire eyes boring into his heart. And the familiar urge she’d inspired in him several times the last twenty-four hours. When had he lost track of his career? This was supposed to be about his chance in New York. His chance at sticking it to his father. When had he grown this massive splinter of concern and defensive nature for Audrey?

“Admit it, boy.” Paul’s southern drawl broke through Ethan’s flusters. “You’ve been T-boned. Hurts, don’t it?”

“What?”

“Caring.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Audrey slammed her car door shut and stood by the trunk. A freezing wind blew against her cheeks as she stared at the door of the only bar in town, knowing her father and Ethan were inside, more than likely on their third or fourth beer. Judging by the number of trucks and beat-up cars in the parking lot, they were being watched by half the men of Mackineer. Tears stung the edges of her eyes, which she blamed fully on the wind chill.

Coming home was a mistake
, she thought as she stared at the neon OPEN sign buzzing in the dilapidated window. Not just because Ethan was fishing for dirt for his article and feeling proud of himself for blackballing another politician’s career. But because all of the agonizing memories had resurfaced the minute she walked in the front door, along with the crippling anger and self-doubt. Adam’s hatred only fueled the flames of that pain. It had been years since she let anger fill her gut this much. And years longer before she had the confidence in herself to go after her newfound dreams. Without Jack. Without her family.

Every minute she stayed in this town only let the resentment take a firmer hold on her patience. Chipping away at her confidence, one insult and cold glare at a time. Tomorrow wasn’t soon enough to get back to her life—to her career, as damaged as it may be.

All she had to do was suffer through one last confrontation: walking in the bar, past the forty eyes of the ones who hated her most, to get Ethan and drive away. If he wasn’t ready to leave, he’d have to walk home. All 115 miles.

Stick to your gut, Audrey. Leave now.

She shoved her hands in her coat pockets and stamped into the bar, head held high and eyes fixed straight ahead. The bell over the door rang as it closed behind her. Her steps were quick and even as she strode through the bar to her father’s usual table, and ignored the silence and cold glares around her. Even the TV seemed to mute itself upon her entrance, every heartbeat thumping against her rib cage to the pace of her steps.

The hushed murmurs around the bar infiltrated into her brain.

“What the hell is
she
doing here?”

“Salvaging her campaign... typical politician.”

“Hasn’t she done enough here?

“Heartless killer needs to go home.”

But she refused to acknowledge them. When she opened her mouth to announce it was time to go, Ethan’s eyes lifted to meet hers. The words crumbled on her tongue, along with every thought, as he looked at her. She’d never seen that tortured grimace on his face, vulnerable eyes staring back at her with…pity?