The Bears of Blackrock, Books 1 - 3: The Fenn Clan (22 page)

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t give a fuck about me. I’m the collateral! I’m the add-on. Keep me happy and maybe you can keep Rory, right?”

“That’s enough!”

“Creating some fucking bunk bed wonderland for kids you don’t even fucking have, like some pied piper of fucking Hamlin!”

Kirk’s eyes went wide, and his nostrils flared. He’d never heard anyone criticize his choices – those choices – like that. He did everything he could to make his home a safe place, to make sure no child was left out in the cold, or at the mercy of the system. He had many flaws, many secrets that he’d happily take a lashing for, but not that.

He wouldn’t be accused of that.

He took a breath as his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. “Fuck you, Josephine.”

“Fuck you!” She screamed, and began to sob again.

His throat grew tight, and he swallowed hard against it. This was it. He could feel it. She was going to leave. She was going to pack Rory up and take her away – take her off to some secreted away place and never look back. He’d never see them again.

The school appeared in the snow ahead. Josephine unlatched her seat belt and was halfway out of the truck before Kirk even had a chance to stop. Joe ran toward the school doors, yanking on the handle to no avail. They were locked. Kirk hurried past the black and white police cruiser parked outside the school, and came up behind her as she turned to the call box, frantically pressing the button. The doors gave a soft click, and Joe flung them open, running to the office window.

“Please! Where is my daughter? Rory Little!?”

The woman in the window gave them a grave look, but pointed down the hall. Kirk turned to see Rory standing there, holding the guidance counselor’s hand, frowning.

“Hi, Momma,” she said, and her tone betrayed wisdom well beyond her ten years.

Kirk’s heart broke.

Josephine ran across the school hallway and dropped to her knees, pulling Rory into her arms. There she remained, holding Rory against her, sobbing uncontrollably.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Josephine sat silent in the back seat of the truck, unwilling to release her hold on Rory. Kirk drove down the snowy roads, confused and aching. He’d never seen anything like Joe’s sudden meltdown. Seeing a woman as stoic and seemingly unfeeling as Joe tried to be, curled on the floor of Blackrock Middle School, clutching Rory to her as though grieving a loss that hadn’t yet come - it rattled him so deeply, he almost forgot her hurtful words.

Almost.

Kirk pulled into his driveway, waiting for the garage door to rise as another truck pulled up behind them. Joe startled so violently, Rory almost fell out of her lap.

“It’s alright. It’s my grandfather,” Kirk said, and exhaled. He’d have heard about the scene at the tavern that day. He’d have words.

Joe swallowed audibly as the garage door closed behind them. Then she was out of the truck and inside in two seconds, barreling through the house in a fervor. She was adamant that she pack up their things and be gone within the hour. Kirk watched helplessly, wanting desperately to soothe her, to settle her down and help Rory to calm as well, but Josephine was in a panic, and the smell of it nearly filled the house.

“Jesus, what’s going on in here?”

Kirk turned to greet his grandfather, but Patrick Fenn barely acknowledged the extended hand. He could smell it, too.

“Rory! Where are your jammies?”

“Momma, I don’t want to leave. Kirk wouldn’t make us go. And I have my concert tomorrow.”

Joe shook her head, glaring at her daughter in a fury. “It’s not up to me. We can’t stay here. I’m sorry!”

“But where are we gonna go?” Rory asked and her words descended into sobs. Kirk’s already broken heart sent a burning grief through his chest.

Despite the cruelty of Joe’s words, Kirk crossed the living room to Rory and wrapped his arms around the little girl. She pressed her face into his belly and bawled her eyes out.

“Jesus, what did you bring to my door, son?” Patrick muttered, not looking for an answer.

Patrick Fenn came into the living room, watching from Kirk’s side as Josephine rampaged through each bedroom, collecting every item of theirs she could find. Kirk felt helpless, holding Rory tight, as though he could somehow keep her there if his arms were strong enough.

Patrick stepped into the hallway of the house, putting a hand out to Josephine as she tried to pass him. Unlike Kirk, she stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of the man.

Patrick had that power over people.

“Alright lady, I need you to come sit down for a hot minute, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t have time, sir. I have to -”

“It wasn’t a request,” Patrick said, and Joe froze, staring up at him. Patrick stood taller than Kirk by an inch, but by presence alone, it felt like a mile. The front door opened again, and Joe jumped, panic playing on her face. Gracie appeared in the kitchen, shooting Kirk a worried look. He shook his head.

“Hey now, girl. You’re alright. Look at me,” Patrick said, speaking as though trying to calm a wild horse.

Josephine glanced into the living room, meeting Kirk’s gaze for the first time since she tore him to pieces with words. She frowned at the sight of him, her lip quivering. Finally, she lifted her gaze to meet Patrick’s, fighting to take a breath.

“You’re on my land, sweetheart. Ain’t nothing coming within miles of you here without my knowing. Alright?”

She shook her head, ready to protest.

“Why don’t you come on over to the couch and have a seat, let Gracie take Rory upstairs?”

Gracie stepped into view, opening her arms to Rory who lunged to meet her. Gracie didn’t wait for protest, walking Rory to the apartment stairs. A few moments later, the sound of cartoons filtered down from above.

Joe fought in silence there, unmoving. Patrick held an arm out, gesturing for her to come to the couch. Finally, she inched forward, setting one of Rory’s sweatshirts on the arm of the couch as she sat down. The act of doing so seemed to unleash a new world of grief, and Joe covered her face, weeping silently as Patrick pulled a seat up across from her.

Kirk didn’t move, afraid to draw any closer to her.

“Whatever it is, darling, you’re gonna be just fine.”

She shook her head, her face still covered in her hands. Patrick reached for her, touching his fingers to her forearm, rubbing gently. Kirk startled at the gesture. Patrick wasn’t one for gentle reassurance, not because he was cruel, but because he simply didn’t know how.

“Can you tell us what’s wrong? Cause I think it best I know what kind of trouble Kirk brought on my land.”

“Gramps!”

Joe inhaled sharply. “I’m so sorry,” she said, only barely managing to eek the words out. Despite the cruelty she’d shown him that afternoon, he couldn’t help but want to go to her, to collect her in his arms and shield her from whatever it was that troubled her.

Patrick and Kirk coaxed her from behind her hands with tea and patience, finally settling her down after half an hour. Joe sat there exhausted, her breath still shaky as she sipped her tea.

“Come on, Theresa, dear.”

Patrick planted his elbows on his knees, leaning into her. The scent of panic was subsiding. Kirk found himself moving closer, despite the ache her words left in his heart.

Joe took a deep breath. “My name’s not Theresa. It’s Josephine Dalton.”

Patrick shot Kirk a scathing look. “I thought you told me you had a Theresa Little staying with you.”

Kirk shrugged, ready to defend himself.

“He did. Legally, I am Theresa Little, but – that’s not my name.”

Patrick cocked his head to the side, but Joe stopped him before he could give her flack.

“Theresa Little is the name I took when I went into hiding.”

Patrick ran a hand over his beard, shooting Kirk another one of his murderous looks. “And why did you end up in hiding, exactly?”

She took a deep breath. “Because Rory’s father got out of jail.”

“I gather you weren’t expecting that, then?”

Joe inhaled and it shuddered violently. She shook her head. “No, he got out early.”

“And why is that, exactly?”

“Good behavior.”

Patrick made an affirmative grunting sound, deep in his throat.

Joe frowned, and her face contorted again, betraying the rise of emotion. Kirk couldn’t hold himself at bay anymore, and he crossed the room to sit beside her on the couch. She turned to him, her eyes welling up and pouring over in this unspoken beseeching. She didn’t need to speak or apologize, then. Her eyes spoke volumes.

Kirk wrapped an arm around her shoulders and listened.

“I met Rory’s father, Carson, when I was twenty two - and stupid. He was my first long term boyfriend. I found him so charming and sweet when we met. Apparently, that’s not uncommon with people like him – narcissists, sociopaths. I didn’t know any better. I’d only ever been with boys for three to six months before him, but he moved in with me right away, and - well things got dark, rather quickly.”

Kirk stared at her, watching the expression on her face change as she spoke.

“It started with little cruelties; like telling me I was gaining weight, or that he hated the sound of my breathing. Then it turned to my family and friends, refusing to let me see them. He never laid a hand on me, he just – he used words. By two years in, I never left the house. I spent all my time walking on eggshells, trying to find ways to make him nice to me. It was so rare that he touched me, I almost didn’t believe it when I realized I was pregnant.”

Joe’s face contorted and she had to stop, covering her face in her hands.

Patrick reached for her, resting his hand on her knee, wordless. Kirk was startled by his grandfather’s continued softness.

Joe took a deep, shaking breath. “I told him I was pregnant, half hoping it would make him love me again, but I was wrong. He demanded that I get an abortion.”

Kirk’s fists clenched, but he remained silent.

“When I refused -” She exhaled through pursed lips, fighting to get the words out. “He changed. He turned into something so fucking evil. I just – I never saw it coming.”

Her voice trailed off, as though something in the air stole the words away. Kirk waited, holding her as she shuddered. She didn’t want to go on, it was clear, but after a moment. She spoke. Kirk almost wished she hadn’t. “He tied me to a chair – and he held me at knife point for three days, threatening to cut her out of me himself if I didn’t agree to get an abortion.”

Kirk was up and across the room, pacing as his temper flared with such abandon, he feared he’d shift in the middle of his living room. He fought to keep his breathing even.

Dear god, he should have killed him in that parking lot. He should have ripped his throat out with his bare fucking hands.

“I finally agreed because I was sure – I knew he was going to kill me if I didn’t. He drove me to the clinic, and as soon as we were in public, he put on that mask of his. He walked me in there like some doting, loving boyfriend – brushing my hair out of my face and cooing to me as the nurse came to take us into the exam room. ‘You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,’ he kept saying.”

Joe cracked, her tears shifting to an angry place then. “That fucking psycho could turn on the charm for strangers, make it look like he was the kindest, sweetest man to ever walk the earth, but he was evil. He is evil. And that nurse - she could see it.”

Joe splayed her fingers in her lap, inspecting each one as she fought to go on. “April – I’ll never forget her name. She told the fucker that patients couldn’t bring people into the exam room, then took me back there and said -” Joe cracked, sobbing again. She took another breath. Kirk ached to see her fighting so hard just to speak.

“She said, ‘You don’t have to say a word, honey, but if that man is hurting you, nod your head.’ So I did.”

Kirk came back to the couch, wishing to god he could take these thoughts away, make her forget that darkness. Then above it all, he fumed at the thought that such a monster would have the balls to claim Rory as his. How fucking dare he?

“April called the police and they took him away. He was smiling when they put him in the squad car. Like it was all so amusing. I only saw him once more – in the court room. He’s never met Rory.”

Kirk’s heart imploded. No further words had to be spoken for the world to feel small and cold suddenly, as though everything about it was suddenly dangerous and deceptive. Sweet Jesus, Joe. My poor Joe.

Suddenly, Josephine Dalton – or Theresa Little – made all the sense in the world. The distance she held from everyone, the suspicion and protectiveness – the ‘don’t let him have her.’ It all made perfect sense.

Patrick stood up from his perch, pacing in front of them as he listened. “And this fellow didn’t get put away for life?”

“Oh, he almost did. They put him away for kidnapping - ten to twenty. But he put on the charm, I guess. Convinced the prison he was reformed. Released for good behavior a little over a year ago.”

Kirk spewed vitriol under his breath, language so colorful, he was sure his mother was glaring at him from heaven.

“A month or so after he was released, I got a phone call from my landlord that someone had been looking for me. I recognized the description, and we ran. I renamed us Theresa and Samantha Little. Settled in nowhere New Hampshire. But he found us. So I packed my baby up, and I ran again.”

Kirk’s body hummed with anger, but there was no outlet to expel it. He wanted to hunt the fucker down, teach him a lesson that would leave him disfigured for life – or worse. What would have happened if this man had come to claim Rory as his own, without her mother there to protect her? He silently thanked whatever god might be listening for the fact that Joe had survived her car crash. That he’d been there to help.

Even if he was the reason it happened.

“And you saw him today?” Patrick asked.

Joe nodded. “Yes. And he was at Rory’s school this afternoon.”

Patrick nodded, pursing his lips. “Well then, we’ll need a guard detail at the school, then.”

Joe stiffened. “No. She can’t go back. We have to leave. The only way I know she’ll be safe is if we get over the border. They say Canada won’t let you in if you’ve committed a felony. That’s the only thing I can -”

Patrick shook his head. “Sweetheart, Kirk doesn’t have a passport and he could be in Canada within the hour.”

“What?” Joe asked, her voice a higher, frantic pitch. “How?”

Kirk frowned. “All you need is a boat.”

Joe’s lips quivered and she covered her face, whispering so softly, Kirk almost didn’t hear her. “I don’t know what to do.”

Patrick crossed the room, staring out the massive windows to the ocean outside. “I suggest you stay right here.”

“What? I can’t, he knows where we -” She started, but Patrick continued.

“There’s nowhere safer than here, dear. As long as there’s a Fenn present, no harm will come to you.”