Where Souls Spoil (51 page)

Chapter 4

Holly

AN ELECTRIFIED CRACK
sounds and is followed by the low buzz and fizzle of the overhead light bulb burning out. Without manufactured light, the room is basked in shadows and feels somewhat cooler. Still, beads of sweat sneak down my back, curve down my spine, and then are absorbed in the thin cotton blend tee shirt that sticks to my overheated skin. It’s never very hot here, along the Northern California coastline, but the exertion from a move will get even those in the Arctic working up a sweat.

I peer up at the encroaching darkness and sigh. My eyes are strained from the setting sun and the encroaching darkness. It figures that my new apartment needs repairs already. We barely got the sofa into the living room an hour ago, and now this. The light bulb, though a small issue, is another reminder of how messed up my life is. First went my job, then my roommate/boyfriend/whatever he was, then my apartment, and finally my pride. Now the light bulb.

Footsteps echo down the hallway, creating creaks and whines from the aging hardwood floor. That’s probably the next to go.

“Holly, are you in here?” an upbeat and excited voice asks from down the hall. Before I can say anything, she rounds the corner into my bedroom and says, “Why are you standing in the dark?”

It’s Mindy, my cousin; on-again; off-again; but most recently on-again roommate; and best friend. I turn in time to see her flick the light switch on and off until a frown forms on her pretty face. Her skin is smooth and taut, and her lips aren’t dried and cracked as they were years back. Thank God. Mindy is just a few years younger than me, but in some ways, she seems so much older. She’s wise in ways I don’t think I’ll ever be, and she’s been through the kinds of hell I hope to never have to pull her out of again. And she’s just barely twenty-three.

“Bulb’s busted,” I say and point to the ceiling. She purses her lips and gives me a big smile. It’s the kind of smile our fathers hated when we were growing up because, when Mindy smiles like this, it means we’re going to get in trouble for doing something we shouldn’t. Back before the world fell apart and then everything sort of…crumbled…I used to love that smile. I longed for it when we were in the church pews on Sunday mornings and trying to pass notes. I lived for that smile back when we were in high school, and I was nearing graduation, but Mindy had just begun, and she convinced me that we so totally had to crash a frat party at Humboldt State. That smile even made me laugh when her dad, my uncle Harry—the cop—had to come pick us up at the frat party at Humboldt State because my car had been broken into and Mindy didn’t give a damn about daddy’s lectures because she’d gotten a freshman named Heath’s phone number. And that smile nearly made me split in two when, a few years later, Mindy had returned home after leaving two days after graduation and telling me she’d married Heath in Reno.

But that was the
before
Mindy, and the
before
Mindy could be silly wild. She could get into a little bit of trouble and eat too much ice cream. But I don’t know which Mindy this is, and her smiles don’t sit right with me anymore. I can’t bring myself to smile all silly-like and to just go along with whatever little scheme she has cooked up. I just can’t trust that she won’t go back to that place.

So I don’t smile. I just stare at her, waiting for an explanation. It’s probably not the best way to get started rooming with someone, but this is Mindy—regardless of which Mindy it is—and she gets it. She was there, mostly the cause of it, and she doesn’t take things all that personally. At least she didn’t used to.

“Relax,” she says, with the big smile on her face waning slightly. “I was just thinking that we could walk down to the hardware store, and then we could grab a pizza while we’re out. Nothing crazy.”

“Sorry,” I say. The words come out forced, and I sound like I’m being strangled. I don’t really
want
to apologize for my reaction, but it’s the polite thing to do. Besides, even though I know Mindy will forgive my rudeness and selfishness, I don’t think I would. I’ve been over this with myself a hundred times. It’s about time I stop blaming Mindy for the last four years. I silently repeat the mantra my community-provided therapist taught me: I am not powerless; I have a choice.

“It’s fine,” she says and waves my comment away. Her smile is totally gone now, and her eyes find the floor. It’s obviously not fine, and this is one of the reasons I didn’t think us living together again was such a great idea. We have too much baggage and too much tormented history to peacefully cohabitate. But peace or no peace, I can’t afford to live on my own right now, so my options are limited.

“No,” I say and reach out for her hand. She doesn’t pull away, but nor does she offer it to me. Snaking my fingers between hers and squeezing, I pull her closer to me. “Pizza sounds great, and maybe if I eat, I’ll stop being a jerk.” A small smile creeps onto her face, and I know I have her. We leave the shadowy room behind and head down the long hallway until we’re in the narrow galley kitchen that shares its space with a small dining area. I let go of her hand to grab my purse, and then we’re out the front door and down the stairs. Within a minute, we’re on East Oak—just half a block off Main Street.

Uncle Harry doesn’t like the location because of its proximity to the town’s resident motorcycle club, and my mother doesn’t like it because I’m almost ten minutes away from her. But the rent is reasonable, parking is easy, and Mindy doesn’t even have to drive to work anymore. Plus, after living with my mother for the last three months, I’m more than happy to be ten minutes away from her. So, I guess the new apartment has its perks and its time I stop griping about silly little things like busted light bulbs and bad history that I can’t change.

Mindy and I walk quickly toward the hardware store that’s about to close. I don’t even know what time it is, but I grew up in this town and everybody knows that the hardware store closes at dusk. Old Man Hill has been closing Early Bird Hardware at dusk since he was a newlywed and was too paranoid to leave his wife home alone after dark. His eccentricities would be romantic if they weren’t so freaking inconvenient during winter. Thankfully, Mindy and I make it in time. Old Man Hill does take a moment to chastise us for being out
so late
and even talks us each into buying a small, pink can of pepper spray. I have no idea what I’m going to do with it, other than likely spray myself in the face with it, since we live in one of the safest towns in the state, but oh well. It’s ten bucks I won’t get back, but it’s also ten dollars’ worth of Mr. Hill’s silence.

Fresh light bulbs, garbage bags, shelf liner, and cute little pepper sprays in tow, we make the three-block trek to Sea Salt Pizza—an old favorite of ours. It’s been years since I’ve been in the place, but I’ve missed it dearly, so Mindy made a good call when she told me she knew the perfect place for us to grab a slice. Not that we have that many choices. For a town of less than ten thousand, and being as remote as we are, Fort Bragg does well to keep their residents’ basic needs met—like movie rentals, wine, and pizza. Still, finding decent food around here can be kind of a crapshoot since local business doesn’t usually depend on whether or not the product is good. It’s all about liking the owners, and thankfully for me, the owners of Sea Salt Pizza seem to be very well-liked since they’ve been in business for nearly fifteen years.

Sea Salt Pizza is the kind of place where you walk in, grab your own table and your own menu—if you even need one, that is—and give the staff a smile and a wave to get them to serve you. If you don’t know the protocol, you’re largely ignored until you catch the right person’s eye. It’s also normally loud from the endless chatter and the joyful clanking of glasses, or even agitated shouts as the customers in the back room are watching sports on one of the TVs. But tonight, the place is low-key and quiet. I can’t hear a single TV, and there doesn’t seem to be any celebrating going on. At first, I think the place is empty – then I hear him.

In a corner booth sits Sterling Grady and his daughter, Cheyenne. He sits tall and almost rigid, with his back to the corner, his deep green eyes scanning the area around him. In a way, he reminds me of Uncle Harry, in that he’s hyper-aware of his surroundings. But unlike Uncle Harry, Sterling Grady is a major asshole. I can only hope that he doesn’t see me because it’s too late to change my mind. Mindy’s already heading for a table in the center of the room.
Just my luck
.

Days-old stubble dots Grady’s well-constructed jaw and extends halfway down his thick neck. His tanned skin peeks out from underneath his black and gray flannel shirt. Naturally tanned skin is something of an anomaly around here. It’s so overcast all the time. He must have a job that requires manual labor. It would certainly explain the broad shoulders, thick arms, and massive chest. Even under a comfortable layer of flannel, I can see that he’s built. Surprisingly, he isn’t wearing his leather vest that labels him as a member of the Forsaken Motorcycle Club.

It makes my skin crawl that, despite how big of an asshole he is, I still find him attractive. He’s not the first hot guy I’ve ever seen, but he is certainly the biggest douche bag. I really shouldn’t be paying any attention to him. Maybe it’s because, being back in Fort Bragg, I’ve noticed that most of the eligible men are either ones I went to high school with or obnoxious hippie transplants. Not that a serious jerk is a better option. He’s just better built.

Mindy and I sit at our table in the center of the room, and I purposefully angle myself so I can watch him from the side, but not head on. I lean back in my seat and give the young boy behind the counter a smile and wave. He nods and makes his way around the service counter. As I’m leaning back, I peek to see who Grady is sitting with. It’s Cheyenne. She’s hoisting up a slice of cheese pizza and staring at her cell phone in wonderment.

“Grady,” Mindy says quietly. I snap back to reality and try to fake confusion. She shakes her head and smiles. She knows me too well. “His name is Grady, and the girl with him is his daughter, Cheyenne. Don’t bother telling me you weren’t looking, because you were. And he’s hot, but he’s also really bad news.”

Bad news is possibly the understatement of the century.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Uncle Harry,” I say and do my best to tease her. With how crabby I was earlier, I need to make up for it before we get off to a really bad start being roommates again.

“No, you’re just super obvious,” she says with a snicker. I give the pair another glance. Grady has a mouthful of pizza and is saying something to Cheyenne. For the first time since we arrived, she sets her phone down and smiles up at him. And when she does, she turns her face just slightly in my direction. I divert my attention back to Mindy.

“How do you know who he is, anyway?” I ask, leaning in and lowering my voice.

“You better keep your big mouth shut, but I work with this girl who is with one of his club members. She hasn’t really said much about him, but he’s come in a few times, and it always makes her nervous. Heck, it makes
me
nervous.”

“He’s Forsaken?” I ask, acting like I don’t already know.

“Yep. He’s the guy who makes sure everyone follows the club rules,” Mindy says with a gleam in her eyes. She’s always loved gossip, but if you didn’t know her well, you’d have no clue. She’s really sneaky about her eavesdropping.

“You work with one of their wives?”

“She’s not the guy’s wife. She used to hate him, but then one day they ended up in this argument while I was at work and there was like, this emotional rollercoaster thing going on. It was crazy. Next thing I know she’s pregnant and begrudgingly admitting that she’s in love with him. Now she doesn’t really shut up. They’re all crazy, every one of them,” Mindy says in a whisper-shout.

“Says the person all up in their business,” I say.

“Whatever. Look, if you’re looking for a guy, I’m sure I can find you someone far more suitable than one of
those
guys.”

“I’m not looking
looking
, I was just…observing. Don’t worry—there’s no way in hell I’d get involved with the club.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, Grady and Cheyenne stand from their seats and head for the door. They make it halfway before he stops. He places his hands on his hips and I can hear him chuckling quietly to himself. The only thing I can think is, “Crap, crap, crap!” He turns around and strides toward our table. Cheyenne follows behind, crosses her arms over her chest, and keeps her attention focused on the front door.

“Just
observing
,” he says. The way he emphasizes the word
observe
leaves little room for doubt that he overheard what I just said. I’d prefer to keep what happened at the high school limited to the people who already know about it, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.

He bends at the waist and brings his face so close to mine that I can feel his breath wafting over my skin. I raise an eyebrow in silent question. The smile spreads on his face and he says, “Come by later. I’ll give you something juicy to wrap your mouth around.”

My eyes widen and horror fills my heart. I’m barely processing what he’s said when I hear Mindy gasp. I can only imagine the look on her face. Above and beyond being inappropriate, he’s being a dick.

“You’re an asshole,” I snap. He’s already absorbed the words by the time I realize that maybe I shouldn’t have said them at all. But it’s too late, and I can only take so much taunting.