Page 59 of Take Me to Church
Shaun's scowl makes it clear it's not disappointment he's feeling. "If you're fucking around in some shit, we need to know about it. We have wives and kids to protect."
I rake one hand through my wet hair, aggravated. Tate, Simon, and I have managed to do what we do right under their noses for years, but the second I get attached, I fuck it all up.
That doesn’t mean I’m not ready to give in. Not yet. What we do is too important, and if my brothers find out, they’ll want it to stop. And I can’t blame them. Like Shaun said, they have wives and kids to protect.
That’s why we kept it from them. Why we’ve been so careful, pretending like what they don’t know won’t hurt them. But there’s no way I can continue to claim that’s true. Not with three women in my house who prove what you don’t know absolutely can hurt you.
Still, the thought of confessing to my brothers after all this time is difficult to stomach, so instead, I double down.
“We took care of Rodney. No one’s going to find him. Even if they do, they won’t be able to prove we’re responsible."
“We’re not here because of Rodney and you know it.” Shaun is the bulkiest of my brothers, and right now he looks dangerously close to putting all that size to good use. “Who’s in your house right now?”
I should spill my guts. Tell them everything.
But I can’t. Not without talking to Simon and Tate. I’m not the only one who’s been going behind our family’s back. I don’t mind risking my own skin, but I won’t out Tate and Simon.
Besides, we were able to get Myra out without being seen in a way that any of us could be connected. Just like ninety percent of the jobs we do. The chances of her husband or her father figuring out she's here are slim to none. There’s no possible way any of that could come back on me or them.
“Piper and Lydia are here.”
Evan takes a breath and blows it back out. “I thought we were a fucking family, man.” He huffs out a bitter sounding laugh. “I thought we were all in this together.”
“We saw the other woman.” Niko, the youngest of our group, stands propped against one of the pillars I’ve been meaning to paint, looking slightly less upset than everyone else. “Brooklyn and Kaylee were playing in the yard when she came outside this morning.”
Fuck.
Last night was so chaotic, between the late trip back from Arkansas and the even later visit Lydia made to my office, I didn’t have time to make sure Myra knew to stay in the house. I didn’t really think I’d need to tell her though. I expected her to spend most of the day in bed, not fighting with my coffee maker and chopping off her hair.
I also figured I would hear the security alarm ping when a door was opened, but I must have been sleeping deeper than normal with Lydia draped across me.
“That’s Lydia’s sister, Myra.” I hope the explanation is enough to keep me from having to admit anything more. “They wanted to be together.”
It’s not an outright lie. They did want to be together. So much so, Lydia was willing to pay a man like Rodney to make it happen.
Butch, the only one of us who doesn’t live in the little neighborhood we’ve carved out, eyes me with suspicion. “Where’s she from?”
“Arkansas.” I can’t stretch that truth so I keep it simple.
“That’s where you’re from.” Butch continues to watch me a little too closely. “Seems like an odd coincidence.”
They all assumed I was helping Lydia because I was interested in her, and I let them believe it. I knew they would understand since so many of them had similar situations when they met the women who are now their wives. But it seems like, for whatever reason, my brothers weren't willing to accept my explanation and decided to dig a little deeper.
"Lydia and I knew each other when we were younger." I choose my words carefully, trying to walk a line I'm not even sure exists anymore. "Our paths crossed again."
Butch doesn't let up. "Just by chance?" He shakes his head. "I don’t think that's what really happened." He continues on, making it clear that, despite lurking at the edge of the group, he's the actual ringleader of this confrontation. "I think you've been up to something. I think while we were all getting our shit together, you and Tate and Simon kept fucking around."
I'm surprised at the venom in his words, especially considering, unlike the rest of the men on this porch, Butch doesn't have a wife or children to worry about. Hell, he doesn't even live on the same street as everyone else. And it didn’t particularly bother me until now. "I guess you would know since you've been so involved with the rest of us over the past few years."
I didn't take it personally when Butch started coming around less and less, but right now I am. Because he doesn't get to have it both ways.
"I've got a fucking life now." He gestures around him. "We all do. Because we've moved on from the shit we used to do."
I don’t like what he’s insinuating. My hands might not be completely clean, but they’re sure as hell not covered in the same shit they used to be. “So have I.”
I've got a business and a home. Hell, I've even got a well-known band that could book to play every weekend. And I don't deal in the shit we all used to. I don't sell drugs. I don't fight for the sake of fighting. I don't go out of my way to break the law.
"We deserve to know what you're doing, Preacher." Evan’s use of the nickname I used to go by makes me straighten. It makes it clear he still thinks I'm what I used to be: A delinquent. Filled with rage and lacking control. Out to fuck over everyone I can because of how badly fucked over I was myself.
