At Peace (The 'Burg #2)(81)

Fifteen minutes later, he was standing in front of the garage door testing the remotes when a dark blue Chevrolet Equinox pulled up to the curb and Mike Haines jumped down.

Cal watched him, his mouth getting tight, seeing Mike’s eyes on him as he walked up Vi’s drive and noting Mike’s mouth was set tight too.

“Cal,” Mike greeted.

“Mike.”

Vi came out the side door, her eyes jumping between them, uncomfortable and unprepared for this scene.

Mike turned to Vi, watched her walk up to them and said softly, “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hi,” she replied and Cal felt his gut get tight.

“Got plans tonight?” Mike asked Vi and Cal watched Vi’s eyes remain glued to Mike.

“No, why?” she asked back.

“Thought we’d reschedule dinner for tonight,” Mike answered and Cal knew the ass**le was making a point, doing this with him standing right, f**king, there.

“Um…”

“My place, six o’clock,” Mike said firmly, not waiting for her to reply. “You still got my address?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Mike said, again talking soft then he lifted a hand to her jaw. “You have troubles findin’ it, you give me a call, yeah?” She nodded, he leaned in and touched his mouth to hers.

Cal locked his body to steel against the heat burning in his chest.

When Mike’s head came up, Vi’s eyes slid to Cal, she pressed her lips together and looked back to Mike. “Um… Mike –”

“Six o’clock.”

“Um –”

He dropped his hand and cut her off. “See you then,” he turned, nodded to Cal, Cal nodded back and Mike moved to his SUV.

Vi watched Cal.

Cal went back to testing the remotes and the door slid up.

Then he heard her shout, “Mike!”

Cal looked at Vi then at Mike who was standing at the back of his car.

“Yeah?” Mike called back.

“Do you need me to bring anything?” Vi asked, making her point too and that burning in his chest grew hotter as Mike smiled.

“Just you, sweetheart.”

“Okay, see you later.”

“Later.”

Mike got in his SUV and drove away.

Vi watched the street.

Cal closed the garage door.

Then Cal said to her, “Buddy, your remotes.”

She looked up at him and asked, straight out, “You don’t even care, do you?”

Oh he cared, too f**king much.

“We’re not that,” he reminded her.

She stared at him and he saw it in the backs of her eyes. Disappointment, even pain, and he nearly lifted his hand to touch her but he didn’t have the time.

She stepped back and whispered, “Right.”

He was a dick, Christ he was a dick, he should cut her loose.

For the life of him, he just f**king couldn’t.

She started to turn but he called to her, “Vi,” her eyes lifted to his and he held out the remotes, “door’s workin’, these’re you’re remotes, one for you, one for Kate.”

She stared down at the remotes in his hand as if she had no idea what they were but whatever they were scared the shit out of her.

Then taking the remotes, her voice flat, she whispered, “Thanks.”

“Buddy –”

“See you later,” she said quickly.

“Vi.”

He could say no more, she walked away, cool, calm, her h*ps moving, her ass swaying and he watched her until her side door closed.

Then he looked at her garage door.

Then he walked to his house.

* * * * *

Cal was sitting outside on his deck at dusk, his feet up on the railing, knees cocked, looking at his yard without seeing it, his second beer in hand.

Vi’s Mustang was gone, she was at Mike’s.

He took a pull from his beer then looked to the side hearing it and waited finally seeing Colt round the house.

“Hey,” Colt called.

“Yo,” Cal replied.

“Mind company?” Colt asked, coming up the steps.

Cal did. He didn’t want company. He also didn’t want to talk about whatever Colt was over to talk about. But he didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts, thoughts of Vi at Mike’s, thoughts of Mike’s mouth on Vi, his hands, thoughts that were f**king with Cal’s head.

“Nope,” he said to Colt. “Beer’s in the fridge,” he offered, “bring me one.”

“Gotcha,” Colt muttered, sliding the door open and stepping inside.

Cal looked at his yard then he looked at Vi’s.

He paid a service to mow his in the summer, that’s it. It was green because this was Indiana and they’d been having regular night rains and random day thunderstorms but it was nowhere near as healthy as Vi’s.

Vi couldn’t afford to pay a service. But you could see in the small ditch that delineated their property where her lawn stopped and his started. Hers was greener, no weeds, thick. Her deck had fancy garden furniture with an umbrella, not white, plastic chairs, like his. She had little and big pots of flowers all around, bright colors, vibrant, alive.

The Williamses who’d lived there for as long as Cal could remember were house proud. They took care of their place, built on the extension in the back, put in the deck, updated the bathroom and kitchen, installed the alarm. When old Dec Williams died, his wife Martha moved to Bloomington to be close to her kids and grandkids, selling the house she’d lived in for fifty years to Vi.