Vicious Cycle (Vicious Cycle #1)(42)

While I should have been horrified that he had murdered his father, I wasn’t. After the lifetime of hell he had faced, coupled with his mother’s death, he had been justified in doing what he did. I didn’t know what it said about me as a person that I could overlook something so terrible in his past. Maybe it was what I had been through myself.

A knock came at the door. “Yes?” I called, pulling the covers up to my neck.

Deacon appeared with a cup of coffee and something wrapped in a napkin. “Mama Beth sent this to you.”

Sitting up in the bed, I reached for the goodies. After setting the coffee down on the nightstand, I unwrapped the napkin. “Oh, a homemade biscuit. I haven’t had one of these in years.”

My heartbeat thrummed wildly at the genuine smile that stretched across his face. I so rarely got to see this type of smile—one that didn’t hide sarcasm or a teasing remark. “She thought you might like it.”

“I hope she didn’t go to all this trouble just for me.”

“Nah. She makes a big breakfast for us every morning.”

“Where’s Willow?” I asked after taking a sip of scorching-hot coffee.

“Back at the house. I didn’t think it would be a good idea to let her know you were here.”

I nodded as I chewed carefully on the biscuit, not wanting to overload my alcohol-soaked stomach. “She’d ask too many questions.”

“Yeah.” He cocked his brows at me. “Kinda like her teacher.”

A nervous laugh bubbled from my lips. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

Neither one of us appeared to be able to mention what had happened last night. Deacon cleared his throat. “Just so you know, your car is outside.”

“It is?”

Deacon nodded. “New alternator was all it needed.”

“Are you sure I don’t owe you anything?”

“Nope. It’s all taken care of.”

“Thank you.”

“Keys are in the ignition. I know you gotta get going to get to work on time.”

Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, I saw it was six thirty. “Shit. I do.” Just when I thought of flinging the covers back and hopping out of bed, I realized I was half naked.

As if he sensed my panic, Deacon started for the door. “Yeah, so, I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“Yes. And thanks again for my car.”

“You’re welcome.” He opened the door and then closed it again. Glancing at me over his shoulder, he said, “I trust that what was said in here last night will stay just between the two of us?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” he murmured. Then he slipped out the door without a good-bye.

There wasn’t a chance I would ever share with anyone what Deacon had told me last night. We had both been extremely vulnerable in revealing the wounds of our past. Considering the shame and immense sadness I still carried with me about my own dark period in my life, I could never betray his trust, just as I wouldn’t want him to betray mine.

In the end, it was a relief for me to unburden myself. For reasons I didn’t understand, it made me no longer feel so alone.

That Sunday found me miles away from Deacon’s world. A smile played at my lips when I thought of what Deacon would say about my surroundings. He would classify me sitting in the driveway of the two-story, cookie-cutter Colonial house on an upscale street as being in my white-bread world. He was probably right, considering it was worlds away from the Raiders compound.

Riding shotgun up front with me was my black Lab, Atticus. His wet nose nudged against my arm to hurry me along out of the car. He appreciated Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Joy’s house as much as I did. Part of the reason was he was from a litter that came from Mahalia, Uncle Jimmy’s prized bird dog. I guess it was like coming back home for him, just like it was for me.

Atticus bounded out before I’d opened the door more than a crack, not even bothering to wait for me. He was on the porch, woofing excitedly, by the time I got both myself and the food I’d brought out of the car. As I made my way up the familiar porch steps, the front door opened, revealing the smiling face of my uncle Jimmy. “Well, hello, stranger! I’m glad you remembered where we lived,” he ribbed good-naturedly.

I grinned. “I’m sorry. Things have really been busy lately since I’m doing homebound services.”

Uncle Jimmy nodded before drawing me into his arms. I couldn’t help but thank God for him. My dad’s siblings lived out of state, and my brother, Charlie, and I had never been close to them. With both sets of our grandparents gone, we could have been sent to one of them if it hadn’t been for Uncle Jimmy.

When I pulled away to smile up at him, I could see so much of my mother in his face. They had the same dark, wavy hair, although Uncle Jimmy’s had far more gray than my mom’s had had. Their blue eyes always seemed to have a warm twinkle in them that immediately set you at ease and made you feel loved. My mom had been tall like him, but where my mother was lean, Uncle Jimmy had his “law-enforcement-induced doughnut gut,” as he liked to joke.

“Come on. Let’s get inside,” he said, holding open the door.

“Is Lydia here?” I asked.

“No. She’s on some dig in New Mexico.”

Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Joy’s only child, Lydia, was an anthropologist. Fifteen years ago, at eighteen, she had left home, and Georgia, and had barely looked back. Now that she had two sons of her own, whom Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Joy adored, she tried to make it back to Georgia at least once a month.