Now Leaving Sugartown Page 19

  “Too soon for jokes, huh?” I ask miserably.

  “Yeah, Sammy. It’s too soon for that.” Pepper softly traces the planes of my face with her fingertip.

  “I still can’t believe he’s dead.”

  “I know.” She wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand, and then she traces her thumb over the saltwater pooling in the corners of mine. I pull her on top of me, and wrap my arms around her, tighter than I think I ever have, and I let the tremors of grief wrack my body. I do this in the privacy of my loft, with the woman I love, the woman I’ve never stopped loving, because I know soon I have to be strong. I know I have to make it seem like I have my shit together when I see my sister.

  In front of everyone else I have to man up and hold it together and be strong for them so they don’t break. And though Pepper is sobbing into my chest as hard as I am, it doesn’t matter that our tears are hurting one another, because that’s what we do best—we hurt one another, and as long as I have the chance to take away the hurt when no one else is around, I know she’s okay with that. Because I would be. And after all this time apart, and all the things that make us different, we’re both still just equal parts of one whole.

  And there is nothing either of us can do to change that.

  I EMERGE from the bathroom dressed in my tamest pair of heels, a black wiggle dress that I found in the back of my mother’s closet, simple makeup—a first for me—and with my hair pinned back in a messy, yet intentional chignon. I tried to hurry, but there are only so many times you can apply liquid liner and cry it off before you look like you went three rounds with Mohammad Ali. I half expected Sam to bust down the bathroom door and demand we leave half dressed, but I didn’t expect him to be half tanked when I emerge from the bathroom from an hour of trying to put myself together.

  He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, black suit on, tie unfastened, shoes off. His hair is a mess—it literally looks like he woke up, rolled over and threw something on. Which come to think of it, isn’t that far from the truth. Since his father died all we’ve done is sleep and fuck and then sleep some more.

  For the first time in Belle’s Pies’ history Ana had closed the shop for a week. Big Bob’s Bikes and Auto’s doors had remained closed too, but I’m sure Ana and Elijah were doing more than just moping around in bed. If I knew Aunt Ana at all, she was driving everyone mad with cooking or cleaning, or just generally winning at life. For all that she’d been through, and I’ve been told it was an awful lot, she never let it beat down her spirit.

  Sam on the other hand? Sam is so beaten down I’m not sure he has any spirit left.

  “Sam, we’ll be late,” I say. I’m met with the heavy stench of liquor on his breath. I ease the bottle of Jack from his hand, screw on the cap and toss it on the bed. “Jesus, how much did you drink?”

  “Not enough to make it go away,” he slurs as I lean over to fasten his tie. He catches up my fussing hands and pins them in his. Sam has never been good at knowing his strength when he’s intoxicated.

  I pull away from his too tight hold and stalk off to the kitchen, returning with a banana and a glass of water. I hand him the glass. He sets it down on the nightstand without even taking a sip. “Drink that. Your father is being laid to rest today, you’re drunk off your arse, and we’re going to be late if you don’t pull it together.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t even want to be there.” He hooks his hand underneath the hem of my dress and pulls. I’m yanked forward. “I need you, Pepper.”

  “Sammy,” I say breathlessly, as he tugs me down onto his lap. “Come on. You really want to break your sister’s heart by not going?”

  “She won’t miss me. She has Elijah and Lil. My dad’s dead, and now I have no one.”

  “You have me.”

  “Then prove it. Stay with me. Show me. Please?” he begs, and his dark blue eyes are full of torment and heartbreak. This doesn’t feel right, but I can’t say no to him. I never could. Not that I ever really wanted to.

  “Okay. Whatever you need.”

  “I need you to take off your dress and play with your pussy. Come for me, while I watch.” I frown. This is the last thing I feel like doing. Bob was like a grandfather to me; stripping naked and masturbating while his drunk son watches on in order to feel something other than grief an hour before the funeral, believe it or not, isn’t my idea of a good time.

  I ease the zipper down on my dress and step out of it, laying it over the partition in order to keep it from creasing. I keep my heels and underwear on, but Sam has other ideas. He slips a finger in the waist of my panties and yanks me towards him, steadying me with his hands on my arse before I topple off my six-inch spike heels.

  He reaches up and pushes the cups of my bra aside, exposing my nipples and tweaking first one, and then the other. I throw my head back and gasp in pleasure, despite how wrong it may be. Sam bows his head and nuzzles into my stomach, and then he begins to shake. It’s just a slight tremor, at first, and then my heart practically splits open when a sound of pure anguish rips from inside him. He clutches tightly to me, and I fold myself around him.

  We stay that way, wrapped in one another for a long time. I close my eyes, not caring that the tears I’ve been fighting are now streaking down my face, or that I’m going to have to go back into that bathroom and fix my panda eyes for a fourth time before we leave.

  When we’ve dried our eyes and I’ve slipped back into my dress, we ride to the funeral in silence. Sam stands with his sister at the grave-side service and Holly and Jack beckon me to their side. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t the huge congregation of bikers wearing their cuts and tastefully-dressed townsfolk. This coming together of different walks of life proves only one thing: you couldn’t meet Bob Belle and not fall head over heels in love with the gruff, gentle giant.

  I keep my eyes firmly on Sammy. He doesn’t cry, just stands stiff as a board as he stares at the polished black casket with its spray of red roses so dark they look black.

  The priest—or maybe he’s not an official, since there are no robes, and no stuffy white collar, just a black button-down, black shoes, and black tie—says, “Bob Belle was a man of few words, so I feel it’s important to keep this service short, lest his ghostly apparition come and shoot me in the arse for making all you lovely people gathered here today stand around for too long.”

  There are some quiet chuckles from the mourners, one of the bikers catcalls and shouts, “On ya, Bobby Boy.”

  The preacher continues, “Bob loved his children: Ana Cade and Sam Belle, and his grandchild, Lilly Cade, more than his own life, and he strove to protect and care for them, along with his extended family members Jackson, Holly, their daughter, Pepper, and his protégé and son-in-law, Elijah, with a ferocity that many outsiders would have feared.

  “To meet Bob Belle was to love him, and though he may have acted tough, the truth of the matter is that he loved completely, with his whole heart, and he walked through life with open eyes …” I tune out after that because though Ana is clearly distraught and clings to her brother for comfort, it’s as though Sam is not processing any of this. His face is stoic; he stands tall and stares straight over the tops of our heads. When the service concludes he’s still standing there, his body rigid, expression blank.

  Ana clings to Lil and Elijah. Holly and Jack talk quietly with Aunt Kristine and Michael, but Sam and I are alone. Something in that rips open an unseen wound inside my chest. No matter how many family members surround us, it’s always been Sam and me. I slowly walk away from my parents and stand beside him. I slip my hand in his and he squeezes it tightly, and then he lets go and walks away without another word.

  I don’t know where he went—considering Dave the publican has closed his pub for possibly the first time in the history of Sugartown—but when Sam arrives at the wake he’s drunk off his arse. He stumbles through the door of what used to be the rundown living room in his childhood home, but is now the entrance to the Belle�
��s Pies office space. Where a faded worn couch used to be, now sits several white leather bench seats and what looks to be a very expensive glass coffee table. The office is ultra modern, everything white and pristine, and the snacking partygoers—especially the scary-looking bikers in their cuts—look completely out of place.

  Oblivious to the stares he’s garnering, Sam careens into a wall that Elijah and Jackson happen to be standing next to. Jack puts out a hand to steady him, and I find myself gravitating towards them. “Easy, kid. How much have you had to drink?”

  “Clearly not enough if I’m still standing. Let’s make a toast,” Sam slurs. He smells like a fucking distillery. “To Dad, because he was a better man than any of us, and if he hadn’t carked it, Pepper may have never decided to finally fuck me instead of fucking me over.”

  “The fuck did you just say?” Jack demands. His whole body is tense. This is definitely not the way I’d planned on telling him about us.

  Us.

  Christ on a fucking crisp bread, Sammy and I were an us.

  This “us” thing still wasn’t an out-in-the-open thing, yet. Or at least, it hadn’t been, until Sammy opened his big, fat, stupid, drunk–arse mouth. When we’d finally made it out of the loft the other day and over to Ana’s place, Jack hadn’t been there. Holly, Ana, Lil and Elijah had though, and none of them had look surprised when he took my hand, or pulled me in against his side on Ana’s couch, or even when he kissed me full on the lips when we were out at the car and Ana and Holly were so obviously watching us from the windows.

  Holly had known for years what was going on between Sam and me, and I think Elijah had too, but it seemed as if everyone had forgotten to give Jack the memo that Sam and I were an “us”. And from the look of Jack’s narrowed gaze and red face, he really, really isn’t happy about it.

  I dart in front of Jack and sink my nails into Sam’s muscular bicep. He doesn’t flinch. I doubt he feels anything but drunk as a fucking skunk.

  “Okay, big guy, why don’t we go back to the loft and you can sleep it off?”

  “Why don’t you sit on my face and I can make you scream again the way you did last night?” Sam snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me up against his erection. “Fuck you look hot in this dress.”

  “Not fucking smart, kid,” Elijah says, and even he is grinding his teeth.

  “He doesn’t mean it,” I say, turning and pushing at Jack’s chest to give us some room.

  “I mean every fucking word, baby.” Sammy paws at my waist, attempting to pull me back into him. I wrench free of his wandering hands and glare up at Jackson.

  “How long?” Jack demands, glowering at Sammy over my shoulder.

  “Five days,” Sam says, glancing down at me. “This time, but last time it was, what Pepper? Three?”

  “Last time?” Jack says, and he’s not backing up either.

  “Yeah, Little here decided she wanted to play house for a few days after graduation. Before she left me high and dry, and pining after her like a fucking lovesick puppy, that is.”

  “You sick fuck,” Jack spits, and he hands his drink off to Elijah, who takes it and sets it on the closest available table—because apparently he’s as brain dead as Jack right now, trying to beat up Sammy at his dad’s funeral. “She’s like your sister.”

  “Well, no. I guess now that you and Holly have tied the knot, technically she’s my second cousin–in–law. Huh,” he grunts, staring down at me. “Incest is best, huh, Cuz?”

  “Cade, move Pepper for me,” Jack hisses through tightly clenched teeth.

  I give Sam my back and attempt damage control by facing the man who raised me with imploring eyes. “Chill out, okay? He’s hurting.”

  “My cock’s hurting,” Sam whispers in my ear, as he tugs me back against his straining erection, only it’s not so much a whisper as a slurred, drunken shout. “You wanna wrap your sweet little mouth around it and suck me till I blow down your throat?”

  The next thing I know I’m yanked out of the way by Uncle Elijah and Sam is flat on the floor with Jack straddling his hips as he repeatedly punches Sam’s face. I scream, and twist in Elijah’s hold, but he leans down and whispers in my ear, “Leave him. Sam deserved that. He’s lucky I’m not stepping in, too. Jack needs to hash out his frustration over this, or else he’s never gonna be able to accept the two of you together.”

  Aunt Ana is hysterical, screaming at Jack to get off her brother. Holly sucker punches Jackson in the head, and I don’t think my mother knows her own strength because it’s a hit hard enough to send him sprawling. He lands on the floor, clutching his cheek with a torn up hand beside a maniacally grinning, bloody-faced Sam.

  Well, if this isn’t a clusterfuck, I don’t know what is.

  “Jesus Christ, Holly,” Jack says. “What the fuck?”

  “What the fuck? The fuck is that you were beating the shit out of Sam at his father’s funeral for something that’s been going on for years.”

  “You knew about this?”

  “Jack, the entire god damn town knew about it. You and Ana were the only ones daft enough not to see it.” She turns to Ana and pats her friend’s tear-streaked face. “Sorry, girl, but it’s true.”

  Ana bites her lip and glances at me, and then at Sam lying prone on the floor. “I figured it out a few days before Dad died.”

  “And you’re okay with it?” Jack demands of both Holly and Ana.

  “Jack, honey, I love you, but sometimes you’re a fucking douche canoe,” Holly says as she stares down at him. “It doesn’t matter what any of us think; this is their mess, and the kids will either wade through it or they’ll sink trying. It’s not up to any of us—”

  “But he’s her—”

  “And it’s not up for discussion.” Holly points to Jack, Ana and then Elijah. “What they do is none of our damn business, and I will cut any of you motherfucking bastards that try to interfere in this. Don’t think I won’t do it.”

  My mother doesn’t make threats lightly. In fact, I can almost guarantee that woman has made good on every threat she has ever made. Jack climbs to his feet, and Sam coughs and splutters as he rolls over on his side with a groan. I shrug out of Elijah’s hold.

  “I’ll take him home,” I say. Ana is by Sam’s side, smoothing back the hair from his forehead. She glances up at me and stands, hesitating for a moment before nodding her approval.

  Surprisingly, she reaches out and strokes my cheek as affectionately as she’d done with her brother. She has tears in her eyes when she whispers, “I know you’ll take care of him. Sam isn’t like the rest of us; he makes a good show of being tough like the men who’ve brought him up, but he’s breakable.”

  “We’re all breakable, Ana.” I smile sadly. “Sammy just wears his heart on his sleeve a little more than most.”

  I don’t know what kind of response I’d expected, but her leaning in, kissing my cheek and just about squeezing the life out of me wasn’t it.

  “I love you, sweetheart,” she says, and I gotta hand it to her, no one knows how to throw a party like Ana Belle.

  I don’t know why everyone’s so concerned with my crazy, because this whole damn family is insane.

  After I recover from what was possibly the weirdest exchange I’ve ever had with another woman where clothes weren’t removed, I bend down and lift Sammy’s arm, wrapping it around my shoulder to give me a little leverage. I have no hope in hell of actually lifting him, but I’m sort of hoping Uncle Elijah will take pity on me and help me get him up. Otherwise I’m going to have a hell of a time getting Sammy down one flight of stairs, across the road, and up another.

  “This isn’t finished, kid.” Jack warns, leaning over us. Sammy just smiles up at him with bloody teeth and bloodshot eyes. He’s so drunk, I’d bet my tattoo gun he has no idea what’s even going on. “I’m gonna be banging down your door bright and early tomorrow morning, and you and I are gonna have ourselves a little chat.”

  “Jackson, you do and you’ll
be sporting blue balls for a month,” Holly says.

  “I can’t believe you’re okay with this.”

  “I can’t believe you’re dumb enough to not see this shit has been happening for years. It’s not fucking new, so stop being an overprotective arsewipe and shut the fuck up.”

  I throw my mum and appreciative smile, and Elijah comes to my rescue, hauling Sammy to his feet. He and I take Sam downstairs as Ana apologises to the stunned—and more than likely very confused—crowd of mourners.

  Once we get Sam’s drunk arse safely deposited in bed, I walk Elijah back to the door.

  “You gonna be alright, kiddo? He’s harmless, but he can be as big a douche as any man when he’s off his rocker. I can stay if you need me to?”

  “Nah, I’m fine. I have a thing for the mean ones, remember?”

  “You know where to find me.”

  “Thanks,” I say, pulling back the door for him.

  On the landing, he turns to face me. “Jack will come around, Pepper. He just needs some time. I’ll talk to him.”

  “Thanks,” I say. Elijah winks and disappears down the stairs. I close the door, quietly padding through the lounge room. I’m sad, and without the numbness of my meds, my brain is buzzing. I’m feeling too much of everything right now, and I just want to curl up and sleep, but when I clear the partition, Sam is sitting up, his drunk-arse gaze staring down at the floor. He glances at me, but it’s as though I’m not here, and he’s seeing straight through to the wall behind me.

  I move closer, wedging myself between his knees. He grabs me around the waist and buries his face against my stomach. I stroke his hair and allow him to squeeze me tighter, though if I’m completely honest it’s like the equivalent of a bear hugging a mouse. “Sometimes I hate you for leaving me.”

  I stiffen. “Sam—”

  “If you hadn’t left we could’ve been married by now, we could’ve had kids and Bob would have had more than one grandchild. Now he will never get to meet them because you ran.”

  “Jesus, Sammy, kids?” I squirm out of his hold. “Are you kidding me?”