Hook-Ups and Hang-Ups: A Swamp Bottom Novella Page 10

  The good thing about men? They were easily distracted. “Tell me about the first time you saw her.”

  Shiny thing. Shiny thing. Shiny thing.

  “You were shoving stolen silver into a suitcase while a pig chewed on a shoe that cost more than my car.”

  “First of all, I didn’t steal shit. Those technically belonged to me, and—wait, we’re talking about you here. Look, just humor me, okay?”

  His sigh told me he knew I wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I didn’t want to come to Sugarbirch on that call. The whole force thinks the Bordeauxs are a bunch of pretentious assholes. I’ve known people like your ex my whole life—they look down on people without money like they aren’t worth looking in the eye.” He laughed a humorless laugh. “The air of superiority, man—it’s why I became a cop. People need men in uniform to stand up for them against the Roland Bordeauxs of the world.”

  Houston, we have a problem.

  “Savannah. Pope, focus.”

  “I’m getting there. At first, all I saw were you and the pig. You seemed nice enough but I’d never had anything take my breath away like Savannah.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  He grinned. “No offense, Addie. You can hold your own, but there was just something about Savannah. She had this ‘fuck it’ attitude that drew me in. She was funny and forward, and I’d never met anyone like her before.”

  “Do you realize you haven’t said a word about the way she looked?”

  His eyebrows shot up and melted into a knowing smile. “Savannah is gorgeous, don’t get me wrong. A man would have to be blind not to see that, but beauty doesn’t make me rush home after a shift. It doesn’t make me the nastiest-ass gumbo I’ve ever tasted just to get me to talk, and it doesn’t make me want to protect her from anyone who’d try to crush her free spirit.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at him. He was cute, but I’d grown up with Savvy’s free spirit my whole life. A bulldozer couldn’t crush it. “Savvy’s too headstrong to change.”

  “They all say that,” he said, a sad look crossing his face. “But outside pressure to be something someone else wants you to be can break even the strongest person.”

  Pope wasn’t one to say shit for no reason. There was a story there, and as I opened my mouth to ask about it, my phone chimed again.

  Zep: Ignore me, and I take matters into my own hands. Drove to your house this morning. Obviously, you weren’t there. Sav gave me a key for emergencies. This is some nasty shit, Addie. Do you ever fucking clean this place?

  I sighed heavily and turned my phone off. The man was incapable of respecting boundaries. “Are we still talking about Savannah?”

  “Addie, I love Savannah, and if she forgives me, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that all she is, is all I need.”

  “That,” I said dipping my chin in confirmation.

  “What?”

  “That’s what you should tell her.”

  Pope’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. I knew he was sincere, but I also knew my sister. I hoped she hadn’t gone so far off the rails that she wouldn’t listen.

  With his silence marking the end of our impromptu bonding moment, I took a right toward the exit to Terrebonne and pulled onto a side street toward a brick strip mall.

  Blowing a hard breath from his cheeks, Pope glanced out the window with a blank look. “What do we need?”

  Maybe Babs wasn’t crazy after all.

  Pulling into a parking space, I cut the engine. “Liquid courage.”

  “Why you buy cheap shit?”

  “There wasn’t much of a selection.”

  “Cow shit! You squeeze penny until it cry. You cheap like Pappy; God rest his soul.” Wrinkling her nose at the offending bottle, Babs mumbled in Russian and flung open the screen door, leaving us standing on the front porch.

  Turning toward Pope, I shoved a finger into his chest. “You stay here.”

  Visibly tensing, he palmed the back of his neck. “Why?”

  “Seriously? Have you met my sister? You go in with guns blazing and any chance you have at fixing this goes up in flames.” I placed a reassuring palm against his chest where my finger had been. “I need her to think I’m alone to get her talking.”

  Shoving his hands into his pockets, Pope leveled a hardened stare at me. “You have ten minutes.”

  “Aw, and you’re welcome for everything I’ve done for you, Pope.” Smirking, I gave him a quick pat before dropping my hand. “No need to thank me.”

  Leaving him rigid and ready to combust on the front porch, I reached for the doorknob, my stomach churning. Savannah Dubois operated on two ready to fight modes: dressed to kill and homicidal hobo. Deciphering the dress code before cultivating a plan of an attack was not only smart, it was a safety issue.

  As kids, I always knew when a boy had broken her heart or a bitch was getting ready to die just by her attire. Level one was mismatched pajamas with pigtails and meant her heart was broken, but she cared enough to be upset. Level two consisted of full makeup, jewelry, and spiked heels, meaning she’d bypassed pissed and driven straight into Fuckville.

  Opening the door, I gasped as I crossed into the living room.

  Level three.

  Savannah lay sprawled out on Babs’ plastic covered floral couch, watching a daytime talk show about paternity tests and baby daddies. Slugging Dr. Pepper straight from a two-liter bottle, she let out a competition-worthy burp as she spooned Funfetti frosting from the can with a butter knife.

  Mismatched pajamas would’ve been an upgrade. Taking a few steps back, I took in the creature who apparently ate my sister, dressed in a cornflower blue terrycloth bathrobe and fuzzy, knee-high Big Bird socks.

  “Sav?”

  Letting out a startled scream, she flung the butter knife across the room, effectively spraying my face and the wall with rainbow frosting.

  “I not clean,” Babs announced from the kitchen. “You make mess, you fix.”

  “Jesus, fuck, Ads!” Savannah yelled, grabbing her chest in shock. “Don’t you have anything better to do than chasing me around the state of Louisiana?”

  Before I could cultivate a proper smart-ass answer, the front door flew open and a wide-eyed Pope barreled through it. “Savannah? Are you all right? I heard screaming.”

  Groaning, I covered my face with my hands and sighed. “I thought I told you to stay outside?”

  I might as well start talking to fucking walls.

  Savannah’s head spun around to face me, her eyes shooting venom. “Traitor!”

  Realizing he’d screwed up, Pope stepped between us and held up his hand. “Sav, please let me explain…”

  “No!” Savannah screamed, scooting to the back of couch, doing her best Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon imitation. “This is my happy place, and you just shit all over it! You can’t chase me like some criminal, Pope. It doesn’t work that way.”

  Pope’s eyes flared with restrained panic. “Sav…”

  “No!” In an impressive Cirque du Soleil move, my sister completed a full one-eighty turn and perched on the arm of the couch with her back to us.

  With a buzz of anticipation filling up the room, the voice of unreason filtered in from the kitchen, giving Pope a light slap on the cheek only a grandmother get away with and not get arrested for assault. “You like vodka?”

  “Well, I…” Pope glanced to me for help, and I just grinned.

  “Come, we drink,” Babs announced, shuffling him toward the kitchen.

  Pope looked like he’d stumbled into a den of rabid honey badgers. “Isn’t it too early for vodka?”

  “Bah. Never too early,” Babs mumbled, shutting him down. “In Soviet Russia, whole family take shot when first wake up. I drink vodka out of bottle.”

  “Isn’t that illegal?”

  Oh shit.

  Pausing at the threshold to the kitchen, my sweet, old grandmother yanked out her teeth and spat right by Pope’s feet. “You Americans and your rules.”
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br />   After Babs and Pope had disappeared into the kitchen, I took a seat next to my sister and stared at her back until she broke.

  Cocking her chin over her shoulder, she shot me a death glare. “Welcome home, Judas.”

  “Savvy, just hear me out before you crucify me. You don’t know how upset he was when he didn’t know where you were. It tore him apart.”

  “I just took a page out of his own rulebook, Ads,” she said, sliding from the arm of the couch to the cushion. “For the record? Complete honesty isn’t one of them.” Snatching the remote out of my hands, she raised the television volume to rock concert levels.

  Stealing the remote back, I hit the power button and turned the whole thing off.

  “Hey, I was watching that!”

  “Damn it, Savvy. You’re my sister, and I love you, but you’re sabotaging something really good with him over a misunderstanding.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Is that all it is? Then why do his friends get to meet his parents while he tells me they’re out of town?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Exactly,” she said, taking the remote back. “Glad you see it my way.”

  Nope. Not today, little sister.

  Grabbing the remote again, I tossed it across the living room. “What I do know is that you won’t find out hiding in Terrebonne in a bathrobe and Big Bird socks.”

  “Am I just supposed to forgive and forget?”

  I thought for a moment before answering, knowing I was headed into hypocritical territory. “No, not right away. But how can there be anything to forgive if you won’t hear him out?”

  Silence.

  “I hate you sometimes.”

  “I know.” Patting her leg, I grinned at her. “I’ll go tell Pope you’re willing to talk to him. After that, get a shower. You have swamp ass.”

  As I stood to leave, she grabbed my hand, pulling me back. “Hey, Ads?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You should take your own advice.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll stop running when you do.” Giving my hand one last squeeze, she disappeared into the kitchen.

  8

  Shooting Stars

  Adelaide

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  For the second time in a week, I sat in tears outside of DuBlanc’s office building while hiding out in my car. For the second time in a week, it was because of Zep.

  After Babs had forced Savannah and Pope to take repeated shots of vodka, the alcohol tore down their defenses enough for both to stop talking and start listening. They stayed in the kitchen forever, alternately laughing, crying, and from the slurping sounds coming from behind me, either acting out the pasta scene from Lady and the Tramp or kissing. Raw faced and googly-eyed, they emerged hand in hand and disappeared into the backyard.

  With repeated hugs, we said our goodbyes, promising Babs we’d return in a few weeks for her famous Sunday Gator Grill, and I drove Daddy’s truck back to New Orleans alone. Apparently, if Savannah and Pope didn’t kiss within five fucking seconds, alarms sounded, and they burst into horny flames.

  Once we returned home, they headed for the stairs and even noise-canceling headphones couldn’t drown out the sounds of their reunion. It wasn’t that I didn’t want them to be happy, but the constant declarations of love were just too much to handle.

  Needing to escape somewhere quiet to clear my head, I left a quick note for Savannah and grabbed the keys to the truck. It was Tuesday, meaning Zep and Bam-Bam would be out on the boat. With Savannah and Pope indisposed for the rest of the day, I’d be alone, free to wallow in misery.

  Plus, I did kind of skip out on my own business for an entire day. Just thinking about the mountain of paperwork and voicemails that awaited me made me twitch. Now, staring at the building while secluding myself inside of in the truck, I wondered if heading to a bar might be a better option.

  This is crazy. Be a woman and man up.

  After battling back and forth with myself on the merits of working as opposed to getting sloshed in the middle of the afternoon, my work ethic finally won out. Wiping my eyes, I collected my shit, put on my big girl panties, and walked across the parking lot while giving myself a much-needed pep talk.

  You are strong.

  You are a rock.

  You are an independent woman who doesn’t need a man.

  Reaching for the doorknob, I attempted to convince myself that whatever Zep and I had done had been a product of repressed lust and my decision-making abilities being fried to a crisp. As I argued with myself, the door jerked open, and I stumbled head first into a hard chest, the scent of sea salt and spice tickling my nose.

  Oh hell. This is not my life.

  “Addie?”

  I tried to be professional and keep my eyes just on his shirt, but Horny Addie kicked Professional Addie to the curb and roamed his entire body. Taking my time, I memorized the muddy work pants he wore and the plain white t-shirt that had to be from another decade. For a woman who’d spent the better part of her adulthood loving a man in a three-piece suit, I wondered how Zep’s fashion-victim laundry basket look managed to shoot my desire into overdrive.

  Pushing off him, I smoothed a hand over my wild hair and tried to regain my composure. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Zep barked out a harsh laugh. “I work here, which is more than I can say for you.”

  “Your car isn’t here.”

  “I met Bam at the docks this morning after leaving your house,” he said with an edge to his voice. “After docking the boat, we realized we needed more supplies, so I convinced him to drop by to check on the place when someone refused my texts.”

  Busted.

  “My cell phone died.”

  His bored look clearly meant he didn’t buy it. “You’re full of shit, Addie. You’re not Savannah. You charge your phone the minute the battery hits forty percent.”

  “I didn’t think anyone would be here.”

  “How nice,” he answered with a smirk. “I see you decided to play the role of a business owner today.”

  Clearly, Zep and I couldn’t have a civil conversation without hurling insults. Words were bad. Actions were worse. Combined, they were a nuclear bomb that kept us running in circles.

  Dropping my keys in my purse, I barreled past him. “Not now, Zep.”

  Cursing, he grabbed my arm and twisted me around to face him. “Yes, now! Regardless of how you feel about me, I didn’t work my ass off for ten years to let you ruin what my Gramps and your Pappy built.”

  Word bomb dropped. Target ready to strike.

  Something inside me snapped.

  Losing it, I screamed and hit him with my purse. “One minute! Can you give me one fucking minute to process the last twenty-four hours without demanding something from me? Jesus, Zep, you won’t let me breathe.”

  Tightening his grip on my arm, he closed the distance between us. “What’s with the hot and cold shit, Addie? You hate me one minute and the next you’re all over me. Make up your fucking mind.”

  I had made up my fucking mind.

  Hadn’t I?

  Unable to think with him so close, I jerked out of his hold and stormed past him.

  Reacting quickly, he circled me. “Answer me.”

  “Why is everything on me, huh? You don’t think you’re the king of mixed signals?” My world spun out of control as words I didn’t want to admit tumbled out of my mouth. “I threw myself at you, and you rejected me. What guy does that?” Almost at my breaking point, I tried to go around him, and he blocked my path.

  “Oh, now you’re insulting my manhood?”

  “No,” I smirked, finding my inner bitch. “I’m insulting you. If I wanted to insult your manhood, I’d say I’d seen bigger dicks on an ultrasound.”

  Lie.

  I’d never seen bigger; in person or otherwise.

  Snorting, he raised an eyebrow. “Really? That’s surprising considering how loud you screamed last week.
”

  “Shut up,” I said shoving against his chest. “Zep, you couldn’t handle me thirteen years ago, and you sure as hell can’t handle me now.”

  “That’s what this is about? You think I’ll hurt you again?”

  “I don’t think,” I hissed through my teeth. “I know.”

  A defensive smirk curled his lip. “Tell me how you really feel, Addie.”

  “You listen to me,” I said crowding him. “I’ve lived the last ten years as an acceptable choice instead of the one my husband couldn’t live without. I was a project, Zep—a fucking doormat he wiped his designer loafers on every night. I never expected to come back home, and I sure as hell never meant to find myself back in your bed.”

  “You didn’t.” His eyes darkened. “We started on the table.”

  “This conversation is over. I’m going home.” I made it to the door before rough hands grabbed me from behind and spun me around. Slamming me against the door, he wedged a boot in between my legs.

  “No, you’re not. I can’t take this anymore, Addie. This? The way we are? The shit isn’t working. I can’t concentrate. I’m fucking up on the boat, and I haven’t slept in days. I swore if I ever saw you again, I’d do whatever it took to convince you that I’d changed, but shit, Addie…I don’t think it’s me who needs to change.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugged. “Enough is enough. Either you’re in, or you’re out. You decide right now what you want because I can’t keep taking cold showers every five fucking minutes.”

  “Are you giving me an ultimatum?”

  “Yeah, I guess I am,” he said, running his free hand through his hair. “We don’t do middle ground, and you know it. Either we’re in this one hundred percent, or we drop the bullshit and move on like normal human beings.”

  When I convinced myself to walk into the office today, I had no idea I’d step through the door to another crossroad. When Zep wasn’t around, it was easy to convince myself that he was just a physical manifestation of my surging independence. In the thirteen years since I left home, I’d managed to villainize Zep, turning him into an embodiment of evil and destroyer of my happiness. The minute I came back to Terrebonne, he rocked the perfect world I’d created for myself and made me question everything I believed.