Chapter One

 

Spring

Fourteen Years Old

 

He ached. From head to toe and back up again, he ached. His jaw throbbed where that sonovabitch had clobbered him across the face the first time. His ribs hurt, his gut hurt, his head hurt, but most of all, his hands hurt. His hands were torn, bloodied, and bruised, his knuckles raw and scraped, and every single mark was a battle scar.

Yet he had a smile of satisfaction on his face.

Jasper Wayne McNeil Jr., better known as Jazz, had fought back for the first time in his young life. And he had given it good. He hadn’t meant to, certainly hadn’t planned it, even though he had dreamed of it, time and time again. But when he walked in on that bastard beating his mama again, he’d lost it.

With the speed of youth and the advantage of surprise, Jazz had taken a swing at the man the law called his stepfather, and broken his nose. Big for his age, and smart, Jazz was an eerie echo of the man Beau Muldoon had hated his entire life. With his father’s eyes and his father’s derisive smile on his young face, Jasper McNeil Jr. had stood up to the man who had been beating both him and his mama for the past six years.

“You sure you don’t wanna go see the doc?” Alexander Kincaid asked. With his gilt-edged hair and sky blue eyes, Alex looked like a golden angel mending a fallen one.

“Shit, no,” Jazz snapped, curling his split lip in a sneer when all he wanted to do was whimper. The sneer hurt like hell, but he couldn’t exactly cry like a baby in front of his best friend, could he? “He didn’t get me that bad.” The sad fact was that Jazz spoke no less than the truth. Beau had laid into Jazz before and a time or two had put Jazz flat on his back for a week. This beating, much as it hurt, wouldn’t slow him down more than a day or two.

He sucked in a breath of air when Alex doused his burning knuckles with alcohol.

“Sorry, man. Gotta get it clean.” Spoken like the son of a doctor. Born to one of the most prominent cardiologists in the south, destined to go to medical school himself, Alex had spent a good amount of time doctoring up Jazz’s battered body over the past few years. But this was the first time Jazz had come swaggering to their private haunt wearing his bruises like battle scars.

Tonight, Alex was filled with pride and fear. Pride that his bud had done the damage he’d done, fear that Muldoon would retaliate in the worst possible way. “If you say so, man,” he replied, shaking his head as he eyed the ugly, red cuts on the backs of Jazz’s hands. “You look like you’re hurt, that’s all.”

Hell, yeah, he hurt, Jazz thought. But if the local social worker found out he’d been beat again, he’d be in a home for sure this time.

There was no way in hell Jazz was going to let that happen. He wasn’t leaving his mama. He didn’t want to, but even if he did, he couldn’t do it. If he left Mama alone, Beau would end up killing her.

 

~*~

 

At the tender age of fourteen, Jazz became a man, fighting his way into manhood as he hauled his stepfather off the battered body of his mother. At sixteen, he stood in a sullen rain, watching as her casket was lowered into the ground. The sky was leaden-gray and the downpour had started late the night before, soaking the earth so it turned into mud. The few people who had bothered to come to the funeral stood in their Sunday best, soaked to the bone, shoes covered with mud, and most of them still in a state of shock over what Delia McNeil Muldoon had done.

Stone-faced, Jazz stared at the headstone and wondered who’d taken care of it. Somebody with a decent amount of money. Jazz suspected it was Alex’s daddy. The name engraved into the pale pink marble read Delia McNeil, beloved wife and mother.

The Muldoon name, thankfully, wasn’t anywhere on the stone.

In his pocket, he had the note she’d left on the kitchen table, along with a locket Jazz’s dad had given her years ago.

Please don’t hate me, Jazz, she had written. But I can’t take it any more.

She had loaded up the Smith & Wesson Jazz’s father had gotten her years earlier. Then, Delia had waited in the tiny kitchen of the shack they lived in, waited for Beau Muldoon to return from his trip to Lenny’s, the bar he always visited after his weekly beating of his wife.

When he had crossed the threshold and looked into his wife’s bruised eyes, she pulled the trigger, sending a bullet into her second husband’s surprised face. Then she turned the gun on herself, no longer able to live with the shame.

She had done this, not only to herself, but to her son. The guilt and shame she’d lived with ever since Beau had started beating her and her son had eaten her alive and she simply couldn’t live with it anymore.

Rain running down his face, Jazz thought, I could never hate you, Mama.

She was with Dad again. After ten years of living without him, Delia McNeil had found her Jasper again.

Only problem was, she’d left her son alone.

“I’m real sorry about your mama, Jazz,” a quiet little voice said from his side. Turning his head, he met the wide, green eyes of Anne-Marie Kincaid, Alex’s baby sister and general pain in the backside. Fourteen years old, she was already a veritable shrew. She was bossy, she was a know-it-all, and Jazz loved her dearly. Next to Alex, there wasn’t anybody in the world he cared for the way he cared for Anne-Marie. He was as protective of her as Alex was, although he had a bit more patience. For a while, he’d suspected she’d had a crush on him and while it usually amused him, he couldn’t deal with the adoring way she watched him right now.

He couldn’t deal with anything.

He started to mumble something, but then she tucked her hand in his, and tugged. Dutifully, he lowered his head to hers.

“I know how awful bad it hurts, Jazz. I missed my mama so much when she died, I wanted to die too. But Daddy told me Mama had done her job here, so she got to go be with God. We all have a job to do.”

Rising on her tiptoes, she brushed Jazz’s cheek with a feather-light kiss. Then she whispered in his ear, “Your mama’s job was done, that’s all. Now she’s with your daddy again, and she’s happy.”

With that, she turned around, daintily side stepped a puddle in her shiny, black patent leathers, then joined her father, who stood by watching. Desmond watched him with sad eyes. His voice was soft and gentle as he said, “Time will help, Jasper. I can promise you that.”

Closing his eyes, turning his face heavenward, he wished he had been the one to empty the lead into Beau Muldoon. His mama would be alive, and safe, and free.

Now he had all the time in the world to regret he hadn’t been the one to do it.

 

 

~*~

 

Eighteen Years Old

 

It was hot that night in late June, their last summer as kids. Come fall, Alex was heading north to the University of Kentucky, and after that, medical school.

At eighteen, Jazz was heading for the Marines. After spending the last two years with the Kincaid family, he knew he had to do something to make Desmond Kincaid proud of him.

Going into medicine wasn’t in his future, though. He was smart enough, Jazz guessed. School was ridiculously easy for him. But he had issues with blood. Alex was the only person on God’s green earth that knew it, and if his friend ever breathed a word about it, Jazz would kill him. Issues with blood aside, Jazz had no idea what he wanted to do and if nothing else, the military was a good way to kill time while he figured it out.

That night, the air was thick and heavy with the scent of coming rain. A storm was brewing, both inside the car and out. Hands drumming on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, Alex drove in silence. Taking a sip from the icy soda, Jazz waited, knowing the fallout would come shortly.

Something was eating Alex up inside but asking what the problem was wouldn’t do a damn bit of good until Alex was ready to talk. So Jazz didn’t waste his breath. The tension in the car got heavier and heavier and when it finally broke, Jazz breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Maribeth is pregnant,” Alex blurted out.

“’Scuse me?” Jazz asked, sticking his finger in his ear and wiggling it. He studied Alex and hoped like hell this was some kind of trick. It wasn’t, though. Alex’s face was pale and his eyes were miserable. He wasn’t much of an actor. “Sorry, bud. Did you just say Maribeth was pregnant?”

“That’s what I said.” His voice was grim, his eyes wild and scared. Impossibly young.

“Shit,” Jazz muttered, shoving his hand through his thick black hair. His eyes were wide and dark, the color of melted chocolate, and as he stared at Alex, they narrowed. “You two broke up a few months back. She ain’t saying it’s yours, is she?”

“Sure as hell is.”

Glaring out the window, unsure of what to say, he remained silent. The words, I told you so, danced around his head, but he didn’t give voice to them. He had warned Alex, time and again, Maribeth Park was nothing but trouble. She might not be an abusive bitch, but other than that, Maribeth was the female version of Jazz’s dead stepfather. Cut from the same cloth, Maribeth and Beau believed in only one thing and that was to get as much for themselves as they could, without actually having to work for it. Maribeth looked at Alex and dollar signs all but gleamed in her eyes.

But the last thing Alex needed right now was a reminder about how many times Jazz had warned him about Maribeth. So instead, he stayed quiet for a minute, thinking. “Seeing as how you two ain’t been together in months, she’s gonna have a hard time getting you in any trouble.”

Alex looked away, his eyes guilty. “Well, you see, the thing is… Remember graduation? We were all at the river that night and Maribeth and me started talking.”

“Talking, my ass,” Jazz muttered, blowing a breath out between his teeth. No talking, and no thinking, either, at least not on Alex’s part. “So the baby could be yours.”

His voice soft, Alex said, “I don’t think there is a ‘could’, Jazz. I got a feeling that baby is mine.” Not just a feeling, but a bone-deep certainty.

Silence once again fell.

“What’s the old man said?” Jazz asked, as Alex took a sharp curve going near sixty.

“Before or after he skinned me?” Alex asked with a faint grin. “He told me that I had made a mistake, but he’d be damned before he saw me marrying somebody like her. He’s going to get a lawyer.”

“A lawyer? Why in the hell do you need a lawyer?”

“To get custody of the baby,” Alex replied calmly. “I am not going to see that woman, or her mother, taking care of my baby. Shit, I wouldn’t trust them to take care of a stray cat.”

“Alex, you’re eighteen years old.”

“If I was old enough to be screwing her, then I’d better be old enough to deal with the consequences.” He was quiet for a minute and then he murmured, “You know what Maribeth is like. You warned me about her more times than I can count. Do you honestly think she could love a baby? Hell, forget love. Do you think a baby would be safe with her?”

Jazz sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. He had a vicious headache all of a sudden and he suspected it was going to get worse before it got better. “Maribeth isn’t capable of loving or taking care of anything.”

“Then you understand why I can’t let it happen.” He tapped the steering wheel with his hands, a habitual nervous gesture. When Alex was nervous, being still was impossible. “Dad thinks we’re going to have to pay her money—between her and her mother, they’re greedy enough they’ll take the money and be thankful they don’t have to take care of some kid.”

“You really ready to be a dad, Alex?”

Alex looked too damn old for his years as he replied, “Doesn’t matter if I’m ready or not. It’s going to happen. But I can handle it.” With a trace of his normal good humor, Alex slid Jazz a sly glance. “I’ll name you the godfather, bro.”

In the process of sipping from his soda, Jazz choked on a laugh. “The hell you will,” he replied, good-naturedly smacking Alex on the head.

 

 

 

~*~

 

“She got rid of it.”

Jazz sat with Alex down at the river. Alex had killed the better part of a case of beer. They’d liberated it from Alex’s cousin who was conveniently out of town. 

Desmond Kincaid would skin them both if he knew they had the liquor but right now, Jazz was more concerned about Alex than the old man.

Alex had been sitting in the same spot for well over an hour and he had a lost, confused look on his face. He’d said those same words over and over probably five times now.

“I wouldn’t marry her so she told me she wouldn’t bother having some whiny brat,” Alex said, voice raw.  “That’s the only reason she even got pregnant.  She told me that.”

Jazz had about a dozen ugly things to say to Maribeth—and part of him wanted to shake Alex, because he’d warned the other guy.  But he just reached over and caught the other man’s shoulder, squeezed tight.  “It sucks, man. All around.”

“I was going to take care of her, Jazz.”

“I know.” He knew Alex wasn’t really listening to him though. His friend had been going on for a while now and it didn’t seem like Alex was going to stop any time soon. Guilt sat in his gut like a heavy stone, because he couldn’t help but wonder if he wouldn’t be relieved, if he was in Alex’s shoes.

“Was I wrong? Should I have been willing to marry her?”

Jazz shot Alex a glare. “Hell, no. She fucked around on you when you two were together and she’d do the same if you got married. She treated you like shit half the time, treated your dad like shit half the time and treated Anne-Marie like shit all the time. Only person she doesn’t treat like shit is herself—do you really think that would change just cuz she was going to be a mother?”

Alex gave him an owlish look, confused and clearly too drunk to parse through that comment.  In the end, he just sighed and shook his head.  Then he clambered to his feet and stumbled over to the edge of the river.  “I wanted the baby, Jazz.  I don’t know why the hell I did—I’m too young to take care of one.  But I wanted it.”

Jazz had no idea how to respond. He couldn’t even imagine being a dad. Much less wanting to be one. Wasn’t like he had the best role model, not after his dad died. Beau sure as hell wasn’t a good example. Jazz couldn’t remember ever holding a baby and he knew there was a lot more to it than just holding one. Especially if there wasn’t a mom in the picture. Maribeth wasn’t going to be the kind to change diapers. It would have messed up her manicure.

As he sat there, trying to figure out some way to help, Alex tipped his head back and stared up at the sky.

“Man.”  Alex’s breath gusted out of him.  “Look at all the stars, Jazz.  You see them all?  We’ll never see stars like that when we leave here.  You hauling ass off to…wherever. Me, going to Duke.  Going to be a fucking doctor. Don’t have to worry about trying to figure out school and taking care of a baby now, I guess.”

He turned around and started back toward the car but tripped and ended up on his ass.

“Shit, man.”  Jazz went to him and hauled him up.  “You’re a mess.”

“I’m a mess,” Alex agreed. “She got rid of the baby.  I told her Dad and me would take care of her.  We were gonna get her an apartment. She could have gone to beauty school like she said she wanted. We’d pay for it. But…nooooo…she said, no ring, no way.”

He flung out his right arm so forcefully, he almost threw off balance.

“She don’t want to marry me. She wants to marry my money.” Alex made a rude sound with his tongue, something that sounded more like what Anne-Marie would have done.  “I ought to send a big box of it and a ring from a gum machine. Marry this, bitch.”

Jazz thought it wasn’t a half-bad idea.  Although Alex wouldn’t do it once he was sober.  He was too nice.  “Make sure it’s just one-dollar bills.  She doesn’t deserve anything else.”

Alex snickered.

“Her mama said she’d tell the whole town I’d raped Maribeth,” Alex said abruptly.

It was a good thing Jazz had managed to get Alex back to the hood of the car, because he just about dropped him in shock. Easing his friend back to the surface of the hood, he backed up a few steps.  “What did you say?”

“You heard me.  Said she’d tell the town I’d raped her precious baby…like hell.” Alex snorted and dropped his head to stare at the sky. “Crazy shit.  It’s all crazy.”

“Yeah.”  Fighting down anger at what the Parks had been threatening, Jazz rested a hand on Alex’s shoulder.

Alex wasn’t much in the mood for comforting. He shrugged Jazz’s hand away and got back up, stalking down to the river to stare into the murky, slow-flowing waters. After a long time, he looked back at Jazz, eyes dark and turbulent. “Why did she do it, Jazz?”

“That girl only knows one thing, buddy. Just like her mother, she looks out for herself and herself only.”

“It was my baby, too.” Tipping his head back, Alex sighed. He closed his eyes. “I would have helped her out.  We were going to get her an apartment, pay for her to go to beauty school like she said she wanted. I was going to take care of her, not just the baby. Then she does this.”  He swayed on his feet before managing to steady himself.  “It was my baby, too.”

“I know, buddy. I know.”

 

~*~

 

 

Hours later, they sat on the hood of the car. The beer was long gone.  Jazz had opened a couple of cans, more to keep Alex from drinking them than anything else.  He hadn’t had more than a sip from each one, then he’d poured it out.

He hated the taste of beer, hated the smell of it.

It reminded him of Beau and his big, meaty fists, how they’d fly through the air and strike his mother, in her face, in her belly.

Alex had gone quiet, locking that anger and hurt inside.

It bothered Jazz.

After a time, Alex drifted off, falling asleep.

Alex was right, Jazz thought.  They wouldn’t see stars like this once they left this small, nowhere little town.

The music of the night sang in his ears, crickets, birds, occasional squeaks and squeals as the night predators caught their prey.

That caught Jazz’s attention. “No way, buddy. You ain’t gonna go hitting a woman.”

 

~*~

 

 

He came awake when the engine roared to life beneath his sleeping body. Dazed, staring up the star-studded night sky, it took Jazz a minute to figure out where in the hell he was. Groaning, he slid off the car.  Empty beer cans rattled under his feet and when flying as he started forward.

The moon’s watery light was enough to let Jazz make out Alex’s face.

Jazz didn’t like what he saw.

Alex wore a grim, dark look and his mouth was set in a tight line.

“What are you up to, man?” he asked warily.

“Goin’ back into town,” Alex said.

“You’ve spent the past few hours drinking and you wanna drive into town?” Jazz demanded. “Gimme the damn keys. I’ll drive you.”

“My fuckin’ car.” Alex reached for the gearshift again, jamming it from reverse into first. With a curse, Jazz dove across the hood and jumped in, glad he’d left the top of the convertible down.  His feet barely left the ground before the tires sent dust flying.

 

~*~

 

 

It was Lawrence Muldoon, a county deputy and brother to the man who had married Jazz’s mama, that was first on the scene. The vintage Mustang had been turned into a pile of twisted metal and smoke.

Both occupants had been turned into bloody, battered messes and he was in the process of reaching for his radio to call the accident in when he caught sight of a dark, slumped head.

Hatred burning inside him, he peered at the young man closer.

Then, as he recognized Jazz, Larry let go of his radio and assessed the situation. The county golden boy, Alexander Kincaid, was breathing his last.  Larry had seen a few men die—it hadn’t even bothered him—so he knew what he was watched as Alex died right in front of him.

Then he turned his eyes to the dark-haired, dark-eyed bastard who was responsible for helping to put his brother in the ground. Didn’t matter not one bit that he was just a kid, and it didn’t matter that the bastard’s mama had pulled the trigger.

Jazz was alive—Beau wasn’t.

It was simple enough in Larry’s mind.

The hate had been eating him alive for a good long while.

Now fate had presented him with a fine opportunity.

One boy dead, the other unconscious, when the deputy finished his handiwork and made the call, there was nobody to dispute him.

 

~*~

 

Three days later, Jazz woke in a hospital, gazing at the white ceiling overhead. They had told him the previous night that Alex was dead.  He was handcuffed to the bed and the county sheriff had already been in to talk to him.

Jazz was to blame, they said.  He’d been driving.

He’d killed his best friend.

“Jazz?”

Closing his eyes, he turned his face away from the door. He knew that voice. And it was the last voice he wanted to hear. Full of tears and grief, just like her eyes would be.

“Jazz?” Anne-Marie asked again, her voice a little louder this time.

Turning his head, he stared at Anne-Marie. Her father, his eyes full of grief and rage, stood at his daughter’s side, his hands on her shoulders. “Hey, Annie,” he whispered, staring past her and her father, unable to look at them.

“Is it true?” she asked tearfully. “Were you driving?”

“I dunno, Annie.”

“They say it’s your fault he’s gone,” she told him. She closed her eyes tightly, pressed her lips together and tried not to cry. “Is it your fault?”

That, he did know. “Yeah. I guess it was,” he responded, turning his head away. Why else would he feel so guilty? “Dr. Kincaid, I know it doesn’t mean anything, but I’m…” His voice trailed away and tears blinded him.

“I know, son,” Desmond Kincaid said quietly, sighing. He shoved a hand through his salt and pepper hair, staring down at the battered body of his son’s best friend. How many times had he heard, Alex will come to no good, hanging around that McNeil boy. Muldoon done went and ruined him.

How many times?

If he had listened, would Alex be alive today?

Taking Annie’s hand, he led her out of the room, away from the boy who lay silently crying on the hospital bed.