Chapter Twenty

 

Milo

 

The day dawns gray and gloomy. The sky is the color of slate and there's a slight drizzle as a late summer storm rolls through. It is the perfect day for a funeral. It seems fitting. Appropriate. And it completely matches my mood.

I'd declined an invitation to join my family at the house for breakfast. I just want to get through the day and then decide what the hell I'm going to do about Bree – and my son. The last thing I want is for my family to be sitting in judgment of me. I'm really not in the mood for that shit.

I pull into the lot at the cemetery and sit in the car for a long while. I watch the mourners filtering in, most of them huddled in thick coats under dark umbrellas. I see a long, dark limousine arrive. The driver gets out and hustles around to open the back door. My family files out of the car – the old man, my mother, Zach, Q, and Dalton.

I know that I should feel bad for not spending more time with Q and Dalton while I've been in town, but I don't. Not really, anyway. It's not like we're that close anymore. We've got nothing in common. Timmy always told me that they were little clones of Zach now, more than anything, which kills any desire I might have had for a family reunion.

No, the more I think about it, Timmy and my mother are the only decent people to come out of the Sheridan household, and now that Timmy's gone, as far as I'm concerned, I've got no real family left. Except for Owen. My son.

Once this funeral is over, I need to make some real decisions. I'm going to have to figure out what I'm going to do about this. Do I sue for custody? Take Owen and raise him in California alone? I have no idea.

The only certain thing is that I'm not going to raise him – or allow him to be raised – in Folson Forge. I'm going to get him as far away from the Sheridans and the Longstreets, and their stupid feud, as I possibly can.

I'm so lost in thought that I don't even realize someone is standing next to my car until I hear the knock on the passenger side window. Back in Afghanistan, that lack of attention would have gotten my ass killed. Thank God I'm not in Afghanistan anymore.

When I see who it is though, I sigh and almost wish that I was back in the shit. Hitting the button, I unlock the doors. I grab the file sitting on the passenger seat and set it on the dashboard before he opens the door and slides in beside me.

Small drops of rain beat against the glass of the windshield, creating a monotonous, yet strangely soothing, rhythm. I stare straight ahead, watching the crowd gathering beneath the large tents that have been set up around the gravesite. And for the first time since I first got back into town, the reason I'm here really sinks in.

Oh, I know Timmy's service is the reason I'm here. On an intellectual level. But, I've kept myself so busy with investigating his death, the situation with Bree, and now Owen, and a thousand other tedious pieces of bullshit, that I've denied the reality of it to myself. I've kept myself from fully comprehending the enormity of the loss I'm feeling.

My brother is dead. Gone. And he's never coming back.

The realization burns a hole through my heart and fills me with a profound emptiness. Growing up, I'd always been the closest to Timmy. I remember the way he'd follow me around, trying to emulate the things I did. He played football because of me – even starting at my old position. He dressed like me and tried to talk like me. He tried to do everything just like me.

A small grin touches my lips as I think back through the years, recalling some of the things Timmy did that never failed to make me laugh.

“What's so funny?” Zach asks.

“I was just remembering how Timmy always tried to be like me,” I say. “In everything he did.”

“Yeah, he looked up to you,” he says. “That never stopped.”

“You remember that time he told us he could drink like me?” I laugh. “He was what, thirteen or fourteen?”

“Twelve, actually.”

I nod. “Right. Twelve,” I say. “You remember us all sitting around a table, doing shots with him.”

Zach laughs. “He didn't make it to three before vomiting all over the place.”

“And he was sick the entire next day,” I say. “I remember the old man gave me the whoopin' of a lifetime for that one.”

“Yeah, but not because you let Timmy drink.”

I laugh again as the memory replays in my mind. “No, it was because we gave him some cheap no-name whiskey instead of the family brand.”

We both share a laugh at the memory, but that quickly tapers off. The air inside the car is tense and expectant. I know Zach is threatened by me being in town. He's threatened by me period. I don't give a shit. It’s not my problem. As an image of Owen and that gap-toothed smile flashes through my mind though, I do begin to wonder how much Zach knows.

Had he known all along and never bothered to tell me?

“Did you know?” I ask, still staring through the windshield.

“Know what?”

“About Bree,” I say. “And her child.”

He lets out a long breath and from the corner of my eyes, I see him turn to look at me. A moment later, however, he readjusts and stares through the windshield.

“There have been rumors –”

“Did you know?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I was pretty sure. The Longstreets have been really careful about not letting that information get out. It's more closely guarded than the country's fucking nuclear codes,” he says. “But, I know a guy, who knows a guy, who worked for them in the past. So, yeah, I knew she had a kid.”

“Did you know it was mine?”

“Doesn't take a genius to do the math, Milo,” he says. “Even Q could have figured that out.”

“And you didn't tell me.”

“There didn’t seem to be a point.”

I finally turn to him, the anger burning bright in my face. “Didn't seem to be a point?” I growl. “That's my fucking son, asshole.”

“And you were running around the desert in Afghanistan,” he says. “What good could it possibly have done to tell you that you have a kid here?”

“I've been in California for two years now,” I say. “And still, you didn't call, send a text, or even a goddamn email, about it.”

He shrugs. “What do you want me to say?” he says. “You seemed pretty entrenched out there. Didn't expect you'd be coming back to Folson Forge anytime soon.”

“You mean, you were hoping I wouldn't.”

“Yeah, that too,” he says. “Speaking of which, the old man offer you the CEO role yet?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “He did.”

Zach lets out a long breath and nods. I can see the anger in his eyes at once again, being the old man's second choice.

“What did you tell him?”

“What do you think I told him?”

“I really don't know, Milo,” he replies. “You've always enjoyed sticking it to me when you could.”

I shrug. “I never gave you anything you didn't earn or deserve.”

He turns to me and I see that it's not just anger and frustration in his eyes, but pain as well. I guess I never really considered how bad it must hurt him to always be thought of as second best. As the second choice. The reliable ol’ fall-back plan.

But, like Riggs told me – he needs to find a way to get over that shit.

“I have a business and a life out in California,” I say. “I'm not giving that up, Zach. Once I'm done here, I'm gone.”

He nods. “Good,” he says softly. “You're my brother and I'm always going to love you, Milo. But, there's a piece of me that can’t stand you and is happier when you're not here. Always have.”

“Yeah, I know.”

We sit in silence, staring out the windshield a moment longer. Neither of us speaks, both caught up in our own thoughts. I look at the file on the dashboard and the weight of its contents press down on me with an oppressive force. Finally, I turn to him, knowing I need to say something, and hoping I get through to him.

“Zach, this whole blood feud with the Longstreets needs to end,” I say. “It's beyond fucking absurd at this point. You're the head of this family now – you need to act like it. You need to be a leader. Feuding with the Longstreets is doing nothing but causing damage. To them and to us. It's pointless.”

He shrugs. “They're pieces of shit,” he says. “All we're doing is keeping them in their rightful place. Which is beneath us.”

“All we are doing is creating chaos and hurting people,” I say. “This stupid family feud is ridiculous. What are we getting out of it?”

“It's keeping us at the top of the food chain around here,” he says.

“No, the family fortune and a booming business are doing that,” I reply. “Keeping a stupid ass blood feud going is only tarnishing the family name.”

“You haven't been around,” he says. “You don't know.”

“I know more than you think.”

“This is about Bree, isn't it?” he says. “Her and that kid.”

“My kid.”

He shifts in his seat. “Fine. Your kid,” he says. “This isn't about anything other than that, is it?”

I let out a long breath and shake my head. “This is about Timmy.”

He looks at me, arching an eyebrow. “What does Timmy have to do with this?”

I point to the file. “This stupid blood feud got our brother killed, asshole.”

He sits there in stunned silence for a moment, shaking his head. He looks at the file and then picks it up, flipping through the pages. I can see the anger building in his face, along with a growing sense of disbelief.

“They said it was an electrical fire,” he mutters.

“They lied,” I say. “They covered it up.”

He drops the file back on the dashboard and glares at me as the full realization of what I'd just told him sinks in.

“Then they need to pay,” he says. “The Longstreets need to fucking pay for this.”

I shake my head. “No, they don't. Not in the way you're thinking,” I say. “They need to be brought to justice, yes. But, it needs to be legal. Done the right way.”

“You're barely part of this family anymore,” he snaps. “You don't get to waltz in here and tell us how to conduct our business, Milo. We're fighting a war with these bastards –”

“Son, I've been to war. Seen it up close,” I say, glaring at him. “Believe me when I say, you wouldn't last one day in a real war. This isn't war, Zach. This is a bunch of petty fucking people who can't let go of the past.”

“Fuck you.”

“I'm asking you to be the bigger person here, Zach,” I say. “To do the right thing and be the leader – be the man – this family and business, needs.”

“Like I said, fuck you,” he snaps. “You don't get to come in here all high and mighty and think you can run the show. Not again. Not anymore.”

“I’m not trying to,” I reply evenly. “Just trying to keep anyone else from getting hurt. Just trying to keep somebody – them or us – from having to bury another kid. And trying to keep you out of prison for doing something stupid in retaliation.”

“Thanks for your concern,” he says. “But, I got this.”

He gets out of the car and heads up to the gravesite. I let out a long breath and shake my head. There's no getting through to him. I step out of the car and tuck my hands into the dark overcoat I'm wearing. I adjust my tie in the reflection in the window and then turn, heading up the hill to bury my little brother.

~ooo000ooo~

With her hand on my arm, I escort my mother down to the parking lot to the waiting limo. The service had been nice, though a little heavier on the religiosity than I would have preferred – and far more than Timmy would have wanted. But, everyone seemed to take comfort in it. Which, is I suppose, what funerals are for. They are for the living. Not the dead.

I see them in the parking lot before we reach it. Clyde Longstreet and a few others. Five of them in all. They're leaning against their cars, powering down cans of beer. Judging by their laughter and the snarky comments they're passing between themselves, they aren’t here to express their condolences.

“Milo,” my mother says.

“It's okay,” I say.

I turn to the old man, who's walking a few paces behind us and look at him earnestly. He looks from me to the parking lot and then back to me, a dark anger passing through his eyes. He obviously understands the situation and looks ready to throw in.

“Get mom to the car,” I say.

“I will do no such –”

“Yes, you will,” I command. “Get her to the car and get her home safe. Now.”

The old man looks at me, his eyes narrowing, but a look of firm resolve spreading across his face. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips and he nods, clapping me on the shoulder.

“I'm proud of you, son,” he says. “It's damn good to have you back.”

I'm not back, but if letting him think I am gets my mom to safety, then, so be it. I don't have time to have that debate with him right now. Not when there are five guys looking to pick a fight, standing there waiting for me.

Once I see my dad load my mom into the back seat and drive off, I turn and walk towards the parking lot. Five on one. It isn’t great odds. But, I've got training, and years of experience, on my side. Plus, they look like they've had a few, which will also help me.

As I come down the hill, I hear footsteps behind me. Casting a glance over my shoulder, I see Zach, Q, and Dalton all fall into step.

“You guys don't need to concern yourself with this,” I say. “They're here for me.”

“It's a matter of family honor,” Zach says. “And technically, you're still family.”

Q and Dalton don't say anything, nor do they meet my eyes. They're simply following along, doing what Zach tells them to do. Some things will never change.

“So be it,” I say.

We cross the parking lot and stand a few feet in front of Clyde and his gang. My body tense and ready, I stare down at them.

“Come to pay your respects?” I ask.

Clyde spits on the ground at my feet. “I've got no respect for any of you Sheridans.”

“Trust me,” Zach chimes in. “That road goes both ways, Longstreet.”

“I didn’t appreciate you comin' by my house earlier,” Clyde says, his eyes fixed on me. “You upset my mother and my sister.”

“Way I hear it, you've been upsetting your sister for a long time,” I say.

“That isn’t any of your concern.”

“She is the mother of my child,” I say. “That makes it my concern.”

“You ran off. Left her pregnant and alone,” he replies. “That makes you the biggest piece of shit there is out there.”

“I'm pretty sure you know that I had no idea about Owen,” I say. “No, you've been using this whole thing as leverage. You’ve been hanging this over Bree's head – tormenting her and making her live in fear that you would tell your folks. I'd say that makes you at least as big of a piece of shit as I am.”

He shrugs. “Again, that’s not your concern.”

I can feel the tension radiating from my brothers and see it reflected in the postures of Clyde's guys. My brothers are itching for a fight as much as they are. And I know if I don't do something to diffuse the situation now, it's going to get out of hand.

I look around and see some of the funeral-goers standing on the hill and scattered throughout the parking lot, watching us. Great. The last thing we need is an audience.

“Look, leave it alone, Clyde,” I say. “This is my brother's funeral. Today is not the day.”

“Oh, I disagree,” he replies. “I'd say it's the perfect day.”

“Doesn't have to go like this,” I say. “Just let it go.”

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

I shrug. “Not as much as I'm going to like seeing you in prison for the rest of your life.”

He cocks his head at me and I see confusion in his eyes. “The fuck are you talkin' about?”

I don't want to tip my hand. At least, not until I have all my ducks in a row and am able to contact the Georgia State Patrol with everything I've learned about Timmy's murder. No way in hell I'm going to Keyes with it. That only guarantees it will get whitewashed and buried. No, I need to go over his head, which means involving the Staties.

I don't want to tell him, but I don't have much of a choice. If he knows I’m aware of what he did, maybe it'll make Clyde think twice. Maybe, he won't be so eager to put himself on the radar and get himself hauled in for a street fight. Because once I start to sing, it's a stay that could end up a lot longer for him than anticipated.

Maybe. Clyde's never really been one to think things through. But, one can hope.

“You killed Timmy,” I say. “Murdered him. Locked him in that office and set fire to it.”

“The fuck I did.”

“I've got proof,” I say. “Mountains of proof.”

I hear my brothers muttering behind me, Q and Dalton having no idea what I'm talking about. Zach silences them.

“The hell you do,” Clyde says. “You got nothin', because I didn't kill your brother.”

I shrug. “That's going to be up to the courts to decide.”

“You're full of shit, Sheridan.”

“Guess we'll see.”

The man to his right moves so fast, I barely have time to register it. He comes at me, swinging the baseball bat, he's carrying, but his swing is sloppy. I sidestep and spin, the bat catching me in the shoulder, rather than my head. Small miracle. As the bat makes contact, pain explodes in my shoulder. I grimace and drive my elbow back, catching the man square in the face. He grunts and staggers backwards, dropping the bat and clutching a nose that's now spewing out blood.

And after that opening act, chaos erupts.

Clyde rushes me, but I'm ready for him. He throws a punch that’s aimed at my face, but I easily deflect it. I grab him by the arm and yank him forward, driving my knee into his midsection. He lets out a strangled noise as the air is forced out of his lungs. I drive my fist into his face, knocking him backwards onto his ass.

Q, however, is getting the shit beat out of him. He's never been much of a fighter. The guy he's paired up with is on top of him, delivering blow after blow, as blood pours from Q's nose and mouth. I wrap my arm around the guy’s neck and squeeze, pulling him off my brother.

The man throws his fists back, trying to catch me with one, but his blows are ineffective. He tries to stomp on my feet and kick at me, but I'm able to dodge his every move. The guy isn't a very good fighter. I keep squeezing until I feel his body go limp in my arms. He's out cold, so I drop him to the pavement.

Two down. Three to go.

A quick look around shows me that Zach has the upper hand on his partner and is beating him to a pulp. Dalton is squaring off with a guy his size, but neither seems to have the advantage there – both are unable to land any blows and remain unscathed at this point.

The air is driven from my body in a whoosh when I catch a hard fist to the side. Clyde may be a bit softer around the middle these days, but he can still pack one hell of a punch. I stagger forward, sucking in air as I mentally and physically prepare for his next flurry of punches.

He comes at me and I spin to the side. Clyde anticipates my movement and surprisingly turns on a dime, spinning and delivering a blow straight to my face. There's a burst of light behind my eyes as I take the shot to the nose and feel the blood gush out in response. I can taste its coppery flavor in my mouth. I put my fingers to my nose and look at the blood. I turn my eyes to Clyde again and feel a smile on my lips.

“Okay,” I say. “Let's dance, fucker.”

Clyde bounces back on his heels, his arms up and ready to strike. I close the distance between us, dodging and deflecting every punch he throws at me. I'm done playing around. Clyde throws a right at me and I swat it to the side, driving my left fist into his face. He howls in pain as his nose breaks, a geyser of blood spraying into the air. I follow it up with a right jab to the same spot, sending him reeling.

Clyde doubles over, holding his hands up to his face, the blood seeping through his fingers and splattering noisily to the ground at his feet. I step forward again and deliver a vicious kick to his midsection. He grunts and pitches forward, landing on his nose – which makes him shriek like a little girl.

My blood is up and I'm enjoying myself. Nothing like a good fight to blow off some steam. I turn and look at the guy sparring with Dalton. Neither is very committed to the fight, throwing half-hearted punches. But, if you roll with Clyde, you're going to pay the price.

I stride over and deliver a flurry of punches to his face and midsection, his body twitching and jerking as if he were taking bullets. He falls on his ass and curls up into the fetal position – and begins to cry.

Squad cars roll into the parking lot, lights flashing, sirens blaring. Keyes struggles out of the driver's side door, but somehow manages to get out. He and half dozen of his deputies stand there staring at us. Clyde and his bozos are all on the ground, rolling around in agony, having suffered a beatdown. My brothers and I are bloodied and bruised – and my shoulder is killing me – but are still standing. A fact that Keyes is apoplectic about.

“What the hell is going on here?” he finally stammers.

I scoff. “Your friends here had the disrespect to pick a fight at my brother's funeral,” I say.

“Looks like you were the aggressors to me,” Keyes says.

“Yeah, you'd like to believe that, wouldn't you?”

“It's what I know,” he growls. “Deputies, arrest these four for assault and battery.”

The deputies all exchange a look with one another before turning to the Sheriff, unsure of what to do.

“I said arrest them, goddammit,” Keyes roars. “That's an order.”

The deputies all look uneasy, but step forward, an apologetic look on all their faces. They get to us and I turn around, clasping my hands behind my back for them. They're doing their job. It's not their fault their boss is a fucking shitbag.

“Hold on here,” comes another voice.

I turn around and see Burns getting out of a car and feel a smile tugging the corner of my mouth.

“What the hell is the meaning of this?” Burns asks.

“These men are being arrested, Mayor Burns,” Keyes says. “For assault and battery.”

“Bullshit, Keyes,” Burns says. “Your friend Clyde and his buddies here came lookin' for a fight. Looks like they got one and paid the price for it. Clear-cut case of self-defence.”

“That's not your call to make, Mayor.”

“The hell it's not,” he says. “I'm not letting a crooked cop arrest the victims of a crime on the day of their little brother's funeral.”

“I – I'm not crooked,” Keyes stammers.

“The hell you're not. You've been up the Longtreets' ass for as long as I can remember,” Burns says. “And I'm tired of it. I'm tired of all this family feud bullshit. This needs to end.”

“You don't have –”

“Shut the fuck up, Keyes,” Burns explodes. “You're fired.”

“You can't fire me, I was elected.”

“Read the town charter,” Burns fires back. “I can fire you and hold a special election. You're done. Give me your badge and your gun and get the fuck out of here.”

“You can't do that.”

“The hell I can't,” Burns replies. “Last chance. Give me your badge and your gun.”

“I refuse.”

Burns nods and smiles. “I was hoping you'd say that,” he says. “Deputies, please arrest former Sheriff Keyes.”

Keyes' face turns purple as he stammers with outrage. The deputies, not even bothering to hide their smiles, strip Keyes of his gun and badge before placing cuffs on him. He grunts and grumbles, pissed off and howling as he's led away.

Burns walks over to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. I wince as a shock of pain shoots through my body. He gives me an apologetic smile and takes his hand away.

“I'm sorry this happened today, of all days,” he says.

“Not your fault,” I reply. “They got what they asked for.”

Burns nods and looks at Clyde and his guys, who are slowly starting to get back on their feet. Blood covers their faces and rage burns silently in their eyes.

“What about them?” I ask.

“Get out of here, son,” he says. “Go be with your family. Mourn. And for the love of God, find a way to put an end to this goddamn feud. Too much blood has been spilled already.”

I nod and turn before leading my brothers away. Zach falls into step beside me.

“You coming by the house?” he asks.

“Told mom I would,” I reply.

He nods, though I can tell he's disappointed. I know he wants me to get on a plane and get out of here. The longer I stay, the more worried he is that I'm going to take his job – despite the fact that I've told him repeatedly that I'm not interested.

As if on cue, the limo pulls back into the parking lot as we reach my car. Obviously, my father had the driver park just far enough away that he could see what was happening. Fucking ghoul. My brothers all walk over to the car and climb in.

As the limo pulls out of the parking lot, I cast one last look back at Clyde and find him staring at me. His eyes burn with a hatred more raw and primal than I've ever seen before in a man's eyes. I climb into my car and drive off.

Fuck, I hate this town.