CHAPTER EIGHT

 

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THE OLD DOOR squeaked a familiar greeting as Travis entered the house. An oddity considering the place belonged to a handyman and his handy son.

They quickly took care of all the big jobs, but little things, like oiling a noisy hinge, often fell by the wayside, unattended, since the lady of the house—the heart of their home—was no longer around to supply not-so-subtle reminders.

Travis made a mental note to tell Delaney about the squeak, imagining her gentle laugh. Then, he had to chuckle at himself.

He didn't know exactly when the girl had latched herself so firmly into his thoughts. But she had. And he wasn't the least bit upset by the revelation. In fact, Delaney had enjoyed their ride so much—and having her along had given him so much pleasure—he couldn't wait for the next time.

Soon, Travis had promised her when he dropped Delaney off a few blocks from her house. The smile she'd bestowed on him was a gift he'd treasure for a long time.

"Dad? Are you home?" Travis called out, heading to the kitchen for a glass of juice.

"I'm up here."

"Are you in the bathroom?" Travis asked, a little disappointed. He'd planned on taking a shower. They had two bathrooms, but the other one only sported a claw-foot tub. Since he wasn't fond of what he considered an exercise in sitting in a pool of his own filth, he could wait.

"I'm in bed."

Travis frowned. His father sounded exhausted. Not an uncommon occurrence on a week of long hours that started just after dawn and often didn't end before dark.

But the fact that Alan's old pickup wasn't parked in its usual place in the driveway had given Travis pause. Now, instead of relaxing in front of the television with a beer and a bowl of chips—as was his habit on Saturday—his father was already down for the night?

"What's up?" Travis asked, standing in the bedroom door.

Alan, propped up on a stack of pillows, shifted. He let out a long breath—more a grimace than a sigh.

"Hurt my back."

His father clenched his teeth as if trying to hold the pain in check. Injuries came with Alan's profession. However, Travis had never known anything to lay the man low. If his father had given in enough to admit something was wrong, the problem had to be bad.

"Did you stop to see Dr. Crenshaw?"

"That old quack?" Just shaking his head made the lines deepen on Alan's face. "What could he do except tell me to do exactly what I did. Go home, crawl into bed, and rest."

True, Travis conceded silently. Crenshaw had been the town doctor since the crack of time. He wasn't a great healer, but he did have a supply of the good stuff.

"A couple painkillers would help you sleep," Travis called out as he crossed the hall.

"Pills aren't the answer," Alan groaned. "Advice to live by when you're out on your own surrounded by teammates with easy access to drugs. Taking something for every ache and pain is a slippery slope to drug addiction. They test for that stuff now—even in the minor leagues."

In the bathroom, Travis grabbed the bottle of Advil, shaking out three tablets. Though his father's warning wasn't new, the words registered. Like Alan, he believed in playing through the pain. Times like these, there had to be an exception.

"Here." Travis held out the pills. He set a glass of water on the nightstand.

He expected some resistance. When Alan didn't argue, swallowing the tablets without hesitation, Travis felt another surge of concern.

"What happened, Dad?"

"That freaking hunting lodge. I've been working my ass off on Detwiler's hellhole for almost a month—without much progress."

Mayor Horace Detwiler. Munch Brill's uncle. Brill, Delaney's stepfather. Sometimes he wondered how Green Hills survived. The connections were endless—and not in a good way.

Fine on the surface. The typical small town. A bit quaint. Even picturesque. However, dig a bit deeper and what would you find? A huge, incestuous pool of slimy muck.

More than ever, Travis couldn't wait to leave.

"What about the extra help Detwiler promised to hire?"

"You mean Tweedledum and Tweedledumber? Or as they like to call themselves, Mayor Detwiler's nephews?" Alan scoffed. "Hand to God, the idiot twins—as I think of them—constantly refer to themselves that way. They are more trouble than help, always arguing and getting in the way."

"Cletus and Myron Brill?"

"You know them?"

Travis pulled up a chair, stained antique white. The one his mother always sat in while she fixed her hair each morning.

"They were a few years ahead of me in school. Dumb as a sack of rocks."

Alan frowned.

"Aren't they around twenty-five?"

"Cletus and Myron were held back. More than once. I don't think they were ever going to graduate on their own. So, the school—with a little pressure from their dad—pushed them through."

"Makes sense." Alan downed the entire glass of water. "Their father is Sheriff Brill. That family takes care of their own. At the detriment of everybody else. They're the reason I hurt my back."

"Tell me what they did."

Alan explained that Cletus and Myron arrived late.

"Their bumbling has been worse than usual. Pissed off because they weren't invited on the family's yearly Mexico trip."

Travis remembered how happy Delaney seemed when she mentioned Munch was out of the country.

"I asked them to rip up some old carpet—soaked from the leaky roof."

"A leaky roof?" Travis didn't like the sound of that. "With all the rain we've had this spring? Water and electricity aren't a good mix."

"I make sure the breaker is off—and I avoid the puddles of standing water."

Travis held his tongue—barely. His father was a stickler for safety. However, the pain etched on Alan's face proved he couldn't trust Mayor Detwiler or the rest of that family to watch out for anybody but themselves.

"Cletus and Myron are always fighting. Always. They're big men. More fat than muscle. When they get to pushing back and forth, watch out. Before they had ripped up a single inch of carpet, Cletus took exception to something about Myron."

"His face?" Travis quipped.

Alan chuckled, which led to another pain-laced groan.

"My point, funny man, is that Myron shoved his brother. Cletus toppled over like a three-hundred-pound bowling pin. Unfortunately, he toppled onto me."

Wincing, Travis could see the picture his father painted with gut-wrenching clarity. All things considered, Alan was lucky. Cletus—and his girth—could have equaled a broken bone or two.

"Where's your truck?"

"Still at the job site. Myron and Cletus insisted on driving me home. If they don't pick me up on Monday, I'll bum a ride off somebody."

"Don't worry about your truck," Travis assured him. "Eddie and I will get it home."

"Thanks, son."

"Carpet and floors weren't part of the original deal," Travis pointed out. "Please tell me Detwiler agreed to pay you extra."

"We're in the negotiation stage."

"Fuck that, Dad." Travis gripped the edge of the bed. His father was a good man, but he wasn't always good at standing up for what was his due.

"Walk away. There's always another job."

"Not if I get on the mayor's bad side. He has the power to shut me down. Permanently."

"Then leave Green Hills. I'll be gone in a few weeks. Without Mom, what reason do you have to stay?"

"I was born and raised here, Travis. I like to think I'm fundamentally a good man."

"The best."

Pride flashed across Alan's face.

"You could be just a bit biased. But my point is simple. Green Hills won't get better if good men leave."

"What can you do against Detwiler and the Brills?"

Alan shrugged. "Maybe nothing. The only way to find out is if I stay."

The guilt Travis felt wasn't new. However, he knew with all his heart, even without baseball, his destiny wasn't in his hometown.

"I have to go."

"Damn straight." Alan gripped Travis' forearm with a warm, understanding smile. "My son is destined to be a superstar shortstop."

Travis grinned. "What happened to the man who said I can't count on making a success? Too many variables. Too many what ifs. Now you have me slated to be a superstar?"

"I wanted you to finish high school. And keep you grounded. Lucky for me, you're a pretty level-headed kid. You've made my job easy. Enough of the mush," Alan said, clearing the emotion from his throat. "I could eat something. How about you? Feel like making a couple of sandwiches."

"Ham and cheddar?"

"Sounds good." With a sigh, Alan closed his eyes. "My life would be a lot simpler if Detwiler had taken Cletus and Myron to Mexico."

The mention of Mexico made Travis think of Delaney and how happy she seemed that her stepfather was out of the country. His father had opened the door for him to ask a few questions and get the answers he couldn't get from Delaney.

"You and Munch Brill are around the same age, aren't you?"

"Mm." Between the Advil and his own bed, Alan was as close to comfortable as he'd get. "School bully. Always dated the youngest, least experienced girls he could find. Not that they stayed that way for long. He's a mean, good-for-nothing S.O.B. Still is from what I understand." Alan's eyes popped open as if his built-in dad alert system sensed trouble. "Why do you ask?"

Casually as possible, Travis shrugged.

"His stepdaughter is in my class."

"She is?" Alan frowned. "I vaguely recall Munch's wife had a kid when they married. I can't picture the girl."

"She's kind of quiet." Talk about an understatement.

"Please tell me you aren't dating Munch Brill's stepdaughter?"

"Her name is Delaney. And no. I'm not interested in dating her."

"Ah, crap." Tension re-entered Alan's expression. "You had sex with her, didn't you?"

"No!" Vehemently, Travis shook his head. "Sex with Del would be… wrong. Like getting naked with a good friend."

Travis almost said he thought of Delaney as his sister. However, he stopped himself because he didn't. For whatever reason, the distinction seemed important.

"Good. Keep that image in your head. You've managed to go this long without getting mixed up with that family. The finish line is in sight, Travis. Don't mess up now."

As Travis fixed dinner, he thought long and hard about his father's warning. If Delaney were just a girl he liked romantically, he wouldn't give her a second thought. But they were something more. Something deeper and harder to ignore.

They were friends.

If Munch Brill—or any member of his never-ending family—had a problem with Travis? Too. Damn. Bad.