My stomach hurt. I . . . I couldn’t believe this. Definitely going to be throwing up at some point.
Duane cleared his throat. “Why tell Beau? Why not me?” His voice was now quiet, like he was trying to keep it even.
“You’re leaving.” She shrugged, and then turned her eyes to me. “We weren’t expecting twins. There was only supposed to be one of you.”
“You didn’t know you were having twins?” I found that unlikely.
“No. I knew. But two babies wasn’t the original plan.”
I shook my head at her. Darrell, Christine, Razor—they were all despicable. I didn’t know how much more of this I could take. I’d been happy in my ignorance. Duane was right, learning her reasons for telling us the truth wasn’t going to lead anywhere good.
And now I was running out of patience.
Before I could call an end to this ridiculous spectacle—because now I truly had no desire to hear any more—Duane asked, “So why now? Why approach Beau now?”
She gave me a smile. “It was time.”
“Why? Why was it time?” Duane pushed.
“I knew he’d want to help his daddy.” Her smile persisted, soft and sweet, like cotton candy.
My twin and I swapped another stare, communicating silently something along the lines of, Duane: What the hell is she talking about?
Me: I have no idea, but I think she drank the Kool-Aid.
Duane: Forget the Kool-Aid, she went straight for the antifreeze.
“He’s up for parole,” she volunteered, now speaking exclusively to me.
My mouth fell open at this news, a sudden spike of dread radiating out from my chest to my fingertips. “What?”
“Not yet, but soon.” Her smile grew.
No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.
“Darrell?” I couldn’t believe what she was telling us. “Darrell is up for parole?”
“He’s only been in for a year.” Duane shuffled a step forward, his hands coming to his hips.
I straightened from the hood of the Road Runner, shifting closer to Duane. I reckoned he was dealing with the same level of shock and fury I was dealing with.
“Yeah, but attempted kidnapping ain’t no big deal.” Christine waved this off. “It’s a Class C felony in Tennessee. Plus, it was his own kids. No harm was done.”
I sensed Duane stiffen. “No harm was—”
I stepped in front of my brother before he lost his shit. “What does Darrell imagine I can do? What did he say?”
“Well, first of all, he wanted you to know I’m your real momma.” She paused, giving me a beaming smile.
“Okay.” I didn’t smile. I physically could not. “And what else?”
“See now, Beau. Your daddy is the reason you have that money from the Olivers at all.” Her tone turned serious, sincere. “You owe him a debt, baby. It’s time for you to pay your debt.”
I sensed my twin seething behind me, could feel the swell of anger gathering. I needed to get him out of here before he did something stupid, like scream at Razor’s old lady.
“All right. I see what you’re saying.” It was easy for me to revert back to good cop; I was always good cop, that was my role. “I think I’ll need some time to, uh—”
“No.” Duane stepped next to me, but instead of shooting his No at Christine, he was talking to me. “Nope. No. Hell no. You can’t avoid this. You do this right, Beau.”
I stared at my brother, at the wild, angry look in his eyes. But behind his fury was something else. Determination.
“You tell her like it is.” He lowered his voice, and determination bled through every word. “I’m not saying you need to be me, but you tell her how it’s going to be. Otherwise she’ll just keep coming back.”
“Beau?” Her tone was higher pitched, and I sensed her watching us. “Baby?”
Taking a deep breath, I gave my brother a rueful smile. “Can’t I just dodge her calls?”
“Until she tracks you down again?”
“Shelly is a great driver, she’ll get us away.”
He huffed a laugh. “Nope.”
Meanwhile, Christine had shifted closer. “You mean that bitch from y’all’s shop?”
. . . Um, what?
What the hell did she just say about my Shelly?
Duane and I turned our heads toward the woman, my pulse ticking up.
“What did you say?” Was that my voice?
“Stay focused.” Duane crossed his arms again, standing at my shoulder, but just a little behind, like he was my coach. “You don’t need to swap insults. She ain’t worth it.”
“Ain’t worth it?” Her voice pitched even higher, her eyes on Duane. “I am your momma, boy.”
“You’re nobody and nothing.” I also crossed my arms. “And if you think I’m going to help that piece of trash Darrell Winston get out of jail, then you’re dumber than you act.”
Duane sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Now see, I said no need for name calling.”
Christine swung her surprised glare to me. “Who are you calling dumb?”
“You,” I answered immediately, deciding to borrow an insult from Shelly, “You’re bright as a black hole and twice as dense.”
She gasped, her hands coming to her chest, and Duane choked on a laugh.
Drill was suddenly there, standing at her shoulder, giving me a pained look as he spoke to Christine. “Maybe it’s time to go?”
But she didn’t seem to hear him, her eyes—and her wrath—settling on me. “Your daddy was wrong about you.”
“Well goodness gracious, I sure do hope so.”
She ignored me, jutting out her chin. “It’s that disloyal woman, she warped your brain. That rich bitch whore.”
. . . Um, what?
What the hell did she just say about my momma?
I took a step forward, seeing red, and Duane caught me by my shoulders, pulling me back. He didn’t need to, because I would never hit her. Nothing she said could ever provoke me to commit violence. I wasn’t my father. I refused to be my father.
But after spending months with Shelly Sullivan, I had an armory full of insults I wouldn’t mind flinging in her direction for a few hours.
“That’s enough.” Duane spat, turning me toward the car and glaring at Drill. “Get her out of here. And if you don’t want Billy breaking noses, keep her the hell away from our family.”
“I ain’t afraid of Billy,” Christine taunted as my brother walked me to the passenger side, raising her volume to a shout. “I ain’t afraid of any of you!”
I chuckled at that, opening my door, and allowing every ounce of disgust I felt for this woman to show on my face. “Then you really are stupid. Because if there’s one thing I know about Billy, it’s that his love for all of us is surpassed only by his hatred for all of you.”
Maybe it was my cold laugh.
Or maybe it was the cadence of my voice.
Or maybe it was the way I was looking at her.
Or maybe my words had hit a nerve.
But something made her flinch.
She shrank back, stepping closer to Drill, and sent me a livid glare.
“Forget you,” she spat, visibly frustrated.