Grave Decisions (Hellgate Guardians Book 3) Read online

  I roll my eyes at the nickname I can’t get her to stop usin’ and turn up the TV, listenin’ for anythin’ that sounds like mass slaughter in honky-tonk bar, or eight injured in unexplainable bar fight, or for my name in general. It wouldn’t be the first time I was on the news.

  “I’m fixin’ grits. You want some, Love Spuds?” Mama asks Daddy.

  I huff out an annoyed breath. “For the last time, Mama, that’s a name people use for a man’s balls, not a term of endearment!”

  She just giggles again and waves me away. “Well, I do love his love spuds too, so what’s the real issue here?”

  I give her a disgusted face, which just makes her smile even more. I totally walked right into that one. There’s no shortage of TMI when it comes to my parents and their love for each other.

  The news breaks for commercials, and I mute the annoyin’ and overly loud ads as I rub a hand down my face.

  “You need some aspirin, HB?” Mama asks, already openin’ the bottle and forcin’ it to spill out some pills.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I concede as I give my daddy the remote back. I kiss her on the cheek when she brings the pills over along with a glass of orange juice, and then plop my butt on the couch next to Daddy’s. He’s wearin’ his usual faded jeans and a worn-out T-shirt, his brown and gray beard lookin’ like it could do with a good oil and comb.

  “You have another one of your tribulations, baby?” Daddy asks as he unscrews the outside panel of the toaster. He fiddles with it every day just so Mama won’t make him go get a hobby like golf or gardenin’, even though I don’t think he knows what the heck he’s doin’.

  I nod, my throat gettin’ tight. “I think they’re gettin’ worse,” I finally admit, and the quiverin’ of my tone makes him put the toaster down and really take me in.

  “It’s a sign of the times, Heavenly Bell,” my mama says, as though that answers that.

  I once again roll my eyes at the nickname. The woman knows I have violent blackouts, and she still thinks I’m a little slice of heaven. She used to tell me all the time when I was little that an angel herself came and placed me on their stoop. They like to say they adopted a bundle straight from Heaven.

  “You trust in the Lord, baby. If He thought to make you His right hand, then His right hand you’ll be, and there ain’t a thing wrong with it,” Daddy tells me, just like he’s been tellin’ me since I was little and my tribulations first showed.

  At first, it was small things. Tantrums when I was little, where I ended up on the playground at school not rememberin’ how I got up a tree or why Marcy Wills was cryin’ down below. My mama and daddy taught me to touch my necklace and count and breathe whenever an inklin’ of the black started creepin’ in my vision, and that worked. Sometimes.

  Mama calls it my tribulations, and she’s not far off. Whenever one of my episodes hits, I bring trouble and sufferin’ with it. And worst of all, I can’t remember a damn thing.

  My parents are really the ones who are angels. With all my issues they’ve dealt with over the years, I’m surprised they don’t have halos just glowin’ over their heads at this point.

  “Do you know what time I got in last night?” I ask wearily.

  “Don’t know,” Daddy responds, screwdriver half-heartedly tamperin’ with the innards of the toaster. “Your mama and I retreated to the bedroom early last night,” he says with a wag of his bushy gray brows.

  “Ew, Daddy,” I say with a shake of my head while he belly laughs, makin’ all his years of cigarette smokin’ known in the rasp of his chuckles.

  I prop up my foot on my knee to check out the damage from yesterday. But when I turn it to get a good look, all that’s there is a thin pink line on my arch. It twinges slightly like a bruise when I press my hand to it, but other than that, the injuries I got are all but gone.

  “What in the world?” I mutter.

  “No work today, honey girl?” Daddy asks.

  I drop my foot, chalkin’ it up to the fact that whatever alcohol I poured on it must’ve been some healin’ juju, and look over at him. “Uh, I got fired.”

  I fidget in my seat, but before Daddy can even open his mouth, Mama is hollerin’ from the stove. “I got cotton in my ears, or did you just say that Patricia O’Healy fired you?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  A clang sounds, and Daddy and I share a look. “Come get your eggs and grits,” Mama says. “And I wanna hear all about what Patricia O’Healy did to you.”

  See? Like I said, my parents should have halos with how good they are to me. Most parents would probably be handin’ out lectures and slappin’ blame my way, but not Mama and Daddy. They’re on my side. Always.

  Daddy heaves to his feet, his pants lookin’ a little snugger around his midsection as he pulls the waist up to head to the small laminate dinin’ table that’s bolted to the floor on the other end of the kitchen. He pinches Mama’s butt on his way to the head of the table, makin’ Mama squeal and slap him playfully with the end of the spatula. “Don’t you be flirtin’ with me before breakfast, Teddy Bell,” Mama says as she follows us over to the table and starts servin’ up eggs and grits and a pile of bacon.

  “No, ma’am. No flirtin’ from me,” he says before shootin’ her a wink that makes her blush.

  Yeah, my parents are ridiculously in love, even after nearly forty years of marriage. They got hitched young, Mama when she was eighteen right out of high school. She said my daddy swooped in and spun her right off her feet with his charms when he was fresh out of the Navy. Apparently, she was a sucker for a man in a uniform.

  My parents aren’t just good people, they’re a damn good couple too. It’s why I can’t ever seem to settle for any of the men I’ve dated. They all don’t look at me the way my daddy looks at my mama, and I want that sort of forever love. I want someone who will flirt and tease me over breakfast and still bring a smile and blush to my face after forty years of bad days mixed in with the good.

  “Alright now, Medley Bell,” Mama says as she sits down at the other head of the table. “You tell us what happened yesterday.”

  I scoop up some food before answerin’ and then dive into everythin’ that went on. By the time I get to the bar and hit the bottom of my bowl of cheesy grits, it gets a bit hazy.

  “So you were two minutes late deliverin’ that package?” Mama asks, passin’ the last of the bacon off to Daddy despite him sayin’ he was full.

  “Yep. Patricia was already callin’ when I was walkin’ out of the office.”

  “That woman is more bitter than a pot of collard greens,” she says with a tsk.

  I nod in agreement as I finish up the last of my breakfast and then help myself to the pitcher of ice-cold lemonade that Mama squeezed herself.

  “I’ll be havin’ words with her at church, you better believe that,” Mama says with an imperious nod.

  “Don’t bother, Mama, really. I’ll find another job.” I hope.

  “It’s the principle of the thing, Medley. You gotta respect yourself and stand up for yourself, or people will walk all over you,” she replies.

  I smile and get to my feet, ploppin’ another kiss on her cheek. “You’re sweet, but I’ll be alright. No need to make a scene in the pews. Last time you did that, you lost your favorite Sunday hat.”

  She hmphs a bit and then snags the dirty dishes out of Daddy’s and my hands before either of us can get to the sink first. “I got this. You two go on and get out of my kitchen now. I won’t have you messin’ things up.”

  Daddy chuckles. “No, ma’am. We wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Mama points a finger at him. “You just watch yourself, Teddy Bell. I see you over there fiddlin’ with that toaster when you should be out there cuttin’ that grass instead.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that,” he says, just like he’s been sayin’ for the past several weeks.

  “Mm-hmm,” Mama replies, not at all believin’ him.

  “I can do it, Daddy,” I offer. “It’s not like I�
�m goin’ into work today, anyway.”

  “No, honey girl. I don’t want you out there doin’ that. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

  I smile and shake my head at him. We both know he won’t.

  “Mm-hmm,” I say, mimickin’ my mama.

  “Medley Bell, where do you think you’re goin’?” Mama says, stoppin’ me before I walk out.

  “Uh, I was gonna go shower.”

  She shakes her head. “You didn’t finish your story.”

  I fidget on my feet and pluck at the oversized T-shirt I have on. “Sure I did.”

  “No. Last thing you said was you delivered the package late. What happened before your tribulation hit?”

  I look over where Daddy is waitin’ expectantly for me to answer while Mama tackles the dishes. “Uh, well, I decided to have a drink at the bar, since I was already there and all.”

  Mama casts me a look over her shoulder, her cheeks already pink from the steam risin’ up in the sink as she scrubs out the grits pot. “You stayed for a drink out in the middle of nowhere without a friend or a designated driver?”

  I guess I’m not totally gonna be off the hook with lectures this mornin’. “I know, it was stupid,” I admit. “But I just needed a minute before I got back in the truck and had to face Patricia.”

  “I expect so,” Daddy cuts in. “After that Ms. Jonay ran you off with her attack dog. I have a mind to stop by her house and slap a muzzle on that public menace.”

  “Me too,” I say with a nod.

  “Medley, don’t get off track,” Mama says. “What happened after you got yourself a drink?”

  “Well…”

  I chew on my bottom lip. I’m always honest with my parents, no matter what kinda stupid shit I get into. But I don’t know how they’re gonna take this next part.

  “Wells are for water,” Mama chirps. “Tell us.”

  I blow out a breath. “I thought there was somethin’ wrong with my drink.”

  My parents immediately react. Daddy stiffens and Mama whirls around, soap suds on her yellow rubber gloves. “What in the Lord’s name are you talkin’ about?”

  I throw up my hands in frustration—not at them, but at my own damn memory. “I’m not really sure,” I admit. “I just thought somethin’ was...off.”

  I just can’t bring myself to tell them that I was seein’ things. It’s too weird, even for me.

  “Anyway, I kinda freaked out on the bartender and the owners. They were tellin’ me everythin’ was just fine, but I panicked and the black soaked into my vision.”

  Mama and Daddy share a look before Daddy hikes up his pants, his face stony. I can see behind his wild beard that his mouth is turned down. “I want the address of that bar.”

  “Daddy, I don’t think—”

  “I ain’t askin’, honey girl.”

  I love that he still wants to protect me like I’m his baby, but I can’t in good conscience send my daddy to that bar. Even if I was just seein’ things and they didn’t tamper with my drink. I don’t want him to get hurt. But he’s lookin’ at me with a glare, lettin’ me know he’s not gonna leave me off the hook.

  “Fine, I’ll...find it. I’m not sure I can remember.”

  “I’ll call up Patricia then,” he counters, and I grit my teeth. How the hell am I gonna keep him away from that place?

  Speakin’ of Patricia…

  “I should probably go get my stuff,” I say, glad at least to steer the conversation away from last night. “I want to get it over with, and I need my last paycheck to give to you guys.”

  “You keep your money,” Daddy says, but we go over this twice a month, every month.

  “You know the deal. I already burden you two enough with livin’ at home still. I’m payin’ to help with expenses, and that’s that.” I know he doesn’t make much on his retirement, and while they’ve never once complained about me stayin’ here, I know it has to put a strain on them, so I give the majority of my money to them, while savin’ a hundred here or there to put away in the hopes that one day, I can actually move out like I’ve always planned. Pathetic, I know. I should have my shit together by now.

  “Stubborn,” he says with a grunt as he starts chewin’ on a toothpick. “You want me to drive you down to work to get your things?” he offers.

  “No, thanks. I’ll handle it.”

  I turn and head to the back of the house and into my room, shuttin’ the door behind me before I grab a pair of jean shorts and a mint green fitted tank top to match my hair. I need to shower last night’s ordeal off me before I have to face Patricia.

  After that…then I’ll deal with what happened at the bar. But for now, one thing at a time.

  5

  Makin’ my way down the highway toward Swift Shipping, my hair is down and blowin’ back as my A/C blasts in my face. I have country music blarin’ through the speakers in an attempt to drown out my tumultuous thoughts.

  My blue Jeep Cherokee speeds along, passin’ by downtown Sweetgreen as I go. This Jeep has been with me for years, and it’s on its last leg. I took it with me to college ten years ago and then drove it right back when I got expelled. We’ve seen some times, me and this Jeep—both good and bad.

  Good, like the time I gave Henry Bane a hickey, and he went down on me in the back seat for a half-hour durin’ a football game. And bad...when I drove home, fresh out of the dean’s office with my walkin’ papers, tens of thousands of dollars in student loan debt, and no degree to show for it. I was just a few months shy of graduatin’.

  But no matter what I tried when I moved back home to Sweetgreen, nothin’ stuck after that. I tried a few certifications in the medical field, like phlebotomists and X-ray techs, but somethin’ always came up—usually a lack of money, interest, or both—and I just couldn’t finish.

  And here I am, twenty-eight years old, still livin’ with my parents, and barely even holdin’ a few thousand dollars in my savings account. Not nearly enough to get my own place. I’m a failure. And now, I’m about to be an unemployed one.

  Pullin’ into the parkin’ lot of the shop, I look over at the attached warehouse on the left side. The couriers will be gone by this time of the mornin’, already done with the first sort that came in, trucks loaded up and taken off with their deliveries of the day.

  I park my Jeep and grab my crossbody bag before I get out. Just as soon as my door is open, I’m slapped by the hot humid air. A groan sneaks out of my lips as sweat already starts to gather at my brow, and I hurry across the swelterin’ pavement to the front door. A cheery sign with the company’s logo—a big purple box with a golden script that says Swift Shipping Services on it—brightens the storefront.

  I yank open the door, the bell ringin’ as I step into the cool space. My flip-flops are snappin’ over the worn purple industrial carpet as I make my way to the high desk ahead, stacks of cardboard boxes and envelopes for sale to the left, bubble wrap and greetin’ cards to the right.

  “Medley!” I’m greeted by Deja, who’s mannin’ the front desk. She smiles at me from her spot, her dark skin so smooth that she could be a makeup model.

  “Hey, Deja,” I say, glad that she’s the only one in the shop right now. She’s sweet and young—barely out of high school herself. She’s great with the customers, and she can handle just about anybody who comes in through the doors.

  “I heard what happened. You okay?” she asks, worryin’ her lip.

  I lift a shoulder. “Patricia’s had it out for me for a while,” I reply. “But I’ll be fine. She around?”

  Deja nods and leans in conspiratorially. “She’s in her office.”

  “Good. I’ll just sneak in the back and grab my stuff.” Hopefully, I can get in and out without Patricia seein’ me.

  Deja nods and presses the hidden button beneath her desk, makin’ a lock click open for the swing door built into the desk partition at the end. I walk through, headin’ in the back, careful to bypass Patricia’s office.

  All is quiet
as I make my way down the hall, which spits me out into the warehouse. I hurry to the back where the employee break room is, and go right for my locker. Swingin’ it open, I dump all of the contents into my bag, not even carin’ to toss out the half-opened bag of chips that’s been in there for weeks. I just wanna get the hell out of here before I have to deal with Patricia.

  “You.”

  Well, so much for that thought.

  My shoulders tense up at her voice, and I take a minute to suck in a deep breath, a good reminder to myself to keep it together. Yesterday was a slipup. I was off my game and rattled, but I’m not about to let that happen again. Slammin’ the locker shut, I turn around to face my now ex-boss.

  “Patty,” I greet her, knowin’ she hates the nickname.

  The woman crosses her arms in front of her, makin’ her disproportioned boobs more noticeable as she pulls the purple fabric of her polo uniform taut. “Make sure you get all your things, because you won’t be welcome back in the buildin’ after today.”

  I stop myself from scoffin’ at her tone. Like anyone would ever want to be here if they didn’t have to be.

  “What if I need to send out a package?” I snark in a falsely sweet voice.

  “You can go to the Post Office,” she says without missin’ a beat.

  “Good point. They’ve got a better lobby, anyway.”

  My words hit their mark because her mouth tightens. Patricia personally reconfigured and designed the lobby last year, and she couldn’t stop braggin’ about it for weeks. I watch with a hint of satisfaction as her nostrils flare slightly. She could be an attractive middle-aged woman if she wasn’t always lookin’ like she smelled somethin’ foul on her upper lip. That, and if she wasn’t such a bitch.

  “I’ll mail your last check.”

  “Great,” I say sardonically, even though I know full well my paycheck is sittin’ on her damn desk.

  I make my way toward her so I can leave, but she doesn’t move out of the way so I can go down the same hallway I came in. Instead of dealin’ with her shit and gettin’ into some power struggle I don’t have the time or patience for, I veer off and head further into the warehouse instead. To hell with it.