Nailing Mr. Nasty (Campy Romances Series Book 2), page 10
“Like you said, it’s a good place to think.”
“It’s a good place to make out, too.” She grinned at him when he edged back a little to see her more clearly. A tree frog chirped nearby and a breeze rustled dried leaves and grass. “I’m surprised there aren’t other trucks and cars up here. This is a popular hangout after a hot date. You never parked here with a girl?”
“When I was in high school we parked on Lookout Mountain.”
“Oh, right.” The mountain was more precisely a large hill in west Tulsa. “Did you have a steady in high school or did you play the field?”
“I’ve never been one to play the field. I had a steady my junior year and part of my senior year. Tracie Medford. She dumped me right before the senior prom. The star of the wrestling team asked her out and she traded up.”
“Jeesh! I bet that hurt. You went steady for a long time with her.”
He shrugged and then flashed a smile, his teeth white against his tanned skin. “She was good friends with my sisters and they never spoke to her again after that.”
“Loyalty. Can’t beat it. Did you date the Hamel girl after that? The one whose dad was in the construction business.”
“That’s right. So, it all turned out for the best.” He grunted as he shifted onto his side to face her. “What about you? Did you have a steady boyfriend?”
“No. I didn’t have a boyfriend all through high school.”
“Get out.”
“I didn’t.” She widened her eyes when she realized he thought she was insincere. “I was a funny looking kid. Skinny, bony arms and legs. I had crooked teeth, so my mouth was full of braces. Through most of high school, my complexion was horrible. I had zits galore.”
“I don’t fucking believe you.”
“Hey, I have god awful school photos to prove it! It wasn’t until my freshman year in college when I got on birth control that my skin cleared up. I gained some weight which helped me sprout some womanly curves.”
“But you said you made out up here.”
“No, I didn’t. I said that it was a make-out spot, but I didn’t say that I was one of the ones making whoopie.” She angled a glance at the sky. “Not that I didn’t fantasize about it. A lot.”
His dark lashes swept down and then back up as his gaze traveled over her body, drawing a shiver through her.
“I would have bet that you were a hot cheerleader in high school who had boys trailing after you with their tongues hanging out.”
“Ha! In my fantasies.” She fell back on the hood, overcome with the absurdity of that. “I was a nerd! You would have taken one look at me and run the other way.”
“I doubt that.”
She swallowed against the tightness in her throat and turned her head to lock gazes with him. Something had changed. His eyes were hooded and his breathing had quickened. Her gaze drifted to his lips, which were parted. Her own heartbeats doubled as he swayed closer to her. She wanted him to kiss her more than she wanted to breathe.
A tinkling chime rent the heavy air between them and he blinked as his hand automatically fell to his shirt pocket. He sat up and slid out the cell phone.
“Uh . . . right. I have to take this.”
“Sure.” She curled up to a sitting position, chiding herself for being so damned wanton around him. She’d been attracted to other men, but this felt different. It was humiliating to feel like she was a nerdy sophomore again in the throes of puppy love for the senior quarterback!
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Mother.”
His muttered curse snagged her attention and she realized that the phone call had him gritting his teeth and looking thoroughly pissed off.
“No, you won’t! You hear me? You stay put. I’ll deal with this.” He shook his head. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll be there shortly.” He stabbed the disconnect icon and shoved the phone back into his pocket. “Damn it to hell.”
“Is your mother okay?”
“Yes. No, not really.” He closed his eyes and gathered in a deep breath. When he opened his eyes and turned to her, she could swear that he looked embarrassed. “I’d call Ron, but I know he and his family are at a game tonight. So, I . . . uh . . . need to ask a favor of you. I wish I didn’t have to . . . if you don’t want to do this or you have plans for later, just tell me and—”
“I’m free. What do you need?”
He yanked off his hat and ran his hand through the chestnut waves of his hair. “The bartender at the Rusty Keg called my mother and wants someone to come get my father. He’s drunk and can’t drive and he’s spent all his money, so no cab fare. She doesn’t want to leave his truck in the lot there overnight because the last time they did that someone swiped the tires and rims.” He rammed his hat back onto his head.
“Oh.” She nodded, trying to take it all in. His father was that drunk? He stared past her, his expression a storm cloud of emotions. She hadn’t been wrong. He was embarrassed. Her heart lurched and she wanted to hug him to her, but she knew he’d never allow that. Not now. Maybe not ever.
“Anyway, if you could take me there, I’ll drive his pickup and him to their house.”
“Oh. Sure.” She slid off the hood and automatically swiped at her backside to dislodge any dirt. Sensing how much this was taking out of him, she adopted a light tone. “No problem. You want to leave your truck up here?”
“Not with Taylor in it. My place is on the way. How about if we swing by there and I can leave Taylor and my truck at home.”
“Works for me.” Especially since she was curious about where he lived.
“Yeah. Okay.” He sighed, looking uncomfortable, which was so unlike him.
They got into their vehicles and Sam followed Jack’s truck down the hill and toward the river. Deep into Red Fork, he turned onto a wide thoroughfare lined with businesses. As he slowed, Sam glanced around, confused. Did he live above one of these office buildings or maybe that abandoned factory at the end of the block? His brake lights flashed and his turn signal blinked as he whipped his truck off the street and onto a wide driveway in front of a two-story, red brick building. Sam leaned forward, peering through the windshield at it, and then a grin spilled across her face when she recognized the structure.
“An old fire station,” she whispered. “How cool!”
The double wide garage door opened and he parked his truck inside. One bay was a work area with sawhorses, metal cabinets, tools of every kind, fishing tackles, and rods and reels, along with a riding lawn mower. He sprang from the truck along with Tucker and fit a key in a red door. Pushing it open, he motioned for Tucker to go inside, then he shut the door and locked it.
“Darn it,” Sam groused, wanting to be invited in. Instead, he closed the garage door and joined her in the car, cramming his tall frame into the space beside her. She chuckled at his sour face as he glanced at her dashboard and the car’s interior. His knees pressed against the glove compartment.
“Not much to this, is there?” he said. “It’s like a poor man’s Jeep.”
Taking pity on him, she reached across and yanked on the adjuster, allowing the seat to hitch backward to give him more leg room. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“I love your home.” She eyed the fire station as she reversed down the driveway. “How long have you lived here?”
“A couple of years. It’s a work in progress.”
“Very cool.”
“I’m glad you approve.” He shifted on the seat. “Take a left at the light. My older sister lives in the area, too. Margot and Wade have a place in mid-town.” He swallowed, looking away from her. “I don’t like to involve them in this kind of thing. They have families and . . . well, I’ve always dealt with this.”
I’ve always dealt with this.
From her side vision, she caught the downward tip of his lips and the anger that flitted across his face. Her heart melted for him.
“So, your dad is an alcoholic?” she ventured.
He gave a terse nod.
“That’s why you never drink.”
He turned sharply in her direction, his eyes narrowing. “What?”
“I’ve noticed that you never order alcohol. When the guys get a beer after work sometimes, you order a coffee or a soft drink. I thought maybe you had a problem that you’d kicked.”
“Yeah. I do have a drinking problem, but it’s not my drinking problem.” He stared straight ahead again. “Three blocks up. See the McDonald’s? Turn down that street. The bar is on the left. You can pull into the parking lot beside it.”
“Gotcha.”
He heaved a big breath. “The old man is the alkie in the family. I never wanted to be like him in any way, shape, or form. I have his faulty genes, so why tempt fate.”
“I’ve never acquired much of a taste for liquor. In fact, I think beer is about the foulest stuff I ever tried to swallow.” She smiled when she heard his brief chuckle. “In college, I discovered that I have the misfortune of getting grossly sick after a couple of mixed drinks. After worshipping at the porcelain temple a few Saturday nights, I vowed to stick to a glass of wine or one cocktail when I meet friends for Happy Hour.”
“When the old man ‘meets friends for Happy Hour,’ it generally ends up like this, and nobody but him is happy about it.”
The Rusty Keg’s sign only had two working bulbs and they flickered, on the verge of giving out. Two trucks and three cars sat in the lot beside the long, squat building. Jack pointed to the dull red pickup sporting more than a few dings and dents. She reversed into the space across from it.
“I’ll only be a minute. Once I have him, just follow me. We’re heading to West Berry Street, south of Forty-first.”
“Okay.”
He opened the car door and started to get out, but paused and stared out at the night. “He’ll probably be loud and cussing a streak. Just warning you. It’s never pretty.” Then he shoved out of the car and strode to the bar. Rounding the corner, he disappeared from her view. Sam crossed her arms on the steering wheel and rested her forehead against them, allowing the feelings she’d been holding back to spill out now that she was alone. I’ve always dealt with this. It’s never pretty.
God, she felt terrible for him! Jack Nast had wide shoulders and he needed them. To have to ask her to help him do this . . . it had cost him. She winced, recalling the pink tinge to his skin and the rough edge in his voice. Had his father always had a drinking problem? Somehow, she knew the answer was yes. It was evident in Jack’s demeanor and his resolute way of dealing with this awkward request and errand.
Light spilled onto the pavement near the bar and a slurred, raucous voice careened across the parking lot. A man lurched around the corner, unsteady, his arms pinwheeling. Behind him, Jack appeared, reached out and gave a push to the man’s shoulder.
“Get your fuckin’ hands offa me!” the older man slurred. “I don’t need no escort. I’m fine.” His words were so jumbled, it was difficult to understand him. He teetered, swayed, staggered.
Jack wrapped a hand around his father’s upper arm, keeping him upright, and marched him to the red pickup. “Let’s go. Keep your voice down.”
Her car’s headlights revealed the ravaged remnants of Jack’s father. He was a few inches shorter than his son and his face was a mass of deep wrinkles. A sparse gray and white beard dotted his jawline, but failed to cover the clefted chin he’d passed on to his children. His gray eyebrows were wild and bushy above unfocused eyes behind the thick lenses of his glasses. He wore a baseball cap – a blue one with a logo she didn’t recognize – and blue pants and shirt. Work clothes.
“Letgoame! I’m goin’ home.” He tried to wrench free of Jack’s hold again, but couldn’t. Jack dragged him to the passenger side of the truck and opened the door.
“Get in.”
“This is my truck, goddammit! I drive my own damn truck.” Jack slammed him into the side of it. He bent his head and his voice was so low that Sam couldn’t make out any of the words. His father struggled and Jack shoved him against the vehicle again, harder. The fight went out of him. Jack jerked him away from it to fling open the passenger door.
“Now get in.”
The older man grumbled, but climbed up onto the truck seat. Jack slammed the door shut and strode around to the driver’s side. He didn’t spare one glance Sam’s way. Just fired up the engine and left her to follow him.
The ten-minute drive gave her time to reflect on how to handle the situation from here on. At first, she thought it would be best to keep quiet. Let Jack talk if he wanted, which she figured he wouldn’t, and she’d give him that space. No comments. No questions. Drive him home and say goodnight. Then she chided herself. Who was she kidding? Surely, not Jack. Of course, they’d have to speak about it. Acting as if nothing had transpired was asinine. She’d been given a glimpse into a part of Jack Nast’s life that explained a lot about his impatience with irresponsible people and his laser focus on keeping his reputation above reproach. He put a lot of stock in his company’s online reviews and customer referrals. It was a way of distancing himself from his father and the mess his father had made of his life.
The house where his parents lived was in the middle of a block of two- and three-bedroom homes built in the cottage style with spacious front porches and overhanging eaves. As Jack parked in the driveway, the porch light switched on and the front door opened. A woman’s slight frame appeared. She flung open the storm door and called Jack’s name, her voice high-pitched and wavery.
“Yeah, I have him,” Jack said, sliding out of the truck. “He’s passed out already.” He reached into the cab and pulled his father across the seat, then flung him, fireman style, over his shoulder.
The woman glanced in Sam’s direction when Sam parked at the curb. She let the engine idle while she waited for Jack. From the growl in his voice, she could tell that he wanted to be shed of his father and this disgusting errand. His mother stood back, letting him squeeze inside with her husband flopping over their son’s shoulder, dead to the world.
Jack emerged from the house within a couple of minutes, pausing only to brush a kiss on his mother’s forehead before filling the passenger’s seat in Sam’s car again. He fastened the safety belt, his movements jerky and a muscle fluttering in his jawline.
“Ready?” she asked, unnecessarily.
“Let’s go.”
Silence did take over for the first mile. Sam glanced at Jack from time to time, wanting to say something, but holding her tongue. He stared gloomily out the side window, totally lost in his own thoughts. Because she wasn’t familiar with the streets in the west part of town, she had to break the silence when she realized she was lost.
“Do I go straight here or is this where I turn right?”
He blinked, sat up straighter, and glanced around. “Turn at the next light.” He ran his hands down his jeans and drew in a deep breath. “Thanks for doing this.”
“Does he get loaded like that a lot?”
“Just about every weekend, but he usually goes to a bar a couple of blocks from the house and he walks home or Mom walks over there and drives him home.”
“Every weekend. So, he’s out of control. Has he ever checked in somewhere and tried to kick it?”
He chuckled at that – a humorless sound. “He’d have to want help to do that and he is perfectly happy with himself and his life. My mother is the ideal spouse for an alcoholic. If they handed out awards to enablers, she’d win, hands down.”
“He . . . uh . . . he was never physical with you or your sisters, right?”
“Right.” His eyes sought hers in the inconstant light of the dashboard and street lamps. The sadness she glimpsed in them wrenched her heart. “My mother would have left him in a New York minute if he’d ever laid a hand on us. When he was drunk, we stayed in our rooms. We had locks on the doors. Sometimes we’d all pile into my room, lock the door, turn up the music to drown him out, and call him every foul name we could think up.”
She blew out a breath. “I don’t know why people stay in bad relationships. I know I wouldn’t.”
“You’re sure of that, are you?”
“Yes.” She arched a brow at the challenge in that question. “I dated a guy for a few months before it became apparent that he couldn’t be faithful. A couple of our friends made excuses for him and encouraged me to ‘hang in there’ because he really did care about me.” Recalling that time four years ago sent a shiver through her. “When I found another girl’s perfume and deodorant in his bathroom and he tried to lie himself out of it, I called it quits. I lost some friends over it, but I have no regrets.”
He ran a hand along the back of his neck. “Good for you. My sisters and I would have been thrilled if my mother had kicked my dad out. Hell, we would have gladly lived in a homeless shelter, rather than deal with him. When he’s sober, he acts like Father of the Year, telling my sisters how much he loves them and telling me how proud he is of me.” His upper lip curled in disgust. “We can’t stand to be in the same room with him. He doesn’t give two cents about anyone but himself. Never has. Never will.”
She parked the car in his driveway and switched off the engine. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and gave her a questioning look. “You’re inviting me in, right?” she asked.
“Uh. Well. It’s been a long evening already. It’s late and—”
“Oh, come on, Grandpa. It’s ten o’clock! I want to see inside your place.”
“It’s not finished. Like I said, I’m still working on it.”
“Yeah, well, this might surprise you, but I’ve been around construction sites, so I’ll be able to handle it.” She opened the car door, determined to get her way. A cheeky grin stole across her lips as he followed her across the driveway. He cast her a glare of irritation before he unlocked the front door and motioned for her to precede him.
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re one pushy broad?”
