Her plea haunted him to this day.
His mother had her own set of problems, but she’d tried to make a loving home for her children. She’d grown up in an abusive home and had wretched self-worth. At seventeen, she’d latched onto Earl hoping for a way out of her unsafe home. The sad thing was, by any other woman’s standards, Earl would’ve been considered a verbally and emotionally abusive son of a bitch, but to his mother, he was some kind of fucked-up savior.
Having never graduated high school and having six children, she had difficulty finding work. His father sure as hell never brought home much money. What little he made went toward booze and drugs before feeding his offspring. Still, his mother found creative ways to provide for her children, form traditions they upheld to this day, and to deliver glimmers of sunshine in an otherwise gloomy homelife.
So ever since that damned aneurysm had robbed her of her life way too early, Keith had been cleaning up his father’s messes despite a profound hatred for the man and despite keeping his actions a secret from his siblings. If they found out, they’d tell him to throw the man to the wolves. To let him rot in a cesspool of his own making. But they hadn’t been there. Hadn’t seen their mother begging for her husband as the life drained from her eyes.
Shit.
All he’d wanted was dark coffee, not dark thoughts.
As he poured the liquid gold into one of Ronnie’s oversized mugs—the one he always teased her about because it had her name spelled wrong on the side—the woman in question came through the front door.
“Take a seat on the porch,” she called through the window that opened to a view of their front porch. With his back to her, Keith wasn’t sure who she was talking to. “I’ll be right out with some cookies and coffee.”
“Thanks, Ronnie. This is really sweet of you,” a woman’s voice responded back.
Keith frowned. The voice rang familiar, but he couldn’t place which of Veronica’s friends was out there.
He cleared his throat and he turned to face her back. Ronnie spun around. “Oh, hey, big bro.” She smiled but the gesture slipped off her face as she took in the sight of him. “You look like shit. Why’d it take you so long to come pick up the cell for the garage?”
By the time he made it to the bar last night, it was late. Ronnie had been swamped serving customers, so he just grabbed the cell from behind the bar and taken off without talking with her. After taking a sip of his coffee he shrugged. “I’m fine. Leave it alone.”
But of course, she didn’t. She always worried about her big brothers. How she managed to keep from growing up with a chip on her shoulder as the rest of them had, always baffled him. Not that she was soft. Veronica Benson was an independent badass, she just did it with a smile. Growing up with five older brothers ensured the tough skin; her sweetness she must have come by honestly. A genetic gift from their mother.
“Was it your mysterious nighttime caller?” With a mischievous grin, she walked to him and grabbed his free hand. “Come on, tell me who she is.”
That’s right. He led his siblings to believe his frequent nocturnal absences were the result of a repeated booty call instead of trips to bail out their drunk father. How noble of him. “Leave it, Ronnie.”
She huffed. “I don’t understand the secrecy. We all have sex, Keith. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Then one eyebrow raised. “Unless there is. Are you sleeping with Mrs. Lary?” she asked of their eighty-five-year-old neighbor.
Annoyance hardened Keith’s spine. “I said leave it,” he barked with more bite than he’d meant. It wasn’t the teasing, but her digging forced him to prolong the lie and twisted the guilt a little harder.
Ronnie lifted her hands in surrender as she took a step back. “All right, I’ll drop it.”
Thank Christ.
“For now.”
Figures.
“Though you’d think you’d be a little less of a grump with the amount of sex you’re supposedly having,” she muttered in way that he was definitely meant to hear.
He watched as his sister grabbed a Tupperware of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies she’d made the day before, then pulled two matching mugs from the cabinet.
“Oh good, you left some coffee.”
Only because he hadn’t had enough time to polish it off yet. “Who’s out there? I couldn’t place the voice.”
“That would be our new neighbor.” Glee made her squeak higher than usual.
Lifting his mug to his lips he asked, “Oh, someone finally moved into the Neely’s place?” then took a sip.
“Yep.” Ronnie turned around, eyes sparkling. “And she’s gorgeous. Just your type.”
He almost choked on the mouthful of coffee. “My type? I don’t have a fucking type.”