Feuds and Reckless Fury

“Next time,” he vows, panting heavily. “I’ll beat you next time.”

“You can try.”

“You two are impossible,” Davies says with a chuckle. “Go grab some water.”

On wobbly legs, I walk beside Alis. My fingertips brush against his, but neither of us shies away from the other. We take a seat on the bench, side by side, our thighs touching. Despite sweating my ass off, his proximity sends a chill down my spine.

“Good job, Canny,” he teases, planting his hand on my thigh and squeezing. “Next time, maybe you can try running with a boner. See if it impacts your time like it did mine.”

I flash him a teasing grin. “I ran with full football gear on and cleats. I think I can handle my dick getting a little hard for you.”

“For me?” His dark brow lifts in question.

“It certainly isn’t getting hard for anyone else.”

The truth hovering around us like the thick, now-muggy Florida air is almost too much to take.

After a quick shower and change in the locker room, I head out to the bakery to see Mom and tell her the good news. I’ve yet to visit her because I thought she’d be ashamed of working at the grocery store, but now I realize it was my anger and shame preventing me from going, not hers.

I can be such a prick sometimes.

Mom would have loved to have gone to the meet if she could have. I can’t be upset with her for having to work, and it’s a dick move to throw in her face that she doesn’t need to work. I’m going to try being a better son and brother for Mom and Carrie. I have to be.

After I park my Challenger in two spots so no dipshit door dings me, I walk into the grocery store. I’m thankful I wore shorts and a light T-shirt since it quickly went from nice to stifling in a matter of hours. Once inside, I make a beeline over to the bakery. I’m peering into one of the display cases, eyeballing a chocolate cake with candy bar pieces all over it and wondering if Mom did this one, when a guy grunts at me.

“Can I help you?”

I lift my gaze, meeting the stare of a Hispanic guy with neck tattoos. His white apron is pristine and contradicts his menacing appearance.

Clearing my throat, I nod at him. “Yeah, I’m here to see Aimee. Aimee Voss.”

His brows furl as he studies me. “Who’s askin’?”

“Her son.”

“She ain’t here.” He runs his tongue over his teeth and smirks. “You need anything else?”

“I know she’s here.” I dart my gaze to the back. “She’s on shift today.”

“Naw, man, she ain’t.”

“Did she go home early?” My voice is so low, it almost sounds like a whisper. Or, maybe that of a scared child.

“I ain’t seen her in a couple weeks, kid. Not since she…” He laughs, lifting his chin at me. “I’m no snitch. Aimee’s cool. Tell her José says hey.”

“Since she what?” I grind out, my temper flaring.

“Not my business.”

He turns and struts back over to a pan of cookies. I glare at him for a few seconds before storming off.

A couple of weeks?

What does that even mean?

Do they have different shifts or something?

My mind buzzes the entire drive home. This has to be a misunderstanding, and that guy has to be lying. Mom would go to my meet, especially knowing how important it was to me.

By the time I pull into our driveway, I’ve calmed myself down. It’s Mom, for fuck’s sake. She’s not going to do anything to hurt me. I walk inside, barreling straight to her bedroom. I’m expecting her to be sick or something.

Not sleeping.

In her bakery uniform.

“Mom?”

“Mmm?”

“You feeling okay?”

“Just tired. Long day.”

Unease settles in my gut when I hear the slight hitch of her voice. Something’s off.

“How was the meet?” she murmurs, her head buried beneath the pillows. “Did you win your races?”

“Mom.”

Silence.

“Mom, look at me.”

Still, she doesn’t move.

“Mom—”

“Jesus, Canyon, I’m tired,” she snaps, sitting up to glower at me. “What do you want?”

I flinch at her harsh tone and study her disheveled appearance. Her hair is limp and slightly greasy. The makeup she put on is smudged. Dark circles ring her bloodshot eyes.

“Are you okay, Momma?”

“I’m fine. I just need sleep.”

“You’re just acting strange, and the guy at the bakery said—”

“You were checking up on me?”

“I wanted to tell you about the meet—”

“Did your father put you up to this?”

“Mom—”

“I wish everyone would leave me the fuck alone!”

I gape at her, feeling the slice of her words as they cut deep into me. Her own kid. She wants her own kid to leave her alone.

“You don’t even work there, do you?” My voice is low and rattles as emotion claws its way up my throat. “You’ve been lying—”

“Out,” she screams, pointing at her door. “Get the hell out!”