was football?” Shelby asked, wanting desperately for things to get back to normal.
“Okay, I guess.”
“Did you make a goal?” Shelby said deadpan, knowing it would rile him up.
“Gawd, Mom, it’s a touchdown. And Coach didn’t play me much today.” What’s new, Shelby thought bitterly. “Ryan’s dad said we could practice tomorrow when he got off work.” Jake shifted in his sheets. “Unless I could stay here.”
“Honey, I’m working a double on top of my normal shifts. That means three nights of me being gone. And I can’t be sure Ms. Luella could stay in the main house and keep an eye on you for that long.”
“I’m practically ten, I’m not a baby.”
“You just turned nine a few months ago. And I never said you were.” But he was. He was her baby and he was growing up way too fast. “And seeing as there’s still a few days left of school, not to mention football practice and the unfortunate fact that you have to be the ancient age of sixteen to drive in this state, for this time, Ryan’s house is the best option.”
Jake stared at her, wanting to protest but not saying even one of the million or so words Shelby could see going through his head. She leaned over and placed another kiss, this time on his cheek, determined to get in as many as she could before that became a baby thing too.
“Night, sweetie.”
Shelby crossed the room and shut off the light. She was about to shut the door when Jake spoke. “Mom, what if he’s gone when we get back?”
Shelby’s throat closed along with her eyes. How did one answer that? Truthfully, she decided. She knew what it felt like not to be able to trust a parent, so she’d always been honest with Jake, about everything. No sense in starting to fib now.
“Then we’ll be just fine. You and I are a team, sweetie.” Shelby paused, figuring her two stubborn men needed a place to start. What they did with it from there was their choice. “Maybe he just feels funny being home after so long and finding his daddy gone.”
“I thought he hated Grandpa.”
“Hard to hate someone when you don’t really know them. Maybe Cody just needs someone to make him feel welcome. I imagine it’s difficult to want to stay someplace that makes you sad.”
“Kind of like San Francisco?”
Shelby sighed. She’d done all she could to hide her distress when they’d been with Preston, but kids were always smarter than people gave them credit for. And it wasn’t until she scooped up Jake and moved him to Texas, and saw her son blossom under Silas’s loving attention, that she realized he’d been as miserable as she had.
“Yeah, sweetie, kind of like San Francisco.”
“Maybe he just needs someone to show him the ropes, you know, make some friends, then it wouldn’t be so bad.”
A wealth of motherly pride warmed her. Despite everything he’d been through, her son was a wonderful kid. “I think you just might be right.”
Cody, can you come help me?
Mama.
Cody jerked awake, his heart punching through his chest, hands fisted, legs violently thrashing to get free from the sheets, which were knotted and twisted into a prison of cotton. A scream lodged in his throat. A thick sheen of sweat covered his body. He breathed in raggedly, gasping for air and sanity.
Pressing the heels of his hands hard against his lids, he tried to shake off the terror of his dream state. As the images of his mother faded, so did the thundering in his ears.
Willing his heart to slow, Cody pressed harder, until spots danced behind his lids. The nightmare that had haunted him for over twenty years was back, and it was playing for keeps. Not surprising, considering where he was.
He’d almost let his guard down, convinced himself it was a dream, when a faint hint of whiskey and cigar punched him in the gut. Falling back into years of memories, he contorted his body smaller, sweeping the room for any sign of his father, any sign that something was out of place.
The curtains billowed back and forth, casting eerie shadows on the walls and over his bedspread, shining off of the trophies from his high school days. His boots stood on the floor, his jeans over the bedpost where he’d tossed them, and his wallet sat on the nightstand next to his . . .
Everything slowed to a chilling stop. Fear shot down his spine—fear ingrained by repetition. An open bottle of Jack Daniels sat empty on the dresser. A familiar calling card.
From inside the room, a shadow to Cody’s left moved, shifted closer. Instinct kicked in. He grabbed the bottle and swiveled his body to face the threat, all the while edging toward the back of the headboard and taking aim. At the last moment, he locked on to cornflower eyes, wide with alarm, staring back at him.
Lowering the bottle to the mattress, he blinked. Three times, needing to be certain he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. Himself. His nine-year-old self. Staring back at him.
It was official. He was losing it.
Cody closed his eyes and tried to think back to earlier, before he fell asleep, to figure out how the bottle got in his room. It hadn’t been there when he’d fallen asleep. At least he didn’t think so.
No, he amended, he knew it hadn’t. But unless his dad had risen from the grave, and brought back his childhood self, then...
“You okay?”
Cody’s lids flew open at the voice, and he once again found himself staring into the eyes of his past. What the hell was going on? Maybe he’d found his dad’s stash and drunk himself stupid.
He needed to either wake up or get back to sleep, whichever was the opposite of now. He moved, trying to get closer to his ghost. The sheets pulled taut, sending the bottle clanking to the floor. The glass didn’t shatter but sent a thunderous shot through the air.
Cody jumped. His other self darted around the bed in time to see the bottle spinning to a stop.
“Should I get my mom?”
Cody felt his shoulders rise in a shrug. Slowly, his eyes fell to his hands, and it was like he was looking at someone else, watching it all unfold on some screen. His fists were tight with the threat of violence and ready for battle. He heard his childhood self swear. Saw him scurry sideways, taking cover behind the foot of the bed.
Cody leaned closer, his eyes bulging a little when the reality sank in that he was ready to strike . . . his son. Shame rose fast, scalding the back of his throat.
Like father, like son.
To Cody, being a strong man meant always holding tight to your self-control. He’d worked hard over the years to become the kind of man he could be proud of, a man in control of his future, his anger, and his world. Two nights back in this house, down the hall from Shelby and his son, was enough to bring it all crashing down.
Cody sat up and looked at Jacob. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to wake a sleeping man?”
