Page 71 of Smooth Talk

“For all we know, Jamie’s dead and the Archie Black account is a mafia ruse, meant to send us on a wild goose chase.’ That makes Presley burst into tears again. Not helpful, bro. ‘He trusted you enough to give you the drive, but until we can see what’s on it, we’re in the dark. Hopefully, that drive will shine some light on everything.’ O switches focus from Presley to Jake. He must’ve picked up on the same vibe I did earlier. ‘Jake you have anything you want to share with the rest of the class?”

“We had a report this morning of suspicious activity at the abandoned gristmill. Looks like someone’s been using it as a base of operations for the past few months. That’s where I was earlier, collecting evidence. They left a few partially burned papers, pictures, and a laptop— wiped clean of course. Leading us to believe they left in a hurry. Whoever it was, had been following Jamie for quite some time. We dusted for prints but came up empty. I’m giving all the evidence to the FBI in conjunction with this case. Hopefully, they’ll be able to recover something.”

Jake ignores Buddy’s huffed laugh that’s dripping with disdain. “My deputy will have Rusty at the station within the hour, if he was working with someone other than Jamie, we’ll know soon.”

It’s too much of a coincidence that he was making those ties months ago while someone was hiding out here for those same months. Surely Jamie wouldn’t have mentioned the mob connection himself. He’d want to keep those ties as far away from him as possible if he’d planned on staying here and having a life with Pres. If this Tony guy is involved, maybe Rusty can give us a description.

“If we’re lucky, it’ll be the same person who took a shine to our mill, and possibly give us a lead on this Tony person.' Looks like Jake and I are on the same page. 'Now, I’ve got to head back to the station and write all this up. I’ll need each of you to come down and give your official statements by Wednesday.”

Buddy’s head finally pops up. He’s not planning on going anywhere near the police station. I can see it written clearly in his features. O nods to him, like he’ll handle it and Buddy goes back to work, as he quickly changes the subject.

“If everyone hasn’t already, try to put a stop on that transfer. Since there’s still money in the Cayman account, it may not be too late. We’re all gonna have to call the bank tomorrow morning to file reports. The good news is— we may get some of the funds back.”

Nick’s momentary relief quickly morphs into annoyance. “You kids are trying to give me a heart attack today. What were you thinking getting involved with a man like that Presley Danielle? Do you have any idea what this will do to your poor mother?”

“What do you mean you kids?” Cannon asks, looking insulted.

“We thought your announcement was going to break our hearts. Thankfully, we were prepared for your actual news. You can’t just say I have something serious to discuss with y’all over brunch and expect your mother to act rationally. She’s been beside herself all weekend thinking you were moving to California.”

“Why in the hell would I move to California?”

“I don’t know, son. Your mother gets ideas in her head and then gets me worrying about things. She seemed to think you rather enjoyed your last vacation out there and planned on buying a beach house in Malibu.”

“Um, no, Dad. I’m actually thinking of making my stay here more permanent. Putting down some roots of my own.”

“I’m happy for you son; we’d love that. And even though Sylvie’s wanted a grandbaby for ages, she’ll not likely forgive Presley’s way of getting one for at least twenty-four hours, so I guess you win the favorite child contest today.”

“Yes!” Cannon holds a hand up to high-five his sister that she ignores.

“Daddy, I can’t believe you!”

“I can’t believe you, Presley. Give me a few days and I’ll be excited too, but right now I’m just… I knew you were spoiled, and that’s my fault, but I really thought you were smarter than this. I blame that damn school. I knew we should’ve insisted you went to Yale.” And here comes the years-old argument of the foolishness of attending Harvard.

Shit, it’s late and I don’t have time to deal with the idiosyncrasies of the Lawrence family. I’m concerned about my family. My girls. This cluster fuck has taken an entire day to sort out and I’m tired as fuck. I haven’t eaten anything since lunch and it’s after Harp’s bedtime now. I feel drained, physically and mentally. I need a drink.

As soon as Jake headed out, everyone else got the memo and followed him, after promising to come by the station tomorrow, except one. I think Jake’s going to have to let that one go. There’s no way Bud’s going anywhere near the station. My father had followed Nick out but popped his head back in to make sure I was okay. He gave me a tight hug and headed out after looking in my eyes for an eternity, seeming satisfied that I was indeed going to be fine. Finally, I have my house to myself again; I shut the front door and lean against it only to see my brother standing at my bar cart, pouring two large glasses of bourbon. God, I love him.

We sit on the couch, Gunner between us, and clink our glasses over his head. After the day we’ve had, we deserve it. I need to do something to take the edge off or I’ll never be able to sleep tonight. And my body needs rest. It didn’t get any last night. I think I mentioned it before, but it’s worth mentioning again— Poppy is amazing.

She’s probably worried herself sick, by now. It makes my own stomach queasy knowing the fault is mine. I know she’s not still awake; but I could go sleep on her couch, so I’ll be there first thing in the morning when she wakes up. O looks at me like that’s the shittiest idea he’s ever heard. Even though I didn’t voice it, I’m still getting judged. Pain in my ass. He just chuckles. He’s never been in love before, so he doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand my need to see her. Talk to her. Feel her. I’d sleep outside on the hard ground all night in a rainstorm if it meant I could wake up next to Poppy.

I can’t believe how this drama unfolded today, and it’d started so pleasantly— snuggled up with Poppy after an all-night-fuck-fest. I ran out to grab us some coffee and breakfast; after all the calories we’d burned, we needed sustenance. When I got back, I had every intention of eating glazed doughnuts off her perfect breasts and licking any remaining frosting off her nipples. Don’t judge me. I was horny and hungry. Horngry? All those fantasies were put on hold the second I saw her face; she came back from answering the door with decidedly less color in her cheeks. She was fine when she left, I just fucking pray that she lets me explain everything after a good groveling session in the morning. I finish the liquid in my glass and stand. I need to get out of here.

O finishes off his glass as well (impressive since he’s not a drinker) and replaces the tumbler on the cart. “For what it’s worth; I’m happy for you.’ I wing my eyebrow up at him. ‘You and Poppy; it’s a good thing. Now c’mon,’ he motions for me to follow. ‘I know you’re starving. We missed dinner, and I checked your fridge; it’s empty. Mut will be pleased. My driver’s here. Let’s grab some burgers and I’ll drop you off at Poppy’s.”

Did I mention that I love this guy?

A loud thumping pulls me from my sleep. My head is groggy. My eyes are only half-way open. My mouth is cotton. My body is stiff. Shit, where am I?

I lug my body out of bed. Wait no, out of couch. I’m still in the tee-shirt and jeans I threw on yesterday morning. There are sweet voices accompanying the loud stomping.

“Mr. Max! I didn’t knows you had a sleepover. Are you gonna takes me to school?”

Poppy’s head darts around the corner. She looks beautiful. She looks relieved. Scared. Nope, angry. I’ve always thought she’d be sexy as fuck when she’s mad; I was right. Right, she’s mad at me. I’m the dick that didn’t call.

“Harp, how about you grab those pop tarts out of the toaster. I just heard them come up.”

“Okay Mama. You wants breakfast Mr. Max?”

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