Page 91 of Sirens
Still, Chazz’s confession hung between them, raw and unsettling. Trent stole a glance at the man who’d snared Maggie’s heart once upon a time. It was almost pitiable how he clung to his machismo like a security blanket.
After three weeks in the county jail, he looked like a child’s drawing of his own worst nightmare. Hair askew, skin pale, face bloated from five-thousand-calorie jail meals of mostly Spam, hot dogs, bologna, white carbs, and kitchen worker jizz.
“Chazz! You Protestant hooch-swilling, half a Scot tryna be Irish, droop-dicked, haggis-fed, black-and-tan-loving mothahfuckah.” Gabe’s Southie patois put a hard edge on the rapid-fire insults, half of which Trent admittedly didn’t comprehend the significance of. The ex-con’s voice was a taut wire ready to snap. He stalked up to the cruiser’s back door, where Chazz stood cuffed and temporarily repentant. There was maybe four inches between them both uncovered by Celtic tattoos, and Trent watched the strange generational dance they did with interest. “Next time I sees you, I’ll make you wear your own intestines as a?—”
“Can’t threaten a man’s life on actual police property, Mr. Kelly,” Trent said, though he doubted any of the officers presentwere planning on providing Chazz much in the way of protection from insults.
Gabe’s chin jutted forward, his hard jaw tightening. “This fucking guy? Please, he probably picks up his girlfriends from high school and tries to convince grown-ass men she’s ‘really mature.’”
Trent gave in to a derisive laugh.
“Hey, fuck you, Kelly. You set foot back in Boston and you’ve a lot of the old family who can’t wait to meet you in a dark alley.” Chazz took a step forward and ran into the hand Trent used to block him.
“If you so much as think about coming back here or even breathing in Maggie’s direction, I swear I’ll make those Irish mobsters look like choirboys,” he murmured in a register low enough that the onlookers missed the words, but not the intention.
Damned if the asshole’s face didn’t crumple. Not out of fear so much as…guilt?
“I messed up with Maggie.” He paused, looking away. “She’s too good for me. I was running around with other women ’cause I didn’t want to look whipped in front of my boys. Made her believe I was the best she could get, just to keep her around. I’m going to do better.”
“You won’t get the chance, you delusional cock wad,” Trent said, drumming his fingers against the car door. “But I’ll give you this: you’re right about Maggie. She’s too good for you.”
“What did you do to the divorce papers, you spineless bastard?” Gabe spat, his tattoos seeming to come alive as his muscles tensed beneath them. “Four years you had to sign. Four fucking years.”
Chazz spat at Gabe’s feet as a transport deputy pushed his head until he relented and folded into the back seat. “Burned ’em. She wants to leave me? She’ll have to?—”
Trent slammed the car door shut. The window smacked Chazz in the face.
He wasn’t given time to worry about the visiting deputies before their guffaws and knuckle bumps drew a satisfied smirk.
Rain dripped from the edge of Trent’s hat, creating a rhythm only he could hear. He watched as Chazz was dragged off like a piece of unwanted luggage. As the car pulled away, Gabe stepped closer, shaking his head.
“That fucking cocksucker,” he muttered, wiping water from his face. “Maggie had it wicked rough growing up, y’know? Shitty father. Trashy mother. You know the story…”
“Uh, no, not really,” Trent admitted, surprised by Gabe’s openness. “Maggie never told me about them.”
“Did you ask?”
He glanced away from the Irishman’s keen gaze.
No. He’d been so intent on finding out who Maggie was, he’d forgotten to askher. To know her. To see her beyond what he wanted her to be.
Maybe that was why he couldn’t pinpoint the moment he’d fallen in love with her—because he loved the things about her he didn’t even allow himself to look at.
“What happened to her?” he asked, gaze latched on to the rear lights of the cruiser.
“Maggie learned early that she needed to look out for herself,” Gabe explained, his voice laced with bitterness. “Then she met Chazz, and that whole thing happened.”
“What whole thing?”
Gabe opened his mouth, scowled, then snapped it shut. “That’s her story to tell you. But I’ll say this… Maggie, she’s like one of those muscle cars I love so much. Under all the ferocity, tenacity, and that fucking smart mouth are years of being told she’s not worth much. But if you tweak a few things about how she runs…there’s a classic beauty just waiting to roar.”
Trent arched an eyebrow, a half-smile tugging at his lips. He liked the sound of that—a project, something he could polish until it gleamed. “She’d never mentioned wanting to divorce Chazz.”
“Ah, well.” Gabe exhaled, blowing out a breath that formed a cloud in the cool air. “Maggie’s always been more about action than words. Tried to leave him a dozen ways before that. Mark finally drew up the papers when that lowlife got cuffed.”
“Action, huh?” A chuckle rumbled deep in Trent’s chest. “That’s one way to say ‘dives in headfirst without checking the depth.’”
“Exactly,” Gabe agreed, the corner of his mouth hitching up. “She’s all passion and impulse, but with a brain that doesn’t quit. You get her on your side, McGarvey, and you’re golden. Guess what I’m trying to say is, she deserves better than she’s had so far. Don’t screw it up, man. She’s a fighter, but even fighters need someone in their corner.”
