Page 16 of The Deals We Make
“Why did you do that?”
He runs his tongue over his teeth. “Ain’t that the question. Another one would be why are you standing there blaming me for the state your mom’s home is in? If you’d ever deigned to come back here, you would have seen inside for yourself. When you’re done lashing out at me because you’re angry at yourself, you’ll realize it.”
Conflicted feelings battle inside me. But how could the man who betrayed me be so loyal to my mother all this time?
“You did, by the way.”
Wrinkles form between Ti’s eyes. “I did what?”
“You said Mom thought you’d done something to break my heart. You did.”
Gravely, Ti nods. “I did. Because I’d rather have you alive on this earth hating me, than dead because I didn’t stop you from ripping off a motorcycle club. You’re still too stubborn to admit that, then it’s on you.”
Seconds tick between us.
“Anyway,” he says, looking at the snow shovel on the porch. “I’m just gonna clear the drive for you, seeing you’re going to be coming and going.”
“I can do it. We’re fine.”
“I know. But I just did Mom’s, and I always do yours next.”
“Not anymore,” I insist. “I can manage. You’ve done enough damage trying to help me in the past. I don’t need any more. And as far as?—”
“You know what, shut up, Calista,” he says, and I watch his back and wide broad shoulders, as he lumbers down the porch steps.
I hate being spoken over. I hate being told to shut up. And I hate most of all that it’s Ti doing both.
I let myself back into the house, slam the door, and start sorting my clothes by throwing them into piles. He helped my mom all this time, and she never said a word to me about it. I remember what it felt like to fall into those thick arms of his in front of the bank and feel utterly safe in the world. And it dawns on me that Mom probably kept the living room in half-decent shape because she knew he’d occasionally look in.
“Damn it.”
And then I hear it.
The slow and steady scrape of a snow shovel on the driveway.
And the reckless beat of my treacherous heart.
5
VEX
“You could have gone to one of those fancy schools like Harvard, Tiberius,” my mom says for the three hundredth time as I warm up after clearing both driveways.
She always uses the full version of my name. I was named after Captain James Tiberius Kirk. My mom thought it was a strong name. Always had, being a fan of the series for as long as she could remember. My dad thought it would be cool. I was proud of it.
Until I went to school and explained where it came from to someone. From then on, I used to get a whole boatload of “live long and prosper.” Like, that isn’t even Kirk’s line.
I roll my eyes but continue to shovel down my grits. Mom makes them special for me, served with tender shrimp and salty bacon and more paprika than I want to know about.
Food is her love language. And this bowl is a welcome thank-you for shoveling the snow while Dad’s at work. I was going to take a drive over to Bates’s house so I could take Avery through the investments that I picked out for her, but I knew Mom couldn’t handle all that snow on her own.
“What would it have given me that I don’t have now?” I ask.
Mom turns around, the apron still around her waist. “Standing, Tiberius.”
I pause with the food halfway to my mouth. “Standing?”
She points a spatula at me and gestures toward my cut. “Something more than that.”
