The Deal & a Secret

  The Deal & a Secret

  (The Honeyton Mysteries, Book 2)

  Jessica Sorensen

  The Deal & a Secret

  Jessica Sorensen

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2018 by Jessica Sorensen

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Any trademarks, service marks, product names or names featured are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms.

  * * *

  For information: jessicasorensen.com

  Cover photo from shutterstock

  Cover design by Jessica Sorensen

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  About the Author

  Also by Jessica Sorensen

  Chapter One

  I’m having a nightmare, one of the day my mom skidded off the road. The nightmare always plays out just like the memory of that day and always ends with that scream. I’m not even sure who the scream belonged to, yet the sound is branded into my mind like a hot iron searing flesh. I end up awakening before my alarm goes off with the sound of the scream echoing in my head.

  Since the sun hasn’t even risen yet, I try to go back to sleep, knowing I’m going to need my rest to deal with Blaise and his favors. Unfortunately, my mind’s too wired and focused on that damn bag in the backyard.

  Is my dad working for a drug dealer now? That’d mean Blaise’s dad is a drug dealer, which I guess could be possible.

  There is another scenario, though. One that makes me restless with worry.

  What if my dad stole the money and drugs from someone? Someone who’s going to be awfully pissed off when they find out.

  My stomach clenches in knots. What if the latter is true? What if my dad stole from, like, a drug lord or something? What if the drug lord comes after my sisters and me to get back at my dad?

  “Fuck,” I whisper, raking my fingers through my hair. “I need to chill out and stop overthinking this. Just find out the truth.”

  How am I supposed to do that? My dad sure as hell isn’t going to tell me the truth. He hardly tells the truth anymore.

  After half an hour of lying in bed, staring at the cracked ceiling, listening to Londyn snore, and stressing myself out, I give up on going back to sleep. I throw the blankets off, grab some clothes, and head to the bathroom to take a shower.

  Since my family is fairly late risers, I figure everyone is still asleep, so when my dad steps out of his bedroom as I’m about to walk into the bathroom, I assume he’s coming into the house from an all-night bender. Then I notice he’s dressed in clean clothes, his face is freshly shaven, and his hair is combed. He’s also digging around in his pocket for something.

  “Are you just getting home or heading out somewhere?” I ask, grasping the bathroom doorknob.

  He jolts, dropping whatever he dug out of his pocket. “Shit, you scared me.” Exhaling a shaky breath, he scoops up the dropped object—a set of keys—then straightens and uses a key to lock up his bedroom door, fumbling a little like he’s nervous. “You’re up early.”

  “Yeah, so are you.” I eyeball the deadbolt on his door that wasn’t there when we moved in. “Did you just install that lock?”

  He nods, stuffing the keys into his pocket. “Yeah, last night.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want some privacy.”

  “You say that like we snoop around in your room all the time.”

  His digs a pack of cigarettes out of the front pocket of his jacket, pops one into his mouth, and lights up. “Not all the time, but I know you guys do sometimes,” he says through a cloud of smoke. “I’ve caught Payton going through my stuff a couple times. She needs to stop doing that. What’s in my room is none of her damn business.”

  I raise a brow. “Like you haven’t ever gone through our stuff?”

  He takes another drag. “I’m the parent. I’m allowed to go through my daughters’ stuff if I think I need to.”

  “The only reason you ever do is to steal money from us,” I accuse, beyond irritated with him. Not just for what he’s saying, but for locking the door.

  First the bag in the backyard and now this? Just what is he up to?

  Nothing good, I’m sure.

  He ashes the cigarette onto the carpet with a hurt expression. “I’ve never stolen from you girls. I’m glad you think so lowly of me.”

  I almost feel bad. A couple days ago, I may have. Now I’m starting to get really tired of his crap.

  “We used to not think that lowly of you,” I admit. “But yeah, I’m not going to lie, lately, with the stuff you’ve been doing, my opinion of you has gone way down.”

  “Lately?” he questions. “All I’ve done lately is work to take care of you guys.”

  I resist an eye roll. Take care of us? He hasn’t taken care of us since we lost our mom.

  “You’ve had a steady job for a week, Dad, and God knows what the hell you’re doing since you won’t tell us where you work.”

  He shakily inhales from the end of his cigarette. “I work at the hardware store as a clerk.”

  Yeah right. I know he’s lying. “If that’s true, then why didn’t you just tell me that last week when I asked?”

  He lifts his shoulder, taking another drag. “Because you shouldn’t be worrying about what I do … Sometimes I think you forget who the parent is.”

  “I understand you’re my father, but as for a parent …” I suck in a breath. “Look, Dad, I’m eighteen now, and honestly, I’ve been taking care of myself and Londyn, Bailey, and Payton for years, so you may be our dad by blood, but as for the parent of this household, that’s my job.”

  His lips part then shut. Then he shakes his head and storms toward the stairway. “I don’t have time to argue with you, Hadley. I’m going to be late for work.” He starts down the stairway, but then pauses and glances over his shoulder at me. “I’m going to be home late, but …” He scratches the back of his neck. “Do you guys want to meet me someplace for dinner?”

  I stare at him, unsure if I heard him correctly. “You want us to go out to dinner with you?”

  He nods, his arm falling to his side. “Yeah, I thought it might be nice to go out as a family. We haven’t done that in a while, right?” He tries for a smile “It might be nice.”

  While the gesture is nice of him, we haven’t had a family dinner with him in over eight years, and I really doubt any of my sisters are going to want to. Plus, with everything going on, I think it might be best to distance ourselves away from Dad.

  He must read my hesitation all over my face, because he says, “Come on. Please say yes. I feel like I haven’t talked to you girls in forever.”

  That’s because he hasn’t. Not about anything other than when our next move is.

  “I won’t take no for an answer,” he adds, popping the end of his half-smoked cigarette into his mouth. “I’ll text you the address of the place later, okay?” Then he hurries down the stairway before I can decline his offer.

  Sighin
g heavily, I turn for the bathroom. Between dealing with Blaise this morning and my dad tonight, it’s going to be a tough day.

  Sometimes when I’m having a bad day, I visualize myself graduating and being handed my diploma. Then I say goodbye to my sisters, hop into my car, and drive off to college without so much as a second glance back. Today, though, the images aren’t bringing me as much comfort, and I think I know why.

  Between the almost-skid-off-the-road incident yesterday and that bag being in the backyard, I’m not feeling the whole peace-out-old-life vibe. No, before I could ever leave, I’d have to make sure my dad hasn’t … well, I’m not certain how to finish that sentence.

  Needless to say, by the time I stroll up to Blaise’s front door, I’m past being irritated and breezing right into don’t-mess-with-me-because-I’m-pissed-off-at-my-shithead-father territory, something Blaise notices the second he opens the door.

  “Wow, somebody doesn’t look very happy to be here,” he remarks, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded.

  Strangely, his stupid smirk isn’t present. Not strange, he’s dressed in black pants and a matching T-shirt. Seriously, it’s like the Porterson brothers’ trademark look.

  “Can we please just cut the small talk and get straight to whatever the hell it is you want me to do?” I bite out bitterly.

  He straightens, adjusting the leather bands covering his wrists. “Will you relax? I’m not going to have you do anything bad.”

  “I highly doubt that.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “And besides, who said my bad mood has anything to do with you?”

  A pucker forms between his brows. “You act like I’d be upset me if it wasn’t about me.”

  “Don’t pretend you don’t get off on pissing me off.”

  He rubs his lips together, wrestling back a smile. “Okay, maybe I do get off on it a little.”

  I roll my eyes. “Of course you do. I knew that from the moment I met you.”

  “That I’d get off on pissing you off?” His amusement magnifies.

  “No, that you’re the kind of guy who gets off on pissing girls off.”

  His smile dissolves. “That’s not who I am at all.”

  “Liar.” Sure, I may have discovered last night he didn’t slash my tires or put up those flyers, but that doesn’t erase the times he’s purposely tried to grate under my skin. “You’re totally the type of guy to get off on getting girls riled up. I can tell.”

  He shakes his head, strands of blond hair falling into his eyes. “Nope. I actually just do it with you.”

  My lip twitches in annoyance. “Why? Because I rejected you the first time we met? If so, that’s really fucked up.”

  He gives a nonchalant shrug, his posture a bit stiff. “It wasn’t just because of the rejection.”

  “Then, what else was it about?” I pry, curious if it has to do with why Alex loathes my family. If it has anything to do with my dad working for their dad.

  All he does is offer me another shrug and, “You just bring that side out of me, I guess.”

  “So, you’re putting the blame on me?”

  “No. What I’m saying is that you do seem to get off on pissing me off, too.”

  My mouth opens with a comeback, but then I zip my lips shut, realizing he’s right. “Okay, maybe I do … a bit.”

  “Hmmm …” He rubs his jawline. “I wonder why that is.” His tone carries insinuation. Why, who the hell knows?

  I give a nonchalant shrug. “Probably because you’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

  “And you’re the most stubborn girl I’ve ever met,” he quips. Then he steps aside and motions for me to come in. “So, stubborn girl, quit stalling and come inside so you can complete your first favor.”

  I step over the threshold, arching my brow at him as I pass. “Please don’t say you’re going to start calling me stubborn girl now.”

  He bumps the door shut. “You wanted me to stop calling you sweetheart, didn’t you?”

  I waver my head from side to side. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  He smiles as he lightly tugs on a stand of my hair. “So, stubborn girl it is.” Then he takes off toward a hallway. “I’ll be right back. I just have to grab my stuff.”

  Before I can ask what he’s grabbing, he disappears down the hallway.

  I’m left standing alone in his living room, which is surprisingly clean. The furniture is decent, too, way better than anything my family owns. The Portersons also have a flat screen television, an item my family hasn’t owned in a while, ever since my dad took ours and pawned it. He tried to lie about it when I confronted him, but I found the receipt in his pocket while I was doing the laundry. He never would admit what he did with the extra cash, which I guess is kind of his MO. Well, that and getting drunk.

  Talk about a great father figure.

  Sighing audibly, I trudge over to the sofa to sit down when Rhyland comes wandering into the room, carrying a bowl of cereal. His hair is damp, as if he just got out of the shower, and he’s wearing black jeans and a blue T-shirt.

  Huh. So they do own different colored clothing.

  He pauses mid-bite when his gaze lands on me. “Hey.” He lowers the spoon from his mouth and wipes a dribble off milk off his chin with the back of his hand. “You’re here early.”

  “Because I was ordered to be.” My tone comes out light instead of bitter, like I was aiming for.

  Man, I really must be tired.

  He smiles, relaxing as he plops down on the leather sofa and kicks his feet up onto the table. “Glad to see you’re being chill about the bet.” He stuffs another bite of cereal into his mouth then pats the cushion, indicating for me to sit down. “Alex thought you’d bail out of this whole favors thing.”

  Rolling my eyes, I take a seat. “Of course he did.”

  “I didn’t, though,” Rhyland clarifies with a slightly flirty smile, reminding me of what I overheard last night.

  That both Blaise and Rhyland might have a thing for me. If that’s true, though, they have a weird way of showing it.

  I twist to face him, bringing my knee up onto the cushion between us. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

  He raises a shoulder. “You don’t seem like the type to back down. Yesterday proves that.”

  “True.” I can’t tell if he’s insulting me or not.

  “That’s a good thing,” he assures me, as if reading my mind. “At least, I think so.” He rotates, facing me. “I have to say, after watching you race, I definitely think you should start racing on weekends.”

  “Why?” I question. “I didn’t even win against your brother.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve got mad skills. Seriously, a lot of people would’ve overcorrected when they hit that patch of gravel, but you handled it like a fucking boss.”

  I shrug, my stomach getting queasy at the reminder of how I almost walked in my mom’s footsteps yesterday. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

  “With almost skidding road?” he teases with a smile.

  I roll my tongue in my mouth, trying not to smile back. “No, with racing.”

  “I know. I was just messing with you.” He lightly tugs on a strand of my hair while smiling at me.

  It takes a hell of a lot of effort not to smile back at him, because honestly he looks absolutely adorable grinning like that.

  I mentally roll my eyes at myself. He looks adorable, Hadley? What in the heck is wrong with you?

  His smile fades a little as his phone buzzes from inside his pocket, and he digs it out. “How long have you been doing it?” he asks, frowning at something on the screen. “I mean, racing?”

  I wonder what’s on his phone that’s got him looking all Charlie Brown.

  “Since I got my driver’s license. But I started going to drag races when I was, like, four.” There I go again. Talking about my life aloud to a Porterson. Have I not learned my lesson?

  His gaze elevates to mine in surprise. “Since you were four? Holy
shit, that’s young.”

  A slow breath eases from my lips. “My mom was into it and wanted me to be into it, too. Guess it worked.”

  “She was?” he asks with a hint of pity.

  My chest tightens a bit. “She died a while ago.”

  “I’m so sorry.” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard. “That’s got to be hard. To lose your parent at such a young age, I mean. Blaise and Jaxon’s mom died when they were both young. My mom actually raised them. Well, until Blaise was old enough to get guardianship of us. That was one of the best day of our lives.”

  Wow. No wonder I couldn’t find anything online about Blaise’s mom. I feel bad for him and Jaxon, and kind of for Rhyland and Alex, too. If their eighteen-year-old brother got guardianship of them, things with their mom had to be super effed up.

  I suddenly have the weirdest urge to hug Rhyland. I’m not even sure why, other than maybe I lose my mind for a moment. Thankfully, Blaise walks in and interrupts our moment.

  “What was the best day of your life?” Blaise asks, his gaze dancing back and forth between Rhyland and me, and his lips sinking into a frown.

  I realize how close Rhyland and I are sitting on the sofa but I’m not sure why that’s making Blaise frown like that.

  They both have a thing for me. Maybe what Alex said really is true.

  “The day you became my dad.” Rhyland grins as he rises to his feet.

  Blaise rolls his eyes. “How many times have I told you guys not to call me that? You’re almost as old as me.”

  “Which is why we do it.” Rhyland walks up to Blaise and whispers something quietly enough that I can’t hear.

  Blaise grimaces, grinding his teeth from side to side. “Fine, I’ll handle it.”

  “Sorry, man. I’d do it myself, but you know he won’t be as cooperative if I go.” Rhyland pats Blaise on the shoulder then smiles at me. “Thanks for talking to me this morning, beautiful girl. We should make it our morning routine for the next month.” He winks at me while Blaise gives him a slightly annoyed look.