Broken: (McIntyre Security Bodyguard Series - Book 3) Page 16

  “Not everyone grows up with hugs and kisses, Lia.”

  There’s a wealth of pain in that one statement, and just like that, I realize I know nothing about Jonah Locke. Suddenly there’s a gnawing, hollow pain in my chest, and I feel like an ass. “I’m sorry.”

  He shakes his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Don’t worry about it.”

  * * *

  I park in front of the quaint little diner in town, and we walk inside. The restaurant looks like a throw-back to the 1950’s. There’s a long row of booths with white Formica table tops and red vinyl benches, matching tables in the center of the room, and a row of red-vinyl barstools in front of a long counter. A middle-aged woman with a blond bee-hive hairdo welcomes us and leads us to an empty booth.

  “What can I get you two to drink?” she asks as she hands us laminated menus that have seen better days.

  “I’ll have a Coke,” I say.

  “Same for me,” Jonah says, opening his menu.

  While our server goes off to fill our drink orders, we scan our menus. It’s typical diner fare, the same food they’ve been serving for well over fifty years... burgers, fries, chicken tenders, hot dogs, deli sandwiches, shakes and three different kinds of pie.

  I study Jonah as he peruses his menu. I can’t help wondering if he regrets telling me as much as he did, even with that one rather cryptic statement about his family. I realize now just how close-lipped he’s been with me about his past – and who he is.

  “So it’s just you, your mom, and your brother?”

  He looks up from underneath his dark lashes. “Yeah.” Then he goes back to looking at his menu.

  “Does your brother play music?”

  “No.”

  “Your mom?”

  “No.”

  “Did your dad?”

  His lips tighten in a flat line. “What’s with all the questions?”

  “Nothing. I’m sorry, I’m just curious about your family.”

  He frowns. “Yeah, my dad was in a band years ago, back in the sixties. They never made anything of it. Just a bunch of guys singing in seedy, rundown bars.”

  “I guess you inherited your musical talent from him.” I’m trying to make small talk here, something I’m not good at. I’m trying to get him to open up, but it’s not going well. He obviously doesn’t like talking about his family, but his dad in particular seems to be a sore spot with him.

  When he looks at me with hard eyes, I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.

  I glare back at him. “What? What did I say?”

  “I don’t want to talk about my dad,” he says.

  “Yeah, I figured that much.”

  Jonah orders a burger, fries and a Coke. I’ve already had lunch, so I’m not that hungry, but I do indulge in a chocolate shake. Jonah’s quiet as we wait for our food, his gaze focused on the foot traffic on the sidewalk outside the diner. Other than a few pick-up trucks driving past the diner, the street traffic is pretty nonexistent.

  Finally, he meets my gaze. “I’m sorry. I just don’t like to talk about him.”

  I nod. “It’s okay. There are things I don’t like to talk about too.”

  He nods. “In the end, he was a drunk and a bully. He used to beat my mom and my little brother.”

  Whoa. I wasn’t expecting that. “But not you?”

  Jonah shakes his head. “I was bigger than my dad. He hit me once, and I hit him right back. After that, he was afraid of me.”

  “What did you mean when you said in the end?”

  “He wasn’t always a monster. I have good memories of him when I was little. It wasn’t until after he lost his job and started drinking that things got bad. It was all downhill from there. He died from alcohol poisoning about five years ago.”

  Our waitress brings our food, and we eat in silence. Occasionally I glance up and catch Jonah watching me, and it’s making me feel self-conscious. I think he might say more about his family, but he doesn’t.

  When our waitress comes to the table with the check, she hands it to him. I reach out to take it from him, but he holds it out of my reach.

  “I’ve got it,” he says, pulling out his wallet. He hands the woman cash. “Keep the change.”

  She regards the money in her hand and gives him a big smile. “Thanks, honey.”

  As soon as she’s out of earshot, I say, “You’re my client, Jonah. I should pay the bills, not you. It’s not like this is a date.”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t take offense at this, because you’re the best bodyguard I’ve ever had, but you’re fired.”

  “You can’t fire me.”

  “Yes, I can. I just did. I guess that makes us just two people on a road trip together. Friends then, right? And as your friend, I can treat you to a shake.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  Jonah stands and holds out his hand to me. “Friends can go for a walk, can’t they? Come with me. There’s something I want to do.”

  I shake my head in dismay as I follow him out of the diner. I don’t know what he’s up to, but it can’t be good.

  Chapter 25

  We stroll down the sidewalk – all three blocks of it – past a little grocery, a florist shop, a used bookstore, a tattoo parlor, and an auto parts store. When we reach the end of the tiny little business district, Jonah takes my hand and leads me across the street.

  Two guys on motorcycles, wearing black leather jackets and dark helmets, come speeding down the street, swerving around us as one of them yells, “Get out of the way! Tourists!”

  “Punks,” Jonah says, laughing as we reach the opposite sidewalk.

  He’s still got hold of my hand, and when I try to pull free, he tightens his hold and smiles at me. “Come, there’s something I want to do,” he says.

  It feels odd holding his hand – I’m just not used to it. No one’s ever held my hand since I was a little kid. His hand is so much bigger than mine, solid and warm. And I have no idea what the gesture means to him.

  We walk a couple blocks back the other way until we come to a busker on the sidewalk standing outside a vintage clothing resale shop. He’s a big, burly man with unkempt shaggy brown hair and a full, bushy beard, dressed in a pair of worn overalls and a red plaid shirt. He’s playing a beat-up old guitar and singing a classic Bob Seger song – Still the Same – from the ‘70s. His empty guitar case lays open on the sidewalk in front of him, filled with coins and wrinkled dollar bills, courtesy of the good-sized crowd that has gathered to listen to him perform. His voice is as gruff as he looks, perfect for a Bob Seger song.

  Jonah squeezes my hand and smiles as he watches the man perform. This is what Jonah loves, music for the sake of music. Playing just for the pleasure of it, in front of a small crowd. Not for money or fame. Just for the love of lyrics and melodies.

  The street performer does a double-take when he catches sight of Jonah, his eyes widening in disbelief, and I can tell the old man recognizes him. The busker nods at Jonah, and Jonah nods back, smiling. After he finishes his song, the old guy props his guitar against the front window of the shop and comes toward Jonah, offering his big hand for a shake. Jonah readily clasps the old guy’s hand.

  “Do you know this guy?” I hiss at Jonah.

  “No.”

  “No, ma’am,” the guy says, pumping Jonah’s hand with both of his. “But I sure do recognize him.” He turns his attention to Jonah. “Name’s Bill Harper, son. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  The folks who’d been standing around listening to Bill Harper play are blatantly eavesdropping on their conversation.

  “Thank you, sir,” Jonah says. “That’s a fine guitar you have there. It’s a Martin, isn’t it?”

  “You bet. It’s the most precious possession I have in this world. Care to give it a try?”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Of course not. We musicians have to stick together.” Bill picks up his guitar and hands it to Jonah, who slings the strap over his
neck and grips the guitar familiarly before he begins strumming a few chords.

  The crowd eyes Jonah surreptitiously, trying not to be too obvious as they watch him.

  “I’d be honored if you’d play us a song, son,” Bill says, pointing at the spot where he’d been standing.

  Jonah looks at me and I shrug. He looks happy and relaxed, more so than I’ve ever seen him. A few more people join the crowd on the sidewalk, wondering what’s going on.

  Jonah starts strumming the guitar, and I recognize the chords. It’s one of the band’s earliest hits, a well-recognizable ballad. As soon as he starts singing, I see recognition lighting up the faces of the people in the crowd, and they move in closer to get a better look at the man they’ve likely heard on the radio countless times.

  Bill opens a second guitar case and pulls out a guitar, and then he joins in with Jonah, adding some rhythm to complement Jonah’s melody and offering a little vocal harmony as he accompanies Jonah. They perform two more of Jonah’s songs, and the crowd on the sidewalk grows steadily. It’s a well-behaved crowd of mostly adults, respectful and simply enjoying the impromptu show, nothing like the screaming hordes of girls that camp outside his house.

  Jonah and Bill hit it off great, and they segway into performing some top hits from the 70s, including a couple of Rolling Stones hits and a classic Neil Young song. I smile when people throw wads of money into the guitar case. I suspect some of the people watching don’t even know who Jonah is. Dressed in his ripped jeans and ratty old T-shirt, he could easily pass for a panhandler.

  It’s a pleasure watching Jonah enjoy himself for once, as if all the stress of the world has fallen away from his shoulders. This is what he loves – music, for its own sake.

  Finally, despite several calls for an encore, Jonah hands the Martin back to Bill and shakes the older man’s hand. “Thank you, sir. It was a pleasure.”

  “The pleasure was all mine, son.”

  Jonah’s smiling from ear to ear when he makes his way through the small crowd to my side. Strangers are patting him on the back and thanking him for the impromptu show.

  “God, that was great!” he says when he reaches me. He’s breathing hard from the exertion of performing, his body putting off waves of heat. He wraps his arms around me and squeezes me in a bear hug. Hesitantly, I slip my arms around his waist and hug him back.

  “I’ve never seen you this happy,” I say, the side of my face pressed against the front of his T-shirt. I can feel his heart pounding with adrenalin.

  He pulls back, smiling like a little kid who was just given the keys to the candy store. “That was awesome.”

  “You should play incognito more often.”

  He nods, but his smile falls. “I wish I could.”

  “Of course you can. You can do whatever the hell you want.”

  He gives me a half-smile, but I know it’s fake.

  He takes my hand again. “Let’s go check out the bar. Do you play pool, tiger?”

  I roll my eyes at him. “Of course I do.” There isn’t a game or a sport that my brothers haven’t tortured me with.

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  * * *

  The sun’s going down now, and the neon lights are starting to flicker on, lighting up the front of the bar – Lucky’s. Jonah opens the heavy wooden door, and we walk into a dimly-lit honky tonk filled with the sounds of country music playing on the juke box, the smell of beer and fried food, and the crack of pool cues striking balls and sending them careening around the billiard tables.

  Jonah takes my hand and leads me to the bar. I recognize the middle-aged man behind the bar drying glasses with a white cloth. He’s the owner of the place. I think his name is Hal.

  I’m not sure, but I suspect Jonah and I are on a date. Or at least Jonah thinks we’re on a date. The jury’s still out on how I feel about it. Part of me likes the novelty of it, but if he expects me to suddenly become the docile little girlfriend, he’s got another think coming.

  The bartender nods at Jonah, then glances my way and does a double-take. “Lia McIntyre!” A big grin splits his round, craggy face. “Are you even old enough to be in my joint?”

  “Yeah, I am. Hi, Hal.”

  Hal scans the bar, as if looking for someone. “Are your brothers here?”

  “No, it’s just me. And Jonah. We’re staying at Jake’s cabin for a couple nights. Thought we’d come check the place out.”

  Hal eyes Jonah critically. “You’d better behave yourself, young man,” he says, wagging a finger in Jonah’s face. “I know those brothers of hers quite well. If you take one step out of line, buddy, you’ll be sorry.”

  Jonah chuckles. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  We order two draft beers and go find an empty table near the pool tables. We finish off our beers, and one of the servers brings us fresh bottles, courtesy of Hal, she says. I pass on the second bottle, after all I’m technically on duty, but Jonah doesn’t hesitate. As he drinks his second beer, we eye the pool tables, and when one opens up, Jonah hops up to claim it.

  “What’ll we play for?” Jonah says, racking up the balls. “We’ve got to have some stakes.”

  “How about... the loser cooks breakfast?”

  “Cook breakfast? No.” Shaking his head, he comes around to my side of the pool table and cages me against the mahogany table with his arms. His lips graze my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “Surely you can do better than that. How about... the loser gives the winner a full body massage? Naked. Tonight.”

  I roll my eyes at him, fighting a grin. He’s in a fine mood tonight, and I realize just how much I enjoy simply being with him. We have more than a professional relationship. We have something akin to... friendship. Maybe it’s more like a friendship with benefits, after all we’ve already been naked together.

  “Let me get this straight,” I say, trying not to smile. “If I win, you get to put your hands on my naked body. And if you win, I have to put my hands on your naked body. Either way, somebody’s going to end up naked. This sounds like a win-win situation for you.”

  He taps the tip of my nose with his index finger and grins. “Precisely. I’m diabolically clever that way.”

  I laugh. I don’t know if I can resist a playful Jonah. And, I think he might be just a tad tipsy. He’s only had the one meal today, and he’s on his third beer now. Maybe it’s time for some more food. I flag down our server and ask for a couple of appetizers.

  We play our game – Jonah wins the break after a coin toss – and all the while, I’m trying to get him to eat something.

  He plays pretty good pool, but he’s had a little too much to drink tonight to beat me. Still, I’m undecided if I want to win, or if I want him to win. Do I want to give or receive a naked, full-body massage? More importantly, I have to decide if I can even bring myself to play this game, because I’ve already fucked him once, and that’s my limit. Actually, twice if you count both times. I’ve already broken my own rule. If I sleep with him again, I’ll be in unchartered territory.

  Not long into our game, it’s obvious who’s going to win. I couldn’t throw this match even if I tried – I could never play pool that badly. It wouldn’t be ethical, and I can’t shame the McIntyre name that way. So I trounce him easily, and he’s elated, because he thinks I’m going to run my hands all over his naked body tonight. I have only myself to blame.

  “I’ll tell you what,” I say. “Let’s go for the best two games out of three. Winner gets to decide who touches what, if anything.”

  That definitely catches his attention, but he’s too tipsy to realize it’s a losing hand for him. “Deal!”

  “One caveat...”

  He frowns. “What?”

  “You have to eat some more and drink some coffee first. You’re having a little too much fun right now. It wouldn’t be a fair competition.”

  He reluctantly agrees and orders a pot of black coffee.

  * * *

  As w
e’re sitting there drinking coffee and eating hot wings, a guy dressed in black leather pants and jacket walks up to our table and grins down at me. I recognize him as one of the bikers who nearly ran us down in the street earlier in the evening. He’s got longish blond hair and a long, scraggly beard. There’s a red-and-white bandana tied around his neck.

  “You’re not bad for a girl,” he says to me.

  “And you’re not so tough without your motorcycle.”

  His eyes widen, and then he starts laughing. “Holy shit, was that you?”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  He smiles at me, undeterred. “I watched you playin’ pool, sweetheart. You’re pretty good. You been playin’ long?”

  “Since I was old enough to see over the side of the table, so yeah.”

  “Then how about a little match, babe? Just you and me.”

  Jonah’s watching our exchange with a great deal of interest.

  “First of all,” I say, “I’m not your babe.”

  “You could be, if you play your cards right.”

  Oh, my god, seriously? “No thanks, pal. Not interested.”

  He gives me a smug grin. “Why don’t you quit wasting your time on this pretty boy here and upgrade to a real man?”

  I can’t help laughing. This punk has nothing on Jonah, and he’s too stupid to even realize it. “Like I said, not interested.”

  This whole time, Jonah’s just been sitting there with a smirk on his face, watching the conversation unfold. I look at him. “What are you smiling about?”

  He shrugs. “I figure it’s only a matter of time before you hand this guy his ass. Frankly, I’m looking forward to it.”

  “You wanna say that to my face?” Blondie says, scowling at Jonah. “I could wipe the floor with your face.”

  “I’d like to see you try,” Jonah says, chuckling.

  Blondie turns beet red, and he looks like he’s about to blow a gasket. “What, you think I can’t do it? I could whip your ass with one arm tied behind my back!”

  “Oh, no, it’s not that,” Jonah says, grinning. “It’s just that if you even try, she’ll wipe the floor with your face.”