Page 9 of Man of Honor
“Then get out and walk,” Mason replied without taking his eyes from the road, completely unfazed.
I rolled my eyes and leaned my head against the window, taking small sips of air through my mouth to filter out the chemical stench.
On the other side of the glass, Devil’s Garden was rolling by in all its messy glory.The town had been on a slow slide toward trashy for a long time, but it was worse than I remembered.Big city problems with small town charm.Boarded up storefronts lined the streets, replacing the family diners and hardware shops with hand-painted signs that used to be there.Now, the only signs I saw were for payday loans and strip clubs.There were still traces of old-timey charm in the faded American flags and cobblestone streets, but it was a losing battle.
I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, we were pulling to a stop in front of the house.Mansion. Whatever. Eden House, we called it.A forgotten relic tucked away on an estate bigger than a city park.The place was a strange mix of old and older, a property that didn’t fit into any one era or style.It dripped with all the southern charm of white columns and wrap-around porches that looked straight out of a movie set, but it pre-dated the antebellum facade.The stone archways, crumbling statues, and overgrown courtyards held a deeper history.A monastery had once stood here, built by Jesuit priests during the French Colonial Period.During the war, they'd used it to run their own kind of underground business.Not the shady kind, though. The righteous kind.After that, it became an orphanage.There were plenty of orphans after the war—and then all the wars that followed.
The bones of such a complicated history were all over Eden, though most people didn't know where to look.They'd have to know where to dig.When we were kids, my brothers and I would spend hours tearing through the place from attic to cellar, and I still wasn’t convinced we’d found all the hidden tunnels and trap doors.
The Beaufort family picked up the property for dirt cheap during the Great Depression, back when even the church was flat broke.By the time Boone inherited it, the shine was long gone.The place felt strangely hollow.For every sweeping staircase and stained-glass window, there were rotting lawns, furniture nobody had touched in years, and rooms that felt like tombs.
As a bachelor, Boone couldn’t make use of such a big house on his own, so he turned it back into what it had once been: a place for wayward boys and lost causes.Kids came and went,but me and my brothers—we stuck around.Maybe Boone saw something in us he recognized, something wild and broken that reminded him of himself.He never said it, but I knew.Boone didn’t keep just anyone.
Mason parked, but he didn’t kill the engine or make any move to get out.He folded a stick of mint gum into his mouth and gave me a look, part warning, part pity.“I’ve got to get back to the hospital and finish the paperwork for Ivy’s emergency care.They’re keeping her overnight, then she’ll be placed with us until the state can figure out what to do with her.”
“She’s really gonna be okay?” I asked.I’d tried talking with her before we left the hospital, but she’d been doped up on meds and barely said two words.She couldn’t seem to look me in the eye.She talked more openly around Mason, so I hadn’t stayed long.
Mason’s face softened for a second.“Physically? She’ll be fine. She’s banged up, but that’s the easy part.The rest…that’s gonna take a while.You know how it is.”
I nodded.
Mason's gaze was unfocused as he stared through the windshield.He just kept working his jaw, chewing his gum, a habit that usually meant he was thinking something over.The sharp scent of mint filled the car, strangely soothing compared to the artificial air freshener.Finally, he said, “You’re not walking into the same place you left.You know that, right?”
I raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He took his time, folding the gum wrapper between his fingers.When he spoke, he did it slowly, like he was breaking bad news to a client.“Things didn’t get easier on any of us afterBen went to prison.It's like he was the glue that held this place together.With him gone, Boone's health going to shit, and you jerking off in Vegas, guess who was left holding the bag?"
"It wasn't my choice to leave," I muttered, but the knot that had been forming in my stomach all morning tightened.Because the truth was, I'd chosen to stay gone.
Mason shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable.Honest conversations weren't his thing.“Doesn’t matter why you left,” he said firmly.“Loyalty is what matters. You didn’t stick around when things got rough.You didn’t even make it back in time for Boone’s funeral, and you know how those two are.They don’t forget.”
“Look, I'm back now, aren't I?" I retorted, feeling my shoulders tense up again.They still hadn't unclenched from my run-in with Wyatt."It's not like I would've been much help around here, anyway.You're the lawyer, not me. What good am I to you?Or Dom and Gideon? What do I know about filing an appeal or running a foster program?"
"About as much as Gideon knew when he took it over." Mason's eyes flickered with irritation behind his wire-rim glasses."The point is that we've been here doing the work while you were off finding yourself or whatever."
I flushed and glanced out the window, my fist clenching and unclenching on top of my thigh."I've only got one skill, and you know it.Boone wasn't ever gonna let me go after Vanderhoff.That was his line in the sand, so it was better to stay away."
I still didn’t understand why Boone, with all his wealth and connections, hadn’t fought harder.Once Ben was sentenced, hejust rolled over and gave up, focusing all his energy on keeping the rest of us out of trouble.Almost overnight, he became an old man, no longer uncompromising and unafraid, but...scared.
Mason sighed and leaned forward, resting his arms on the steering wheel as he gazed out the windshield.“I’m just giving you a friendly warning, little bro.Our reunion went a lot smoother than it’ll go with the others.Gideon’s been carrying a heavy load, and Dominic…well, he hasn’t changed much.”
“I get it,” I said tightly, reaching for the door handle.“Thanks for the lift.”
Mason’s lips twitched, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.“Call me if you need anything,” he said, shifting into reverse and pulling off in a perfect three-point turn.
I watched the cherry red sports car pull away, feeling like I’d just been dumped on the front line with nothing but a broken bayonet—and now the cavalry was leaving.I let out a long breath and stuffed my hands into my pockets.My wallet and keys were long gone, lifted while I was out cold.All I had left were bruises and a queasy feeling in my stomach. At least Mason had recovered my cell phone from my glovebox, but he’d left the Buick sitting in the parking lot. It wasn’t worth the tow.
Usually, I took the porch steps two at a time, but not today.I climbed slowly, aching and sore all over from my beating, and breathed the scents of home for the first time in five years.The air smelled of magnolia and fresh cut grass, nostalgic smells I used to dream about while I was huffing exhaust in Vegas.I paused at the door with my hand on the antique brass knocker.It was shaped like a vine-covered chalice, a symbol of the Eucharist, or so Gideon used to say.I’d never paid much attention.
So much time had passed since I'd last stood on this threshold.I'd thought I changed, but standing here, I realized I never would.The important things were still there: the loneliness, the rage, and the violence pulsing like poison through my blood.Gifts I'd inherited from my father, the same man who'd nearly killed me dozens of times, and then came back and tried to finish the job the moment he got out of prison.If it hadn't been for Ben, he might've succeeded.Ben had taken that hit for me, and nothing I ever did could purge my guilt.I'd given up trying.
The smell of aged wood and lemon polish hit me the second I opened the door.A fat lamp with a marble base sat on the credenza by the entry, somehow unbroken even after all the times we’d knocked it around.I could almost hear Ben and Mason laughing or Dominic’s gruff voice calling us for dinner.There was Gideon's deep, gentle murmur...and Boone.His voice was always the loudest, the kind of voice that could change you if you let it.Do good. Make this town a better place than the one you were born into.
My brothers had taken that to heart in their own ways.Even Dominic. But not me. I was a ticking time bomb, and my only goal was to blow up without taking anyone down with me.It would be more than my father ever managed.
I brushed a hand over the worn bannister of the grand staircase and looked around.I swore I could hear the echo of footsteps, like ghosts I couldn't see, only feel.Took me a second—and the click of a door—to realize it wasn't a ghost.
Dominic stepped out from the north wing, the section of the house Boone had set up for the foster program.A burst of teenage laughter trailed after him before the door swung shut, cutting the noise off from the rest of the house.