Heart of Gold (The Golden Boys - Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  HEART OF GOLD

  By Michaela Haze

  The Golden Boys – Book 1

  ABOUT

  Goldryn Bois. Small town nowhere.

  No prospects. No education. No boyfriend. No nothing.

  Harriet Thompson knows what’s going to happen.

  She's going to wind up like her mother. Drunk and alone.

  When her best friend gives her a ticket to the Goldryn Masquerade,

  it's her last hurrah before she takes all her savings and runs.

  They were strangers.

  But everyone knew Elliot Gold.

  Stoic. Serious. The Iceman.

  She was unlike anyone he had ever met. Now, Elliot Gold will stop at nothing to find her.

  1

  The bell rang out over the door of Judy's Diner. The sound was almost constant as the lunchtime rush pulled in. I wiped my sweaty palms down the front of my gingham apron and fixed my ponytail. I grabbed my trusty coffee jug so I could refill any empty mugs. Happy customers meant good tips.

  It didn’t matter that I had been on my feet since three that morning, serving coffee to the all-night customers on the edge of the 603 into Goldryn Bois. I put on a smile and I got on my hustle.

  Most of my paycheck came from tips. I was going to darn well do it if that meant wearing a shorter skirt and fluttering my eyelashes at the truckers that stopped off at the edge of our little town.

  The days were long and the smell of bacon grease had become my perfume; it was all a rung on the ladder.

  I was determined. Only a few more hundred dollars to go until I could put a deposit down on an apartment in the next city over. I would probably have to get a roommate starting out, but I didn’t care. I was twenty-four years old. It was more than time for my life to start properly.

  My phone vibrated in the pocket of my apron, but I ignored it as I pulled out my notepad and pencil. I couldn’t help the real smile that took over my face as I walked up to Big Sal and Little Sue’s table.

  “Ladies!” I opened my arms in a welcoming manner and, even though I smelt like a fryer and had a jug of lukewarm coffee in one hand, Little Sue stood up and wrapped her arms around me. The cut of her biker jacket smelt like leather, Chanel perfume, and weed.

  “You scamming on my ole lady, Harry?” Big Sal winked as she offered her mug up for a refill of coffee.

  I leant forward and poured as Sue shifted in her seat to lean over and place a kiss on her wife's cheek. “What can I get for my favourite customers?” I chirped. My maudlin musings were quite replaced with a crack of happiness that came with seeing Big Sal and Little Sue.

  “You need to ask?” Little Sue winked.

  I jotted her regular down on my pad and turned to Sal. “Gunna branch out and pick something different off the menu?” I teased.

  “You know me, Harry.” Sal threaded her fingers into Sue's waiting hand on the table. “Always up for trying something new.”

  I laughed, “Francois’ Jambalaya it is then.” I made a note on the pad but I probably could have just written S&S. H would have known what to plate up.

  “How many days left until you leave Goldryn Bois?” Little Sue took a pack of cigarettes and placed them on the table. She asked me the same question every day. My answer never changed.

  “Not long, I hope.” The veneer that I built up around me was cracking as I considered the biker's kind faces. I excused myself with a sedated smile as I as I put my coffee jug back on the warmer.

  My phone vibrated again and I gestured to Mary that I needed to use the bathroom. I pulled out my smartphone and checked the incoming messages after slipping into the stall and locking the door behind me. My own face was reflected in the cracked screen. The glowing green text of my messages made my stomach sink.

  Your mama just walked into The Steel Trap. Just a head's up.

  The Steel Trap was a bar on the other side of town. It was the kind of place with bullet holes in the side from days gone by, and the kind of carpet that tried to claim your sandals with its sticky texture. The derelict hut backed into the edge of the swamp, and was surrounded by a chicken wire fence to stop the drunk’s from falling into the water and getting eaten by Gators. Hence the name.

  My shift at Judy's didn’t end for another hour. I could not afford to lose the money. I would have to stay until the end. Lucky for me, my shift ended at 3pm; this meant I wouldn’t be hanging around after dark. Which was all too common for me.

  I would have to get a water taxi around the edge of town to the Trap but it was better than the walkthrough to Main Street after being on my feet all day.

  How much trouble could mama get into in an hour? I thought.

  I had been dealing with her for years. I should have known better.

  My feet ached and my skull burnt from my too tight ponytail as I hung up my apron in the staff room at Judy's.

  Mary, on the register, handed me an envelope with my full name scrawled across the front in Sharpie. Harriet, but most people called me Harry.

  It was better than 'Gilly the Drunk's kid.’ Ever since I had started working at Judy's about five years previously, people associated me with the gingham apron. I was sad to say that it was an improvement from the filthy kid, with holey shoes that always used to be hungry. Judy, the owner, always made sure I had a slice of cherry pie or a serving of François' Jambalaya if I decided that I didn’t care about the heartburn the next day.

  I count my cash while standing under the alcove at the back of the diner. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to pay the rent for the week on the trailer, the electric and then enough to do the shopping. I thought about the lonely mustard bottle in the fridge door with a pang of sadness. I'd been living on condiment sandwiches for the past three days, refusing to touch my savings.

  “You’ll have some delicious friends soon.” I promised the mustard bottle with a laugh as I pocketed my pay. My phone vibrated again and I scrambled to pull it out.

  Gilly's wasted. Bentley's going to kick her out.

  I silently thanked Tabitha, my high school friend and a bartender at the Trap for her updates, even if they made me want to tear my hair out.

  The roar of a boat engine snapped me back from my imaginings of a condiment based reality. I watched as Markus toddled past on his hover boat. I shouldn’t have, but I was in a panic so I extended my arms and jumped up and down to get his attention.

  Markus was a driver for the Gold Family. The namesake of Goldryn Bois. I guessed that the old man was heading back from dropping off one of the Gold boys down the way. Markus occasionally popped into the diner on Thursdays. Mary made key lime on Thursdays.

  “What can I do you for, Ms Thompson?” Markus smiled and the corner of his eyes crinkled.

  “I'm so sorry to ask, but could you give me a ride to the Trap?” I asked, placing my hands in a prayer position.

  Markus' expression sobered. “You don’t want to be hanging around with that sort, Harry.”

  “It’s my mama.” I explained on a whisper.

  Markus' face melted in what looked like pity and he gestured for me to climb into the free seat. The ride was quick, but it would have taken over 45 minutes to walk it. I tried to give him some money for his trouble, but Markus refused.

  Stepping in front of the Steel Trap, I swore that I spent more time pulling my mama out of the decaying bar than she did drinking there.

  Beanie was at the door as the bouncer for the evening. The bulge inside his painted-on trousers meant he was clearly packing a firearm. Beanie waved me through. He didn’t bother to ask for cover charge or ID.
>
  The Steel Trap was smoky, and it smelt of stale piss. The stark notes of some jaunty Elvis tune were made hauntingly depressing by the dark atmosphere. The mahogany tables were covered in rings, the ghost of beers of the past. The liquor behind the counter was a combo of cheap whiskey and Donovan's moonshine. The bottles were so dusty that the favourites were clearly marked with fingerprints.

  Tabitha was wiping down the bar on the other side of the room. Every so often she shot Mama a look of concern and then eyed the clock. Mama Gilly's bleached head, with a three-inch dark root on her crown, was draped over the bar. Her forehead rested against the sticky wood. I would have thought that she was sleeping, if not for the shuddering that moved her shoulders. Mama was crying, but that wasn’t new.

  Pulling on the strength I needed, I forced my emotions to the backseat and let my muscle memory take over. I shot Tabby a look of thanks and a small smile as I tapped my Mama on the shoulder.

  “Mama, it's time to go.” I whispered, slamming a twenty on the bar to settle her tab. I prayed to God that it would be enough, because I didn’t have much more to spare. The utilities rattled off in my mind, and I eyed the crinkled cash with a pang of sadness and a hot flash of anger that I quickly buried so that I could focus on the task at hand.

  Mama grunted but it tapered off to a whimper. I shook her shoulder gently.

  “Mama. It’s time to go.”

  “Fuck off, Harry. You fucking stuck up piece of shit.” She muttered to herself. Her eyes were glassy as she pushed herself away from the bar.

  I was used to it. Mama staggered, unable to stay upright. I dipped down and tugged her emaciated arm over my shoulders to support her weight. She was thinner than she'd been last week, even though my fridge kept coming up suspiciously empty when Mama was left alone in the trailer.

  I carried her onto the street. The afternoon sun was low in the sky and the midges hovered in clouds at the water’s edge. I navigated the gate as if it was second nature. Beanie waved as I began to the task of manoeuvring Mama back to the trailer off Dooley Road. It was about a ten-minute walk, which turned into an hour by the addition of a drunken koala attached to my body.

  My feet throbbed and I was tired. I'd been at the diner since the early hours of the morning and my vision was fading with tiredness.

  “Why do you always gotta ruin my fun, Harry?” Mama snapped. “I wanted a fucking drink. I just wanted one fucking drink.” Her words were slurs and grunts but I spoke fluent Gilly.

  Mama pushed away from me, but then tripped over her feet. Her fingers grabbed at me like a newborn baby seeking a bottle. I ignored her. Locking away my emotions. I fucking hated the person Mama had become. She stumbled onto the sofa with a huff and managed to ferret a bottle of Jack from between the frayed sofa cushions.

  The thing was, I had no idea when or why Mama changed. I just knew that she wasn’t always a drunk. But it was getting harder and harder to remember those days.

  “Harriet Thompson, you get your sweet ass over here and give me some sugar.” Miles Gimbole was harmless, in a happily married way. His wife Ottalie gave him a placating smile as she pushed his wheelchair back behind the counter.

  “You need to tell him off,” Ottalie waggled her finger, her Creole accent was thick. “It just encourages him.”

  “You’re his wife.” I laughed as the Cajun woman battered me with her dusting cloth.

  “What can I do for you?” O eyed the crumpled list in my hands and I pulled it out to survey it. Even without looking, I knew what Mama wanted from the Piggly Wiggly. It wasn’t rocket science.

  I placed the list on the table, “One bottle of Jack, Ma’am, and a bag of potatoes if you haven’t sold out.”

  Ottalie turned and walked into the back of the store. Her hips swayed and I knew it was for the benefit of her husband.

  “How’s Gilly doing these days, Harry?” Miles asked, his tone was light but he cradled his fingers in front of him in concern.

  “Gilly’s fine.” I smiled brightly and waved my hand as if it wasn’t important. “Now, tell me all about what your foxy wife is baking for the High Summer Fair next week.”

  Miles shrugged with a cheeky smile. “What makes you think I know?”

  I brandished my finger like a club. “Don’t think I don’t know your game, Mr Taste Tester.”

  Ottalie returned from the back and planted a kiss on his wrinkled cheek. “Don’t be giving my secrets out, Cher.” She handed two brown bags over the counter, one with a bottle of Liquor. The other full of potatoes. The only thing I could afford that was going to keep me full enough to get to working.

  I brushed my unruly dark hair over my cheek, and hoped to God that Ottalie hadn’t seen past my dollar store foundation to the glowing bruise underneath.

  Courtesy of Mama. She hadn’t been best pleased that I come to drag her sorry ass home, even though it happened more regularly than I’d like.

  I tucked my sack of potatoes under my arm and left before the Gimboles could ask any questions that I didn’t want to face

  Leaving the air-conditioned walls of the Piggly Wiggly and walking into the Louisiana heat on Main was like being slapped in the face with a wet flannel that had come straight from Satan's bathwater.

  I didn’t get two steps before I was greeted by the tapping foot of one of my best friends, Miss Rina Langley.

  “Slinking around again, Harry?” Rina quirked a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

  “Wouldn’t want you to be seen with a peasant, Miss Rina.” I stuck out my tongue.

  Rina put her hands on her hips and popped to the side. She hated being called Miss Rina. Being the only daughter of the Langley's, the only family rich enough to give the Gold’s a run for their money, Rina was an honest to goodness Heiress.

  “You wouldn’t be a peasant if you took my money, ho.” Rina darted forward, short and spry like a pixie, and grabbed the brown paper bag from my hands. “You wouldn’t be buying booze for your good for nothin' Mama? Would you? Harriet Thompson.”

  I shrugged and kept walking. Rina's little legs took two steps for every single one of mine.

  “When are you working next?” She asked, reaching into her pocket and taking out a strawberry’s and cream Chupa Chup lolly. It was an addiction.

  “Those things'll rot your teeth.” I growled.

  “I got enough money to fix 'em. Plus, they’re sugar-free.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Money waster.”

  “Speaking of money wasting, are you coming to the Goldryn Bois Masquerade on Friday?”

  “My invite must have gotten lost.” I drawled sarcastically. We reached a green bench on Main Street and I took an opportunity to take a load off. My feet were still killing me. I'd picked up a pair of nearly new shoes at the local Goodwill and they rubbed like hell. The soles had fallen off my old chucks and when I’d seen the golden high-tops, I’d fallen in love. They were worth the blisters.

  “To answer your question, I’m working on Friday.” I replied, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand.

  Rina took a seat beside me and swung her legs. “No, you're not.” She sang.

  I blinked slowly. “What did you do, Rina? I can’t lose that job.”

  “Judy loves you. I asked nicely and she gave you the night off.”

  “I need that money, Rina.”

  Rina fiddled with her hands in front of her. She looked guilty for a brief second before her chirpy mask slipped back in place. “I’ll pay for your time. Whatever you would have made at the diner. I can’t do it alone, Harry. Daddy wants to set me up with someone. He’s talking about marriage.” She hissed the last word like a cuss.

  “You need me to run interference?” I wouldn’t take her money and I mentally tallied up how I could make it work.

  “Better than marrying someone that Daddy picks for me. He’s blind to assholes, I swear. Do you remember Devon?”

  Oh boy did I remember Devon. “Did his eyebrows grow back?”

  “I have no idea.�
�� Rina smiled cheekily.

  “I wouldn’t want to get on your bad side.” I shuddered.

  “What do you say?” she nudged me. “Be my plus one? You’ll have a dress. A mask. It'll be great.”

  “The mask is a bonus. At least your Daddy won’t fret about the trailer trash getting in.”

  “Fake name on the guest list. Bada-bing, bada-boom.” She said in a low, terrible, fake Italian accent.

  “What did you go for this time? Please not Lina Rangley? Swapping your initials isn’t creative, Rina, it’s lazy.” I could ignore my smarting cheek and smile for the first time all day. Rina had that effect on people.

  “Pepper Potts.” She said, wringing her hands. “Okay! Not my best work, but I’d just watched Iron Man and Robert Downey Junior just gets me so... Twirled.”

  “Twirled?”

  “Like when someone spins you around and all those cartoon birdies pop up. Twirled.”

  I crooked a brow but did not refute her logic.

  “Maybe I can find a nice gay guy to marry.” She mused. “I’d be a great beard.”

  I shook my head, getting whiplash from her abrupt conversation change. “First world problems, Rina. Reginald Langley cannot walk you up the aisle against your will.”

  “He’ll try.” She sighed.

  “Where did my Rina go?” I poked her shoulder. “It’s not like you fret about things that ain't happened yet.”

  “And you. You're walking around a cross between a wet hen and a wet cat. What's twisting you up in knots?”

  I lifted my fringe from my face and showed Rina the seam of my foundation. I was fairly certain that the heat had all but washed it away.

  I waited for Rina to make a joke. Say something witty and charming. But she didn’t. She opened her arms and wrapped them around me, stroking my hair. She was trembling.

  “There I was talking about the stupid ball, when you're walking around with a bruise the size of St Ann’s Parish on the side of your face.” Rina's voice was watery.