by Marie Harte
As Cash pulled onto the cracked driveway of his mother’s house—his house now—he wondered how much it was worth, located as it was in West Woodland. The woman had lived in it for more than forty years until she’d needed assistance with the day to day, unable to care for herself. With no friends, her husband deceased, and her sons away in the Marine Corps, she’d checked herself into a care facility where she’d lived until just recently.
From what Cash and Reid knew, their Aunt Jane had visited her a few times over the years, though the women, sisters-in-law, weren’t close. In addition to seeing her boys once a month the past two years, Angela had apparently possessed one friend, a mystery woman who’d helped her take care of legal matters. Something they’d only recently found out when their mother died.
From the lawyer’s reading of the will, they’d learned their mother had given some money away to charity, the rest to pay her bills, and a small bit to take care of her property. But the majority of her “wealth” lay in the real estate Cash, not Reid, now owned.
He knew it had shaken his brother to be cut off so unexpectedly, especially because Angela had always seemed to favor her younger son. She’d been distant but affectionate…when she knew who he was. Reid had truly loved the woman no matter what. A good son, Cash thought. Not like the older loser with attitude.
With Cash, Angela had been there and not there. Never mean but cruel all the same in her neglect.
He knew his younger self must have done something to push her over the edge. Because try as he might, he couldn’t dismiss the reality that he was the loser his father had always accused him of being. He just liked to pretend to the world, and himself, that he could be so much more.
Since Angela’s funeral, he’d only been by once to test the keys, but he hadn’t been able to stomach being in the home that held so many bad memories. He knew he needed to clear the place out. Maybe then he and Reid could turn the house around and sell it for a profit.
If not for the fact an old Marine Corps buddy was renting them their current house for cheap, things might have been tough. Instead, they lived comfortably. Although…now with Angela’s place paid off and the title theirs, they had another option—to move in and live rent free.
Cash stared at the cracked front door and felt like an idiot for procrastinating. He let himself into the house he dreaded entering.
It smelled musty. Old. Dust and cobwebs had accumulated. He opened windows and the back door to let in some fresh air.
A glance around showed worn furniture, ugly wood paneling, faded green walls, and a tacky, rose-floral wallpaper that used to mesmerize him as a kid. Cash would sit in the corner and count the mini pink roses on lime-green vines that ran up and down the walls while being punished for one infraction or another. Truth be told, he’d preferred the silent treatment of the corner to his father’s verbal assaults. Only once had his father left major bruises, when Cash had been in high school. But before that, the threat of a slap or punch to the gut had scared him all the same.
He studied the tears in the wallpaper and the listing framed posters of old movies and soap opera stars and cringed. Cash, who had little in the way of taste, knew the house needed help. A few coats of paint, new flooring, some decluttering, and it just might be livable.
As he toured through the place, he found Angela’s bedroom as it had been back when he’d left more than a decade ago, chockful of VCR tapes, two old TVs—the kind with the cathode-ray tubes, making them super bulky—and rows upon rows of books, tchotchkes, and creepy dolls. Not the collectible kind but the one-plastic-eye-is-half-open kind.
With his parents deceased, the house felt both empty and tainted by the haunting notes of apathy. The shadow of neglect continued to cling to the present, a testament that as much as he tried, he hadn’t yet outrun the past.
He continued through the hallway beyond his mother’s bedroom. To his surprise, Reid’s room retained his stamp, filled with trophies, old jerseys, and clear containers of his old toys. As if his brother had never left. Yet a door down, Cash’s room had been wiped clean of his presence and stuffed full of Angela’s fantasy life in fictional media—piled high with more books, videotapes, and boxes.
A pang of anger then grief filled him, having been erased from this house filled with bitter memories. Then he drew a deep breath and let it out. Time instead to focus on the present and, hopefully, the future.
He headed to the garage and found a bunch of cardboard boxes and a roll of heavy-duty trash bags. The garage itself remained, to his surprise, fairly empty except for an expected buildup of dust and dirt.
He returned to his old room and started packing. Because that room still belonged to him, deep down, and he reserved the right to do whatever the hell he wanted in his room.
“Hell. Day or night, I’m on the job,” he mused. But this time he missed having a partner. If he’d had his choice, he’d have chosen the mouthy ex-Army soldier to help him pack. Jordan had a gift for making things fit. Her nimble hands tucked away treasures into containers with both respect and skill. That, and she made him laugh with that sarcastic sense of humor that always lightened his mood.
She’d have made this chore easier. And harder because being near her caused his heart to race for no good reason. She distracted him with that light floral scent that caused other parts of him to get as excited.
He sighed, knowing his life had to pale in comparison to hers. No doubt she was hanging with a bunch of friends or sharing a meal with her family while he packed away his dead mother’s most prized possessions.
Well, at least one of them would enjoy some peace before the workday began again in the morning.
* * *
Jordan glared at her younger brother, wishing her parents had done a little more to stick it out and help their youngest child instead of giving up at the first sign of trouble. Okay, not exactly fair. Rafi had been a major pain for months, but still. Maria and Carl Younger had a tendency to give up when the going got tough. Though she loved her mother and stepfather, sometimes she didn’t like them very much. And her sister… Jordan refused to think about Leanne at the moment, sure her head would explode if she did.
She glared at the sulky teenager, glad the handsome punk hadn’t yet gotten in trouble with girls. At this point, she could barely handle bad grades and an attitude, let alone the scare of teen pregnancy. “Really, Rafi? An F? You’re so much smarter than that!”
Her fifteen-year-old brother shrugged. “Simpson is a dick who doesn’t care if we learn or not.”
“The comments on your quiz show you didn’t do your homework to prepare. How is that him not caring?”
Rafi glared. “What the hell do you know about it? You’re not there.”
“No, because I’m a grown woman who did her time in school already,” she said slowly, praying she could manage to keep her hands from encircling his skinny neck.
Like Jordan, Rafi took after their mother, dark-haired and with a skin tone that always looked tan. When Jordan and Leanne’s father had died twenty years before, their mother had remarried a lovely man in Carl Younger. Carl, like Jordan and Leanne’s father, had Norwegian ancestry. Carl and Leanne looked more alike than the rest of them. Which might have accounted for the reason her parents treated Leanne as if she could do no wrong and Jordan and Rafi like problem children.
Jordan had been a typical teenager. Not a troublemaker, not really. But not exactly agreeable either. Jordan liked to ask questions, to disagree, to argue with things that didn’t make sense. So did Rafi. But her idiot brother took it a step further. He’d been hanging with a few boys of questionable reputation, getting in trouble at school, and not doing his work.
After blowing up a toilet in the boys’ bathroom months ago, he’d been suspended from school for a week. His grades, already teetering below average, had plummeted. By the end of the school year, he hadn’t managed to bring up his
grades. Hence his stint in summer school to hopefully make up for his poor performance in his sophomore year. It was either that or the military academy her parents had researched. While Jordan thought the military might help her brother, she thought it should be his choice, not a mandate.
Thus she’d stepped in (because Princess Leanne certainly hadn’t). “Look, Rafi. You know the score. You either do well this summer at school or you go to that military academy. Mom and Dad aren’t playing.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “I’m trying to help you, sweetie.”
He glared, but she saw a suspicious shine in his eyes. “Yeah? Because I heard you on the phone. Oh sure, I know how much you’re helping. How much you don’t want me here!”
“That’s not true.” Well, it wasn’t true when he acted like the baby brother who’d once hugged and kissed his bigger sister. This hormonal, angry teenager she didn’t know anymore. “I was arguing with Mom about you because you need more help than I can give you.” And more money, but her parents weren’t budging on that. If she wanted to help her brother, it was all on her, financially and emotionally, because they wanted him to get outside help, away from those who might “coddle him.” After only four weeks, she’d felt the strain. “I love you, Rafi, but—”
“Rafael. Not Rafi,” he corrected.
She took a deep breath and refused to be baited into a fight. “Rafael. Sorry. I love you and want what’s best for you. You don’t see it now because summer school sucks and you just want to party all day.”
He scoffed. “Party? Yeah, right. I just want to do what I’m good at.”
“Your art? You refused to take lessons.” Her brother had real artistic talent. Ever since he’d been little, he’d been able to recreate any image with a pencil and paper. His portraits were on par with those she’d seen in art exhibits, but when she tried to guide him toward embracing his talents, he shrugged them off as a silly hobby.
“Not that.” He snorted. “That’s just for fun.”
She groaned. “Not that stupid video game.”
“It’s not stupid. People make money live-streaming! My friend Daniel said he makes serious cash doing it.”
“Oh, right. Daniel, the kid who lives in a regular house in Fremont? The kid who does nothing but play video games all day long when his sister isn’t nagging him to stop? Even you said he was a hopeless nerd with no social skills.”
He flushed. “Well, yeah, but he’s making bank.” At her raised brow, he amended, “Well, he knows people who make bank. Besides, I don’t need a diploma to get a job.”
“Rafi, you’re smart. You know as well as I do that the majority of online gamers make nothing. We aren’t rich. You don’t have millionaire parents who are going to buy you a gaming system or a Porsche or pay for you to go to Stanford when the time comes.”
“Daniel doesn’t have any of that. And Stanford is a nerd school,” he muttered.
“Those nerds get high-paying jobs. Hello? Dad went to Stanford.”
“Um, Dad’s a nerd.”
“An employed, financially comfortable nerd,” she fumed. Idiot.
“Hate to break it to you, Jordan. But we aren’t rich.”
She clenched her fists. “That’s not the point—and what I just said! You have to work for what you earn in this life. I did. Mom did. Carl did. Leanne…” She paused. Bad example, which he quickly pointed out.
“Ha! Leanne does shit and gets whatever she wants.”
Sadly, that was true. “Watch your language.” She paused to regroup. “Leanne graduated high school and college with honors. No one gave her those grades.” Actually, her old PE teacher might have fudged a few because Leanne had been “sick” for a lot of those gym classes back in the day. “She has a great job and independence because—”
“Mom and Dad love her best,” he said quietly. “Yeah, I know. They’re always comparing us both to her. Just because she’s blond and pretty and has a rich fiancé, they think she shits rainbows.”
“Rafi!” She had to bite her lip to keep from agreeing because the kid was spot-on.
“It’s not fair. I try. I hate math! I hate science. It’s confusing. I just want to do other stuff, but they harp on everything I do that’s wrong.”
“They wouldn’t bug you about school if you weren’t getting in trouble so much, and you know it.” She noticed he didn’t argue that point. Her brother might be a pain in the ass, but he had intelligence and a smart sense of humor. Heck, he’d been reading at a college level since the sixth grade. If she could get him through this rough patch, she knew he’d turn out all right. She prayed… “Come on, Rafi—Rafael,” she corrected herself before he could. “Isn’t the tutoring making things easier?”
Another reason she had to work so hard. Tutoring didn’t come cheap.
He didn’t answer, but he seemed to be listening.
“Look. Get through summer school. You have to. I’m your last hope, buddy.” She drew him in for a hug. At first he resisted, but when she kissed his cheek, he relented, sagging in her arms. It continued to surprise her that her “little” brother now stood a few inches taller than her five-six frame. “I loved the military, but it’s not for everyone. If you want to do it, it should be on your terms. But honey, if you don’t get through summer school, what happens to you is out of my hands.”
He stiffened and pulled back, still holding tears at bay in dark eyes so like hers. Such a handsome young man. Smart yet rebellious. God, she wanted to shake him and hug him and protect him all at once.
“If they try sending me, I’ll run away.”
“Rafi, stop.”
“It’s Rafael,” he said, swore, then stormed out of the tiny apartment.
Jordan felt awful, failing with her brother yet again. Tempted as she was to call her parents or her older sister, she knew they’d simply tell her to let him pass or fail on his own. To an extent, she agreed. But adolescents rarely made good choices if left to their own devices.
She wished Rafi had a better role model than Carl. Bless him, but Carl could out-stubborn a mule. He’d made up his mind about this tough love approach to parenting Rafi and refused to change it.
Which for some reason made her think of Cash Griffith. Cash would hold his ground under heavy artillery for sure. But unlike Carl, he at least had the sense to back off; she’d seen it. When dealing with Reid, Cash often argued, listened to Reid make sense, and at some point became reasonable. Or at least his version of reasonable. From the stories she’d heard Reid tell, Cash had been much less than an angelic youth.
Maybe Cash could help her with Rafi. She’d thought of asking him, but pride kept her from reaching out. That and the remembrance that she’d been burned before by trusting those she shouldn’t have. She’d learned that lesson the hard way. Ten years in the Army down the drain.
She scowled as she made her way into the kitchen, only to see Rafi had left an empty milk carton in the fridge and the bread and jars of peanut butter and jelly open on the counter. And near those was a crumpled-up printout of a science quiz with a D at the top of it. She crunched it tight and tossed it into the trash can.
Damn it all, she hadn’t planned on getting out of the service only to babysit her brother. But if Jordan didn’t help him, no one would. Her parents had given her the same ultimatum years ago, but she’d at least gotten herself through high school before enduring threats of reform school. Joining the military had been a decision she’d never regretted. She hadn’t been ready for college or living on her own back then. In the Army, she’d matured under the watchful eye of Big Brother.
Given health care, an allowance for quarters and food in addition to her paycheck, and structure, she’d been taken care of by a much sterner parent in the guise of her drill instructors and NCOs. She’d worked her ass off to earn her stripes, and she’d been proud of her commitment to duty and honor. Until it had ended, showing he
r a side of the command she’d wished to God she could unsee.
But Jordan refused to allow that situation to poison her against the military. What had happened to her best friend there could happen to anyone in the civilian sector as well. Dicks were dicks the world over.
Problem was she’d also seen the unhappiness that came from being forced into a lifestyle not of one’s choosing, met plenty of guys who hadn’t joined the service because they’d wanted to but because they’d had to for one reason or another.
To save her brother from a potentially damaging future, she’d do whatever she could.
And if it took sucking up to Cash Griffith to further that end, she’d play nice. She’d heard a way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Cash seemed to eat a lot. Maybe she could make him dinner? Or if not, there had to be something she could bargain the sexy jerk with in return for some guy guidance, right?
And kisses are off the table.
Sad she had to keep telling herself that.
Chapter 3
Working with Smith had its moments, Jordan thought. Thursday afternoon, after they finished moving a woman from Queen Anne to Kirkland, which had taken all day thanks to traffic and a mother of a haul, Jordan sat with the taciturn man as he drove them back to the office.
“You don’t talk much.” She studied him.
He looked a lot like Cash. Had she not known better, she’d have thought them related. Big, strong, and obnoxious when he did deign to speak, he resembled Cash in mannerisms too. Probably why she got along with him so well.
Hector and his twin, Lafayette, didn’t mind him, but they got along with everyone. Heidi didn’t seem to care for him, nor did the others. But Jordan thought of Smith as a surly younger Cash, and to her befuddlement, he made her feel safe, like one of the guys. Finley liked to flirt, and she knew had she given him the slightest encouragement, he’d have been after her for a date. Hector had given off a playful vibe as well, and she knew he’d welcome a chance to get to know her better. As much as she genuinely liked him, she didn’t feel anything but friendship toward him.