Hold It Close (MacAteer Brothers Book 3)

by ML Nystrom

  Also by ML Nystrom

  DRAGON RUNNERS MC

  Mute

  Stud

  Blue

  Table

  Brick

  MACATEER BROTHERS

  Run With It

  Ready For It

  Hold It Close

  Risk It All

  Give It To Me

  Hold It Close

  ML Nystrom

  Hot Tree Publishing

  Hold It Close © 2021 by ML Nystrom

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any written, electronic, recorded, or photocopied format without the express permission from the author or publisher as allowed under the terms and conditions with which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  Hold It Close is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places found therein are either from the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons alive or dead, actual events, locations, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  For information, contact the publisher, Hot Tree Publishing.

  www.hottreepublishing.com

  Editing: Hot Tree Editing

  Cover Designer: BookSmith Design

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-922359-60-5

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-922359-61-2

  Blurb

  A man recovering from a toxic relationship and slowly healing. A woman recovering from a divorce and seeking a new life. When their worlds collide, will Garrett and Bertie finally heal and find their happily ever after?

  Garrett MacAteer has rejoined his family and is trying to rebuild his life after escaping a toxic relationship that has left him scarred, vulnerable, and with nothing more than the clothes on his back and the strength of his hands.

  After Bertie Shore's marriage descends into an unfulfilling placeholder in her life, she takes a big leap and finds a new direction and leaves to pursue her lifelong ambition of owning a bed-and-breakfast inn.

  Neither is looking for a connection, but one night they find it. Can they survive the challenges they face long enough to accept new love, take it, and hold it close?

  This book is to anyone who has dealt with heartbreak. I hope you find your happy ending.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Irish Gaelic translation

  Other Books by ML Nystrom

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  More Authors to Check Out

  One

  I rolled over and blinked myself awake. No need for an alarm anymore, as my body was used to these early mornings—not that I needed to wake for the daily grind of work. I’d left my job and career in the banking industry to become the sole owner and manager of a quaint little country inn in the mountains of North Carolina. Some people told me it was stupid to leave a lucrative money-making career and take a chance on something so different. My ex-husband attempted to explain to me why it was a terrible idea. I heard his words and understood his concern, but his opinion didn’t count since our divorce.

  I stretched my arms over my head, and my spine aligned itself with an audible snap-crackle-pop. My thirty-sixth birthday sat just around the corner, and even though I didn’t consider myself old, I did have the need to take better care of myself. Investment banking was a great career, and I was good at it, but the toll it took on my body and my marriage had driven me to the point I needed to make a change, or more like make an escape, before I became another statistic. George Barnum, another banker and my mentor, had dropped dead of a heart attack. He had lived on a daily diet of cigarettes and coffee and consumed antacids by the handfuls as he sat in front of his computer screens. He was always the first one in the building and the last one to leave. I saw him wear the same clothes several days in a row and suspected he stayed in his office overnight a few times when markets were running hot. One afternoon, he bellowed out of his door for his assistant to go on a Starbucks run, and when she came back, he was slumped over his desk. Gone. He was only forty-five.

  That sent me a wake-up call about my own life. I either stress ate or didn’t eat at all. I spent more time at the office than at home. My husband and I were more roommates than a couple. Holidays and vacations rarely happened, and when they did, at least one Skype conference took place. My stomach started rebelling regularly with choking reflux. I kept an economy-size bottle of Tums and liquid Maalox in my desk, my car, and my nightstand. Nicotine stained my fingers, and Red Bull became my drink of choice. After George died, I saw the way my life mirrored his. Unless I changed something, I might very well be the next statistic.

  A year later, I found myself divorced and the proud owner of an old farmhouse property just outside of Asheville, North Carolina. I’d quit smoking and discovered the joys of having a full eight hours of sleep at night.

  “Alexa, play Styx, ‘Paradise Theater.’”

  “‘Paradise Theater’ by Styx on Amazon Music,” my trusty little speaker announced.

  My bladder couldn’t wait. I slid out of bed and padded on the balls of my feet to avoid as much cold floor as possible. The toilet seat was cold too, and I finished my business quickly. The heat came from a small oil furnace and was spotty at best. My little cottage sat behind the main building, and the plumbing worked well enough for the time being. Sometime soon, everything would need updating, but for now, I put my time, money, and effort into making my new business venture successful. This meant repairing, designing, installing, and furnishing the old farmhouse I bought into a thriving bed-and-breakfast. My ex and I had owned a high-end condo in Charlotte, with another one at the Outer Banks where we kept our boat. He bought me out of all the property, and I downsized to this small one-bedroom cottage with slow drains and outdated fixtures. I felt I got the better deal.

  “Alexa, what’s the weather today?”

  “Today’s forecast will be snow flurries with a high of thirty degrees and a low of seventeen degrees.”

  “Thank you.”

  I giggled. Manners were drilled into me a long time ago by my mother and grandmother. Some people said it was weird to thank a virtual personal assistant that came in the form of a three-inch electric hockey puck. I guess old habits die hard.

  It was Christmas morning, and I planned to head out a little later to my sister and brother-in-law’s place in the mountain city to spend the day with them and their two children. Maybe we would go sledding or build a snowman if there was enough of the white stuff on the ground.

  Then it hit me. Snow!

  I forgot about the cold and rushed to stand on my small covered front porch. Flurries? Really?

  Large fluffy flakes drifted down, thick and steady. This was way more than flurries. Already, a wh
ite blanket covered the ground and glowed with the orange and gold breaking sunrise. The tall pine trees of the surrounding forest sported tips of white, and I could see a few growing icicles hanging from the roof overhang. I made a mental note to take some pics to upload on the website later.

  I couldn’t help the smile that crossed my face. A year ago, I was in an unfulfilling job. A year ago, I was in an empty marriage. A year ago, I was a shell of a person, existing but not living and on the verge of spiraling into depression.

  How different to now be marveling at Mother Nature’s holiday decorations and making my dream happen.

  I took a deep breath of the crisp air. It burned painfully in my lungs before I let it out in a long cloud of white steam. I put up a couple of strings of lights on the porch and a few decorations on the fireplace mantle, but I didn’t have a Christmas tree. Next year I’d have one and I’d fold a bunch of paper origami ornaments to put on it. Today, I had presents for the kids and a place to go. All in all, it was a good day and a better life.

  I was happy.

  Garrett woke up when the bed jolted from the weight that flopped down next to him. Even in his groggy state, he recognized Joy had finally come home. He picked up his phone and glanced at the time. 6:00 a.m. She’d been out all night. Again.

  “Shuddup and leave me alone. Don’ say nuttin’ to me.” Her muffled words indicated she spent the night somewhere getting drunk. Again.

  Garrett clicked on the light and looked at his fiancée. She had managed to strip off her clothes before landing on the bed. The stained tank top she wore did nothing to hide the love bites on her neck and breasts. Her dark hair sat on the pillow in a tangled mess and the remnants of her makeup was smeared across her face. She winced and rolled over, giving him a view of the bumps on her spine. She’d been with another man. Again.

  “Turn tha’ fuckin’ lamp off.”

  “Where’ve you been?”

  “None of yer bizzness. Ah need to crash.”

  “Joy, we’re supposed to be at my uncle’s place at ten.”

  “Ah ain’ goin’ nowhere. Shud the fuck up.”

  “It’s Christmas morning.”

  He was met with rattling snores.

  This hour of the morning was usual for him to be up and ready to start a workday; however, the previous night, he’d spent wondering and worrying about Joy’s whereabouts. Yesterday, on Christmas Eve, he ended up working a plumbing job across town. Joy got pissed he was leaving her for a few hours. He could have refused the job, but they needed the money too badly, and he could charge extra for both emergency and holiday pay. He got back to their house well before dinnertime and found it empty. Again.

  Garrett sighed and got out of the bed. Joy had set the heat at a toasty eighty-five degrees, and he turned it back down to seventy, risking her wrath later that day. She liked the house to be hot so she could walk around in her underwear and not be cold. He didn’t have a problem with her exhibitionism. The issue was the sky-high electric bill it took to keep the house at her favorite temperature. They’d argued more than once about it. He’d asked her to put on a sweatshirt and pants instead of jacking up the thermostat. She ignored him and did what she wanted.

  He walked into the kitchen, his phone still in his hand, and flipped on the coffee maker. Joy had bought top-of-the-line everything for their kitchen. He admitted he liked having the nice items, but he’d rather have them used than hanging around and taking up space. A layer of dust sat on a full set of Calphalon pots and pans that hung from the iron rack above the island. A Cuisinart stand mixer and rotisserie oven sat atop the polished granite counter. Garrett had never seen either get turned on. Other kitchen gadgets sat around the large cooking area that seldom saw any action. Joy used them as decoration, whereas he saw them as wasted money.

  He sighed as the machine gurgled its goodness into a steel carafe. He’d nearly choked when he saw the bill for that one. Over a thousand dollars! This one at least got used on a daily basis, but he wasn’t convinced this machine made a better cup of coffee than a thirty dollar one from Walmart.

  As he sipped the dark, bitter brew, his phone dinged an alert. He swiped it open to see a text from his bank to tell him his checking account was overdrawn. Again. Pain bloomed in his right temple, and his gut churned with dread.

  He leaned on his elbows and opened the chain of texts from last night.

  Garrett: On the way home. The leak wasn’t serious. Just a minor break in the icemaker hose to the refrigerator. All fixed in a half hour. Want me to pick up some food?

  Garrett: Joy?

  Joy: Sorry, baby. I’m still mad at you. I’m out with some friends. Be home later.

  Garrett: I’m sorry you’re mad at me, but I had to take this job. Three hundred bucks for thirty minutes’ work is something I can’t turn down right now.

  Joy: I guess so, but I’m still mad about it.

  Garrett: Where are you?

  Garrett: Joy?

  Joy: Im out.

  Garrett: Where? I’ll come join you.

  Garrett: Joy, where are you?

  Joy: Your so cute!!!

  Joy: O love you so much, babey!!!

  She sent a series of heart emojis and GIFs, one right after another. Her deteriorating grammar told him she was drinking heavily. She worked as a high school English teacher and did proofreading on the side. When she was drunk, all the rules flew out the window, and her words and sentences got creative.

  Joy: Id like to eat you right up. You meen so much too me!

  Garrett: I love you too, sweetheart. Where are you? I’ll come get you.

  Joy: why did you leav me a lone? I in that house all buy myself.

  Three sad faces appeared on the next line. Then three angry ones.

  Joy: Your so mean to me. HOw could you leave m alon on chrismas EVE.?

  Joy: You a pice of shit!

  Joy: I hate you!

  Garrett: Are you at Tommy’s bar? I’m on my way.

  Joy: Fuck you!!!

  Garrett hadn’t found her at her favorite watering hole. Tommy had handed him her car keys and told him she had been there.

  “That girl has some serious volume after a few drinks.” The rotund man had pulled him a beer and wiped the already clean bar top. “I took her keys when she wasn’t looking and planned to call you when I got a chance, but I didn’t see her leave.” His eyes had dropped and his round face with them. “I didn’t see who she left with either.”

  Garrett had taken a few sips from the frothy gift, but he had no desire for the stuff. “Thanks, Tommy. I appreciate you looking out for her.”

  He’d palmed the set of keys with the flashing butterfly and pocketed them on his way out, pausing long enough on the sidewalk to send one more text.

  Garrett: Joy, please tell me where you are. I’m worried.

  Nothing until she came home this morning, reeking of alcohol, sweat, and another man.

  Again.

  Garrett’s face dropped to his palms, and he asked himself for the 433rd time: Why did he stay with this woman? Her constant seesawing between love and derision made his head spin. She promised not to drink anymore or at least not to get drunk, and that promise flew out the window when she set foot in her favorite bar. He wasn’t the type of man who expected his wife, or future wife as it were, to cook every night and keep the house clean every day, however, he’d yet to see her start the vacuum, mop the floor, or light a burner. He did his best around the house, but he had to take every stinking job that paid anything to keep up with expenses. That meant doing odd handyman jobs for people after his regular and overtime hours at the building site. When she did laundry, she only washed her own clothes and got mad when he asked her to put a few things of his in with hers. He put her name on his bank accounts, and she freely spent his money, but he had no idea what she did with her own.

  He knew he’d been bleeding a lot of green but had not taken the time to stop the flow. The numbers on the screen stared at him until they blurred.
An alert icon flashed overdrawn by nearly two thousand.

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, where did my money go?

  Yeah, he did know. The recent parade of Amazon boxes on his front step told him that Joy had spent a wad of money online. He looked at the top-of-the-line kitchen gadgets. And she did it right under his nose.

  He opened another account to check his credit card spending. He had a business credit card to use for expenses only so he could keep track of expenditures for the accountant. He scrolled down to see the latest purchases this past week. In between buying lumber, saw blades, plumbing supplies, and the like, he saw other purchases that had nothing to do with his handyman trade. Three pairs of shoes at twelve hundred dollars each. A series of purchases at a bunch of different mall clothing stores. Names like Dior, Gucci, Chanel, Dolce and Gabbana leapt out along with prices that made his eyes grow wide. Christ, what made a handbag worth nearly four thousand? And did Joy really need a three-thousand-dollar dress to teach high school sophomores about the Oxford comma?

  “Champagne taste on a beer budget” would be the phrase his sister-in-law used. Beverly had to be the most practical and steadfast woman he’d ever met. His older brother, Connor, met her when he moved to the mountains to set up a custom furniture business. They started as neighbors and became lovers. Connor spent most of his life caring for and keeping the MacAteer family construction business together until he burned out from it. Now he had four stepchildren, each with a unique personality, and a devoted wife and partner. Owen, Garrett’s fraternal twin, had moved to that city to help with Connor’s enormous workload and ended up with Melanie, the woman he’d been dreaming about ever since he met her. Garrett was happy for both of them and wished like hell he had that with Joy.