by A. J. Downey
“Deep breath,” I told her and got up off the kitchen stool. There were two at the counter and they’d been left with the house, so it wasn’t all bad. I mean, at least she had those to sit on at the counter to work or whatever for the time being.
I went to the basement door and called down, “Hey, boys, stop what you’re doing real quick and let’s give this lady a hand with her things.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that!” Cadence cried, sitting up straighter.
“Ah!” I put up a hand and waved her back down into her seat. “Stay in the truck, we’ve got this. Many hands make light work.” She looked taken aback, looking at the steering wheel of her SUV, like she was trying to figure out… truck? It was adorable.
My boys on today’s work crew came up from the basement along with Marc, who seemed to be an inquisitive kid, wanting to learn anything that was in front of him. A good quality if you asked me.
“We unloading the car and trailer?” Marc asked curiously and looked to his mom. She held hesitation on her face, and finally nodded.
“Where do you want us to put it?” Jerome asked. He was a good dude, unrelated to the club. I tried hard not to mix club business with my business when it came down to it. If the club got picked up on bogus or even very real charges, I couldn’t have the majority of my workforce going into lockup with me. Mace was the exception to the rule in that regard, but he’d really needed the work and I had been desperate for a reliable guy that I didn’t have to train from the ground up, so that shit had just worked out.
“It’s okay, Mom, I’ll show them,” Marc said helpfully. Cadence smiled at him and the tiredness radiated from her face.
“Thanks, honey,” she said to him quietly and let us handle it.
“Where do you want this stuff? The office?” Jerome asked as some of the other boys got the back of the U-Haul travel trailer open.
“Uh, you mean the little room inside the back door off the laundry?” Mark asked.
“Yeah.”
Marc shook his head. “That’s not gonna be the office. That’s supposed to be the guest room, Mom says.”
“Well, whatever, gotta know where’s it going.”
“The guest room like Marc described, for now. His mom’ll tell us if it goes somewhere else,” I said, and Marc nodded.
Jerome hefted two eighteen-gallon plastic totes and headed for the back door of the house with an indifferent shrug. I stood by while the guys took things out of the back of the trailer until Marc made a face as I went to grab a flat thing up against the side of the trailer wrapped in a tough blue moving blanket.
“We gotta be super careful with this,” Marc said, taking the other end.
“What is it and where is it going?” I asked.
“It’s Mom’s drafting table. She’s had it since college or whatever and it means a lot to her. She was super worried it was going to break or whatever if the movers took it and is pretty much the entire reason we even have the trailer.”
“Good to know,” I said, walking the table backwards under the carport toward the back door. “Your mom an artist or something?”
“Architect. She draws building plans and stuff.”
“Really?” I asked. I hadn’t expected that.
“Yeah, she’s really good at it. Won some awards and stuff for her designs.”
“No shit?” I asked.
“For real. Step up!” he warned, and I looked back over my shoulder and took the two steeply pitched steps up into the back of the house.
“Mom!” Marc yelled. “What room do you want your drafting table in?”
“I’m coming!” Cadence called and appeared at my back through the kitchen.
“Front bedroom, please. The one with the most windows and the better light.”
“Got it.” I nodded, and we carefully guided the table through the doorway to the kitchen and around the corner into the hallway.
“Uh, left or right?” Marc asked.
“Right,” his mother said decisively.
Past the bathrooms and into the front bedroom we went, Cadence letting out an audible sigh of relief when we set the table on its legs.
“My father bought me this table when I was nineteen,” she said.
“Oh yeah?” I asked casually, eager to listen to any sort of personal tidbits or information she was willing to impart.
“Yeah,” she said with a slightly sad but fond smile that made me wonder if her dad had passed.
“My dad died when I was twenty-three. Mom didn’t remarry until five or six years later to my stepdad, who she met in a widow’s and widower’s support group.”
“You don’t mind me asking, how’d he die?”
“Brain cancer,” she said, leaning way down to pick at the brown packing tape securing the blanket around the table.
“Here, let me,” I said and whipped my folding Karambit knife out of its holster on my belt by its loop. I whipped it open and around on my finger with practiced ease and Marc let out a “Whoa.” I kept my grin to myself as I slashed through the tape with the sharp tip and put it away.
“Thanks,” Cadence murmured with a wry smile.
“What is that?” Marc asked, all but vibrating with curiosity.
“It’s called a Karambit knife. Useful little tool if you learn to use it right.”
“Marc, help me a minute,” his mom said, and the kid was a good kid, stepping in and helping out without argument.
The table unfolded smoothly, and Cadence worked on twisting knobs underneath to tighten things up.
“Where do you want it?” Marc asked.
“Not sure yet, and I don’t have the rest of the things that go in here so let’s just leave it here for right now.”
“I’m going to get started on those locksets. You have any trouble with my guys, you just let me know. I’ll straighten ‘em out,” I said.
“Thank you,” Cadence murmured, her large green eyes flicking over me, coolly appraising, as though she were trying to decide about me. I smiled a bit ruefully and gave a nod, ducking back out the door and down the hallway, heading for the kitchen and where the knob and locks were waiting on me.
My guys made short work of the trailer and the back of Cadence’s SUV. By the time I was done with the front door, she and Marc were already sifting through their stuff, taking stock of what they had versus what they needed. She was meticulous, having found a notebook and pen somewhere in the midst of the chaos of her belongings, and was making a list quietly at the kitchen counter while Marc hauled what looked to be a tote of computer equipment upstairs followed by a television.
Kid had his priorities right, so it seemed.
“Mom, do you know when the internet is gonna be hooked up?” he asked.
“One thing at a time,” Cadence said with a heavy sigh. “What time is it? I can maybe call now.”
“Not even ten o’clock yet,” I supplied. Marc retreated up the stairs back to his room.
“Really?” she asked stretching. “It feels so much later than that.”
“I promise,” I said, testing the latch on the knob I’d just installed. “One down, three to go,” I said.
Cadence stared sightlessly in my general direction and chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Huh?” she asked and blinked as though coming awake.
“You look thoughtful. What’s on your mind?” I asked.
“I just have so much to do. I need to go shopping to make this place even semi-habitable until our stuff arrives.” She sighed heavily. “Air mattresses, shower curtains, towels… I have to return the trailer, too.”
“Go do what you have to do,” I told her. “We’re gonna be here a while yet.” I got up and went over to her and held out a set of the keys that’d come with the lockset. “If we’re here when you get back, cool. If not, I’ll lock up and you got keys so…”
She scraped her bottom lip between her teeth, and I felt my cock jump slightly in my
damn jeans. She was just so naturally sexy… fuck.
“Thanks,” she murmured judiciously and plucked the keys from my hand.
“No problem,” I said with a nod.
“Marc!” she called, and he came bounding down the stairs from his room.
“Yeah?”
“Come on, let’s go. We have things to do.”
“Okay,” he said and tossed his hair out of his eyes.
I watched them retreat out the back door, my eyes lingering appreciatively on the perfect curve of Ms. Mitchell’s ass.
I needed to draw some boundaries for myself and quick.
5
Cadence…
“Can I go to my room now?” Marc asked on our return to the house, all but vibrating with his need to set up his computer so he could go play with his friends. It was just about all he could talk about once he figured out that he could use his phone as a hotspot with our plan.
“Yes, go,” I said with a tired smile. “Thanks for all your help today,” I said.
My kid flashed me a grin and said, “No problem, Mom. Love you.”
“Love you, too, baby.” I murmured to the thunder of his sneakers against the tile of the kitchen and the hardwood of the dining room after that.
I sighed and closed the security door behind me, leaving the back door open for now with the pleasant spring afternoon outside.
The house needed fresh air, badly.
I set myself to the task of setting up both bathrooms for showers, etc. As far as I could tell, the house was empty until I heard a loud curse from behind the closed basement door. I went to it and opened it.
“Hello?” I called down the stairs.
“Yeah, I’m still here!” a grizzled male voice called back, clearly unhappy.
“Mr. Smith?” I asked.
“Yeah, it’s me!” he called up, then absently followed it with a “Goddamn it.”
I took a deep breath and went down the stairs into the musty unfinished basement.
“Everything alright?” I asked.
“Yeah, uh, just finishing up. I’ll get started on this support tomorrow if that’s okay with you.”
“Yeah, um, staying awfully late, aren’t you?” I asked, hugging myself. I was not a fan of basements. Never had been, never would be.
“Uh, yeah, well, you know… life of being the boss. First one in, last one out – always.”
“Oh, um, well… it’s not much, but I was just about to order Marc and I some dinner. Can you stay a little longer and have something to eat? Feels like the least I can do after you took the time out of your day to do all those locksets.”
He gave me a tired half-grin and a nod. “Thank you,” he said. “I’d like that. I’ll uh, be up in a sec. Just have a phone call I need to make.”
“Wife and kids at home?” I asked, steeling myself for the answer.
“No.” He laughed and shook his head. “Just letting a buddy of mine know I’m gonna grab some dinner before I meet up with him at the club.”
“Club?” I asked with a slow grin. “You don’t strike me as the country-club type, Mr. Smith.”
“Hey, none of that now. It’s Jared, or Glass or Glass Jaw,” he said.
“Glass Jaw?” I asked incredulously.
“Ah, yup. That’s my club’s name for me.” He laughed a bit nervously and said, “I belong to a motorcycle club.”
“Oh!” I cocked my head. I hadn’t even considered such a thing. “What’s that like?” I asked curiously.
“Busy,” he said and looked down at what he was measuring on a big old, what looked to be cast or wrought iron table, the thick slab of wood on its top scarred with years upon years of use as a workbench.
“Good Lord,” I said, going over to it and touching fingertips to its surface. “I wonder how they got this down here.”
“If I had to guess; I’d say it’s original. They built the damn house around it.”
“That’s crazy,” I muttered.
“Useful though. Hope you don’t mind we’ve been making use of it.”
“Not at all,” I said. “By all means.”
He grinned slightly and checked off measurements against a notepad he had on the table.
“So, what’s for dinner?” he asked.
I laughed slightly and said, “I have absolutely no idea. I was going to find something to order. Have any recommendations?”
We chatted briefly about dinner options, and I retreated upstairs to grab my phone. With a sigh, I pulled up local options from a food delivery service and I ordered for myself and called Marc down to put in his. By the time he was done pushing buttons and handing back my phone, Mr. Smi— I mean, Jared, was closing the basement door and looking it over critically.
“Here. I handed him my phone. He frowned, perusing the menu items and made his selections, handing back my phone. I put the order through, and he held out his hand.
“What?” I asked.
“Phone.” He waggled his fingers, gesturing I should pass it over. I handed it over, and he swiped and tapped his way through and across screens. His phone rang in his pocket, and I jumped. He tapped my phone and the shrill noise stopped. He handed back my phone.
“In case you need anything. I get the impression you don’t know anybody locally.”
“My parents,” I said softly.
“Oh, yeah? Where abouts are they located?”
I shifted slightly on my feet. “Gig Harbor,” I said. He nodded.
“I’m closer, by a lot. Something breaks or something – call me first, okay?”
I swallowed hard. “Okay.”
“You get yourself set?” he asked, looking behind himself at the floor of the laundry area just inside the back door. I sighed.
“Sort of.”
“See a couple air mattresses,” he said with slight disapproval.
“Best I can do,” I said softly. “At least until the movers get here.”
He nodded.
“What can I do to help while we wait for the food?”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I said with a smile, and he looked over at me.
“What can I do to help?” he asked again, and his tone said he wouldn’t hear of not doing anything at all.
“I got a folding table and a few folding chairs,” I said.
“Dining room?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
He nodded. “I’ve got it. Go ahead and get your room set up.”
“Thanks,” I murmured.
We went to work in separate rooms and made quick work of things. He leaned against the doorway of what would eventually be my bedroom as I unfolded the set of sheets I bought. Mine were with the movers, but when my bed got here, I would have another sheet set. I guess you couldn’t have too many of those.
“Here.” He held out a hand and helped me make the air mattress that had just finished filling.
I switched off the automatic pump and said, “Thanks.”
“You got blankets, I hope.”
I nodded. “I have a few. They’re in the guest room with the rest of the stuff.”
“I’ll go look.” He went out and I sighed. His presence was strange, but I would be lying if I said it wasn’t welcome. Even after… well, maybe especially after… I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head, banishing all thoughts of Ben back into the vault. That place in the dark recesses of your mind that you kept things you didn’t want to ever see the light of day again. The things that hurt so much, you didn’t think you would or could survive them, let alone survive them again.
I heard his approaching footsteps, and he came around the corner and up the hallway back to my room, clutching some folded blankets.
“Yes, those are it, thank you,” I said and halfway through making the bed the rest of the way, a knock fell at the front door.
“I’ve got it,” he said and went to gather the food. I finished up, stuffing pillows into their cases and flopping them down at the head of the mattress, straightening and
sighing at the few totes marked ‘mom’s clothes’ and ‘mom’s shoes’ in Marc’s scrawling teenaged-hurried printing.
I gave myself a moment to breathe, collecting myself, and standing firm against the rising tide of panic and ‘what have I done?’ before I went out into the hall and around into the dining room. I stopped at the doorway and opened it, calling up into Marc’s room at the top of the stairs there, “Marc! Come down for dinner please!”
“Okay!” he called back, and I smiled to myself. No matter what, I loved that kid. Had and would always love my son more than life itself. Everything I did from here on out, I did with him in mind.
“He’s a good kid,” Jared remarked casually, unpacking two grocery takeout bags, and setting the containers of Chinese out on the six-foot folding table I’d bought. I figured, if anything, it could go out in the outdoor storage by the carport out back when my regular table came. I had no idea what use it might be in the future, but for now, it was a lifesaver.
“You drink?” Jared asked.
“What?” I asked.
“Do you drink?” he asked, and I nodded dumbly. It was out of left field a bit.
“Got a preference? Beer, wine cooler?” he asked.
“Um, I usually drink a Hefeweizen if it’s beer at all,” I said. He gave a nod.
“I think we’ve both earned it after a day like today. I’ll be right back, just going to run to the gas station around the corner.”
“Oh, okay,” I said.
“Don’t wait, dish up and have something to eat.”
I nodded and he went out the front door. A moment later, I heard a motorcycle roar to life, the rumble of its engine fading as it pulled down the street. Marc bounded down the stairs behind me a second later.
“Alright! This stuff looks good!” he declared enthusiastically.
“Yeah, well, make sure there’s enough left of everything for Jared. I know you and your hollow leg,” I declared.
“I’m a growing boy!” he said with some protest, and I laughed.
“That you are,” I agreed.