Blue-Collar Bad Boys Next Door: The Full Eight-Book Collection

by Mazzy King

  Finally, a couple of Port City PD cruisers pull up and four cops jump out. Darby meets them right away and leads them over to Curtis. Then he beckons me over.

  “I’ll go with you,” Harlowe says firmly, and together we walk over.

  I recount to one of the officers what happened as Curtis is being loaded into the back of one of the cars. I explain my history with him in humiliating detail for everyone to hear. They verify my protection order. And now, because he’s violated it, he’s going to go to jail.

  “And what about when he gets out?” Harlowe demands. “What good is a piece of paper going to do her then?”

  “I can’t answer that,” the officer says quietly.

  As Damien finishes up with Darby and the cops, and then he, Darby, and my dad talk quietly among themselves, Harlowe leads me a few steps away, her arms still around me.

  “You’re shaking,” she whispers.

  I can’t speak.

  “Come live with me and Darby,” she says, pulling me close. “We’ll keep you safe. I will keep you safe. That piece of shit is never going to see you again.”

  I just tremble harder.

  “That’s Nancy’s ex,” someone whispers a few feet away.

  There’s a sigh from someone else. “I really thought she’d gotten her life together.”

  “She loves trouble. Always has.”

  “I don’t know how Liz deals with it,” another whispering voice chimes in. “One daughter’s got the perfect life, the other one’s a wreck.”

  Suddenly, I stop shaking.

  Blazing hot anger rips through me, and I step out of the protection of my big sister’s arms. Whirling to face the small crowd, I note my aunts, a couple of cousins, and some distant relatives whose names I don’t even know. They’re all staring at me like I’m an alien from Mars.

  “I hear you whispering,” I say in a loud, clear voice. “I hear you judging me. And that’s fine. You go right ahead. But I want you to know one thing—you don’t know the first thing about me or what I’ve been through. You have no idea what my life is like now. Or what it’s not like. All any of you give a shit about is appearances and how things reflect on the family.”

  The whispering aunts look at one another. And to my surprise, my mother says nothing, just watches me carefully.

  “I agree with you that Harlowe’s always had her shit together,” I continue. “And she’s always had my back. She’s always been willing to come to my rescue when I need her, no questions asked. No judgment passed. And I’m sorry for ruining your first morning as a married couple, Darby, Harlowe.”

  “Don’t you ever apologize to me,” she says fiercely.

  “Nancy, it’s fine,” Darby adds.

  I turn back to my wide-eyed crowd. “I want to be really clear with all of you. You might be blood-related to me, but you’re not my family. What happens in my life, good or bad, is none of your concern. In fact, all of you need to learn to mind your own fucking business.”

  There’s a collective gasp.

  Curling my lip, I do a little curtsy, then whirl around. “Harlowe, I need to go.”

  “It’s fine,” she says quickly. “We’ll drive you.”

  “I drove myself,” I say, taking her hands. “I’m okay to drive. I swear.”

  My mother steps forward, ignoring the outraged chatter of her sisters and sisters-in-law. Her eyes are locked onto mine, and then…she pulls me into a hug.

  “I’m sorry,” she says into my hair. “I’m sorry for not being there for you like I should. For putting too much pressure on you. Nancy, I love you.”

  My mother’s house was the first place I went after Harlowe picked me up from that club a year ago. I lived with her and my dad for a few months, but I could never quite open up to my mom about all the things that happened with me and Curtis. The pain was too fresh. It was too confusing. And I was too afraid of what she’d think of me for putting up with it for so long. What I told the cops is the first time anyone has heard the true ins and outs of what happened. And I can tell my mom is devastated.

  We have a lot to work through, she and I, but this is a good first step.

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  My dad hugs me tight, and then my new brother-in-law. Everyone seems to sense how much I just want to be left alone, and I love my immediate family enough to have a sit down with them and talk about everything. They deserve that, and I need it.

  But that can happen later.

  Damien and I walk to my car in silence. He seems to be waiting for me to speak first. When I reach my car, my knees wobble and I almost fall.

  He catches me instantly.

  “Let me drive, okay?” he says softly. “We’ll come back for your car. Okay?”

  I nod.

  He leads me over to his truck and lifts me inside. Then he climbs behind the wheel and reaches for my hand.

  “Nancy, are you all right?”

  I look over at him and feel a rush of emotion cut through my sudden daze. A warm, blazing trail.

  “I love you,” I say.

  The words come out clear, strong, and sure. Exactly how I feel.

  He blinks, and then a slow smile spreads across his face. “I love you,” he replies, running his thumb along my cheekbone. “You’re the bravest person I know.”

  “Says the Marine.”

  “I’d know.” He takes a deep breath. “What do you need? What can I give you?”

  I rack my brain. There is something I need. Something that can, for the moment, settle the tumult inside me. Bring me some peace, some solace.

  “I need…” I start slowly.

  “Yes?”

  “A large pepperoni and pineapple pizza,” I finish. “And we’re going to eat it on the couch while we watch a Lord of the Rings marathon. That’s what I need.”

  His eyebrows lift slightly, but he bobs his head. “At once, milady.”

  I squeeze his hand. “And I need you too.”

  “Oh,” he says with a half grin, leaning toward me. His lips brush mine. “That’s a given. I’m here for you always, no matter what.”

  “Because I’m yours?” I tease.

  “Yes. And because I’m yours.”

  Epilogue

  Damien

  Six months later

  “What a day,” Nancy sighs as I finish loading the last of the baby shower decorations and leftover cake in the truck.

  “You sound happy-tired,” I comment, tugging her close for a kiss.

  “I definitely am,” she says, then smiles over at where Harlowe is greeting Darby with a hug, her baby bump between them. “It’s hard to believe that in a couple short months, there’s going to be a little baby girl bouncing around.”

  “And she’s going to have an awesome auntie,” I say, nudging her with my elbow.

  She grins up at me. “You think so? I’ve done a lot of fucking up in my life.”

  “That’s what gives you credibility,” I tell her. “You’re going to be the safe place little Faye can go for judgment-free advice. Really wise, judgment-free advice.”

  Nancy’s smile turns wistful, and I know she’s somewhere, sixteen years into the future. “Yeah. I’ll be one of her safe places.”

  I kiss her temple. “Shall we?”

  Liz Monroe, Nancy’s mom, invited us over for dinner following the shower, just the immediate family. Since the wedding, we’ve all gotten much, much closer. And Nancy and Liz have been working very hard on their relationship and spend a lot of time together. They’ve grown so much closer, and I quickly realized how much that mother-daughter bond means to Nancy, how much she was missing it. How much she needs it.

  “We shall.” Nancy pats her belly. “I ate enough cake and treats today to fill me up for a week, but I can never say no to my mom’s lasagna. Did you boys have fun today?”

  The guys—Darby, his dad, the girls’ dad, me, and a bunch of our guy friends—had the male equivalent of a baby shower. “Diapers and Drafts” was held at Darby’s fa
vorite local watering hole, and we all brought him tons of diapers and had quite a few brews while playing pool and darts.

  “It was fun,” I tell her. “But I’m glad to be back with you. I always miss you when we’re apart.”

  She rolls her eyes, but blushes. I chuckle. I love that I can make her blush so easily.

  “You guys have some good boy talk?” she teases.

  I think about the “boy talk” I had with her father. “Yep. Very good boy talk.”

  When we reach the Monroe household, dusk has fallen, but we can just make out Nancy’s parents, Harlowe, and Darby all lined up at the top of the driveway, smiling.

  “What a bunch of weirdos,” Nancy comments.

  I chuckle.

  We get out of the car and I follow her up the driveway.

  “What’re you guys doing?” she asks, bewildered.

  “Darby,” Liz hisses.

  There’s a click, and then golden lights fill the dimness.

  Nancy gasps.

  On the ground between them and us, tons of little electric tealight candles are arranged to spell out a very special question.

  Marry me?

  She whirls toward me, but I’m already on one knee behind her.

  “Damien,” she breathes.

  “From the second you came storming into my life that day at the museum, I knew you were the one for me,” I tell her. “And even though I was a little unsure of you at first since you claimed not to like pineapple pizza, when I won you over, my feelings were reinforced.”

  Nancy laughs through her tears, clapping a hand to her forehead.

  “I promised you then I’d always take care of you. And now I’m asking if you have any long-term, permanent openings for that position.”

  Tears roll down her face, but she bites her lip. “How long?”

  I pretend to think about it. “I was thinking, like, forever.”

  She bends down and kisses me tenderly. “I think you’ve got the right qualifications.”

  I take her hand and slip on the diamond ring I had made especially for her. Her family—our family—bursts into cheers and applause, and we do a huge group hug right there in the driveway.

  A little while later, before we go inside, Nancy pauses to take a picture of the candles, then smiles up at me. “Boy talk, huh?”

  I shrug. “I wanted to do it right. Do it just the way you deserve.”

  She slips into my arms, her head nestled under my chin like she was always meant to be there. “I never thought I’d have a moment like this. Never thought I deserved one. You’ve given me so much, Damien. I promise I’m going to spend my life making you a happy husband.”

  “I’m already happy,” I tell her. “Hell, I haven’t had a nightmare since the wedding. No—since the night we got pizza.”

  She lifts her head. “Really?”

  I nod, brushing the backs of my fingers down her cheek. “I think it’s time we left the nightmares behind us and start living our dreams—together.”

  Nancy leans up to kiss me. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  The End

  7 | DYLAN

  1

  Dylan Chambers

  “So where are you heading again, Mrs. O?”

  I flip open the circuit breaker door in her basement, searching for the one connected to the power in her kitchen.

  The elderly woman holds a flashlight in both hands, aimed at the box so I can see what I’m doing. “A bus tour. Well, more like a winery tour. And a bed-and-breakfast tour.”

  I chuckle. I’ve known Mrs. O since I was a kid. After my mother passed away six years ago, about ten years after my dad, I moved out of my apartment and into her old house. I grew up there and had some really special memories, and the thought of that happy house falling into the hands of strangers was more than I could handle. She was sick for a while, my mom, and she told me I could do whatever I wanted with the house. I think she thought I’d want to sell it, but instead, I spent a couple years restoring it, modernizing it, and have no intention of leaving.

  Mrs. Ortiz has been our neighbor for as long as I can remember and has become sort of like my own adoptive grandmother. When she turned eighty-five last year, though, her physical vigor started to wane, though she’s healthier than most people my own age. She was widowed five years ago, and I miss Mr. Ortiz like my own grandpa.

  It’s a little depressing to think of how much death I’ve been surrounded by for the past two decades.

  “You need me to swing by and check on things for you?”

  “Summer will be house-sitting for me.” Mrs. O clears her throat. “You can stop by and check on her.”

  I roll my eyes at the circuit breaker box, knowing if I did that to her face, she’d likely wallop me upside the head. “I’m sure Summer would prefer I didn’t.”

  Summer Ortiz is Mrs. O’s twenty-eight-year-old granddaughter, who I’ve also known for years. She’s several years younger than me and generally annoying. I haven’t seen her in some time—something about how she was traveling abroad in Europe.

  I mean, not that I’ve been looking for her or anything. And I only asked Mrs. O about her once—super casually, of course.

  “She’s not the little brat she used to be,” Mrs. O says frankly. “She’s grown up a lot. Her trip was good for her.”

  I can’t help chuckling again. Mrs. O is one of the bluntest people I know. She pulls no punches, and if she says something that rubs you the wrong way, she’ll just shrug and tell you to nut up.

  “She could use a good man in her life,” she adds slyly.

  “I’ll let you know if I see one.” I snap the breaker box closed. “Let’s see if your appliances have power now.”

  I help Mrs. O up the rickety wooden stairs from the basement to the linoleum-lined kitchen. My heart clenches a little—one day, I’ll lose her too. And then I’ll be alone.

  She shuffles over to the stove and pushes a couple of buttons. It beeps in response, and then the oven starts preheating.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” she says, putting her hands on her hips. “Now I can heat up my damn lasagna.” She points to a chair at the small kitchen table. “You’ll stay and eat.”

  It’s not a request. I sink into the chair. “Thanks, Mrs. O.”

  “You work too hard,” she chides, bustling between the fridge and the stove. “The only electrician who ever seems to be on call. Does your boss appreciate you like he should? I’ll give him a piece of my mind if you need me to.”

  I smile as she sets a bottle of beer in front of me. “No, thanks, Mrs. O. He treats me okay. We have several other electricians—I’ve just been there the longest.”

  “You’re the best one, you mean,” she retorts, and tosses lettuce and veggies in a bowl. Then she sets three places at the table.

  “Uh, Mrs. O,” I say. “There’s just two of us.”

  “I’m not some senile old bitty, Dylan,” she retorts. Then that sly smile returns as she glances at the clock. “I’m expecting someone.”

  My brows rush together. “May I ask who?”

  “Sure. You can ask.” Then she ignores me and butters thick slices of French bread to stick in the oven alongside the lasagna.

  Before I can press her further, the doorbell rings.

  “Be a dear,” Mrs. O says.

  I rise and walk to the door, full of suspicion. I open it and sigh.

  A stunningly beautiful woman who I know from personal experience is full of piss and vinegar lifts a dark brow at me, her brown eyes wary and full, dark pink lips pursed.

  “Hi, Summer.”

  2

  Summer Ortiz

  A familiar tall, dark drink of water sighs through his nose as he gazes down at me.

  Dylan Chambers, my grandmother’s neighbor, the first guy I ever kissed, the guy I lost my virginity to on my twenty-fourth birthday, and a general pain in my ass.

  The fact that he’s panty-meltingly hot with smooth, satiny milk-chocolate skin, round brown eyes
, and full lips I know for a fact are made specifically for sinful things—including talking—doesn’t mean anything. I have to remind myself of this, rather sternly. He’s tall but not lanky, built like a running back with well-developed muscles including big, sinewy arms and thighs thick with muscle.

  And he looks better than ever.

  It’s been about six months since I’ve last seen him, since I’ve been in Europe most of the year. But now I’m back, focusing on my graphic design business and taking care of Grandma. My parents are divorced and live on either side of the country now, but Port City will always be home to me.

  “What are you doing here?” I say.

  “It’s really good to see you too,” he retorts. “I fixed something for your grandma.”

  I step inside, my chest brushing his front as I step past him. “And you’re still here because?”

  “Look,” he hisses, leaning close. “I’m here because your grandmother asked me to be. If I’d know this would turn into a dinner party with you—”

  “Summer?” Grandma calls from the kitchen. “Is that you, hon?”

  “Yeah, Grandma,” I call back. Then I glare up at Dylan. “Let’s get one thing straight. If either one of us gets to be mad at the other, it’s me at you. You’re the one who stood me up the night before I left for Europe for six fucking months.”

  “Stood you up? That’s rich,” he replies in a harsh whisper. “I tell you I’m in love with you, and you hit me with some ‘thank you’ bullshit? Excuse me if I didn’t want to watch you party your way out of Port City.”

  “You caught me off guard!” I snap. “I’ve known you for years, and that’s the first time you tell me? Before I’m about to leave? What was I supposed to say?”

  “How about the truth?” His nostrils flare. “After everything we’ve shared, you mean to tell me you felt nothing? Nothing?”

  “Of course not, Dylan,” I reply. “I just… I just…” Was afraid.

  “I laid my heart on the line and you stomped on it,” he says with a shrug. “And that’s it.”