by C. D. Gill
“This has been a project car for one or two of Golden’s car fanatics who like to tinker but don’t have the garage space. I keep it here in exchange for landscaping work. And, on occasion, they come fiddle with it. He runs fine once you get him started. The spark plugs got changed last weekend so it should be a clean start.”
Xander took the red-and-white wheel from her hands and leaned into the car to check the placement. “I don’t suppose it came with a manual of any kind, did it?”
Gia shrugged as a spark of amusement lit her brown eyes. “I didn’t buy it. If there is one, I don’t have it. I’d bet you could find it online, though. There’s probably a how-to video for fixing it.”
*****
The next morning, Xander rolled out of the driveway at 7:43 and into the parking lot of Lakewood Credit Union seventeen minutes later. He emptied his bank account of the two hundred and fifty-three dollars and twelve cents in six devastating minutes. Desperation tidalwaved into him as he enclosed himself in the borrowed vehicle. Dropping his forehead against the steering wheel, he massaged his temples. His welcome at Gia’s was bound to run out in a couple of days.
What came next? Begging?
He drove his fist into the seat beside him. There had to be an end to this misery. Years of life wasted in a prison, clinging to the barest thread of hope that he could start fresh and put this behind him yet three days outside the walls and he had little to show for his freedom. He had no family supporting him, no work, very little money, and an expiration date on sleeping indoors.
Twisting the key, all his aggression bunched in his shoulders. He yanked the car into gear, took two deep breaths, and guided Chachi toward Lakewood’s reintegration office. The receptionist said Officer Fivelson would be right with him.
“Alexander Reinerman.”
Xander lifted his chin and assessed the guy standing in the doorway holding a folder. He had tan skin, an athletic build, and a great poker face. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Rising to his feet, Xander followed Fivelson down a yellow hallway with pictures of flowers spaced evenly on the wall. Was the government so broke that they forced their reintegration officers to share a building with Lakewood’s Garden Society?
Fivelson stepped into an office on the left and motioned Xander to a seat. Xander picked the chair that provided him a good view of the door and Fivelson. With punishing keystrokes, Fivelson logged into his computer. A crack split the silence. Fivelson muttered a curse and picked up his keyboard sheepishly.
“Third one in a month.” A heavy sigh accompanied his admission. “Excuse me.” He disappeared into the hallway. A woman appeared in his place.
“Alexander Reinerman?”
Xander stood. “Yes.”
“Andrea Harbinger.” She reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t place her. She tilted her head of mousy brown hair as she stuck out her hand. Her smile was as tentative as her handshake was firm. “Do you remember me from high school?”
That question should feature on the “Top Ten List of Worst Questions.” There hadn’t been a Harbinger in his class, had there? One glance at her left hand assured him this was a trap. It’d been eleven years since high school, and she’d changed her name.
When Xander didn’t respond, her smile faltered. “Andrea Reed. We sat next to each other in pretty much every class.” A chuckle escaped her throat. “You used to do the best impression of our math teacher Mr. Cornwall when he was mad and ripped pages out of the dictionary.” She snorted as she slapped a hand over her mouth.
“Ah, good old Mr. Cornwall.” It all came back to him in a rush. He leaned forward, narrowed his eyes, and rasped, “‘Back in my day, when Lady Liberty was still a young girl, before the Dead Sea was even sick, a person could be trusted when they gave their word.’”
He couldn’t help but smile when she laughed and slapped her thigh. It was the same laugh he’d coaxed out of her when they’d caught White-Out Boy getting his afternoon high in Physics. “That’s exactly like him.”
“I do remember you, Andrea. You look really good.” Unrecognizable with the way her appearance changed over the years. Her outfit was plain, but it didn’t drown her slim figure like her floral dresses from high school had. Those years felt like another lifetime.
A blush crept into her cheeks. “Thanks. So do you. A lot changes in over a decade, huh?” She motioned to the room they were in.
The brief serenity vanished beneath the chaos of reality. With practiced ease, he brushed aside the guilt accompanying her words. “What brings you here?”
“Mrs. Harbinger is the resident staff psychologist,” Fivelson said as he strode into the room with a keyboard box tucked under his arm. Andrea settled into the chair near the door, blocking him in the corner. He already regretted his seat choice.
Xander nodded. “Well, I relish the chance to hear Mrs. Harbinger’s professional assessment of my risk to the community.”
Andrea flashed a hesitant smile and gripped her notepad. “It’s only protocol.”
Protocol—the government’s catch-phrase to excuse invasive behavior. In this case, he was glad it was Andrea and not someone else.
Fivelson leaned his chair back with a creak, at ease in his own domain. “How have things been since your release, Alexander?”
The typical positive response stuck in his throat. They’d see through it and likely count it against him. He would have pretended five years ago, but not anymore. “I have a place to live and am seeking employment. I can’t say a giant soiree welcomed me back to society, but I don’t lack the basic necessities of life. And I do not take that for granted.”
His meeting carried on for an hour as Fivelson drilled and lectured him about every detail of life. Each additional topic Fivelson addressed shot a gaping hole into Xander’s tattered ego. No one believed his innocence so he might as well accept the branding that came with his felonies. Poor Andrea had to hear every sordid detail of his pathetic life.
When Fivelson finally shut up, Xander strode from the office. The front desk armed him with employment-seeking and housing tips written by a government unwilling to be the solution as well as a myriad of other pamphlets drawn up for those deemed socially inept. They were probably written by people who had probably never seen the inside of a prison cell except on television. Well-intentioned government workers like—
“Alex, wait.” Andrea’s call carried down the quiet hallway.
The pressure in his chest wouldn’t stay suppressed much longer. Xander waited by the glass front door and then guided her outside. “I go by Xander now.”
She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and ducked her head in apology. “Xander, I read your case file. As your friend and a professional psychologist, I don’t think you did what they said you did. You have none of the typical tells.”
“Thank you for your reassurance, Doctor.” He stepped towards the car.
“Your parents. Xander, have you seen them yet?”
Another probing question from an irrelevant person hastened his explosion. Control. “You know the answer to that, Andrea. Are you checking to see if I’m a pathological liar, too? Is that a tell?”
She flinched but moved closer, talking to him in the parking lot like they had as high schoolers after their last class. “My kids go to preschool at Meineke Academy. I know your parents haven’t taken any of this well. The school psychologist and I go out to lunch occasionally and discuss our more difficult cases off record. They refused to share any of their struggles with her.”
“My parents are worried about appearances like always. Does that merit therapy?”
“No, but shutting everyone out and hiding from the world does. They’ve been recluses since your mom’s mental breakdown three months after your trial.”
Mom had a mental breakdown? She was the strong one, convinced of his innocence. She’d barely batted an eyelash over his charges and trial. No wonder Dad had been maintaining radio silence. He probably blamed Xander for Mom�
�s health.
Andrea slipped her card into his hand. “Please give me a call, Xander. I’d love to help any way I can. I mean that. Whether it’s a place to stay, discussing what you went through, or helping you find a job—I’ve been doing this long enough to know the obstacles you’re facing.”
Touched by her offer, Xander reached out to her shoulder but pulled his hand back to his side. “I appreciate it.”
He escaped to the car before she could respond. Maybe if he could help Mom, his family would welcome him back before the hole in his heart got any bigger.
Chapter 4
GC Architecture decorated the gilded enveloped in large calligraphy where it rested in the sunlight on Gia’s passenger seat. It would go perfectly with a brown frame hung above her computer at work—proof that she could make her way in the competitive world of architecture, after all.
She’d done it.
She’d finally won a government bid. This one was to design ten new houses for international refugee families. Thus far, her projects had been relatively small. But now that she had snagged the senator’s attention, jobs would start flooding in. This elation—this was what Uncle Angelo meant when he’d guaranteed she’d get a rush from selling her architectural talents.
Excitement hummed through her body as she drove home, ready to celebrate her victory. As she pulled onto her street, a shirtless Xander sprinting toward her house made her do a double-take. The sun glinted off his flushed skin as his chest heaved. His forehead creased into a deep scowl. He’d been pushing himself hard for some time.
At the house, she puttered around her kitchen trying to pretend she couldn’t smell his fresh air workout aroma as he gulped down a couple glasses of ice water. Sweat soaked the t-shirt he’d thrown on before coming in. His good manners might convince her that he was trustworthy. Trust wasn’t something she could afford yet. She longed to share her news since he was the nearest human, but his mood didn’t invite it. Not to mention, they were still practically strangers.
Instead, she called her cousin Joey. He would understand how her heart rocketed into the stratosphere at the sight of the acceptance letter. Uncle Angelo left his son Joey the corporate architecture side of his business when he’d died and she’d inherited the nonprofit side.
For the first time in years, Gia was starting to see what Uncle Angelo had envisioned for her someday. She’d begun to think she was doomed to following her parents into corporate life as an import-export executive. And the thought of staying awake through a thousand informational meetings a week with endless columns of statistics to analyze made her cringe. The creativity of architecture appealed to her far more than corporate jargon, much to her parents’ chagrin.
While the phone rang in her ear, she grabbed the television remote and found the viewing guide. She plopped the remote in front of Xander. “Feel free to watch whatever you’d like. I’ll make dinner in a little bit.”
With a nod, Xander picked up his water and strolled into the living room as Joey answered.
“Gia-dove, you must be desperate for someone to talk to if you’re calling me in the middle of the week.” Joey’s low voice had Gia grinning into the phone like a fool.
“I finally got a government contract, Joe-Joe.” She couldn’t keep the squeal from her voice as she spoke in Portuguese to keep Xander from listening. “All those small-time projects in my portfolio are finally paying off. I got the senator’s personal approval letter this afternoon.”
Joey chuckled. “It’s not exactly staying ‘off the radar’, but I think it’s about time you moved on. The fear of Bronc can’t control you forever.”
“I thought of that.” She sighed. “The contract is practically a flashing billboard, but hopefully by now he’s moved past his obsession with me.”
“Only one way to find out and you’re headed straight for it. I’m proud of you, G. Dad would be, too.” Joey meant it as a compliment, but Gia’s heart took a hit at the mention of his dad. “Rebuilding takes time. You’ve done your due diligence. Now you can reap the benefits.”
She pasted a smile back on her face. “Thanks, Joey. I thought you might understand, although you’re operating these days on scales I can only dream of.”
“I’ve had a massive learning curve the last three years, but thankfully lots of help. You did this all on your own. You’re a Carter. You land on your feet whether you mean to or not.”
Gia laughed, eyeing Xander’s still form parked on her couch. “Listen, I have a wild party to throw for myself this evening so I’m going to get it started. We’ll talk more later.”
“You bet.” Joey paused. “Gia, I do think Bronc has moved on. Your dad seems to think so, too. Time to start letting yourself live a little.”
His words stuck with her the next day as she dabbed a hint of feminine charm on her neck and wrists. Did she even remember what life had been like before she fell prey to Bronc’s abuse? Daddy had warned her away from him, but by then her desperate need to please Bronc had made her an easy target for his manipulation.
That was her past, no matter how regrettable.
Today, her mission for good included some flirting and most likely the promise of a date to the man who ran the mechanic shop she entered quietly. She sneaked down the hall, adjusted her jewelry, and checked the zipper on her slim-fitting black trousers before stepping into the doorway. If she looked like she was trying too hard, it was too late now.
“Hey, Grant. You busy?”
The handsome blond laid aside his papers and reclined in his ergonomic chair, a giant grin stretching across his face. His gaze scanned all the way to her red heels before making eye contact once more. Confidence surged through her. She’d get what she came for.
“You know how to steal a man’s breath, don’t you? Such a refreshing sight for a Thursday.”
“And you, Mr. Charming, always know exactly what to say.” With a wink, she sauntered into his office and seated herself across from him. “Your shop looks full. Staying busy?”
“Of course. No end to reckless drivers or people who can’t do their own car maintenance.” He paused. “Before you ask me whatever favor you came for, tell me—are you busy Saturday night?”
Gia bit the inside of her lip. It was shameful how much she loved the song and dance they both knew by heart. He gave off the vibe that he loved it, too. He’d do whatever she asked, and in return, she’d spend an evening laughing at his ridiculous stories. They’d end on her doorstep with a chaste kiss goodnight and a promise to go out again. And they would—whenever she asked another favor.
Grant was the perfect gentleman with an effortless personality that kept girls entertained, and then had them begging to be the wife he went home to at night. He’d wanted Gia as his girlfriend months ago, saying as much on three of their dates, but she hadn’t been convinced the timing was right.
“Grant, I will be free the next two Saturday evenings if you can help me.”
“You have my complete attention.” Grant leaned his elbows on his desk with his head tilted to the side. His eyes were a fierce, Caribbean blue. Such a rare shade. “What challenge will win me two evenings in your delightful company?”
She smoothed her fingers through her straightened hair. His gaze tracked her movements, enjoying the process. “Well, I’d love to know if there are any odd jobs available around town.”
The chair moaned as he shifted his weight. “The kind you usually ask for—the no-references, no-questions-asked type jobs?” At her widening smile, he sighed. “You’d think we were harboring crime lords in Golden with as many times as you’ve asked me that question.”
Gia reached over and grabbed his hands. “Grant, this is why you are such a great guy. You get it.”
His fingers intertwined with hers. “Gia, I own an auto body shop. Not a job placement agency.”
“But Grant—”
“Yes, I know, darling. I’m a ‘pillar of the community’ to whom everyone trusts their deepest, darkest secrets whil
e they wait thirty minutes for their oil change.” Grant’s lips brushed Gia’s palm. “I will ask around. Will your latest rescue at least show up wearing all his clothes?”
“Guaranteed.”
Grant’s eyebrows flicked up. “You seem confident about that despite the debacle last time. That’s a good start. Since this is a two-date series, I have conditions about our dates.”
Gia edged forward in her seat. “Oh? Intriguing. My rule still stands.”
“No houses, but I choose where we go. And no doubles with Lucy.” His face scrunched. “Or anyone else, for that matter.”
She should give him more of a chance. He was a really good guy. “Completely agreed.”
A satisfied grin softened his features. He rolled his chair away from his desk and pushed to his feet. “Now, let me get back to work so I can fund my hobby of placing society’s deadbeats in positions where they can earn money to support the bad habits that got them there in the first place.”
“Not deadbeats, Grant. Everyone has potential.” Right, Uncle Angelo?
“Sorry, the less fortunate.” Grant didn’t seem a bit apologetic.
Gia kissed his cheek and didn’t miss the fire that lit his eyes as she stepped away. His hands furtively touched her waist, inhibiting her quick exit. “What’s so important about this one that’d you’d offer two dates instead of one?”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Mr. Harrington. You’re one heck of a good time.” Grant tilted his head. She twisted free and waved as she escaped into the hall.
She’d retreated halfway down the hall when he called, “What does that mean?”
She peeked over her shoulder. Grant leaned against his door frame with his muscled arms folded, a look of appreciation following her progress.
Gia laughed. “Call me when you hear of something.”
In the five-minute drive to her office, Grant texted her twice and Lucy once. Gia smiled and dropped her phone into her purse. They could wait. She left the car running and cracked open the office door. Inside, Xander slumped over the keyboard with a pencil tucked behind his ear.