Demolished

by Cathryn Fox

  I pray to fucking God he didn’t suffer too much, that his life passed quickly and he didn’t have time to think about his dick-ass sons who’d abandoned the Owens homestead the first chance they could. I lean forward and drop my head onto his desk. In the balled-up letter still stuffed in my back pocket, Nellie wrote that the heart attack was quick and painless, but I call bullshit. My guess is she only said that for my benefit. She always was one to protect her grandsons, especially when the old man was tearing us a new one. We never could live up to the expectations he had of us.

  As betrayal eats at me, rakes my insides raw and leaves me bleeding, the office door opens. I straighten, half expecting it to be Dad, storming in to yell at me for lying down on the job. My gaze meets eyes identical to mine and I jump from my seat.

  “Look what the fucking cat dragged in.”

  Tyler, my tough-ass baby brother, gives me a once-over. The devil’s grin spreads across his pretty boy face—his innocence long gone. Much like the rest of us. “You’re one to talk.”

  I circle the desk and step up to him. He might be the baby of the family, but he has a few inches on me. I grab his chin, turn his head from left to right. “What happened to that pretty face of yours?” I ask, rattling his cage.

  “Got prettier,” he says, jerking from my hold.

  I smirk. “You must be punch-drunk, little brother. Looks to me like someone’s mistaken your face for a punching bag.”

  “Don’t be so jealous that I got all the looks in the family, bro.”

  I throw my arms around him and drag him to me. “I’m glad you’re home.” We hug and it feels good. Actually it feels like a long fucking time coming. “Missed you, kid.”

  He fists my shirt. “Don’t be going and getting all sentimental on me,” he says, even though he’s holding me to him instead of pushing me way. “Or I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

  I inch back, and he pins me with a scowl, but I don’t miss the moisture in his eyes. He sniffs and tries to hide it. My heart seizes as reality hits. I’d left Tyler, too. Jesus fucking Christ. I’d climb straight into hell for this kid, no questions asked, but I’d been so goddamn selfish, out for my own pleasures, and to prove some bullshit worthiness to the world—my father—that it hadn’t occurred to me that when I turned my back on Dad, I walked away from a fourteen-year-old boy who needed his big brother. I’d set an example, which is probably why he left first chance, too. Jesus, we’ve all been through so much, it’s been away too long. It’s time I do right by this family. I owe them that much and I never want to let my father down again.

  I make a fist and nudge his chin. “If I didn’t have so much to do, I’d meet you in the ring, and prove I’m still your big brother.”

  He laughs, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “We don’t have rings where I fight, brother.” He looks past me, takes stock of the office, and the air grows heavier as silence beats down on us. His eyes meet mine again, and he swallows. His way of fighting off the rawness? Probably.

  “When’s the funeral?” he asks, addressing the big elephant in the room, one that’s taking up space. Hollowing us out inside.

  I walk back to Dad’s desk and plunk down into his old chair. I can almost feel him in the room, looking at us with disgrace for abandoning the family, the business. But fuck man, he was a hard-ass son of a bitch. Unbearable. Intolerable. Set in his ways, and a motherfucking nightmare to work with.

  I miss him so fucking much.

  All I ever wanted was his approval, for him to just once tell me I was doing a good job—that he was proud of me. I suspect the same of Tyler, and every other Owens offspring. I grab a pen and tap it against the file on the desk. “He’s been cremated. Those were his wishes. We’ll bury him next to Mom at the cemetery as soon as everyone gets back.”

  He plunks himself down into the hard wooden chair across from me and swallows uneasily. “Where do we start?”

  I glance around the room. “I need to go over the books and see what kind of shape the company is in. From what Grandma Nellie said, Dad hadn’t been taking on too many jobs over the last few years and bills were piling up.” I plan to put all the money I won on the circuit into getting the business booming again. I’ll need to pay outstanding bills, have money for supplies and outlay of expenditures, as well as pay the guys. I can’t expect them to work for nothing after dragging them all back here. It’s going to eat up all my savings, but Ty doesn’t need to know that.

  “How’s Grandma?”

  I scoff. “Tough as ever, and in the kitchen cooking up a feast.”

  Ty rubs his stomach. “I miss her cooking. Hope she’s making meatloaf.”

  I take in his muscled body. Hard as granite. Unbreakable steel. “Doesn’t look like that stopped you from getting a meal,” I say, implying he’s gotten a little soft around the middle.

  “Stop with the jealousy, bro,” he teases. I laugh, and it eases the tension inside me. To look at Tyler, a tough-as-nails underground brawler, you’d never know that beneath it all he’s funny, charming, soft as fuck. We all are.

  “What the fuck is wrong with Walker anyway?” Tyler asks.

  I stiffen. “He’s riding you, too?”

  He pulls something from his back pocket and slams it on the desk. “Speeding ticket.”

  “Bastard.”

  Tyler scoffs. “I was going five miles over the limit. What the fuck is still up his ass anyway?”

  “Call your brothers and cousins. Warn them Walker is looking to make his mark on us and prove he runs this town.”

  Ty nods, and pushes his hair from his face. “Yeah, all right. I’d better go see Gram.”

  He stands, and turns to leave. “Ty,” I say to stop him. I hadn’t expected him back so soon, and now that he’s here I can give him our first renovation job, the Wheeler cottage.

  “Yeah.” He turns back, and scrubs his hand over his chin, his knuckles beaten and tattooed, but it’s his scars we can’t see that worry me.

  I open my mouth, but instead of putting him straight to work, I say, “Good to have you back.”

  Fuck me hard.

  Chapter Five: Summer

  After a thorough search of the cottage—even forcing myself to enter my parents’ bedroom—I’m still no closer to finding the ledger. If it’s not here, then where is it? With that question pinging around inside my brain, I turn my attention to my groceries, and to Sean. My hands shake as I unload the goods, my gaze going to the driveway for the hundredth time. I’d expected Sean to show up over a half an hour ago, and I’m beginning to wonder if he changed his mind on the job. Not that I can blame him. I wasn’t overly friendly at Benny’s, and confused him with my fake identification. I’m beginning to think his absence is for the best. Not only was he challenging my identity, a shirtless Sean in a tool belt would be too much. A girl only has so much control right?

  Maybe I could get a few quotes from the other construction companies in town, play them against each other so they don’t . . . eat me alive.

  I gulp and drop a can of soup. It hits with a thud and rolls across the floor. The sound echoes through me as my mind journeys back to the way Sean had climbed between my legs and feasted on me. My God, no man had ever been so thorough with my body, taking me to places I’ve never been before. Heat pools hot and low in my belly, and I hug myself. Sean Owens. Hard and solid, big and tough, and even though he was rough and dirty and deliciously naughty in the bedroom, his touch gave me a measure of comfort, made me forget I wasn’t alone in this world.

  A bang sounds behind me. I turn and squeal, my hand going to my chest when I find Sean looming in the doorway, his heavy gaze latched on to mine.

  “I . . . I didn’t hear you come in,” I blurt out, my breath coming a little faster, which has nothing to do with the fright he’d just given me.

  His eyes narrow, skirt around the room. “You all right?”

  His presence, his size and strength overwhelm me as he closes the door behind him and takes one small step
toward me. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I lie as my ovaries jump around like they’re doing the damn Macarena.

  Get it together, Summer.

  “Why so jumpy?” he asks, his voice shimmering through me, the breeze blowing in off the ocean doing little to cool me down.

  I look around. “You just surprised me is all. I thought I locked the door.”

  I always lock the door. Well, up until today, apparently. Again, another reason to stay away from the man who can preoccupy my thoughts without even trying and has me forgetting safety measures in a time when my safety is at risk.

  He angles his hard body, looks around the room. “Most people don’t lock their doors in Blue Bay. We have what we call a ‘welcome policy.’” He pauses to do air quotes around the words. “But I guess not being from around here, you wouldn’t know that.”

  “You’re right. In SoCal we always lock our doors.”

  “For the record, I did knock. You didn’t answer, so I let myself in.”

  He steps up to me, his body towering over mine, defiance written all over him as his scent curls around me, chasing away my resolve to keep my physical distance. A delicious shiver rakes down my back, and my sex clenches. What this man can do to me with just a simple look is insane. Honey-specked green eyes move over my face, a careful assessment. Outside of the Owens boys, I’d never seen eyes quite that color before. I never knew how to describe them. Tropical forest. Marshy everglades.

  The ocean floor stirred up during a storm—like the one going on inside me.

  “Need help?” He looks past me, his eyes zeroing in on the bags, the soup can on the floor.

  “No, the can just slipped from my hand.” I bend and reach for it at the same time he does and he sucks in a sharp breath when our hands collide. His thumb brushes my flesh—that same slow sweep that messes with my ability to think with clarity.

  I clear my throat. “I got it, thanks.” I put the can on the counter, and the coffeemaker gurgles to a stop and beeps. Thanks God. “Coffee?” I ask.

  “Sure. Black.”

  I pour his coffee, and add a splash of milk to mine. I take a sip and wince as the nasty chlorinated tap water disguising itself as mocha java splashes over my tongue. “What is this stuff? It tastes like dirty dishwater.”

  His laugh rumbles through me. “When was the last time you drank dishwater?”

  “Two seconds ago,” I say and hold my cup up. “What I’d do for a grande Americano.”

  “You’re not going to find a Starbucks in Blue Bay. Closest you’ll get is in Hope Falls, a good twenty-minute drive.”

  “Might be worth it.”

  He steps up to my tap, and turns it on. “Let it run for a bit. Who knows when the last time this tap had been turned on.”

  “Thanks.” I take another sip of the coffee and shudder.

  “You’re still going to drink it?”

  I crinkle my nose. “Desperate times and all.”

  “Addiction?”

  “Possibly.”

  He takes a swig and shrugs. “Not so bad. Truthfully, I’ve had worse.” My gaze moves to his lips as he swallows, and I’m once again reminded of the greedy, openmouthed kisses he pressed against my body, between my legs.

  “You can’t be serious?”

  “You didn’t stick around for breakfast at Dick’s.” He laughs. “Now that was some seriously bad coffee.”

  At the mention of Dick’s Driving Inn and Diner, my mind instantly rushes back to all the things this man did to me in his bed. A shiver races through me, and I work to shake off the need pooling between my legs.

  Stop!

  Alrighty then. Time for a change in subject. I wave toward the other room. “Do you need me to show you the damage?”

  “Yeah,” he says his voice a little deeper than it was moment ago. “I already took a look around outside, so why don’t you show me what you need done in here.”

  Coffee in hand, I walk into the spacious living area. He follows behind me, his biker boots heavy on the floor. He stays close and I can practically feel his warm breath on my neck. I point to the ceiling. “We have water damage.”

  “I noticed that as soon as I came in.” He shrugs. “Might not be so bad. Could be just a shingle or two. I’ll climb up and have a look.” Sean glances upward to take in the damage, but I’m no longer focused on the wet marks marring the ceiling. No, now I’m focused on his hard body, hewn muscles that are coiled tight and the scorpion tattoo peeking out from the top of his T-shirt. My fingers tingle, aching to trace it again, the way I had when I was in his bed.

  “This wall here though,” he continues. “I’m going to have to tear it down. See how it’s bulging?” Oh yeah, I can definitely see how it’s bulging, except I’m not looking at the wall. He steps away from me, and runs one big hand over the bloated plasterboard.

  He looks back at me but I’m far too slow to react. He catches me staring at his ass, and heat races through me, no doubt painting my cheeks pink.

  I guess this is as good a time as any to address the tension between us. “Last night,” I begin.

  “What about it?”

  “It was . . .”

  He arches a brow. “Fun.”

  Fun? Yeah that’s just one of the many words to describe the best sex of my life.

  “It was a one-time thing.” I look at my flats and wiggle my toes. “I don’t normally—”

  “I know,” he says and my gaze jerks to his, to take in deeply intelligent eyes that can see right through me.

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, Jenna, I do. And don’t worry, one-night stands are my specialty.”

  I flush at that, then realize he’d called me Jenna.

  Good.

  I work to pull myself together. “The floors,” I say, needing desperately to change the direction of conversation before I tell him I’m kidding—or rather show him—by pushing my panties to my ankles and asking him to take me again. It takes everything I have not to. “They’re damaged from the water as well.” I look down, but he doesn’t follow my gaze. I feel the weight of his stare as I kick at the damaged turned-up corners. “I’m on a tight budget and I can live with them like this. I think we should concentrate on the roof. I can do the cosmetic things myself, like paint and clean.”

  “Jenna.”

  I glance back up to find him watching me, carefully. “Yeah?”

  “I’m sure I can give you a good deal, and fix your floors under budget, too.”

  “Okay,” I say for lack of anything else. “I have to run to town for a few more things. Should I just leave you here to get started?” He holds his hand out, and my heart thumps wildly, the chemistry between us beating like ceremonial drums, going louder and louder in my ears. I stare at his open hand. Is he waiting for me to slide mine in his so he can take us to the bedroom?

  “Key,” he finally says.

  “Right.” I run to the kitchen to grab my purse, happy for the reprieve. “When I was in town I had few extra made. I’m known for misplacing my keys all the time.”

  I hand him one, and he shoves it into his front pocket, the action tugging his jeans lower.

  “What about the bedrooms?” he asks.

  “What about them?”

  His mouth twitches, presenting that sexy dimple. “Any damage?”

  “Ah, no, just need to be aired out.”

  “Mind if I look?”

  “No, go ahead.”

  I don’t follow him—after searching them earlier, I’m not anxious to enter again—instead I say, “I’ll leave you to it. I’m heading out and will be a few hours.” I leave him to his work and jump back in my truck. If I’m going to sleep here for the rest of the summer, I’m going to need to order a new mattress and fresh bedding. I pull from the driveway, and glance at the ocean in my rearview mirror.

  I head back to town, and think about the key in my back pocket. I’ll have to look around, see what it might open. What I don’t want to do is run around and start checking every lock
like a crazy woman. That will only draw unwanted attention to me. Sean doesn’t seem to trust the local sheriff as it is, so I don’t want him questioning my actions.

  As I drive past the local pub, Winchesters, and see a HELP WANTED sign, I slow. This late in the summer most of the local students are likely heading back to college soon. Just my luck. I park my truck and steal a glance around, still a bit jumpy and worried that Jack has tracked me. When my gaze comes up empty, I try to present calm and make my way inside.

  I give my eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer light and catalog the room before making my way toward the bar. The dinner crowd hasn’t filed in yet, so the place is fairly quiet, just a couple guys sitting on stools across from the bartender—one of them a big scary dude full of tattoos—and a group of girls around my age, lingering at a table as the waitress serves them fresh margaritas. I catch a hint of their conversation as I pass. They’re talking about some new guy in town, and taking bets on who’ll get to sleep with him first. I can’t help but wonder if they’re talking about Sean. A flash of possession ties my stomach in knots as I step up to the bar. What the hell? Sean isn’t mine. He can date any one of these girls. I hope he does, actually. That way I can stop thinking about him and concentrate on why I’m really here. I lift my finger and gesture to the guy behind the counter. He nods and makes his way to me.

  With a quick flick, he tosses a rag over his shoulder. “What can I get for you?”

  “Actually, I’m here to apply for a job.”

  He points to the manager’s office. “Right over there.”

  “Thanks.” I push off my stool, and peruse the establishment a second time. It’s old, in need of refurbishment, but it’s clean and the waitresses don’t have to wear shirts that show off their boobs. Anything is a step up from Dick’s Driving Inn and Diner though, right? I make my way to the manager’s office and find the door cracked. I knock, and the man behind the counter perks up.

  “Come in.”

  I plaster on my best smile, and enter. The guy behind the desk doesn’t look much older than me. I wonder if I knew him back in the day. “I’m Jenna Garridy,” I say. “I see that you’re hiring.”