by Kim Loraine
With a turn of the key, his old pickup rumbled to life and he pulled out of the parking lot. He needed to work off some of this stress in a healthy way. Drowning his sorrows in alcohol wasn’t going to cut it. He knew that. He’d been through it in the months after Roxie’s death. It was time to be a grown-up.
After getting changed in the locker room, he surveyed the pool. He noted only a few swimmers taking up the lanes this early and let out a sigh of relief. He needed quiet concentration, and this was going to provide exactly what he wanted.
Diving in, he let the cool water cover him as he dolphin-kicked his way across the pool, reaching midway before coming up for air and transitioning to freestyle. As he worked his arms and synchronized his breathing with his strokes, he let himself forget everything but the feel of his body cutting through the water.
Forty-five minutes later he pushed himself out of the water and walked back to the locker room, stopping when he saw the familiar face of Donovan Miller coming through the door.
“Hey, Alex. I wondered if I’d run into you here,” Donovan said. “How’s the house? Must be weird, being back there.”
He shrugged. “A little. It’s so different than it was when Roxie and I lived there, though. I mean, some of it is the same, but she’s not there anymore, so . . .”
Donovan rubbed at the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable as he looked everywhere but at him. “Shit, man. Sorry.” Taking a deep breath, he scanned the pool. “You finishing up or just getting started?”
“Heading out.” He surveyed Donovan’s clothes, GBFD shirt, uniform pants, boots. “Coming off shift?”
“Yeah. My wife works here part time. She’s probably . . .” He smiled before jutting his chin forward, obviously catching sight of her. “There she is. Excuse me. I’ll see you later.”
His heart gave a lurch as he watched Donovan scoop his petite, blonde wife into his arms and press a kiss to her lips. He remembered feeling exactly the same way once. He’d had fifteen years of that. But now, all he had left was a raw hole where his heart had been.
A familiar knot of anger started unfurling in his chest again, replacing the grief with a bitter seed which grew quickly and took root with abandon. Not everyone deserves to have love forever. He knew that better than most.
Chapter 4
“What the hell are you doing?”
Lauren flinched so hard at the harsh sound of Alex’s voice, booming across the yard, she bit her tongue. Taking a breath, she pushed away the pain in her mouth and glanced over her shoulder at the hulking, angry man behind her.
“I’m gardening. What does it look like?” Standing, she wiped the dirt off her knees and pulled her hands free of the lime-green work gloves she’d been wearing.
“I’ve got a gardener.” A dark look crossed his face. His gaze darted around the flowerbed in the front of the house. “You pulled up the rose bush.”
“Well, technically, most of the work had been done before I got here. It was diseased. No saving it.” She gestured to the potted gardenia behind her with a smile. “I got something to replace it, though. They didn’t have any good looking rose bu—”
“Don’t fucking touch the flowers, ever again! Do you understand me?”
The tremor in his voice, mixed with pure hatred, formed a pit in her stomach.
“I was just trying to do my part to keep this place looking nice. Why do you have to be such an enormous . . . enormous . . .”
A sardonic smile spread across his lips as she floundered for a word to use. “Come on, say it.”
“No. You know what? I’m done talking to you.” Feeling the sudden heat of tears in her eyes, she turned away and stomped around to the side of the house.
“Take your bush with you!” he called.
Before reaching her door, she yelled back, “Keep it!”
The door closed with a satisfying slam, leaving the glass panes rattling. She hated him. No wonder his wife had left him.
Turning on some music, she increased the volume just a hair over what was considerate and pulled out the letter she’d read this morning. Fingering the paper, she sighed. She’d been trying to do a good thing, and instead got chastised for it. Opening the envelope, she lost herself in Rae’s love story again.
Rae,
Can you believe it’s already been a year? I’ve got a surprise for you today. Do you remember that little house, the one with the big front yard and a view of the beach from the deck? Well, I put an offer on it yesterday. I couldn’t wait any longer. Not now that you’re pregnant. It’ll be perfect. We can live our lives there, raise our family. Have everything we dreamed together. We’ll plant flowers in the front so you’ll always have something beautiful. You can choose.
I can’t wait to see our kids playing in that yard while we watch them from the porch. You having my baby is the best gift you could ever give me. Let’s make lots of them together. I can’t think of anything better.
Happy birthday.
Always yours
Carefully, Lauren replaced the envelope and tucked the box under her bed. Damn gardenias, all she’d wanted to do was make the front pretty again for Rae. Damn romantic letters.
Shaking her head, she let out a sigh and slipped her feet into shoes. Alex was the owner of this house. She shouldn’t have started making changes without talking to him first. As she closed her door and turned around the corner, her breath caught in her throat. All the remaining rose bushes had been ripped out of the ground, their remnants strewn across the lawn haphazardly. In the center of the flowerbed, planted with care, was her gardenia.
~ ~ ~
Alex bit back a curse as he ran cool water over his ruined hands. Why hadn’t he worn gloves when he’d ripped the roses from the ground? Because he had no self-control, he needed his pain to be real—physical. Lauren had been right. The roses he’d planted for Roxie were diseased, because he’d let them get that way after years of ignoring them. He’d flown off the fucking handle—again, but this time he had no way to really justify his reaction. He’d seen the fear in her eyes as his voice cut through her.
Staring at the blood as it swirled in the sink, mixing with the water and spreading like red ink, anguish burned his eyes. It was too much like the moment he’d found Roxie. He’d walked into the strange hotel bathroom and the first thing he’d seen was red—then her. Lying in the tub, the water overflowing onto the rug. And the blood . . . in the water, on the floor, everywhere, except in her body where it should have been. He shivered at the memory.
She had called him only hours before he’d found her and he hadn’t picked up. He’d been too angry. Would she be alive if he’d just answered his damn phone? Would she be here with him?
Taking shuddering breaths, he pushed away the memory. He hadn’t thought of that scene for months. But now, with something as simple as Lauren wanting to plant a gardenia where he’d planted roses, all of that work had been undone.
After bandaging his hands, he pulled on a hoodie and gingerly laced up his running shoes. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he needed to get away. As he stepped out his door, he stopped and watched as the police cruiser pulled up to the curb. Dean offered him a confused glance before heading down the walk toward him.
“Hey, Alex. What are you doing here?” His tone was nervous, confused, and a little possessive.
“I live here.”
“With Lo?”
“I own the house. The upper level is mine.”
Relief flooded Dean’s face. “Oh, right. I guess now that you’re back, it makes sense you’d be here. I wonder why Lo didn’t tell me you’re her neighbor.”
Alex let out a short laugh. “She doesn’t like me much.”
“What? Nah. That can’t be true. She likes everyone.”
Shrugging, Alex shov
ed his hands in his pockets. “She called me a butthole.”
Dean didn’t reply, merely shook his head as he started walking away, shoulders shaking with laughter.
Putting his earbuds in, Alex jogged down the street, music loud in his ears. He needed to clear his head and start letting go of the bitterness in his heart.
He ran until his lungs burned and sweat coated his skin. When the sidewalk gave way to a gravel shoulder, he realized he’d reached the outskirts of town. The two-lane road he ran on led out to the more spacious areas where property was sold by the acre rather than little cookie cutter bits of land with matching houses. Slowing, he surveyed the area, needing to get his bearings, hoping he’d find something familiar.
The early fall air chilled his body as he transitioned from jogging to walking, and he pulled his phone out, switching on the GPS. As he stood, staring down at the map, he heard the familiar rumble of a classic muscle car approaching. The restored ‘67 Impala pulled up in front of him and he was greeted by the frowning face of Michael.
“Get in, idiot. It’s getting dark and you’re out here in all black. Do you have a death wish?” his brother grumbled.
As Alex slid into the car, he started to say something, but Michael shot him a glare that stopped him mid-sentence. Eyes wide, his brother cocked his head toward the back seat where his six-month-old daughter was sleeping in her car seat.
“Don’t you dare wake her up. This is the only way we can get her to sleep,” Michael whispered.
“Really?”
Running a hand over his jaw, Michael sighed. “Really. Lena’s exhausted. I’m working all the time, and Meg thinks she needs to be in constant motion in order to sleep.”
An answering wave of jealousy crashed over Alex. He’d give anything to have had sleepless nights and endless car rides.
“What are you doing all the way out here?” Michael asked.
Shrugging, he shifted in his seat and stared at the road in front of them. “Running.”
“From?”
He let out a sigh. Michael was his little brother. He wasn’t supposed to be so perceptive. “Memories. I’m trying to let go, but it’s harder than I thought.”
“It’s okay to keep hurting. She may have left you first, but she only died a little over a year ago. You lost so much in a short time, man.”
“I know. God, I know I did. But there are so many things I could have done differently. I keep going over it in my head, wishing I’d said something, given her more, let the kids-thing go. Maybe she would still be here.”
Michael cleared his throat, discomfort radiating from him. “What she did wasn’t your fault. Sooner or later, you’ll realize that and then you can move on.”
They drove in silence for a while, little Meg snoring softly behind them. When they reached a fork in the road, Michael turned to him.
“You coming over for dinner or am I taking you home?”
The idea of sharing a meal with his brother and his happy family made Alex’s stomach tight with jealousy. “I need to get home. I’ve got to apologize to my tenant. I’ve been such an asshole to her.”
“Her?”
“Yeah. Her name’s Lauren. She’s . . . different.”
“Good different?”
As he pondered the question, he couldn’t fight the smile that ghosted his lips. “Yeah. I think so.”
~ ~ ~
“Why didn’t you tell me Alex is your landlord?” Dean asked as Lauren pulled her hair into a high ponytail before twisting the length around to form a neat bun.
“I don’t know. I guess I try not to think about it.”
“He said you called him a butthole.”
Stepping into her shoes, she grabbed her purse and jacket. “That’s because he is. Do I look okay?”
He cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “You look like the quirky neighbor in a sitcom.”
“What? No, I don’t.” Surveying herself in the full-length mirror, she grinned. Her full skirt had a gorgeous paisley pattern, with swirling hues the colors of a peacock feather, paired with dark tights and vintage heels in a matching green. She thought she looked awesome.
“Maybe it’s the purple coat.”
Running her hands over the velvet of her fitted blazer, she shook her head. “Nope. I think it’s just you. You’ve got no imagination. All you ever wear is your uniform or jeans and a button-down shirt.”
“Hey, you like my clothes.”
She shrugged. “They’re okay. So, what’s the story with Alex?”
“What do you mean? He’s a firefighter, and apparently you don’t like him. What else is there?”
“He’s just such . . . such a jerk. No wonder his wife left.”
The look on Dean’s face made her want to take her words back as soon as they left her mouth.
“What?”
“Lo, his wife didn’t leave him. She killed herself last year. Everyone knows that.”
A sick feeling took hold in her gut. “No.” She covered her face with her hands, recalling all the mean things she’d said to him. “Oh, God. I’m such a terrible person.”
“No, you’re not.”
Worrying at her fingernails, she tried to push aside the gnawing guilt. “So, he came back here because of her?”
“How should I know? Why are you so interested in someone you don’t even like?” He took her arm and led her to the door. “Let’s go. I made reservations at The Creekside.”
“The Creekside? That’s a little fancy, don’t you think?” She slowed her pace as they walked to his waiting car. The thought of sitting at an intimate table for two at the same restaurant where he’d proposed only a few months ago made her uncomfortable.
Disappointment shadowed his eyes when she put some space between them. “You said we could date. I want to take you somewhere nice. Is that a problem?”
She felt bad, but there wasn’t a handbook for this kind of situation. How was she supposed to navigate building a relationship with her former fiancé? He’d always pushed her to make decisions, to commit to him, to be what he wanted. The problem between them was entirely one-sided, and he couldn’t understand why she wanted to change things. She didn’t know how to explain it to him, either.
“I want to go slow. We just started talking again. The Creekside is so . . . formal.”
The disappointment turned to anger as he stared at her. “You know what? I don’t know why I thought this would be any different than it was before. You say you want romance but when I give it to you, you throw it back in my face. I don’t know what you want.” Desperation crept into his tone. “Can you just tell me how to be the man you want?”
She wanted to feel more for him, knew that this break-up was ruining him, but she also knew she couldn’t settle. It was then that she realized the decision to break off their engagement had been the right thing. “No. Dean, I’m sorry. This isn’t going to work.”
His eyes widened and he gripped her arms tightly, too tightly. An ache settled in her muscles where he held her. “Please. No, you don’t mean that, Lo. I love you. You love me, you just don’t remember. It was good. We were good.” His words became frantic, pleading, as she tried to break his hold. “You can’t do this. I’m the guy for you, I promise.”
Twisting, she worked against his hands, but he was stronger. “Dean, you’re hurting me. Let go.”
He crushed his lips to hers and spun them so she was pressed up against his car. A soft whimper of protest escaped her, but his fingers dug into her skin and his mouth was insistent.
Turning her head, she whispered, “Dean. This isn’t who you are. Stop.” His grip loosened and he pulled away, a horrified expression on his face.
“Oh, God, Lo. I’m sorry. I don’t know what—”
“I know. But we
can’t do this, Dean.”
With a curt nod, he stepped away and ran a hand over his face. “You’re right. I . . . I’ve got to go.”
As he pulled away from the house, a weight lifted from her shoulders, but was replaced by dull throbbing in her arms. The cold crept in as she stood by the curb in a daze. The rumble of an approaching car broke through her thoughts, and she came back to reality. The sun had gone down and the lights from the vehicle splashed over her.
As she moved to go inside, she caught her toe on an uneven slab of concrete. The ground rushed up to meet her and she landed hard, her knee taking the brunt of the impact.
“Oh, ouch,” she groaned. Pain blossomed and the familiar burn of scraped skin exposed to air hit her.
Large hands gripped her sore arms, making her wince. “Watch out for your feet, librarian.”
A curious warmth mixed with distaste filled her chest. “Thanks. I’m fine. Get your hands off me.”
“She okay?” a deep voice called from the car.
“Yeah, I think she just hurt her pride.” Alex’s voice held a hint of amusement. “Go on home. Thanks for the ride.”
Before he could make another joke at her expense, she started toward the house, limping as she went.
“Hey, Lauren, hang on. Let me check your knee.”
Turning on him, she felt the blaze of righteous anger ignite. She’d had enough of this. Dean, Alex, all of it. “I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”
“Give me a little more credit. It’s my job.”
She rolled her eyes. “Right, Dean mentioned you were a firefighter. Aren’t first responders supposed to be friendly, social people?”
He took her hand, but she jerked it away, scowling. With a low chuckle, he gripped her elbow and tugged her slowly to sit on the stairs at the front porch. “Yeah, well, I like to break stereotypes.”
As he pulled the torn fabric of her tights away from the gash on her knee, she found herself staring at his sharp cheekbones, the subtle lines around his eyes and between his brows. Without thinking, she reached out to smooth the frown from his face, her fingers brushing the side of his cheek.