Kickback (Caldwell Brothers Book 3)

by Colleen Charles

  Please keep talking.

  I mumble some words and allow my eyes to flutter closed, imagining what he looks like. Hoping against hope that he’s not a fanny-pack wearing tourist from the Bronx. Steeling myself for disappointment, I open them and glance over my shoulder.

  “Ford?”

  “Haylee?”

  I snatch my hand away from him, molten hot volcanic chemistry between us be damned. I chide myself for even turning around, but I just had to get a look at the sexy-voiced stranger. Well, maybe I’ll remember this stupidity for next time. The man I thought I’d never see again. The man I never wanted to see again is crouched down in front of me. Close enough to drink in with my eyes. Close enough to touch. No fucking way. He lost that privilege years ago when he left me pregnant and alone.

  “Go away, Ford,” I murmur, standing and turning away from him. This is the last place for us to open the book of ancient history and study it.

  “I’m not going anywhere. Haylee, when is your shift over?” he demands, as if he has any right to know that information. Just moments ago, my body had been firing on all cylinders, quaking with lust for some chance meeting. But now…I’m seething with rage for someone that isn’t random at all. He’s the father of the most important thing in my life. And he’s not allowed inside my inner circle. He’s not allowed to even be speaking to me.

  “I said, go away!” My voice gains mountains of strength, dripping censure, anger, and something else. Something like disappointment. In him. In myself. Mostly in the tragic circumstances that tore us apart. I wonder if we ever even had a chance. If he’d stayed, I wonder if we’d be married now and settled into domestic life like any old suburban family. I’d be driving Atlee to soccer practice. Ford would be building her a treehouse that she would pretend was Wonder Woman’s plane. Her first broken bone would come from climbing up the rope ladder. I shake my head, pissed as hell at myself for even allowing my mind to go there. I close the door firmly in the face of this ghost from the past by shaking him off and turning my back on him.

  “Darlin’, are you all-righty Aphrodite?” Dixie’s calm voice slices through the drama and flying emotions. “I heard there was a ‘lil ole calamity out here in the front of the house.”

  When I see her concerned face, all I want to do is throw myself into her strong arms and bury my nose into her pillowy bosom. I lost my mom, Marian, to breast cancer years back and my dad, George, to a heart attack. Dixie’s the closest thing to a parent that I have outside of Mrs. C. Tears prick the back of my eyes due to embarrassment and Ford Caldwell. I will them to stay hidden in my eyelids.

  I will not allow this fucking asshole to see me cry. He doesn’t deserve the privilege.

  “Umm…”

  Now, I can’t even respond to Dixie’s concern, so my irritation climbs. If I say more than the single syllable, I’m going to lose my shit right here in the middle of the restaurant. And I need this job. Atlee and I are barely making it now. I can’t be unemployed because he decided to waltz into Manzo during my shift. I won’t.

  Dixie seems to sense imminent emotional disaster, so she drapes her arm around my shoulders and leads me away from Ford. I hear footsteps behind us, and I can almost feel his breath caging me in and licking the back of my neck like a stalking dragon. Is he going to follow me right back into the kitchen? Then I realize the truth of the situation. He’s Nixon’s brother, and that means he can probably go anywhere in this damn casino he wants to without anyone even batting an eyelash. Who’s going to risk Nixon or Troy’s wrath to stay him?

  “Are you followin’ us, darlin’?” Dixie asks the person I’m assuming is Ford. Because I’m not turning around to look at him. I’m not fucking doing it because he has some kind of Jedi tactics he uses to make women fall madly in love with him like puddles at his feet. They believe him, love him until he walks away without a backward glance.

  Been there. Done that. Bought the pregnancy test to prove it.

  “I’m a friend of Haylee’s,” he has the audacity to say. “She’s not okay. I can tell. I think she should be allowed to leave her shift. I’ll make sure she gets home.”

  My mind races with flashes of brilliant light, featuring Ford driving me home in a casino limo and Atlee running outside to greet us.

  “No!” I scream, finally turning on him like a vicious bitch that I don’t even recognize.

  To my surprise, all I’m met with is tender concern. He’s not mad. He’s not stalking me. He’s almost like my kind older brother, slaying my enemies and leading me back to safety with a blanket over my head.

  Dixie’s eyes light with understanding, and in that moment, I know she’s figured out Ford’s identity. It doesn’t surprise me. He’s been the subject of many late night sobfests with me in the ugly cry and Dixie’s arms wrapped around me. She’s also seen the old photo album of me and Ford at every school function from freshman year to graduation. And he really hasn’t changed that much.

  He’s a little rougher around the edges, a little more devil may care than his clean-cut high school style. His dark black hair is spiky and tousled on the top, but his blue eyes look me up and down over the rims of his square glasses. He’s a hot nerd if I ever saw one. And what’s underneath his jacket? Don’t even get me started. He’s probably even more chiseled since he’s grown into his man’s body.

  “Can we at least agree she needs a break? Maybe a cup of coffee or a glass of water? And most certainly a Band-Aid and Neosporin for that cut.”

  Chapter 4

  Ford

  I can’t believe she’s standing right in front of me, even if she’s madder than a wet hen and about to spit tacks at my face. My Haylee, my flesh and blood angel, right underneath my nose the entire time I’ve been in Vegas. So much for Google and Intelius, I would bet a Benjamin my own brother knew this all along and never fessed up.

  But then again, I didn’t ask.

  “I think that’s a right fine idea, young man,” Dixie says, pulling Haylee down into an empty booth for two right outside the kitchen doors. “We rarely use this here table. You see her settled, and I’ll go get her a Coca-Cola. That’s her favorite.”

  Since fucking when has Coke been Haylee’s favorite? She was always a Dr. Pepper girl when we were together.

  I feel like a wrecking ball just rammed into my gut when I realize I don’t know her anymore at all. This is the woman I always pictured as my wife and the mother of my children. Until I found out having children most likely wouldn’t appear in my future. Why is she now working at a low-rent job in Nixon’s casino? Last I heard, she had a fancy degree in marketing from UNLV, graduating cum laude. I can’t imagine what would cause someone like her to veer so far off the fast track she’d been on. But I have no right to ask her, and I know it. All I want in this moment is to know she’s okay. Anything more can come later.

  If I’d known it was Haylee the drunk guy had been harassing, I would have kicked his ass. But I hadn’t known, and I can only hope that Troy took care of it.

  “Ford, you need to leave.”

  She’s sitting across from me, but she’s rigid, like there’s a steel rod shoved up her ass. Since she’s staring at the silverware, I look my fill of her, drinking in every plane of her face. She’s never looked better to me. She hasn’t even aged one year even though it’s been eight since I left. Haylee’s hair is pulled back into a ponytail, but it’s hanging half-way down her back, so I know it’s still long. God, how I used to love fanning my fingers through it, reveling in its silken perfection.

  “Here you go, darlin’,” Dixie says, sliding a soda in front of Haylee. “And what can I get for you, love? I see you’re stayin’. Another pale ale?”

  “No, he’s just leaving,” Haylee says, still not even giving me the simple gift of even one second of eye contact.

  “No, I’m staying.” Even though I want to run, I refuse to back down. I want to scream and punch something, so I fist my hands and put them in my lap instead. Frustration overwhelms me,
leaving an empty hole inside me that only her forgiveness can fill.

  “Well, it seems like we’re at an impasse here,” Dixie says, sliding in next to Haylee and digging through her apron. “Let’s see what the cards say.”

  The cards? I have no fucking idea what she’s talking about. Are we going to play a hand of five card stud to determine who leaves this table? If she thinks I’m going to walk away from Haylee right now on the turn of a card, she’s got another thing coming. Lady Luck’s a bitch, and she’ll stick with the sisterhood, leaving my back completely exposed for the death blow.

  “Hmm,” she says, staring down at a colorful card that she’s flipped over on the table. “Ten of cups. The card of a committed relationship. But I’ve never seen you before in my life, darlin’. And I’ve been working here a mighty long time. What did you say your name was again?”

  “Ford. Ford Caldwell.”

  She clucks her tongue and narrows her eyes, flipping over another card right next to the ten of cups. “Caldwell, you say. As in Nixon Caldwell, the owner of this here gamblin’ establishment?”

  “The very one.”

  Haylee remains silent throughout this entire exchange, not softening even an inch. Hatred of me practically radiates from every pore. This is going to be the most challenging task I’ve ever completed. It’s the battle of love, and I hope I can walk away after each skirmish to regroup and try again. Because I plan on winning the entire war.

  “Well, Mr. Ford Caldwell, it would appear from the cards that you and Miss Haylee Jacobs are embroiled in some kind of sordid love affair. How can that be when I’ve never met you until this very moment? It seems the world’s gone a little cattywampus on me. Why don’t you explain it, would you darlin’?”

  I stare at Haylee. “Miss Jacobs?”

  Haylee lifts her chin. “I changed my name to my mother’s maiden name.” The look she gave me dared me to question her.

  So, that’s why I couldn’t find her. I’d been looking for Haylee Burke.

  I’m not sure what to say. Tearing off the invisible Band-Aid on past wounds wasn’t on my agenda for today. And the tragic look on Haylee’s face keeps me quiet, pushing every word I want to say right back down my throat. If Dixie’s on a fishing expedition, she’s not going to catch her daily limit from me.

  Dixie looks from Haylee and then back to me before flipping over another Tarot card.

  “Well, this is interestin’, sweetie pies,” she says with a flourish of her manicured hand. She’s got tiny diamonds embedded into each acrylic nail. Bright red polish and as long as talons. “Bless your little hearts.”

  Haylee’s still perfecting the art of the resting bitch face. I stare at her for several tense moments until I realize she’s got her mouth glued shut and she’s not going to speak. Dixie has such an expectant look on her face and seems like a warm, kind soul. Okay, I’ll bite even though I think Tarot cards are a flighty, fraudulent pile of shit. I deal in facts, just like writing code. Cold and hard.

  “What is it?”

  “Seems like a soulmate situation from where I’m sittin’,” Dixie says, staring at the cards as if they’re going to grow wings and take flight.

  I glance at Haylee again. God, I can’t stop looking at her, drinking her in. She’s like a breath a fresh air in my dark and boring life. Seeing her, it reminds me of spring in San Fran with the tiny green buds of life are shooting up from the cold, brown dirt. Growing. Becoming something. I’d give anything to see her smile. That would be like a rose opening right before my eyes.

  But she doesn’t.

  There’s a dull, roaring sound ringing in my ears from the rushing blood that just won’t stop gushing through my veins. I open my mouth to speak, never taking my eyes from Haylee, but then I falter before speaking. Dixie sits there, an expectant look on her face, glancing between us. I’m sure she’s confused, and I don’t know how much Haylee’s told her about our sordid past.

  My eyes caress Haylee’s face, unable to look away. It’s like high school all over again. The same silky hair and piercing eyes. The same tan skin and tight body. Haylee had always managed to heat me from within by just touching me with those eyes. She didn’t even need to make contact with my skin.

  “Well, bless your little hearts,” Dixie says again, interrupting every memory I’ve ever had. It rankles, but I pull my eyes away from the woman I’d thought was my soulmate. Before I’d gone and fucked everything up so badly our love had shattered into pieces. I’d done irreparable damage. Me. No one else. “It almost puts me to mind of that time that Atl–”

  Bang!

  The sound of dishes crashing to the floor pulls my attention away from Dixie and her latest deep-south euphemism. Another server stands about three feet away, her hand over her mouth and the carnage of Nixon’s former china scattered around her feet.

  “Justine! My word, girl. You get clumsier every day.” Dixie jumps to her feet, shoves her cards into a satin pouch and tucks them away in her apron before rushing off to help the young girl clean up the mess. Nix is such a perfectionist, I’m glad he isn’t here to see the ketchup explosion. Twice in one night. Jesus. I feel sorry for the late-night cleaning crew.

  “Alone at last,” I say, forcing the issue. For a few seconds, I wonder if she’s going to sit in the booth like a catatonic shock victim.

  “What do you want, Ford?”

  When her eyes finally meet mine, and the total eclipse of my heart is over, an idea pops into my super-geek brain. It’s a way I can get to see Haylee again and spend more time with her in a desperate attempt to soften her toward me. The only way I’ll ever get to the truth of her feelings is if I can get her to shed her porcupine outer layer.

  “I could really, really use your help with something,” I say, never breaking eye contact. “Something that’s really important, and will help women everywhere.”

  The helping women part got her attention because I saw her nostrils flare the tiniest bit. “How could anything you’re working on help women?”

  Gotcha.

  If she’s on to what I do for a living, that means she’s either been cyberstalking me, or she ran across that damn vanity article that Wired did about me and my app work at my San Fran tech company, Savant. Either way, I’ll take it because it means that she didn’t murder my memory after torturing it toward a slow death.

  “Reagan’s fiancée, Taryn, she owns a well-known boutique over on the Promenade.”

  “I know that. Not that I’ve ever stepped foot inside the place. I can’t…” She stops mid-sentence and the look on her face before she says she can’t afford it almost slays me. Almost makes me want to shut up and not push forward.

  But only almost. Because I know what’s good for Haylee. I always have. Her stubborn streak can get in the way sometimes. Good thing that I’m calm, cool, and collected, and I have enough patience for both of us.

  “Taryn hired me to create an app that helps women see how certain fashions will look on them before they buy. Apparently, it’s doubled her online sales on exclusives since Strict Necessaire has a no return policy. We had a business meeting this morning, and Taryn said she’s searching for more local models to upload to the app. There’s been a demand for different shapes and sizes outside of the size zero supermodels. You’d be perfect.”

  “Are you calling me fat?”

  I stare at her, unable to believe she just said that. “I… no, Christ, Haylee. No. I—”

  She holds up a hand. “Besides, I’m not a model,” she says, and I realize I’m losing her before I’m even out of the starting gate. Her walls are up, and the bricks are sealed tight with mortar.

  “We’ve got enough models. We’re looking for normal Vegas women with a variety of jobs,” I say, not letting it drop and staying far away from anything that might mention shape.

  Silence looms between us, thick and heavy. I’m vaguely aware of the chatter around us, the clanging of silverware, the smell of the entrees being delivered. But none of that pie
rces my senses. The only thing that matters is a flesh and blood Haylee, sitting right before my eyes. Even if she does still look so damn pissed her head could explode.

  “I’m really busy.”

  “Did I mention that it’s a very lucrative deal? With bonuses at the end of each quarter depending on how well the app performs?”

  That last part’s a heaping serving of bullshit, but I’m a fucking billionaire ten times over. I’ll give her a bonus out of my own pocket if that’s what it takes. Besides, she’s working in a café in the middle of the Armónico. If money wasn’t an object, she wouldn’t be a server.

  Why the hell is she a server? I’ll have to ask her about that later.

  She presses her fingers to her temples and looks at the table before looking at me again. She sighs and picks up her purse and slides from the booth. “I’ll think about it, Ford.”

  Chapter 5

  Haylee

  “Mommy, where are my gummy worms?”

  I dig into my purse, fishing for a plastic snack bag full of the sugary reptiles. Atlee shifts in her chair, anxious to get her occupational therapy session underway. She’s never been the type of little girl to sit quietly for long without an enticing bribe, even though she’s been with her favorite therapist, John, for over three years.

  “Got it,” I say, holding the bag up.

  “Are those red and gold, Mommy?” she says, staring at the bag. “You know I only eat the red and gold ones. Like Wonder Woman’s costume.”

  “Yup. Only red and gold for you.”

  How could I ever forget? It’s not like my precocious daughter doesn’t remind me at least ten times a day. She snatches the bag from my hand, rips the zip-lock open and shovels a few of the worms into her mouth. As she chews, she swings her feet back and forth in a wide arc underneath the chair. Her velcros are worn, and the shoes are in danger of becoming a footwear missile, prepared to take some poor patient in this clinic out at the knees.