The Reasons to Stay (Harlequin Superromance)

by Laura Drake

  His lips distracted her instead. He enfolded her in the familiar comfort of his arms and whispered in her ear. “I’ll hold you in my heart until you’re back.”

  She squeezed her eyes closed and absorbed his words. They sank down deep, spreading like a warm blanket over her worries. She pulled in his comforting scent, and was flooded with reasons not to leave.

  “Ah, excuse me, but shouldn’t you be getting on the road?” Olivia stood in the hall, watching them with a little cat’s smile.

  They hadn’t even heard her door open. Adam’s arms loosened. “She’s right. You need to go. And I need to get Nacho to school.”

  Nacho had the bike now but she still drove him to school; it made her feel “parently.” Besides, Nacho liked being seen in Mona. “I put your name on the school list so they won’t hassle you. You have the permission slip for treatment, in case—”

  “I’ve got it. Will you stop worrying? Try to enjoy your time off.”

  She’d been shocked when Floyd gave her the day off to help Barney, even if he’d made it clear it would be unpaid. “Okay, I’m outta here.” She ran her hand down Adam’s arm and squeezed his fingers once, hard, then forced herself to let go. “Olivia, you’ll make sure these two don’t blow up the building while I’m gone, right?”

  “You know I won’t let my two best guys get into trouble.” She hugged Priss. “You just see that you don’t find any in Florida.”

  “No worries.” She hiked her duffel higher, waved to Adam, then descended the stairs.

  * * *

  IT WAS FULL dark by the time Priss stepped out of the terminal and into Tampa’s damp blanket to flag down a taxi.

  When she opened the taxicab’s door, the smell of cheap incense overwhelmed her, but she got in anyway.

  “Where you to?” The driver nodded his head in rhythm to the sitar and drum music pounding from the radio.

  She cracked the window. “Are there any cheap hotels within walking distance of Tropicana Field?”

  His eyes lit up. “Oh, yes, mum. I know the perfect one.” He accelerated away from the curb before she’d even closed the door.

  The next twenty miles, Priss alternated between worrying about her driver’s erratic lane changes and how fast the meter was racking up her fare. She’d dipped into her savings as much as she dared; if she used any more she and Nacho wouldn’t have enough to leave Widow’s Grove come June. She should have enough for the cab fare back—if she ate one very cheap meal a day.

  Adam’s offer was sweet but she couldn’t take his money. Even if her debt wasn’t monetary, she owed him way too much already. The only other large amount of money she had was the wad she’d found in her mother’s apron...and she was saving that for Nacho. If he didn’t want to go to college, it would get him into a trade school. Or set him up with equipment, if this car-painting thing turned out to be what he wanted to do.

  She sighed in relief when the cabbie slowed and took an off-ramp—but then she got a look at the neighborhood. Streetlights illuminated black-and-gray vignettes of cracked concrete and trash, neon and decay. Storefronts squatted behind metal accordion gates. The only sign of life was the men who slunk wolflike along the sidewalks and stood sentinel on street corners.

  The taxi pulled into the drive of a long, low cinder-block building with yellow fluorescent lights under the eaves. The blinking neon sign out front announced it to be “The agoon Tr vel Lodg” over a hand-painted sign of a palm tree and blue water.

  “Here you are, mum.”

  She counted out money, handed it over the seat and stepped out. Angry men’s voices came on the damp air. Shouts rang out. She knew this place. The taxi pulled around and squealed out of the lot, leaving her in her past. Watching the shadowy corners of the parking lot out of the corner of her eye, Priss crossed the crumbly asphalt to the office, which turned out to be a four-by-four vestibule. On the other side of bulletproof glass sat a grizzled old man watching TV.

  “How much for a room?”

  He pulled the toothpick from the gap in his front teeth. “By the night or by the hour?”

  “The night.”

  “Thirty bucks.”

  “Get out.” She put a hand on her hip and glared. “Do I look like a rich tourist to you?” Some things never changed.

  He eyed her faded T-shirt and backward baseball cap. “Okay. A double.”

  She grumbled and slapped a twenty into the teller’s slot under the glass.

  He slid back a ring with a key and an orange plastic palm tree with a flaking number four on it.

  The room was about what she expected: bare ceiling bulb, scarred wood desk and threadbare carpet. The rattling air conditioner under the window wheezed out the ghosts of ancient cigarettes that had died here. After checking the lock and hooking the safety chain, she crossed to the bathroom. Pitted fixtures and a black-flecked mirror were at least marginally clean. If you didn’t inspect the corners too close.

  Dropping her backpack on the only chair, she pulled the extra blanket from the closet to spread over the bed. It should be halfway clean since most people wouldn’t want to use it, given the weather and the substandard AC.

  Flipping off the light, she crossed the room guided by the sodium lamp through the crack in the plastic blackout curtains.

  She dropped onto the bed, unlaced her tennis shoes and swung her socked feet onto the bed without touching the yucky carpet. The bed sagged in the middle but wasn’t too awful. She lay back and rested her head on her arm.

  She should sleep like a baby. The traffic sounds and shuffled noises through the paper-thin walls were the familiar sounds of her childhood. But instead, fear came on like a predator’s feet. It crept in the steps walking past her door and in the murmured voices around her. Like she had as a child, she lay frozen on the bed, making a deal with God—if she didn’t move, she’d be kept safe.

  You’re not that scared little girl any more. You’re a grown-up and you can take care of yourself.

  Had she checked the locks?

  She jumped at a knock behind her head. When it became a rhythmic bumping, she sighed, trying to block the picture in her head of what was going on next door.

  I wonder what Nacho and Adam are doing?

  God, she wished she had her phone to call them. Just to hear their voices.... Nacho would probably be working on his jigsaw puzzle before bed. Or maybe Olivia had come over and they were all playing Scrabble. Homesickness engulfed her in a wave so strong she ached. How she’d love to have Adam’s arms around her right now. She rolled into a ball.

  Maybe he’ll go with us. A small voice whispered from deep in her mind.

  Oh, yeah, that’s going to happen. His business is in Widow’s Grove. His family is there. His roots are there.

  And Adam’s roots went deep. He was like a big oak, while she and Nacho were just sparrows, staying to rest for a while...but how nice would it be to stay in those sheltering branches?

  You don’t stay.

  Well, it wasn’t like she’d be breaking some universal law if she did.

  You know how it works. If something matters, you start to count on it. When it’s taken away it leaves a hole and you have to start all over, sealing it up.

  And this time, it wouldn’t only be her that would be hurt. She had Nacho to think about.

  Sure was a pretty dream though.

  When the banging finally stopped next door, she lay sweating, listening to the traffic.

  * * *

  ADAM CARRIED THE empty pizza carton to the trash, glad that his offering had scored points. “So what happens now?” He’d helped Nacho with a couple of math-story problems before dinner but now the evening stretched ahead like a field planted with land mines.

  Nacho just shrugged and picked at the red placemat in front of him.

 
You didn’t really dream he’d make it easy, did you?

  Adam grabbed the sponge from the sink and wiped down the clean counter. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

  The boy heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Do all grown-ups go to class to learn what questions to ask kids? They must, because you all ask the same thing.”

  “Work with me here. I’m just trying to get to know you.”

  “I wanna be in a gang.” His expression was tough but the words sounded tentative, as if he were testing them out for the first time.

  Jesus. What the heck do you say to that?

  Priss was braver than he’d known, taking this on. But she’d told him to look deeper. He paused mid-swipe and studied Nacho, slouched in the chair, kicking the legs, and shooting looks at Adam out of the corner of his eye.

  He’s nervous, too.

  And you’re the adult.

  “Well, that’s one option.” He tossed the sponge in the sink and made himself walk around the counter, pull out a chair and sit. “It reminds me of the old Who song.”

  “Who?”

  “Yeah, they’re an old band. Pete Townshend is a legend. In one of his lyrics, he said, ‘Here’s the new boss, same as the old boss.’”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” The kid’s chin went up.

  Just like Priss’s, before she set her feet and got stubborn.

  “You don’t like people telling you what to do, right?”

  He crossed his skinny arms. “Damn straight.”

  “Well, don’t you think the leader of the gang is going to tell you what to do? What people to hit, what corner to sell drugs on?”

  Nacho snorted. “Dude, you been watching too many Denzel Washington movies.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe. But my point is, why not be your own boss? Look at me. I’ve got my own business.”

  “Oh, yeah, stand around all day and talk to old ladies about their feet. Sign me up.”

  “One of the coolest things about being an adult is that you get to choose. You could go to college—”

  “Can you really see a universe where that happens?” Nacho squinted at him.

  He smiled, hearing Priss’s words coming out of Nacho’s mouth. Maybe she was rubbing off on the kid. “Sure I can. You’re smart. You can do anything you want to.”

  Nacho’s cheeks reddened and he looked away. “Well, I don’t want to do that.”

  “Okay, maybe trade school. Or after high school you could start a custom-painting business, like Bear’s.”

  “Oh, man, that would be cool.”

  There was a kid in there. Adam saw it in the disbelieving hope in Nacho’s eyes, heard it in the boy’s reverent tone.

  “Think about it, that’s all I’m saying.” Adam smiled. “Well, I have some ordering to do for the store.”

  “I’ll go get the puzzle out of the bedroom.” Nacho stood. “Priss had a cleaning fit before you came and made me put it away again.”

  “Hang on. I have another idea.” Adam walked to the living room and pulled his secret weapon out of his backpack. “How’d you like to read instead?” He held up the book.

  Nacho walked over, took Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets from Adam’s hand and stared down at the cover. “This is awesome!” He looked up, unsure. “Is this for me?”

  Adam chuckled. “It’s all yours.”

  “Wow. Thanks.” Nacho walked to the couch and jumped, landing on his back.

  “Feet off the couch.” Adam stood there, feeling like a superhero for the simple act of making a child happy. A warm heat rose in his chest, bringing with it a gratified smile.

  No wonder she does it.

  * * *

  PRISS EASED THROUGH two Detroit fans to the front of the crowd at the door to the visiting team’s locker room. It was the only place she could be sure to catch Sandy Otto.

  The game had been great, even though the base runners looked like ants from her cheap seat. Hoping to bank some good karma, she’d cheered on the Tigers to the win. Her stomach growled a grinding protest. Her seat had been cheap but ballpark food was ungodly expensive. She’d pick up something to eat on the walk back to the hotel.

  The sun burned through her shirt, adding to the sweaty sheen on her skin. Damn, this trip had convinced her that this bird wouldn’t be flying south anytime soon. She was not a fan of humidity.

  The door opened and the baseball fans pressed her on either side as a phalanx of players exited.

  Priss’s heart sped up. If she missed him here, she’d only have one other chance, on Sunday. She scanned the faces that passed.

  There!

  A young redhead carrying a gym bag stopped, blocked by a player signing a kid’s autograph.

  “Sandy! Sandy Otto!”

  He looked up with a TV host’s fake smile. “Hi.”

  “I’m Priss Hart. I know your dad. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  He stepped out of the flow of traffic. “How do you know my dad?”

  She’d thought he’d be more likely to stop if she’d said that. “Well, actually I’ve only talked to your dad. Your grandfather is a good friend of mine.”

  His smile blinked out. “My grandfather is dead.”

  “He’s not. But he’s gravely ill. I thought—”

  “Well, he’s had ten years more than my grandma. Worry over his drinking killed her.” He looked over her head. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Barney’s very proud of you.” She touched Sandy’s forearm to stop him. “Surely you wouldn’t deny an old man a chance to see you before he dies?”

  He stared down at her hand until she removed it.

  “Like I said, my grandfather’s dead.” He walked away.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  PRISS PACED OUTSIDE the same door, in the middle of the same Detroit fans after the game the next day. She had to try once more—for Barney. For her mom.

  For herself.

  Lying in her ratty bed last night, she’d run arguments through her mind, trying to come up with the perfect words to convince Barney’s grandson to visit his grandfather.

  That, and imagining what was happening at home.

  Funny, but after the distraction of the game yesterday, she’d felt a tug in her chest as if a rubber band connecting her to California had pulled tight. She justified it because Nacho was there. Might as well admit it; she loved that little shit.

  But it wasn’t Nacho that had her tossing and turning late into the night. She missed Adam, too. At first she’d blamed the missing on her greedy body. But when she was still awake after midnight, she had to admit it was more than that.

  Adam had made it clear that he hadn’t wanted her to make this trip.

  And yet...

  He’d accepted that she had to go. He’d held her while the guilt she could no longer hold in poured out.

  And in spite of understanding Nacho as much as a cat did a Rubik’s cube, Adam had agreed to stay with her brother, to keep him safe. Not because Nacho meant much to him but because Nacho meant so much to her.

  What did that mean?

  It means he’s a nice guy. You’ve known that since the first time you met him.

  Maybe so, but he’d done all that for her.

  The door to the stadium opened, breaking her train of thought.

  “Sandy!”

  She saw when he recognized her. His lips tightened and his brows came down over sharp-edged eyes. And he kept walking.

  “Sandy, you need to come to California. Not for your grandfather. For yourself.”

  When he hesitated, the stream of players flowed around them. God, she didn’t want to do this. Especially not in public. But it might help—all of them.

  “Trust me, I know how
this works. I left my mother and all her drama behind and never looked back. I found out later that she died poor and all alone.” She heard the pain that dripped from her words but she had to keep going, because he was listening.

  His face was cold and closed, but still, he listened.

  “No one should have to live with the guilt I feel...the guilt I will feel for the rest of my life. You need to—”

  He held up a hand. “Look, lady, I’m sorry for your problems. But trust me, I’m going to sleep just fine at night.” He shook his head. “However long that old man suffers, it’s a lot less than my grandma did.” He turned to walk away.

  Oh, no, you don’t. Not till I’ve had my say.

  Adrenaline pumped into her blood. He’d only taken one step away when she grabbed his bicep and pulled him around. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears and she shouted over it. “He’s in Valley Hospital in Santa Maria.”

  A rent-a-cop security guard stepped between them. “Lady, let him go.”

  She tightened her grip. “You don’t want to do this, dude. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life!”

  Otto jerked his arm away. The guard put his hands against Priss’s shoulders and pushed her back. Cotton tore.

  Otto stumbled back, looking down at his ruined shirt.

  “Hey!” A cop in uniform ran up, grabbed her hand and whipped it behind her back.

  “Don’t. Dammit, I’m just talking to him!” She twisted away, wincing when she felt a muscle pull in her shoulder. But the cop still had her by the wrist and the security guard blocked her view. She yelled over his shoulder. “Barney is sorry—sorry for it all. Do it for you!” She stood on her tiptoes trying to see around the guard.

  When the cop behind tried to grab her other hand she flailed and felt her knuckles smack flesh. “Stop it! Sandy—wait. Let me go!”

  Both arms were jerked behind her and her shoulder sockets screamed. At the cop’s growl, she turned her head.

  Fury in his eyes, his lips pulled back from teeth red with the blood spurting from his nose. Something kicked the back of her knees and she went down. When her head hit the pavement, the world winked out.