by L.H. Cosway
I sit up straighter when I see the gates open and two screws step out. They usher forward three blokes, and I immediately recognise Stu as one of them. He walks straight, head down, wearing a hoodie and jeans.
I smack my hand down on the horn to get his attention and he looks up, recognising my motor. I see him mutter something to himself, a few effs and jeffs, I’m willing to bet, before turning his wheels in my direction. Liam and Trevor are at the house, helping Sophie and Karla set up the welcome-home party. By the looks of it, they’re going to have a fuck of a time getting Stu in the party mood.
He opens the door and slides into the passenger seat. “Didn’t ask you to come,” are the first words out of the moody bastard’s mouth. If I had less restraint, I’d give him a kick in the balls.
“Wasn’t going to let you get the bus, now, was I?” I say, starting up the engine.
We drive in silence for a couple of minutes, Stu staring out the window, big horror head on him.
“Well, I must say, Stuart, you’re a veritable ray of fucking sunshine today.”
All he does is turn his head, level me with an expression that has “piss off” written all over it, and resumes looking out the window.
“So you’re not going to explain why I’ve gotten nothing but radio silence off you for months?”
He tilts his head to me, all snotty. “Wasn’t feeling chatty.”
“I thought they put you in the hole. Found out from Jimmy Kelly’s cousin that you’re walking around fit as a fiddle.”
“Jimmy Kelly’s cousin can go fuck himself.”
That does it. I slam my foot down on the brakes and pull the car off to the side of the road. He’s putting up a front, I can just tell. Snapping free my seatbelt, I turn to him, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. He flinches at my touch, and let me tell you, seeing your six-foot-two, brick-shithouse brother flinch away from a friendly touch would do a number on anyone.
“This is me, Stu. There’s nobody else here. No bullshit, so stop blocking me out.” I keep my voice measured, not letting my temper get the better of me.
All of a sudden, Stu slumps in his seat. His breathing goes funny, and he closes his eyes. I stare at him, not knowing what to do. It seems like he’s ignoring me again, but then I see the wetness on his cheeks and I realise he’s crying.
“Ah, fuck,” I swear quietly, emotion biting at my gut as I pull him into a hug.
He heaves in my arms, all two hundred and some pounds of him, and I notice he’s become a lot bulkier during his time away. The pain he’s been dealing with rolls out like a riptide now that he has a safe place to expel it. It’s a bullshit social standard that men aren’t supposed to cry anyway. Fuck, I’d cried like a baby into a bottle of Jack when I thought I’d lost Karla, and I’m man enough to admit it. I know Stu had a rough time of it when he first got sent away, trying to avoid fights and stupid political mind games. A bloke like me can disappear into a crowd, become wallpaper, but not Stu. He stands out.
“Fuuuuck,” he curses, gripping my shirt as he pulls back and runs his hands down his face. “I’m sorry.”
“Not necessary.”
“It is. You don’t need me coming out with a chip on my shoulder. And I missed your wedding.”
I laugh softly. Missing my and Karla’s wedding is the last thing I expected him to feel bad about. “It’s not like they were going to let you take a day trip.”
“Yeah, but, I could’ve, I dunno, Skyped myself in or something. I always thought I’d be your best man.”
“Me, too. Trevor did an okay job.”
“Little prick stole my thunder.”
I chuckle and grip his hand in mine. “You didn’t miss nothing fancy, that’s not mine and Snap’s style, but it was the best day. I wish you could’ve been there.”
He perks up, sliding his eyes to mine. “Yeah?”
Sitting back in my seat, I describe the day, knowing it’d be good for him to picture something other than a six-by-eight cell and high walls. “Yeah. Alexis was her bridesmaid. You would’ve appreciated the low neckline.”
Stu groans. “Don’t fucking torture me. It’s been two years, bruv.”
I frown. “I know. My bad.”
“Not your fault. What else?”
“Karla had her hair up in this thing, looked like a bloody Danish pastry. I don’t know how birds do that shit. It’s like it’s purposefully designed to make you want to pull it and make a mess. Obviously, her old man didn’t show. Her mum made a brief appearance, though. Karla seemed real happy about that. We had Liam give her away. Trevor, the greedy little git, wanted to play father of the bride and best man, but I wasn’t having it.”
Stu laughs.
“And during the afters he tried getting off with Larry Murphy’s wife. The bloke nearly de-bollocked him. Trust Trev to pull a stunt like that, but fuck it, a wedding’s not a wedding without a bit of colour.”
“True.”
A quiet falls between us, and I cast him a look. “Are we good?”
Stu nods before letting out a long exhalation. “Yeah, we’re good.”
“Great, because Soph’s throwing you a welcome-home party, so you’re going to have to plaster a smile on that ugly mug for the next few hours.”
Stu chuckles loudly. “You’re jealous of this mug and we both know it.” A pause as he side-eyes me. “She hasn’t invited a bunch of people, has she?”
I shake my head. “Nah, just the family today, bruv. I’m making you a slap-up meal, by the way. Been planning it for weeks. It’s gonna blow your socks off, make you forget about all that prison slop you’ve been eating.”
Stu groans. “I never thought I’d miss fruit, but Christ, I swear I’d get a stiffy if I saw an apple right now.”
“All round and ripe for the picking,” I say with a grin. “Sexy little bitches.”
Stu barks a laugh, and it makes me feel ten feet tall to see him smile, even if it is only for a minute. I pull a pack of ciggies from my pocket, light one up, and hand it to him before lighting another for myself. We sit in quiet as we smoke, staring at the road ahead. When we’re done, we throw our butts out the window and I start the car up again.
“Wait,” says Stu, putting his hand on mine. I turn to him. “Can I drive?” he asks.
“Go for it,” I reply, and we get out to switch seats.
All the way home I watch him, little by little seeing the tension seep out of him the farther we get away from the prison. Still, he seems different, more stoic and thoughtful somehow. I mean, being put away would change anyone, no matter how strong they are going in. I wonder what it’s like to be all caged up like that, stuck looking at the same dumbfuck faces every day. That fate was almost mine, and I’m resolved to do everything in my power to make life better for my brother from here on out.
By the time we arrive at the house, Stu almost looks like his old self again. We step in the front door and everyone’s waiting in the kitchen, shouting “welcome home” and blowing on party whistles. Stu shakes his head, but I know he’s secretly loving it.
Karla steps up and gives him a hug, and he seems to sink into the touch. It doesn’t make me jealous, far from it. He hasn’t smelled a women in over two years, so I understand that he can’t help absorbing her softness. She smiles when she catches my eye, letting go of Stu and moving across the room to greet me.
I love her punch-to-the-gut beautiful smiles, love her bright blue eyes and sexy red hair. I love her body, love how everything about her seems like it was made for me. But most of all I want that for my brother. After everything he’s been through, I want him to find a woman who grabs his heart by the balls and shows him what it feels like to truly love someone.
“You look gorgeous,” I tell her, laying a quick kiss on her mouth while my hand slips down to cup her arse.
“Oh, but you’re prettier,” she teases me, giving my lip a saucy little bite. For a second I consider dragging her upstairs for a quickie, but then I remind myself that toda
y isn’t about me and my horndog needs. Today is about Stu.
Letting go of my perfect, tough, kickass police sergeant wife, I head to the fridge and pull out the ingredients I prepared earlier. I’m cooking Stu an Angus steak with all the trimmings.
“Fuck yes,” he says when he sees what I’m making, clapping me round the shoulder and knocking back a slug of the beer Sophie handed him the moment he stepped through the door.
Karla goes to sit at the table, in between Liam and Trev. She smiles at them both as she pulls Billie up onto her lap. The kid’s been living with us full time ever since Karla helped Sophie foster her. She affectionately pushes a strand of her hair behind her ear and asks Liam how he’s getting on at the police academy, then questions Trev on his latest adrenaline-junkie endeavour.
Stu sits on the other side of the table, beside Sophie, content to listen to the conversation flow around him. It’s like a strike to the chest, seeing Karla surrounded by all my family. They’re her family now. And she doesn’t even realise it, but she’s become like a mother to all of them, looking out for their welfare, giving them help when it’s needed.
I’d always done it alone, but now I have someone to hold my hand and shoulder some of the burden. She’ll never have my kids. I know that and I hate it, but it doesn’t take away even an ounce of the love I have for her. In fact, it only makes me love her more. Because she’s made my brothers her sons, Sophie her daughter, and bettered all our lives in the process.
The world isn’t blue, isn’t lonely any more, and though I was supposed to be the thief, she was the one who stole my heart.
End.
If you enjoyed Hearts of Blue, then you might be interested in Stu’s story, Thief of Hearts. Read on for the blurb.
* * *
Seduce the teacher.
Meet the cousin.
Make a deal.
Steal the painting.
Andrea Anderson has no clue of the thoughts churning around in the dark and dangerous ex-con’s head as he enters her classroom. In fact, she’s momentarily lost for words. Not in her entire teaching career has she had a student who looked quite like Stuart Cross.
A widow at just twenty-eight, love is something Andie hasn’t considered a part of her life for a very long time. However, when lingering touches turn to whispered words and hot, searching stares, she begins to wonder if maybe she should take a leap of faith.
But Stu is in her class for a reason, and it has nothing to do with love. He’s there to burrow his way into her life and repay a debt, otherwise his family will suffer. Andie is the first person to show him true kindness since he left prison, and though he doesn’t want to mislead her, he doesn’t have another choice.
Before long, Stu can’t tell whether or not he’s acting anymore, and his feelings for Andie could throw all of his carefully crafted plans into complete and utter disarray.
Thief of Hearts is available now!
Cross My Heart
A Hearts Novella (#5.75)
For Bowie and the imaginations he captured.
Copyright © 2017 L.H. Cosway
All rights reserved.
* * *
Smashwords Edition
* * *
Cover design by RBA Designs.
* * *
Editing by Marion Archer at Making Manuscripts.
* * *
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
One
Life on Mars?
Whenever I was feeling down I watched the musicless version of Dancin’ in the Street.
What?
It was the perfect remedy for a case of the blues.
Then I watched the original version, the ultimate catnip for oddballs like me. Bowie was my guru, my constant companion, my imaginary friend. He visited me from beyond the grave, each time dressed in one of his many guises.
Some would say this was the reason my life was in the gutter, but those people could go kiss my shiny Ziggy Stardust boots. Okay, I tell a lie. I didn’t own a pair of shiny Ziggy Stardust boots. That sort of luck only fell upon the truly blessed. I did, however, possess an encyclopaedic knowledge of Bowie and his madcap crazy life-living skillz.
For example, did you know that David (I felt I knew him well enough to be on first-name basis) used to anonymously comment on his own fan forum under the code name ‘Sailor’? He relished the fact that people had to say “Hello, Sailor” when they greeted him.
It was these sorts of titbits that really kept me going. I know, kinda sad. Unfortunately, when you’re twenty years old, homeless, and wash dishes for a living, it’s the little things that seem like bright, shining beacons of hope.
I was a glass half full kind of girl. I had to be, otherwise I’d be a hand me the crack pipe kind of girl.
A car honked loudly from somewhere outside the building I was squatting in, prompting Mr Hector to jump off the sleeping bag and do a runner. The little coward. Mr Hector was my stray cat. I didn’t own him or anything, he just kept showing up. I named him Mr Hector after the concierge in Home Alone 2 (obvs), because he possessed the exact same disdainful, snobbish personality and facial expressions.
Yes, cats had facial expressions.
Well, I liked to imagine they did, anyway, and I had quite a vivid imagination, hence my fictitious Bowie visitations. He sat by the crumbling window ledge, looking out onto the dead environs of a forgotten part of London.
“They’ll probably try to gentrify this place soon,” Bowie sighed, rolling his glass orb from one palm to the other. He was Jareth the Goblin King this morning. “Then where will that leave you?”
“I’ll have enough for a deposit to rent a flat by then,” I replied.
“But you don’t have any references from previous landlords. Everybody asks for references these days. It’s not the 1970s anymore,” he continued, arching a wry, well-plucked eyebrow.
Damn imaginary Bowie, always pointing out the flaws in my plans.
“More’s the pity. If it were the ’70s I could go live with you and Iggy Pop in Berlin.”
He paused his orb rolling. “You couldn’t hack that lifestyle.”
I gaped at him and gestured around myself. “Eh, hello, I’m living in a squat. I can hack any lifestyle. And besides, I’m sure I’ll be able to find somewhere willing to let me rent. Maybe if I pay them in cash they’ll turn a blind eye.”
Bowie didn’t look convinced. Neither did Mr Hector, who was sitting in the far corner of the room licking his privates now. Mr Hector and his privates needed to get a different room.
I glanced at the time on my cracked but still functioning alarm clock and jumped into action. I had a shift at The Grub Hut in two hours and upon sniffing myself, deduced I needed to wash. That meant paying a visit to the local public swimming pool and availing of their showers.
Please, don’t judge. I did what I had to.
I could only afford the swimming pool twice a week. Three at most. Other days I either used the bathroom at work, or I brushed my teeth and washed my face with a bottle of water here at the squat. There was no running water in the building. Or electricity for that matter, and when it got dark my only source of light came from the collection of candles I’d accumulated over time.
Saying goodbye to Bowie and Mr Hector, I made my way outside. I’d been living here for three months and so far so good. In other words, no police had come knocking. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t eventually, of course. I needed a contingency plan, but between work and making sure some junkie didn’t usurp my living quarters, I didn’t have a lot of time for coming up with Plan B.
My story was a typical one. After my mum died of an overdose when I was fourteen, I’d been placed into care. I aged out of the system at eighteen and have been doing my best to survive ever since.
My philosophy was that nobody was going to show
up and give me a home. I had to fight for one, and working hard was the only way I knew how to fight. Hope was a powerful thing. So long as I held on to positivity and hope, I knew I’d better my situation. I had to.
My hair was still a little wet when I arrived at work. My boss, Lee, was kind of amazing. When I’d shown up asking if he had any jobs going, he’d taken one look at me and somehow sensed my desperation. Maybe he’d been in my position before, or maybe he was just a good person, but he didn’t tell me to sling my hook when I confessed I couldn’t give him my address. Instead he nodded soberly and told me that if I showed up on time and did my job well, he’d turn the other cheek.
I felt a little bad that I secretly charged my iPod in the break room during my shifts. I’d had it since my thirteenth birthday and managed to keep it in near-pristine condition. It was one of the last things Mum ever bought me. It kept me feeling warm on so many cold, lonely nights.
I could live without a home.
I could live without a family.
But I couldn’t live without my music.
Luckily, Lee liked to pipe the local radio station into the kitchen while we worked, which helped make my shifts go by quicker.
I was carrying a stack of dirty dishes from the front of the restaurant and out to the kitchen when I caught sight of a familiar police uniform. My pulse sped up and my posture stiffened. This always happened when he came in, but for some reason I never got used to it. My living situation being what it was, I tended to run the other way when I saw police. In this particular case, I knew he wasn’t here for me.