Worth the Trouble (St. James #2)

by Jamie Beck

  Not ten minutes later, she nearly passed out in the boarding queue when she saw Hank deplaning at a gate across the walkway.

  He didn’t notice her as he adjusted the small duffel bag slung over his shoulder. The deep lines in his face were visible from where she stood and, for one moment, a barrel of empathy washed through her. She twitched, restraining herself from calling out or running to him. Instead, she watched him walk down the hall, just as he’d walked out of her life.

  Whatever anger and embarrassment she harbored because of yesterday’s blowup, she loved him, and because of that, she knew letting go was the best thing she could do for him.

  The next morning, Cat finished stowing Esther’s groceries before joining her in the living room for a cup of Darjeeling. For whatever reason, drinking from Esther’s fine china made the tea taste better.

  “I already miss seeing your Hank in the hallways now that he’s finished with your project.” Esther stirred an extra lump of sugar in her tea. “Are you pleased with his work?”

  “It’s beautiful.” Of course, now those magnificent armoires were just another reminder of Hank—a bitterly painful reminder she’d wake up to every day of her life as long as she stayed in that condo. “Not only did he do a beautiful job, but he also organized my entire wardrobe.”

  “How thoughtful. I could tell he was kind straightaway.” Esther’s expression grew pensive. “So, now what? Will you keep seeing him?”

  “No,” Cat said, setting down her cup. “Our business plans unraveled in Chicago. Actually, everything unraveled. It’s over for good this time.”

  “That’s only true if you don’t care for him, dear.”

  “I really care for him, which is why this is the right decision.”

  “Why do you say that?” Esther’s eyes sharpened. Had Cat not been so emotionally depleted, she probably wouldn’t have gone on to share her diagnosis with Esther.

  After the normal consolations, Esther sipped her tea, eyes awash with memories. “My sister never had children. She and her husband had a grand, adventuresome life together, and were perfectly content in their roles as aunt and uncle.”

  “Believe me, Esther, I know infertility isn’t the worst thing that could happen to me. Although it seems difficult to imagine, I hope eventually I’ll end up in some kind of committed relationship. Obviously I just need more time to process all the changes in my life before I can bring a man into the equation. Before I can ask or expect someone else to accept that fate, too.”

  “Are you sure you’re not rationalizing away your fear?”

  “No. Hank and I are very different people, and while opposites attract, they probably aren’t meant to last.” Cat shifted uncomfortably because she didn’t want to regret losing Hank. Dammit, she should never have let him so close. Never should’ve imagined they’d ride off into the sunset like some couple in a romantic movie. If she would’ve simply abided by her normal habits—stayed unattached, stuck to what she knew—she wouldn’t be looking for ways to mend her career or her heart.

  Then again, she also wouldn’t have experienced the feel of him. She wouldn’t have learned that perhaps some men would accept the unglamorous version of Cat St. James. For that, at least, she owed him thanks. “Hank’s life has been a string of loss and difficulty. Complicated and filled with sacrifices. He deserves an uncomplicated love and future.”

  Esther chuckled and set down her cup. “Oh, dear. Certainly you’re old enough to know that uncomplicated love only exists in Disneyland.”

  “There are complications, and there are complications. Hank deserves what David and Vivi share . . . exuberant joy and a hopeful future.”

  “What about you?” Esther’s grin fell as her expression turned contemplative. “Don’t you deserve those things, too?”

  Cat shrugged. “Maybe not. I haven’t been very brave in my life—not like Vivi or Hank. I’ve made easy choices, many of them bad. So much has been handed to me—just because people favor those of us lucky enough to be born with good bone structure. So no, I haven’t really earned that happy future. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Maybe it’s time to be brave, then. Time to earn your happiness.”

  “Don’t play Yoda, Esther.” Cat leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “If you have something to say, just spit it out.”

  Esther’s teacup clinked against the saucer. “Tell Hank how you feel. Tell him the truth and then let the chips fall. He might surprise you.”

  Cat lowered her eyes to study the intricate patterns of the Aubusson carpet while forming a response. “Maybe he’d be willing to give things another try, but I don’t see how we’d end up in a better place in three, six, or nine months. I don’t know if I could live with wondering if he regretted the sacrifice, either. At this point in my life, I should make the most of what’s left of my career. I leave for Italy this week. I’m considering a licensing deal with a jewelry designer. I’m really busy, so I don’t need a relationship.”

  “You sound very busy, dear.” Esther lifted her nearly empty cup. “But be careful not to squander your time chasing too many things at once. That’s the quickest way to end up with nothing.”

  Mom,

  I’m staring at the orange-and-lilac-tinted clouds through the airplane window on my flight to Italy, wishing to see you sitting on one. I’m so sad these days, I’d give anything to hear your voice, see your face.

  And I can’t shake Esther’s warning, no matter how many glasses of merlot I drink.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Hank tore through a section of drywall in the Hudson’s kitchen, sending dust particles spewing through the air, which caused him to sneeze. Jackson had taken Hank’s replacement, Jim Walker, to another site this morning, thank God. He didn’t need the reminder of his impending unemployment staring him in the face every hour of his day.

  “Hey, old man,” Doug called from across the room while hefting an old kitchen cabinet out of its space and setting it on the floor near his step stool. “Get a face mask or you’re gonna hurt your lungs.”

  Hank grunted, ignoring Doug’s advice. He couldn’t care less about his lungs at the moment. Ever since Chicago, he hadn’t cared much about anything one way or the other.

  Thankfully Meg’s job enabled her to check in on their mom several times each day, which alleviated a bit of his burden. He’d visited his mother each evening, bringing her good soup or her favorite pudding. But the grim reality of her future couldn’t be ignored, no matter how hard he fought the truth.

  Meg always accused him of being as stubborn as their dad, and maybe she was right. Look at how he’d been unwilling to accept the truth about his and Cat’s situation until it bit him in the ass.

  Still, he missed her. For a short while his life had burned with intensity. Her thoughtful gestures and sexy attitude had roused all his senses, making everything more vivid. He tormented himself by remembering little moments and details—her scent, her playful smile, the look on her face when she was beneath him—until he couldn’t bear the pain. Then he’d physically unleash the anguish at work with a sledgehammer or a saw.

  If Jackson were angry with him about the mess with Cat, he hadn’t said anything. Most likely, Cat hadn’t filled her brother in on the details of the spectacular argument. So Jackson might never know the full reason behind the end of Mitchell/St. James.

  Just as well. Perhaps Hank could salvage that friendship once all the dust had settled and he’d found a new job.

  Yesterday Jackson had mentioned something about Cat’s trip to Italy. Hank glanced at the time and calculated six hours ahead. Had she finished working for the day? Was she alone? Did she miss him? If he called, would she answer? And when the hell would he stop feeling like shit?

  Whack. He struck another blow to widen the doorway between the kitchen and family room areas. The shrill whirr of Doug’s drill pierced his ears. He looked at Doug, who was now unscrewing the old upper cabinets from the walls.

  For the first time, Ha
nk felt old on the job. The toll of years of heavy manual labor made his joints ache. He hated the taste of drywall dust in his mouth and the tickle when it lined his nostrils. Another reason to be remorseful about the death of their ill-fated furniture business.

  “I thought Jackson was coming here today with the new guy,” Doug barked over the din.

  “They’ll be here.” Hank swung the sledgehammer a third time.

  “Yeah, right,” Doug yelled. “’Cause he’s so reliable.”

  Hank lowered the sledgehammer. “He gets the job done.”

  “I know he’s your buddy, but you ought to take off those blinders.” Doug stopped his drill. “I took this job because I’d heard good things about him, but he’s off the rails. I’m ready to start looking elsewhere, especially now that you’re outta here soon.”

  Doug’s observations weren’t completely inaccurate, but Hank despised two-faced behavior. Unfortunately for Doug, Hank was in no mood to be politic.

  “Jackson’s a good guy, Doug. If you’re not happy here, then go somewhere else, but don’t poison the crew with your opinions.” Hank smashed the sledgehammer into the wall again. “Shut it or I’m going to have to warn Jackson about your bad attitude.”

  Doug’s smug expression seemed downright evil. He fired up his drill again and yelled, “If Jackson shows up at all this morning, he’ll be too hungover to pay much attention to you, anyway. He’s gonna end up losing his business and then it’ll be easy pickings for some other builder to come in and take over.”

  “I told you to shut—”

  “What the fuck, Doug?” Jackson barked from the doorway connecting the kitchen and mudroom. Hank snapped his head toward Jackson, whose disheveled clothing and hair only proved Doug’s point. Dark circles underscored his eyes, standing out against the ever-reddening flush of his face. “What did you just say about me?”

  Hank lowered the hammer and held his breath. Two hotheads readying for a cockfight. Jim looked shell-shocked.

  Shit.

  “Jackson,” Hank began. Jackson threw his hand out to silence him, then strode over to Doug’s step stool. Anger rippled off his broad shoulders in waves.

  “You’re fired, asshole.” He picked up Doug’s screwdrivers off the counter and tossed them on the floor. “Pick up your shit and get the fuck out. Now!”

  Doug jumped off the stool and jabbed his finger in Jackson’s face. “You’re the asshole!”

  “I’m done talking to you.” Jackson bared his gritted teeth. “Get the fuck out before I knock you into the next room.”

  “Hey, guys, calm down.” Hank crossed the kitchen. “Separate corners.”

  Too little, too late. Both men were jacked up and ready to rumble. Doug spit into the sink.

  “Fine. I’m outta here, Jackass.” Doug squatted to pick up his tools. He looked up defiantly. “Don’t get too comfy with all your power. As soon as word spreads about your drinking, we’ll see how many new projects you land.”

  A quick glance at Jim told Hank he might already be regretting taking this job. Jackson didn’t help matters when he kicked Doug’s toolbox out of his reach and yanked the man up to his feet.

  Gripping him by his shirt, Jackson bellowed, “You’re threatening me? Open your mouth and I’ll slap you with a slander suit and anything else I can think of. I’ve got a six-year string of successful projects and happy clients. What the hell have you got?”

  Doug shoved at Jackson. When Hank noticed Jackson form a fist, he grabbed Doug from behind to get him out of harm’s way and spare Jackson a lawsuit. Doug twisted and elbowed Hank, sending him stumbling backward. He tripped over the old cabinets Doug had left scattered across the floor.

  Hank threw his hands out to break his fall, but his left hand took the full brunt of his weight, sending shattering pain through his wrist.

  “Holy hell!” He sat up, clutching his forearm above the throbbing wrist, which began swelling up like a balloon. “Dammit, I can’t move it.”

  Jackson and Doug turned, stunned. Ray ran into the room, having heard the shouting and crash from the master bathroom where he’d been working, and nearly knocked Jim over. “Everything okay in here?”

  “Oh, shit!” Jackson hustled to Hank’s side. “That’s fucked up. We’ve got to get you to the hospital.”

  “I told you sticking with him would lead to no good,” Doug said to Hank, standing apart from them, arms crossed. “Now you won’t be able to work anywhere with your lame hand.”

  “Wipe the shit-eating grin off your face.” Jackson’s menacing tone caused Doug and Ray to back up. “You have two minutes to gather your shit before I personally toss you off the property.” Jackson stood. “Clock’s ticking.” He looked at Ray. “You got something to say?”

  Ray shook his head. “You need help, Hank?”

  “I’ll get Hank the help he needs. You can keep working today . . . please. Jim, can you finish the kitchen demolition while I get Hank to the doctor?” Jackson looked at Doug, who’d gathered his things and then flipped the bird before storming out of the house. “Ray, if he comes back, call the cops to report trespassing.”

  Ray winced, but nodded. Hank hobbled to his feet and started walking toward the door.

  Doug was right about one thing. The injury would sideline him for weeks or longer. How would he find work without the use of his hand?

  Could things get any worse?

  Jackson opened his car door for Hank before walking around to the driver’s seat and starting the engine. “Can you believe Doug?”

  “Not now, Jackson.” Hank’s entire arm throbbed. His wrist was beginning to bruise.

  Jackson frowned apologetically and nodded.

  “I’m sorry you got hurt.” He stared out the front window—forehead creased, mouth set in a grim line. “You shouldn’t have jumped in the middle.”

  “Yeah? Well maybe you shouldn’t have flown off the handle and acted like a steroidal idiot, Jackson. You just set yourself up for legal hassles and other problems. Doug’s not the only crew member talking about your behavior.”

  Jackson turned to Hank, wide-eyed. “What the hell?”

  “I’ve been telling you for months to slow down and get it together. You push the crew too hard, you’re not making good decisions at work, and between you and me, you have been drinking too much. That’s the damn truth. And now you’re down by another finish carpenter, yet you have four open jobs. Not ideal.” Hank shook his head in disgust. “I knew something would happen, dammit. Just didn’t think I’d be the one to suffer.”

  At least Jackson had the grace to look ashamed. “I don’t want to fight with you, and I’m real sorry about how this will affect you in the short term. I’ll help out. Don’t worry about money.”

  “Fuck that. Your family thinks everything can be fixed by throwing money around. What if I can’t fully use this wrist and hand in the future? How will I work? I could be seriously fucked, you know. Unlike you, I didn’t go to college. I don’t have a lot of options.”

  “That’s not gonna happen.” Jackson’s brows pinched together. “Not gonna happen, Hank.”

  Mom,

  I’m treading water. That’s all I’m doing. Going nowhere, aiming nowhere. Just treading. No shore in sight. Almost as adrift as I was in the weeks before you died.

  Do you think Hank misses me as much as I miss him?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Cat tugged at her robe while the final touches of eye shadow and liner were being applied.

  “Stop fidgeting,” Angela, the makeup artist, ordered, her thick Italian accent softening her English.

  Cat’s butt hurt from sitting in the chair for the past ninety minutes while hair stylists and makeup artists poked and prodded her from every direction. She wanted to move. To scratch the itch on her nose. Mostly, she wanted to be alone. Thank God this was the final day of the shoot.

  “You’d look sexier without that dark shadow in your eyes, Catalina,” Angela said. “I know that look. Man tro
uble. What did he do? Cheat? Use you?”

  He loved me and I pushed him away. “No man troubles,” Cat muttered. Not entirely untrue. After all, Hank was no longer her man.

  Cat had never before made such a gut-wrenching sacrifice for someone else’s benefit. Since she’d last seen him in the airport, she’d felt cold. Cold to her bones, as if she’d been walking naked through midwinter sleet.

  They say sacrificing for others feels good.

  They are wrong.

  All it had done for her was leave her empty yet filled with yearning, doubts, and selfish regret. Not to mention totally preoccupied by an overwhelming urge to run to Hank and beg.

  “All done,” Angela announced. “Bellissima!”

  Cat stared at herself in the large mirror. Dramatic gray, green, and plum eye makeup extended well beyond her eyelids. The contours of her cheekbones and jawline were enhanced as well. She barely recognized herself. Just another mask people would see—dark and ugly to match her frame of mind.

  She slid off the chair and proceeded to the wardrobe area to retrieve the outfit she’d be photographed wearing next. A young woman handed her high-heeled black sandals, a straight black velvet skirt, and a sheer black silk top with velvet leaf-shaped appliqués that barely covered her nipples.

  The woman helped her into the clothing, and then directed Cat to the lavish set. The walls were swathed in deep red wallpaper. Smoky mirrored squares, sprinkled in rose petals, covered the floor. Gold brocade drapes hung on the false walls, and a glass table sat in the middle of the floor.

  How fitting that, like much of her life, this was all make-believe.

  “Oh, gorgeous, Catalina,” Neil, the photographer, cooed. “Let’s start with you lying on the table looking at the ceiling. Jean-Paul will kneel by your head and then we’ll take it from there.”

  Neil snapped his fingers and a dozen other people positioned themselves behind lights and diffusion panels.