by K. S. Thomas
Nine
A Pink Novel, #1
By
K.S. Thomas
Copyright © 2016 - by Karina Gioertz. (Aka - K.S. Thomas)
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the consent of the author, except where permitted by law.
Nine is a work of fiction. All characters and subject matter are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, alive or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover by Phycel Designs
http://www.phycel.com/
Editing by Simone Beaudelaire
Also by K.S. Thomas
A Finding Nolan Novel
Lost Avalon
Secret Hudson
Fallen Angel
PINK
Nine (A Pink Novel, #1)
Standalone
Save The Date
Unhurt
I Call Him Brady
It's Kinda My Thing
I think about YOU
Bittersweet
Until It's Not
With Whom We Spend Our Lives
Last Girl
Ten (A pINK Novelette)
Watch for more at K.S. Thomas’s site.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By K.S. Thomas
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Acknowledgements
About The Author
Further Reading: Ten (A pINK Novelette)
Chapter One
Heartbreaker
I’m three feet from the door when I see it. Blood. Splattered all across the pavement. I cringe involuntarily. I hate the sight of blood, not generally, but in the parking lot behind my shop, I definitely hate the sight of blood. It’s bad for business, and frankly, it’s disgusting.
Still hovering undecidedly on my way to the door, I glance across the empty lot to the warehouse so annoyingly located behind my place. I have half a mind to march straight in there and have it out with Marcus. Again. But what’s the use?
I’m contemplating the words I’d like to rant at my asshole of a brother right now, and wondering which ones might actually make a difference, when I hear the grinding of rocks under thick rubber soles. Combat boots. I’ve heard the sound a million times over the last fifteen years, I don’t even have to turn around to know it’s her.
“Ugh! Why do those fuckers always have to spit right in our walkway?” Sketch stops right beside me, her face matching my expression.
“I’m starting to think Marcus tells them to. Like, this is the designated busted mouth corner of the lot.”
Sketch starts to smirk when it’s evident another thought crosses her mind and she scowls even more deeply than she did before. “Ew. I just had a really horrible visual.”
That’s enough to finally get me moving again. “Well, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” I jump over the bloody graffiti on my way to the door and I can hear Sketch moving right behind me, hot on my tail. She’s going to tell me. Going to scar my brain with whatever disgusting horrors her dark twisty mind conjured up.
“It just occurred to me that spitting isn’t the only possible explanation for this kind of pattern.”
“I don’t want to know!” I shout, tempted to cover my ears but my hands are busy fumbling in my purse in search of keys so I don’t.
“What if this is actually the busted nose section and they’re just blowing bloody snot all over here? That would explain the texture.”
“Oh my Gawd, Sketch! You just made me throw up in my mouth.”
“Well, if it happens again, I’m pretty sure the designated spot for that is over by the dumpsters.” Her gleeful tone suggests she’s no longer as put off by this whole thing now that she’s found the entertainment value in it. Meanwhile, I’m feeling slightly traumatized by the last five minutes of my life.
I unlock the door and hurry inside to deactivate the alarm. I panic every damn morning, thinking I’m going to be the one to set it off. The stupid thing gives me more anxiety than it gives me peace of mind, but with Marcus running his new business right behind my shop, I really don’t have a choice. I’ve invested too much in this place to risk losing any of it to my shady big brother or any of the unsavory characters he’s been attracting ever since word got out about the smoker he’s running out of the old warehouse. Amateur MMA fights, technically legal in this state, except there’s nothing legal about the way Marcus is doing things. Which reminds me that a bit of blood outside my back door is the least of my worries, even if it is laced with snot.
“I think it’s time we talk about hiring a manager again.” Sketch throws her messenger bag onto the small desk at her station in passing while I walk around flipping on all the lights.
“You know we can’t do that. Not now.” I unlock the front door for the other girls who will start to trickle in here at some point during the next hour. As long as everyone is ready to work when the first client walks in, I don’t give a hell what time they show up.
“Well, you can’t keep doing this either. You’re here from open ‘til close six days a week. I can tell by the black slugs you’ve got chillin’ under your eyeballs you’re not sleeping. Your skinny jeans are fucking baggy and I’m pretty sure your niece’s seen me more in the last month than she’s seen you.”
I sigh, dropping myself into one of our extra cushy waiting chairs. “You’re right. Madi spending this much time with you is definitely a problem.”
“You’re a dick.”
“And you suck. See, we’re a perfect match.” I laugh at my stupid joke. I really am tired.
Sketch walks toward me. Without saying a word, she bends over and yanks off my left boot.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I try to kick free from the grip she has on my right ankle, but it’s no use. My other boot goes flying across the waiting area.
“There. Now curl up on that chair and take a nap. I’ll set up.”
I try to argue but she just flattens her palm against the side of my face and smushes me down into the cushions. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Dipshit is still out there somewhere. I’ll deal with his ass too if he comes around. Now sleep.”
I hate the idea of sleeping while Sketch does all the work, especially when that work includes my family messes. She shouldn’t have to clean up after me like this. But she does. Because she’s my best friend and that’s what best friends do.
“I said sleep, bitch.”
“Stop being so bossy!”
“Stop being three!”
“Hey, that’s my line!” But considering I’m tempted to ask for a snack and a blanket, I don’t pursue the argument any further. I do however pull my knees up to my chest and close my eyes. A little nap suddenly seems like the most grown up thing I could do right now.
After a little sleep, the day doesn’t seem half bad. Work is steady and the girls are all in good spirits despite the constant aggravation of having Marcus lurking around. Before I know it, Sketch is shoving me out the door, insisting on closing up on her own tonight.
I let her, if only because I haven’t had dinner with Madi in nearly two weeks. Hopefully I catch her before Pru shoves some healthy, homemade meal down her throat.
“If you got a hot new pool guy and didn’t tell me, you and I are no longer friends, Pru,” I yell the second I enter her house through the service door. Because it’s more like a mansion. And she actually has ‘service’ people. I’m not sure what the legit term is these days. I guess they’re maids? I don’t know. This house is so huge and their ways are so foreign, I actually do feel like I enter a different country every time I walk through the door.
“Nope, it’s still man-boobs Bob, and he was here yesterday,” she calls back. I’m guessing from the kitchen, so I head that way.
“There you are.” I’m slightly out of breath by the time I find her. “If it’s not man-boobs Bob, whose big-ass truck is in my spot?”
Pru’s brow crinkles for a second, her wispy blonde bangs brushing her forehead. In all the years I’ve known her, those damn bangs have always been there. “I told him not to park there.” She shakes her head. “I swear, it doesn’t matter how old they get, kids still only ever hear half of what you tell them.”
I’m totally not following. “One of the girls get a new boyfriend, what?”
Pru stares back at me blankly, a hint of her usual superiority reminding me she still thinks I’m an idiot half of the time. We’ve never been close, but we’ve moved past the point of simply tolerating each other for the sake of the one thing tying our otherwise polar opposite families together. Our niece, Madi. “When is the last time we talked? Lucas is home. Got back on Sunday. That’s his truck in your spot.”
“Oh.” I clear my throat, trying to dislodge the fist-sized ball of anxiety that just leapt to my tonsils. I haven’t seen Lucas in five years. Not since my father passed away. Not since he stayed with me during what turned out to be the most pivotal moment of my life. But none of that matters. All that matters is that Lucas is Pru’s son. And he’s home. And I’m happy for her.
“I could have sworn I told you this.” She shakes her head, probably at me. Because I can’t remember things. Only this, this I definitely would have remembered.
“How long is he home for this time?” My pitch is unnaturally high. I’ll need to fix that before I open my mouth again.
She smiles and it’s the happiest I think I’ve ever seen her. “For good. He’s home for good.”
I’m such an ass. Why am I still standing here? “I am the worst ever. Seriously, Pru. I feel like such a jerk. Why am I even here? I shouldn’t be here. I should collect Madi and get out so you can relish the feeling of having your oldest kid back under your roof, safe and sound, and definitely without any silly interruptions from me.” She hasn’t had that in ages. Not since he up and left with the Army almost seven years ago. Two deployments and years of being stationed overseas later, I can’t even imagine what it would be like to finally have him home again.
I head for the door to the living room just as it swings open and nearly hits me right in the face.
“Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.” A strong hand paired perfectly with the deep smooth sound of his voice, grabs my elbow just as I tumble backward.
“No, it’s fine. Really.” I quickly shake my arm from his grip. I don’t know why, but I have a sudden sense I need to hightail it for the back door and race from the premises before something bad happens. And I don’t mean bad like getting hit in the face by a door. I mean really bad. Get arrested for it bad. “Hey, Lucas.”
“Liv! I had no idea you were here. Why the hell didn’t anyone say something?” Given the fact that I’ve shoved both hands into my pockets and out of his reach, he wastes no time in wrapping me up in a hug I seriously should have seen coming. He ambushed me with one last time I saw him as well.
“I told you she’d show up sooner or later to pick up Madi.” Pru comes up beside us, still drying her hands with her dish towel, and it occurs to me I never did find out what she was doing in here when I arrived.
“Yes, and speaking of Madi, I should find her so we can get out of here.” I try to make my way for the door once more and this time it’s Pru who catches my elbow.
“Don’t be crazy. You’re practically family.”
I’m not. I’m really not. And never in my life have I felt as strongly about this very important detail as I do right at this moment. Standing here, ogling her son, who is absolutely too young for me, but who I am most definitely not related to.
“Um, okay,” I say, still trying to find a way out but not really seeing one. “If you’re sure.” She seems to be because she’s already walking me back toward the island, leading me straight for a barstool to take my seat.
“Of course I’m sure. Coffee?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. There’s no need to. I always want coffee. And outside of the girls at the shop, Pru’s pretty much the only other adult I see these days, which is weird if you think too much about it, so I don’t. Point being, she knows I want coffee.
Meanwhile, Lucas is standing cattycorner from me, a bottle of water in his hands while he stares at me, making no secret of it, by the way.
“Is it my hair? Did it do something crazy in the near collision?” It does that sometimes. There’s a lot of it, and it’s curly. There’s no controlling anything that happens up there so I’ve adapted the whole out sight out of mind approach when dealing with it.
He smirks. “I don’t think it had anything to do with our near collision.”
Oh, good. Still the same old smartass he was before. I guess I can draw some sense of comfort from that.
I fight the urge to reach up and pat down the tsunami waves of curls on top of my head, and instead return his stare.
“Is...is it my hair?” He feigns concern as he softly taps the top of his head, touching his nearly non-existent fuzz. I’m guessing it’s been a week since he shaved it last. Two weeks tops.
“It is, actually. Or, it was. I think it all got scared and took off.”
He smirks just as his mother comes up behind him, reaching her hand for his head and running her palm over his stubble.
“I can’t wait until it all grows back. I swear, for a boy, he has the prettiest hair. I used to let it grow out when he was little; it was so lovely.” A reminiscent gaze washes over her and she smiles warmly.
“I bet you loved that.” I grin at Lucas who is being an exceptionally good son right now and silently tolerating his mother’s trip down memory lane.
“It was grand. I still say a daily prayer of thanks that Hailey was born before I started school.” He finally shrugs out of her embrace and starts moving toward the row of barstools lined up next to me.
“I can only imagine.” I feel weird. This bantering back and forth. I mean, it’s what we’ve always done, but somehow now it feels different. Not to mention, joking with Pru’s son right in front of her is making me paranoid it could be misinterpreted as flirting. And I’m definitely not doing that. Which I’m sure everyone else in the room knows. Except for me.
“Speaking of having daughters, any idea where the girls are?” I haven’t seen Madi since she left for school this morning, but that’s pretty standard during the week. I see her off in the a.m. and then track her down here sometime before dinner. Or, as of late, after. Pru and her family have been a godsend in that department, filling in while I’m stuck at the shop. Knowing my seventeen-year-old is safe and hanging with her besties is about as content as a parent slash aunt can get in lieu of actually being present.
“Passed them on my way in here. They were headed to the pool. Ash made a big announcement about doing homework out there, so I’m guessing it’s not done...and they’re not doing it.” He busies h
imself screwing the cap back on his now empty water bottle, but I can tell he’s fighting back a smile. “Also, the Dennison’s grandson is next door mowing the lawn with his shirt off.” And there’s the real reason.
“Those little hornballs.” Not that I’m judging. I’m just aware, trying to ride that fine line between letting girls be girls and preventing an early onset of grand-motherhood, or grand-aunt- hood. I’m never sure where we land with the terminology there. I mean, I’m the only parental figure the kid’s got left, but there are no good words for aunt who doubles as mother who really only stumbled into the role five years ago.
“I guess we should be grateful they’re in our own backyard while they drool over half-naked men from a distance.” Pru stifles a laugh by having a sip of her coffee.
I’m trying hard not to giggle myself. “Am I the only one who wants to go spy on them right now?”
Pru’s headed for the family room before I even finish and I’m hot on her heels. From in here we have a clear shot of the girls out on the pool deck, as well as the neighbor’s backyard and the twenty-one-year-old man-child riding his tractor mower thing back and forth.
“Well, can’t say I blame them. Look at that kid. He’s definitely been working out.”
“Okay, that’s gross, Ma.” I didn’t even realize Lucas had followed us in here.
“I’m with your kid on this one. I mean, he has muscles like a man...and he’s cute...but he’s like...twelve.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lucas staring again and it makes me uneasy. Probably because in my mind, men only stare at women like that for one reason. But he’ not a man, he’s Pru’s son, and to him, I’m likely an old lady now, so I’m feeling stupid for even thinking about it one way or the other.
Lucas
It’s weird seeing them together. Liv and my mother, getting along. Even now, they couldn’t be any more different from each other if they tried. Where my mother never has a single one of her blonde hairs out of place, Liv may or may not even own a brush. The way her raven colored curls seem to be loosely piled on top of her head, I’m guessing she styled it by hanging her head out of the window while driving. And I’m not knocking it. It looks fucking hot. Like, I want to run my fingers through it and get them stuck there hot.