Whole Again (Hometown Hero's Book 1)

by Colleen S. Myers

  When the door opened, the light from the hallway blinded him, leaving bright white spots in his vision, but he could still smell the stink of her perfume, Chanel No. 5. His gorge rose as it always did lately when she was near; his fingers whitened around his glass. He watched without comment, sipping his Jack while she walked into the room, her heels clicking on the hardwood floors.

  “Really, David? Sitting in the dark, smoking.” Her hand waved in front of her face, diamonds flashing in the dim lighting. “You know tobacco can kill you. What are you doing here?”

  He took a long pull of his cigar and exhaled slowly and deliberately in her general direction. “Thinking.”

  Her syrupy Southern voice hardened. “There is nothing to think about. You know what you have to do. We have discussed this.” She aimed her finger at his face. “It’s your duty.”

  David leaned forward. “But—”

  “No buts. Do it or we lose everything, do you want that? After all that has happened?” Her hand pointed at his face again in command. “Do it.”

  She smoothed her hair, turned, and walked out the door, content in his obedience.

  David collapsed back with a sigh and contemplated where she’d been standing a moment ago and wondered if he could do it and what would happen if he didn’t do it. There had to be another way.

  ****

  The next day, Vicki wandered toward her childhood home. She’d grown up here, but it never felt . . . right. Over manicured hedges and flower beds surrounded the bloated Victorian mansion on one acres of prime Pittsburgh real estate in Mount Lebanon overlooking the Ohio River. The path was demarcated in perfectly aligned paving stones leading to the backyard.

  She proceeded down the trail to stare down at the water, the air fresh in the Sunday morning sunshine.

  Her mother walked up behind her. “There you are, precious. We’ve been waiting on you for lunch. Come.”

  What we was this? Vicki turned from the view to gaze at her mother—sleek and trim at fifty with her blonde hair silvering perfectly and styled in a sleek bob around her face, her pressed linen blue shirt dress immaculate. Discreet silver jewelry at her ears and neck. She oozed class and indifference. Pretty as a picture and just as two-dimensional.

  Vicki sighed and followed her mother to the back porch. “Who’s this we? I thought it would just be us, Mom.” David’s mother, Delilah, drank iced tea on the outdoor ottoman.

  Oh, wasn’t this fabulous?

  Her favorite person. This sucked. Vicki plopped down into her chair.

  Delilah leaned over and patted her hand. “Vicki, dear. There you are. We have been waiting for you.”

  Truly, this was fabulous. “Hello, I didn’t realize you would be joining us.” This said with a glare at her mother.

  Her mother shrugged. “She stopped by unexpectedly and I thought it would be a good time to talk.”

  “Talk about what? I have nothing to say to Delilah.”

  “Oh, Vicki. You know you should call me Mom.” Delilah tittered.

  God, that sound and her god-awful perfume.

  Vicki grabbed her own glass of iced tea and took a huge gulp before responding. “David and I are divorced, Delilah, and you are no longer any relation of mine.”

  “Vicki!” her mother fussed. “Don’t be rude.”

  “Oh no, Christine, dear. Vicki has a right to be upset with all that ‘unfortunate’ business.” Delilah emphasize unfortunate as if it wasn’t David dipping his dick into a college student. “David is very sorry for all that nonsense, dear. He has been trying to get in touch with you, but he says you haven’t been answering his calls.”

  Vicki stared at Delilah. Was she daft? Of course she hadn’t been taking his calls. He had cheated on her. Hell, he had his girlfriend wearing Vicki’s own high school cheerleading costume in their bed. What was she supposed to do? Forget about that? Get over it? And after how he had acted last night? He’d burned his bridges.

  She was no longer Miss Nice Vicki. Vicki opened her mouth to say something scathing—well, scathing-ish maybe.

  Her mother intervened. “Yes, such unfortunate events, but love is not always easy. Is it, dear? Sometimes love must be blind.”

  Vicki glared at her mother. What a bitch, twisting her grandmother’s words. “Love can kiss my grits. You can quote me on that. And, Delilah, tell your little boy to leave me alone. He can do all the little sorority chicks he wants now. No worries.”

  She grinned at their combined horror-filled expressions. With a flourish, she curtsied and started to walk away. Her fingers shook, so she made a fist. It felt good to stand up for herself for once. And not sound like a twit.

  Delilah stood up with a huff. “Fine, be ungrateful, you little bitch. My David was the best thing to happen to your lowbrow hick ass.”

  Vicki swung back around at that. Hick ass? She’d always known that David and his family looked down on her, but this was by far their most blatant admission. Normally it was little digs about her upbringing. She was only first-generation money, not fourth of fifth like them. She opened her mouth to retort.

  Again, her mother beat her to it. “And what, pray tell, do you mean by that, Delilah?” Christina Masterson wiped delicately at her mouth with a napkin and crossed her legs, her words cold enough to freeze water. “That we Mastersons are not inbred little twerps like you and your son? It wouldn’t surprise me if you had an Oedipal thing going there, with how close you are to your little babykins.”

  Vicki’s mouth hit the floor. Shoot, where was the popcorn? One thing the Masterson women were good at when they got pissed was a verbal smack down—well, not her—but the rest of her family. Grams was the queen of knock back, but no one held a candle to her mother in full steam. This was about to get interesting. She almost felt sorry for Mrs. Watters. All those years of her mom telling her to be nice to her in-laws were about to go down in dust.

  Delilah blinked and straightened up, the pole in her ass going ramrod straight. “How dar—”

  Christine held up a hand. “You know what? No, I don’t want to hear any more garbage from you. For years, my daughter has been telling me about how awful you were. I never believed her, probably because I didn’t want to. And I am sorry for that.” Christine’s gaze switched to Vicki for a quick second. “But she doesn’t have to take any shit from you anymore. And neither do I. Do you hear me, you old bat? Get the hell out of my house.” She followed up this order with a raised arm.

  Vicki’s eyebrows winged up, and she grinned. Ha, old bat.

  Delilah stood and glared at her mother “You will regret your words, Christine. As will your little tramp of a daughter.”

  Christine waved her hand negligently. “Whatever. Get out of my house. We both know you don’t have enough money to wipe your own backside anymore. You can’t do anything to us.”

  Wait, what? Delilah stomped out of the house while Vicki goggled at her mother.

  Her mother smoothed the front of her dress and fluffed her hair. “Sorry you had to see that, dear.”

  Vicki chewed the inside of her cheek. “I’m not. That was wonderful.” It truly was.

  They both shared a grin. “I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.”

  “Then why haven’t you?”

  “I was too afraid, honey. You were still married to David. But I could see you were miserable. Ever since I divorced your dad, I think my eyes have finally opened. I am so sorry for not being there for you. You never should have been pushed in that boy’s direction. Your father . . . Let’s say we disagreed. Anyway, forget this unpleasantness. Let’s eat, shall we? Shouldn’t let good salmon go to waste.”

  It felt surreal sitting there finishing her lunch with what she now thought of as an alternate version of her mother. But . . . it was nice.

  Vicki’s smile remained until she reached her car. Then the expression fled.

  All four tires, slashed to ribbons.

  What the fudge?

  Twelve

  Monday dawned cl
ear and bright without another word from John. She still didn’t know what made him tuck tail and run. No use dwelling on it. It was her first day of work. She had to make a good impression. She’d dressed in sturdy jeans and an L.L.Bean shirt. Her hair was up in a ponytail, and she had dusted on a discreet smattering of makeup. After one last tug on her shirt, she grabbed her purse, gave her kitty a smooch, and went to start her new career.

  As she walked down the steps, she made sure to keep her eyes from straying to John’s apartment. He’d have to come to her if he wanted to apologize. She opened the door to her car and tried to start the engine.

  It revved once, twice, jerked, and then died.

  Oh no.

  She closed her eyes and tried again. Again, the engine attempted to turn over and then stalled. Her forehead hit the steering wheel. Why did this have to happen today? Now what was she going to do?

  Her head rose, and she looked at John’s door, resigned. Hopefully, he was awake. He was a marine, for cripes’ sake. Weren’t they used to waking early? And he deserved to be woken up after winding her up and abandoning her. Vicki slammed the car door shut and walked to John’s door.

  Her fist thudded against the paneling. She held her breath and waited. She heard some scrambling from inside, so she knocked harder.

  Please, John, don’t be an ass.

  Her hand pressed flat on the surface.

  The door swung open a minute later.

  Whoa. John looked rough, but a good rough. A five o’clock shadow dusted his cheeks, emphasizing the sharpness of his cheekbones. His eyes had bags holding bags. But that wasn’t what drew her gaze. It was the fact that he had answered the door in pajama pants only. His chest bare. That luscious, lickable chest. Bare. Smooth muscles flowing under even smoother skin leading to six-pack abs and lower. She had to work to keep her eyes from going all the way south.

  Remember, Vee, he is a tease.

  “Hey, Vicki,” his voice rumbled.

  She loved his morning voice. Then he scratched his belly, practically inviting her to look down again. She closed her eyes for a second then balled her fists.

  “Hi, John. My car doesn’t seem to be working. Could you give me a lift? I start work today, and I don’t want to be late. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bothered you. I would have called Triple A. But I really want to be on time, and well, anyway.”

  Gah, babbling. Stop.

  She sucked in a breath and tried to keep her eyes from drifting down, but it was so tempting, the skin so tan. God. It was so unfair. And why was he wearing only one shoe?

  John wiped away a yawn. He glanced behind her at the car then opened the door wider. “Oh, sure, it’s no bother. Let me get changed, and I can drive you.” He held the door open, and Vicki stepped into his lair.

  ****

  John had been dreaming about her. Such wonderful dreams. Give her a lift indeed. Definitely gave him a lift to see her.

  Down, boy.

  He stepped back so she could walk inside, and then he limped back to his room, working to keep his gait smooth so she wouldn’t notice. As he walked, he reminded himself of his resolution from Saturday. Vicki was better off without a broken-down marine with nightmares and a gimp leg. Not that the thought of finally having her, after years of her starring in his every fantasy, wasn’t appealing. Again, he felt a stirring at the idea. “Vicki, do I have time for a quick shower?” A cold one.

  “Um, I really wanted to be early,” she replied, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. With her hair up like that, she didn’t look a day over eighteen.

  He sighed, grabbed a T-shirt from the dresser, slipped it on, and headed toward the door. At the door, he grabbed his other shoe, his keys, and his wallet, and then they were on their way. Coffee was going to be a necessity considering how poorly he slept last night. “Do I have time to pick up some Starbucks?”

  Her eyebrows beetled, and she folded her arms. “No.”

  His heart twisted at how closed off she appeared. It was for the best, but it bugged him. “Oh, come on. Wouldn’t it be nice to go to your first day of work bearing coffee? Who doesn’t like coffee? Come on now . . .” he wheedled.

  Vicki’s lips twitched. “No.”

  John made a pouty face, hoping to make her smile. “Please. For me.”

  “Oh, fine,” she grumbled. She settled back in the car seat and looked out the passenger window. A few minutes later, they pulled up to a Starbucks drive-through.

  John ordered a plain black coffee, then turned to Vicki. “You want me to get any for your work?”

  “I don’t even know how many coworkers I have yet,” she snapped.

  He turned to the speaker. “Pretty sure that was a no.”

  The speaker crackled with laughter.

  Vicki punched his arm. With a grimace, he held his arm and attempted to drive. “You wounded me!”

  “Oh, stop, you smart aleck.”

  Ha. He straightened the car, retrieved his drink, and then aimed toward the North Side, his GPS spitting out directions. “So how was the rest of your weekend?”

  John saw Vicki turn from looking at the cars driving by to him. “You mean after you bailed on me? It was fine. I visited my mother. That’s always a blast. She invited my ex’s mother to our Sunday brunch. Can’t tell you how excited that made me.” Vicki gestured to her grumpy, yet fine face.

  John couldn’t stop a pang from shooting through his heart. He glanced over at her. “I am sorry about bailing.”

  Vicki eyed him, turning to face his straight on. “Are you really? Then why didn’t you return my calls yesterday, at least to tell me you were all right? I was worried about you.” She turned her gaze back to the traffic.

  “I was fine. Just an old injury giving me some fits. I would . . . it would not have worked out.”

  Her shoulders stiffened. “You mean your injury or us?”

  John took a deep breath and kept his eyes peeled on the road, his knuckles whitening on the wheel. “Both.”

  “Oh, well, thanks for cluing me in. If I hadn’t come down today, would you have even talked to me?”

  “Yes, I would. I was planning on stopping by tonight to see you after your first day at work. I’m . . . I don’t see us working out. I’m sorry.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  Ouch.

  ****

  She got out of the car near tears after the rest of the trip passed in silence.

  Given how bad the day had started, the rest of the day went quick and quiet. She’d learned where and what was in the store, how to organize it, and what chemicals were what. She’d stocked and restocked the shelves and just generally run around. It felt good, but she was not used to lifting as much as she had today. Vicki stretched as she got out of the cab. A spa treatment was in order for this weekend. After she paid the driver, her eyes were immediately drawn to John’s door.

  Of course.

  After the car wouldn’t start today, he’d really helped her.

  But then there was that stilted little speech about not being good enough for her. It was him, not her. Could he be any more cliché?

  But then the jackass had ruined her pissiness by taking care of her car for her so she didn’t have to bother. He’d had a mechanic tow it away. She’d already gotten the report back from the shop. It’d be ready in a few hours and delivered to her home. That was her grandmother’s touch. Someone had poured sugar into her gas tank. Stupid kids. With that and her tires, it was not her week, her month, hell, not her year. She was so over this crap.

  She had to thank John for his help with the car. She owed him that. But not anything else. He didn’t even want to give them a chance. Her fingers curled, but she kept walking. Her steps were sluggish, even slower than this morning.

  John opened the door right when she raised her hand. Her fist slapped his chest.

  His eyes widened. He played into it and staggered backward dramatically. “Vicki!”

  A giggle slipped out. “I am so sorry. I was kno
cking, I swear.”

  “Thought I heard a knock anyway. You okay? What’s up with your car? I hadn’t heard.” He waved her inside and stepped back.

  “Um, the mechanic said there was something wrong with the gas tank.” Vicki took a tentative step inside.

  John’s head swiveled toward her. “The gas tank. Jesus, that could be dangerous. Is it fixed?”

  “They said it should be by tonight.” A wonderful smell drifted out of the kitchen behind John. “What are you making?”

  “Dinner. Pierogies and kielbasa. Hungry?”

  Vicki’s stomach growled yes. Her cheeks turned pink. “Oh, I don’t want to intrude. I wanted to come down and thank you for the ride into work and arranging everything for my car. I appreciate it.”

  “Well, you’re welcome. I mean it, though. I have plenty of food. I generally make a lot and then freeze it.”

  Vicki resisted the urge to take him up on the offer. He didn’t really mean it. He was just being polite. Remember. It wouldn’t work out. It was him not her. Blah, blah, blah. “I’m fine. Good night.” As she said it, she heard the echo of his own words before he had bailed on her.

  John reached out, grabbed her hand, and held her in place. “Please, let me feed you. I have a feeling you didn’t eat today, did you?”

  “No, I was too nervous.” She pulled back, but his grip was iron, and, well, she was nosy. She peered around at the room. The last time she was in here, she was too worried about being late and paced by the door not seeing anything. Not wanting to see anything. Now that they weren’t dating, or whatever, she could look. His apartment mirrored hers, but where she had color, he had leather. Huge leather couch, leather pillows, a leather blanket even.

  Do they have those?

  The coffee table, end tables, and dining room tables were a sturdy cherry. It was stark and clean, and there were some surprisingly interesting landscapes on the walls and a less than surprising sixty-inch television.

  “Nice TV,” she snarked.

  “Thanks.” He smiled at her from the kitchen, oblivious to her sarcasm. That took the fun out of being bitchy. Her shoulders slumped. She went to the doorway to watch him cook. John maneuvered around the room with a sparsity of movement. He’d changed into jeans and a T-shirt. The material clung enough that she could see the flex of his muscles as he flipped the pierogies. Some dough was rolled out nearby.