by Marie James
“Oh, God!” I hear Whitney hiss before the screen of one of Wren’s computers goes black.
Wren chuckles like we all didn’t just see a flash of his naked woman.
“See?” Deacon hisses.
“You should fire him,” I say as Wren spins around in his office chair to smile at us.
“I fucking wish,” Deacon says, but he doesn’t mean it.
Wren Nelson is the heartbeat of the team. Without him, nothing works. I honestly feel sorry for any company needing information in real time that doesn’t have someone even half as resourceful as this guy.
“Did you see her tits?” Puff screams from his perch on the other side of the room. “Oh hey, Amigo!”
I give the bird a slight wave, trying not to grin. The stupid thing entertained my kid when he was zombie-like, so I’m kind of warming up to him.
“Where’s your spawn?”
Now I glare at the bird.
“What did I tell you about taking care of personal business during company time?” Deacon asks Wren, ignoring the bird as best he can.
“Get him, boss man.” That demand from the bird doesn’t even deter Deacon.
Wren shrugs. “I was on personal time two nights ago when—”
“Oh, God, Wren! Just like that!” Puff squeals in a high-pitched voice before dropping it a couple of octaves. “Yeah, bitch. Come all over Daddy’s cock like a good little girl.”
My eyebrows shoot to my hairline. Quinten chuckles behind me. I’d think Deacon was unfazed if it weren’t for the tick in his jaw.
Wren points to his bird. “When I had to stop what I was doing to get that information that you needed.”
“It took twenty minutes for you to call me back,” Deacon growls, the words being pushed through clamped teeth.
“And that altered my evening schedule. Round three is just as important as the first two.”
“Round three?” Quinten grumbles. “How does the computer nerd get all the action?”
“Have you seen his cock?” Puff Daddy snaps in defense of his owner. “Hmm? Have you?”
Wren winks at Quinten before turning his attention back to Deacon. “Anything else?”
“Maybe you should turn your computer monitors so people can’t see them when they walk in,” our boss suggests.
“I’d need a bigger office.”
“This room was built to your specifications,” Deacon reminds him.
Wren shrugs. “Wait until I tell you to come in then.”
I clamp a hand on Deacon’s shoulder before he can cross the room. “Can we discuss this case?”
Chapter 26
Tinley
“We can break some windows,” Alex offers as he grabs the strap of his backpack. “I can pull all the doors down after school.”
I laugh because it’s better than crying in front of my son. I count it as a win that I’ve been able to keep my tears on my pillowcase after he goes to bed instead of needing to walk out of the room to cry.
“It’s already too late for that. The house has been sold. The new owner is coming today.”
“I don’t want you here alone with some strange man.”
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him, taking a little pride in the protective young man I’ve raised.
“Mom,” he groans. “Just let me stay home.”
“And miss that math test we stayed up late and studied for?” I pat his cheek. “Not a chance. Just remember please excuse my—”
“Dear Aunt Sally. Yeah, yeah I got it.”
He presses a quick kiss to my cheek before heading out to the bus stop.
Only for a second do I contemplate doing exactly what he suggested and damaging the house in hopes that it would make the guy coming today change his mind, but I was right in what I told him. The deal is done. The paperwork has been signed—Cooper taking care of all of it—and honestly, I could use my half of the money.
This place no longer seems like a home, no matter how hard I’ve tried to fill the gaps left here from Mom being gone.
I don’t have long to wallow though because after washing and drying the breakfast dishes, there’s a knock on the front door.
I don’t stomp my feet and refuse to open it like a want to. I plaster a fake-as-hell smile on my face and turn the knob.
There’s a certain kind of person that works, lives, and visits our type of neighborhood. The well-dressed man standing on the porch with a smile more genuine than mine doesn’t fit into any of those people.
He doesn’t look smarmy, the kind of guy you have to watch your purse around.
He doesn’t look like he’s either overworked or drugged out.
He’s handsome, his honey blond hair catching the light of the morning sun as his blue eyes swim with a misplaced familiarity.
Not being able to shove him in one of the boxes all people around here fit into makes me even more nervous.
“Tinley Holland?” he asks, his hand out for me to shake.
I pull my sweater tighter around me, locking my hands under my arms. “Yes?”
“I’m Brooks Morgan.” He drops his hand, his smile never faltering like he never expected me to take it in the first place. “I’m here to get measurements.”
“Oh, okay. Umm.” I dart a look over my shoulder. “Can you give me just a moment?”
How am I still in my pajamas?
“Oh. I’m not going to come inside. I’m here to measure the yard.”
“The yard?” I hope this poor guy doesn’t think that this is the right neighborhood to build a pool or something.
“Yep.” He smiles again.
“For like a pool?”
He chuckles, the sound in most any other situation would calm me, but I don’t think there’s anything that could ease the stress in my shoulders right now.
“I’m going to bulldoze the house.” There isn’t a hint of malicious intent in his blue gaze, but it doesn’t stop his statement from slamming into me.
“Wh-What?”
“There are rumors about this neighborhood being the next spot in Houston likely for gentrification. I’m trying to get in on the front end of that. I’ve been snapping up houses all around here.” He looks back to the street where his car, a black BMW of all things, is parked on the street. “Do you think that will be safe out here if I go around back?”
“Depends on who sees it,” I mutter.
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Holland.”
He steps off the porch, looking out over the small yard, and I know he doesn’t see it like I do. Suddenly all those thoughts about this not being home change.
Where his feet are planted on the cracked driveway is where Alex learned to dribble a basketball. I blame those cracks for his continued inability to do it well and thank baseball for being his outlet.
The flower beds are overgrown now, but Mom spent so many hours nurturing them, so we had a little bit of color in our otherwise dark and cloudy world.
The back porch holds the secrets of so many conversations I had with Mom after Dad died, after I didn’t get asked on a second date because the man wasn’t interested in a woman with a child, and after the doctors delivered the blow that they would stop her treatments.
This is home, and according to the brief text from Cooper that I got last night, I only have thirty more days here.
Tears burn my eyes, and I do my best to wipe them away. Mr. Morgan nods to me once before walking back to his car. Minutes is all it takes to evaluate what will be left after he strips the lot of everything.
He wasn’t here long enough, but how can he know that Mom hand-painted the mailbox or that I found the massive tree in the front yard so much smaller many years ago, tossed in a ditch a couple blocks from my work. I almost take a step further on the porch intent on flagging him down to ask him if he knows it produces the best lemons. To inform him that the wood shutters on the windows were the last thing my dad painted on the house before we moved to Dallas. How can he tear the place down when the counte
r in the hall bathroom is where I found out I was pregnant or the curb he’s pulling away from is where my heart was shattered? How can he wipe away so much? Did they not tell him that the very room my mother took her last breath in was the room her mother did the same?
My hands tremble with the urge to call Ignacio and beg him to fix it.
Leaving was one thing. Moving somewhere else would be hard, but the place would still hold all of those memories.
Gone? I can’t even wrap my head around so much history being scooped up and carried away in an industrial dumpster.
I hate that he’s the first person I think of when I need help, and it isn’t just now. There were times before he knew the truth that I was tempted to try and hunt him down. After my dad died was one time, when my mom got sick another.
I didn’t want to be alone.
But after losing Dad I had Mom, and I should have Cooper in my corner, but my brother has never cared about family, blood, or obligations.
He wants his half of the money and that’s it. Just like Mr. Morgan, the memories this house holds aren’t important to him. His nephew isn’t a concern, and I should’ve accepted all of this by now, but I just can’t seem to.
I turn back around, heading into the house and locking the world away at my back.
Ignacio has been gone over a week, calling to speak with Alex every day since he left, but never to me. He talks to me, but it consists of asking how his son is doing and if I need anything. When I tell him everything is fine, he wants Alex.
I should be happy, should be grateful he’s maintaining the relationship with him, but I feel all alone again.
I should be used to being lonely by now, right?
Chapter 27
Ignacio
“How did it go?” I ask Brooks the second he gets back to my grandfather’s house. “Did she give you much grief?”
“I know why you like her so much. That woman is smoking hot even in her pajama pants and slouchy sweater.”
I grind my teeth together. “Did you see the holes in the living room wall? Her brother did that shit the last time he was there. I’m thinking we’ll need at least a month for repairs.
“Didn’t even go in the house,” he says right before taking a big bite off the bagel I’d just toasted. “Told her I was going to bulldoze the entire thing to the ground.”
“You what?”
He shrugs, taking a look around the room. “Should probably bulldoze this fucking place, too.”
“So, you left her there not only thinking she was going to have to move but also that the house was going to be destroyed.”
“You said the house is already destroyed.”
“But repairable, you fucking prick!” I begin to pace. This isn’t what I wanted when I went through Brooks to buy the fucking property. Her thinking her family home will be gone in a matter of weeks doesn’t play into my plan. “This isn’t what we talked about.”
“I improvised. You’re the one who said you wanted them to move to St. Louis.”
“I said I wanted her to choose me. It’s not the same thing.”
“Well now her choice is simple.”
“Jesus, you dick. You don’t know a damn thing about women.”
“I can call references,” he says with a smirk. “There’s a slew of women that would beg to differ.”
“You fucked up everything.”
“You can easily solve this by going over there and telling her the truth.”
I don’t even consider it. “Now isn’t the right time.”
“The longer she stays here, the worse it’s going to get. Every day your son goes to that shithole school, you risk him getting into something a simple suspension won’t get him out of.”
“I know,” I agree.
“No time like the present.” He slaps me on the back after tossing my half-eaten bagel back onto the paper plate. “I’ve got to head to the airport. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Because you’ve been such a huge help so far,” I mutter as I follow him to the door.
He leaves with a chuckle, his shiny rental out of place in this neighborhood. I’m surprised the wheels are still on it just from the few minutes he was in the house.
He’s right about talking to Tinley, but fear of her rejecting the offer to come live with me keeps me in the house, mulling over what needs to happen for it to be up to par for sale. I can’t stay here even if I stay in Texas, but selling as-is doesn’t seem right either.
The conversation with Mike Branford keeps playing over in my head. There aren’t many people around that are so willing to give back to a community that did nothing but drain them, but being part of the solution rather than just walking away from all of the problems doesn’t feel right either.
I figure fixing up the house and selling it incredibly cheap will help one family out. If Tinley decides she and Alex will come live with me or even if she agrees to move closer, I hope I can convince her to do the same with her house.
Antsy to see her since I’ve been gone over a week, I can no longer stay away.
The drive is short, and I find both her old car and the one she thinks is a rental parked in the driveway. It’s still a couple hours before Alex is due home, and I get the feeling convincing her to come with me is going to take every second of that.
I knock on the door and it goes unanswered like it did the last time. I knock harder because she wasn’t very impressed with my lock picking—a skill I sadly picked up long before it was needed working for Blackbridge.
When she finally answers the door, she looks sexy as hell. Her blond hair is all over the place, cheeks pink from exertion. If I were the asshole I used to be, I’d use sex as a weapon to convince her to move, and I’d make sure she enjoyed every damn second of it.
“Hey,” I say instead, my fingers tucked into the pockets of my jeans to keep from reaching out to her.
“I don’t have time for you right now,” she snaps, turning away and going back into the living room.
Half-full boxes are scattered everywhere. There are no longer pictures hanging on the walls. From the looks of it, they’ve been wrapped in newspaper and piled on the kitchen table.
“What’s going on?”
“Didn’t you hear? The house sold, and we have thirty days to vacate. If we don’t, we’ll probably end up with the roof on our heads because the asshole that bought the place is going to tear it down.”
Her voice is rough like she’s been screaming or crying or both.
I hide my grin. I’m not happy that she’s this upset, but knowing she isn’t impressed with Brooks calms me a little. He’s so damn charming I’m surprised he wasn’t able to convince her that leveling the place is best for everyone.
“Where do you plan to go?”
She doesn’t even pause to consider the question. “I don’t have a fucking clue, Ignacio. All I know is we can’t stay here. My asshole brother made sure of that.”
“Come to St. Louis.”
Jesus, did I just blurt it out like that? Instead of handling this situation with finesse, I just drop it at her frustrated feet.
I already know the answer I’m going to get from the glare on her pretty face before she opens her mouth to deny me.
“I want to help you,” I add, but that doesn’t seem to help either because her lips draw up into a sneer. “Alex wants to go.”
Jesus, Ig, shut your fucking mouth.
“Alex?” she asks calmly, taking a step closer to me.
My eyes drop to the heavy book in her hand, calculating her ability to knock me out with it.
“You fucking asked him already?”
“I didn’t. I’m asking—”
“You’re trying to turn him against me. Is that the angle this time around? Not only do you use me sexually, but you also intend to turn the only person I have left against me? You and your perfect life and expensive clothes? Your expensive truck and money and gifts? You’re trying to convince him that I can�
�t take care of him?”
“Goddamn, Tin. There’s a lot to unpack right there.” I scrape my hands over the top of my head unsure of where I should even start. “I’m not here to take him from you.”
Her fingers grip the book harder, her knuckles turning white.
“I want both of you to come back to St. Louis.”
She continues to glare at me, so pissed her eyes are misting up. She’s always hated that tears are her body’s response to anger and frustration. She’s always seen it as looking weak, and it always makes her double down.
“Both?” She snaps the word like it’s an insult to even suggest.
“Look. Fuck.” I take a step forward and she moves back two. “I fucking love you, Tin. I always ha—”
“Fuck you!” she roars. “This isn’t love. This is another manipulation. I thought you’d grown the fuck up, but here we are, you trying to turn Alex against me. What’s the plan, huh? Get me to St. Louis so it can be easier to take a child from his mother than here in Texas.”
God, I never even considered some shit like that. I want them together, with me. I don’t want fucking every other weekend and alternating holidays.
“I never stopped loving you. Pushing you away back then was for your own good, not because I wanted you gone.”
“My own good,” she huffs. She slaps the book on the coffee table, but even as the sound echoes around us like a gunshot, I don’t pull my eyes from her. “Look around! Does this look like good to you?”
“Tin, I—” She shoves me then, two tiny hands against my hard chest, and I let her move me. Taking three steps back she doesn’t stop shoving until I’m close to the front door. “Please, just listen to me.”
“I’ve heard enough. You want to fight it out in court? That’s what you want?”
“Tin, I—”
“Get out of my—this house!”
There’s no way she’s going to listen to reason or let me explain when she’s like this, and as much as it hurts to see her this way, I need to go before something is said we can’t come back from. Hell, at this point, I don’t know if we’ve come back from those words I said thirteen years ago.
“Take this,” I say, pulling an envelope from my back pocket.