“Out!” My hand points to the door.
“Whatever. This place blows anyway.” She starts walking out.
I follow them to the front, making sure they get their filth out of here.
As I’m escorting the girls out, Ron and Paulie are walking in. Juice is inside the door, sitting on a stool.
“He’s gone?” I ask, referring to the biker.
“Yeah,” Ron says. He walks back to his post in the back of the bar.
I look out the front window at the girls walking away. I really would prefer it if they had a ride. I have no idea what they took or when it’s going to kick in.
“Damn it,” I say to myself.
I walk out the front. I can’t in good conscience let them go, no matter how bitchy and immature they might be. I look to the right and see them in the parking lot, doing exactly what I was hoping they wouldn’t do. They’re talking to the drug-dealer biker.
“Change your mind?” He pushes off the streetlight he was resting against and stands upright. “Three’s a crowd, but four’s a party.”
Ignoring him, I look to the girls. “Why don’t you come back in? I’ll give you a ride home myself.”
People are walking from their cars toward the bar, about to start their night to party. I give them a smile as they pass. The biker doesn’t seem to care if he has an audience or not. His attention is solely fixed on me and the sliver of skin showing between my shirt and shorts.
His heavy boots thud on the concrete as he moves closer, making a clomping sound with each step. The closer he gets, the bigger he seems. He squeezes his dark brown eyes and slowly licks his front teeth. “I bet I could show you a real good time.”
He raises a hand toward my cheek, but I force it away.
“Don’t touch me.”
He gives another smirk. His voice is low and a little raspy. “You’re missing out on a golden opportunity. With your connections in there, we could push a grand a night, easy.”
He takes a step closer, and I fall back, catching myself on the side door of a car. A glimmer of sweat beads on my chest as my nerves catch up to me. The smell of leather and something sweet permeates off his body and into the air, which is odd because he’s not wearing leather. I’m about to call out to Juice even though he’s inside the front doors when an arm comes flying out and shoves the biker back.
Adam pushes me to the side and goes after the guy again. The biker falls back, and Adam is on top of him, yanking him up by the collar and hauling him toward a police cruiser.
The girls run off. I yell out to them, but it’s no use. One look at Adam, and their fear of being arrested just overwhelmed any sense of clarity they might have had.
“What the fuck?” the biker asks as Adam cuffs him.
He pats the guy down and reveals a screwdriver from the back pocket. He holds it up to the biker’s cheek.
“Is this to clean your pipe?” He then digs into a front pocket. He pulls out what looks like mini water balloons and a Ziploc bag of pills. He gives the guy a second shove.
“What was that for?” the guy asks, his face smooshed into the metal of the car.
“For being a fucking scumbag!” Adam reads him his rights and slams the door with a velocity so powerful that I’m surprised it doesn’t fall off.
He turns around and stalks toward me. “Damn it, Leah, what the hell were you thinking?”
His body is ignited, full of anger, with his shoulders up and hands clenched tightly. He’s red-faced and tight-jawed. I can feel the heat of burning rage pouring off of him.
Juice and Paulie come rushing out of the front entrance.
“What’s going on here?” Paulie asks, his chest puffed in alarm. “Are you okay?”
I nod to let him know I’m fine, despite the fact that my heart is beating wildly in my chest and I can’t seem to catch my breath.
Turning back to Adam, I shudder as I speak, more affected by the incident than I initially thought, “He was dealing inside my bar. We kicked him out.”
Adam points to Juice. “You let her come out here with that piece of shit?” he shouts, irate, eyes wild with accusation and disgust.
In an act of bravado, Juice starts toward Adam, but I hold my arm out to him.
“I came out here to take care of those two girls who fled when you showed up. Now, they’re off gallivanting with pills in their system.”
“What were you planning to do? Take them home? They would have just gone out again and did whatever the hell they wanted.”
“I had to try!” I cry. “I couldn’t just let them leave.”
Adam takes a step toward me. “This town has been going to shit, people have been getting high in this bar for years, and now, you suddenly have a conscience?”
My mouth falls open. “Tell me how you really feel.”
Paulie chimes in, “That’s not true. We keep this place clean. We’ve never had a problem.”
Adam clenches his jaw. “Wonder why that is.” He’s still staring at me as he inches closer. “Nice outfit,” he says.
I look down at my construction-worker ensemble. My jaw trembles. “So what? You’ve been using our bar to track drug deals. Maybe that’s something you should have let us in on.”
“And have you play vigilante like you did tonight? That guy is a small pawn in the grand chess game that is Cedar Ridge narcotics. He should be leading us to bigger fish, but now, I have to haul his ass in and book him.”
“So, this is my fault? I was trying to help those girls,” I cry.
“You play and party and pretend like everything is A-OK. But guess what, sweetheart? This isn’t Leah’s world. Shit happens. People die.”
The way he said that statement was like I’m somehow contributing to the demise of the world.
My body is shaking. I unwrap my arms from my body and throw them up in the air. “That’s right, Adam. People die. He’s dead!”
“Who’s dead?” he asks.
“Brad!” I shout.
Suddenly, the world goes completely silent. My stomach just dropped ten feet, and my head is a rush of blood and tears and memories.
From the harshest scream to the lowest whisper, I hold out my arms out and state, “Brad is dead.”
He looks like he was just punched in the gut. Those dark onyx eyes glisten, water pooling on the insides, threatening to be released. His mouth opens and closes. His hands fly to his hair and brush it back, pulling at the ends. His mouth is pinched. Pinched so tight that I fear he might fall apart if he releases it.
“I don’t know what kind of crusade you’re on, but it’s not going to bring him back. You are right to get that scum off the streets, but you can’t do it alone. We’re trying here, too.” I point to Juice and Paulie.
I look up at Adam, my eyes prickling with moisture. It’s the second time in as many weeks that he’s saved me. Whether I needed it or not, he was there. As much as I want to be angry with him, I know there’s a good guy in there. I knew him once. A long time ago. I want to know him again.
He clenches his jaw, his eyes bloodshot. Yet, instead of seeing hate in his gaze, I only see…fear. The look he’s giving me is making my pulse race and my skin tingle, and my head becomes unclouded.
I look down at his knuckles. They are crimson and raw. No one who hates someone as much as I thought Adam Reingold hated me defends them with as much passion as he has with me—not once, but twice.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
His lashes flutter as my words catch him slightly off-kilter. He has absolutely no idea why I’m thanking him. That’s fine.
I take one last shaky, deep breath and walk away. I have nothing else to say. Maybe I’m shell-shocked from the moment, but I don’t want to fight. Not tonight. Not anymore.
“Let me walk you out,” Juice says as I turn the lights off in The Bucking Bronco.
“I’m fine. I doubt anything will happen on the thirty-step walk from the back door to my car.”
“Based on what happene
d earlier, just twenty feet from the front door, I think it’s safe to say you should never assume.” He holds the door open for me and then watches as I lock up. “Then again, you do have your own personal security detail with you.”
I pull the key out of the lock and swivel the key ring around my finger. “Yes. You’re never too far.”
“I wasn’t talking about me.” He nods toward Main Street.
On the corner, in his police cruiser, is Adam facing the parking lot.
I roll my eyes and then look up at the heavens. “Great. Now, he has some savior complex.” I start walking toward Luke’s car that he’s been letting me borrow some nights for work.
“He parks there every night,” Juice says like it’s common knowledge.
I speak over my shoulder, unlocking my car door, “It’s a good spot to get people who are leaving the bar. He thinks we over-serve and then let everyone drive home.”
“Yeah, I thought that at first, too.” He opens the door to his car.
I inwardly laugh as I open my door and throw my bag on the passenger seat. Turning around, I lean on the doorframe and ask, “Now, what do you think?”
“I think he waits here for you.”
chapter TEN
Luke and I are pulling up to Homes for All Souls. I’m four hours late, so I know exactly what kind of reception I’m going to get.
I’m particularly bouncy today. Despite last night’s dramatics, Luke and I had a great morning, doing something we wouldn’t normally have done. It was all part of the plan of hosting last night’s fundraiser. To be able to see it all come to fruition this morning has felt terrific.
“Someone looks pissed,” Luke says from the driver’s seat.
We both turn to a glaring Adam. He’s standing outside on the dirt lawn of the center house. His hard stare can be felt through the thick glass of the windshield.
“You sure you don’t want to stay and volunteer?” I ask Luke.
“Maybe next weekend. Right now, I am staying as far away as possible…from that.” He gives a little hand wave to Adam, who does not reciprocate. “Good luck,” Luke sings through his teeth.
“I’ll need it,” I say, grabbing my bag as I get out of the car.
“Where have you been?” Adam is on me before the door is even closed. “I was at your house at nine.”
“And I was out of it at seven.” I wave to Luke as he leaves. I turn back to Adam and see his tough-guy stance with his dirty jeans and mud-slung boots, arms crossed over his clay-colored T-shirt. I reach into my bag and hand him an envelope. “I texted you that I was running late.”
“And I texted you back that it was unacceptable,” he chides, taking the envelope from me. He looks inside. “What’s this?”
“It’s the money we raised at Construction Night at the bar.”
His brows turn in. “Construction Night?”
“Yes, last night, when you were accusing me of the three Ps—play, party, and pretend—we were having a charity night for Homes for All Souls. Raised a decent amount, too.”
He looks down at the envelope in bewilderment. “This is what you raised?”
“Only a third. I bought toys for the Framer kids this morning. I spoke to their mom on Thursday, and she invited me over for lunch. We need to make sure Louise Framer has a top-notch stove because that woman can cook. Oh, and we stopped by the shelter to bring the Mikgus kids a voucher to the water park. I told the park their story, and they kicked in free tickets for the rest of the season.”
“You brought them presents?” he asks, dumbfounded.
“Yes, keep up.”
“And tickets to the water park?”
“And taffy,” I add, placing my hand back in my bag and producing a tin. “I made some for you, too.”
He raises a brow and peeks inside the tin at the bright orange taffy. “You made this?” Closing the tin, he looks back at me. The sun is in his eyes, so he’s squinting. “About last night—”
I walk toward Toby and hand him a tin. “Made you some, too. So, what is the plan this afternoon?”
Toby and Adam exchange glances. Clearly, they’re not accustomed to me being so amenable. I stand and wait for my assignment. Since they’re not giving one, I take it upon myself to choose.
Turning to Toby, I say, “I want to use power tools today.” My hands are on my hips, my chin up in the air.
Toby’s eyes curve in confusion. “Uh, have you ever used them before?”
“She took a class in high school, and now, she thinks she’s Joanna Gaines,” Adam says from behind me.
With a pointed look, I correct him, “Chip uses the power tools. Joanna has the perfect eye for design and a love of shiplap.” Then, to Toby, I ask, “You got a circular saw around here?”
Toby looks unsure. “I’d prefer it if you stuck to spackling. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
I gasp. My eyes nearly bug out of my head.
Before I get a chance to explain to him that I am more than capable as a woman to use power tools and that I put together an entire kitty city in a weekend without the help of a man, Adam’s arm wraps around my waist and pulls me back.
“Come on, tiger. You want to build something? We’ll build,” he says, tugging on my torso.
“Yeah, that’s right,” I say in the air as a comeback to Toby even though I wasn’t actually arguing with anyone.
My hand lowers to Adam’s thick forearm as he spins me around and forces me to walk in front of him toward the freshly framed house and around back to where there’s a table saw and a bunch of two-by-fours on the ground.
It’s quiet back here. And empty. I wonder if he’ll want to talk about last night again. Part of me does, and part of me—
“You ever use one of these before?” he asks, holding out a pair of safety goggles toward me.
“Goggles? I think I can handle putting these on,” I answer sarcastically even though I know he was referring to the table saw. Seeing he’s not amused by my response, I add, “It’s been a while.” I take the goggles from him, put them on, and then start pulling my hair out from around the strap.
He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know. What am I doing?” My hands are flattening my hair to make sure no pieces are flying around.
“It’s a construction site. Not a club. Not a dating service.” His tone is irritatingly similar to last night.
I breathe and remember that today is a great day. I tilt my head at him. “Did it ever occur to you that women want to look good for themselves, not for men?”
He unfolds his arms and walks around the saw to the plug that is lying on the ground. “You mean to tell me, you wouldn’t have been happy with playing with Dumb and Dumber up there?” He plugs it into an extension cord.
I look back toward Tim and Gary, who are arguing over how to carry a piece of Sheetrock into the house. “At least they want me around.”
He brushes his hands on his jeans. “Yeah, they want you all right,” he says. Then, he turns on the saw.
I can feel my smile stretching across my face. “Aw, are you jealous, Adam?”
He stops what he’s doing and looks up at me with the most serious of expressions. “No.”
And, now, I can feel my smile falling. Looks like he’s going for grumpy this afternoon.
I walk over to him and look down at the saw. “Okay. You wanna show me what to do, or should I just go for it?”
“Not so confident now that the machine is on?”
“Of course I am. I just run the wood up the center and cut.”
He places his hands on my hips and moves me over. “Not unless you want to start mixing drinks with a prosthetic. Stand here.” He positions me to the side of the blade.
He walks over and grabs a board from the ground. He puts it on the table and pulls a pencil and a piece of paper from his back pocket. Making a note, he writes on the paper and then puts the pencil behind his ear.
“W
hat is that for?” I ask.
“I took notes when I was framing the downstairs closet yesterday. Got too dark to finish.” He puts the paper in his pocket. Then, he positions the wood on the saw and adjusts the settings.
“Come here.” He pulls me toward him again. “Stand to the side of the blade when cutting. See this piece here?” He points to a clear panel on the saw that the board is resting against. “This is called the fence. Keep the wood tight to it to avoid kickback.”
He comes up behind me, and my body goes stiff. Leaning over me, he puts my left hand on the handle of the saw, his on top of mine. He starts talking about why it’s important to keep the board straight and mentions something about splitting, but all I can think about is how his hand is the perfect mix of smooth and calloused. It’s warm, soft, and strong, but when he glides it over mine, I can feel the hard spots on the pads of his palm.
“Got that?” he says.
My brain is hit with the spice of his cologne.
I swallow and nod.
He turns the blade on, and the metal spins rapidly. He lowers our hands as we guide the blade over the wood. The cut is made. He turns the blade off.
“We have to do three more.” Adam puts the wood against the house and grabs another two-by-four. His feet halt as he pauses for a moment. Then, he adds, “I’m gonna guide you for one more, and then you can do it on your own.”
I agree and take the board from him. This time, he lets me adjust the measurements and puts it against the fence of the machine.
He sidles up to me again— closer. His hard chest is against my back, and as I bend over slightly to hold the board, I press gently into his pelvis. He doesn’t move and I don’t try to move him away.
I turn the blade on and let him guide my hand down, like he did before. The cut is made in seconds. As soon as it’s done, he steps away and takes the freshly cut piece with him.
I just stand here.
Still.
He comes back with a third piece and holds it out toward me. “All right, you’re good to go. Let’s get to cutting.”
I do my best not to slice my fingers off. When all the boards are cut, we take them into the house and finish the framing of the closet.
Wrecked Page 10