by Nicole Helm
She wasn’t sure if she would give the credit to Marc believing she had it together or just the offer of his help. Either way, it made her a little itchy. Help wasn’t something she’d ever had.
“Tess?”
She looked over her shoulder. He didn’t look up from his coffee preparations even as he spoke.
“Just to be clear, my door’s always open for...whatever.”
Not sexual, Camden. “I appreciate that.” And she did. More than she probably should. Because even if Marc was her friend and her coworker, she couldn’t always ignore helping her father. She couldn’t always distract herself from it. More, she couldn’t always count on Marc to drop everything for her. Eventually he’d build his own life here.
She stepped into the hall, closing the door behind her. Maybe Marc wouldn’t always be around to help, but for the time being, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to take a little bit.
* * *
AT THE KNOCK on the door, Marc’s heartbeat kicked up. “Moron,” he muttered into the empty apartment. An apartment that hadn’t felt all that empty until he’d come home from work this afternoon. Empty had been his way of life—it had felt like solitude.
It was not normal or okay that Tess had whirled into everything and made it feel like a void instead. Like the quiet was too quiet and the alone was too alone. He had spent the entire day working side by side with her. He’d had two hours of alone time this evening.
But he’d told her he could help. He’d told her they were friends. So he opened the door and tried to not look irritated. Besides, he wasn’t a total asshole. He could definitely be her friend without also wanting to get her naked.
Or at least he wouldn’t act on it.
“Brownies!” Tess said cheerfully. “Now, I’m no culinary genius, but I have mastered the art of the perfect box brownie.” She waltzed her way in as if she belonged. As if that was something people normally did in his life.
Hell, his mother didn’t even waltz into his place like that, and she was the overbearing sort—just more focused on Leah.
“Brownies, huh?”
“Since friends don’t say thank-you for helping each other out, they bring brownies. Also, I wanted brownies, but if I keep this whole thing in my apartment I will eat it all tonight.”
He was spared having to respond to that when his cell phone rang. Since the caller ID read Mom, Marc had to think whether or not to ignore it.
“Go ahead,” Tess said with a wave, already in his kitchen drawers, presumably rooting around for a knife to cut the brownies. Hopefully a plate, too. Because if she ate without a plate, there would be brownie crumbs everywhere and—
“Answer it,” she insisted.
Right. He clicked Accept and stepped toward his bedroom. He wasn’t sure he wanted Tess to be able to hear his conversation. He wasn’t sure he hid his pathetic mommy issues so well when he was actually talking to his mother.
“Marc? Is silence how you greet your mother? Because I know that phone of yours tells you who’s calling.”
Marc stepped into his room, gingerly closing the door and hoping Tess wouldn’t notice.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Much better. Now, I need to talk to you about next Friday.”
“Next Friday?”
“Your father and I bumped up our trip. I’m hoping if we get a house lined up it might spur your sister or Jacob on in the engagement process.”
Marc closed his eyes. A weight settled in his chest. A helpless feeling that he’d moved here for nothing. Mom wasn’t ever going to look up and say, “Why, Marc, you’ve been a kind of exceptional son. Thank you for that.”
Because all that mattered was Leah. Now Leah and Jacob.
Which shouldn’t be something he got so tied up about. He should be adult enough to accept it and move on. But he was here, so the likelihood of that was slim at this point.
“Marc?”
“I was looking at my schedule. I can’t take off, but I’ll still be on days, so I’ll be free after four every day. How long are you staying?”
“Two weeks. More if I can finagle it.”
“Okay, well, I’ll have Monday and Tuesday off.”
“That’s fine. Leah said she can take off whatever days we’re here. Your father and I can always entertain ourselves, or Jacob said MC’s doors are always open. But of course we’ll want to have you come over for some family meals, too.”
We. Come over. To Leah’s house. Even though he’d moved here because they’d asked him to so they could be one big happy family, and being the idiot he was, he’d thought that would put him on equal footing. He’d thought that meant he mattered.
But he was being invited to dinners like an outsider while they stayed with Leah and Jacob.
He needed this conversation to be over. “Yeah, sure. Just keep me up-to-date.”
“Have you spent any time with your sister?”
“I stopped by MC the other day, and we’re going to have lunch next week.” Although with Mom and Dad coming maybe he could get out of that. Hell, maybe he could get out of the whole damn thing. Maybe he’d moved here for them, but if they still didn’t want to see him...maybe he didn’t need to be seen.
“I’ve got company, Mom. Gotta go.”
“Oh, what kind of company?”
“A friend from work.”
“Oh.” Mom’s disappointment was palpable, but at least that was something. If he really wanted her to care, he could probably mention the friend from work was a woman. A very attractive woman.
But as desperate as he was for his mother’s attention, he wasn’t that bad. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Sure, sweetie, love you.”
“Yeah. Love you, too.” He clicked End and tossed the phone on his bed. Maybe Tess had the right idea about ignoring the parental phone calls.
Yeah, because her father is an abusive jerk, not because she’s pathetic and desperate for attention like a four year old.
Years of self-flagellation didn’t change the fact that he was always looking for the crumbs of attention his parents deigned to throw his way. Could he break the habit now? Maybe he should try.
Maybe he and Tess could be each other’s distraction. Not sexually. If he reminded himself of that enough, maybe he’d believe it. He stepped out of his room, leaving his phone inside.
“Sorry about...” He blinked at the empty kitchen, then looked around the living room. She’d...left?
He should not feel disappointed. Then he looked down at her pan of brownies, a generous chunk missing, a little note on top. Had to run out for a bit. See you tomorrow.
He should let it go. This was none of his business. He was the distraction friend. He didn’t need to be more than that. Maybe he was overreacting to think she was going to see her father. Maybe it was something else. He didn’t know everything about her life.
But all the rationalizations in the world didn’t stop him from shoving his feet into his shoes and jogging out the door, not even bothering to lock the dead bolt, which was unheard of.
He took the stairs two at a time and pushed out the building door to the parking lot. Tess was just opening her car door.
“Tess!”
She stopped and looked up at him, her expression some mix between sheepish and defeated. “Hey, sorry I had to bail. I...”
He crossed to her side of the car, only a little out of breath. “It’s okay, I just...” He just what? Hated the idea of her going to see her father alone? “If you’re going to see your dad, let me come with you.”
Her eyebrows drew together, clearly perplexed. “Um, no. I’m sorry. Thanks for the offer, really, but I can handle this.”
He reached out and took her arm, couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help any of this. Maybe she was
right and he did have some misguided superhero sense of duty, but how could he watch her go into a situation that could get her hurt?
His thumb brushed over where she’d had the gash on her arm that first night. “Maybe you can, but a little backup couldn’t hurt.” Because if she did come back scathed, how would he be able to live with having let her go?
“I know you think the cut thing was him hurting me on purpose, but it wasn’t.” She patted his hand that grasped her arm. “The glass broke and a shard got me. He didn’t, like, come up and slash me.”
“How did it break?”
She blinked then looked away. “Well...”
He had seen that look before. Almost always on a woman convinced she was at fault for another man’s violence. “Well what?”
“He threw it.”
“Where?”
“At me.” She let out a gusty sigh and disentangled her arm from his grasp. “Look, I get it, really. I know what it looks like. But...he isn’t a monster. It’s not like he spent my whole life beating me. When he’s bad off, he gets violent. Yes, occasionally I get the brunt of that, but I can take care of myself, Marc. I’m a cop, too.”
“Tess—”
“I’ve done the bring a big-burly-guy-to-be-my-protector thing before. My boyfriend right out of high school was a bodybuilder. Bigger than you, Mr. Football Shoulders. All it did was agitate Dad from the start. He and James got in a brawl. Besides, he knows who you are. You’re the cop he wasn’t too pleased with the other day. So it would only escalate the situation.”
“So don’t go.”
She shook her head, looking immeasurably sad. So much worse than his own lame-ass pity party a few minutes ago. “I can’t let him kill himself or hurt other people. I have to fix this. I’ve been dealing with this my whole life. I know how to handle it.”
“If it’s been going on your whole life, why do you think you can fix it?” There had to be some way he could convince her not to go, to stay here, safe.
“I do sometimes fix it, thank you very much. I have gotten him help before, and things go okay for a while. But addiction isn’t easy to break.” She poked a finger into the center of his chest. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me so far, but I’m not about to let you think you can elbow your way into my life or my business. I can handle this.”
“I’m not saying you can’t.”
“Oh, really.”
“He hurt you. That isn’t—”
“It is what it is. I can handle it. I have handled it. On my own, for thirty-some years. And here I stand before you, in one piece. So I highly suggest you back the eff off, Marc.” She wrenched her door open, slid into the driver’s seat. Before she could pull it closed, he grabbed it, earning him a glare. “Seriously, Marc, this is not okay.”
He had to tell himself to uncurl his fingers from around her door. Had to force himself to take a step back. She didn’t want his help; her father’s disease was the most important thing to her.
That little thought worked to loosen his grip on the door. Unfortunately, it didn’t evaporate the worry or the concern. This might be familiar, but that didn’t mean he knew how to ignore it.
“Can you at least—” oh, you pathetic sack of shit “—text me when you get back?”
The anger melted off her face so quickly it was almost as though he’d imagined it. “Oh, damn it,” she muttered, getting back out of the car, and before he could figure out what the hell was happening, she fisted her hands in his shirt and pressed her mouth to his.
Though his brain wasn’t quite catching up, his body was doing okay on its own. His fingers tangled in her hair, moving her back a step as he kissed her in return.
She made a sound against his mouth and he was about to flick his tongue over that gorgeous top lip, but she released him and stepped away.
“Damn it, damn it, damn it,” she muttered, pressing a palm to her heart. “I had to do that because you’re such a sweet jerk face, but I’m not doing it again, okay?”
“O-okay.”
“I’m not going to kiss you again. I’m not. Probably. No. Not.” She shook her head and slid into the driver’s seat. “Goodbye, Marc. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll be fine. Swear. I’ll text you when I am safe and sound, but please, for the love of all that is holy and sane between us, do not wait up. Because I’m not sure I can bear it.”
“What does that even mean?”
She didn’t answer, just pulled the door closed and turned her key in the engine. He stepped away, for fear she might take him out in her rush to leave.
If she couldn’t bear it, he should definitely do what she wanted, what she asked and go back to his apartment, go to sleep and pretend she didn’t exist.
But the taste of her was still on his lips, the humming buzz of that kiss crackling over his skin. She thought his concern was sweet, even if she rejected it.
Yeah, not likely pretending anything tonight.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TESS PULLED HER car in front of her father’s run-down apartment complex along the river. She didn’t want to do this—at all—but she had to. His calls were getting more frantic and desperate. If she ignored him for much longer he’d get in some serious trouble she couldn’t get him out of.
She stepped out of the car, making sure to lock it before resting her hand on the gun strapped to her hip. The whole reason she’d had to break off that kiss with Marc—she’d been afraid he’d notice she was carrying and be even more concerned.
Concerned. She felt mushy all over again. He was worried about her. It was such a...thing. She didn’t want it to be. She really wanted to be offended or angered by his wanting to swoop in. But he’d stepped back when she’d told him to, and he’d wanted to know when she got home all right.
He was the worst possible thing for her. Because how could she ever resist someone wanting her to be safe? It was new. Intoxicating. Stupid making.
That kiss being a perfect example. But how could she not kiss him when he’d wanted her to text him when she got back? Maybe it was some misguided superhero complex, but at the same time...why would he exercise that if he didn’t have some inkling of feeling for her?
A whistle interrupted her thoughts over Marc. Especially since the front of Dad’s complex was poorly lit and she couldn’t see the perpetrator of the whistle. Her hand rested on the butt of her gun.
“Hey, pretty thing.”
She still couldn’t make out who was talking, but she managed to locate a shadowy figure the voice was probably coming from. She made her voice low, authoritative. “Hey.”
“You like to party, sweetheart?”
“Nope.”
“I bet you’d like my kind of party.”
Tess casually unsnapped the band on her holster, let her fingers curl around the handle. “Back off, buddy. I’m just here to see my dad.”
“Oh, I bet I can make you call me Daddy.”
She pulled the gun out of her holster since the voice was getting closer. “Vomit,” she replied, doing her best to sound bored. She backed her way toward Dad’s door.
“Don’t run off, sweetheart,” he said, and she could see him now. The same guy her dad had been arguing with the other day. The drug dealer–looking one. “Things are about to get exciting.”
“Yeah, you got that right.” She held up her gun so it glinted in the dim light, then trained on his chest. Steady. She’d held a gun on someone too many times for it to cause a tremor, even in the dark, even alone. Some skinny-ass piece of shit didn’t intimidate her. “I’d really hate for you to make me shoot you, though.”
“Cop,” he spat. “Female cop. Even worse. Fucking dyke.”
“Not the insult you want it to be, buddy. Now why don’t you mosey on into the hole you crawled out of before things, shall we say, escalate
.”
The guy muttered a few more obscenities and nasty names, but he slunk to the corner apartment on the other side of the building. Once he disappeared behind his door, Tess pulled her phone out of her back pocket and dialed dispatch.
“Hey, Megs. This is Camden. Can you send one of the guys out to Meadowview Apartments? Apartment 1C. The guy’s harassing people, might have drugs on him. If someone’s in zone and can come shake him down a bit, I’d appreciate it.”
“Sure thing, Tess. Want me to have them call you?”
“No, I’m good. Just send them over. Thanks.” Tess hung up, then gingerly slid her father’s key into the door. Sometimes it was best to be loud, announce her arrival so he didn’t get paranoid.
But his message when Marc had been on the phone in his room had been weepy. The kind of distraught fear she’d never been able to talk herself out of running to.
She still remembered too clearly the time he’d tried to slit his wrists to ignore that kind of despair.
“Dad?” The overwhelming smells of cigarettes and piss greeted her. Mixed with the guilt already roiling in her stomach, it was quite a combo.
Obviously Dad had scared off the second cleaning lady she’d hired. Plates littered every available surface; ashes overflowed anything that could be used as an ashtray.
Nausea coated her stomach. Guilt lodged in her throat with fizzing tears. Guilt that she almost wished he’d get to that suicidal point again, so he’d have to be hospitalized, have to get help. The few months after that attempt had been steady. Healing. She’d thought they’d been on the path to normal.
Damn Marc and his voice in the back of her mind. If it’s been going on your whole life, why do you think you can fix it?
Maybe she couldn’t—a thought she didn’t let infiltrate too often, because it was too damn depressing—but okay, maybe she couldn’t fix a damn thing. It didn’t mean she could give up trying. There was always the possibility she could fix it.