by Cathryn Fox
I stare at the man who I’ve shed years of tears over and he freezes as Kaitlyn comes barreling into my apartment. The smell of pizza hits, followed by that of roses.
Had Caleb sent roses?
“Hey wait, why is your door open?” Kaitlyn asks, panic in her voice. A pause and then, “Sara, where are you?”
“In here,” I say, eyes still locked on Ty.
“I should go,” he says and I wait for him to make a move. When he doesn’t, I slide past him, and he sucks in a breath as my body brushes his. I leave the room and his boots thud on the floor as he follows me, closing the gap until I can feel heat emanating from his hard body.
“Are you okay?” Kaitlyn asks, her voice getting closer.
She rounds the corner to the hall and comes to an abrupt halt when she sees me coming toward her, Ty so tight on my heels I can feel his hot breath on the back of my neck.
“I’ll just get out of here,” he says.
Kaitlyn’s head rears back and from the look on her face, Tyler was the last person she expected to find coming out of my bedroom. I was pretty adamant when I told her it was over between us.
“Wait. Are you…Tyler?” she asks.
“Yeah.” He runs his hand through his hair, his gaze shifting, like a wild wolf needing to break free. Kaitlyn holds her hand out. “I’m Kaitlyn. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
A sound catches in his throat, a humorless laugh. “I can imagine,” he says, then gives her hand a quick shake. “Nice to meet you, Kaitlyn.” He turns to me. “I’ll see you around, Sara,” he says, his words dark, pained.
I walk him to the door, and I’m about to shut it behind him when he turns. His lids drop, then slowly open. “Sara, I wanted to say thank you for taking care of Gracie when I was gone. She told me all the things you used to do with her.” He pauses, takes a hard breath and adds, “Please don’t stop coming around because of me. She needs you.”
“I won’t,” I say.
I stare at his back as he walks down the hall and turns the corner. When he’s out of my line of vision, I close the door carefully, and turn. I sag against it, and find Kaitlyn staring at me, mouth agape. Oh, God this is bad, so freaking bad.
“What the hell was that?” she asks.
She still has a dozen red roses in her hand. “Who are those from?” I ask.
“Caleb,” she says. “I caught the delivery guy at the front door, and your neighbor let me in as he was leaving. When I talked to you earlier and you sounded upset, I thought the date went bad, and figured that’s why he sent you flowers.”
“The date didn’t go bad. It was perfectly fine, actually.”
She stares at me for a moment. “Then what was Tyler doing here?”
I walk to the living room, sink down onto the sofa and press my palms to my forehead. “He forgot his wallet.”
“Holy shit.” She sets the bouquet down, and plunks herself onto the coffee table in front of me. “Back up. Start from the beginning.”
“I ran into him and his sister at the restaurant last night, and then he showed up at my door shortly after Caleb dropped me off.” Her eyes go wide as I fill her in, and when I’m done, she lets loose a long, slow whistle.
“Okay, well, first let me say, he’s hot as hell and no wonder you fell into bed with him, and second let me say, ohmigod.”
I shake my head. “Yeah, I know.”
“Come on. Let’s eat and then get our asses to Studio Paris.”
Hitting the most popular club in town is the last thing I feel like doing. “I’m not in the mood.”
“I don’t care. We’re going and you’re not leaving there until we find you a man.”
7
Tyler
Exhausted from my workout with the punching bag, I lean into it, rest my forehead against the hot leather and take deep breaths. It’s late and the gym is closed, but an old football buddy of mine owns it now and gave me a key to use at my leisure. I take a few deep breaths and let them out slowly. I shouldn’t be so pissed that Caleb sent Sara flowers, or that she’s going clubbing tonight with her friend. It’s not my business.
Then why the fuck did I spend the entire day doing a return trip from here to the prison—a place I swore never to step foot in again—just to talk to Deacon? After an online search of Caleb, and finding nothing but a long list of accomplishments and awards to his name, I should leave it at that, right? I want to think I’m wrong about him, but my fucking gut won’t let it go. A guy learns that kind of shit inside, and if anyone can find dirt on him, Deacon can, even from behind bars.
“Are you working out or trying to get a date?” Lucas asks as he towel-dries the sweat from his forehead.
I angle my head to see my brother smirking at me. “You ever heard of Studio Paris?”
“Yeah. It’s a new place over by the college. Why?”
“Get showered. We’re going.”
Lucas tosses the towel over his shoulder and leans against the closed door separating the gym from the showers, crooking his knee and pressing the sole of his foot to the panel. “I don’t really think it’s your scene, bro.”
I release the wrap around my hands, and bend to untie my shoes. “No, why not?”
“It has a dress code and has overpriced drinks. Lots of stuck-up college girls. Wouldn’t you rather go to Lou’s? You can get some nice pussy at Lou’s and won’t have to spend a fortune on drinks to get it.” My head snaps up and I glare at my brother. He grips the edge of the towel and says, “What? You don’t like pussy now?”
The tendons on my neck tighten. “Have some fucking respect.”
“Jesus, Ty.” He pushes off the door, and straightens, but he knows better than to get up in my face. “What the fuck?”
I glare at him for a moment longer, to let his punk ass know I’m serious. There were enough guys in prison who talked smack about women. I’m not going to hear it from my brother too. Finally, I break the tension and ask, “What’s the dress code?”
He looks at me for a moment, like he doesn’t know whether to let it go or not, but then says, “Dress shirt. I think jeans are okay.”
I have plenty of dress shirts. After prison, I had to clean up and apply for jobs, all part of my release program, and at BSA, I always wore collared shirts and dress pants. I’m just lucky Claudine, my boss, took a liking to me and made some calls to get me transferred to the offices here. My gaze rolls over my brother’s frame. He’s about the same size as me. The few shirts I managed to salvage from the fire would likely fit him.
“You have a dress shirt?” I ask.
“Yeah. Don’t have much use for it at the garage, but I bought one last year for cousin Jimmy’s funeral.”
I nod. Jimmy was a good kid growing up, but after I went to prison, he got mixed up with the wrong crowd and ended up getting himself killed during a gang initiation. Stupid fucker held up a corner store and the owner pulled a shotgun and blew his head off. I heard the news in jail, and it tore me up inside not being able to go to the funeral and pay my respects. I make a mental note to head to the gravesite soon as unease rips through me. His death was so fucking senseless. But when it came to the local gang, nothing made sense and nine years ago, I took the job because I feared it would be the death of my brother.
There is a part of me that understands why Lucas chose to run guns. Expenses for Gracie were piling up, but I was sending money home from my cafeteria job on campus. For some reason Lucas took our family finances upon himself, thinking he was the man of the house while I was away. Dumb kid was doing all the wrong things for the right reasons. I grab the punching bag to keep myself upright as memories flood me.
“You good, bro?” he asks, his voice pulling me back.
I snap out of it. “Yeah.”
“Maybe we can go another night. I kinda had some plans tonight.” He shifts and for some reason I get the sense he’s hiding something.
“Yeah, what?”
“Was going to meet up with some buddies.”
I stare at him, long and hard. “Who?”
“Just some guys. You wouldn’t know them. We were going to work on some cars.”
I relax. “Can you reschedule?” I give him a nudge on the chin. “I need my wing man tonight.”
A moment of hesitation, then, “Yeah, sure.”
“Thanks.”
I push past my brother and step into the locker room. I grab my soap and as I make my way to the shower, I try to talk myself out of going to the club. But my efforts prove futile. Sara is there, and I have to see her, have to make sure she’s safe. By rights she should tell me to fuck off. She’s been taking care of herself for a long time now. But now that I’m back, I fucking want that role again, and there’s nothing I can to do change that.
I shower quickly, meet Lucas outside and we make the short trek home so we can get out of our sweats and into something decent for the club. The door is locked and Lucas pulls a key. I stand back as he opens the door, and a tightness in my chest squeezes the air from my lungs. Mom hasn’t given me a key, and I haven’t asked for one. An oversight on her part I’m sure, but not on mine. I still feel like a stranger inside these walls.
Mom shuffles to the kitchen when she hears us. Dressed in her familiar floor-length flannel robe, tied tight at the waist, she smiles when her gaze lands on Lucas. “How was the workout?” she asks
“Good,” he says and drops a kiss onto her cheek.
“You boys hungry?”
“Yeah,” Lucas says, then darts up the stairs to his room, leaving Mom and me alone. Fuck, I hate the awkwardness between us. I search my brain for something to say, but come up empty.
Mom gives me a smile, the shuffles to the fridge. I reach out, put my hand on her shoulder and stop her, when what I really want to do is punch Lucas in the face and tell him to make his own goddamn food. “It’s okay, Mom,” I say. “You don’t have to wait on us. I can heat up some pizza.”
“Nonsense,” she says. “Have a seat, I’ll fix you both a sandwich.”
I hold my ground for a moment, but then soften when she smiles at me, a genuine smile that helps push back some of the cold. She’s the one who held this family together after Dad left, after I left. It’s not my place to come in and change things. Besides, I think she needs to feel wanted. It gives her purpose.
“Ham and cheese. Your favorite.”
It touches me that she remembers. “Thanks, Mom,” I say. “I’ll be right back.” I go up the stairs quietly, not wanting to wake Gracie. I pass by my old room, still unable to venture inside, and find Lucas pulling a dress shirt from his closet. The box I had packed up and shipped here had arrived the other day, and I tear into it. My buddies pass through my mind as I pull the clothes out, some of their jeans and shirts mixed in with mine. We all wore each other’s clothes, shared everything and I miss the fuck out of them. I pull my phone from my back pocket and think about texting Justin. I know he’s dealing with some pretty rough shit himself as he tries to assimilate back into society—the family and friends he left behind. Fuck, we all are.
Lucas pulls on his shirt, and his dimples flash as he buttons it up. “I clean up good, huh?”
“Yeah,” I say and grab a plain blue shirt. I want to blend into the crowd tonight. I’m not even sure I want Sara to know I’m there. She’s trying to get her life together and doesn’t need the complication of me. But I just need to make sure she’s okay. At least that’s what I keep telling myself when I get downstairs. Mom has the sandwiches on the table. “Looks great,” Lucas says, and Mom beams at him. He sits and scarfs two down in record time.
Mom looks like she has something on her mind as she sits next to me, touches my arm gingerly. “Gracie said you guys ran into Sara at the restaurant last night.”
The bread lodges in my throat and I work to swallow. “Yeah, we did,” I say and get up to get a glass of water. I run the water until it’s cold, take a long drink, but don’t turn just yet. I don’t want to talk about Sara. I don’t want to hear what Mom has to say—what I need to hear.
“Gracie said she invited her over for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“I know.”
“That was thoughtful of her, but I work at the pharmacy that day. I plan to have the turkey on Sunday and I’m not sure—”
“Don’t worry,” I say as I turn slowly and walk back to the table. Lucas is eyeing me, his gaze stricken as he searches my face. But I keep my jaw locked, hard. He’s suffering enough as it is and doesn’t need to know my fucking heart is in two pieces, that seeing Sara again and not being able to make her mine is harder than any prison sentence. I clear my throat. “She’s too busy and won’t be able to make it.”
“Yes, she is very busy, isn’t she? When I ran into her father the other day, he said she was taking night classes and working her way up through the bank and will soon be stepping foot into a senior analyst position. Isn’t that exciting? She’s doing very well for herself, Tyler.” I nod, because it’s what she’s not saying that is clawing at my insides like a fucking rat digging it’s way out of a trap.
Stay away from her.
I shove the sandwich into my mouth, and nod my head. “Yeah,” I say but it comes out like a hollow little sound that fills the room with tension and takes me inside myself, where I weep for my lost youth, the loss of Sara.
“Well, we should get going, bro,” Lucas says, before we all get too caught up in the unease filling the air, taking up space.
“Yeah.” I shove the last bite into my mouth and stand. Mom reaches for my plate, but I grab mine and Lucas’ and take them to the sink.
“You boys be careful out there.”
“We will,” Lucas says, and we step outside. The lock clicks in place behind us, but it’s not the sound of metal on metal that’s sending cold shivers along my vertebra. No, it’s the string of bikes riding by my house, slowing down as the drivers take in me and my brother. I stand straight, hard, letting them know I’m not intimidated. These aren’t Deacon’s men, but I’m pretty damn sure they’re not going to fuck with a guy under his protection, inside the prison or out. That’s what I’m betting on. Then again, I’m no longer a betting man.
They pass and I turn to my brother, who’s gone stiff behind me. “What’s that all about?”
He shrugs. “Beats me.”
“Lucas.”
“I don’t know, Ty. I guess they’re letting you know they run this town.”
“As long as they’re not running you.”
He gives a quick shake of his head, too quick, and my nerves fire. “If you’re in any kind of trouble, you need to tell me right now.”
“No trouble,” he says, and hurries down the three steps. “Are we clubbing or not?”
I stand there for a moment. The Phantoms are the last people my little brother should be fucking with. If I ever find out he’s mixed up with those bastards again, I’ll fucking give him a beatdown that’ll do permanent damage to his pretty face.
I climb onto my bike, and tug on my helmet as my brother jumps on his Harley beside me. I nod for him to lead the way, and follow him out of the driveway. The air is cool tonight and soon I’m going to have to store the bike for the long-ass winter and find myself an old car to use. I’m sure my kid brother will be able to hook me up with one, seeing as how he loves to work on cars, even during his off hours.
It’s nearing midnight by the time we hit the club. The big motherfucker of a bouncer gives me a once over as we step up to the front of the line.
“You in the right place?” he asks, and I resist the urge to punch him in the face just for assuming I’m here looking for trouble.
Lucas is about to say something, but I stop him and calm myself. When it comes right down to it, the guy is just doing his job, and I don’t fit the mold of the regular clientele. “Yeah, I’m in the right place.”
“We don’t want no trouble.”
“Not looking for it.”
We square off for a moment, stand eye to eye then he nods
and allows us through. We pay a ridiculously high cover charge and make our way inside. I cringe at the loud music and bodies jammed together. Lucas was right. I would rather go to Lou’s for beer and pool. Fuck, when did I get so old?
A few girls grab at my shirt and gyrate against me, and the smell of perfume mingling with sweat nearly gags me as I look for Sara. I’m a good head taller than most, but can barely get through the crowd. I lose Lucas in seconds, and when I turn back to find him, he’s got a harem of women attacking him. The boy’s got a pretty face and definitely cleans up nice.
“Want to get a drink?” a girl asks loud enough to be heard over the pounding beat as she puts her hand on my chest and curls it in my shirt.
I’m sure the only way I’ll get through this crowd is by pushing people out of my way, or letting her lead me. Since the first will only end up getting me kicked out, and she seems to know what she’s doing, I nod. She slides her hand into mine and gives a tug. We weave through the throng, the music deafening as she finds two stools at the bar. I sit and instead of taking the seat beside me, she settles between my open legs.
“I’ll have a rum and coke,” she says loudly.
I hold up two fingers, and the bartender nods.
“I’m Candy,” she says, and coils long blond curls around her finger.
Of course she is.
When I don’t say anything she asks, “And you are?”
Not into Candy.
“Tyler,” I say.
She purses he lips, and looks me over. “You’re not from around here are you? Are you just passing through?”
“Something like that.”
I scan the crowd, then look back at Candy as she blinks up at me, her gaze going over my scars, intrigue dancing in her eyes. Is this what she likes, what she gets off on? Does the good girl want to play with the bad boy? I scoff.
“What?” she asks, and pouts at me.
“Nothing.” I look past her head, search the sea of people for Sara, and when I find her alone at a corner table, tucked in against the wall, uncomfortable as some drunk jackass comes on to her, every muscle in my body clenches. The bartender brings our drinks. I toss some bills on the counter, and take a drink. I stare at Sara as the amber liquid burns down my throat. Jesus, she sure has a knack for picking the wrong kind of guys.