Only You

by Addison Fox

“They’re dating. I presume you know that.”

  “Not any longer.”

  “What?” The reaction was out before she could stop it, and it Louisa had to admit some surprise to see that Gretchen seemed upset. Her already-stiff spine had hardened another notch, and Louisa saw genuine pain in the woman’s eyes.

  “Your son dumped my Harlow the other evening after their weekend away.”

  “I didn’t know any of this.” Louisa considered the discussion she’d had with Fender—and how obvious it was that he was smitten—and tried to reconcile it with Gretchen’s revelation. “Nor can I see it as even remotely possible. It’s obvious how much he enjoys her company. That’s why they went away.”

  “I’m given to understand you have a close relationship with your son.”

  It stabbed at Louisa that Gretchen seemed unwilling to call Fender by name, but she acknowledged the quick change in subject. “I do.”

  “Then you need to do something about how badly he’s hurt my daughter. She doesn’t deserve this.”

  “Neither does he. But they are adults. They can decide if they want to date or not.”

  “My daughter isn’t some object to be used and discarded.” Gretchen’s voice rose steadily. “She’s not disposable!”

  Gretchen’s reaction hit Louisa—and her obvious frustration at the idea her daughter was as disposable as she was—just as the door opened, a hot blast of summer heat tumbling through it along with Harlow. “Mother! What are you doing here?”

  “I’m simply here to have a discussion.” Gretchen nodded in Louisa’s direction. “This is none of your business.”

  “I’ve asked you repeatedly to leave this family alone. Why are you bothering Louisa and her campaign? Why won’t you let her live her life?”

  “This isn’t about her or our past. This is about you and your future.”

  The horrified look on Harlow’s face registered at the same time a large group of seniors began filing into the room through a nearby door. Although she wasn’t quite ready to become a smarmy politician, Louisa wasn’t interesting in having Fender’s personal life on display for their friends and neighbors. She already knew a few of Fender’s customers had been in the common room, as well as several friends of Emily’s. “Ladies, could we please take this outside?”

  Gretchen and Harlow both nodded, and Louisa walked out behind them, the August heat wrapping around them like a hot, wet blanket. Harlow held her tongue as they moved down the sidewalk and away from the front door, but the moment they’d cleared the building she whirled back on her mother. “I can’t believe you came here.”

  “I’m not going to watch you go through what I did.” Gretchen said.

  “How is this possibly the same thing?” Harlow asked.

  “Abandoned and discarded by a man?” Gretchen pressed on, her voice rising again. “You’re better than that.”

  Harlow laid a hand on her mother’s arm. “I’d hardly call a breakup abandoned and discarded.”

  “You deserve better!”

  Later, when Louisa reflected on the situation, she’d remember watching the strange battle between Gretchen and Harlow. She’d acknowledge that’s why the vaguely familiar man walking toward them didn’t get much of her notice.

  Her major mistake.

  “Hello, ladies.”

  The three of them glanced over at the tall man with stringy hair. Several days of beard covered his cheeks, a dark complement to the hard glint in his eyes.

  And the gun that he held, steady in his hand.

  * * *

  Fender still smarted over the discussion with his old man the day before, uncomfortable with the way he’d let Trent leave the shop. He’d slept in his apartment overnight, still twitchy knowing his father had intruded in the space. A number of scenarios had filled his mind as he tossed in bed, almost as if his father still roamed the apartment like a lingering wraith.

  Where would Trent go?

  Was he really going to leave Brooklyn?

  What would really stop him from coming back?

  Questions without answers and—worst of all—potential outcomes he had no control over.

  He did give Cade a call to update him on the conversation, if for no other reason than it would give the cops something else to bug Trent about if they cornered him. And then he’d done his level best to just go about his business.

  Which had worked so well he found himself walking into Landon’s office at noon, bored with his own company and looking for a lunch buddy.

  The old building in DUMBO that was the center of Landon’s business housed any number of designers and technologists, the men and women largely responsible for Brooklyn’s renaissance. Fender always smiled when he walked through the neighborhood with its cobblestone streets and the Manhattan Bridge rising in the distance. Somehow old and new had converged here, progress blending in neatly with history.

  It also reminded him how different he and his brothers were, yet they meshed as easily as that progress and history, or as fruits and loops, as Mrs. Weston had teased them when they were kids.

  Differences and all, he and his brothers just worked. They were a unit. A team.

  And it was that comfort and solace that he sought as he walked into the building and opted for the stairs over the old elevator.

  The office Landon shared with others wasn’t solely his, but the other businesses who leased the space with him were in computer-design fields as well. The wide-open space boasted large windows, long desks, and any number of jeans-clad people tapping away at computers.

  God love ’em, Fender thought, as he scanned the room for his brother. He was struggling with some basic automation for his business, and these people had keyboards and computer mice growing out of their hands like they were extensions of their bodies. Before Fender could dwell on that, Landon caught sight of him from across the room and waved him over, gesturing toward a glass-walled conference room that was currently empty.

  Landon closed the door behind them before speaking. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Sure. I was just looking for a lunch buddy.”

  “I’m in as long as it’s Stewey’s. I was thinking about his brownies this morning.”

  “Has there ever been a day in your life you haven’t thought about Stewey’s brownies?”

  “Thankfully, no.”

  They shot the shit with small talk until Landon’s easy smile fell. “You doing okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  “You sure about that?” Landon waited a beat before he added, “Have you talked to Harlow?”

  “No.” Fender fought the urge to squirm in his chair. Trent’s arrival at the garage, and his belligerent attitude when he didn’t get what he wanted, only reinforced all the reasons Fender needed to keep Harlow well clear of that situation. If it meant she was well clear of him, then so be it. “Trent showed up at the garage yesterday.”

  “And it took you a day to tell me?”

  Fender shrugged. He and his brothers were a unit, and they talked about shit. Had each other’s backs. He should have said something.

  Knew it was on him to say something.

  “I called Cade this morning. Told him about it.”

  “You waited that long to tell him, too?” Landon pulled his phone from his pocket, frowning. “Daphne hasn’t called or texted yet. So he hasn’t gotten to her.”

  “What’s there to get to? Bastard paid me a visit, and I told Cade, who’s keeping an eye on this to be nice. My father hasn’t done anything, and there’s no crime in paying your kid a visit.”

  “He’s trouble.”

  “Yeah, he is. He’s always been trouble. Doesn’t mean being an asshole is a crime.”

  “So fill me in.”

  Fender recounted the fight in his office. He nearly said more—like how he wanted to call Harlow after it happened, just to check on her—but he didn’t.

  He hadn’t given in to temptation and called Harlow, and he wasn’t spilling that ridiculous
shit to his brother, either.

  Landon remained impassive across the table before seeming to come to a decision. “Let’s go to Stewey’s then.”

  They’d just cleared the building when Fender’s phone went off. “We should call Nick and tell him to join us,” Fender said as he pulled out his phone.

  Puzzled, he saw the name of his mother’s neighbor, Dave Maxwell, light up his phone. “Dave?”

  “Have you seen your mother?”

  Although he hadn’t seen much of Dave over the summer, the man was the epitome of relaxed and laid back. Which made the palpable urgency winging through the phone that much more of a surprise. “No, I haven’t. Why?”

  “I was supposed to meet her for coffee after her event this morning.”

  Coffee? “Oh, okay.”

  “We’ve. Well—” Dave broke off. “We’ve been seeing each other and have been texting pretty regularly. I haven’t heard from her, and the office at the senior center hasn’t seen her since she handed in her microphone a few hours ago.”

  The general discomfort Fender had managed since the night before amped up toward panic. And a steady awareness that something was wrong. He glanced at Landon. “Have you talked to Mom today, or texted her?”

  “No.” Landon shook his head. “What’s wrong?”

  “Dave hasn’t seen her or heard from her. They were supposed to meet up a few hours ago.”

  The rapport he and Landon had shared since they were small flared to life. “Tell Dave we’ll be there in fifteen.”

  Landon took off for the curb to hail a cab when Fender turned back to the phone. “We’re on our way.”

  * * *

  Harlow avoided looking at the creepy trash that lined the floor and focused on the room they were in. It had briefly crossed her mind to make a fuss and run for help when the scruffy man pulled a gun on them, but she wasn’t alone. Her mother’s heels and Louisa’s bags full of her campaign materials would have slowed both of the older women down and put them in danger.

  So they’d gone with the man. Harlow had figured quickly who he was, but it was Louisa who confirmed it: Trent Blackstone.

  Fender’s father.

  They hadn’t gone far from the senior center, to an abandoned building the man seemed to know his way around. And for the past hour, they’d stood in the back corner of the building, waiting for something to happen. Trent had already relieved them of their cell phones and now paced back and forth with the phones in his pocket, chain-smoking cigarettes.

  “What do you want?” Louisa had asked several times, but other than a sneer and a few orders to shut up, they hadn’t gotten any response. Her latest attempt was met with another sneer, but this time she got an answer to her question.

  “I want money, and I want to get out of town. You’re in a position to give me both of those things.”

  “I am.” Louisa agreed. “Why don’t you let my friends go, and we can go to my home? I can give you money and the keys to my car.”

  Harlow nearly argued, but Louisa reached out and gripped her hand, squeezing tight. Her offer had put the clear stamp of avarice in Trent’s eyes, and Fender’s mother was clearly anxious to see if she could push him further.

  Even if Harlow would be damned if Louisa was doing it alone.

  “You don’t look like friends.” Trent’s gaze roamed over the three of them.

  “Of course we are.” Louisa didn’t break his stare. “They came to support me at the senior center this morning. I’m running for borough president.”

  Gretchen had remained silent during the exchange, but at Louisa’s affirmation, she moved up beside Louisa and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “We go way back. Since our children were small.”

  “Your children?” Gretchen’s words seemed to spark something, and Trent lashed out. “He’s my child! My kid! And the little bastard won’t help me!”

  The knowledge that Fender had already dealt with this man gnawed at something inside of her, but Harlow forced herself not to think about it. There’d be plenty of time to do that later. Right now they had to focus on working as a unit and getting out of there.

  All of them.

  * * *

  Fender and Landon sat at the table in their mother’s warm, butter-yellow kitchen, the rest of their family assembled with them. Nick and Emma, Daphne, Mrs. W., Father Thad, and Dave. Cade was there too, along with three other cops from the precinct.

  All had joined together, and all were focused on finding Mama Lou. Daphne had set up a steady line of communication with the precinct, and Cade sat next to Landon, a sophisticated laptop open on the table.

  “There.” Landon pointed at the screen. “She’s there on the street. It looks like she left the senior center with a few people.”

  They’d pulled video feeds from various street cameras, triangulating on the senior center as a starting point. Nick leaned over Landon’s shoulder as Cade manipulated the screen, and Fender got up from the table to swing around and look, desperate for whatever information they could possibly glean from the cameras.

  Who was she with?

  Everyone gave Fender and Nick room as they closed ranks around Cade. Landon pointed to a few side screens, his innate ability with computers helping Cade quickly navigate through the program. Fender watched as a new screen came up. This one was closer, and it became readily apparent who his mother was with.

  And who stood beside all three of them.

  “Fuck.” Landon said it first, his sentiments a nanosecond behind Fender’s own.

  “What is it?” Daphne raced over, her focus on the screen before she came to a standstill. “Oh no.”

  Everyone else had stepped back, understanding that Louisa’s boys needed to be the closest to the screen, but Emma finally stepped forward. “What’s going on?”

  Nick spoke first, and Fender was grateful for it. He could barely breathe around the pain in his chest, let alone form words. “Mom’s with Harlow and Gretchen Reynolds. And Trent Blackstone.”

  * * *

  Gretchen paced the small area, desperate for something—anything—to distract that disgusting man and make him change his mind. He’d pointed toward a corner and gestured them into it a little while ago, moving across the room to make a few phone calls. Even with the distance, his stare never left them, and Gretchen harbored no delusions she could outrun a gun in such close quarters—but oh, how the thought tempted.

  She’d spent her life in a proverbial box. And it was only in the past few hours, since she’d been put inside of a real one, that she finally understood that.

  Her daughter’s life was at risk. Well and truly at risk, and she’d spent the past year—hell, practically Harlow’s entire life—so angry, and terribly focused on things that didn’t matter.

  That had never mattered.

  The weight of that anger had vanished the moment she’d caught sight of that gun, and now all she wanted was a second chance. To make things right with her children. And to open her eyes and begin living.

  “I’m sorry.” The words felt empty but necessary as she turned to face Louisa.

  “For what?” Louisa’s response was genuine—Gretchen knew that to her core—and it only made what she had to say that much more urgent.

  “For my behavior this summer. For my anger. For the lifetime I’ve spent hating you.”

  “You had a right to hate me.” Louisa stilled before turning to Harlow. “Both of you.”

  “I don’t hate you,” Harlow said.

  Pride, full and expansive and oh-so-warm, spread in Gretchen’s chest. Her daughter was a beautiful woman in every way, and Gretchen took solace in the fact that she’d grown into such an amazing person even with less-than-stellar guidance from both her parents.

  “I never meant to hurt any of you.” Louisa’s expression was grim, history and their current circumstances leaving little room for joy, but she pressed on. That intrepid young woman Gretchen remembered from a long-ago Christmas party was still there, evident
even now.

  “On some level I knew that was a naïve thought, but it wasn’t my intention. And it was only when I had my boys that I realized just how much my behavior damaged your family.”

  “You lost something, too.” Gretchen remembered the way Louisa had been summarily fired from the firm. “Kincaide wouldn’t tell me, but a woman hears things. It was a juicy bit of gossip that his mistress was let go from the firm.”

  “It was the worst day of my life. And it led to the very best part of my life. My sons. I’m grateful for every bit of it.”

  “They love you.” Harlow spoke first. “And they love the life you all created. It’s such a part of Fender, and what I’ve seen of Landon and Nick, too.”

  “We found each other.” Louisa did smile then. “Saved each other. When that happened, it was easy to see the real impact of what I’d done. And what my choices meant.” She reached forward, and Gretchen felt warm hands clasp hers. “Please know, I am the one who’s sorry. Truly and deeply, I am sorry.”

  The last bit of anger and hate and spite lifted off Gretchen’s heart. As if a powerful, whirling tornado had ripped through, leaving nothing in its path the same, she felt the change.

  Only instead of destruction, she was reborn.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Fender fought against the pitch and roll that threatened his empty stomach as he rode in Landon’s SUV. Cade, Daphne, and the assembled officers at the brownstone had given clear details on what was expected of them, and driving hell for leather through Park Heights wasn’t on the list.

  It had taken him, Landon, and Nick exactly five seconds once the police cruisers were pulled out and down Cherry Street to head out on their own.

  The street cameras had given the general direction of where Trent had taken the women, and it was simple deduction to realize they were likely holed up in an abandoned warehouse that had been slated for demo in the fall.

  With that as the likely place, Nick had started texting whomever he could think of, to see if there were any other buildings around there to check out, and it had been his bouncer, Hector, who had come through with some additional info. Hec had heard rumors about the kid Sticky Caruthers had put on his weekly hit list, and rumors about the guy who did it. Kid didn’t know the man, but he’d been roughed up at the same warehouse the cops were focused on.