Men of Halfway House 01 - A Better Man (DA) (MM)

by Jaime Reese

  Dedication

  For my hubby…my rock.

  Words are not enough.

  To CC…

  Thank you.

  You have no idea how much I appreciate you.

  You're a rock star.

  To A…

  Thank you, for just being you.

  To the readers…

  To all the readers who read the first version of A Better Man and sent me a message:

  Thank you.

  I appreciate it more than you know :)

  If you're a first edition reader who purchased this second edition, THANK YOU.

  I hope you enjoy the rewrite and additions.

  If this is your first read of A Better Man,

  I hope you enjoy the story as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

  Chapter 1

  June

  "It's going to be another hot one."

  This was the last thing the bubbly radio forecaster announced before Julian Capeletti switched off the radio. It was just too damn early in the morning for that much perkiness.

  "Great," he grumbled as he sat up in bed and tried to rub the sleep from his face.

  He hated mornings. Some people heard birds chirping, appreciated sunrises, and saw everything through rainbow-colored glasses in the early morning hours, but that just wasn't him.

  Especially when he didn't have work.

  He just couldn't muster the energy needed to be as functional as he was in the late hours—when he found his groove and could tackle even the most complex third plane mathematical equation anyone could throw at him. Mornings, well, it was a short list. Wake up, shower, drink coffee. Oh yeah, and don't forget to get dressed somewhere in between. He didn't need to have the perky announcer tell him about the weather, he could feel it firsthand as the sweat began to trickle down his chest.

  "Fucking gross," he moaned as he rose from bed and made his way to the bathroom.

  He followed the same routine every morning. He stared at himself in the mirror, in search of…what, who knew. He splashed some water on his face and looked again. Maybe he should try holy water or some other miracle that would change what stared back at him. He saw the hint of dark circles under his eyes and he hated it.

  Vanity wasn't the issue, the dark circles were a reminder of the turn of bad luck that had plagued him for almost two years.

  Like a series of snapshots, he always ran the images of that day through his mind. The one that marked the beginning of when it all started going to shit with no end in sight. Well, more than usual at least. The day his last steady foreman project ended because the owner faced trafficking charges and fled the country to avoid his impending capture. With assets frozen, the site was closed down and everyone was out of a job and a steady paycheck. He'd left work early to seek comfort in the arms of his partner, an eternal optimist, and found him busy giving comfort of a different type to another guy.

  "Asshole," he mumbled into the towel as he dried his face. Maybe a shower would work. Even if it didn't wake him up, at least it would wash away the disgusting reminder of the South Florida blazing summer heat and humidity.

  Freshly showered, Julian read the classifieds as he sipped his coffee. He closed his eyes and exhaled, enjoying the caffeine and sugar slowly bringing him to life. Finally. He skimmed the want ads searching for anything new that morning, something he hadn't already called on that week. He grabbed the monthly community paper and spotted the listing with a large bold headline "Handyman Wanted for Repairs". A long list of requirements followed, far beyond those for a traditional handyman. He exhaled sharply and frowned. He had seen this a lot lately, another potential employer taking advantage of the desperation in the workforce, wanting to hire someone for nothing. The laundry list of responsibilities read like the licensing exam for a contractor, not a handyman's job description. Cheap bastard. "Contact Mr. Boner" it read toward the end, followed by an address and phone number. He couldn't resist smiling at the play on words.

  "No wonder Boner wants a handyman." He chuckled.

  A knock at the door interrupted his morning read through the ads.

  "Hey, Jules, you in there?"

  Julian cringed, not just at the nickname he hated so strongly, but at the voice he knew came to deliver bad news. He reluctantly rose to answer the knock.

  "Hi, David," he said as he slowly opened the door to greet the short, paunchy landlord.

  "So, you got my rent this month?" David asked hopefully.

  "I'll have some money for you by the end of the week." He rubbed his hands on his towel and looked away.

  "That's what you said last week." David shifted to cross his arms in an attempt to intimidate.

  Julian looked down at the short man and couldn't blame him for trying. He knew David well enough to realize that he didn't have a choice but to push at this point. He figured the guy was getting some unneeded pressure from the boss.

  "I gave you some money last week."

  "That was to cover the rent from two months ago. What about last month or this one?"

  Julian's head began to hurt. This had been the ritual almost every day for the last month. He was a creature of habit, but there were some customs he wished would change.

  "David, I told you I'd have some by the end of the week. I just need a little time."

  "That's what they all say!" His landlord raised his arms in frustration.

  "Look, I know I'm late, I'm not denying that, but at least when you come knocking, I don't run and hide from you like your other tenants. I said I'll have money for you at the end of the week and I will. I've never backed down on my word."

  "Yet, you're late on your monthly payment."

  "And I told you I would be. Fuck, David, I said I was going to be late and you agreed it wasn't a problem as long as I paid you something each week. I'm doing that." He rubbed his shaved head roughly.

  "How much? Will it be enough to cover the two months you owe me?" David pleaded.

  "I don't know. I'm guessing probably not by the end of the week."

  "Jules, I can't keep doing this."

  "I know. I just need some time," Julian said quietly, looking away as he rubbed his wrist cuff.

  "Why don't you sell your truck?"

  Julian looked at him as if the burly man had sprouted another head. "Dude, I'm not selling my truck. I need it for work."

  "Please, Jules, I like you, but I can't have you livin' here for free. You know that. My bosses are pushing me for the rent. I need two months' rent by the end of the week or they're forcing me to kick you out of here."

  Julian could see both frustration and understanding in the man's eyes. He'd known this day would come. Had dreaded it for the last few weeks. He rubbed his head and looked away. He tried to make an honest living, avoided trouble, and where did that leave him? Standing in his doorway with a towel around his waist trying to think of ways to scavenge up two months' rent just to be back at square one again. He couldn't think of anything to say so he simply nodded.

  David looked at him and patted him on the shoulder. "Jules, you're a hard worker and a smart cookie. I'm sure you'll find a way."

  Ugh. First Jules now cookie. Seriously?

  "Thanks, David," he grumbled, hoping that would give the man the signal to turn and leave.

  Mission accomplished. He closed the door and leaned his forehead against it. He blew out a deep breath, willing a new idea to blindside him. He thought of different quickie jobs and crossed each one off for different reasons. Well, he always had the option to sell his ass on Eighth Street, but who was he kidding? No one would give him two months' rent for his bits. He laughed at himself. He had to. It wa
s the only way he'd remain sane when life gave him the shit end of the stick. He turned to see the newspaper still sitting on the table. He walked over and grabbed his coffee and gulped the little bit of remaining java along with his pride.

  If the guy needed a handyman, he was going to be the best damn handyman that cheap bastard had ever seen. If that didn't work, well, Eighth Street was actually starting to sound pretty damn good.

  * * * *

  Julian found a spot for his truck close to the address listed in the ad. Miami street parking sucked. Meters were ridiculous, permits rare, and leaving a vehicle in a street was downright at-your-own-risk. He figured his truck was semisafe here on the somewhat vacant street, so he locked up and made his way down the block.

  He walked along the street and looked at the neighboring buildings' numbers. He double-checked the address. Nope, he was in the right place but there was no way a house was going to be in this area because of the zoning. He stopped and stared at the dilapidated building he had almost walked past. It was a building by definition, but damn it needed work. A lot of work. His overly analytical brain began a mental list. He started with the exterior elements requiring attention, prioritizing based on immediate need to prevent being condemned by the county. Then he added those items that were purely aesthetic.

  The structure needed a lot of help. His mental list started to get lengthy. He grabbed his notebook and pen to start jotting down his notes. His mind raced. The paint was faded in some places and peeling in others. Portions of the rain gutters were missing, and other sections were barely hanging on to the edge of the roof. Some windows were broken, others were boarded up. Weeds had overtaken the St. Augustine grass. Light fixtures were missing and cables were dangling.

  He looked up from his scribbling, and the potential began to make an appearance through the graffiti-tarnished walls, broken windows, and unkempt landscaping. The smile stretching his face shocked him. He had finally found something that inspired him after two years. Yeah, this was his baby.

  Mine.

  If marking his territory would help to secure his position, he'd have no problem pissing in a circle for this as the reward. Now he just needed to convince this Boner dude that he was the guy to fix this place.

  Chapter 2

  Julian made his way to the door and knocked. Even that felt as if it was going to fall apart. "Hold on, girl," he said quietly then softly petted the wood where he had knocked moments ago. When no one answered, he checked the doorknob. Out-of-towner. No South Florida resident would leave their place unlocked regardless of how much work was needed. He slowly opened the door.

  "Hello? Mr. Boner?" He smiled. Gosh, this was never going to get old.

  "It's Doner." He heard an aggravated man's voice from one of the rooms on the right.

  "Oh, sorry, the ad read Boner." He just couldn't resist throwing that in there one more time.

  The irritated man walked out into the hallway, stopped, and crossed his arms. "It's Doner. D-O-N-E-R. Doner."

  He could spell it any way he wanted, a-s-s-h-o-l-e was the only thing that ran through Julian's mind at that moment.

  "Are you here for the job or what?" Doner asked. He sounded tired and a bit past pissed. His dark brown hair was disheveled as if he'd been running his fingers through it repeatedly. He looked frustrated about something or maybe the heat was driving him to the brink of madness. His jeans were broken in and slightly worn at the knees, his shirt a traditional white tee. Nothing fancy. He seemed like he was trying to fit in, but there was something there that just didn't match with the overall package. His hair and clothing said casual, but the underlying look screamed something completely different. Something more… polished.

  Julian could easily imagine this guy in a suit and tie at the head of a table or behind a podium in front of a group of people, like a businessman or leader of some sort. He had that air about him. But something was off. He looked just as tired as he sounded. His shoulders were slightly hunched over and it seemed as if it took effort to stand up straight. When he did, he was tall, almost reaching Julian's six-foot-three stature.

  "Well, if you're done with your spelling bee competition, yes, I'm here for the job," Julian said as he walked past Doner into the building.

  "Do you insult all your potential employers?"

  "Do you insult all your potential employees?"

  They stared each other down as if it were a schoolyard brawl. Julian felt a prickling at the back of his neck. He'd stand his ground even if those were the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. He refused to be the first to flinch.

  "Touché," Doner muttered.

  Julian half smiled. That was the closest he imagined this guy would come to an apology. He extended his hand. "I'm Julian Capeletti."

  Mr. Superior followed suit. "Matthew Doner, call me Matt." After a firm handshake, Matt directed him to the room where he had set up a semioffice. "Capeletti, is that Italian?"

  "The name is Italian, yeah, but I'm a mix of Italian, Brazilian, and a hint of German. But you're not supposed to ask that in a job interview, you know," he said with a challenging smile.

  Matt rolled his eyes. "I wasn't asking because I was going to use it as a determinant whether to hire you or not, I was just curious. It's not that common a name."

  "I'm a mutt."

  "That's uhm…" Matt appeared lost for words. "Okay," he finally said.

  "It's the truth." Maybe this guy wasn't used to someone being so blunt. Julian shrugged. "So let's talk about the job."

  Matt sighed and sat back in his chair, pointing to the seat opposite his desk in a clear suggestion for Julian to sit. "This is my place and I want to fix it up."

  "Needs a lot of work," Julian commented as he sat.

  "Is that supposed to be a newsflash or something? Tell me something I don't know. Most people who have walked in here have walked right back out. Hell, some even ran out before I had a chance to say a word. I know it's a lot of work. I just want someone to take care of it. I don't know squat about construction and I need someone who does."

  "The ad said 'handyman', was that an error too? Sounds like you need a contractor."

  Matt seemed to have perfected the body sigh. "Were you not listening? I said I didn't know anything about construction. Handyman, contractor, whatever, I need someone who can fix this," he said as he moved his arms around. "Do you want the job or not?"

  "How much does it pay?"

  "Eight hundred a week plus materials. Just one guy, I don't want a crew of people here who will point the finger elsewhere. I only want to deal with one person."

  Julian started working the numbers. Obviously, this was cheap labor for the kind of work that needed to be done. He had all the certifications because of his contractor licensing requirements, but this was insanely low pay and very demanding work for one person. Even if he was stubborn enough to believe he could do it all.

  "Do you have a deadline for the repairs?"

  "One year," Matt said without hesitation.

  One year? Julian looked around and assessed the walls, floor, and ceiling. The interior was just as bad as the outside. One year was a short period of time and barely reasonable. He didn't know how much work she would actually need until he got inside the walls. He didn't care. He wanted to be the one doing it and knew better than to appear too eager.

  "That might be cutting it a bit close considering you want a one-man show. I would need to stay here as part of the agreement so I can work however many hours I need to get the job done."

  Matt didn't seem thrown by the idea. He gestured around him with a wave of his hand. "There are plenty of rooms if that's what you'd like to do. This one is my office and I have another room I've set aside where I'll be sleeping. You can have any other room you'd like while doing the repairs."

  "You do realize that by you staying here, you potentially delay the renovations."

  "It's part of the arrangement. If I need to move to a different room then I will, but I'm staying here. I'll als
o be helping with the manual labor where I can."

  Julian raised an eyebrow and bit the inside of his cheek to hold back the smile. He couldn't imagine Mr. Sophisticated lifting a hammer or doing any heavy lifting for that matter. But the job was both tempting and needed.

  "Deal."

  "I'm going to need you to fill out this paperwork," Matt said as he handed over some basic waivers, releases, and tax forms. At least his new boss had done some research into the correct way to go about this.

  Julian took the forms and started to fill them out. Two birds with one stone. He'd pay David the two months he owed him for past rent and move here to save on expenses. He could have just left, but that wasn't fair to David. He'd allowed him to stay rent-free for two months and Julian owed him.

  "I need two weeks advance to start," he said as he handed the completed forms back to Matt.

  "I'm not an ATM," Matt snapped as he gathered the papers. "I'll pay you at the end of the week."

  Julian knew he was pushing his luck but was well-aware of what he was capable of with this renovation. Matt may not know it but he was hiring someone with tons of know-how even if the pay didn't show it. Also, his new boss had already said no one else had been interested.

  "Here are my credentials," he said as he put the folder with the certifications on the desk. "I've got the licenses and other requirements needed to do the repairs legally and the experience to get the job done. I'm a man of my word. I'm telling you I will fix her up just as good as a crew of guys can…but cheaper. Plus, I'm willing to work however many hours are needed to get it done to meet your deadline. But I need that advance. I have to wrap up a few things if I'm going to jump into this on a 24/7 basis."

  He could tell Matt was sizing him up. His new employer quickly glanced at his wrist cuff before making eye contact again. Julian clasped both hands behind his back, not willing to answer the questions looking back at him in that gaze.