by Kishan Paul
She listened for a response. Of course, there wasn’t any.
A minute later, she shut the door behind her and treaded silently on the hardwood floor of the living room. Pale blue sofas sat in the center of the room and the kitchen was to her left. Aside from the newspapers scattered across the coffee table, the large space seemed just like it did eight years ago. She turned and scanned the area a second time as tears burned the back of her eyes.
Her family’s life finally turned for the better and they learned to laugh again in this home. They healed together in this house and it would always hold a special place in her heart.
Eve headed to the front entrance and unfastened the dead bolt. There, now the cleaning crew could get in and do their job.
With her pepper spray secure in her hand, she made her way upstairs to check out the rooms. When she got to her old bedroom, she lingered at the doorway. Pale gray walls and clean white linen greeted her. The open curtains revealed one of the best views of the beach from the house. She leaned against the door jam and smiled, remembering the insecure girl who once lived there.
So much had changed.
A creaking sound pulled her out of her thoughts. She stiffened while her pulse spiked. With her thumb over the little canister’s button, she took a breath. A creak later, Eve turned, staring up at a dark–haired man wielding a shiny metal baseball bat.
Pete pulled his van up along the property’s driveway and parked behind the little sedan. “There’s a car at the house.”
“Tell me it’s not a red Beamer,” Danny’s voice boomed from the speaker of his cell.
“Does she drive a two–door convertible with CatchMe on the license plate?”
While the man on the line spewed profanities, Pete lowered the volume on the phone.
Dan Cambridge was his best customer and somewhere in the past couple of years, Pete had developed a deep level of respect for the old man. So when Dan asked him to check on his property, Pete didn’t give it a second thought. It was the least he could do for someone who trusted all twenty of his assets to Russo’s Plumbing Services.
“Please tell me my niece is sitting in that fucking car.”
Although he had never met the woman, Pete knew she wasn’t in the BMW in front of him. “I’d be lying if I did.”
“Holy mother of...” Dan’s voice waivered. The old man had a heart of gold, especially when it came to his family. “If anything happens to Evie. Fuck. I gotta call the cops.”
He also had the propensity to over–react.
“Hold up. Let me check things out before you go off and call anyone.” He finally calmed Dan with a promise to get back to him as soon as he figured out what was going on. Pete slid his cell into his jean pocket and reached behind his seat. Once his fingers curled around cold metal, he pulled out the steel baseball bat. Not that he thought he’d need it, but better to be safe than sorry.
Weapon in hand, he headed up the lawn. At the entrance, he punched in the code Dan gave him. The green light flashed and the door opened.
Pete paused and considered the situation. Dan had told him the deadbolt was on. Either his niece had found her way inside or something was very off. Just to be on the safe side, he propped the bat over his shoulder and prepared for the worse.
Senses on high alert, Pete poked his head in and scanned the large expanse of a living room for signs of danger. Silent. He’d been on the property enough times to know the setup, and everything appeared to be in order. After quietly shutting the door behind him, he crept around the bottom floor to check things out.
A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck and his heart pounded behind his ears. Every muscle in his body tensed as he wandered around the place, searching for hidden threats.
It brought back memories of Afghanistan— ones he had spent years trying to forget. Unlike this place, those houses had been small, dark, and dusty. Back then it wasn’t a bat he carried but an M–16. What he wouldn’t do for one of those now. But wishing for something he didn’t have wouldn’t help him in this situation. Regardless, a bat swung the right way could do some serious damage.
At the foot of the stairs, he took a breath and tried to shake the images from his mind. This wasn’t a little shack in the desert and no suicide bombers hid around the corner, waiting to blow his brains out. He gripped the bat’s handle tight and crept up the steps. Once he reached the top of the landing, he stopped dead in his tracks.
A woman stood about ten feet down the hall. Leaning against the threshold of one of the doors, she stared into a room, oblivious to his presence. Rays of the morning sun bathed her in a hue of gold.
Pete sucked in a breath. She looked like an angel. Tall and lean with just the right amount of curves, she wore light blue scrubs with blue cartoon characters all over her shirt. Her fiery–red hair was tied back in a ponytail with a few loose strands of waves against her cheek.
Evie.
When her full red lips stretched into a smile, the muscles in his face tugged to do the same.
What made her grin like that?
He moved closer for a better view.
A few steps later, the red–headed beauty turned to him. His ability to breathe ceased the minute her blue eyes fixed on him.
Before he could say hello, she raised her arm and sprayed him.
Fuck!
The peppered air felt like smoldering granules of sand shoved into his eyes, mouth and nose—all at once. He dropped the bat, covered his face, coughing and yelling as the burning heat soared through his eyelids and sinuses.
“I’m the plumber. Dan sent me,” he managed to say through his coughing fit.
Keys clattered against the wood floors. “Oh my God! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He was too busy coughing up his lungs to accept the apology. Hands grabbed his shoulder, steadying him. Unable to open his eyes, he let her guide him through the hall.
When he tried to scrape the fire away from his skin, she pulled his hands back and planted them on a cold surface. “Don’t touch anything, it’ll only make it worse.”
He grunted and clenched the countertop. Tears and snot streamed down his face.
“I’m going to wash it off with water. Okay?”
At this point, Pete wouldn’t have cared if she poured acid on his head as long as it made the inferno stop. Although in the depths of hell, he nodded through his coughing fit and fought the urge to rip his eyelids off his face.
Gentle hands began to wash the sting away, while a soft voice whispered to him calmly. It took a long while for the pain to ebb enough so he could open his eyes without cursing.
Pete sat on the toilet and wiped his face with the towel she handed him. He cleared his sore throat. “Thank you,”
Evie grabbed his towel and dried her hands. “For what? Almost blinding you?”
He eyed the strands of her hair hanging in loose curls against her tanned cheeks and itched to tuck them behind her ears. But after the last twenty minutes of misery, thought better of it.
As if reading his thoughts, her cheeks flushed. She pushed the loose locks out of her face and stared at her toes. Damn she looked cute.
“I’m sorry I sprayed you.”
Pete chuckled. “I showed up unannounced, waving a baseball bat. I think I kind of deserved it.”
When Evie smiled, something fluttered in his stomach.
She bit her lip, obviously to keep from laughing. “Nice bat, by the way.”
How the hell had he not met her until now?
Before he got the chance to tell her just how nice his bat was, his butt started vibrating.
Pete reached into his back pocket, pulled out the cell and looked at the screen. “Your uncle.”
Her eyes widened. “Crap. He thinks I already left. Don’t tell him I’m here.” She turned and headed for the hall.
“Hold up.” Pete grabbed her arm with one hand while hitting the ignore button on the cell with the other. “Have dinner with me and I won’t.”
He decided to play his cards and omit the part about how her uncle already knew she was still at the house.
She stared at the wrist he currently possessed. “You know, I still have the pepper spray.”
The cell buzzed a second time. Pete shrugged and kept a grip on her wrist. “I’ll take my chances.”
Chapter 2
Eve stepped into the elevator. As the doors shut and the machine lifted her from the basement garage toward her eighth–floor apartment, her mind drifted to the delicious plumber she nearly blinded over an hour ago.
Peter Russo.
It took a while, but once his face wasn’t bright red and scrunched in pain, she recognized him as the guy she crushed on all through senior year of high school.
How could she not?
Thick, black hair her fingers craved to touch. Those intense hazel eyes, which still reminded her of butterscotch, had her body overheating each time they landed on her. Then the bone–melting grins he kept flashing her way. Eight years later, he still made it hard for her to put two words together.
Her body warmed just thinking about him. She let out a lust–filled breath. It had taken every ounce of self–control to wash his face and not go exploring. At well over six–feet tall, there were so many lovely parts of him she’d love to explore.
A wicked grin stretched across her lips as she remembered the sexy way his crisp, white dress shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. She hadn’t meant to get the fabric wet, but when it did and stuck like glue to the hard muscles underneath, certain parts of her got wet too. Not to mention the lovely view she got of his rear in those navy Dockers when he bent over the sink. As her thoughts of Pete the Contractor turned all sorts of X–rated, the elevator stopped and its doors slid open.
She blinked away the images and stepped into the hall, heading towards her apartment. Obviously, he didn’t remember her. Considering she shrunk ten dress sizes, it was understandable.
Hmm. If their date on Friday night went well, maybe she’d tell him.
Before Eve thought further on the topic, she stopped in her tracks. Her heart raced. A man sat in front of her home with his back against the door. His arms hung over his jean clad legs. She inched closer to get a clearer view. Once she recognized his features, her breath caught in her throat and she rushed to his side. “Christian?”
Her younger brother lifted his head and stared at her, his blue eyes rimmed with red.
She squatted beside him, trying to keep her voice calm while her mind raced. “What happened?”
He shook his head and lowered his gaze. “I fucked everything up.”
Pete followed the red steps up to the church’s main doors. Like every Tuesday night, he made his way through the lobby to the back of the building, entered a classroom, and sat in the front row.
While he waited for others to show, he pulled out his cell and stared at Evie’s number for the hundredth time.
She was different. Beautiful as all get–out, but with more to her—a goodness, a familiarity. It put him at ease when she took care of him, even though she was the one who nearly blinded him in the first place. He closed his eyes, imagined her soft hands sliding across his cheeks, and hungered for her to do it again. She smelled like some kind of exotic flower. One he hoped to explore to its fullest.
“Good evening, everybody.”
Startled, he looked up at Carl standing in the middle of the room. Voices responded to the older gentleman’s greeting. He’d been so lost in thought; he hadn’t noticed the room fill.
“I see a couple of new faces here today, so let’s make sure you’re in the right place. This is the Narcotics Anonymous Meeting. If you’re looking for the Divorce Recovery Group, it’s next door. Although, some of us probably need both.”
Pete and several others chuckled. He stuffed his phone in his pant pocket and leaned back against the metal chair, giving the speaker his full attention.
A few minutes later, Carl nodded and began again. “Great. Let’s get this show on the road. I always like to start off with the phrase, ‘If your stomach’s all tied up in knots, you’re probably in the right place.’”
Carl gave the same speech every Tuesday night. Since Pete could count on two hands the number of times he’d missed a session in the past four years, he knew it by heart.
“Who wants to go first?”
Silence fell across the room. Sometimes people jumped at the chance to tell their story, other times, like today, folks were a bit more hesitant.
Carl’s eyes locked on to his, begging for help.
He nodded and turned to face the audience. “Hey, everybody. I’m Pete and I’ve been sober for six years, three months and eleven days.”
His gaze stopped at a pair of very familiar blue eyes—ones from earlier today, and currently the size of hockey pucks.
What the hell was Evie doing here?
Chapter 3
Pete’s chest tightened at the judgment plastered all over her face. He had seen that look enough times in his life to know what it meant. It meant he could delete her number from his cell.
“Pete?” Carl raised his brows, encouraging him to continue.
His nails dug into the heels of his palms as he considered his options. No one would hold it against him if he changed his mind and didn’t speak up.
He uncurled his fingers and wiped the sweaty hands on his pants.
No.
This was his life and no matter how bad his past, it made him the man he was today. Worrying about what a woman thought about him was no reason to keep his mouth shut. Especially if his story could help someone else.
“Sorry, lost my train of thought. I started during my senior year of high school.”
He could feel her gaze drilling into him. Pete kept his head low and pushed out the words. “At first, I’d snag some hydrocodone from my parents’ medicine cabinet. When they noticed, I bought ‘em from some dealers at school. A year later, I was popping tabs, not caring what was in them as long as they made me feel good.”
His mind flashed to a night seven years ago and his throat tightened. “Until one night I peed blood. It scared the shit out of me. I was trying to feel good, not trying to die. So I stopped using, and a week later, enlisted in the Army. The best thing I ever did. I’m pretty sure it’s the reason I’m still alive.”
For a moment, no one spoke, probably waiting to hear the rest of his story. There really wasn’t much to tell. He came home, took over the family business and never looked back.
“Thanks for sharing, Pete. Anyone else have a story to tell?”
Soon, others took the spotlight. With the focus elsewhere, he relaxed his tense muscles and rubbed the knot in the back of his neck. He’d never minded sharing his struggles and considered it part of holding himself accountable. He just didn’t like the idea of Evie finding out like this.
“Hi, my name’s Eve.”
His fingers curled, digging into his palms a second time. Pete looked over at the blonde–haired man seated beside her, holding her hand.
A spasm of jealousy ripped through him. But he had no right to feel that way and the realization that after tonight, he’d never have that right, left a sour taste in his mouth. Pete swallowed down his reality and focused on her.
Evie looked straight ahead at no one in particular, as if searching for the words. Her red hair hung loose and fell over her shoulders. She’d dropped the scrubs for jeans, a white shirt and a pair of the ugliest eyeglasses he’d ever seen. Damn, the woman was beautiful.
“I won’t go into details about why I’m here because it’s not my story to share, but I do want this guy seated next to me to know I’ve never been as proud of him as I am today.”
And Pete hoped the bastard seated beside her knew how lucky he was.
Halfway through the meeting, Eve leaned over to Chris and whispered in his ear that they should leave. He shook his head and didn’t budge. So instead, she bit her tongue and waited, all the while kicking herself for dragging
them there in the first place.
She scanned the room for the hundredth time. A variety of characters shared the space with her and Chris. They were all dressed simply in jeans and tees. What unnerved her was how most of them looked like they’d just gotten out of prison that morning.
Was this the right place for Chris? His admission that instead of going to his classes, he’d been hiding out in his dorm smoking pot the last semester of his freshman year had floored her. She knew he needed help fast and she even got him in to see a therapist the same day. So when the counselor recommended he attend NA meetings, she found one and drove the half hour to get him there. But now, she wasn’t so sure. As if figuring out that Pete was not only the hot jock from high school turned plumber, but also a recovering drug addict wasn’t bad enough, the stories they shared got worse as the meeting progressed.
Of course marijuana was unacceptable, but, compared to the hard stuff these folks used, it was like equating a Sunday morning drizzle to a hurricane. What if her baby brother developed even more dangerous habits by attending?
As soon as it finished, she grabbed Chris’ hand, rushing them out of the room. She had no intention of staying for the after–party. Too many tattoos, multiple piercings, awful stories, and shady looking characters converged in the room
“Evie, hold up,” a familiar voice called out from behind her in the lobby.
Damn.
She sucked in a breath and stopped. With a smile plastered across her face, she turned to face Pete.
Dressed in a Yankees cap, jeans, and a snug–fitting shirt, his probing eyes stayed fixed on hers as he approached.
Heat flooded her and certain muscles between her legs clenched.
Why was she always attracted to the messed up ones?
Didn’t matter.
This time around, she wouldn’t make the same mistake.
“Hi, Pete. This is my brother, Chris.”
The brother in question raised his brows, but she didn’t explain.