One Perfect Love

by Jessie Evans

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  All Rights Reserved

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  This Sweet Escape

  Prologue

  One Perfect Love

  Wild Rush #2

  by Jessie Evans

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright One Perfect Love © 2014 Jessie D. Evans

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Cover image by Nina Buday for Shutterstock. Cover design by Bootstrap Designs. Edited by Robin Leone Editorial.

  Chapter One

  Caitlin

  “Parting is all we know of heaven

  and all we need of hell.”

  -Elizabeth Barrett Browning

  Gabe is alive. Gabe is alive. Gabe…

  I know I may be fooling myself. There is probably a logical explanation as to why none of the funeral homes in town have received Gabe’s body, and none of the hospitals near Giffney, South Carolina have treated a Gabe Alexander in the past few days. My head tells me the chances that the man I love is still alive are slim, at best, but my heart…

  My heart is on fire.

  I go through the motions of the day with hope burning a hole in my chest. I help my best friend, Sherry, make my little brothers and niece breakfast with flames whispering against my ribs, making my blood burn and the mounting heat of the mid-summer day even harder to handle. I can’t wait to go to Darby Hill tonight, to slip my lock pick into the servants’ entrance door, and to tease the pins the way Gabe taught me, until the knob gives under my hand.

  I feel like I’m only half in my body, the other half of me already tiptoeing through Gabe’s parents’ mansion. I help Danny and Ray clean up the blanket fort in the living room, but I don’t see our shabby carpet or the couch that sags in the middle. I see priceless antiques and oil paintings, illuminated by yellow moonlight. I clean up the breakfast dishes with my mind racing, tracing the route I’ll take up the servants’ staircase to make sure Aaron and Deborah Alexander are sleeping in their bed before I start my investigation. I give Emmie a bath with my pulse fluttering wildly at my throat, as if I’m already shifting through Deborah’s desk, looking for clues, not scrubbing toddler toes.

  By the time I change Emmie into her favorite pink tee shirt, white bloomers, and rainbow tutu, my arms are trembling, and I know I need to calm down or I’ll be exhausted before sunset.

  “Play animals?” Emmie asks, pointing to the pile of stuffies on her toddler bed.

  “Sure,” I say, hoping it will help keep my mind off more dangerous subjects. But as I watch her skip across the room to grab her favorite stuffed koala, tutu bouncing around her waist, I can’t help but think about the day Gabe bought the skirt for her at the French Heritage festival.

  It was only a few weeks ago, but it feels like another lifetime. Back then, I had no idea the man I loved was living in the shadow of his own impending death, or that this summer would be the only one we’d ever have. It’s only been four days since I learned that Gabe had chosen life on his own terms over the risky brain surgery that would ravage his memories and personality, even if he were lucky enough to beat the odds and come out alive. Four days since his mother told me that Gabe had died in the hospital. Four days I’ve lived with this shredded, ravaged feeling, like my soul has been sliced apart and left bleeding in the still, gray fog that is a world without Gabe.

  Gabe. Gabe is alive. He has to be alive.

  I have to see him one more time. I have to hold him, kiss his stubble-covered cheek, inhale the scent of his skin, and promise I will never forget. I have to swear to him that—if we made a child our last night together—I will love our son or daughter enough for both of us. Because Gabe loved me enough in six weeks to last a lifetime. I don’t want to move on without him, but I can, and I will, if there is no other way.

  But inside, I’m hoping for a miracle, praying with everything in me that I will find something in Gabe’s parents’ house that will prove his mother lied, and that the grief, that has threatened to devour me whole, can be put away. At least for a little while.

  I need more time, if only to make sure I give the most important person in my life a proper goodbye.

  “Do you need something?” Sherry asks later in the morning, nudging my hip with hers as we stand side by side at the kitchen counter making peanut butter sandwiches to take to the park.

  “Like what?” I slap jelly on Ray’s sandwich and reach for the honey for mine and Emmie’s.

  “Like a Xanax? Or a stiff drink? Your hands have been shaking all morning.”

  I let out an uneven breath, willing my arms to relax. “No. I’m good.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I don’t want to be out of it in the middle of the day.”

  And I don’t want a sedative impairing my motor coordination. Gabe and I broke into half a dozen buildings together and I’ve practiced with his lock-picking tools enough that I’m quick with a simple mechanism, but I don’t know what I’ll be dealing with at Darby Hill. I never thought to check the locks on the servants’ entrance door the few times Gabe and I had dinner with his parents.

  “Remember, it could be nothing,” Sherry cautions for at least the fifth time since she first told me that Gabe’s body was nowhere to be found. “Someone could have made a mistake at the hospital, or I could have missed a funeral home, or—”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I know I didn’t.” She brushes her wild red curls from her forehead with a sigh, barely avoiding getting the peanut-butter-streaked knife in her hand stuck in her hair. “I’m just scared for you, C.”

  “Don’t be scared. I know what I’m doing, and I have the security code memorized. I won’t get caught.”

  “No, I mean…” Sherry casts a glance toward the living room where my twelve-year-old brother, Danny, is helping the little kids clean up toys, before turning back to me and continuing in a softer voice, “Are you going to be okay if it turns out Gabe’s mom wasn’t lying? If he really is…gone?”

  I press my lips together and concentrate on cutting the sandwich in front of me into two perfect triangles, wondering how many peanut butter sandwiches I’ve made in my life. I’m doing the math—adding up the days since I took over raising my younger brothers and niece when I was seventeen, multiplying by three, and dividing by five to get an average of how many school lunches I’ve slapped together, anything to keep my mind off that awful question—when Sherry’s fingers close around my wrist.

  “Caitlin, seriously.” She gives my arm a gentle squeeze before letting go. “If you fall apart at Gabe’s house and get caught, his parents could call the cops. They could charge you with breaking and enteri
ng. You could go to jail, or at least have to pay a fine and—”

  “I’m not going to fall apart,” I say in an even tone. “I’m tougher than you think.”

  Sherry’s brows draw together. “Well, I think you’re a gladiator, so that’s pretty tough.”

  I blink, surprised. I assumed no one but Gabe saw the strength in me.

  “Don’t look so shocked,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I mean, for years you’ve been raising four kids all by yourself, working two jobs, and getting nothing but grief from your dad for your trouble. I would have cracked under the pressure the first day.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  Sherry’s amber eyes go wide. “Oh, yes, I would. The first time the kids all came down with the flu at the same time, I would have dissolved into a puddle of self-pity on the floor, and never gotten up again.”

  “You don’t know what you’re capable of until you’re put in an impossible situation,” I say, repeating the words Gabe said to me the night we pulled our first job.

  Before this summer, I never would have dreamed I’d crave the rush of stealing from the people Gabe’s father helped keep out of jail, balancing the scales of justice, while pulling my family out of poverty in the process. Before Gabe, I’d spent my life trying not to be like all the people who had let me down, instead of figuring out what I wanted from life. I hadn’t known who I was, or what I was capable of.

  Now, thanks to Gabe, I know that I am strong, and prepared to fight a hundred bloody battles if that’s what it takes to find my way back to him. Less than a week ago, Gabe and I killed a man to protect the people we love. After that, a little breaking and entering is child’s play.

  Of course, Sherry doesn’t know Gabe and I are responsible for Ned Pitt’s death. No one except Danny even suspects, and that’s the way it’s going to stay. Sherry’s right, I can’t afford to go to prison. There’s no one left to take care of my brothers and Emmie if I’m taken away. That’s why I have to be careful, and make sure I don’t get caught.

  “You sure you’re good with staying here tonight?” I ask, shoving the sandwich bags into our cracked wicker picnic basket, and adding a few apples from the bowl on the counter.

  Sherry nods. “And if anyone asks, I’ll swear you were asleep in the bed beside me, all night long.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” I say. “No one’s going to—”

  I’m interrupted by three loud raps at the back door. Even before the door slams open and my dad calls out—

  “Who wants a lollipop?”

  —I know it’s Chuck.

  My dad always comes in through the back door, like a thief in the night, taking the people unfortunate enough to be related to him by surprise.

  Chapter Two

  Caitlin

  “We are sepulchered alive in this close world

  And want more room.”

  -Elizabeth Barrett Browning

  “Daddy!” Sean dashes across the living room, jumping into Dad’s arms as he enters the kitchen.

  “Aw, there’s my big man.” Dad lifts Sean’s feet off the floor, pulling my eight-year-old brother into a bear hug.

  For once, Chuck looks relatively presentable. He’s wearing wrinkled, but unstained, khaki shorts, new tennis shoes, and a light blue tee shirt the same color as his eyes that stretches tightly over his belly. His nose is bright red from a combination of sunburn and years of hard drinking, and his thinning salt and pepper hair is sticking up in ten different directions, but he’s pulled together—for Chuck—and the usual cloud of alcohol fumes is noticeably absent.

  My father is sober, clean, and has come bearing lollipops for the kids in one meaty hand. I suppose I should be happy he’s making an effort, but I’m not. Chuck is the last person I want to see right now, when I’m so keyed up on impossible hope I can barely stand still.

  Chuck is a hope killer, the one person in my life who has let me down more times than the rest of the world combined. He’s been on his best behavior recently—promising to sign over custody of the kids, and part of his VA check, as long as I drop my lawsuit against him—but I still don’t trust him. Years of suffering the slings and arrows of Chuck Cooney’s drunk side, vengeful side, and plain nasty side have left me of the opinion that any day is better simply for not having any Chuck in it.

  “What flavor do you want Long Sean Silver?” Dad asks as he sets Sean back on his feet, using one of the ridiculous pet names he has for all of his kids, the ones he thinks are valid substitutes for being a decent parent. “I’ve got three cherry, two blueberry, and a root beer. You gave the first hug, so you get first choice.”

  “Root beer!” Sean says before casting an uncertain glance my way. “Is that okay, Caitlin? Can I have it before lunch?”

  “Sure.” I force a smile that feels more like a baring of my teeth. “Just eat it at the table, okay?”

  “Okay!” Sean runs off, grinning ear to ear, and Ray takes his place, giving Dad a slightly less enthusiastic hug before claiming two cherry lollipops—one for him, and one for Emmie, who he scoops up and settles in her high chair before handing over the candy.

  “What about you, Danny Boy?” Dad comes to stand beside me and Sherry in the kitchen, smiling across the counter toward where Danny is slumped on the couch with a scowl on his face. “Cherry or blueberry?”

  “No thanks,” Danny grumbles, slouching lower. “I don’t want your candy.”

  “Oh, come on,” Chuck says. “You love lollipops.”

  “I said, I don’t want your fucking candy!” Danny surges to his feet and bolts for the stairs, taking them two at the time, setting the house to shaking as he thunders up to his room and slams the door.

  “Language!” Dad shouts after him, having the balls to put on his “you’d better behave” voice. Like he has the right to critique anyone’s behavior when he’s been drunk and belligerent for the better part of the past decade.

  Chuck turns back to me, a concerned expression on his face. “He shouldn’t be talking like that in front of the younger ones.”

  “You’re right, Dad,” I say, crossing my arms at my chest. “But I figure a big brother with a potty mouth who helps his little brothers with their homework is less of a problem than a Dad who shows up drunk and pukes on the supper table so…” I lift one shoulder and let it fall, holding my Dad’s stare, even when hurt flickers in his eyes.

  “I’m going to go…check on Danny,” Sherry says as she backs out of the kitchen, obviously not inclined to get in the middle of the Cooney family drama.

  “I’m not drunk today, Kit Cat,” Dad says in a soft, wounded voice. “Doesn’t seem fair to kick a man when he’s trying his best to do better.”

  I suck at my teeth and press my tongue to the roof of my mouth, fighting to keep another smartass remark from my lips. Any man who has hit a twelve-year-old as many times as Dad has backhanded Danny, deserves to be kicked while he’s down, but picking a fight with Chuck won’t help anything. Right now, I need to play nice and get rid of him so I can keep my focus where it belongs—on finding out what happened to Gabe.

  “Sorry.” My tone is more begrudging than penitent, but the apology seems to cheer Chuck. The hurt in his eyes fades as he unwraps a cherry lollipop, and holds it up between us. I take it and pop it into my mouth, figuring I can’t say anything I’ll regret if my mouth is full of candy.

  “I remember when you were Sean’s age,” Chuck says with a fond smile. “You ate all your Halloween candy in one night and threw it up in the cat’s litter box.”

  I scrunch my nose at the memory. “Gross, Dad. I’m eating.”

  “You were always eating when you were little,” Chuck says, clearly determined to drag me down memory lane, kicking and screaming. “I used to think you’d end up three hundred pounds with a belly bigger than your old man’s, but you stayed a bitty thing. Cute as a bug’s ear, and nearly as tiny.”

  I force a smile and resist the urge to ask him what the fuck he wants. Chuck is rarel
y sweet when he doesn’t want something. But he is sober, and he did bring candy for the kids. Maybe he’s legitimately trying to be a decent dad and I should give him a chance to prove he isn’t a complete waste.

  No sooner has the thought passed through my head than Chuck leans in and says in a conspiratorial tone, “I’ve got something exciting to talk to you about, Kit Cat. A real opportunity. For all of us. A once-in-a-lifetime kind of opportunity.”

  I groan as I pull the lollipop from my mouth. “No way, Dad. I’m not interested.”

  His eyes widen. “You haven’t even heard what I’ve got to say.”

  “I don’t need to hear. The answer is no. The last time I let you talk me into one of your ‘opportunities’ I lost three hundred dollars.”

  “You didn’t lose it, you invested it,” Chuck says. “And if Dan hadn’t given up two weeks in, we could have made the pyramid work. Those diet patches worked. I lost fifteen pounds without even switching to light beer.”

  “Like I said, I’m not interested,” I repeat, the memory of how naïve I’d been, thinking handing money over to Chuck was a decent idea, making my cheeks heat with shame. “But thanks for coming by, and for bringing candy for the kids. That was nice.”

  I circle around him, dropping my unfinished lollipop in the trash, no longer able to tolerate the syrupy sweet taste of it any more than I can tolerate my father. I can’t believe he’s trying to sell me on one of his dumb schemes four days after my boyfriend passed away. Chuck doesn’t know that there’s a chance Gabe isn’t dead. He thinks I’ve lost the only boy I ever loved. The note he sent over with Isaac made me think he understood how devastated I am, but apparently not.

  Or maybe my dad figured I’d be over it by now. He was sleeping with two different women three days after his wife of sixteen years ran off with her AA sponsor. Maybe he thinks four days is plenty of time to mourn the loss of the love of your life.

  “Hold on,” Chuck says, reaching out to snag my elbow as I start into the living room.

  I stiffen beneath his touch and am about to jerk my arm away when he releases me, lifting his hands up on either side of his head in a gesture of surrender.