by Kay Lyons
By The Book
Make Me A Match
Kay Lyons
BY THE BOOK Copyright © 2021 by Kay Lyons
Cover art Copyright © 2021 @ angel_nt
Cover Art Design by Kindred Spirits Publishing © 2021
978-1-953375-06-3
978-1-953375-07-0
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Kay Lyons Books
FAQ
About the Author
Chapter 1
“Tommy, come on,” Claire Simmons called to her thirteen-year-old son. “I’d like to get there today.”
“So go,” Tommy said, his reply muffled by the door.
She knocked softly and opened the wooden panel. “We are not doing this. You are in so much trouble right now after getting suspended. I hated calling Grandpa to cancel last minute because of you doing your punishment at the school, but I made excuses for y— Scott Thomas Simmons, you haven’t even packed?”
Her son lifted a bony shoulder in reply and glared at her, his six-foot frame sprawled out on the bed with his feet hanging over the side.
“I don’t want to go,” he said, drawing out the words.
Claire inhaled and dug to the very edges of her soul for patience. “We are surprising Grandpa and spending a fabulous few weeks at the beach while I polish my resume and apply for jobs. Pack.”
The day after Tommy’s end-of-year detention and makeups, she’d showed up at work like so many others only to be called into a group meeting in the conference room and told to gather her things, handed an envelope, and escorted from the building.
Reeling from the sudden job loss, she’d sat down and taken a hard look at her finances, Tommy’s behavior, and her reasons for staying in Virginia Beach after Scott’s death rather than moving back to Carolina Cove.
Her father was well and able-bodied now, but there would come a point where he’d need help, and she didn’t want to be six hours away like she’d been when her mother had collapsed and died from a heart attack before she could make it to see her.
There was also the fact things had been so strained between her and her father since her pregnancy at seventeen, and after losing her mother, Claire didn’t want that to be the case with her only living parent.
What better time than now to reconnect with her father and check out the job market there, but also take a much-needed vacation while trying to get Tommy on a more even keel since his father’s death?
Sounds like a lot to pack into a short stay.
“Do I have to?”
Really? What kid didn’t want to go to the beach? “Yes, you have to. Now—or you go without clothes or shoes or anything else for the foreseeable future with only yourself to blame. You have thirty minutes to gather your stuff and meet me at the door. And do not leave your room a mess—I will check. Your bed is to be made, drawers and closet closed, and floor cleaned up before you leave this room. Understood?”
“I don’t want to sell our house! I don’t want to leave my friends.”
“Your so-called friends got you suspended for a third time. You’re lucky the principal had mercy and let you take the tests to advance with your class.”
“This is our house. Dad’s house,” Tommy muttered, glaring at her with tears in his yes, so like his father’s.
The impact shredded her insides but she stood firm. She wasn’t sure she wanted to move, either, but with the market as hot as it was, her only immediate male family too far away to lend a helping hand and give Tommy the guidance he obviously needed, and her job now nonexistent, the timing couldn’t be ignored. Maybe even considered a sign? “I haven’t made a firm decision of whether we’ll move or not, but Miss Cynthia is coming over while we’re gone to look around and see what she thinks she can price the house for. She may even have a couple of people interested enough to make offers.”
“I don’t care!”
“Well, I do. And whether we move to Carolina Cove or stay in Virginia, this house is way more than I can afford on my own. I’m going to talk to Grandpa about it once we get there because he’s good at these kinds of decisions, but in the meantime…Tommy, I need a break, okay? A vacation and time to clear my head and destress from everything that’s going on and… now’s the best time, while I’m between jobs. Help me out here. Please.”
Claire waited for him to grudgingly get to his feet and grab a duffle bag before she left the room so as to not hear his mutterings.
Outside his door, she ran through her mental checklist one last time as she wandered the house. Garage door closed, house looking good for her Realtor friend. What else?
Mail—her neighbor would also get the mail and let her know if anything important showed up.
Her bills were on autopay to get the discounts available for doing so and could be accessed from her laptop… That was everything.
So, why did it feel like she was missing something?
You say that every time we go anywhere.
With a hard tug at her heartstrings, Scott’s voice sounded in her mind, and she closed her eyes, reveling in the memory of him standing by the door, hand on the knob, looking amused and amazingly patient while she tore through the house at the last minute, checking everything before whatever getaway they were taking.
Back then it was typically short weekend trips or the occasional vacation if the timing had worked out with his deployment schedule, but now…
Her gaze settled on a photo and Claire walked to the sofa table. This was taken…three years ago?
Yeah, three. Before her mom’s death and Tommy’s growth spurt.
In the year since Scott’s accident, the days had started to blur together in a rush of busy-ness, stress, and the numbness of grief. Losing Scott so soon after losing her mother…
She hadn’t meant to ignore her father these last two years, but given the distance and her own inability to cope, plus Tommy, her job, and just trying to keep her head above water long enough to take a breath, she was sure her father felt that way.
And probably angrier because of it.
Claire carried the frame to her computer bag and carefully tucked it inside to take with her.
That done, she turned to run through that checklist again. Scott’s death benefits had allowed her to pay down a lot of their debt but not all, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t panicking now due to her job loss.
She’d loved her husband with every fiber of her being, but he sucked when it came to money and self-gratification. Things that should’ve been done—paid—weren’t. Like the life insurance she thought was being carried through the military that had been cancelled without her being aware.
Being a single mom while Scott was deployed, working, and handling things at home meant sometimes things slipped by her.
But it was the over-the-top extras that got them. Scott liked big, expensive toys like boats and trucks and Harleys, and he’d constantly rolled fr
om one model into a bigger, supposedly better one. That meant when the time had come to sell the toys, she hadn’t been able to get anywhere near the amounts financed on them.
Then there were the homes they’d purchased because Scott didn’t like living on base. They’d racked up some serious craziness when it was time to pack up and move again. They got a housing stipend, but it took time to sell homes, and money.
Before moving to Virginia, they’d had trouble selling two of the homes they’d purchased during previous moves, and they’d carried mortgages and rental expenses until they’d been able to unload them both at losses.
Because of the heavy debt, the benefits she’d received hadn’t been enough to cover everything. She still had a mortgage on their current house, but it had built up quite a bit of equity as the real estate prices in the area had soared in the last year or so.
Her biggest regret in light of Tommy’s nefarious activities was that maybe she should’ve taken more time off of work after Scott’s passing. But with Tommy back in school during the day and their monthly bills still to pay, the thought of wandering the house with nothing to occupy her mind left her desperate for the hours she’d spent at her job.
Now she was income-less due to cutbacks, Tommy was acting out worse by the day, and her last phone call with her father in Carolina Cove had been sad.
They’d sat there in silence, phones to their ears, nothing to say once the how are yous were out of the way.
That wasn’t the way things should be. She knew enough to know that.
He’d seemed lonely, talked only about work, and she hated that it had been so long since their last visit, even though her mother had been the glue that kept them speaking.
A door slammed in the hallway behind her, and she turned to find Tommy trudging toward her with a duffle, two backpacks, his gym bag, and tote with wires dragging behind. “You went into my closet? No video games is part of your punishment.”
“I want to take them if we’re there longer than you think.”
“Tommy…you broke into the school and vandalized it. They were talking about prosecuting all of you. You got off easy just having to do cleanup.”
“I know. I won’t play them. I’m taking them just in case.”
“Fine. We’ll pack them but I keep them with me in my room.”
“Whatever.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Do I have to—”
“Yes,” she said, quickly moving to open the door. “Do I need to check your room?”
“No. I cleaned it up.”
“Thank you. Here we go.” Any beach items they’d need would be in her father’s garage. Chairs, bodyboards, surfboards, etc.
She grabbed the last of her stuff to be loaded and wondered how minimalists did it. Because truth be told, Tommy got his packing skills from her. Had they actually had to pack beach items, she would’ve needed a van. Or the truck she’d sold a month after Scott’s passing when the almost-thousand-dollar-a-month payment had come due.
While Tommy put the last of their belongings in the Wrangler, she returned to the house to make sure nothing had been left behind—as well as take a quick look in Tommy’s room—before locking up and climbing behind the wheel.
Tommy sat next to her in the seat, looking every bit as disgruntled and gloomy as ever. “Why don’t you pick out some good music for us?”
Her moody son rolled his eyes and pulled out his earphones to place on his head, shutting out the world and her with it.
Chapter 2
Almost six hours later, they crossed the Snow’s Cut Bridge and kept going to Carolina Cove.
During the long drive, she’d made a mental list of fun things to do that Tommy might like.
She thought they could take the top and doors off the Jeep and drive out on the beach to fish. Go visit the USS North Carolina battleship moored in downtown Wilmington. Rent Jet Skis. Maybe take the ferry to Bald Head Island and get a golf cart for the day to explore?
Anything that might possibly reverse the sour frown permanently marring her son’s face of late.
She made the turns leading to her parents’ home and pulled into the drive, ready for a long stretch and walk on the beach to clear her head and help her figure out a plan for the future now that she was jobless.
She had a small savings and a severance package, which would help cover expenses short-term, but finding a new job was paramount. “Hey,” she said to Tommy. “I’m sure Grandpa’s really missed you, so don’t be rolling your eyes or giving him attitude. Got it?”
“Whatever.”
She fought her urge to roll her own eyes at her son’s mood and got out of the Wrangler, noting the strange vehicle in the driveway. “Let’s take a load up to the apartment as we go,” she ordered, opening the rear door to hand off bags to her grumpy son.
She found the right key before loading up and making her way to the stairs beside the garage. “Tommy? Are you coming?”
“Get the door open first,” Tommy said with a grumble. “There’s nowhere to stand up there.”
The landing at the top of the stairs was narrow, but she doubted that was his reasoning. Lately Tommy was dead set against anything he deemed she wanted. Blue was green, wrong was right, and nothing made him happy. But how much of it was typical teen hormones and how much of it mourning for his father?
Sweating, huffing, and straining beneath the weight of the multiple bags she carried, she dropped what was in her right hand and removed the key ring she’d held in her mouth for the trudge up the stairs.
She tried the key but it didn’t fit—maybe because the lock looked brand-new?
Salt air did a lot of damage to such things, so it was little surprise that it had needed to be changed since their last trip two years ago. Still—
The door opened with a yank, and she stepped back, unbalanced by the bags and the surprise of the half-naked man on the other side. A man who quickly reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders to keep her from tumbling backward over the railing, weighted down by luggage.
She blinked, eyes flaring when she took in his wet skin, the damp towel around his slim and tightly honed waist, and a muscle-ripped chest that would’ve looked like something out of GQ if not for the bruises and scars.
Was that a gunshot wound?
Scott had had one from his first tour, and the two looked the same.
“Can I help you?”
“Uh…”
The man raised an eyebrow and released his grip on her shoulders, a pained expression flashing over his features as he lowered his injured arm.
“You hurt yourself grabbing me,” she said, her gazing shifting to his shoulder to keep from looking into brown eyes that seemed to bore into her soul.
“It’s fine.”
“Mom, come on. What’s the deal?” Tommy called from below.
The man crossed his arms over his chest, but she noted it was probably more to cradle and relieve the pain of his injured arm. “Uh, I’m not sure,” she said, shifting her gaze to the man once again. Considering he stood there in nothing but a towel, it was hard to focus. “I’m Claire Simmons. My father owns the house and… Who are you?”
“Marcus Denz,” he said. “I’m his renter.”
“Claire?” her father called from the bottom of the stairs. “What are you doing here?”
“What are we… Dad, you said the apartment was free. That you weren’t renting it out this summer.”
“Changed my mind. That’s Denz,” her father said, pointing at the man drying in the afternoon sun.
“We’ve met,” she said, feeling flushed from the fact she could smell the scent of his clean skin, something musky with a touch of sandalwood.
“You should’ve called,” her father said, shuffling his sandaled feet and squinting up at her. “Apartment’s taken.”
“Yeah, I see that. Surprise,” she said, forcing a grin. “You’re right, I should’ve called. But I didn’t and…now we’re here. Is it
, um, okay if we stay in the house with you?”
“That’s fine,” her father said.
Claire opened her mouth only to close it again. Obviously reminding her father that she’d told him they were coming to visit as soon as they could that summer wouldn’t do her any good now.
“I should get dressed. Leave the bags and I’ll help you,” the man said.
She gripped the key in her hand so tightly that the edges dug into her skin, but she managed a smile. “None needed. Thanks.”
That said, she ignored the man in all his towel-wearing gorgeousness and snagged the bag she’d dropped while trying to open the door before trudging back down the rickety staircase to where her father and son waited. After a round of painfully awkward hugs, Big Tom, as her mother had always called him once Tommy had come along, gathered up the bags she’d set down and turned toward the house.
“I thought you’d decided not to rent the apartment anymore after having so much trouble with the last tenant,” she murmured.
“Didn’t plan to but Denz isn’t like that guy.”
“Oh? Where did you meet him?”
“Fishing. I helped him reel in a shark last weekend.”
She stopped walking and stared at her father’s shoulders. “But you did a background check, right? A credit check? Any kind of check?”
Her father paused with his hand on the back door and shot her a look over his shoulder. “Denz is good people and we have a short-term lease. That’s all I need to know.”
Tom entered the house and kept going, and Claire paused to allow Tommy to enter in front of her.
She turned to stare up at the apartment door in time to see it close.
The man sported a gunshot wound.