Romantic Renovations

by Blake Allwood

  Romantic Renovations

  Blake Allwood

  Romantic Renovations Copyright © 2020 by Blake Allwood. All Rights Reserved.

  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 permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Alexandria Corza

  Text designed using graphic resources from Shutterstock.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Blake Allwood

  Visit my website at www.blakeallwood.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: June 2020

  Join Blake’s email list to get advance notice of new books and receive his occasional newsletter:

  www.blakeallwood.com

  Titles by Blake Allwood:

  Aiden Inspired

  Suzie Empowered

  Bobby Transformed

  Romantic Renovations

  Coming in 2020:

  (Titles may change before publishing)

  By Chance Series

  |

  Love By Chance

  Another Chance

  Taking A Chance

  Big Bend Series

  Thank you to the following people for their assistance:

  Jo Bird - Editor

  Kristopher Miller – Editor

  Julia Firlotte – Proof Reader

  A special thank you goes to all my friends and family who supported me, I couldn’t have done it without you.

  And finally, an extra special thanks to my Husband who continues to tolerate me no matter how many of these rabbit holes I keep going down.

  Preface

  Bennett

  Beep - - beep - - beep. The noise seemed to be echoing inside my head. I tried opening my eyes, but a searing pain knocked into me like someone was inside my brain trying to stab their way out.

  Grunting, I finally managed to pry my eyes open and immediately spotted my mother. I almost groaned but that’s when another wave of pain shot through my head.

  When I could finally focus again, I searched the room for Frank, my only friend and the costar on our TV series. The pain forced me to close my eyes again, but I was sure he wasn’t in the room.

  “Where’s Frank?” I asked, trying to speak despite the headache.

  When I opened my eyes again, my mom’s expression was stone as she stared at me from across the room. “He’s in jail.” she said, wiping down her front like she used to do when I was little and she was mad at someone.

  “Wh…why?” I shuddered.

  “Don’t you remember?” she asked surprised.

  I tried to think back but mostly it was blank. “No, what happened?”

  Her tears began flowing then and moments later a nurse came in and escorted her out. Behind them came my show’s producer and a uniformed cop.

  “Mr. Jackson?” the cop asked. “We want to know if you are going to press charges against Frank Durbin?”

  I was shocked. “For what?” I asked.

  “For assaulting you and putting you in the hospital.” The cop said emphatically.

  “I don’t remember that. Why’d he hit me?”

  Both the cop and my producer looked at one another then back at me. “Maybe you should see it for yourself.” the producer said and brought his phone over to the bed.

  The entire scenario started out with Frank antagonizing me as he sing-songed, “Wheeeere’s Benny?”

  A name he knew I thoroughly despised.

  I closed my eyes a moment to let my eyes rest and search any memory of what I was seeing. When I opened them again, the cameras were focusing on Frank, yelling at me about not getting more work done while he was gone.

  I immediately thought, the fucker has some nerve since he’d been gone the past two weeks dealing with family. Then the camera panned over to me and I heard myself say that very thing.

  I could tell by the way he looked that he was livid. I wasn’t surprised really, I hardly ever stood up to him.

  Frank began yelling at me about him being the boss. At this point, I reminded him I owned the houses and I’m footing over a third of the costs to renovate them. Frank’s face flushed redder as I turned to leave.

  Immediately, Frank grabbed my shoulder, twisting me around to face him. Within seconds, he threw a punch knocking me backwards and into the stone fireplace.

  As the camera swerved back to Frank, I expected to see regret, or shock. He’d never punched me before. Instead, the look of righteous indignation sent a metaphorical punch to my gut.

  Momentarily the headache was forgotten as I recognized that expression from my past. That was the same expression my father wore when he’d beaten me to a pulp as a kid. Fuck, how had I ended up in a friendship with someone just like him?

  I put my hands over my face and let the tears flow. I probably should’ve been embarrassed crying in front of my producer, but it wasn’t like I could’ve stopped. The intensity of the headache made it impossible to hold back my emotions of betrayal and embarrassment.

  When I got myself together, I sighed and said quietly, “I don’t remember any of this.”

  The cop opened his mouth but before he could speak, a voice cut in from behind him, “I’m not surprised, considering the concussion you have. Gentlemen, I must ask you to leave. Mr. Jackson needs rest.”

  “Will he regain his memory?” the cop asked as he turned to face the man who’d come in behind them.

  “We’ll have to wait and see.” the man replied. I was able to catch a glimpse of his nametag and saw he was a doctor, although the effort caused my head to pound. “Now, if you don’t mind.” he reiterated, and the two men left.

  He came over to my side and put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, if I’d known they were coming in, someone would’ve kept them away. How are you feeling?”

  “My head feels like I have ten jackhammers blasting their way out.”

  He nodded. “That’s sounds about right. That’ll fade as the bruising and swelling go down. For now, I’ll have the nurse bring you something to ease the pain.” He shined a light in my eyes and made me follow his finger back and forth. When he seemed satisfied with whatever he was looking for he asked, “Now, can you tell me the last thing you remember?”

  I thought back, but the effort caused the jackhammers to pick up steam. “I don’t remember anything from today. I remember going to bed last night.”

  “You lost several hours then.”

  The older man sighed, “We’ve done a cat-scan and luckily, there’s no internal bleeding or fractures, but there’s definitely some bruising. We’ll keep an eye on you tonight just to ensure there aren’t any residual issues.”

  I put my hand to my head, willing the pounding to lessen. “What’s going on with Frank? I probably need to speak to him.”

  “No son, it sounds like he won’t be available to talk for a while. He’s got a lot of explaining to do. You, however, have a lot of healing to do. Now, can you lie back and rest?”

  When I laid back, I felt like I was going to puke. Luckily, the feeling passed and when the room finally stopped spinning, the doctor had been replaced with another man. I squinted to see his nametag; this one appeared to be my nurse.

  He handed me a pill which I struggled to swallow but managed to keep down. The nurse told me to rest. “Aren’t I supposed to stay awake for twenty-four hours or something?” I ask
ed.

  “Nope, that’s outdated information. You need to rest as much as you can. We’ll monitor you overnight to make sure there aren’t any other issues to worry about. Are you feeling nauseous or anything?”

  I nodded, which was a total mistake, the pounding echoed through my head accompanied with a bout of nausea.

  “Just lie still,” the nurse said, placing a palm reassuringly on my shoulder. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  I just laid there with my eyes closed until the nausea passed. I murmured “Okay” but when I opened my eyes, the man was already gone.

  When he came back, he gave me a pill that dissolved under my tongue. He flashed a light in my eyes like the doctor had done, then pronounced me ‘still alive’, then left after offering me a smile.

  I fell asleep after that and didn’t wake back up until the next morning.

  My mom was keeping vigil. I sighed with the familiarity of it. The memory of times in my youth, after my father had beaten me to the point that I needed to be hospitalized, drifted unwelcome into my consciousness. I looked at her thinking about all that had happened. Luckily for me, she’d left him after the second time, but I always suspected it was more likely because Children’s Services had threatened to take me away than any real concern she had for my wellbeing. I hadn’t seen my father since, but I knew my mother still had contact with him. I sighed mournfully as I thought, at least she keeps him away from me.

  I closed my eyes again and let my mind replay the video of Frank hitting me, then his expression. That horrible expression. Had I really just put myself back in a situation with a guy who beat me up? It’s like a repeat of my relationship with my dad, only this time I was a grown man and had made the choice myself. Fuck, he wasn’t even a boyfriend, but he was supposed to be my friend.

  No, you’re a fucking idiot, I thought to myself. You wanted his friendship. He never gave a damn about you. You’re like those battered spouses; you go out and find men who’ll beat you, just like your old man used to.

  The pain of thinking about a friend who wasn’t really a friend and how I’d restarted another victim cycle was beginning to make my stomach upset again, so I opened my eyes. This time my mom noticed and rushed to my side.

  “Thank God! Are you okay, honey?”

  “I’m fine, Mom. My head isn’t even hurting that much anymore. When do I get to leave?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart.” she said.

  “Why? It was just a concussion. I’m fine. I just need to rest for a while.”

  “Well, the attorney said…”

  I stopped her, my headache coming back with a vengeance. “Mom, what the hell are you talking about? What attorney?”

  “Well honey, Frank hit you on camera. We all assumed you’d be pressing charges.” She waited a moment then added. “You know the network is liable.”

  “Fuck,” I retorted. “Mom you call whatever ambulance-chasing attorney you’ve got sniffing around and tell him I will not be pressing charges against Frank or the network.”

  “But sweetheart,” she began, and I put my hand up.

  “No, this isn’t a way for you to make some quick cash, call off your sharks!”

  She jumped up dramatically, just like I knew she would, “You’re such a wimp! Why can’t you stand up for yourself?” She burst out of my room in her typical dramatic way. The familiarity of my mother blaming me for what someone else did caused me to want to start crying all over again.

  Well at least she’s gone. All that fake concern would make anyone ill.

  I sighed. Usually, when mom made me miserable, I would’ve called Frank. Now that he was gone, that meant I had no one. I was utterly alone.

  Bennett

  My producer, Edward, not Ed as he’d explained to me the first time we met, picked me up from the hospital. He’d apparently flown in from New York and was pleased I wasn’t pressing charges

  “That would make bad publicity” he said repeatedly as if I would change my mind at any moment. “We’ve decided not to put the scene where Frank hit you into the show. We’ve already begun alerting the press that Frank became so overwhelmed with his family’s issues that he had to quit,” He was clearly proud of himself for doing what he considered a favor for me.

  I crawled into the passenger seat next to the man who had not stopped talking since he’d arrived that morning. “The network has let Frank out of his contract.” In other words, you fired him. I said to myself, but the emotions I would normally have felt - grief, loss, upset… none were present as I listened. All I felt was numbness.

  “This season’s story line of twelve houses in twelve months is getting good reviews. Since we released the first season of your series last month, your ratings have steadily climbed. Our only concern was people have reported Frank came across like an abusive old man.”

  I cocked an eyebrow, that would explain why they were so quick to help him disappear.

  “You, however, are doing great in the ratings. The fact that your grandfather owned all these inner-city homes which were at one time considered junk houses, combined with the fact that they’ve recently increased astronomically in value, makes for a good story line. Just as we’d hoped.”

  In many ways, the man sitting next to me reminded me of my mom. He was in your corner, but only if there was something in it for him. I didn’t really mind of course, by now I was used to it; however, I couldn’t help but tune him out.

  I laid my head back on the seat and allowed myself to think about the other man who’d never been there for me either. My grandfather had surprised me with his will. I’d inherited a collection of homes with a mix of styles that stretched from Victorian and Edwardian to midcentury. Most of his tenants had been elderly, which meant the homes were quickly becoming vacant.

  Having spent time on the streets, I knew what happened to homes that were vacant. Especially in the winter when it was cold out. If I didn’t do something quick, to either sell the homes or get tenants in them again, I’d start seeing them broken into and eventually destroyed.

  One night as Frank and I sat together on my couch watching reruns of Golden Girls, I’d mentioned that we should rehab the homes, bringing them back to their former glory.

  He’d been skeptical at first, but when I reached out to HRN (Home Repair Network) and they showed an interest, Frank quickly jumped on board. The man was nothing if not vain. He wanted the fame; unfortunately, as I found out the hard way, he certainly wasn’t cut out for the work.

  My mind came back to my producer who, despite the fact that I’d clearly tuned him out, was still rambling on. “Frank’s deal with us is that he is to have no contact with you until after season two is finished.

  We’ve offered him a settlement payable only after the project is completed.” Edward glanced over to see if I was listening and added, “If he violates the terms, the offer will be rescinded, and he’ll get nothing!”

  “How much did you have to pay him to agree to this?” I asked.

  “That’s confidential,” he said in a way that clearly meant he wasn’t going to divulge that information. Of course, that just told me it was a hell of a lot more than he deserved. Honestly, I didn’t really give a damn, I just wanted Frank gone, like I wanted my father gone and I wanted whatever victim cycle that I’d unintentionally created to be gone too.

  “You have to have a costar though, someone who knows the business but has a good TV personality.”

  “Do you have someone in mind?” I asked and the blank look on the producers face didn’t give anything away. If they had someone, I clearly wasn’t going to find out from him.

  As we pulled up to my apartment, Edward scowled at the neighborhood, like it’s poverty was somehow going to rub off on him. I forced the smile off my face. I knew I lived in a crappy part of town, but I was insanely proud of myself for pulling myself and my mom off the streets and into this apartment.

  That’d been one of my life’s greatest achievements a
nd I’d be damned if I was ever going to feel anything other than pride for the shitty little apartment with paper thin walls.

  I didn’t go back to the renovation project for the rest of that week, instead I laid around and watched bad TV, ordered equally bad takeout, and basically vegged. Luckily the more I took it easy, the better my head felt. Finally, on Monday, I was feeling good enough to get back into the swing of things.

  I cursed under my breath as I walked into the old home we were filming. Despite my absence, the crews had kept working and the result was an utter disaster. There was chaos everywhere, not that it hadn’t always been chaotic, but it had never been this bad.

  I wandered around the different rooms feeling sicker and sicker as I went knowing that it was going to take a hell of a lot of work and probably more authority than I had to get the crews to fix the shit I was seeing. When I came down the stairs and turned toward the front of the house, my jaw almost hit the floor. Leslie Cooper, home repair superstar and my biggest celebrity crush, had just walked through my front door.

  My heart stopped beating. I’d drooled over those muscular biceps and built pecs that sometimes sported nice perky nipples under his shirt. Oh, and did I ever have a weird kink thing for his man nipples. Those tight-fitting jeans that almost gave away his bulge… no man on television tugged on my sexuality like Les Cooper.

  My eyes had done a tour from his sexy boots all the way up to his delicious, chiseled face when I made eye contact. At first, my still slightly injured brain registered the look of a man about to turn me over the stair baluster and fuck me senseless. Then he squinted and I realized his expression wasn’t one of sexual intrigue, but rather of a man who might lose his cool at any moment.

  Shit, I said to myself, that makes him look even sexier. I really am fucked up in the head.