Besides, the last thing I wanted was for him to see how much he’d hurt me. He didn’t fucking deserve that.

  “I’ll tell him to leave.” Jeremy stepped toward me, reminding me I wasn’t alone in the room.

  I moved into Jeremy’s path, blocking the door. “No. I’ve got this.” I turned my attention to the door and opened it to face Mick again.

  “Q. Thank God. I just—”

  “Stop.” I hated hearing him use that nickname as much as I hated him standing here, acting like I should want to hear anything he had to say. “Do you have the money you took?”

  “No. But I—”

  “Do you have a way to get the business back? To repay the clients you fucked over?”

  “No.”

  “Goodbye, Mick.” At least I got to say it this time. I let the door swing shut.

  The cloud of rage lingered, and counting to ten wasn’t going to fix anything. The way Sonya was watching me with what had to be intense pity… I couldn’t deal with that.

  “Quentin…”

  “Please don’t.” I kept my voice kind. She wasn’t trying to be cruel. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. I just need some time to clear my head.”

  Jeremy opened his mouth, but Sonya put a hand on his arm, silencing him. “Okay,” she said.

  I strode toward my room as quickly as I could without sprinting, yanked on a shirt and shoes, and grabbed my keys and phone. A moment later, I was on the road, pointing my car toward less traffic.

  My hands itched to do more than hold a steering wheel. I missed that outlet of welding—of creating something beautiful from a hunk of metal. I needed to prove to myself that despite everything Mick took from me, he couldn’t have that.

  There was one place I could go, though I hated to drop in on her with such little notice. I met Brooke years ago. She sculpted lead, and we frequented a lot of the same spots for supplies and tools when I was still working. Over the years, we’d become friends, and when Mick left me—before I knew Sonya or Jeremy—Brooke was about the only person who didn’t turn her back on me.

  She had a large shed on her property that she’d converted into a workshop, and she’d let me use it a few times. I didn’t like to ask, and only did so when it might lead to work, but today I needed that tactile feeling.

  I called her.

  “Hey, stranger.” Her tone was bright when she answered. “How’ve you been?”

  “Fine. You know.” It had been a while since I talked to her. How rude was I, only calling for a favor?

  “I don’t know unless you tell me,” she teased. “And you don’t sound fine. What’s up?”

  “Mick is back.”

  “Oh. I’m so sorry. What does he want?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t hear him out.” And I was less in the mood to tell her more than I was to talk to Sonya.

  “Do you want to come by?” she asked.

  A no formed at the back of my throat, even though that was why I’d called.

  “You don’t have to talk to me. You can use the shop if you want, and just lose yourself for a few hours,” Brooke said. “Paige has a lot of scrap that I haven’t figured out what I want to do with yet. You can dig your way through that.”

  Paige was her daughter and a talented mechanic. At seventeen, she had an instinct for vehicles that few people would ever achieve. She’d helped me keep my junker running when no one should’ve been able to breathe life into it.

  And if I didn’t take Brooke up on her offer, I was going to spend the next several hours growling and not getting anything done, and feel far worse at the end of the day. “I’d like that, yeah.”

  “Perfect. I’m finally allowed back on my feet after spraining my ankle, and this will give me an excuse to walk around.”

  “Pretty sure you’re supposed to take it easy after that.”

  “Pft. You sound like everyone else. I’m not going line-dancing; I’m letting you into the workshop and saying hi.”

  “I’ll be there in about thirty. And thank you.”

  “Anytime. You know that,” Brooke said.

  After goodbyes and hanging up, I headed toward the small town she lived in. Most of the valley had grown and merged into one continuous suburb over the decades, but this place was tucked away in the mountains, enough that it stayed small and isolated.

  I wouldn’t want to be there full time, but Brooke seemed to like it, and the quiet was nice every once in a while.

  When I got to Brooke’s, she was as bright and friendly as on the phone, unlocking her workshop for me and pointing me toward a fresh stack of scrap.

  “I’d make small talk, but I doubt you’re in the mood,” she said.

  I shook my head. “I’m really not.”

  “You know where everything is. Come find me if you need anything. Like an ear.”

  I gave her a tight smile. “Thank you.”

  When she was gone, I headed to the pile of scrap she’d pointed out. I had no idea what I was looking for, so I grabbed random pieces—sheet metal, rebar, pipes, and a few slabs I couldn’t identify the previous purpose of.

  Pulling on the safety gear—gloves, apron, visor—was soothing. A kind of familiar that let me fall into the ritual of it. And then I was cutting and shaping and welding.

  The shed had some climate control, but not a lot, and the cold air, combined with the high heat of the torch, required more focus than I’d need on a hot day. It was a welcome distraction.

  Not enough of one, though. Every time I paused, my mind drifted back to Mick, asking me to hear him out. Which summoned the pain and rage of when I woke up to him being gone.

  And the blame… It always started with my calling him a selfish bastard and slid to my asking myself why I didn’t see it coming. We’d had a few problems as a couple, but not a lot. Not the kind of shouting matches that some of our friends had. Our arguments were about money—as in how much he tended to lose when he took weekend trips to Wendover.

  He’d gotten help, though. Gone through treatment and dealt with the gambling addiction. I’d seen him falter more than once, but I thought he was handling it. Which meant I chose to ignore that we talked less and less as time went on. His late nights should’ve been work. Yeah, I was the sucker who bought that line.

  I was the fucking idiot who’d missed all the signs.

  I didn’t know how long Brooke had been standing there when I looked up from my work.

  “You were focused. I didn’t want to startle you,” she said.

  The door was open behind her, and the sun was low in the sky. “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Four. I have to go out in about half an hour, but you can lock up when you’re done.”

  I’d been here for hours and not realized it. I shook the clouds away from my thoughts. “No. I should get going too.”

  “That’s gorgeous.” She nodded at my work. “Is it based on something?”

  I hadn’t been paying attention, but apparently, it was a 3D representation of the logo from the game Sonya and Jeremy were a part of. Based on what I knew about Brooke, probably not her kind of game. “Something that reminds me of friends.”

  “Well, I love it.”

  “Thanks. I’ll get out of your hair. Just give me a few to clean up.”

  “No worries. You know where to find me.” Brooke waved and walked out of the shed.

  I cleaned up quickly, making sure everything was back where it belonged.

  Brooke came back out to chat with me as I was loading the two-foot sculpture into my car. When an old pickup truck pulled into the driveway and parked a few feet from us, her attention left me completely.

  The man who climbed out of the older Ford truck had tattoos peeking up from under his collar, and his hair was cut close to his scalp. Not quite regulation, but close. He looked me over as he approached.

  I bit back the desire to say, I’m way too old to train a young boyfriend. No telling how that kind of joke would land, and thinking it reminded me of how unceremoniously I’d walked out on Sonya and Jeremy.

  “Deacon. Hey.” Brooke’s smile for him was solar systems brighter than the ones she gave me. “This is Quentin.”

  “Pleasure.” I extended my hand. “Where did you serve?”

  His grip was tighter than it needed to be when we shook. “Denny’s, for about two weeks in high school? Waiting tables wasn’t for me.”

  “Ah.” I chuckled. “I assumed…” I scrubbed my hand over my own short hair.

  “No. Never military. Much respect, though.” Deacon sounded sincere, if not begrudging.

  Brooke angled herself half-between us. “He did a charity stream with a friend for Christmas and had to shave his head as part of it. A Konsoles for Kids thing.”

  I was impressed. “Cool.”

  “Thanks.” Deacon’s voice was tight.

  If Brooke was fucking this guy—which either was the case or they both wanted it to be—I hoped she was prepared for a little immaturity. “Great to meet you, Deacon. And I’ll see you around, Brooke.”

  “Remember, you’re always welcome.” She gave me a quick hug, while Deacon scowled behind her.

  As I headed home, my thoughts rebounded quickly to the people waiting for me. Person? Was Jeremy still there? The last few days with him and Sonya had been more fun, more real, than anything I’d done in a long time. The road trip. The sex. The hanging out.

  I was looking forward to tomorrow and to seeing their reactions when I showed them what I’d made.

  But Mick’s being back was a cloud over all of it. A brutal reminder that I couldn’t afford to get comfortable in any relationship. Friendship was pushing it, and romance?

  Nope. Couldn’t do it.

  The last thing I was going to do was surrender my heart to another person.

  Never again.

  15

  Jeremy

  Quentin’s ex’s surprise visit killed the mood in Sonya’s house. She and I worked our way through a few more pages of screenplay notes, but when Quentin didn’t come back for a few hours, it was obvious she was more worried about him than getting things done.

  She eventually sent me home and promised to call if she needed anything.

  She sent a text about an hour later. He’s home, but quiet.

  Knowing Sonya, she was worried and trying not to hover around him to see how she could help.

  Do you want me to come back, I asked. Distract her. Remind her she had me. Pretend I had no idea how I wanted Quentin to fit into any of that.

  No, but thanks. We’ll see you tomorrow.

  I’d seen Sonya almost every day for years, but tonight the simple promise made me smile.

  When she’d brought up the arbor for Megan’s wedding, I figured out what Sonya was up to with her blacksmithing quest. She was looking for a way to get him back into welding that he wouldn’t be able to turn down, and for some reason she was hiding the brainstorming behind the idea of let’s make a quest..

  A bit convoluted, but it was why I’d invited him to join us tomorrow. He may or may not make a contact to help him get back on his feet, career-wise, but there was a better chance than if he stayed home

  Besides, the last week had been a lot of fun. Sure, the kisses with Quentin started for Sonya’s sake—not that I minded, the physical was fantastic with him—but I was enjoying his company almost as much as hers. The sex today. The other morning. In the hotel…

  What if the three of us were more? Obviously it could work; I knew multiple people in three way relationships.

  But not us.

  Quentin was emotionally unavailable. Sonya was struggling with her insecurities. And last time I decided maybe we should make this more, I fucked things up with a good friend. I eventually not only lost my friendship with the woman I’d married, but because we had so many friends in common, our divorce hurt them too.

  I couldn’t do that again. I couldn’t risk taking things to the next level with Sonya. Writing romance was one thing, but recognizing actual love?

  I wasn’t willing to take a chance guessing.

  When I got to the worksite Sunday morning, a handful of volunteers were already there. Megan and Nigel stood near a table set up with coffee and pastries, away from most everyone else.

  Since we were kids, our parents had made us spend at least one day a month doing something to help other people. When Megan, Carly, and I were younger, we hated that the activity took away from our lives. But we all learned to appreciate it as we hit adulthood.

  Even though our parents moved to Arizona a few years ago, when they retired, my sisters and I still maintained the tradition. This week we were working for a group building a tiny home community for the homeless. I was surprised to see Megan here, but not that her fiancé was absent.

  Sonya had this ideal about people and love, and I wouldn’t deny that my perspective was twisted compared to hers, but Megan’s fiancé really was a Grade A asshole. He’d been working for months to separate her from friends and family. He convinced her to miss Sonya’s bestselling author celebration, and for me that was a top of the line what the fuck kind of thing.

  But Megan was here today, and everyone else was arriving as well. This was going to be fun.

  I introduced Carly to Quentin, and the appraising look she gave him was the same one she gave a gorgeous property she couldn’t wait to explore. A sharp hands off echoed in my thoughts, and I buried it.

  Sonya and Nigel talked to the organizer, and they were back quickly with instructions and to hand out assignments. We were hanging Sheetrock in a handful of the houses.

  Quentin shouldered the sheets into place while Carly secured them, and the rest of us taped and mudded in.

  With all six of us working, a room didn’t take long. We did the first two with minimal discussion beyond Nigel and Sonya directing us.

  By Room Three, we had our rhythm.

  “So, Nigel,” Quentin said between the grunts of lifting a full piece of sheetrock by himself. “How did you get into knife throwing?”

  “I grew up in the circus.”

  Quentin’s laugh died when he looked at Nigel’s serious, stern face.

  I rolled my eyes, knowing what came next.

  Nigel’s scowl shifted to a smirk in a heartbeat. “I know, right? No one expects an answer like that, but it’s true.”

  “I assume there’s more to the story.” Quentin leaned into the board, and Carly screwed it into place with practiced efficiency.

  Nigel placed the tape along the seam. “I mean, yeah?”

  “His parents were the acrobatic performance and they were killed by a mob boss when he was thirteen.” Sonya filled in screw holes. “A brooding billionaire took pity on him and adopted him.”

  Quentin paused long enough to shoot her a raised eyebrow. “Pretty sure that’s Batman.”

  “Oh my God, you’re Dick Grayson and you never told us?” Megan’s squeal was over the top.

  “You tell people you wear those sexy green and yellow tights, and then everyone wants to see you in them, and he has more important things to do.” I picked up Sonya’s story.

  Quentin shook his head and let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, yeah. You all know the story. I don’t.” Despite that, he was smiling.

  “Real story is boring,” Nigel said. “I was born into a family of performers, I had a knack for knives, and when I got older I decided I wanted more from life and I left.

  Megan pressed her arm to his, probably closer than she needed to, as she applied mud to the tape he laid down. “Leave it to Nigel to do things differently than everyone else and run away from the circus.”

  “I’m more of a use my mind person than a subject myself to a lifetime of humiliation person.” Nigel lingered next to Megan after he finished.

  Was I looking for things that were there? “Which explains his sex life.”

  “He said as if that were a bad thing,” Sonya added her narration.

  Megan blew out a soft pft. “Because my brother is a twisted fuck.”

  “Just a humiliated one, and only in the bedroom,” Quentin offered.

  We were all adults and my sisters and I hadn’t shied away from certain topic for years, but I didn’t appreciate that I’d become the focus of this particular joke. “I’m just saying, if Nigel can use his brain to make people orgasm…”

  “One hundred percent your department,” Nigel said. “Unless we’re talking Jedi mind control. Still working on that.”

  Megan nudged him playfully. “Let me know how that goes.”

  “You’re not coming, so I’m not there yet.”

  I was dim sometimes, but this was pretty obvious. “Did you just imply you’re trying to Jedi mind-fuck my sister?”

  Megan shot me a look that could’ve withered the Sheetrock mud. “Mind fuck, really?”

  She was right—that was her fiancé’s job. I kept the thought to myself and gave her what I hoped was an apologetic shrug.

  The conversation moved to less loaded topics.

  When we broke for lunch, the entire group of volunteers met back at the starting point. I grabbed a box with a sandwich and chips, and went to join my friends.

  Carly stepped in my path. “Starting to feel like a sixth wheel here.”

  “Pretty sure that’s not how the saying goes, and maybe you should be having this conversation with Megan.”

  “Tell me Nigel’s not a better choice than that jackass she’s seeing,” Carly said. “And I’m not talking about them.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Megan is going to be furious if you break Sonya’s heart.”

  The words tightened like a band around my chest, tying the past to the present. “I’m not—”

  “Fucking her?” Carly asked. “I don’t want to know.”

  “Sonya is one of my best friends. For years now.”

  “This is different.”

  Was it obvious or was she just fishing for details?

  “You’re imagining things.” So was I, because I wanted to see what she did. It wasn’t there, though.

  She shook her head. “Okay, Goober. Except that everyone but you knows you’ve loved her for as long as you’ve known her.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18