Liam and I spent most of the day wiping down walls to get rid of the black smoke and soot. Four buckets of water, eight sponges and two bottles of rubbing alcohol later, we’re finally finished for the day. The ceilings will take another two days because they’re cypress, and that’s an entirely different animal. After that, there’s nothing left for the kid to do.
The past couple of weeks have gone by too fast. In a few more days, the contractors will take over, and that will be that. There will be no more reasons to see Liam.
Or Adrienne.
Unless she decides to call me. Which she hasn’t. It’s been almost two days since she told me she needed a minute. If you ask me, forty-eight hours is a hell of lot longer than a “minute.”
Two-thousand, eight-hundred and eighty minutes, as a matter of fact. Not that I’m counting.
“The architect will have the plans ready for you to pick up first thing in the morning, and the contractor will be here tomorrow afternoon at two,” Hector tells me as he tucks his cell phone into the back pocket of his jeans. “And I have a date in two hours, so I’m out.”
I glance at the digital clock on the wall. It’s five o’clock. Brody will be here any minute to get Liam.
“Where’d you find this one? Plenty of Fish? Or Tinder?”
He flips me off. “Trader Joe’s, motherfucker.”
Hector could stand up in the middle of church and piss in the baptismal pool, and by the end of the sermon have a date with the pastor’s daughter. The guy should write a playbook. It’s fucking nuts.
“I need you here early tomorrow.”
He answers with a salute then climbs in his Carolina blue Corvette and drives off.
“You thirsty?” I ask the kid then grab two glasses before he can answer.
He nods, and I fill both glasses with Sprite and hand him one over the bar. He downs it in four long gulps.
“Damn. Rough day?” I laugh and grab his glass to refill it.
“I think it’s the smell.”
I inhale a deep breath, noting that it does kind of smell like that moment right before a nurse is about to give you a shot. At least it doesn’t smell like smoke anymore. For now.
“You’re doing a great job, man. I just wanted you to know that.”
He takes a sip then sets his glass on the bar. “It keeps me busy. Keeps my mind off stuff.”
Guilt.
It’s a mother.
I feel guilty for knowing that this was meant to be his punishment but ended up being his escape, and I’m about to fucking end it all. I have two days to come up with something for him to do while keeping him out of the contractor’s way. If I can’t, then I’ll tell him. But he’s just starting to open up, and I’m not about to ruin this moment.
“What if we hung out sometime? You know, when the brewery is back to normal.”
Jesus, I might as well have pulled up in a white van and offered the kid some candy. Thankfully, he doesn’t latch onto the creepy pedo-vibe. Instead, he grins. Like, fucking beams from ear-to-ear.
“You mean like play basketball and stuff?” he asks.
“Yeah. Maybe I’ll have the guys put up a goal while they’re re-doing the place.”
Why the fuck not? Hector played college ball. He’d be ecstatic.
Another glance at the clock. It’s five-fifteen and still no Brody. It’s not like him to be late. Usually the fucker’s twenty minutes early, chatting my ear off while we try to finish up. I call his cell. No answer.
Weird.
“Did Brody say anything about me bringing you home today?”
Liam shakes his head. “No, why?”
“Because it looks like that’s what I’m doing.”
Thirty minutes later, we pull up to the house. There’s still no return call from Brody, but there’s a car I don’t recognize parked next to the curb. Adrienne’s car is in the driveway next to Brody’s. A sinking feeling settles in my gut, and I hope nothing bad has happened to one of the other boys.
I stop Liam as soon as he gets out of the car. “You wait here. I’ll be right back.”
He leans against my car door, and I walk to the front door. If something is going on, I don’t want him walking in during the middle of it.
Brody answers and immediately flinches. “Oh shit, dude. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s cool.” I look over his shoulder into the living room. “Is everything okay?”
He opens the door wider, allowing me to step inside. I wave to Liam, letting him know it’s okay to go ahead and come in. Then it all happens in slow motion.
Adrienne comes from upstairs, laughing as her delicate fingertips trail the wooden banister. She looks over her shoulder and smiles at the man coming down the stairs behind her.
“If you’re half as good at cooking as you are at everything else, I can’t wait for a taste,” he says. It’s a voice I know all too well.
Levi fucking Abbott.
My brother.
He’s here. He’s with her.
She stops at the bottom of the stairs as soon as she sees me, causing him to bump into her from behind. He places his hand on her hip to steady them both. My eyes fall to where his fingers dig into her hipbone. Where my hand was not so long ago. Touching her the same way. What. The. Fuck.
So… this is why she hasn’t called.
My chest heaves.
My pulse pounds.
My jaw clenches.
Then my eyes meet hers.
“Blaze?” My brother’s voice is a blur, like he’s talking underwater, muffled by the rage boiling in my bloodstream.
It’s like a bad fucking nightmare playing on a goddamn loop. I can’t do this again.
“Hey man, you good?” I faintly hear Brody ask.
I never take my eyes off Adrienne.
“Yeah. I’m good.” I move my gaze to Liam, who is standing there watching the whole scene as if he’s witnessing a train wreck. That’s exactly what this is, a fucking train wreck. “See you tomorrow, Liam.”
Then I walk right back out the door.
She follows me.
“Blaze,” she yells, but I don’t stop walking. “Blaze, wait.” She grabs my arm, and I swear to God it feels like she’s electrocuting me.
I freeze where I stand but don’t turn around.
“Turn around and look at me.”
It’s too much. It’s too familiar. My head begins to pound, so I squeeze my eyes closed. I feel myself shutting down from the inside out.
“Dammit, Blaze, turn around and let me explain.”
She’s not letting me go. I don’t want her to.
I do want her to.
I don’t know what the hell I want anymore.
I open my eyes and spin around to face her, my chest heaving and my breath loud. “Let you explain what? Why you didn’t call me? Or how you know my brother? Or why you forgot to relay that tidbit of information when we met? Or maybe you’d rather explain what he thinks you’re good at and what you were doing upstairs with him?”
She takes a careful step forward and kills me with those eyes full of sadness, full of hope. That look, it’s like a sucker punch to the gut, and it almost brings me to my knees. “All of it. I can explain all of it,” she says.