“Yeah, bud,” I whisper. “I remember.”
Forty-three days while the doctors in Spokane tried to fix the brutal smoke damage to her lungs.
And failed.
She left Heart’s Edge a hero.
She came home to a coffin.
Seems like that’s the story of a lot of good people around here who die too young.
Warren’s sister, Jenna, for one. Killed in a devious setup overseas.
Even more folks the past few years have had their own brush with the Reaper and lived to tell the tale.
Warren himself, and Haley, and Leo, and Clarissa, Doc, Ember...fuck.
I wonder sometimes if this place is cursed. Even if all those spooky legends about Nine aka Leo are just history now, there’s something eerie and unnatural about life in Heart’s Edge.
Add one more body from my side.
Abigail was no hero when she died. But nobody needed to die like her.
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath, pushing the thoughts away.
Instead, I keep my focus on Justin and slip my arm around his shoulders to coax him off the stool. “C’mon, bud. Let’s get you home.”
“Forty-three days, Chief,” he repeats miserably, even as his body slides limply off the seat.
“I know, man. I know.”
It’s like moving a bag of dry cement, he’s so heavy and boneless. But I manage to get his legs under him and prop him against my side, mostly supporting his weight on my right leg so I can steer with my bum left leg. This ain’t the best way, but I just gotta get him to the Jeep.
“Let’s go,” I say, while Justin makes a hurting, horrid sound against my shoulder.
I wish I could give him more than useless words—but that’s all I’m good for.
“Chief...”
“Hush. Talkin’ takes a lot of energy right now. Let’s get you put away for the night.”
Dropping Justin at his apartment feels a little melancholy.
It’s sparse, utilitarian, like he doesn’t really live there.
Just sleeps and wakes up to go to work.
I frown. He hasn’t bothered making it any kind of home, not even for a young guy. Nothing personal there except the rows of photo albums lined up on the wall shelves—well, at least he’s got himself a hobby. He’s good with a camera.
Turning away from them, I tuck him into bed and lock up, then push the spare key back up in the hidden holder over the door.
I should really make some kind of effort to break him out of his funk.
He’s not my kid, nah, more my peer than anything, but I’m the chief of the volunteer fire crew and he’s one of my boys.
He doesn’t have much. No other family in town or anywhere else in the area I know of.
I can at least invite him to drink with us now and then.
Might help keep him from getting so shitfaced.
I’m still pondering that as I slip into my Jeep and head home, idly massaging my knuckles against my slightly sore thigh.
Thankfully, any pain I’m in vanishes behind weary irritation as I pull into my driveway, cut the engine, and crawl into bed.
For once, Andrea’s home on time.
For once, my mind isn’t overflowing with worries over fire damage or work or whose evil ass I have to run out of town next.
For once, I let my mind wander off to happier places, even if they’re also kind of sad.
Little Miss Broccoli gives me plenty to think on as I drift off. Maybe it’s just the booze or the wintry calm limbering me up, but I let myself linger on her memory.
Those strawberry lips. That hot red-purple mane a man could do outrageous fuckin’ things with. Those hips that look like they could ride me to next Christmas.
And how it must be the worst irony ever that she got stuck with a name like a Rabe of damn broccoli when it doesn’t fit her one bit.
She’s a sweet, bright-eyed slice of cherry pie, a delicate morsel ready to be devoured by some lucky SOB. Even if he won’t be me tonight or any night, a man’s gotta have his dreams, his fantasies, his dirty little secrets.
I fall asleep feeling thankful for one newcomer in Heart’s Edge who brings sweet dreams instead of more nightmares.
The next day, I put in my hours welding, hoping I’ll get lucky to come home to some peace and quiet for the second day in a row.
Nope.
There’s that damn Benz again, parked outside.
Holt.
I’d bet every penny Andrea’s home and let him in, since the car’s empty and dark. There’s no one on the porch, and the lights are on in the living room.
Goddammit.
I’m not in the mood for this today. Or the other day. Or any day.
It’s a hell of a thing when I don’t even want to go into my own house, but I can’t just stand out here in the fucking snow. I feel the cold down the back of my neck like a collar against the heat of annoyance flushing my skin.
Muttering, stomping snow off my boots on the front walk, I push the door open—the unlocked door, dammit, Andrea—and step inside the sweltering warmth.
My brother sprawls in my easy chair—my favorite chair—like he owns the place.
This time, I can’t help noticing how immaculately he’s dressed.
Like a real slick-dick big city boy.
Like he never tripped in ditches and came home covered in mud in this little mountain town just like I did once upon a time.
You wouldn’t guess it. Not from his fine black suit, the wide lapels and cuffs of the white shirt under it, the perfect razor-sharp trim of his scruff, the blocky platinum ring on one finger.
Holt steeples his fingers, watching me over them with a hint of a smirk making his hazel eyes glitter. Once again, I feel like I’m facing down Lucifer.
The devil himself in my own living room, ready to offer me a bargain I want fuck all to do with.
“What.” I snarl.
“Poor Blake.” Holt lets out an exasperated sigh. “All these years and you still have zero manners.”
“Like you do, asshat? You work construction. Why the fuck are you dressed like a lawyer and blabbin’ like New York City?”
A smirk curls his lips. “I wasn’t aware ‘blabbing like New York City’ was a thing.”
He knows damn well what I mean. His smirk only widens as I bare my teeth at him in a silent growl.
“You’re having a grand old time spending Ma’s money, huh?”
“It’s an investment,” he retorts smoothly, crossing his ankle over his knee and slouching with casual ease.
“The hell you mean?” I hate how comfy he looks up in my space, while I’m vibrating, on fire, out of place.
“I’m investing in Heart’s Edge. Investing in my hometown.” His smile turns cunning, carnivorous, and fuck if I have any clue how we’re related. “Maybe a few of the local single ladies wouldn’t mind welcoming me home, since I hear you’ve rejected them all. They must be starved.”
“I hate you,” I bite off.
“Wish you didn’t, brother.”
“And I wish you’d stop talking in circles.” I rip my jacket off just to give myself something to do. “What the hell are you talking about, investing in Heart’s Edge?”
“I mean,” he says slowly, “that I used my inheritance wisely to graduate from lowly landscaper to starting my own construction company.” A pause, and I swear to God he’s doing it for dramatic effect, the shit. “And it just so happens I’ve just landed the contract to rebuild several portions of the town damaged in the big museum fire last year.”