Everyone always tries to absolve you of the guilt you place on yourself, as if their words can wash away the truth.
Callie’s eyebrows draw together, and again she asks, “Why is it painful for you to be around Josie’s kids?”
Agony throbs in my chest like a caged lion trying to escape. I’m tortured by the memory of my past, yet tortured just the same from keeping it locked inside. Damned if I do, and damned if I don’t.
So I don’t.
Doesn’t matter either way. I doubt even Callie could fathom what I’ve been through.
And for some reason, I don’t think I could stand the way she’d look at me if I told her.
The microwave beeps, pulling her attention off of me. It buys me enough time to escape from the kitchen and get to the basement.
Like the coward I am.
Callie doesn’t say a word about it when she comes down and hands the boys their bowls. She plops down on the couch cushion beside me and situates a large bowl between us. Brandon presses play, and for the next two hours, I let the world fade away.
It’s after nine when the front door thuds closed upstairs. My nephews are still glued to the screen, while my eyes are glued to Callie. She fell asleep halfway through the movie, and I haven’t been able to focus on anything else.
Long lashes fan out against her porcelain cheeks. Soft, steady breaths pass through her parted lips. Her tiny body is curled beneath the blanket. Secrets and pain surround her, calling out to me like a beacon—someone who understands.
Desire fists my stomach, and I have no right. I don’t even know this woman, yet she’s stirring things inside me that I don’t deserve to feel.
She needs a savior. A white knight to rescue her.
I’m not that guy.
I’m a destroyer.
I’m the wrecking ball who tears everything to the ground until there’s nothing left.
Cole the Killer.
Ten
Callie
I nudge the car door shut with my hip as I balance the bags in my arms.
My keys slip out of my fingertips, and when I dip to catch them, one of the paper bags breaks open, and everything spills out into the driveway.
I groan and flick my eyes skyward. “Seriously?”
I kneel down and set my bags onto the ground. Collecting the packets of seeds and various garden tools, I stuff them into the other bags.
The rumble and stutter of Cole’s truck thunders down the block. He pulls in front of Josie’s house and kills the engine, lifting his chin when he spots me through his open window.
I wave. “Hey, Cole.”
He swings open his door and steps out of his truck, eyeing me from under the brim of his hat. “Why are you on the ground?”
“Stupid bags always break. I miss plastic.”
He strides over and takes the bags from me, stacking them on top of each other. “Paper’s better for the environment. Hold them from the bottom, like this.”
I snatch my keys off the concrete and offer him a sheepish smile. “Thanks for the tip.”
He nods his head toward my house. “Open your door. I’ll bring these in for you.”
“You can bring them through the backyard, actually.”
One corner of his mouth turns up. “Don’t want me getting dirt on your perfect floors?”
“I’m building a garden.” I arch an eyebrow. “Though, you are pretty dirty. Where do you go when you’re out all day?”
“Work.”
“And is your job to roll around in mud?”
“Construction.”
My gaze skates over his biceps as I imagine him in a yellow hardhat with a tool belt slung low around his hips.
Bad, Callie. Stop ogling your best friend’s brother.
“You know how to build a garden?” he asks as I punch in the code to my back gate.
“Not a clue. But I’m going to learn.”
“How?”
“YouTube.”
He walks across the lawn and sets my bags down on the patio table. “YouTube?”
I plant my hand on my hip. “Yeah, so?”
“And you’re going to make a garden bed?”
I shrug, pretending like I know what that is. “Shouldn’t be difficult.”
“Where’s your wood?”
I slide my sunglasses to the top of my head. “Wood?”
“For the garden bed. And the saw to cut the wood. You have one of those?”
I gesture to the shed at the far corner of the yard. “I’m sure there’s one in there.”
“Does your husband build things?”
“No.”
“Then why would there be a saw in the shed?”
“I don’t know. That’s what a shed is for, storing tools, isn’t it?” I lift my hands and let them smack against my thighs. “What’s with the Spanish Inquisition?”
He blows a stream of air through his nostrils and shakes his head. “Give me five minutes. I’ll be right back.”
I scoff. “I didn’t ask you to do this for me.”
“I’m not,” he calls over his shoulder while he jogs to the gate. “I’m going to teach you.”
Warmth pools in my stomach, and it trickles out to my arms and legs.
He’s not going to do it for me—or pay someone else to do it.
He doesn’t tell me that I can’t do it myself.
He’s going to teach me how.
Finally, someone who doesn’t want to control what I do.
An excited squeal bubbles up into my throat, and I rush inside to change.
Maverick lifts onto his hind legs and puts his paws on my chest, licking my face.
“Hi, my love.” I scratch behind his ears and push him down. “I have to change, and then you’re coming with me outside.”
He barks and springs up the stairs ahead of me.
After I throw on a pair of cut-off denim shorts and a ratty, old tank top, I twist my hair into a high bun and push a red bandana-style headband onto my head.
“Let’s go chop some wood, Mav!”
When I slide open the back door, Maverick pushes past my legs and charges toward Cole, who’s setting up some kind of table on the grass.
And dear God he’s wearing a tool belt.
“Maverick! Get down. No jumping.”
“Ah, he’s excited. Let him jump.” Cole cups Maverick’s face in both hands and bends down to let him lick his cheek.
Maverick’s tail swats the air so hard I can feel the breeze. I grimace as he bounces on his hind legs to get closer to Cole’s mouth. “Okay, boy. That’s enough. Leave the poor man alone.”
Cole glances at me and then does a double-take. His eyes blaze a trail down to my bare legs before cutting back to Maverick. “Cute dog.”
“Thanks.” I gesture to the table. “So, what’s all this?”
“This is my makeshift sawing table. You’re going to measure the wood, and prop it up on here when you cut it.”
“Where’d you get all that wood from?”
“Had scraps in my truck.”
“I can pay you for it.”
He holds his palm up. “I’m not taking your money, Callie.”
Something about the desperation in his eyes makes me not want to press the issue, so I let it go. “Where do we start?”