“She’s hormonal, Jaxon. Her body is changing. She’s sensitive. You can’t go around saying things like that. You have to choose your words carefully.” Quinn has double the hormones pumping through her system since she’s carrying twins. Jaxon will learn, and if I know Quinn, she’ll never put the love of her life on the couch.
Not permanently anyway.
“I’ll have to keep that in mind more often. I know you didn’t call me over here to talk about my shortcomings; what’s going on, Gray?”
“Right…” My tone is a bit beleaguered. “I was wondering if you think I have any talents or quirks? Just curious.”
He lifts a black brow at me, and a few forced wrinkles appear on his forehead. I swallow hard and grip the trim of the doorway. “Interesting question for someone who is just curious,” he says. “Well, you’re a huge asset to the team. I’ve never seen someone so large but stealthy at the same time. You’re a great friend too. You get distracted sometimes, and you like to go behind others to ‘redo’ whatever they just did.”
“I do not do that,” I scoff, thinking about a time when I ever questioned someone’s ability to do something right the first time.
“After Owen loaded the dishwasher, you rearranged it because there is a ‘certain’ way it has to be loaded in order for the dishes to be clean.”
I shuffle my feet and glance toward the floor. “You can’t say I’m not right. The dishes are cleaner when I rearrange it.”
“And when Julia dusts, you are right behind her with Windex and a fresh rag.”
“The woman is better at cooking than she is at cleaning, okay?” My face heats with embarrassment. This isn’t a positive quality. I can’t put this on my dating profile. No one will talk to me.
He must see that I’m not exactly taking the news as well as he hoped. He slaps his hand on my shoulder and brings me out of my trance. His eyes catch mine, and he leans forward. “You’re a good listener. I know out of all the guys here, I can come to you for solid advice, and you’ll listen because you actually care, Grayson. It might not seem like a big deal to you, but it is for us. If you notice, the person we go to the most when we need to talk is you. You might not say much about yourself, but no matter how hard you try not to care about people, you do.”
“I care about my people,” I correct him.
“No, Gray. No matter how hard you try, you care about all people.” He cocks his head and lifts his hand from shoulder, shoving it in his pocket. “And it’s something you really hate about yourself, something I’ll never understand.”
“Not all people deserve kindness and empathy.” I bite out each word slowly. He’s wrong. I don’t care about people; just the people who matter, like Quinn and Jaxon, Owen, even if he is an ass, and Heaven, Sebastian too. Those are the people I care about. Everyone else can cease to exist for all I care.
“They don’t, but you unknowingly give it to them anyway. It’s a quality that’s hard to find in a world that’s so dark, Gray. And what we do, it can get really fucked up.” Jaxon gives me another clap on the arm and starts to walk away, waving the chocolate bar in the air. “I need to go before my lovely wife eats me instead.”
“Like you’d mind,” I shout after him.
“Oh, you just gave me an idea, Gray!” Jaxon’s mad chuckle echoes through the hall, and my phone buzzes to tell me my delivery is here.
I push myself off the door frame and hurry toward the garage, passing an empty living and kitchen. I click the screen to the right of the only door in and out of the Cliff House and see a delivery man holding a plastic bag full of three orders of the same thing. I press the green intercom button and speak. “You can leave it there. Thanks,” I say and take my finger off the switch so the driver can’t answer back.
Pleasantries are a time killer.
The driver looks around and sees the camera in the corner, salutes, and places the bag on the ground before getting into his car and driving away. When he’s gone, I enter the abyss of the garage and press the garage door opener. The metal is smooth as it lifts and barely makes a noise. I see the white plastic bag and hit the button again, and the door stops mid-lift. I run, snag the bag, and hurry inside.
Punching a few keys on the screen, the garage door shuts, and I make my way to my bedroom where the questionnaire awaits me.
The succulent scent of BBQ pork with tangy sauce has a wave of saliva flowing across my tongue. I’m barely in my room before I’m opening the first box and kicking the door shut with my foot, then locking the knob.
Just in case someone wants to come in.
I plop in the chair and decide once again to be honest.
Talent: I’m a good listener if that counts. Quirk: I only trust my way for something to be done right.
Next questions.
What is your typical Saturday night?
I can’t say cleaning guns and planning our next heist, can I? That will send all eligible prospects running. I like to walk the beach at night. Does that count?
Fuck me, what am I doing?
If I’m bad at this, I’m going to be bad at the real thing.
Chapter Two
FINLEY
I do not need to be doing this. It’s wrong, but I need an escape. Anywhere is better than here. Even if it means staying locked in my room, away from my stepdad, away from my mom, just … away.
Life wasn’t always like this. There was a time when I didn’t need to protect myself. My dad was alive then, and my mom was a happy bank teller. We were the typical family, the billboard of what a family should be like. A dog, white picket fence, kisses on the cheek every morning as we walked out the door as they left for work and I left for school.
Laughter and smiles never last. Happiness fades.
Especially when someone dies.
My dad died in a random robbery one night on his way home from work. He stopped at the gas station down the road, nothing new. It was the one he always went to because he thought the cashier was nice, and he believed talking to someone who was kind at the end of a long day was a great way to have a better night.
He walked into the gas station and never came out. Two masked men had followed him, locked the doors, and shot everyone without hesitation, including the cashier. They stole all the scratch-off lottery tickets and cash in the register before fleeing.
My dad died alone, near the damn candy aisle, drowning in his own blood.
Life hasn’t been the same since. It’s been three years, and with each year that goes by, nothing changes. Time hasn’t made anything better. Life has gotten worse, especially with Trevor being here.
My new stepdad.
My mom lost her job has a bank teller and now works the streets with Trevor. He is her pimp. Yep, my mom is a whore. She doesn’t seem to care, though. She stopped caring about everything when Dad died, including me.
She doesn’t believe me when I tell her Trevor is a creep and likes to come into my room at night and watch me sleep. I feel his fingers against me, running down my arm or caressing my face. I’ll pretend to be asleep as the bed dips and his fingers brush through my hair. He becomes more daring every night.
Trevor scares the living hell out of me.