Last True Hero (18 page)

The text from Berkeley puts a curious smile on my face. I know she'll be at See Food for the afternoon shift today, and I plan on picking her up after I shower off the oil and grease from the garage.

I, unbeknownst to Berkeley, have big news, too. Or, more like big
plans.

Making plans with someone else in mind, a mouth-wateringly beautiful someone especially, is becoming a habit. Berkeley's taking my previously ordered, solitary life and turning it upside down. Something like that should be freaking me out, sending me running to build all kinds of walls and steel-reinforced doors around myself to keep her out. All my life, getting close to people has left me in pain. People go away, or they send you away, or they hurt you. It's what I learned growing up, first with the death of my parents and then with every horrible home I was placed in afterward. I never got a break, not until I aged out and took my life into my own hands.

But I haven't been able to keep Berkeley at arm's length. I picture her face in my head and realize I never had a chance.

It's impossible not to…
feel
when I'm around her.

After lunch, I complete two tire rotations and a transmission replacement before cutting out for the day. On the way home, I make a quick phone call to ensure all the arrangements I've made are still firmly in place, and thank a friend for helping me with them.

“Can I talk to you a minute?” asks Chase when I walk in the front door.

I nod, knowing that we haven't discussed how I can help him beyond our last conversation where he told me about Shay. “Yeah.”

He waits for me to take a seat on the couch before diving in. “I don't want to take your money, Dare.”

I shake my head slowly, focusing on Chase's face. His expression is intense, he's looking me straight in the eye, and I know there's no bullshit in his words. “Come again?”

He stands, pacing toward the massive stone fireplace and spins around to face me. His hands are clasped behind his neck. “I don't, Dare. I don't want to do this to you anymore. I can figure it out. I really just need your brain. Help me figure out how to help her, man.”

I nod, slowly. “I'm working on it, Chase. I promise. When you go back to Florida, it will be with a plan to get Shay away from that dickwad Chavez. Okay?”

He closes his eyes and blows out a harsh, anxious breath. “Okay.”

“Have you talked to her today? Is she doing okay?”

He shakes his head. “No, I haven't. I think she's hanging in there, but she's cautious. I don't get to talk to her that often. Only when Chavez is out and he hasn't yanked her along with him. Sometimes he has her running errands for him, and it's dangerous. I can't stand the way he uses her. It drive me up the goddamned wall.”

I nod sympathetically. I can picture losing my shit if some ruthless criminal had his hands on Berkeley. The thought ignites a fire inside me, sending me to a dark, dark place in my head I haven't been in a long time.

“What other…business ventures is Chavez involved in?” I ask suddenly. I lean forward, elbows on my knees, hands clasped in front of me. Something's struck me about Chase's situation, but I need more information in order to put the pieces together for the plan formulating in my brain.

Chase's hand comes up to scratch his temple thoughtfully. “Uh…other than the gambling? It's mostly that…but I think he also does some smuggling when he can get a big enough cut. It's not his main thing, it's more of a side hustle. Why?”

I nod, rubbing my palms together absently. “Just wondering. What kind of smuggling?”

Chase shrugs, lifting one shoulder into the air before dropping it and folding his arms across his chest. “Drugs. Pills. The high-dollar stuff that suburban housewives trip out on.”

“So, it seems like our friend Chavez doesn't like to get his hands too dirty. He deals with pretty light stuff, considering.”

Chase snorts. “Considering what?”

“Considering it could be worse. You think he's capable of putting someone in the ground?”

Chase narrowed his eyes. “You think I want to take the chance? Not when Shay's in there with him.”

I nod. “Yeah. I get that. I think we can set him up, somehow. Make him an offer that he can't refuse, something that will end up with him a lot richer if he does what we say. We just need to work out the details.”

Chase nods slowly, pushing up off the stone behind him and walking to the middle of the room. He stops directly in front of the couch, the beginning of a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah. I think we can do that.”

I stand. “I gotta go shower real quick. I'm supposed to pick up Berkeley at work.”

Chase nods. “Yeah, man. Thanks for listening. See you.”

I clap him on the shoulder as I slide past him on my way to the bathroom. “I've got you, Chase. Don't worry.”

After I've showered and dressed in jeans and a white tee, I nod to Chase on my way out the door. In the driveway, Drake is pulling in as I open my truck door.

“All set for tonight?” he asks, smirking.

I've told him some of what I have planned for Berkeley, and the twinkle in his eyes lets me know that I'm going to end up wishing I hadn't said a thing.

“Yeah,” I say warily. “Are you jealous? Because if you are, Drake, you can come. I'm sure Berkeley doesn't mind sharing me.”

He shakes his head. “I'm good. Get out of here.”

He bumps my fist as he walks by my truck door.

The entire drive to get Berkeley from See Food, I'm in my own head. I'm practicing for every scenario. What will I do if my guy didn't set up everything according to my strict instructions? What will I do if Berkeley hates the whole thing? I plan for every contingency. That's who I am. That's who I've been trained to be.

And that's how I keep a chokehold on the control of my life.

Better than anyone, I know that's borderline fucked-up. If I could help it, I would. In this case, I'm hoping it earns me points. Serious, sexy, brownie points with Berkeley.

When I pull up in front of the restaurant, she comes running out the front door. I smile, opening my truck door.

“I was coming in to get you,” I point out as I walk toward her.

I grunt as she slams into me, her arms winding around my neck. When I look down at her, her caramel eyes are bright and her dimples are denting her cheeks. Damn. She's pressed against me in every place that matters, and her body is so plush, all I want to do is squeeze. Then I mentally punch myself. Because her lips are moving and I'm not hearing a word.

“I'm so happy to see you.” She breathes, her sweet-smelling breath tickling my chin.

Cupping her face, I gaze down at her, a complete and utter goner, and return her smile. “Yeah? I like it when you show me how happy you are by tackling me. Very effective. Genius, even.”

She giggles softly, blowing the chunk of hair out of her eye. “Genius? You're admitting that in our little duo, I'm the smart one?”

I nod. “I'm admitting that you are definitely the smart one. And I'm the one who's about to blow your mind in a few minutes.”

She pulls back, and I grumble inwardly about the loss of flush body contact. I slide my hands down to her hips and pull her back against me.
Much better.

“Blow my mind? Are you sure?” Her forehead breaks into those wrinkles I love. “That's placing very high standards on my reaction to whatever surprise you have in store for me this evening, Dare. My mind is not easily blown.”

Releasing her hips, I smirk and clasp her hand, pulling her around to the passenger side of my truck. “That sounds suspiciously like a dare.”

As I place her on her seat, she reaches for her seat belt. Just before I close the door, she grabs my collar and pulls me until I'm millimeters from her full lips. She brushes them, like the sweetest whisper, against mine. Then she groans softly.

She releases me, and slams the door.

Groaning loudly, I head to my side of the truck.

She just undid me.

I've been trying so hard to tell myself that I'm taking time to get to know Berkeley, to learn about her and spend time with her. I'm not trying to fall in love with her. But then she goes and does something ridiculously sexy and cute, which shouldn't even be a legal combination.

And I slip just a little further off the steep incline that leads to certain doom.

She's wearing a very self-satisfied little smile when I climb in on the driver's side. I remind myself that she can be as righteous as she wants right now. Because wait till she sees what we're doing tonight.

Or rather, what she's doing tonight.

We drive to the trendy, artsy section of town that's just past the cushy boutiques and restaurants and just before you enter the warehouse district. After I park the truck, I lead her into a coffee shop with a
CLOSED
sign on the door.

Inside, the rich aroma of coffee beans swirls around us. The place has a Bohemian feeling that you can only achieve with a free-spirited approach to décor. It's colorful, with a youthful vibe that sings to people in their early twenties. The chairs and tables are an eclectic mix of iron, colored wood, and wicker. Contemporary-inspired artwork adorns the walls in a variety of forms, from a dog wearing a straw hat to a coffee mug amid a strikingly colorful background.

Berkeley's gaze swings around, her eyes piquing with interest. “You realize the sign on the door said ‘closed,' right?”

I nod, taking her hand tightly in mine and leading her to the iron stairwell. “I know. But I know people that know people. There's a loft space upstairs I want to show you. Come on.”

She allows me to tug her up the ultramodern spiral staircase, her eyes soaking in the paintings surrounding us. “My God. These are beautiful.”

“Thank you,” an answering voice offers when we reach the top. The man standing there is in his mid-thirties, with long, blond hair secured off his face in a ponytail. He's dressed in jeans and a T-shirt splattered with color, and his feet are bare. He holds out a hand to Berkeley after nodding at me.

“I'm Thomas Callo,” he introduces himself. “I'm the artist of said ‘beautiful' art, and the owner of the coffee shop downstairs.”

Berkeley smiles warmly at him. “Berkeley Holtz. It's nice to meet you.”

He returns her smile, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you, Berkeley. Your boyfriend here”—he indicates me with a sweep of his hand, and I quickly glance at Berkeley at the mention of the
B
word—“has arranged an evening here for you.” He gestures behind him, and I take Berkeley's hand and lead her around Thomas.

There's a small, round table laden with hors d'oeuvres that I hoped Berkeley would love. Little crepes filled with cream cheese, mini-crab cakes, shrimp on toast. I tried to give her plenty of choices from the sea, because I know that's what she loves. Her eyes widen as she takes in the table of food, and the bottle of white wine breathing right beside the plates. Two glasses stand beside it.

“Holy shit,” she gasps, her eyes wide.

I smile. I like that reaction. At lease I think I do, unless I have the meaning of “holy shit” completely wrong. Women are complicated. She could very well be saying “Holy shit, I hate this!” Scowling at the thought, I watch Berkeley's face carefully.

A few feet away from the table stands an easel with a blank canvas. A wooden stool waits for Berkeley to take her seat.

She turns from the food and spots the easel. She stills.

“Dare?” she asks, her voice low and raw as she turns toward me.

Thomas drops a hand on my shoulder as he retreats. “I'll leave you to it. Be downstairs when you're finished.”

I nod, keeping my eyes glued to Berkeley's face as I move toward her. “That day at the university…I saw your face when you looked at your paintings. You missed them. You miss”—I gesture toward the easel—“this. I wanted to put it back into your life. So, until we find you your very own place to paint, Thomas says you can paint here. And he'll store them for you, too. He owns the gallery next door.”

Her eyes are alight as she stares at me, two big, shining pools of pure happiness. She blinks rapidly once, twice, and then swipes a finger under her eye. “I can't believe you did this for me,” she whispers. “No one's ever…I mean, no one understands…”

I reach out and pull her across the remaining distance between us. I look down into her eyes, using my thumb to brush away the line of water cascading from her eyes. “I understand.”

“You do, don't you?” Her voice is filled with wonder. “You're amazing, Dare.”

I nod. “I know.”

She half laughs, half sobs. “Cocky.”

“Confident?”

She shakes her head and looks again at the easel. “I wanna paint now.”

“You don't want to eat first?” My stomach rumbles as I say it, giving away the selfishness behind my question.

She grins. “You eat. I'll paint, then I'll eat. You can pour me a glass of wine, though.”

I nod, liking this plan. “Okay.”

Joy radiates through me, starting in my chest, as I watch her settle herself on the stool. Her black shorts barely cover her ass when she sits down, the fabric riding up her thigh. I gulp, and then I look away. I will not distract her while she paints. No matter what kind of fire she sets to my body just by breathing in the same room I'm in.

I bring her the glass of pinot, then hastily retreat. I don't trust myself to stand next to her for too long. But the beaming smile she gives me before I walk away sends my heart thumping in my chest and I can't help but grin as I fix myself a plate.

Then I sit down, facing where she sits behind the easel, and wait for my girl to finish her painting.