The Reasons to Stay (Harlequin Superromance) (9 page)

She moaned and ran a hand through her hair. When had that happened? Why? She’d been soaring through life. Light, free.

Except for the past.

She’d always believed she’d left the past in her rearview mirror. But she’d been wrong. It was still there, stuck like bubble gum to the bottom of her shoe. The past was stretchy and sticky. And not going away.

She stuffed her seared hands in her front pockets.

Long ago she’d learned not to expect the truth from outsiders, but she’d always demanded it of herself. Today it was time for some truth.

She saw herself in Nacho. He may only be half her blood brother but they had the same upbringing. It wasn’t much, but seeing her childhood though his eyes, Priss was able to remember that it wasn’t
all
bad. That is, until Social Services had “saved” her from her life and thrown her to the wolves.

And leaving Nacho to that fate would have been like throwing
herself
to the wolves. She may be tough, but she wasn’t tough enough to do that.

* * *

A
DAM
STOOD
BY
the garbage bins out back, trapped. He’d just tossed some empty boxes in when the Caddy roared around the corner. Before he could make himself known, the yelling had commenced. He couldn’t very well whistle his way through the alley, pretending to be oblivious. So he stayed where he was while they went at each other like rabid dogs.

The back door slammed against the wall when Nacho barreled through. He caught a glimpse of him tearing up the stairs before the door fell closed again.

Jesus.

He should feel smug, seeing Priss dangle on the other end of a lie of omission. But he didn’t. He had a half-baked urge to comfort her.

He sneaked a look around the edge of the Dumpster. She leaned against the car, head hanging—the picture of defeat.

He took a step, then stopped. She’d rip skin off him for having witnessed that. He may not know much about Priss, but he knew pride was a big chunk of what powered that little dynamo.

Like a burrowing animal, empathy opened a hollow space in his chest. She looked so worn down. Clearly she’d taken on too much when she took in that hot mess in tennis shoes. She wasn’t obligated to, either—she didn’t even know the kid a month ago. No one would have expected it of her.

Then the empty space in his chest filled with something like admiration. That was one brave lady. Even a guy who had none could recognize courage when he saw it. And Priss’s combination of courage and vulnerability pulled at him. He wanted to help even though he knew she wouldn’t want anyone to see her like this.

Jesus, Preston. You’re afraid of heights, flying and just about anything slightly dangerous. Are you afraid of that tiny little bit of a woman, too?

Yep, I am.
That
little bit of a woman
stood firmly under the heading
dangerous.

But still, he couldn’t just leave. She may not welcome help, but she needed it.

Oh, man, just don’t let me say the wrong thing. Whatever the hell that might be.
He took a deep breath, carefully arranged his features to blandness and strode across the alley to her.

When she looked up, he pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it to her.

“I’m not crying.” She took it, sniffed and wiped her eyes.

He shoved his hands deeper into his back pockets to keep from doing something stupid, like putting his arms around her. “Okay.”

“I’m not.” She blew her nose then straightened. Her chin went up. “When I get really pissed, this happens. It’s like a cough—involuntary.”

“I get that.”

She started to hand over the dirty handkerchief, but after glancing at it, stuck it in her back pocket. “I suppose it’s too much to ask that you didn’t hear all that.”

“I heard.” The tenderness in his voice brought her head up. He fisted his hands in his pockets to keep from touching her arm. He knew Priss wouldn’t welcome what she’d only see as pity. “You know he’s testing you, right?”

She snorted. “Testing my sanity.”

“No. He’s afraid. He’s testing to see if he can trust you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How would you know? You don’t have kids.”

“Maybe not, but I was a kid once. I can recognize a frightened boy when I see one.”

She studied his face. Adam knew she was deciding if she could trust
him
.

“Look, he’s just lost his mom. They took him to a group home, and I can’t even begin to imagine what that was like. You came to the rescue, but even though you’re blood, you’re still a virtual stranger. I’ve gotta think in his shoes—I’d be pissed, confused and acting out, too.”

He shrugged and put his hands out, palm up. “What do you think?”

She cocked her head and watched him. “I think you’re a nice guy.”

He looked away. “Sometimes it’s easier to see things when you’re not in the middle of it.”

“Is that why you live like you do?”

A lightning-bolt warning zipped through him. “What do you mean?” It was a knee-jerk question, but it was out. He couldn’t take it back.

“I don’t know you well, and I could be full of crap but—”

“But what?”

“You stand outside of life, looking in—like you’re a bystander. You watch people living out their messy lives but you don’t get any of the dirt on you.” She was still looking up at him, considering. “Why do you do that?”

Her concentration made him squirm. When he realized he was toeing the asphalt like a chastised child, he made himself stop. But he couldn’t make himself look at her.

“Hey.” Her hand touched his arm. “I just open my mouth and shit falls out. I don’t mean anything by it.”

Reaching into the car, she grabbed her purse and a square of white apron with long tie strings. “I’d better get upstairs.” She tossed the purse strap over her shoulder.

Apparently they’d both learned something today. He watched her walk away to go deal with Nacho, her small shoulders squared.

He’d taken the easiest path possible in life. Today he’d met someone who’d taken the hardest. If he hadn’t failed all those years ago, would it have made all the difference?

* * *

P
RISS
’
S
HEART
SETTLED
as she climbed the stairs to the apartment. Talking to Adam had given her an idea—a new direction that could guide her through this dizzying parenting maze.

But the conversation also left her unsettled, as if Adam had jostled something, buried deep. An unnamed emotion stirred, as if awakened. She stepped softly, to lull it back to sleep.

Adam had acted like he really cared. His dark eyes seemed to hold compassion and he’d stood close, as if he wanted to reach out, to touch her.

Taking the last step to the landing, she slung off the soft thought. He’d made it clear from the start that she was—inappropriate.
God, she hated that word.

This wasn’t her first rodeo. If a guy like that acted all sweet, he probably just wanted one thing from her.

She’d think about that later. She strode the hall to her apartment door. Right now, she had more pressing issues. The Good Cop routine had been an epic fail. It was time for the Bad Cop. She took a deep breath, turned the knob and walked in, kicking the door shut with her heel.

Nacho lay sprawled on the couch, his arm over his eyes.

She tightened the muscles in her chest to shield her heart and prepared to wade into battle for the second time today. “Let’s finish this.”

He didn’t move.

“Oh, you’re not talking? Good, because you don’t need your mouth in order to listen.” She strode to the couch, lifted his feet off it and hung them over the edge.

At her touch, he bolted upright.

“Show a little respect. This is a nice place—no feet on the couch.”

A flash of genuine worry shone in his Nacho’s eyes before the tough-kid mask fell into place.

She stood over him. “I tried to be the kind of parent that I wish I’d had. But I can see now that was wrong.” She lowered herself onto the other end of the couch. “I’ve got to be the kind of parent you need. And kid, you need discipline.”

“I had a parent. I never asked for another one,” he muttered under his breath.

“You’re grounded. For how long will depend on your behavior. I’m calling here every afternoon at three-thirty and if you’re not here to answer the phone, I guarantee you won’t like what happens next.” She paused to be sure that soaked in. “Homework is to be done by the time I get home. If you need help with anything, we’ll work on it after dinner. And from now on, you’re reading to
me
every night.”

His lips thinned. A storm gathered in her brother’s dark eyes.

Oh, God, not again. I can’t handle another scream-fest today.
But they’d be right back where they started if she didn’t get control. Like now. She pushed down the dread and grabbed a fistful of grit.

“I know you’ll have plenty of time for all this, because as soon as I can arrange it, we’ll no longer have a TV. We’re hauling it out of here.”

“What?” Nacho’s cry of shock and outrage echoed off the high ceilings. “Am I grounded forever? What are we going to do for a TV after that?”

“Welcome to the real world, kid. I have to pay to have your ‘artwork’ removed. And you will have to repay me.” She watched thoughts flicker across his face, knowing he was searching for an angle, a way out. “You have no money. You can’t get a job. But if we lose the TV, I don’t have to pay for cable anymore. I’m willing to put that toward what you owe me.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’d rather read than watch TV anyway.”

She waited. Nacho would consider his options, then choose: running away, Social Services or her. And probably none of those options looked good to him. But she was betting that he’d see her as the least of the evils. At least she was hoping he would.

He opened his mouth, then closed it to a thin line of displeasure.

She released the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, then took another deep one. “Now, spill. Who gave you the paint?”

His eyes cut away. “I bought it.”

“You had no money, even if a store would sell spray paint to a kid, which they won’t. And don’t tell me you stole it. The cop told me the break-in at the paint store was three weeks ago. You were in the group home then.”

Silence.

“Who was it?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You can’t make me tell.”

She guessed he wouldn’t offer up the thief, but she’d had to try. “Street rules” hadn’t changed since she was a kid. If things went down, you took the hit. Ratting may get you out of grown-up trouble but worse awaited you in the hallways. Kids didn’t have sentencing limits like grown-ups did. Your debt was never paid in that society.

She, of all people, knew that.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

His body slackened just a bit.

“But tomorrow you and I are going to the warehouse and you’re going to apologize to the owners, then to the paint shop.”

He winced. “But I didn’t—”

“I know you didn’t steal the paint, but you took stolen property. That’s part of the price you pay, dude.” She walked away, but halfway to the bedroom it hit her—he hadn’t agreed. She wasn’t having another mess like the last time. She looked back at him. “So we’ll head out when I get home, right?”

“Yeah.” The word came out battered, defeated. He threw his arm over his eyes.

She walked into her bedroom and closed the door. They both needed time to think. But first, she had a phone call to make. She sat on the edge of the bed and dialed.

“Bar None.” Floyd barked.

“It’s Priss.”

“What the hell’s wrong with you? You leave midshift? If I wouldn’t be screwing myself, the only view you’d get of this place would be from the other side of the bar.”

“I didn’t have a choice. I had an emergency. Gaby—”

“Gaby doesn’t know which end of a goddamn beer bottle to open, ferchrssake!”

Wincing, she pulled the phone a few inches from her ear. “I didn’t leave midshift. I only had a half hour left.” She thought about telling him what had happened. Surely he’d understand that she had no choice. But on the way to her mouth, the words hit a wall.

Screw Floyd. What happened in her family was none of his business. Nacho may be behaving like a loser, but Floyd wasn’t hearing it from her. “I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you want to hear?” God, she hated groveling. “Now, either fire me, or get your ass back to pouring.”

“Let’s see if you can manage to work a whole shift tomorrow.” His gravel cough was Floyd-speak for a chuckle.

She hung up and fell back onto the bed.
Jesus, what a day.
She’d dodged
that
hand grenade, but Nacho had better be done breaking laws because she was running out of moves.

* * *

P
RISS
LIFTED
HER
end of the TV, trying to get it over the lip of the elevator on the ground floor. “Come on, Nacho, you’re not helping.”

On his knees in the elevator, Nacho bent to push. “Making me help with my own punishment is just wrong. Arrrgh!”

The TV shot into the vestibule. Unbalanced, Priss fell on her ass and slid.

The door to the store opened. Adam stood in the doorframe, frowning. “Nacho, what the—what’s my TV doing here?”

Priss got to her feet, glaring at her charge. “Right, sorry—guess I should have run this by you first. Tell the man what’s going on, Nacho.”

“I’m grounded. Apparently forever because she’s getting rid of the TV.”

“You’re lucky that’s all you’re losing.” She dusted the back of her slacks. “Why don’t you wait for me in the car?”

Nacho mumbled something inaudible and slouched out the door to the alley.

She turned back to Adam and tried to catch her breath.

Superman.
In his double-breasted lab coat, with his strong-boned face and one brown curl falling onto his forehead, he looked like Clark Kent, right down to the dimple in his chin.

“When you want another TV, let me know. I meant to replace that before you moved in. I’ll get a big screen—”