Wherever It Leads (47 page)

Crew

The slush crunches beneath my boots, my breath billowing away from my body.

I bow my head deeper, pulling the hood of my sweatshirt out from under my jacket to cover more of my face. I toggle the paper sack in my other arm, hoping nothing spills out on the wet asphalt. Remnants of the last snow are piled beneath the trees and mound in the shadows of the large apartment complexes looming above.

The neighborhood is alive despite the bitter cold. People sit on the porches of their apartments and duplexes, some toking shit that sure as fuck isn’t tobacco. Smoke rolls from the chimneys of the few single family houses in the area. Most of them are dilapidated, nearly rotting to the ground.

I grit my teeth.

I hate that they live here.

The apartment comes into view. A wooden chair is placed at the right of the door, a faded red and yellow striped pillow sitting on it. The steps of the porch are piss-poor and I have to sidestep the second one. The right side has a gash splitting the wood and I’m pretty certain if I stepped on it, I would fall through. I grimace and make a note to call her landlord. Piece of shit might not give two fucks about this place now, but he will.

I’ll make sure of it.

I bang against the door with my knuckle. It is a cold fucking day, even for Boston at the end of February. It made for a long day unloading cargo at the shipyard. The afternoon warmed a little, but now that the sun is going down, the chill is biting through my Carhartt jacket. I bring my hands to my mouth and rub them together, blowing on them to warm them up.

I knock again, getting impatient. I hear music playing on the other side of the wood, the John Mayer stuff she’s always loved.

A loud commotion, something like a piece of wood smashing something followed by a scream, comes from the apartment next door. Cold and irritated, I turn the handle to give it a flick, thinking the jingle will make her give in and open it. My jaw tenses when it begins to swing free. A chip of paint from the door falls to the tile below.

What the hell is she thinking?

I walk in, brushing the hood off my head and scan the kitchen. The music is playing from her phone on the counter and a pot of something bubbles on the old gas stove. I notice that she’s got a sink full of dishes, which isn’t like her. She’s normally spot-on when it comes to details, taking care of everything she can control. It can be annoying as hell, but I figure it’s some kind of reaction to all the shit she’s
not
able to control in her life.

I plop the bag down on the table, rattling the basket of apples that sat upon it. When she comes around the corner, her brown eyes go wide as she grabs at the doorframe, obviously not expecting me.

“Damn it, Crew!” Julia says, clutching her chest with one hand. Her shoulders relax and a small sigh escapes her lips. I’m cautiously optimistic that maybe she’s relieved to see me, but it’s short-lived.

She throws her shoulders back and narrows her eyes. I don’t know exactly what effect it was supposed to have on me, but it’s a good thing I don’t really care.

“Lock your fucking door,” I growl, returning her glare. “You’re lucky it’s me and not some asshole from one of the apartments across the street.”

“Lucky it’s you.” Sarcasm is thick in her voice as she shakes her head, her long black locks swinging side-to-side. She walks toward the stove and shuts off the music.

I crack the paper bag with the back of my hand, making her flinch. “I brought you some stuff.”

“Stop bringing me
stuff
.”

She keeps her back to me, picking up a lid and slamming it on a pot. I know she’s not happy to see me because she never is.

Tough shit.

“Where’s the monkey?” I ask.

“In the living room.”

Her words come out flat, but I’m used to it. I don’t expect anything more from her.

I can’t.

“Everleigh! Come here, baby girl,” she calls.

It’s such a natural thing, a mother calling her kid in for supper. It seems like just a normal part of an ordinary life. But I know the truth.

Appearances can be deceiving, but I enjoy the moment of deception. I’ll take what I can get.

A few seconds later, the sound of little feet come running into the kitchen. “Uncle Crew!”

I kneel on one knee as she runs to me, her black hair flowing behind her.

“Uncle Crew!” she yells again and falls wildly in my arms, nuzzling her face into my cold jacket. I grab the zipper and yank it down, afraid the frozen metal will sting her little face.

My lips find her forehead as she wraps her arms around me. I hold her close, brushing back her hair, breathing in the smell of bubble gum that I’ve come to associate with my little niece. “How are ya, monkey?”

“I’m good,” she giggles, pulling back and looking at me expectantly. “Did you bring me something?”

“Everleigh Nicole!” Julia reprimands her. “Have some manners!”

“But it’s
Uncle Crew.
” She bats her eyelashes at her mother, who rolls her eyes in response. “You did bring me something, didn’t ya?” She looks at me again, a grin splitting her cheeks.

I could never say no to this kid. She could ask me for the fuckin’ moon and I’d figure out a way to get it.

“Come on. You know I brought ya something.”

Everleigh giggles and bounces up and down, her arms folded across the front of her Tinkerbell shirt. I reach in the bag and fish through the groceries and pull out a coloring book and a box of crayons. I really have no idea what the pictures are about, but it’s the only one they had at the store.

“Yay!” she squeals, holding them up in the air so Julia can see them. “Thank you! I’ll color you something beautiful and you can hang it at your house.”

“You’re welcome.” I hold her gaze and give her a little nod to let her know our routine was still on. She tries to wink at me, but both eyes just flutter a few times. It takes everything I have not to laugh.

As soon as Julia turns her back, I slip her a banana Laffy Taffy and she kisses my cheek. She does her best sneaky walk back into the living room to avoid being caught with candy before supper.

I watch her go. Her long dark hair, just like her mother’s, almost touches her waist. She’s so much like Julia. She has the same heart-shaped face with high cheekbones, and the same graceful way about her.

Even so, there is so much about Everleigh that is like my brother. She’s tall, like Gage, towering over most of her five-year-old friends. Her eyes are the same color, like the sky over the harbor on a really clear day. But the thing about my niece that reminds me most of my brother is her soul. Just like Gage, Ever is wise beyond her years. She’s ridiculously smart and more mature than I probably was until I was in my twenties.

My brother loved her so damn much.

I release a sigh and lean against the battered refrigerator and feel it settle against my weight.

Julia ignores me, working at the stove. She’s tied her hair back and I can see the stress in her shoulders, her posture defiant. She used to look that way in high school when she’d come to the house after a fight with her asshole parents. I hate seeing it now as much as I hated seeing it then. The only difference is now I have no one to blame but myself.

“You okay?” I ask, wondering if she will even respond to me. Sometimes she does. Sometimes she doesn’t.

It’s been a long two years since our worlds fell apart, but we’ve come to some sort of unspoken understanding. I’ve accepted that she’s gonna hate me for the rest of her life. She’s accepted that I won’t go away. We’ve made some progress over time. She doesn’t threaten me with a restraining order anymore. I don’t get pissed at her refusal to cooperate. I just do what I’m going to do and she huffs but accepts it. Progress.

“Jules?” I ask again, watching her warily. I normally don’t press, just drop off what I have and dash. Today, though, she seems more beaten down. I know she’s probably missing him this week even more than usual, because I am, too. That makes me want to go get a drink, but I can’t leave her without making sure she’s all right. I owe her that much. “You okay?”

I see her set the spoon down and bow her head, and I brace myself for the unknown.

“Peachy.”

Her voice is so low that I can almost not even hear her. She grasps onto the counter on either side of the stove and doesn’t move.

I chew on my lip and watch her, wait on her to give me some indication as to what she’s thinking. She gives me nothing to go on. “Need anything?”

“No, Crew,” she said, whirling around on her heel, “I don’t.” Her eyes are on fire, blazing with some emotion I can’t pinpoint. “And I didn’t need my tires changed this morning either.”

“What are ya talkin’ about?” I ask, feigning ignorance. I know she’s gonna bust my balls, but it’s not like I had a choice. I couldn’t take the chance of her driving Everleigh around on the roads with bald tires.

“So you didn’t send Will to my office this morning to get my car? Nice of him to ask for my keys in front of half the department. Well played. How was I supposed to argue with him without causing a damn scene?”

I shrug.

“Stop doing this.
Please.
I can take care of myself.”

We have a standoff, our gazes having the conversation neither of us wants to have. She’s telling me she’s not the little girl I once knew. But it’s not like I don’t know that. She might’ve grown up, but the woman she’s turned into has a helluva lot to do with the decisions
I’ve
made.

There are so many mother fucking things I’d change if I could figure out how.

But I can’t.

“How is she?” I ask with a nod to the living room, trying to change the topic.

Julia sighs, exhaustion flashing across her face. “She’s okay. She wasn’t feeling good this morning, so she stayed with Mrs. Bennett.”

“Olivia? The neighbor lady?”

“Yes. She seems better tonight, though.” She gives me a hint of a smile before her gaze drops to the floor. “Ever loves when you come by, so I’m sure she’ll be happy tonight.
She
likes you.”

The insinuation smacks me hard in the chest.

“She’s been missing him a lot lately.”

Our conversations don’t normally make it to discussing Gage unless we’re already arguing. The fact that she just brought it up shocks me and I’m not comfortable with it. I don’t know how to take it. I feel my jaw pulse with frustration and scramble to change the subject again. “Why is it so chilly in here?”

Julia’s smile disappears and she tugs her sweatshirt nervously. “I didn’t know it was.”

“How can you possibly not know?” I start to the thermostat across the room when she clears her throat.

“The heater isn’t working right. I asked my landlord to come by and look at it earlier this week.”

“And he hasn’t been here yet?” I shoot her a look and she shakes her head. “He’ll be here tonight.” I dig my cell out of my pocket.

“Crew, don’t.
Please
. The last time you called my landlord he was a complete jerk to me for a couple of months. I just got on good terms with him again.”

I scroll through my contacts list, looking for his name.

“Crew . . .” I know her doe-eyes are pleading with me. I also know if I look up at her, I’ll be somewhat inclined to give in.

So I don’t.

LAST CALL by STACI HART

MEOW

Rose

MY BREATH CAME IN BURSTS, heart pounding as Patrick’s long body pressed me into the bed. There wasn’t an inch between us—we were a tangle of arms and legs, lips and hands, and any will I had to stop him was long gone. I didn’t care that I should. I didn’t care about anything, not with his fingers stroking my skin like a match, trailing heat in their wake.

He was even better than I remembered.

I opened my heavy lids when he backed away to pull off his shirt, taking a quick second to catch my breath as I skimmed my fingers down his tattooed chest, my eyes roaming over the art that covered every inch of his skin as he watched. It was his soul laid bare—the good and the bad, the happy and sad, all chronicled in black ink so he could remember. As if he could ever forget.

It was a sight I’d missed more than I’d ever confess.

He bent to kiss me, breathing until his breath was mine and mine was his. It was fevered, frantic—my hand against the sharp angle of his jaw, his lips hard, my eyes pinned shut—erasing everything that had happened between us. As if it had never happened.

Patrick broke away to kiss my neck just as a black cat jumped on the bed, and I glanced over with bleary eyes to meet the cat’s. He meowed, teeth like tiny white needles against the jet black of his fur.

Patrick didn’t stop or seem to notice. His hands slipped up my thighs, tongue brushing my skin, wet lips closing, and my lids fluttered, a sigh slipping out of me as I twisted my fingers in his black hair.

An orange tabby hopped onto the bed and strutted across to sit next to the black one, tail twitching. He blinked at me and meowed.

“What the hell?” I muttered, confusion on my face as another one—this time smoke gray—found its way onto my bed, sat next to the others, looked right at me, and meowed like an absolute bastard.