Tough Enough (Tough Love Book 3)

by Trixie More

  “What happens to me in here...what I allow to happen to me here...is none of your business.” Even to his own ears, Doug’s words were cold. There was a reason he had risen so quickly in New York’s community of traders. It wasn’t because he was nice.

  Tommy grimaced and changed the subject. “It’s not easy holding this thing together, Doug.”

  Inside him, his gut roiled. What was Tommy saying? “Tell me.”

  “First of all, don’t be expecting to move back into your apartment for long when you get out.”

  Doug held still, trying to keep his face pleasant. “Tell me.”

  “I’m selling it.”

  Doug was proud of himself—he was still as dirt.

  “And?”

  Tommy exhaled, crossing his legs and looking more like himself. “I’m buying you a condo in the same building as me.” Tommy’s voice was hopeful; his foot bounced with his trademark energy. “I think it will be good for you when you get out. We’ll be closer, like when we started.”

  Doug nodded. In the beginning, they’d shared a loft, living on ramen noodles and beer. These days, Tommy lived in a nice enough place. Not as high flung as Doug’s but upscale. It would be fine there. “That sounds good.” Tommy’s face fell, and for the first time, Doug wondered if he should be more careful with Tommy’s feelings. They’d had a decade of hustle, growth and big wins. The last two years had been the opposite of that. His friend was exhausted.

  “You know that what you’ve done means the world to me, right?”

  Tommy looked away.

  “Is there something I can do?” Doug leaned forward, craning to see Tommy’s eyes.

  “Just get out of here on time,” said Tommy. He looked directly at Doug. “Get the hell out of here on time.”

  Doug forced himself to lean back despite the creeping fear. He’d given Tommy power of attorney, he could do anything he wanted with Doug’s holdings. Doug trusted Tommy with his life, his money, the means for supporting his family. Tommy would not deceive him. Doug forced himself to stay calm. “Why do you think you have to sell my place?”

  “Think? I know. There’s not much left, Doug.” Tommy looked away, and his voice failed him for a moment. “I mean, really, not much.”

  What did that mean? Not much, as in half of his twenty million? Not much, as in fifty dollars? “How much?”

  Tommy flushed. “About a tenth.”

  “One. Tenth.” Doug’s muscles were rigid. He could hardly speak, his jaw was so tense. He heard a cracking sound as his teeth clenched and then slid against each other. Two million. That was not good, not enough to support four women, any no-good lovers they picked up, Tommy and himself all into their golden years. Still, it was more than most people ever hoped for. “So two million?”

  Tommy shifted. “Three, for now, but I can’t break the lease.”

  “On?”

  “The space you rented for the company. That entire floor of windows overlooking Manhattan. I can’t break the lease, can’t find anyone to sublet. It’s sucking us dry.”

  “We need that space for the staff to work from. Just how many people do we now employ?”

  Tommy looked away.

  “Tommy?”

  “One.”

  “One?”

  “Yeah. Me.” His friend for twenty-five years looked him in the eye. “I’m your only employee, Doug.”

  Ben Connelly heard the downstairs door open. Sophia must be home. He tossed the sketch he was working on into the wire basket on the hefty worktable that consumed the bulk of the dining room that belonged to Derrick, Sophia’s brother. They were iron workers by trade, but they had a little robotics side hustle they collaborated on.

  “Hey, Rick!” he called.

  “Yeah.” Derrick’s voice floated down the hall. Ben’s boots hit the floor, and he headed to the door. “I’m headin’ out.”

  “See ya.”

  Ben let himself out of his friend’s apartment, walking to the landing. Above him, he could see Sophia.

  “Hey, pretty lady,” he said. “How was work?” He came up behind her, reaching around to hold the door for her with his palm. She slipped away from him, into their home.

  “Alright,” she said, disappearing down the hall. The old frustration welled up inside him, he could feel it like a balloon expanding behind his ribcage. He’d thought that it would be different. He’d thought that when Derrick had moved in with Allison and he finally had the place to himself, things with Sophia would just happen. And they had. She’d moved in. She’d said she loved him. But...and this was the thing...but she didn’t seem to be building anything here. They didn’t seem to be building anything together.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and watched the empty hallway for a minute. Well, if that was the case, maybe it was up to him to get it started. He wandered into their bedroom. She was sitting on the bed; her pale raincoat belted around her, face in her hands, long hair hanging over her shoulders.

  The bed sank under his weight as he sat next to her, letting his thigh rest against her slender leg. He gathered her hair in his hand, loving the silky slippery feel of it, remembering how it had been at the start, holding this glossy hair in his hands, kissing Sophia. He let the smooth darkness of it fall behind her.

  “Hey.” He put a hand gently on her wrist. “Hey.” For a moment, it felt real. She let him move her hands away from her face, and she turned into him as if it were natural, curling against his chest. Ben rocked her gently. “It’s okay, Soph. It’ll be okay.”

  In his arms, she shuddered. “I’m being promoted.”

  That stilled him.

  “That’s...terrible?”

  Against his T-shirt, she nodded. “I know!”

  Ben rested his chin on her cool hair, hating his uncertainty. If Sophia was upset, shouldn’t he just naturally understand why?

  In the kitchen, the refrigerator kicked on, the hum loud in the silence of their home. He could do this. It wasn’t hard; it didn’t have to be complicated. He tightened his arms around the woman he’d wanted since they were kids. She’d been beautiful and silly, all long limbs and bumpy elbows. He smiled.

  “Remember when you followed Derrick and me to the Renaissance Fair?” Wonder of wonders, she looked at him, her beautiful face unguarded for just a moment, eyes curious. Maybe it would be okay. “You borrowed your friend’s dress.”

  Her gaze traveled back and forth, searching his eyes. “Colleen’s dress.”

  “It was so short and so big on you at the same time.” He smiled at her.

  “I had to hold the front of the dress in my fist the whole day to keep it on my shoulders.”

  His heart ached. “I fell in love with you that day, you know.”

  In his arms, she stilled, turned her head away, and he knew he’d said the wrong thing. There was a part of him that wanted to smash something.

  “Because you were looking down my dress.”

  This again, she thought all he cared about was her looks. He was so sick of it.

  “No, Sophia. Because you wouldn’t let anything stop you when you set your mind to something.” His voice was flatter than he’d intended. Harsher. She was never going to believe he loved her. “Come on, I’ll make you some dinner.”

  A half hour later, she was changed into leggings and a big T-shirt, wandering around the living area. He poured her a glass of wine and put it on the counter between them. “You want to tell me why getting a promotion is such a horrible thing?” Ben turned back to the stove, reduced the heat under the vegetables and got himself a beer. In his dreams, she would say because it would be too much time away from him, but he’d been doing this long enough to know that wouldn’t be the answer. “You didn’t get moved to the organized crime division, I know that. You’d be over the moon if that was it.” He leaned his ass against the dishwasher. She was gorgeous in the light of the sunset coming through the windows. If he told her that, she’d see it as a mark against him.

  “No, but clos
e. They’re moving me to Manhattan—Cybercrime.”

  “That’s huge, Sophia.” He studied her. Ben didn’t keep tabs on the workings of the city law enforcement, but even he was aware New York had created a high profile task force. It was federal and state units combined, prosecutors, investigators, the works.

  She sighed. “I guess.”

  “You guess?” Oh no, he thought, suddenly understanding. For the love of Pete. “You can’t work George’s case if you’re in Cybercrime, can you?”

  Her lips twisted and curled in contempt. “Hashtag. Nailed it.”

  Christ.

  “You have to give it up, Sophia. George will come back, he’s fine.”

  “You don’t know that!”

  “Yeah, I do.” His voice was getting louder. They could not have a shouting match with her brother, Derrick, living downstairs. Ben forced his voice to soften. “His wife still gets texts from him.”

  Sophia wrapped her arms around her waist and turned her back on him.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe you’re doing this because you know I don’t want you messed up in it.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him, one deep brown eye peaking over at him.

  He continued. “You know, I said no, so you have to do it just to prove something.”

  “I’m trying to prove something, all right,” she muttered, almost to herself. “I’m trying to prove that the bad guys don’t get to run this city.” Her voice was climbing now, louder, higher. She slapped the window glass with her palm. “They don’t get to beat people up and firebomb their homes and get paid for it.” She made a fist and tapped it gently on the frame, the delicacy of the motion accentuating the simmering tension in her body. “What you think I should or shouldn’t be doing, has nothing to do with it.” She flattened her palm on the glass again. “I want to win.”

  “You can’t win, Soph. Why do you think we paid them off?”

  “Because you and Derrick and all of you are insane?” Her voice was edgy, the humor more of a weapon than a joke.

  “Because for them, it’s business. We paid. We’re done.” Why did she fight him on this?

  “It’s not done. George is missing. Missing, Ben. Gone.” Sophia turned and grabbed her wineglass, draining it. “If he’s so fine and good, how come Deb is raising their kids alone? How come she’s the only one getting texts?”

  Ben’s jaw tightened. He looked at the ceiling, anywhere but at Sophia.

  “What do you want from me, Sophia?” His voice was louder than he intended.

  She looked at him directly, her eyes unguarded for the moment. She blinked.

  “Nothing.” She said the words like ice on his skin. She turned back to the window. “Like I said, I just want to win.”

  “Look, Soph.” He came around behind her and wrapped his arms around her, his chest to her narrow back. He looked at their reflection in the window glass, two ghostly people, looking forward, wrapped together but floating away. “You’ve been working hard. You got a promotion, just not the one you wanted. Maybe you just need to regroup, give yourself some space to figure out your next move.” In his arms, he could feel the breath of her sigh move through her. Her face softened, just a bit, and she bent her arm, running her fingers over his forearm. “We should go away,” he said. “You and me, someplace fun. Las Vegas, maybe. Get a tan going, check the shows, get some desert warmth.” He tried to catch her eye. She glanced at him.

  “Yeah?” Her voice sounded a little open like he had a shot at this. He grabbed the idea and took it all the way to the end zone.

  “Yeah. We should. Absolutely.”

  “That might be good...” She hesitated. “I’m tired of fighting.”

  “Yeah, me too. Let’s do it. I’ll book the flight, we can go away.” She smiled, and he couldn’t help it. He went one yard too far. “Hell, it’s Las Vegas.” He gave her his best grin. “Who knows, maybe you can make an honest man out of me and we can get a head start on parenthood.” The vision hung there between them for a shining moment and then, she shut him down.

  “I can’t. I’ve got this promotion to think about.”

  Damn it. Why had he pushed?

  She turned away, heading to where her work bag was in the hall, and when she came back, he had their dinner on plates. The woman of his dreams ate hers on the couch, her laptop open and her fingers flying.

  At ten o’clock, he stood in the hallway, watching her.

  “You coming to bed, Soph?”

  She glanced up. “I’ll be awhile, I’ll sleep out here, so I don’t wake you.”

  What a crock of shit. She wasn’t worried about waking him, he’d bet the building on it. Ben tossed her a blanket and a pillow and made his way to bed. He couldn’t keep living like this.

  Chapter 3

  Some days Marley didn’t even notice the bench. Most days she got off the bus and headed away from Prospect Park, walked down Lincoln Road, taking in the feeling of the nice homes, some of them real houses like you might see in the country, stuck between the pretty duplexes. On Lincoln Road, she always felt proud that she kept her daughter so near a nice area. Most days she kept walking until she got to Rogers Avenue and then turned until she got to their apartment above the store that always changed. Sometimes, it was a nail place, sometimes something else. Nothing seemed to stick. Most days, Marley opened the little door at the street level and walked up to the tiny hallway where there were three apartments, all small, spread out over the shops below. Most days.

  It had been a long day at work. She’d finished at Allison’s Kitchen, rode the bus to Brooklyn, and then she’d gone straight to the Cuban bar in the other direction. Which meant she passed the bench at the entrance to Prospect Park just before ten p.m, on her way to the bar where she worked, and again, on her way back home. It was the second time that got her.

  The air wasn’t bad out; it was cool and fresh. She let herself sit on the bench even though it was after two thirty and only a crazy lady would sit around alone by the park at this time of night. Marley stood back up; the concrete was too cold anyway. Plus, she wasn’t nuts. She didn’t walk away though. Instead, she searched the back of the bench until she felt it. A heart, scratched in the concrete, the initials MA inside it. Marley Araya. The concrete was rough under her fingers and who knew if it was still there; she was trying to see a day that was long ago, trying to find a memory in scratchings here in the dark. She brushed her fingers back and forth. He’d etched it there while they sat. That night it had been warm, and she’d had a pretty sundress on, flat sandals to walk home in and a bit too much to drink at Mastrelo’s. In the moonlight, Marley smiled and crossed her arms, turning to walk home, but taking the memory with her.

  As she crossed Flatbush Avenue, she was years away, back before Karito was born, when she’d been a young waitress at the best Italian restaurant in Midtown. That night, so long ago, she’d waited on Doug Lloyd. Of course, she’d been happy, he was so rich back then. He’d given her a tip that was more than the cost of the meal he ate. A crisp one-hundred-dollar bill, so new, it seemed that it had been pressed and starched. She’d felt special, flirty, and after the restaurant closed, she’d bought all the waitresses a round of drinks, intending to share her good fortune. Even better, Rose and Angelo told everyone it was on the house and they gave her the nice fresh money back. Then her friend Sophia had slipped her a fireball shot and Marley had downed it, loving the cinnamon taste. One more fireball and she was satisfied and happy, a bit buzzy in the head and it was time to head home. He was waiting for Marley outside, startling her. Her left leg swung wide and crossed in front of her right, making her stagger a bit sideways as she adjusted her stride.

  “Whoa there,” he’d said. His teeth were white, white, white and his hair, diay, she’d always loved the color of it.

  “I am not a horse,” she’d said.

  “That’s okay,” he’d said. “I don’t like to play pony.”

  That had confused her. She had looked
it up later and almost spit her coffee across the table, but that night, she didn’t know he was being fresh.

  “Humph,” she’d said. “Where’s your friends?” He’d eaten dinner with his normal party of people that night, but now he was alone. To her horror, the question came out more like ‘werz yer frenssss?’ She’d been more buzzed than she’d thought.

  “How about I walk you to...where are you going?” He’d leaned down and looked her in the eyes, gentle concern showing there. Oh, how she remembered that night. Her whole body had been warm and cozy. Her heart had pattered in her chest and she’d been one breath away from a swoon. He was looking at her. Oh, she knew he looked at her. He always let his eyes go astray when he was around her, but he was also always a gentleman. That combination of male attention and restraint did her in. When he took her arm and walked her to the bus, she let herself melt against him.

  Nothing could be less romantic than the bus to Brooklyn, with its worn seats and the trio of neighborhood roughs in the back, the bright fluorescent lights exposing all the grime as the doors folded back, but that night, it was magic. He’d looked at the trio of young men from the neighborhood and set his jaw, boarding the bus behind her.

  She’d protested, telling him no, she’d be fine and trying to push him back, but all that did was let her put her hands on his chest. She’d stood there like she was looking at a movie star until the driver told her to keep going. He sat next to her, his arm around her shoulders and they’d talked. He told her he dreamed of a family. He was old-fashioned at heart, like her, and it felt good to tell him that she wanted to be a mother someday. In a perfect life, she would get to spend all her time with her babies, she would make a good home for them and have everything nice when her husband came home. She knew it was silly. That’s not the way the world worked in her neighborhood. She rushed to assure him that she could work hard, mucho brete. If her family needed her to, she would. Of course.