Unbreakable Hearts

by Harper Bentley

  Hank chuckled. “Sounds like your typical stool pigeon, always popping off at the mouth.”

  “Tell me. Riding five hours with the little prick was enough to warn me off having children. Ever.”

  Hank snorted. “Now, son, you can’t make that judgment off that experience alone. Just remember: when they’re yours, you can bust their little asses. Skips? Gotta keep ‘em clean for the cops to accept. And what fun is that?”

  It was Oz’s turn to snort then.

  “So, got another for you,”

  “Yeah?” Oz asked waiting to hear about his newest assignment.

  “Alleged rapist. Thinking he’ll be armed. Last I heard, he was heading down to Philly, Strawberry Mansion area, so be warned. Old girlfriend there, a Chloe Franklin. I’ll get you the guy’s mother’s address before you leave. I’ll have to do some digging for the girlfriend’s.”

  Gunner Murphy stuck his head in the office just then. “What’s up, Oz?” he asked with a grin.

  “Nada. Heading to Philly. Strawberry Mansion,” Oz answered.

  Gunner’s brilliant blue eyes seemed to glitter over his smirk when he replied, “Nice. Make sure to wear neutral gang colors. And a bullet proof.” He chuckled.

  “Funny,” Oz said with his own smirk as he scratched his nose with his middle finger making Gunner laugh.

  Gunner was Hank Murphy’s son who’d flown choppers in the Army before coming to work for his dad. Oz was glad to see Gun finally relaxing and joking around some now. While enlisted, he’d been in on a special ops assignment that’d gone FUBAR, and several of the soldiers in his company had been killed, one of who’d been his best friend. Oz had just started working at CEP when Gunner’s enlistment had ended and he’d signed on with his father’s company, and it hadn’t been pretty. He’d heard Gunner was normally pretty quiet, but during that first year he’d worked there, it seemed that everything triggered Gunner’s anger causing some major riffs between him and his father and pretty much anyone who accidentally stepped into his path. Hank had gotten his son into some deep counseling, and Gunner’d seemed to relax more after learning how to deal with what’d happened on his last mission. After that, things had settled down and the company had since benefited from his presence.

  Oz understood Gunner’s situation more than he cared to admit, having been an enlisted man himself. As a former Army Ranger, he’d lost two good buddies of his own when an IED had gone off under their Humvee blowing the son of a bitch to kingdom come. It’d damn near taken off Oz’s right arm, but regardless, he’d managed to carry several of the guys who’d been inside to safety before realizing his damned arm had been practically dangling from his body by a ligament. The surgeons had been able to reattach it, and after some serious physical therapy, he’d gotten back out in the field. But when his time was out, so was he. He’d ended up back in Brooklyn not knowing what he’d do next until he ran into Brock Wilse, a friend of his from high school, who worked for CEP. Brock got him an interview, and the rest, as they say, was history.

  Before Gunner left the office, he informed his dad that he was off for the evening at which Hank nodded. Gunner let Oz know that he had a razor with his name on it, making fun of the goatee Oz had been growing in for winter. Oz answered him by running his hand over it and flipping him the bird again which made Gunner grin as he shook his head. After Gunner was gone, Hank found what he was looking for in his notes and wrote out the address of the skip’s girlfriend, handing it to Oz, telling him he’d get him a work address later and to be careful in Philly.

  ***

  These are perfect. Frigid bitch thinks she’s the only one who can get good candids. Proved her wrong this time, Doug thought as he scowled at his computer screen, pulling up the pictures he’d shot of the bank president the day before. He opened an email, attaching several of the better photos, addressed to the media sources that’d already paid, then after writing a brief message hit “send” before slamming his laptop shut.

  He was so angry these days and he knew exactly the reason why: Tilly Maxwell, aka, his former lover.

  They’d been together for two years, but over the past several months, she’d withdrawn from him and he missed her. He knew he’d scared her off when he’d casually mentioned on his last birthday that since he was now thirty-six, he probably should get a little more serious about settling down and starting a family. And she’d run like hell.

  Damn it. He’d known better than that. He knew her background. Knew her take on relationships, but he’d stupidly let himself fall for her, and he’d thought maybe she’d started to feel the same way since they’d been together for so long. But he’d been very wrong.

  What hurt the most was that he was sure there was another man. He knew that stupid bitch Quinn, Tilly’s best friend, was always trying to fix her up with somebody, even when they’d been together, and it’d pissed him off time and time again when Tilly would mention it. So now Quinn probably had some great guy already lined up for Tilly and that wasn’t sitting well with Doug at all.

  He could hear Quinn now, “Oh, bite me, Scott Pilgrim,” or “Put a sock in it, Paulie Bleeker.” And that just pissed him off even more, the stupid Michael Cera references Quinn always used toward him. Whatever.

  He got up from his desk, already having planned what he was going to do. He’d left Tilly alone for the past month, trying to give her some space to get her head in line, but he was taking charge now. He loved her, and even if she was already dating someone else, he’d prove to her that he was the man she needed and that was final.

  Chapter 3

  Oz pounded on the top of the TV in the shithole motel room he was staying in to get the lines out of the picture. When the picture became clear enough so he could at least make out the forms of people, he sat back down on the bed where he took a bite of the best cheesesteak sandwich he’d ever had. These Philadelphians did not mess around when it came to their sandwiches.

  He’d booked a room in a motel that was close to the address of his skip’s mother that Hank had given him. He knew it wasn’t the greatest part of town, but that was a disadvantage of the job. Had to go where the presumed felon was if he wanted to bring him in. Besides, when you almost got blown the fuck away by a goddamned explosive device, you tended not to be scared by too much anymore. He’d go out in the morning and ask around for one Rico Hernandez, not sure how much help he’d get. People in areas such as these always tended to be pretty tightlipped when it came to one of their own.

  After finishing off his sandwich and chips and downing his beer, he called to check in with his father.

  “’Lo?”

  “Dad, it’s John. Just checking in.”

  “What the fuck are you wantin’ now, boy? I don’t got nothin’ to give you, so don’t be askin’ for no money ‘cause I’m fuckin’ broke,” his father slurred into the phone.

  And this was one of the times Oz hated the monthly check-ins—when his dad was drunk. He normally wasn’t a bad guy, he was actually a good father, but when he got out the cheap whiskey—usually that nasty-as-hell unaged corn whiskey shit, Georgia Moon or something like that—he could be one mean SOB. Oz shuddered just thinking about how the stuff could probably eat a hole through raw steel. And, hell, you’d think his dad could at least do an upgrade on the hooch with the extra money that Oz sent him every month.

  “I don’t want anything, Dad. I’m just checking in.”

  “You’da checked in when your mother was sick, maybe she’d still be here!” his dad snapped.

  Here we go again, thought Oz, putting his head in his hand.

  Iris Osby had died when Oz was sixteen and a sophomore in high school. She’d gotten pneumonia, and the next thing he and his father knew, she was gone. It’d happened so fast that neither of them had expected it. The doctor said there’d really been nothing they could do. Sometimes it just happened.

  And God, he missed her.

  He’d been her miracle baby, she’d always said, and, oh, how she’d do
ted on him. On his twelfth birthday, she’d told him about how she’d been unable to conceive, so she and his dad had all but given up hope of having a child. After ten years of marriage, when she’d turned thirty and she and Saul had settled into their lives, she’d gotten ill and gone to her doctor thinking she had the flu, and lo and behold, she’d been told that she was expecting. She said that they’d been so excited that they’d gone out and bought a baby crib that very night in anticipation of his coming. And when he finally came along eight months later, she’d told him her life had then been complete.

  Man, he’d loved his mom with all his heart. And then she’d been abruptly taken from him and he’d been lost.

  After his mother’s death, he’d thrown himself into sports to keep his mind off everything, inadvertently becoming the star quarterback of the football team. His senior year, he’d received several offers to attend college on scholarship for the sport, but he’d turned them all down, knowing that his calling was the military. After experiencing 9-11 up close and personal, he felt his nation needed him, and he’d felt like a fraud by being offered scholarships, his talent only burgeoning due to his mother’s passing, not because he loved the sport or anything.

  At least after his mom had died, he hadn’t gone the criminal route, which had been pretty damned appealing at times when there was nothing in the house to eat but a moldy block of cheese and stale bread. His father wasn’t coping well with the loss of his wife, proceeding to drink himself into oblivion almost every night for a year after her death, so Oz had had to take care of himself, getting a part-time job at a local grocer and bringing home his own food and supplying himself with any other needs he encountered.

  At the news that Oz would be joining the Army, Saul Osby had drunkenly scoffed at his son, telling him he was no hero, that he should stay in Brooklyn and become an electrician like he was. He’d told him that because he had a police record the military wouldn’t want him, which had scared Oz even up to the time he’d actually left for boot camp. Luckily, the Army had waived his record and allowed him to enlist. If they hadn’t taken him, he probably would’ve eventually chosen a life of crime. And a great big thank God to Uncle Sam for coming through for him.

  Now, Oz had been no choirboy. He’d gotten into a little trouble when he was fifteen when he and a friend had taken a car for a joyride. They’d ended up crashing into a fire hydrant, knocking the damned thing over and causing water to spray everywhere. That’d been pretty cool right up until the minute he’d been arrested for grand theft auto and destruction of stolen and city property; then it’d kind of sucked ass. Still not learning his lesson, he and this same friend had also committed a few petty larcenies afterward but had gotten off with probation on all counts, having to pay some hefty fines and putting in community service in lieu of going to juvy. He knew he’d been a little shit, and thank God he’d finally gotten his head on straight, thanks to a couple of well-deserved ass whoopings his dad had given him, pretty much having him pay for his offenses in flesh. But his dad had also gotten him a job in his office, since he had so much time on his hands he’d told him, and Oz had given his parents half of each paycheck, which went toward the fines he’d accrued. If it hadn’t been for his dad, he’d have ended up in prison, he was sure.

  “Dad, we both know there was nothing we could’ve done.”

  And that was when his dad started crying. They went through this every couple of months it seemed, sometimes with the crying and sometimes not. Oz often dreaded calling, never knowing if his dad would be on a bender or not.

  “I sh-shoulda done somethin’ to help her,” his dad sobbed. “Shoulda been there f-for her instead ‘a workin’ all the time.”

  “Dad, you did what you could.”

  “B-but I was t-too busy providing for my family,” his father said through his tears. “P-payin’ for your st-stupid shit c-crimes.”

  God. The guilt Oz felt about everything would probably never go away, he knew. But taking care of his dad and checking on him monthly was his penance, and he’d pay it for the rest of his life in honor of his mother to show how sorry he was about his past transgressions that had taken his father from her as he’d worked overtime to pay off his son’s fines.

  Oz sighed. Life was just fucking fantastic at times, wasn’t it.

  When he finally got his father calmed down, he ended the call. Well, not until his dad could berate him once more for being a shitty son, for not helping him out more and for not settling down and giving him a grandchild. Nice.

  After hanging up, Oz sat staring at the blurry, snow-like picture on the TV, wishing things had gone differently in his life, that he’d been a better son to his folks so his mother would still be there and they’d both be proud of him.

  He sighed once more then stripped down and headed to the shower, ready for the day to be over.

  ***

  Tilly was excited for the Macy’s Parade to get there. She’d booked several more clients, from an online magazine to Good Housekeeping, and she couldn’t wait. She’d always taken photos of the parade regardless if she’d had clients to buy them or not, but this year would definitely be way more lucrative than previous years since her name was now getting out there and people had an idea who she was.

  Today she was going to deliver invoices to clients and was just out the door of her house when she ran into Doug on her porch steps. Oh. Goodie.

  “Whoa, sugar lips, where you heading in such a hurry?” he said, grabbing her by the upper arms.

  Sugar lips? Ugh. “I was just going to drop off invoices. Wanna come?”

  The double entendre of what she’d said made him leer at her, which made her want to slap his stupid face off. He was thirty-six for crying out loud, not thirteen.

  “Boy, do I,” he mumbled.

  “Douglas.”

  “Matilda.”

  She gave him a dirty look as she turned to lock the door. Ugh. She hated her name. When she’d once asked how in the world she’d ended up with it, her mother had told her that she’d been named after a great-great-great-great-great something or other. And who doesn’t love being named after some dead relative who’d lived hundreds of years ago? She was just glad her parents had started calling her Tilly, because high school would’ve been even more killer had they stuck with Matilda. Yuck.

  And now she had to deal with Doug. Why the heck was he there? She was so finished with him that there needed to be a new word for finished. Had he not figured that out, like, almost six months ago?

  “So, would you like to go to dinner tonight?” he asked when they’d gotten into her Range Rover.

  If she’d had a cup of coffee in her hand just then like she’d almost had, accidentally leaving it on her kitchen counter, she would’ve crushed it. Or thrown it in his face. Or her own face just to keep herself from strangling the guy right then. What was it with men and not getting that a woman just didn’t want to be with them?

  She sighed as she signaled then pulled out onto the street. Guessing the subtle approach wasn’t working anymore, she tried a different, more direct delivery. “I don’t think it’s a good idea that we see each other in a romantic capacity anymore.” There, that ought to do it.

  “But we were so good together, Till. On the job… and in bed,” he said.

  She sighed again. Crap. She’d known better than to get involved with someone she worked with. And wait. Was he frickin’ delusional? How could he have thought they’d been good in bed? He’d never once gotten her off and she hadn’t faked it either. Hadn’t he ever noticed? But she knew that he’d always gotten his, so that just meant that the bastard was a selfish lover. So, yeah, she was soooo ready to go another round with him under the covers. Not.

  When she didn’t answer him directly, she felt the air in the car change.

  “Is there someone else, Tilly? There’s someone else, isn’t there?” he accused.

  She sighed a third time. And why did men also always think there had to be someone else? Why co
uldn’t it be that things weren’t working and the woman just wanted to move on? Probably because their egos were so damned big they couldn’t fathom that a woman just wasn’t interested anymore. “No, Doug. There’s no one else.”

  He looked over at her with narrowed eyes, testing her honesty, she supposed. When she didn’t flinch, he said, “I believe you. So if there’s no one else, then you’re still available.”

  She didn’t reply but felt his stare on her as he shifted in his seat.

  Annnnd she could feel it coming. Don’t become that guy, Doug. Don’t do it.

  He took her hand from the steering wheel. “Tilly, I love you.”

  Oh, God. He did it. She clenched the steering wheel with her other hand and gritted her teeth. “You know my thoughts on that, Doug. I don’t, I can’t, do love. Ever. It’s not you. It’s me.” Okay, so maybe cliché would get the job done on him. It was worth a shot.

  “I know, Till. I knew it going in.” He sighed.

  Well, what do you know? He might just be catching on to what she was telling him.

  He let her hand go then added, “But I can’t help the way I feel. I’m not giving up on us. Just letting you know.”

  “Doug…” She looked over at him, giving what she thought was a compassionate look, still trying to let him down easy. “I’m sorry.” She turned to look back at the road.

  Dang. He’d been part of her life for a long time and she did love him, just not the way he wanted. And wasn’t this just great. While most women would love to be in this situation—having a man profess his love to her, letting her know he was stalwart about pursuing her and not giving up—all it did for her was make her want to punch something. Hard.

  “It’s okay. I understand,” he muttered.

  Good. She’d finally gotten through to him. But when she glanced over at him and he smiled and winked back at her, she knew it’d just been wishful thinking on her part.