Copper

by Brynn Hale

  Copper

  Graffiti Street Bad Boys 3

  Brynn Hale

  Contents

  1. Copper

  2. Harlow

  3. Copper

  4. Harlow

  5. Copper

  6. Harlow

  7. Copper

  8. Harlow

  9. Copper

  10. Harlow

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  One

  Copper

  My phone buzzes with a call. That special ring. Again.

  5:57. Ugh. Are you kidding me? I consider flinging the buzzing metal across the room. It’s been a non-stop night of emergency plumbing calls these last two day that I’ve been on night manager call. Plumbers call this The Rebellion. It happens a couple times a year. Plumbing just seems to go haywire for no reason. Sewer backups. Toilets doing unspeakable shit—literally. And equipment malfunctions that aren’t explainable, other than by spirits or witchcraft.

  I sit up in bed. “Graffiti Street Plumbing, Emergency Line, Copper Brecklin speaking. How can I help you?” I answer with a little gruffness in my voice, mostly from it being extremely early for this shit.

  “Oh, thank God. I have water coming out of my water heater!”

  It’s supposed to do that, Ma’am.

  “Where exactly is the water coming out of?”

  “That spigot at the bottom. I think…I think it’s… it’s broken off. And it’s running all over the floor in the utility room. There’s a hole in the floor, so the water’s going in there, but I don’t know how to stop it.” Her voice cracks. “I don’t know what to do. My daughter was taking a shower and it just went cold. Can you help me, please?”

  Shit. Not funny.

  I sit up in bed. “You’re not standing in that water are you?”

  “No.”

  “Please don’t, it might be hot. Let me see who I can get out there.”

  “Thank you. I’d really appreciate it, Copper.”

  Her liquid gold voice coats me. The way she says my name has me shaking my head to think.

  I examine the Emergency on-call list on my computer. Everyone is out on a call. The Rebellion has started.

  “Where do you live?”

  “2217 Bancroft.”

  That’s only two blocks away from me and within a couple houses of my college roommate Hemi’s old house. He now lives with his wife Cece in her house. They have something that people don’t get every day. Lucky bastard. Every relationship I’ve ever been a part of has only crumbled like Medusa’s stone victims.

  My Greek and Roman mythology fascinations have proven quite useless in life and my plumbing license quite beneficial. Imagine that.

  “Okay, I’ll be right there.”

  “Oh, are you close?”

  I strip to take a quick shower while still talking to her. My cock pulses and I clear my throat. Unfortunately, with that silky voice, I’m not far from being close to something.

  “Just a couple of blocks away, ma’am.”

  “Oh…okay, well, I’m Harlow, I’ll be waiting for you.”

  For me.

  I walk past my motorcycle and car in the garage and jump into the company vehicle. I hit the garage door remote. The door rocks oddly as it goes down. I roll down the window to let some fresh air in. Even at six in the morning, August in Nevada is fry-an-egg-on-pavement hot. Then I hear a loud snap. That can’t be good. But it’ll have to wait.

  I drive the two blocks, grab my bag and sales clipboard, and I knock on the door in less than fifteen minutes. The doorbell is just a pair of wires hanging. Not safe at all.

  I can hear voices behind the door. Not happy voices. Screaming. Yup. That’s officially screaming. But it’s not like people are yelling obscenities or in true rage. It sounds like…

  Yes, a parent and a child.

  I pound harder on the firm wood door this time. By the third crack of the side of my fist, the door is pulling away.

  “Hello, I’m—”

  “You need to fix this now!” The young woman—teenager—in front of me stands with suds covering her hair and her face half covered with some sort of green face goo. “Look at me. I’m…dripping!”

  I have to stop myself from smiling.

  “Is there a Harlow here?” I ask, but soon a pair of legs enter my vision. Long legs. Long shapely legs, coming down the stairs. And attached to those beautiful gams, a body that’s the definition of 36-24-36. Those infamous proportions in the flesh. Damn. I can’t see her ass, but I can imagine it and I’m biting my tongue to create pain and keep my brain busy to stop it from starting a domino effect in my body.

  “Dude…” I male voice growls at me and dart my eyes to find a teenage boy glaring at me from the dining room. He shakes his head.

  Gotta get my shit together.

  I firmly blame my personal trainer. Her ninety pounds of drill sergeant attitude kicked my ass last night. I’ll never do that sadistic and demonic high intensity bullshit again. Give me a set of free weights over that jumping, arm-rope-waving, tire-flipping, sixty-second-timed hell any day. But I have to admit she’s taken my body from a little soft—beer and pretzels aren’t the most nutritious thing in the world—who knew—to a cut and chiseled physique that I’m damn proud of. But ever since we started working out my testosterone has skyrocketed. I’m horny…All. The. Damn. Time.

  “Hello, Copper, I’m Harlow Kincaid. I called you. I’m sorry about Arya. As you can see, she got caught in the middle of her shower.”

  By the Rebellion.

  “Mother, I need to get this out of my hair now! I have a presentation this morning. I can’t go to school looking like this.” Her bottom lip quivers. “And if I don’t do the speech today it’s a grade drop. I’m already sitting at a low A. I can’t get a B it’ll ruin my chances of getting into the college I want to. Ruin!” She screeches the word and I jolt. “It’s just not fair! Get a hotel room! Ask Aunt Jill if we can come over! Do something!”

  “Arya, calm down.”

  Maybe The Rebellion is payback from the Universe for this insistent sprite’s dramatic demands.

  “Arya? Like the—?” I start to ask.

  Arya flips her black hair and icy blue eyes to me. “Yeah, yeah, I was around before the one who saved the thrones by stabbing that ice guy.” She turns back to Harlow. “Why did you name me this?” She stills. “Oh, right. Sorry. Mom.”

  The silence feels familiar to me, but I don’t know why.

  Harlow’s face is like a tranquil lake. “It’s okay, honey.” She draws her daughter into a hug.

  I wonder if I should say what I’m about to say, but my doctor mother always taught me that if I can help…

  “I live two blocks away, you’re welcome to—” I hold my house key up. “I mean, if it’s weird and you’re not interested, I’ll under—”

  “Weird name guy, you’re a lifesaver!” I chuckle at her nickname for me. We have that in common. But then the girl wraps her arms around me and I brace myself. Physical affection makes me about as comfortable as a colonoscopy. Not that I have experience comparing the two, but I can imagine. It’s taken me ten years to get used to Hemi’s bro-hugs and I have to really prepare myself.

  This was a sneak invasion. The Rebellion is strong in this one.

  She grabs the keys. “Roan, you want to go take a shower, too?”

  “Hell, yeah.” The young man stands, carrying his bowl of half eaten cereal and shoveling the remnants into his mouth.

  In seconds, they’re past Harlow and flying up the stairs, two at a time, to the second level.

  This is one of the biggest houses in the area. It’s right on the line of the rich and middle-class houses from the 40s and 50s. I live in one of the houses that seem like they were made by Keebler elves—c
ookie cutter. There’s probably a third level walk out—a widow’s peak as they used to call them. This definitely was a mansion back in those days.

  “Arya! Roan! Just wait!” Harlow’s long black hair floats behind her from their hasty passing. “Are you sure, Copper?”

  “Yeah, it’s all good. They’re old enough to see my collection of erotic pottery, right?”

  “Um…” Harlow stills, her jaw dropped.

  “I’m just kidding, Harlow.”

  She laughs. “You look more like a DC Comics kind of guy to me.” She’s not wrong.

  But then I remember the stack of Playboys on my coffee table.

  “How old are they?” I ask, casually leaning against the newel post, but it rocks under my weight and I back up.

  “Sorry about that. If something isn’t broken, partially broken, or on the fritz around here, it’s a miracle.”

  Arya bounds down the stairs with a bag and dressy clothes on hangers, and Roan’s not far behind her with some crumpled clothes in one arm and a Pop Tart and stick of deodorant in the other.

  “Hey, don’t get those messed up!” I motion and he rolls his eyes.

  “Whatever.”

  “Hey, be nice. Copper’s letting you shower at his place.” Harlow makes him turn to face me.

  “Thank you, Copper,” they both say and then they continue on their way.

  Harlow turns back and her honey-rimmed coffee eyes brighten with her smile. “To answer your question…Arya’s sixteen and Roan’s seventeen, almost eighteen.”

  To hell with it, that’s old enough to see a pair of nice tits in a girlie magazine and if Roan borrows a couple, I’ll figure it’s paying it forward to the next generation.

  “Mom, text us his address!” Arya calls out as the back door slams.

  Harlow opens her phone and holds it out to me. I type into the box. And get the standard teenager “k” back.

  I chuckle. “They seem like great kids.”

  “They have their moments.”

  “Okay, let’s take a look at this water heater.”

  “You’re my hero, Copper.” Her soft hand lands on my bare forearm and I swallow. For some reason I don’t recoil from her touch.

  It’s an uneasy realization.

  “I hope I can live up to that label, Harlow.”

  Two

  Harlow

  I motion him with my head, and he follows behind me. I press my palm into my breastbone to calm my heart. I swear I’m panting like a feline in heat around him. The dark blond five-o’clock-in-the-morning shadow on his face accents the sharp lines of his jaw. His lavender gray eyes make me think that’s he’s otherworldly, some Greek god sent to me from Aphrodite to torture me. And that T-shirt. Hugging. Every. Damn. Bump. And bulge. And roll on his body.

  My head is already cascading with storylines for a novel. I don’t normally write erotic scenes, but this moment is boiling in my brain. If there’s steam coming out of my ears right now, I wouldn’t be surprised.

  Pheromones pulse from him. He smells like spring rain, well-loved leather, and honey. And it’s apparently my trifecta of kryptonite scents. I want to block it. But I can’t and my stomach rides a wave of anxiety.

  I blow out a long breath as I open the door to the utilities room.

  “I did get the water turned off.” I point to the metal lever I’ve moved into the “off” position. “But I’m sure I’m going to need some water clean-up services.”

  “Great job.”

  “Thanks. I…I Googled it.”

  He leans close and whispers, “I still Google plumbing things and I’ve been doing this for eight years.”

  “I’m not sure if that should make me feel better or make me question your abilities, Copper.”

  He chuckles, the rumble starting deep and tumbling from him. “Good point. I promise, I’m licensed and know what I’m doing, but just standing here, I can see that you’ve got a big problem.”

  I close my eyes and sigh. “Okay, give it to me fast and straight.” My eyes pop open.

  Did I really say that? Oh, God. I’m talking like a character in one of my romance novels. But part of me wonders if having him here isn’t the best kind of inspiration. More ideas roll around in my head.

  “I can do that, but…” the words are deep and almost growl from his lips. “Do you want me to write it all down so Mr. Kincaid can see it?”

  I shake my head, his question bringing me from fiction and into reality. “Mr. Kincaid passed away three years ago in Afghanistan serving the country.”

  His face softens. “I’m really sorry for your loss. I know any loss is hard, but I can’t imagine.”

  The thought of Corbin sobers me. I can hear everyone from a year on after his death, “He’d want you to move on.” They don’t know how hard it was just to get out of bed for the first thousand days. How hard it was to even think of living. I only did it for Arya and Roan. It’s been a few months since I stopped thinking of him every day, now it’s less frequent, and I wonder if that’s fair to him. Or me. He was the love of my life.

  We met working at McDonald’s when we were sixteen. I thought he was annoying, he thought I was stuck up. Turns out I was right, but I got over his flaws quickly and turns out he was wrong. I was scared. I’d grown up around divorce and I didn’t want to fall in love. He taught me that people don’t always grow apart or end up hating each other. They might fight, but communication is what’s important. But he also taught me that sometimes they die and leave you broken. I didn’t regret falling in love. I regretted not telling him a dozen time every day that I loved him.

  My phone buzzes and I look down. I huff. My agent has tried to call twice a day for the last week. She’s going to drop me soon, if I don’t answer.

  “You okay?” Copper asks.

  “Can you just give me a few minutes and then we can discuss this?”

  “Sure, I’ll start cleaning up and call in the water restoration crew to get here as soon as possible.”

  “Thanks.” I answer the call as I’m walking away. “Hello, Ann.”

  “Harlow, I haven’t gotten your story.”

  “I know. I…I need some more time.”

  “I’m sorry that’s not going to work. You know that I’m patient and I know you’ve been through so much recently, but my feet are to the fire here.”

  “Can you buy me another week?”

  “Three days. Monday, Harlow. Monday at five.”

  Might as well return the advance. But I look down the hallway and see Copper, those ideas gaining steam. There’s still some hope.

  “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”

  The advance wasn’t even that much, but it probably would cover what I’d need to spend to fix this fiasco.

  “Harlow, three days. I won’t stick my neck out to the publisher again.”

  I lean back against the hallway wall. “I understand.”

  I look down and see that the original ceramic flooring is crumbling where it meets opposite wall. I hang up and lean over to take a better look.

  A throat clears behind me and I straighten.

  “Hey. So, what’s the damage?”

  “I highly suggest going to a tankless system. We can put smaller units in the bathrooms and a whole house for the kitchen and laundry and outside, if you have an exterior hot water source.”

  “And why should I do that instead of just another traditional stand up unit? Should I Google it?”

  Copper’s eyes light up. Those lilac-colored orbs that seem to light from the inside out. He gives me the low-down on the myriad of benefits and a few downfalls. The instant hot water is a plus, but I know there’s a big downfall coming.

  “What are we talking when it comes to cost?” I cross my arms and my chest pops forward. My commitment to working out and being healthier this year shows. Understandably, I’d let myself slide while I was in the throes of grief. I’ve worked on making more lean long muscle, but after having kids, my shape has stayed exceedingly c
urvy. I don’t hate it and from the way Copper looks at me, I think he likes it. And part of me likes that even more.

  His eyes dart everywhere but to me and he clears his throat. “I’m going to give you the military discount Graffiti Street Plumbing offers, so for all the units, installation, and taxes and fees, it comes to…” He holds out his clipboard and points to a number.

  $3788.16. Oh, let’s not forget that sixteen cents, Copper.

  Really, it’s not as bad as I thought it might be but compared to another upright water heater which is a fourth of that amount—I Googled it—I’m not sure. And with one kid going into college next year, and a roof that leaks, and a ten-year-old car. I look up at him. It’s not like I can wait. We need hot water. I don’t even know where I’ll be showering today. Probably Jill’s. My sister-in-law has been a blessing to me and the kids.

  “I don’t know. I feel like if I do the tankless I’m just giving a gift to the next person who lives here.”

  “Are you planning to move?”

  “Not planning, but the kids will be gone in two years. Having a five-bedroom home empty seems a little excessive, right?”

  Copper pulls the clipboard back. “Actually, I forgot the special we’re having on tankless installation.”

  He does some calculations on his phone, crossing out numbers and rewriting others. “Okay…how’s this look?”

  I look up at him. “Seriously…”

  It’s looking good, Copper. Really, really good.

  Three

  Copper

  I’ll have to do all the installation myself, but if it helps her out, I’m willing to work on my own time to get it done. I have a buddy who does electric and another who does carpentry, both owe me favors, and I can get them to pitch in.