A Sweet Life-kindle

by Andre, Bella

  He laughed. "That is a good one."

  "It may be funny. It was not funny back then. High school for me was not the same as it was for you. You were the king of the school."

  "No, that was Burke."

  "Then you were the rebel prince. Everyone liked your confidence and your daring."

  "Both got me into some trouble."

  "You always landed on your feet. No matter the odds, somehow you came out on top."

  The light in his gaze dimmed. "Maybe I used up my good luck back then."

  He was thinking about Kyle again. "Aiden –"

  "Don't," he said, with a definitive shake of his head. "I know you mean well, Sara, but this is my problem. And you have enough problems of your own to deal with."

  As he finished speaking, the side door opened, and Emma walked into the room.

  Surprise flashed through her eyes as she saw them. "Well, this looks…cozy."

  "Aiden made breakfast," Sara said quickly, not liking the gleam in Emma's eyes. "I was going to go out, but—"

  "But I insisted," Aiden said. "Sorry, there's none left, Em."

  "No worries. I ate hours ago." Emma sat down at the table.

  "You look tired," Sara said, seeing the shadows under her friend's eyes. "Were you working all night?"

  "For a good part of it."

  "What's the damage at St. Andrews?" Aiden asked.

  "Two classrooms gone, a couple of others in bad shape. Fire started in the kindergarten classroom with a can of gasoline and some rags. There was no forced entry, so someone had access to the school. The fact that this is the second fire at a school in less than a month is concerning."

  "Do you think they're connected?" Sara asked.

  "There are some similarities. But what's even more disturbing is that Sister Margaret is missing."

  "What?" Sara asked in surprise. She'd transferred to St Andrew's in the fourth grade and Sister Margaret had been the most popular teacher in the school.

  "Is her disappearance connected to the fire?" Aiden asked.

  "It hasn't been determined yet if there's a link." She tilted her head, giving them both a thoughtful look. "So what did I miss around here?"

  "Nothing," Sara said quickly.

  "Nothing," Aiden agreed.

  "Yeah, right," Emma said, giving them both a suspicious look. "You know, I always wondered about –"

  "I should go," Sara cut in, getting to her feet.

  "You still need my uncle's phone number," Aiden told her as he stood up. "I'll get it."

  "Thanks." Alone with Emma, she was acutely aware of the curiosity in her friend's eyes. "Okay, I can see you want to say something so say it."

  Emma's gaze turned somber. "I love my brother, but I don’t think you should get involved with him."

  "I'm not."

  "Sara—"

  "I'm not," she repeated. "I came to get your uncle's phone number. Aiden said he might be able to give me a bid on fixing my dad's house. Aiden was making breakfast and offered to share. That's it. I got over Aiden a long time ago."

  "Did you?"

  "Yes," she said. "I told you that last night."

  "I hope that's true, because…" Emma paused, glancing toward the door leading into the hallway. She lowered her voice a notch as she said, "I love Aiden. He's my brother. But he's not good with women. He doesn't have relationships. And now he's in a dark place. I don't want him to hurt you."

  "I can take care of myself, Emma."

  "You may be a tough lawyer on the outside, but I think on the inside you're still that sweet girl with a big heart who maybe cares a little too much."

  She didn't like that Emma's assessment was so accurate, because she'd worked very hard the last few years to toughen up her soft side.

  "I'm not that girl anymore. I'm a lot meaner. Some people at work even call me a bitch."

  Emma laughed.

  "It's not funny."

  "Sara, you couldn't be a bitch if your life depended on it."

  "I can be. I am," she protested.

  "You are what?" Aiden asked as he entered the room.

  "Nothing," she muttered quickly.

  "Sara says she's a bitch at work," Emma put in with a grin.

  "No way," he said with a shake of his head. "Not sweet Sara."

  She frowned at his words. He might mean them as a compliment, but they only reinforced the fact that Aiden would always see her as the good girl.

  "Here's my uncle's phone number," he added, handing her a piece of paper. "I'm sure he can help you out."

  "Thanks," she said. "For this and for breakfast."

  "No problem. I had to eat. I'll see you around."

  After Aiden left, she turned to Emma. "See—no sparks. Where Aiden is concerned I'm just the girl next door. I always was and I always will be."

  "You sound disappointed," Emma commented.

  She straightened. "I'm not. I'm only here for a few days anyway."

  "I wish you'd stay a while. Now that you're back, I realize how much I missed our friendship. I don't want to lose it again."

  "I have to go back to New York," she said. "It's where my life is." As she said the words, that life seemed very far away.

  "You could practice law in San Francisco. You could be closer to your father, and to me."

  "I have considered moving back, but I'm on a track, and it's not the right time to get off. Speaking of my father, I need to get to the hospital. And then I need to see about getting the house fixed."

  "Okay, but why don't we go out tonight for a drink, Sara? My brother, Sean, and his band are playing at a bar in Haight-Ashbury. It's actually a fundraiser for Kyle's widow and his baby son. There will be some of the old gang there. I'm sure you'd enjoy yourself."

  "Is Aiden going?" she couldn't resist asking.

  "I don't know. I haven't mentioned it to him." Emma paused, giving her another speculative look. "So, really, no sparks left?"

  "No. I'll see you later." She headed out the door before Emma could see the lie in her eyes.

  Chapter Eight

  Aiden paced around his room, feeling more alive than he had in weeks. After Kyle's death, numbness had crept over him. He'd been living in a surreal fog where everything was hazy, including his memories. Since arriving in San Francisco, things had changed.

  The fire next door had forced him to act, to be the man he used to be. It had felt good to do something positive. Not that saving Sara's father made up for anything. Hell, Stephen Davidson would have been saved five minutes later by someone else in the fire department. Sara didn't need to be grateful to him, although, he'd liked seeing something other than anger in her gaze.

  When he'd pushed her away all those years ago, he'd known that he'd hurt her. The pain in her brown eyes had stuck with him for a long time. He'd told himself it was for the best. Sara was his sister's friend, and the girl next door – the good girl next door. If she'd been anyone else, he wouldn't have stopped. They'd have had sex right there in the park. But Sara was just too innocent to ruin, and he knew that she liked him way too much, mostly because she didn't really know him. While he was flattered to be the star in her teenage fantasy, he was not the man for her. He'd known that when he was nineteen, and he knew it now.

  He just wished she hadn't grown up to be beautiful, smart, and sexy. Not that he should be surprised. All the ingredients had been there when she was younger; she just had to get over her awkward, shy, clumsy stage. She'd certainly done that. She was much more self-assured now, confident, and apparently a ruthless bitch of a lawyer. He found himself smiling at that thought. No way was Sara a bitch. She had an innate sense of kindness and compassion for other people. She might have toughened up on the outside, but inside she was still soft and maybe a little vulnerable.

  Her relationship with her dad had messed her up, and last night had shown that she hadn't come to terms with that relationship yet. Stephen Davidson was an idiot – an asshole. He had an incredible daughter and he couldn't even see it. Ai
den had half a mind to go to the hospital and tell him that to his face. But he had a feeling that action would only make things worse for Sara, and he didn't want that.

  He wanted only good things for her.

  Why wasn't she attached to someone? Why wasn't she married? Why didn't she have a house full of kids by now? She was such a loving person. He'd always admired her intelligence and had known she'd do great things, but he'd never seen her as only a career woman. In fact, that was one of the reasons he'd shied away from her before. He'd felt deep down that Sara was a woman who would settle for nothing less than everything from the man she loved. And as a teenager that "everything" had been terrifying.

  It was still scary. Loving someone that much was a huge risk, a risk he'd never been willing to take. He didn't see that changing any time soon. So he would stick to women who felt the same way he did. Which meant he needed to stay away from Sara, because all morning long he'd found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss her now. Would it be as good as he remembered? Would it be better because they were older, because she wouldn't be so shy, so tentative, and he wouldn't be fast and impatient?

  He blew out a breath, desire heating up his blood and tightening his body. He needed a shower – a cold shower.

  It was not the time for his libido to spring back into action, especially not with Sara. He probably didn't need to worry. His earlier rejection had obviously stuck with her, and she wouldn't be in a hurry to give him another opportunity to push her away.

  Frowning, he wondered if the reason behind Sara's all-consuming career was an unwillingness to put her heart on the line. She'd spent her entire life trying to get her father's approval. In fact, she was still trying. And he could see more clearly now how she must have felt when he'd shoved her away all those years ago. She'd taken it as one more rejection. But he had wanted her; he just hadn't been ready for a girl like her. And he didn't think he was ready now, either.

  Damn! He did not like the direction of his thoughts.

  Moving into the bathroom, he turned on the shower, stripped off his clothes and let the icy spray cool him down. As his tension decreased, he turned the water to warm and closed his eyes.

  He wanted to think about something that wouldn't make him tense. Unfortunately, every part of his life was in turmoil. He'd thought coming home would help clear his mind, but he should have known better. His family wanted answers, and he had none to give. It had been three weeks since he'd woken up and learned that Kyle was dead, and he still didn't know what had happened. Why wouldn't his brain release the memories? There had to be something he wasn't seeing.

  It wasn't just that he wanted to be able to defend himself, although it had stung to read some of his coworkers' statements. But they had a right to their opinions. They'd put their lives on the line working under his direction. Now some of them had lost faith in him. How could he blame them? How could he go back to Redding next year and lead?

  Even the few people who supported his decisions, who were at least somewhat convinced that Kyle's death was an accident due to unforeseen fire activity, had suggested that he might want to rethink his career options. His boss had tried to spin the idea by saying it would be tough for him to come back after such a terrible loss, that he might not want to put himself in the same situation, that it wouldn't be a failure to make a change in his life.

  Hell, yes, it would be a failure. He'd lost a man on his watch, and that would never change. And not just a man, but also his best friend.

  He drew in a long, ragged breath, wondering if the pain would ever lessen. It seemed unimaginable.

  It had to be even worse for Vicky. His thoughts turned to Kyle's wife. Kyle had met Vicky in a bar in San Francisco in the off-season. It had been a whirlwind love affair. A month later, Vicky had dropped everything and moved to Redding with Kyle. They'd gotten an apartment in his building so he'd seen a lot of them. At first, it had been annoying to always have Vicky along, but Kyle was over-the-moon happy, so what could Aiden say. His friend was happier than he'd ever been.

  Aiden had been the best man at their wedding. He'd been the first one they'd told when they were going to have a baby, and he'd been in the hospital when Robbie had been born. Three months later, they'd asked him to be the godfather. He'd promised Kyle that he would always look out for his son, but for the past several weeks he hadn't kept that promise. He needed to do that now. He just hoped Vicky would let him in the door.

  ***

  Sara entered her father's hospital room with a wary smile, unsure of her reception. Her father was in a private room, and his broken leg was propped up in a very uncomfortable-looking contraption. His hair was mussed, and he was unshaven, and didn't look at all like the man she'd grown up with. He'd never left his bedroom, much less the house, without every hair in place. But the one thing that was familiar was the frown on his face.

  "I thought you'd have gone back to New York by now," he said.

  "I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye." She moved to the side of his bed. "How are you feeling?"

  "Not good."

  "Do you need anything? Should I get the nurse to give you something for the pain?"

  "I'm handling it," he said.

  "Okay. I called Kevin Callaway. He's a contractor. He said he could come over this afternoon and give us a bid for fixing the damage."

  "You don't need to be involved in that."

  "You can't take care of it right now, and you can't come back to the house in the condition that it's in. You have to let me help you. I won't make any decisions without consulting you first, but at least let me lay some of the groundwork."

  "I guess I have no choice."

  Thank you would have been a better answer, but since he was in a lot of pain, she would cut him some slack. "Did the doctor say when you will be released?"

  "Because I live alone, he wants me to go to a rehab facility for a few weeks."

  She nervously licked her lips, not sure what to say. She couldn't take weeks off work, but the thought of her dad in a rehab facility was not appealing, either. "Maybe I could stay in the house with you for a few days, and then we could hire a nurse to come in after I'm gone," she suggested.

  "No," he said, shaking his head. "You need to go home. I will deal with my situation."

  She wanted to think that he was making that choice because he was worried about her losing her job, but she couldn't convince herself that was the reason.

  "Why won't you let me help you? I'm your daughter."

  "You've done more than enough."

  There it was – the blame. He hadn't come right out and said she was responsible for the fire, but the accusation was in his eyes. "I wasn't the one who left a pot on the stove or who set a pile of newspapers way too close to the flame," she said, refusing to let him pin this disaster completely on her.

  "You're right," he said, surprising her. "It was my fault. You can go home, Sara. There's nothing for you to feel guilty about."

  Was his acquiescence just a faster way of getting her out of his life?

  "I'm going to talk to the contractor first, get a bid," she said decisively. "You can decide what you want to do with it, but at least you'll have something to look at."

  "I don't want you messing around my house, going through my things."

  "Well, that's too bad, because someone is going to have to help you, and I don't see anyone else here."

  He sighed. "I'm tired, Sara."

  "I'm tired, too, tired of banging my head against a wall. Why is it so difficult for you to talk to me, to accept me?"

  "I'm not trying to hurt you, Sara. I just don't have anything to give. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is."

  "Why? Why is that the way it is?' she challenged. "Mom used to tell me that you were capable of a tremendous amount of love. I guess she saw it, but I didn't, and I never understood why."

  His jaw tightened. "I'm in pain. I can't have this conversation with you now. Go home. Live your life. Forget about me. Forget ab
out the house. I will take care of everything when I get out of here. Just leave it all alone." He let out a weary sigh and closed his eyes.

  Sara stood by his bed for another moment, staring down at his face, at the lines of age around his eyes and mouth—a mouth that rarely smiled. Why was he so determined to have her leave when he was obviously going to need help? He'd rather go to a rehab facility or have a stranger give him assistance than have his own daughter take care of him? It didn't make sense.

  She left the room and walked out to her car, thinking she had to be missing something. His behavior was just not normal, and his desperation to get rid of her so fast made her wonder if he was hiding something.

  Did her father have secrets? She'd never thought he was interesting enough to have secrets, but something was off. Aiden had asked her the night before about why her father had found it necessary to go down to the basement when his house was on fire.

  Maybe the answers she was looking for were in that basement.

  ***

  Aiden stared at the names on the mailbox, Kyle and Vicky Dunne. He drew in a tight breath knowing that Kyle would never live in the first and only home he had ever purchased. The condo had been a huge financial stress. They'd had to borrow money from Vicky's grandparents to make the down payment, and Kyle had been worried about keeping up with the mortgage. But Vicky had fallen in love with the Russian Hill neighborhood, the shops just around the corner, the children's park nearby, and Kyle had wanted to give her a home she loved.

  It would probably be easier for Vicky to live in this condo. There were not as many physical reminders. Kyle had only spent one weekend there. He was supposed to have officially moved in the day after he was killed.

  Aiden's stomach turned over and he felt physically sick, but he'd come too far to turn around and leave. He'd respected Vicky's wishes and stayed away from the funeral, but he needed to speak to her. He needed to make sure that she and Robbie were okay. He pressed the Intercom.

  Vicky's voice came over the speaker. "Yes."