Keepers

by Meg Collett

  “That is pretty lucky for me,” she said, still laughing.

  “I meant . . . I, uh . . .” He accidentally hit the trigger on the drill, making it whir to life, and he jumped at the sudden sound.

  “Do you need help with the screwing, or do you have it covered?” Stevie didn’t bother hiding her smile.

  Cade carefully arranged his tool belt, using it as an excuse not to look at her. “I’ve got it.”

  “I’m just saying, I’m around if you need me. I can hold something while you screw something else. Or I can screw while you hold. Really, I can do either in terms of screwing. Up to you.”

  He shook his head, doing his best not to laugh with her. “Fine. I might need your help holding the door. But stop saying ‘screw.’”

  Grinning, Stevie took her place next to the broken door. “Because you’re operating heavy machinery and shouldn’t be distracted by screwing?”

  “That’s exactly it. Now be quiet. I have to focus.” Cade started with the mangled top hinge. It took them a few minutes of jiggling the door and twisting it around to get the bent screws out. They eventually got it, though Cade stripped a few screw heads in the process and almost dropped his drill a couple times. Starting on the middle hinge, he looked pleased with himself.

  “Are you ready for Monday?” he asked, raising his voice over the buzzing drill.

  Stevie adjusted her grip on the door and tried not to think about Shepherd. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  The drill stopped and Cade pocketed two screws. The door wobbled against Stevie’s hold as he squatted to get the last screw. “And you’re fine with this? Being on another show?”

  “Sure,” Stevie said, making sure her voice sounded more confident than she felt. “These comp shows are pretty straightforward.”

  “Comp?” The drill started up again, Cade’s grip tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

  “Competition.”

  Cade bit his bottom lip as he worked, his shoulders set against the drill’s movement. “I see. But it won’t be bad for you, right?”

  The screw came out and he reached out a hand to help steady the door.

  “No.” Stevie stared down at the top of his head as he worked on the bottom hinge. His hair was smooth and shiny, the sun-bleached caramel highlights picking up the light coming through her windows. He took most of the door’s weight, using the drill one-handed, and when the last screw came loose, he caught the door before Stevie even felt the weight change.

  “It’ll be fine,” she said as Cade stood and took the door from her and set it next to the new one.

  “You’re not just saying that?” he asked, looking up at her. “I don’t want you doing this just because of Hale and me. I realize we got pretty excited and should have talked to you—”

  “Cade.” Stevie lightly punched his bicep. “It’s no big deal, really. The weekly stipend will help me out a lot with all these bills I apparently have to pay now. Do you know you have to pay property taxes as a homeowner?”

  Cade bit his lip. “Sure.”

  “Well, I didn’t, and it’s expensive as shit. So I want to do the show.” Stevie hid the lie beneath a truth, hoping he wouldn’t hear it. “Really.”

  His eyes narrowed on her, and she worried he’d heard the lie after all. The new door sat propped next to him, forgotten as he faced her head-on. “I guess I’m just concerned that the producers will use you for drama or whatever. I don’t want that happening.”

  He sounded fierce and protective, and a place deep inside Stevie’s stomach fluttered with heat, but she forced herself to focus.

  “There will be some of that,” she warned. “I’ll have to play a certain role at some point, or the producers will ask us to do certain things we might not want to. It’ll suck for both of us at times, but we have to remember the long-term goal.”

  Stevie was grateful for the chance to warn him about the things Shepherd would make her do, but she had no intention of letting any of his manipulations trickle down to Cade. He wouldn’t make a fool of himself on national television, because she would take the weight of it on herself.

  “It’s like this on all the shows?”

  “More or less. It won’t be bad though. I promise.”

  “If it is, tell me, okay? We can quit. You’re more important than any show.”

  While Cade could pick out her lies in her voice, Stevie could hear Cade’s truths and his promises in the way he pulled the words from his mouth and sent them into the air with absolute care. His level gaze and his voice were steady, like he would always be there, in front of her, saying the same things and meaning them just as much.

  No one had ever said those words to her and actually meant them. She had always come second to the show, the money, the fame, and even to her own parents.

  Surprising them both, she flung her arms around his neck and buried her face into his chest. After a second, his arms went around her waist, hugging her back. His hand rubbed slow circles over her lower back, pressing into the tight, knotted muscles he found there.

  “Thank you.” As she spoke, her lips moved against the soft skin below his ear, right behind his jaw.

  They stayed pressed together beyond when a normal hug would have ended, like neither one of them wanted to step back. The moment stretched out, the air between them shifting into something different, something that made Stevie’s stomach coil with nerves.

  Then Cade’s hand pressed her tighter against him, his other arm wrapping around her. Her stomach dipped, that burning, fluttering spot widening and deepening until the ache built at the base of her spine. He angled his head toward her, and his heart quickened against her chest.

  “Stevie . . .” He leaned back slightly, just enough for her to turn her face up to his.

  He held her like he might never let her go.

  When she looked into his eyes, she saw that same promise.

  She wanted nothing more than to stretch up onto her toes and press her mouth against his. To swivel her body against him and push into his hips harder, feeling how much he wanted her, knowing she wanted him just as much. She wanted to unbutton his shirt one button at a time and explore the pale, smooth flesh beneath. She wanted to leave his carefully pressed pants in a pile on the floor and ease her fingers through his silky hair.

  But she couldn’t let him promise her anything, because she didn’t trust herself to keep it.

  She broke everything.

  He was leaning down, mouth turning for hers, his shaky exhale washing over her face.

  “Hang on,” she said, sounding too breathless, too turned on. When she went to step back from him, he let her go immediately, though his hands trailed around her waist for a brief moment before falling back to his sides.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, searching her face. “I’m sorry. I—”

  “No.” Stevie brushed her hair back from her eyes, the wayward curls getting in the way since she hadn’t had time to straighten her hair after her shower. Cade watched like he wanted to be the one with his hands in her hair. “I just mean, with the show about to start . . .” She hated each word as they left her mouth, because they weren’t true. It had nothing to do with the show and everything to do with her not being good enough at being a decent person.

  “I understand,” Cade said too quickly, like she’d hurt him anyway. “You’re completely right. It would make things messy.”

  “It’ll be stressful, you know? And I don’t want the producers playing us against each other if they sense any kind of connection like that,” Stevie explained, floundering, but it was true. If Emilie had caught the tiniest hint of Cade’s stutter, she would pounce on something like a love connection. Pounce and rip it apart like vultures around a day-old kill.

  “Shit. I hadn’t even thought of that.”

  “We just have to be careful. The producers want a good show. They don’t care about us.”

  Cade was nodding, his eyes burning with earnestness. “I understand. I really
do. And I’m sorry for, uh, doing anything . . . I mean, after this morning, and you’re with Troy, and . . .”

  He fumbled each word, rushing into the next one, his cheeks burning. Stevie dug her nails into her palms to stop herself from reaching for him.

  “I’m not with him,” she rushed to explain. “He slept on the couch. We didn’t hook up or anything.”

  Cade tried to hide his relief, but it was splashed across his face so obviously that the man on the moon could have seen it. “Oh. Okay,” he said. “I see. So you two aren’t together.”

  “Not even close. I just screw up a lot. And this morning is just another example of the Great Stevie Reynolds Disaster.” She laughed bitterly. “Sadly, you got a front row seat.”

  “You’re not a disaster.” Cade frowned. “You’re a great person, Stevie.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Okay. And you’re full of shit. Now, are you going to put my door up, or do I need to call Hale?”

  He wasn’t as quick to dissolve the moment, his eyes lingering on hers for a breath before the corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Please don’t. It took me the entire drive back from the hardware store to convince him I could handle it.”

  He moved the door into position against the frame, lining up the new hinges exactly with the old ones.

  As he started on the top set of screws, Stevie said over the drill noise, “So, he’s excited about the show too?”

  Cade kept his eyes trained on the drill bit. “He really is. I’m hoping it’ll open up more business for us on the mainland. It’s been tough keeping him busy, and I wish we could find more restoration work. That’s where he really shines.”

  “You started the business when he moved back to Canaan, right?”

  Cade gripped the drill tighter as it bucked against his hand, the screw wobbling precariously. “He got into some trouble after he left college and mentioned moving back anyway. Mom was diagnosed around that time.” He finally got the first screw in all the way and picked up a second one. “I just thought that building would give him something to focus on. He’s so gifted and deserved a shot at something better. I wish he was the one doing the show. People could see how good he really is then.”

  “They’ll see that with you too.”

  Cade paused when he finished with the second screw. “I just don’t want to screw th-this up for him.”

  Stevie’s chest ached. The urge to hold his face in her hands and kiss the words from his lips was unbearable. “You won’t, Cade.”

  “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I hate doing it . . .” He chewed on his lower lip again, his attention on the drill in his hand.

  “You can ask me anything.”

  Finally, he met her gaze. “Just help me do this show right. For him. I don’t want to let him down.”

  Stevie saw him then, just a younger brother doing anything he could to make his older brother proud. Cade’s eyes shone with his longing for it. He’d go to any lengths for Hale.

  And she’d go to any lengths for Cade. He was the reason she’d walked headfirst into Shepherd’s trap. So Cade could help Hale and their business and make his brother proud. Even if it cost her everything.

  “I will,” she said, no easier words ever spoken.

  “You promise?”

  Stevie forced herself to swallow down the fear his words had brought up in her. Promises. She had to learn to keep them. She’d promised herself to stay sober—the biggest promise she’d ever made. After last night, she felt like she’d broken it, like sobriety was too much for her to manage. But this one to Cade, it felt easier. It was for him, and she would do anything for him, even keep a promise.

  “I promise.”

  I promise. I promise. I promise you, Cade Cooper.

  8

  Monday, August 29, 2016: 4:45 AM—Cade “Don’t Do It” Cooper: Good morning, sunshine! Coffee and donuts on their way!

  Monday, August 29, 2016: 4:50 AM—Cade “Don’t Do It” Cooper: Outside!

  Monday, August 29, 2016: 4:52 AM—Cade “Don’t Do It” Cooper: Stevie? We’re here.

  Monday, August 29, 2016: 4:53 AM—Cade “Don’t Do It” Cooper: Please tell me you’re awake. You aren’t answering my calls. I’m going to knock on your door.

  Monday, August 29, 2016: 4:55 AM—Cade “Don’t Do It” Cooper: This isn’t funny. I don’t want to break another door down. I’ll start honking.

  Monday, August 29, 2016: 4:59 AM—Cade “Don’t Do It” Cooper: HOW CAN YOU NOT HEAR ME HONKING? MRS. WALKER IS GOING TO CALL THE POLICE AGAIN!

  Monday, August 29, 2016: 5:02 AM—Cade “Don’t Do It” Cooper: OMG I LITERALLY SEE HER REACHING FOR HER PHONE . . .

  * * *

  Stevie hauled herself into Cade’s truck with a scowl and a curse word. Once she’d managed to slam the door shut, she turned to Cade, who looked ready to crawl across the console and snap her seat belt in place so it could be done faster.

  “Honking, Stevie,” he hissed, his glare almost matching hers. “How could you not hear me honking? And this was after I banged on every door and window I could reach.”

  “I happen to be a very deep sleeper, thank you very much.” Stevie picked up the thermos Cade had filled with coffee from a shop in town, unscrewed the top, and took a long sip. She looked around the truck. “You promised donuts. Where’s the donuts?”

  A snort came from the backseat, and Stevie yelped in surprise. She swiveled around and found Arie lying across the seat, one arm slung across his eyes and a pillow under his head. “He gave them to Mrs. Walker to keep her from calling the police.”

  Stevie turned to Cade. “You gave away my donuts?”

  “She was going to call the cops!” He did a tight U-turn on Gardenia and stabbed a finger at the dashboard clock. “We’re six minutes late! I sent you our itinerary last night—”

  “He got the good kind too, from Maggie’s,” Arie cut in, somewhat wistfully. “The powdered ones. We stopped by, but that Violet girl wasn’t there. Do you think she’ll be on set today for lunch? They’re still catering, right?”

  Stevie held up a hand toward the backseat. “I can’t deal with your moonstruck, lovesick, puppy-dog bullshit right now.” She kept her gaze on Cade, who refused to take his eyes off the road. “You gave my donuts to that old twat?”

  “Ask him what else he had to give her,” Arie said.

  Cade groaned, and Stevie’s eyebrows rose. “What else did you give her?”

  He mumbled something under his breath that no one heard.

  “What was that?” Stevie pressed, interested now.

  Arie sat up in the back and rested an elbow on the back of each front seat. “Come on, Cade. Own it.”

  “Yeah, Cade,” Stevie mimed. “Own it.”

  “Dinner,” he said, coughing over the word to hide it.

  “Dinner?” Stevie squawked. She glanced back at Arie as Cade turned onto the main road toward the bridge that connected Canaan to the mainland. “As in, like food and shit? At night?”

  A shit-eating grin spread across Arie’s face. “As in food and shit. At night. As in a—”

  “Don’t say it.” Cade accelerated and merged onto the highway, the traffic sparse this early in the morning.

  “As in a date!”

  Stevie spewed her coffee over the console between them. Cade ducked, the truck swerving. She clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes stretching wide enough that her contacts dried out and threatened to pop off her eyeballs.

  “Holy shit!” she shouted from behind her hand.

  “It’s not a date!” Cade’s grip on the wheel turned deadly. He kept his eyes locked straight ahead.

  “You shoulda seen it,” Arie said. “He was practically on his knees trying to keep her from calling the cops. She had him eating out of her hand. Dude, you’re going on a date with a granny.”

  Stevie hooted with laughter until her stomach hurt. Cade told her over and over it was her fault for being late and not waking up, but she barely heard him. Tears s
treamed down her cheeks. By the time she finally caught her breath, Cade was pouting and nursing his coffee, and Arie had returned to a recumbent position in the back.

  She dabbed beneath her eyes and sighed. “Oh, wow, Cade. I had no idea. Mrs. Freaking Walker, huh? I always thought she had a thing for Mr. Henderson after he mowed his lawn naked that one time he took Valium instead of his arthritis medicine. All that loose, jiggly skin just bouncing away on his John Deer—”

  “You’ve got serious issues,” Cade muttered.

  “The flap-flapping of his ba—”

  “Stop!”

  “You people live in a really weird town, you know that?” Arie said from beneath his arm, which he’d thrown back across his face to block out the first few rays of sunshine.

  “Just saying.” Stevie shrugged. She put her bare feet up on the dashboard and cradled her coffee.

  Cade shot her a quick glance, his eyes going up and down her body. “Uh, Stevie?”

  “What?” The word came out sharper than she’d meant, but to be fair, it was the ass-crack of dawn.

  “Are you, um, going to change or, you know, brush your hair?”

  Stevie glanced down at her mismatched pajamas. She’d tossed her hair into a frizzy bun, and she had spots of white acne cream drying on her face. “What are you trying to say?”

  “No-nothing,” Cade said quickly, his attention snapping back to the road. “Nothing at all. You look wonderful.”

  Stevie sniffed. “I brought my makeup with me, and they have clothes on set.”

  She didn’t miss Cade’s long sigh of relief.

  * * *

  “You’re late!” Emilie bustled over to them, headset in place and tablet clutched in her hand. The black eyeshadow around her eyes looked slept in, as did her black jeans and her “Too Ghoul For School” t-shirt.

  Stevie groaned. “Why is everyone so sensitive this morning?”

  The set sizzled with electricity, and not just from the miles of wires stretching out from the main tent. Beneath the 6:00 a.m. sunrise, crew darted around, carrying equipment or coffee or props or all of the above. Workers deposited huge dumpsters outside each duplex, the delivery trucks beeping loudly as they backed the towering bins into place. The front doors to every duplex were open, and people scurried in and out like ants in a parade. No one talked normally—they all yelled frantically in sharp, short bursts—and no one walked; they ran.