by Lucy Score
Harper leaned the broom against the railing and wiped her hands on the seat of her jeans. “Gloria, right?” she asked with a quick smile.
Gloria nodded. “I wasn’t sure you’d recognize me. We weren’t…”
“Formally introduced?” Harper supplied with a friendly wiggle of her eyebrows.
Gloria felt herself relax muscle by muscle. “Exactly. I hope you don’t mind me stopping by.”
“Not at all! You’re giving me the perfect excuse to quit cleaning,” Harper said, stepping off the porch. “Do you have time to come inside?”
Gloria hadn’t expected an invitation inside. Hell, she’d expected a curt reaction from a battered woman who blamed her for the bruises. But Harper was moving around like she was used to a good ol’ physical assault. “Um, sure. If you’re sure you don’t mind?”
“I would love some company,” Harper insisted. “Especially if you tell me you haven’t had lunch yet because I’m starving.”
On cue, Gloria’s stomach growled. “Oh, um. I don’t know if I should…” It was a knee-jerk reaction. There were no spontaneous invitations accepted when Glenn was waiting for her, timing her at the grocery store, or worse, tracking her down in public and dragging her home.
But this was her second chance. And damn it, she was taking it. Even if her heart was in her throat and the idea of walking into that house made her want to barf all over the sidewalk. She was used to fear. It had been her constant companion this last decade. Now was her chance, her choice.
“Please?” Harper cocked her head to the side. “I’d love to have some company.”
Gloria nodded, unable to speak. What the hell kind of company would she be? Was she even capable of making small talk? She should have just written a nice apology/thank you letter to Harper instead of trying to do this face-to-face.
Harper grinned. “Come on in.”
Gloria’s body still sang with minor aches and pains as she climbed the steps, but she was getting better. She was healing. This visit was part of the healing. Thanking and apologizing to the woman who’d been marred by her own personal violent nightmare.
Still, a letter would have done the job.
The front door opened into an empty foyer. The rooms on either side were bare except for a flat-screen TV and an antique sofa that looked about as comfortable as a cinder block. It felt like an abandoned house. No pictures on the wall, no furniture to speak of. There was a story here, too. Gloria was sure of it. But they were a long way away from story-swapping friends.
She followed Harper back the hallway on lovely, worn hardwood floors to the pretty and—again—bare kitchen. Harper grabbed two plates from a cabinet and stacked them on the island. “Can you grab the bread for me?” she asked, unpacking sandwich ingredients from the refrigerator.
Gloria blinked and reached for the loaf of bread on the counter. She’d expected to come here and apologize, taking her lumps and the blame. Not make herself at home in a virtual stranger’s house and make herself a sandwich.
Harper pushed a cutting board and ripe tomato into Gloria’s hands. “Would you mind slicing this?”
“Sure,” Gloria said, staring at the glossy red skin of the tomato, wondering what alternate dimension she’d walked into.
Gloria sliced, and Harper buzzed around the kitchen. “Roast beef okay with you?”
“Sure.” Gloria said again, kicking herself for her limited conversational abilities. For the love of God, come up with a different word! “But you really don’t have to go to all this trouble.” Good. A whole sentence. Nice work.
“Well, you’re helping,” Harper insisted with a wink. She dropped a dollop of mayonnaise on two slices of bread. “So what brings you to Luke’s unfurnished abode?”
Gloria laughed softly. “It is kind of Spartan,” she observed.
“I don’t know if he’s a minimalist or what,” Harper confessed.
“Commitment phobic?” Gloria suggested.
“Even when it comes to furniture, it seems,” Harper agreed. She handed Gloria a plated sandwich. “Water or soda?”
“Water, please,” Gloria answered automatically. There. She remembered her manners.
They ate side-by-side on barstools at the island. The only seats available.
Gloria tried to focus on the sandwich, but the words she needed to say were bubbling up in her throat. “Harper, I just wanted to thank you,” she said, breaking the silence.
Harper swiped bread crumbs off of her lower lip. “You’re welcome. But it’s just a sandwich.”
Gloria laughed. “Not just for the sandwich, which is really good, by the way. For helping me with Glenn at Remo’s. It’s been going on for so long, or at least I’ve let it go on so long, that I felt like everyone had stopped seeing me.”
She paused, took a breath. “It took me seeing the situation I helped create hurt someone else to realize that it had to stop. And I’m sorry for that.”
Yes, she had planned to leave Glenn. But Gloria wasn’t sure she would have had the guts to press charges, to turn over all those humiliating photos to the police, if the man she’d once loved hadn’t hurt someone else. That made her even more disappointed in herself.
Harper shrugged off the apology. “It was worth it if it helps you build a life you want. How are you?”
“I’m okay,” Gloria said, pushing the pickle spear around her plate. “I’m staying with my mother for now. And I pressed charges.” Feeling an unexpected lightness in saying the words, Gloria picked up her sandwich and took another bite.
There was so much silence in shame. Maybe getting the words out would ease a small bit of her burden?
“That’s very brave of you,” Harper said.
Gloria shook her head. “It would have been braver had I done it years ago.”
Harper patted her hand lightly. “Life moves pretty fast. There’s not a lot of room for coulda, shoulda, woulda.”
“Sometimes that’s all I can think about. How different my life would be if I had gone to college or never started dating him.” Whoa, Nelly. First, she couldn’t form a coherent sentence and now she was spilling her guts?
Harper’s big gray eyes widened with understanding. “Maybe now you have that chance? See what your life would be without him in it.”
Gloria didn’t know why she was blurting out her secret shame to a complete stranger. It must have been the roast beef. But she couldn’t stop the flood of words. “It’s hard. I don’t really have any friends left. I guess it’s not easy to be friends with someone who keeps making the wrong decision over and over again. Eventually, everyone has to decide whether or not it’s worth it to keep trying.”
And the old Gloria Parker hadn’t been worth it.
“So, what are you going to do now?” Harper asked as Gloria contemplated sinking into the downward spiral that beckoned.
She sat straighter. “I’m going to get a job, find a place to live, and be worth it.” Gloria felt the words vibrate inside her. This was her life. Her choice.
Harper nodded her approval and bit enthusiastically into her pickle spear. “Sounds like a good plan to me. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Wanna be friends?” Gloria offered. “I’ll understand if your answer’s no. Considering I got you punched in the face.” A joke. A very small, not very funny joke. Maybe she really was going to be okay.
Harper gave her a long, slow wink. “I got myself punched in the face. And it got me waking up staring into the beautiful eyes of Luke Garrison. I think I owe you a lifetime of friendship.”
Gloria’s mouth stretched into an honest-to-goodness grin. It felt strange on her face. “I went to school with Sophie and Luke. He’s a good man.”
“Yes, he is.” Harper nodded.
A memory of Luke and his best friend, Aldo, surfaced. It was a Friday night football game, and the two were strutting victoriously off the field. While Luke’s then-girlfriend Karen jogged up to him for a kiss, for one shining moment, Aldo’s dark gaze h
ad met and held hers. Just like that, late-blooming sophomore Gloria had developed her very first crush.
Gloria insisted on washing the plates while Harper put the sandwich fixings away.
“So, how do you feel?” Gloria asked. “You got knocked around pretty hard.”
She saw it in the way Harper’s gaze skated left, in the tiny lift of her shoulders. Secrets. Violence left its dirty fingerprints on a person’s soul.
“It wasn’t so bad. And may I repeat: Luke Garrison.”
“Well, there is that,” Gloria said, letting it drop. She glanced at the clock on the microwave. “I’d better be getting back.”
“I’m so glad you came,” Harper said, walking her down the hallway to the front door.
“It was really nice officially meeting you,” Gloria told her. “And one more time for the record: thank you, and I’m sorry.”
Harper rolled her eyes on a bubbly laugh. “And again, no thanks or apologies necessary. I fully plan to be BFFs with you, and we should have dinner sometime soon.”
Friends. Gloria wanted to cry with hope, with gratitude, with relief. Was there a possibility that she wasn’t permanently damaged?
Harper opened the front door, and Gloria froze to the spot, staring at the shirtless, tattooed, sweaty man in front of her.
5
His heart was lodged somewhere between chest and throat. The last person Aldo expected to find at his best friend’s door was Gloria Parker. She stared at him with wide dark eyes full of shadows and questions.
“Did someone say dinner?” Aldo asked with what he hoped to God was a charming grin and not a fish gape. He was vaguely aware of the fact that he was shirtless and sweating profusely. Fortunately, that was one of his best looks.
“Hi, Aldo,” Gloria said shyly.
He whipped off his sunglasses to see her better. Thickly lashed eyes, a smooth, tawny complexion that hinted at her heritage. The bone structure of a fucking model wrapped up in the body of a tiny pixie.
That’s how he had always thought of her. Fragile, too pretty to touch.
He saw a hint of the bruising edging out of the top of her scarf, and he clenched his hands into fists on his hips. He was used to the rage, used to pushing it down.
“Hi, Gloria. How’s it going?” How’s it going? She was recovering from a public physical assault, dumbass. How did he think it was going?
She glanced down at her pink toenails and then back up at him. Aldo could have stood there all day taking her in. But the blonde next to her cleared her throat.
“You must be Aldo because Gloria called you that,” she said, extending her hand.
With great determination, Aldo dragged his gaze from Gloria’s pretty face. “And you must be the famous Harper.” He shook her hand. “Thought I’d stop by while my best friend is out of town to see why he forgot to mention that he has a live-in girlfriend.”
“And make sure I’m not some kind of psychopath?”
Aldo blinked. Touché, potential psychopath. Touché.
Aldo hefted a shoulder. “You know the saying: Bros don’t let other bros date psychos.”
Gloria gave a soft laugh, and Aldo felt himself grow ten feet tall.
“I’m actually not familiar with that one. Is there some kind of test I have to take?” Harper joked.
But Aldo couldn’t stop staring at Gloria. His gaze roamed her face, memorizing every detail. He hadn’t been this close to her—close enough to touch her—in years. And the reason for that was behind bars.
With Herculean effort, he returned his attention to Harper. “Why don’t I give you the test at dinner? Monday. Here. I’ll grill burgers and dogs,” he suggested, already plotting.
“Gloria, I feel like I should confirm that this gentleman actually is a friend of Luke’s before I agree to let him cook dinner in Luke’s house,” Harper said gamely.
Gloria nodded, her dark hair falling over her forehead. “He is.”
“Since elementary school,” Aldo supplied, still looking at Gloria.
“Good enough for me. Seven here okay for you, Gloria?”
Aldo would have kissed Harper on the mouth if it wouldn’t have messed up his long game with Gloria.
He saw Gloria hesitate. Saw her questioning herself, and he moved an inch closer to her, slapping on his most flirtatious smile. “Please tell me you’ll bring your apple pie.”
He took a breath and went for it, taking one of Gloria’s slim hands in his. He was touching her. Finally. He stared down at her long fingers and ran his thumb over the ridges of her knuckles. Goose bumps sprang up on her bare arms. He didn’t know what was more powerful, her reaction to him or the thrum of his blood in his veins. “I’ll be your slave for life,” he promised.
Gloria’s lower lip trembled before she bit it. She was staring down at their joined hands, and He could have died happy on the spot.
“I’ll bring apple pie,” she said softly. Slowly, she turned back to Harper. “I’ll see you Monday, Harper.”
She pulled her hand free in slow motion, and Aldo enjoyed the feel of her palm and fingers sliding over his. “See you, Gloria,” he said, leaning against the doorframe in case she smiled at him and took him out at the knees.
The upward curve of her lips hit him squarely in the chest. He watched her leave, stepping carefully down the stairs. Probably still healing, he noted and once again swallowed the emotions that clogged his throat. There was a special place in hell for people who abused the innocents of the world. And Glenn Diller would be there. He would see to it.
“It’s nice to see her smile,” he said quietly. Belatedly, he remembered his audience. “So, Harper—if that is your real name—tell me about yourself.”
She cocked her head. “Want to come in?”
“Normally, not until I know whether you can be trusted. But I’m four miles into my eight, and I could use some water.”
He was used to the barren state of Luke’s house, he thought, following Harper back to the kitchen. Without a push from someone, his friend would live like a squatter for the rest of his life. Maybe that “someone” was Harper. If she wasn’t a psycho.
She handed him a water bottle, and they returned to the living room to perch on the homely sofa.
“So, tell me about growing up with Luke,” she said, all sunshine in her smile.
“He was always tagging after me, shadowing me, worshiping me,” Aldo began.
Harper laughed. He fed her a few stories about summers and football and high school all the while attempting to pry information out of her. But she wasn’t forthcoming, parrying his questions about family and jobs and education with more questions of her own. He didn’t get the psycho vibe from her. But the woman had secrets, and he hoped those secrets wouldn’t hurt his friend.
“So, do you know Gloria?” he asked, finally deeming it appropriate to steer Harper in the direction he most wanted to go.
“I actually just met her officially when she stopped by.”
He rubbed a hand over his jaw and realized he’d forgotten to shave again. He’d have to get back in the habit if he was going to make a good impression. “Rumor has it, she moved out and is pressing charges.”
“Rumor has it,” Harper agreed. Her smile was sneaky. “How long have you known Gloria?”
He didn’t really want to spill his guts when his conversation partner was a vault in need of prying open. But it felt so fucking good to say Gloria’s name out loud. “Since forever. She was a sophomore when we were seniors. Glenn was bad news back then, too.”
Harper rubbed her ribs. “Yeah, the years don’t seem to have mellowed him.”
“Heard you had quite the shiner.” Either she was skilled with makeup or was a fast healer because the greenish yellow bruising was barely visible.
“Please,” she snorted. “You should have seen the other guy.”
“Wish I would have been there.” He said it lightly, but that thought had kept him awake every night since. He’d wanted his shot at Glen
n Diller. Wanted it more than anything. A vision of Gloria smiling shyly up at him crowded into his mind. Almost anything.
Diller deserved to burn for what he’d put that girl through. If the legal system wasn’t up to the task, He was.
“So, how long have you been into Gloria?” she asked, bringing him out of the dark thoughts.
Aldo blinked. Shit. “Since I heard her sing in the high school musical.”
Harper grinned, and he stared down at his water bottle.
“How did handsome football star Aldo not win the girl?” Harper asked.
His life’s regret. “I never took the shot,” he said with a sad shake of his head.
“Maybe now you can pull the trigger,” Harper said, elbowing him.
“I like the way you think, Harper.”
“Better bring your A-game to dinner Monday, sport,” she teased.
“Sport? Are you serious?” Aldo scoffed, already planning all the ways he could sweep Gloria off her feet.
“Let the lousy nickname contest begin,” she crowed.
6
Sara Parker’s kitchen was Gloria’s favorite place in the world. Pretty white cabinets that they’d spent a week painting together when she was nine formed a tidy L. The countertops were covered in cobalt tiles, mirrored in the pretty blue glasses and colorful dinner plates in the cabinets above.
The room was friendly and colorful, speaking to the character of her mother.
Gloria dipped a tortilla chip into the bowl of fresh salsa and moaned with pleasure as the notes of lime and cilantro melted on her tongue. It had been years since she’d last sampled her mother’s salsa. Glenn didn’t like anything with spice…or flavor really.
“Good?” Sara asked, producing a bottle of tequila from a cabinet.
“The best.”
“How did your secret errand go?” Her mother magically produced the ingredients for her infamous grapefruit margaritas, placing them neatly next to her industrial blender.
Sara Parker was a frugal woman, splurging on only what she deemed necessities—like a margarita blender. She lived below her means in a two-bedroom brick ranch that she had taken a decade to DIY into her own personal paradise. The living room was a shocking turquoise with comfortable white couches and walls cluttered with family photos. The only bathroom was a cheery canary with a frilly lace shower curtain and teal-framed mirrors. Sara’s bedroom was a moody dark purple.
