Falling Deep

by Diana Gardin

  He didn’t even know her last name, so it wasn’t like he could look her up.

  “Good grief, I was knocking for like two minutes!” Lena said from the doorway.

  Reed looked up, startled, and focused on his assistant as she tucked her short blond bob behind one ear and tapped her foot.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Well, what?” Reed asked sheepishly. “I didn’t hear you.”

  “Oh, for the love of Jesus,” Lena said, venturing farther into the room. “What was Reed Hopewell thinking about that kept his attention focused firmly in space like that?”

  “Uh…”

  Lena gasped. Reed’s thirty-something assistant was a wife and a mother, and she tended to live vicariously through Reed’s escapades when he came to work and told her about them.

  “A girl?”

  “Hell, no,” Reed snapped. “Music. I was mentally writing.”

  Lena narrowed her big brown eyes. “Nope. That’s a damn lie. I’ve seen you focused on writing before. But time will tell, won’t it?”

  “Did you need something, Lena?” Frustration crept into his tone.

  “Yep, got a memo from your dad. He’s out of the office today, lucky you, but he wants you at the ranch for dinner. Seven o’clock.”

  Reed nodded absently. “Yeah, okay.”

  Lena winked and backed out of the office, closing the door softly behind her.

  Reed sighed and returned to his actual work. Hopewell Enterprises was a global energy corporation producing classic and futuristic types of fuel for industrial use. Reed was a marketing man, making sure the people on the other end of multi-million-dollar deals were comfortable and happy with the decision to go into business with H.E., and describing his family’s company’s plans for prospective partners.

  As he pulled up his computer screen, he put all thoughts of a mysteriously gorgeous woman out of his head.

  Hope turned her head and gulped a quick breath of air into her screaming lungs, then plunged her face back into the blue depths. She smoothly sliced her arms through the water in a fast, steady rhythm, blazing a trail from one side of the Olympic-size pool to the other.

  If there was one benefit to living in Frank’s house, it was the pool. The first thing she did when she woke was pull on her Speedo one-piece and head out to swim laps. And on a particularly stressful day, it was also the first thing she did when she arrived home after work.

  She’d learned to swim in the pool of a Boy’s and Girl’s Club years ago, and no matter where she’d lived, she’d always found a way to keep swimming: dirty community pools, friends’ backyards. Wherever she could find water, she dived in. It was an escape she’d learned early on would never betray her.

  Work was spending the day at the Charleston Center for Girls and Boys, which she loved something fierce. That wasn’t usually the source of the angst she felt churning inside her. But while at the center, she often had to douse little fires started by her other line of work.

  She reached out to tap the side of the pool at the end of her last lap, and strong fingers grasped her tender wrist. She gasped, inhaling a mouthful of water in the process.

  She sputtered, and heard laughing as she wiped the water from her eyes and cleared her lungs.

  “Hey!” she said angrily. “Don’t you know you’re never supposed to startle a swimmer?”

  Morrow Mathis squatted on the concrete directly next to the water, laughing his head off.

  “No, is that a rule? I didn’t know about that one.”

  She glared at him and pulled herself out of the water. She wrapped a towel around herself, took a seat next to him, and dangled her feet in the water.

  “Who let you in?” asked Hope.

  “The maid…what’s her name again?”

  “Maggie.”

  “Yeah, Maggie,” Morrow said. “What’s up with you? Your text had me worried. Bad day?”

  “Bad life,” she grumbled. “But yeah, today was no party, either.”

  “What happened?” Morrow stretched out his long legs next to the pool and kicked off his leather flip-flops. “I’ve known you, how long now? Nine years? You don’t usually dwell on the negative. Why so glum all of a sudden?”

  Hope’s lips formed a thin line. “Yeah, well, the Hope Dawson of sixth grade and the Hope Dawson of the big, bad world are vastly different. A lot more mud under my nails.”

  Morrow shook his head. “Your life will change as soon as you allow it to, Hope.” He frowned, staring into the softly lapping water. “You think I like seeing you shuffle through the shit show your life has become? I don’t. I hate it, actually. But you aren’t really willing to change anything.”

  “Row! I have my sister to think about! I don’t exactly have the luxury of doing whatever I want, whenever I want to do it, do I?”

  He sighed. “You’re twenty-one years old. Shine a light on what’s happening in your family. No judge would deny you custody of Vi.”

  She snorted. “I can’t take that chance. Frank’s so well connected. If I did that and lost, I’d never be able to protect Violet. I want to get her out of there, Morrow. But I have to wait until I have the leverage to be able to do that. If I ever have it.”

  She sighed, leaning back on her hands and staring at the picturesque chain of clouds chugging across the sky. “Right now, I need to suffer through working for Frank. When I have a chance, I’ll make it all stop. But this is what I have to do right now.”

  She didn’t want to tell him about the attack. But she desperately wanted to discuss Reed. She chewed the inside of her cheek, contemplating. Telling Morrow about Tyler would be stirring up a storm so violent she may not be able to rein it back in. Her friend protected her fiercely, when she let him.

  While she mulled it over, Morrow shook his head and sighed. “Agree to disagree. New subject: your birthday. It’s in two weeks. What do you want to do this year?”

  Hope reached out a hand to brush a thick lock of hair out of his eyes. Women envied Morrow his dark brown curly tresses; they hung down just long enough to touch his collar, and a tendril or two always hung in his eyes. They envied him even more for his long lashes and flawless, light brown skin. She thought Morrow might argue that being a mixed-race individual in Charleston, South Carolina, had been more of a tribulation growing up than an asset, but he was beautiful all the same. His green eyes studied her, and she smiled back at herself in their reflection.

  She and Morrow had been a pair ever since he threw himself in front of a rogue kickball for her in gym class back on the first day of sixth grade. Since then, he’d been her best friend, her confidant, and really the only person in her life other than Violet she truly let in.

  “I want to get the hell out of this place, order a pizza, and watch a movie on the couch in your apartment. Oh, and beer. There needs to be lots and lots of beer.”

  “I thought you’d say that. That’s why I made plans for us to go out. You’re not staying in on your birthday this year.”

  She groaned and slapped the back of his head.

  “Fuck was that for?”

  “I’m not going to be able to get away on my birthday, Morrow. You know that.” Her voice was quiet, and Morrow could read the serious expression on her face.

  “You can. You will,” he encouraged. “We’re going to dinner at a fancy place, and then going to sing karaoke.”

  She brightened. “That actually sounds like fun.”

  “See? Leave it to your man Morrow.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Who else is invited?”

  “Well…Violet’s too young for this scene. But I’m going to talk to Beth and Xander from the Center. We’ll make it a party. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she said happily. “Thanks, Morrow. I’d fall over and die without you.”

  More than one friend in their lives had wondered why she and Morrow were just friends. To tell the truth, they’d tried for more, just once. They’d kissed shortly after high school, and then both fallen over lau
ghing when the smooch had revealed that they had absolutely no physical chemistry. Their relationship was based on pure, platonic, unconditional love. And she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

  He put an arm around her neck and pulled her into his side. He didn’t care that she made a big wet spot on his thin Henley, or that she was dripping all over his khaki shorts. “Things have to go up from here, Hope. And maybe it will all start with your birthday.”

  She hoped so. She couldn’t take much more of the downward spiral her life was currently on.

  Four

  Morrow whistled as she made the deposit.

  “Having a paycheck that big would make me stupid,” he said wistfully.

  “Well, it always feels like blood money to me. But putting every penny of it into savings for the day I get to take my sister away from our mother is a hell of a lot of comfort.”

  Hope maneuvered her scrappy little car into the steady flow of traffic on the street in front of the bank and headed toward the Center. She and Morrow had been volunteering there since they were teenagers, but while Morrow had gone off to college to major in education, she had stayed behind in Charleston. College wasn’t in the cards when she was trying to keep a close eye on Violet, and when her mother met Frank all of her spare time was filled with her second job. The volunteer time she spent at the Center turned into part-time work, and then she had earned a spot as assistant director in the last year and a half. It was a career for Hope, the only one she wanted to have. The fact that she had to balance her time there during the day with her time working for Frank’s club at night was something she detested.

  Now that Morrow was back home and teaching at a high school nearby, he volunteered at the Center on his summer break. They had just made a bank run for the fund-raising division, and Hope took advantage of the time to deposit the money she’d earned the night before. It was a percentage of what she’d really earned. Frank gave her a cut and kept the rest. For his stepdaughter, he kept a little more than he did from the other girls he had working for him. Just another special form of torture for Hope.

  “Still,” mused Morrow. “The fact that you’re pulling cash for your trouble has to be kind of an upside.”

  She stared at him, her mouth hanging open and her hazel eyes flashing more green than brown at the moment. “Are you kidding me right now, Row? I’d give all of the money back if I could; I don’t want to be anywhere near Frank’s stupid club. But since I earned it, I’m glad I can put something away for when the time comes. I’m afraid that if I get another job, Wendy will be pissed. And when she’s pissed…it’s not good for anyone. Especially Violet. The only reason I stay in that house is for my sister. You know that.”

  He nodded, his face clouded with chagrin. “Yeah, I know, Hope. I’m sorry.”

  She sighed and pulled the car back into the parking lot of the Center. “It’s forgotten. I only have to get through two more weeks until my birthday party, right? I shouldn’t have to work any more nights for the club before then. I can do it.”

  They got out of the car and hurried to get out of the hot sun. Stepping inside the cool building, Hope took a deep breath in relief.

  “Hell, yeah, you can.” Morrow nodded his encouragement.

  She still hadn’t told him about Tyler, therefore not mentioning a word about meeting and being saved by Reed. There just didn’t seem to be a right time to tell her very protective best friend that she’d almost been violated that way.

  “Miss Dawson?”

  Hope glanced down at the light tug on her jeans and smiled into the face of a little first grader named Jack.

  She knelt down in front of him. “What’s up, Jack?”

  “I can’t figure out how to make seven and three make ten. I know it’s ’sposed to make ten, but it keeps comin’ out only nine.” The more the confused little furrow in his brow deepened, the more Hope melted inside.

  Smothering a giggle, she let Jack pull her away from Morrow. When she looked back, he shot her a sunny smile and headed over to the basketball court where a group of high school boys were dribbling furiously.

  Working full days at the Center over the next few weeks was exhausting, but in a fulfilling, endearing way. She adored the kids, and vice versa. Being one of the only adults in their lives who actually cared enough about them to make sure they were learning their numbers and letters gave Hope a strange sense of validation, like she was doing something important with her life no one could take away from her. But on the day before her birthday, coming home to find Wendy and Frank waiting for her in the living room was a whole different kind of draining.

  “Now what?” Hope asked, not at all in the mood to deal with the two of them.

  “You have to work tonight.” Frank informed her of the news like he was commenting on the weather. His tone was so casual, she wished she could reach out and wipe the smug smile from his face.

  “No,” Hope argued. “I’m off this weekend, remember? Tomorrow is my birthday.”

  Wendy huffed out a breath and rolled her eyes skyward. Someone might have thought she was dealing with an irritating employee rather than her daughter. “Do you think adults actually get to take off work on their birthday, Hope?”

  “How would you know, Wendy?” Hope said, her voice quietly bordering on rage. “When’s the last time you worked?”

  Wendy stood up, crossed the room to where Hope leaned wearily against the doorjamb, and slapped her hard across the face.

  Hope raised her hand to her cheek, gaping at her mother. The stinging in her cheek began shortly after the burning in her chest. She quickly gathered her emotions and placed them in the deep, dark place in her heart where she kept them buried. Just another infraction of her mother’s: the first of its kind, but no more catastrophic than what she’d already done.

  “You’ve graduated to hitting me now?” Hope spoke with a calm so forced it nearly broke her. “That’s good to know. I’m actually okay with fighting back!”

  “Hope.” Her stepfather’s voice commanded the room, and their attention. He stood; his height and girth best suited an NFL linebacker. In fact, he used to be an actual NFL linebacker, before he’d returned to Charleston following an injury and become the successful entrepreneur he was today. They were quite a pair when they were together; Wendy had all of her daughter’s beauty but none of her warmth. Her long, dark hair didn’t have the dark-to-light effect that Hope’s had, remaining raven from root to end. She made a striking contrast to Violet’s fair features, but it was obvious to anyone in the room that Hope was her daughter.

  “I hit you because you’re a disrespectful little wench,” Wendy spat. “You deserved it. Frank said you’re working, so you’re working. It’s not like we make you head out into the fray for free; you get paid, and your ass should be grateful.”

  Hope had heard it before. She should be grateful for what they made her do. She should be thanking them for allowing her sister and her to stay together. She should be kissing their feet for the home they provided her.

  Sighing in defeat, she sagged slightly against the wall. “I need to get some ice on my face, Wendy, unless you want me to go to work with a welt. Is a limo picking me up?”

  “As per usual,” Frank said. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth, little girl. If you weren’t my most requested employee, I would have canned your pretty little ass a long time ago. So fix your face, and then get happy. I picked out your dress; it’s lying on your bed.”

  “Right,” Hope muttered as she walked out of the living room and headed for the kitchen.

  She needed to place an ice pack on her smarting cheek.

  Another couple of weeks had flown by with plenty of sun, heat, and ocean. Reed had spent his days on international calls and coaxing deals out of conglomerates in faraway places. He’d spent his nights playing guitar and writing music, or downing beers with Tate on the beach at their favorite bar.

  Among other things.

  “Do you want coffee?” he aske
d the statuesque redhead as she stretched one long, bare leg out from beneath the covers on his bed. He didn’t want to be rude, but his Saturdays were a precious commodity, and he wanted to get this one started, which meant the redhead from Sunny’s last night needed to get out of his bed.

  “Mmmm,” she murmured as she stretched. “Coffee sounds good.”

  “Goddammit,” he cursed under his breath. Aloud, he said, “Coming right up, uh…”

  “Monica,” she said, fully alert now. “My name is Monica. Did you seriously forget that?”

  Reed cringed. “Coffee will be in the kitchen, Monica.”

  He ducked out of his room quickly and padded barefoot back toward the kitchen. He was certain Tate was in a similar situation behind his closed door, but he wouldn’t be completing his send-off until later in the morning.

  Reed listened to the percolating coffeepot as he sat on the arm of the sleek black leather couch. He placed his elbows on his knees and stared at his toes as he clasped his hands together pensively. Somehow, he found himself in this situation he hated on most weekend mornings, having to kick out a girl in the most unceremonious fashion possible. All the while trying not to come off like the asshole he really was.

  “I didn’t peg you for the deep-in-thought type,” she muttered as she searched his cabinets for a mug.

  He stood up and walked over, reaching around her to grab a travel mug and pulling it down for her.

  Damn, he thought. I lose more travel mugs this way…

  “Hard to tell what kind of person someone is when you go home with them after one night in a bar, huh?”

  He couldn’t help himself saying it. He might be the douche bag that drunkenly brought different girls home, but they were the ones who willingly flocked to his bed. Nelson Island was a small place; yes, most of the women in the summer were tourists, but they still had to realize what they were walking into.

  She grimaced and grabbed her cup. Flouncing toward the door, she said, “Don’t bother asking for my number.”