The Only Thing

by Marie Harte

  “Yes.” Jennifer studied her brother. “Like I said, Casey can function well on his meds. He was doing so well, we never noticed when he went off them. And that gradual degeneration obviously affected his ability to rationalize right from wrong.” She leaned down to wipe a tear that had trickled down Casey’s cheek. “Don’t worry. We’ll help you, Casey. Won’t we, Brad?”

  “We will.” Brad nodded. To Hope, he said, “We’re so very, very sorry about all this. Honestly, had we any idea, we’d have taken steps to stop him. I can’t believe he turned so aggressive. God, he could have killed someone.”

  The police arrived. They took a full statement and carted a subdued Casey away. Brad and Jennifer continued to apologize until Hope promised them she’d be all right, and they left to join Casey at the station.

  A sad circumstance all around, but at least now Hope would be safe.

  Finally alone together, J.T. grabbed Hope and dragged her with him to her bedroom.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “No.” Realizing she’d been in real danger, knowing she could have been hurt by that knife-wielding maniac, had him thinking of all he might have lost.

  He didn’t know how to handle what he was feeling. So he pulled her in bed, hugged her, and held on.

  Hope sighed. “I love you too.”

  Chapter 21

  A day and a half later, J.T. continued to replay Hope’s words. She’d said it. I love you too. What the hell did he do now?

  When she’d mentioned marriage and babies to Casey, J.T. had realized she’d said it to show the guy she had zero interest in him. But saying the love stuff to J.T. while in bed, just the two of them?

  He hadn’t mentioned it again. She hadn’t either, and for the last thirty-six hours, he’d been stressing about how to handle the situation. Since desperate times called for desperate measures, he’d finally called his father.

  Now, Saturday afternoon, sitting at Ray’s and watching a baseball game on the new television Ray had mounted to the lone clean wall in the joint, J.T. toyed with his beer.

  “How are the ribs?” his dad asked.

  “Fine.”

  “Uh-huh. How’s Hope?”

  “Good.” Perky, sweet, sexy. She’d blown his mind yet again last night, her enthusiasm for making love matching his. He’d swear she’d been slipping him something, because he’d been so damn hungry for her that they’d hit it for hours.

  Or maybe she too had understood what they might have lost. He didn’t know anymore. He just knew he needed to do something. To make a statement.

  “So she’s not having nightmares or anything because of that creepy guy?”

  “No. She’s good. In a weird way, she was always safe. He targeted everyone but her. But he’s going away for a long time.” Brad had called early that morning, confirming that Casey was leaving the country.

  “Glad to hear it.” Liam cleared his throat. “Now things can get back to normal, right?”

  “Maybe.” Shit. His palms were sweaty. “Dad, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  He looked into Liam’s light-gray eyes and saw the happiness there, that emotion that had come and gone but never stayed. For years his father had been existing, but not living. Sure, he loved his children, his garage, his friends, but he’d been alone and lonely. And they all knew it.

  “Do you think I’m lonely?”

  Liam didn’t blink. He studied J.T. and shook his head.

  “What?”

  “Let’s stop avoiding what you really want to know. You want me to tell you how you feel about Hope.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes.” Liam slugged back his beer and waved to Rena for another. “You saw me all fucked up for years about your mother and Del’s mother. You’ve watched your aunt fall for dickheads, finding them everywhere. Yeah, she picks ’em like ripe fruit from asshole bushes.”

  “Great imagery there, Dad.”

  “Hush. I’m talking.” Liam took the beer from Rena and handed her a ten. “Keep it, honey.”

  “Thanks.” She winked at J.T. “Let me know how the Hope engagement thing works.”

  He swallowed the ball suddenly lodged in his throat.

  “Ignore her.” Yet Liam was smiling. “Son, I’ve watched you your whole life, and I can honestly say I’ve never seen you as whole and happy and satisfied as you’ve been with Hope. Same way I am with Sophie.” Liam sighed. “She fits me. We’re getting married, you know. I finally got the stones to ask her, and she said yes.”

  “Seriously?” J.T.’s issues could wait. He leaned closer to hug his dad. “That’s awesome. When are you tying the knot?”

  “At Christmas this year. We want to do a white wedding.”

  “Wow.”

  Liam blinked, and J.T. wondered if he was seeing things, because his dad looked about to cry. “Wanted to know if you’d be my best man.”

  “Oh. Wow. Heck, yeah.”

  Liam nodded and wiped his cheeks. “Something in my eyes.”

  “Sure.” J.T. had something in his too.

  “Now about Hope. Sophie and I talked about this. We both see what’s happening. And you’ve got to shit or get off the pot, boy.”

  “Somehow I don’t see Sophie saying that.”

  “Hope Donnigan is a gem. She’s sweet and lovely, and Sophie just adores her. Her words, not mine. The girl wants nothing more than love and a happily-ever-after. Much as I’m having a tough time fathoming it, the girl wants you.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Liam’s grin faded. “Point is, don’t make the same mistakes I made. Don’t live afraid of every day, wondering who else you’re gonna lose. Because with that thinking, you’re already lost. Just think of it this way. Imagine your life without Hope.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Then it’s too late for you. Now get out of here and go make it right with her.”

  “What does that mean?” J.T. wanted to know. “Marriage? Kids? Moving in together?”

  “I’d say take it one step at a time, but at the very least, let her know what she means to you.”

  I love you too.

  “She might already know.”

  “Maybe if you’d stop being a pussy and just tell her, all this mysterious miscommunication crap would go away,” Liam suggested in a voice sweet enough to melt sugar. “For God’s sake, boy, don’t be like your sister. She almost ended it with Mike over a simple misunderstanding. I thought you were smarter than that.”

  “I am.” He was. “Fine. I’m going. Thanks for the pep talk, if you could call it that.”

  Liam held up a glass in toast. “To fools rushing in.”

  “Huh?”

  “‘Can’t Help Falling in Love.’ Elvis Presley. Listen to it, and learn a thing or two.”

  “How old are you again? A hundred?”

  His father flipped him off, and all was again right with the world. J.T. headed to his real girlfriend’s apartment for a meeting of hearts and minds.

  * * *

  Back at home after an intense workout at the gym, Hope finally had a minute to herself. Having been nearly attached at the hip to J.T. for weeks on end, it was nice—and not lonely—to be by herself again. The relief of knowing who had been giving her presents actually eclipsed having him put away. As creepy as he’d been, Casey deserved her pity, not her animosity.

  After all, without him, she might not have had J.T. to lean on so much.

  And that was the crux of it. She loved the big oaf. She knew he loved her. So where did that leave them? Where did that leave her? In another relationship going nowhere?

  She knew they hadn’t been together all that long, though it felt like forever. She’d never felt like this about anyone. What should she do? Continue to pretend everything was fine? Make him—and them�
��deal with it? Or start over with someone else?

  As if I can let him go that easily. The big jerk is addictive.

  She sighed and decided to shower off the grime from her workout.

  Since she and J.T. had grown close, she’d given him a spare key. Sadly, she wished it wasn’t just a matter of time before he returned it.

  Letting the hot water slide over her body, she saw a future so close, there for the taking, if only she could reach out and grab it. A life with a funny, artistic man and a few kids on the side, gorgeous babies with caramel skin and light-brown eyes. They’d look like a perfect blend of Hope and J.T.

  She sighed. Babies on the brain couldn’t be a good thing.

  A scuff on the floor told her she was no longer alone.

  “It’s just me. Don’t freak out.”

  “Too late.” She hadn’t expected him home. No, not home. Back. Hadn’t expected him back. “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything.” He stepped into the shower still wearing his jeans and T-shirt.

  “Okay, I have to know. What is with you and Jethro Tull?”

  He appeared pained. “You still don’t get it? Jethro Tull?” At her look, he sighed. “J.T.?”

  “No.” She gaped. “Are you serious? Your name is Jethro Tull Webster?” She paused. “Jethro?” Hope laughed. And laughed.

  And laughed some more.

  “Yeah, my name sucks. You done yet?”

  “Jethro!” she hooted. “Oh, thanks, I needed that.” She took some time to catch her breath, saw his annoyance, his Jethro Tull shirt, and laughed again.

  He knocked his head back against the shower wall. “Why me?”

  “Sorry.”

  His attention span easily diverted, he soon turned his gaze from the ceiling to her breasts. “I have problems.”

  “Jethro. Tull.”

  “Stop it.” He tried not to grin and couldn’t help it. “You’re such a shit.”

  “Oh, that’s nice.”

  “That’s one of the many reasons I love you.”

  Hope forgot what she wanted to say.

  “I figured it’s about time I acted like I have a pair and admitted it. You already know anyway.”

  She’d known, but it never hurt to hear it again.

  “You’re sexy and smart. I love your body, your obnoxious mouth, the way you make me laugh. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and to be honest, it scares the shit out of me.”

  “Oh. Me too.” She smiled.

  “Hey. Let me say this.”

  She didn’t point out that he was soaked now. Or that he had a habit of looking her over while talking, as if unable to stop himself from staring at her body. She liked that.

  “When I gave you that speech about people who love each other staying together, it just came out of nowhere. I panicked that you might leave me. I don’t want that. Fuck, Hope. I want you. Like, I think about us together in the future. I watch you with Colin and think about what you’d be like with your own kid. With our kid.”

  She wanted to pinch herself. Was this real?

  “But it feels fast to think like that. We’re new. I’ve never had a relationship last more than six months, tops. And your mother—”

  “Will come around. Don’t worry.” The need to convince her mother of his worth burned. “I’ll make her see the light.”

  He smiled. “That mean spark in your eyes worries me and turns me on. What am I going to do with you?”

  “I know. I think I’d like a tattoo, sir. A butterfly right down here.” She brought his hand to her lower right belly. “And maybe you can tattoo a J. on one wing and a T. on the other.”

  He looked horrified.

  “What did I say?”

  “Tattooing a girl’s or guy’s name on your body is the kiss of death for a relationship. Trust me, I’ve seen it too many times.”

  “Fine. Then how about something magical on my body?”

  “Honey, your body is magical. My dick has never been so hard all the time. Hell, I’m hard now, and I’m still confused about how I can feel this way. But I do.”

  “So go with it. We don’t have to rush into anything, you know.”

  “Well, okay. But I was thinking. Maybe we can ease us into things with a fake engagement. Like, we can plan things and pick out rings and shit.”

  “And shit.” She grinned.

  “You know my dad and your aunt are getting married this Christmas.”

  “Oh, that’s so great.” She let him pull her into his arms.

  “But we can do them one better. How about we think about next year? Like, Valentine’s Day?”

  “Too clichéd.”

  He kissed her. “First day of spring?”

  “Nah.” She pulled his shirt off. Then she took his nipple between her lips.

  “Damn.” He blew out a breath. “What was I saying?”

  “You were going to take off your pants and get naked first.”

  “Right.”

  She helped him strip to nothing—carefully, which took some effort.

  He frowned. “I probably need to hold you up to make this work.”

  “You will not. Your ribs are healing.” She reached around him and turned off the shower. They dried off, then she moved into her room and bent over the bed. “The pill is safe now, so we don’t need a—” She shrieked as he pounced, which couldn’t have been good for his ribs.

  But later, after they’d both been well pleasured, he lay with her in bed, each of them hugging the other tightly.

  He yawned. “Let me get some rest so we can go again.”

  “Nooo.”

  He laughed. “So keep thinking about a good date for us.”

  “Already have one.”

  “Oh?”

  She dragged his head down and whispered, “April first.”

  He pulled back and smiled at her. “That sounds about right. So are we going to have a pretend engagement to go with our pretend relationship?”

  “Whatever you want. You’re in charge.”

  He nodded. “I can work with that.”

  Yep, let him think it’s his own idea to keep you. “Man, I really am the queen.”

  He laughed. “I love you, you crazy woman.”

  “I love you too.” A pause. “Jethro.”

  For more Marie Harte check out

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  Chapter 1

  The opening riff of an old-school AC/DC song echoed through the garage. Johnny Devlin bit back a curse when he scraped his knuckles on the pump of the piece of crap Cadillac he was working on.

  The smell of motor oil, sweat, and grease warmed the interior of Johnny’s favorite place in the world. Webster’s Garage boasted a double set of bay doors and a roomy interior complete with a cement floor and red-and-brown brick walls, a holdover from the original Tooley’s Auto Shop.

  “Hey, asshole,” he heard Foley snarl. “We talked about this. Hands off my stuff.”

  Best buds Foley and Sam were squared off, staring holes through each other. When it came to order—and pretty much everything related to cleanliness—the two thugs sat on opposite ends of the spectrum. Foley—Mr. Tall, Dangerous, and Arrogant—was compulsively neat, while Sam might as well have had the word chaos tattooed on his forehead. Covered in tattoos, Sam was a walking billboard for badassery.

  Lou stepped over to the radio near his work station, and soon loud classic rock drowned out the rest of the argument.

  Just another day at the office.

  A cool breeze made Johnny sigh. Seattle’s unseasonably warm autumn temps continued to be a pleasant surprise this year, and they kept
the garage doors open to let the air circulate through the sticky auto repair shop. Even at nine thirty in the morning, he had worked himself into a sweat.

  Johnny cranked his wrench and stared at a stubborn pump assembly that refused to cooperate. He loosened it, got to the fan belt, then glared down at the problematic power steering pump.

  After glancing over his shoulder to make sure he was in the clear, he softly muttered, “Shitty Cadillac.”

  The sound of someone shaking a familiar glass jar of coins made him tense. He heard it again, even over the blast of AC/DC. Ducking deeper under the Cadillac’s hood, Johnny wondered who his sexy-scary boss was going to call out for cursing now. He was sure he hadn’t been that loud.

  “Seriously, guys?” Delilah Webster held the newly purposed amber glass growler out to Sam and Foley. The woman had a hard-on for swearwords lately.

  Such a sad waste of a perfectly good beer container. Once the half-gallon jar had been home to a killer IPA flavored with hops and a hint of citrus. Now, it was nothing but a no-swearing jar filled with goddamn quarters.

  As if the shop going clean would prevent Del from slipping up at her wedding.

  He imagined her dolled up in a white gown, tats, piercings, and her hair all done up in some funky twist, looking like a million bucks. She’d be glowing at her behemoth of a fiancé before letting loose with an “I fucking do.” With a snort, he buried himself back under the hood of the bastard of a car and did his best to calm his frustration. He never had anything pleasant to say before ten a.m. anyway. God knew he needed a jolt of caffeine, and soon, before he took a tire iron to the gray piece of crap he just knew was laughing at him.

  Sam and Foley bitched about the new no-swear policy even as he heard them drop change into what Johnny had taken to calling the “Rattle of Oppression—ROP.” A few clinks of change against glass and everyone seemed to sink into themselves, anxious that their fearsome boss would come storming back in, demanding a quarter for a “hell,” “shit,” or “damn.”

  Johnny knew better. Dubbed the smart one of the crew, he kept his nose out of trouble and everyone else on the straight and narrow. Mostly.

  He heard Del step in his direction, grazed his already sore knuckle against the frame as he removed the assembly, and let it rip. “Fudge.”