Don't Let Me Go

by Rin Daniels

  “Stand down,” Nadine laughed. “I don’t need a date, I have plans.”

  Kat sobered. “Ooh. Yeah. The mechanic. I take it that didn’t go well?”

  Nadine leaned back into the mound of pillows on her bed, crossing her bare ankles. The evening breeze rifled the sheer curtains decorating the French doors leading out into the patio overlooking the pool. It was a good night for keeping the windows open. The air carried a cloud of sweet jasmine through her bedroom, courtesy of the flowers her mother cultivated in the garden.

  It was soothing. Enough so that she only sounded resigned as Nadine admitted, “At all. I was all geared up, too. I mean, I wore the red lace.”

  “Ugh.” Kat groaned. “And what’s his jerkface wasted it.”

  Nadine knew her friend would get it. “I need new lingerie.”

  “Coincidentally, I need you to have new lingerie,” Kat replied with enthusiasm. “Let’s go out and get some tomorrow?”

  “Deal.” Nadine paused. “Hey, by the way?”

  “What’s up?”

  She dragged her toe up her other calf, scratching at an itch. Her legs were still smooth. Even more a waste. If she shaved them again tomorrow, would her skin peel off?

  Nadine wrinkled her nose. “Your loan is now done.”

  There was a pause. “You didn’t.” Kat didn’t wait for a reply. “You did. By yourself?”

  “What?” She lowered her voice, even though she was sure her parents wouldn’t bother using the intercom this late. “It was totes easy. I just wandered in, batted my eyelashes, paid it off.”

  “Nadine.” Her name was almost a whine, but she heard worry in it. “You should have let me know, I would have gone with you.”

  “It’s fine,” Nadine protested. She firmed her voice. “And it’s done, so don’t worry about it.”

  “Who was there?”

  “Some Italian mafia guy.”

  “Johnny. That guy is creepy.”

  “I know,” Nadine groaned, and then caught her error. Kat sucked in a breath. “I mean,” Nadine added, lightening her tone to breezy, “he was easy, too. He was scowling the whole time, until I was all, ‘Oh, gee, let me throw money at you, tee hee!’”

  When her friend laughed, Nadine’s smile eased into something gentler.

  Kat had it hard, and things had only gotten worse after her mother destroyed her salon and ran off with all her money. She worked full time at a hair salon at the mall to help make ends meet while she paid off the contractor; there wasn’t a lot leftover for extras. Especially not extras left over from her manipulative mother’s antics.

  Nadine was as emotionally invested in her friend’s hair salon as Kat was, but there was a lot of work left to do before it paid off.

  The least Nadine could do was use the tools she had to help.

  Eventually, her friend would have enough trust in Adam to let him do the same. Nadine was rooting for them.

  “Okay,” she said into the line as she heard Adam ask something in the background. “You crazy kids go make sweet, sweet lovin’.” Kat’s laughter strangled. “I’m going to dream of all the dirty, filthy things I didn’t get to do with the mechanic.”

  “Take notes.”

  “Only if you do,” Nadine shot back.

  “Girl,” Kat drawled, and was still laughing as they said their goodbyes.

  She hung up feeling a little bit better. At least she’d managed one good deed for the day, a deed that cleared Kat of some epic stress. Tomorrow, she’d replace her fantasy of red lace with something even sexier.

  Assuming that she could dodge her parents long enough. Nadine didn’t know what brought on this blind date, but there was no way she was going to let her parents choose her boyfriend—her husband!—for her.

  Especially not a guy who smiled at her parents like an angel and eyed her like she was a side of beef at a meat market.

  A tap at her door had her reflexively shoving her phone under one of her pillows. Habit. Her parents wouldn’t care if she was talking to a friend this late, but Nadine had spent too many nights with her collection of silicon toys not to be hyper-conditioned to hide the evidence.

  Her dad’s voice eased her sudden tension. “Can I come in, pumpkin?”

  He still asked. Her mom would have just wandered in. Nadine breathed out a sigh of relief. “Sure, Daddy.”

  She sat cross-legged, dragging a fake fur-trimmed pillow into her lap as her dad wandered across the pale purple carpet. He’d changed into his pajamas, silk pants patterned with tiny yellow ducks and a lightweight robe to combat the chill of the central air conditioning. The slippers on his feet were a vile shade of electric blue—Nadine grinned as she watched them shuffle across the floor.

  She’d given them to him two years ago for Father’s Day. He claimed he wore them out of spite, but she had her doubts.

  Germaine perched on the edge of her four-poster bed, lacing his hands in his lap. His gaze snagged on the pillow across the room, pressed against the intercom. She winced as his eyebrow arched. “Nice,” he said, surprising her. “I wish I’d thought of that it my office.”

  Nadine blinked. “Really?”

  “That intercom makes me crazy,” he admitted. He shot her a sidelong glance. “I should probably have it replaced for the version you have to touch a button to use, both ways. Maybe a remote.”

  She grinned. “Mom might go for that.”

  “Yeah, probably.” He tapped his thumbs together. “So, about tonight.”

  Oh. She tugged the pillow closer against her chest. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it was lame,” he admitted. His mouth twisted, pulling his mustache hard to one side. “You know, uh, my views on dating.” And how. He never did manage to find a balance between leaving his head in the sand and believing that no man was good enough for his little girl. “But,” he added, “I know you’re an adult, now. Your mom and I…” He hesitated.

  Nadine watched him, warmth blooming in her chest. Without moving closer, she unfolded one leg to nudge at his side with her toes. “You’re just concerned for my future,” she filled in for him. His eyes crinkled. “You want me to be well taken care of so that when you both go tottering off into your imminent golden age of retirement—”

  “Okay, okay,” he laughed, capturing her foot and easing it away from his ribs.

  “—You won’t have to worry about me,” she finished.

  “Pumpkin, we will always worry about you.” Her dad’s smile turned rueful as he affectionately tugged on her ankle. “Even if you meet some hotshot entrepreneur who makes all of your dreams come true.”

  And that was the gist. Right there. She didn’t have a hotshot entrepreneur. She had a mechanic.

  A mechanic who didn’t see her as a woman.

  Her nose wrinkled. “You’ll hate the guy I bring home.”

  “Will not.”

  “Mom will.”

  “Maybe,” he admitted, and sighed, tipping his head back to study her bedroom. It wasn’t as high school as it used to be, but she still loved purple. She called it her grown-up purple—less glitter, more glass, and no boy band posters. Anymore.

  None of them ever seemed right, anyway. The boys were all too blonde, too clean, too…not Lucas.

  The curtains drifted on the night breeze, a gentle flourish of sheer white. Her dad stood up. “Your mom has this idea that all you need is a chance to meet a nice guy,” he said, crossing the room to catch the flowing fabric. He tucked it aside to close the door, flipping the latch. “God only knows who else she’s got lined up to parade in front of you, but I’ll try to hold her off as long as I can.”

  Hope widened her eyes. “Really?”

  “I want you to be taken care of,” he said, fussing with the latch. He didn’t look at her, but she caught his expression reflected in the dark glass. Sheepish, she thought. In that dad way. “But I want you to be happy, too. If you aren’t looking for a partner, it’s okay.”

  And there went the guilt. Nadine drew he
r knees up, cradling her pillow in self-defense. “Um…”

  Her dad turned, eyebrow high again.

  “What if,” she said slowly, “I wasn’t opposed to dating?” When the other eyebrow joined the first, she added hastily, “Just someone closer to my own age. That I like.”

  Germaine studied her face, and she hoped to God she didn’t look as guilt-ridden as she felt. Because if he asked if she had someone in mind, she’d lie—and she’d feel awful doing it, but a girl had to do what a girl had to do.

  She held her breath.

  When he chuckled softly, as wry as it was resigned, that hope she nursed jumped. “Okay, pumpkin. I’ll talk to your mom.” He came back, bent to press a kiss to her forehead. “All we want,” he said as he ruffled her hair, “is for you to find a nice, well-to-do young man. Someday. When you’re ready.”

  “Thank you, Daddy.” She waved as he wished her good night and left her room. When the outer door to her suite closed, Nadine fell back into her mound of pillows and dragged the pink pillow over her face.

  They wanted nice and well-to-do.

  She had the hots for tall, dark and sinful.

  No getting around it. She was doomed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE SUN BEAT down on the row of townhouses nestled tightly together. Autumn had rolled through Sulla Valley with its usual parade of sunshine and sporadic showers, so the yards laid out in pristine rectangles had managed to come back from summer brown. The last vivid green before winter clouds dulled them again.

  Lucas leaned against the deck railing, swirling water in a half-empty plastic tumbler. If he were the smoking kind, he’d be nursing a cigarette in a stranger’s backyard while his associate took care of business inside. Instead, he tipped the tap water into his mouth and swished it around.

  It didn’t do anything for the sour taste in his mouth.

  The address was a familiar one. He and Johnny had been by once before, the first time Mr. Joe Gardner had missed his monthly payment. At the time, the narrow backyard had hosted an inflatable kiddie pool and an array of summer toys. Now, the pool stood half-deflated, with stagnant water clinging to the sides. Toys had been left where they were dropped, to be hosed down and sent to a garage sale for the needy or whatever it was these families did with last year’s treasures.

  Lucas didn’t know. He’d never had to think about stuff like that.

  He tipped the pink polka-dot tumbler over the side of the deck railing. The last of the water splatted to the ground, soaked in to the edge of what looked like an abandoned garden.

  If he had to guess, he’d say Mrs. Gardner took the kids to mom’s for a while.

  He hated the way his insides jostled at the thought.

  It wasn’t his business.

  A muffled thump radiated from the house behind him. Lucas braced his elbows on the railing, hands clasped against his mouth as he took a slow, steadying breath.

  It didn’t matter what the excuses were—they all started to sound the same. Money was money, and Wallace & Roane didn’t make a habit of writing debts off as a lost cause. Mario Aresco didn’t do lost causes. He didn’t loan to the broke, the terminally ill, or to gamblers. He made sure Johnny got the gist, and when the family had picked Lucas up off the juvie block and dusted him off, Lucas had bought in. With enthusiasm, if not money.

  He’d lasted five years.

  A tap from the back door told him Johnny had done his job. Lucas scraped a rough hand over his face. Straightening, he wrapped a loose hand around the cup and made his way back inside.

  The kitchen was small, but in a cozy sort of way. A well-loved woven rug brought some color to the mint green cabinets, and a hanging plant—looking a little dry—was probably the wife’s. A dish rack beside the sink was full, leading Lucas to believe that contrary to popular belief, Mr. Gardner was the dishwasher in the family.

  He didn’t have to scrutinize the scene to know what happened. Same shit, different day. Joe Gardner didn’t want to pay. Johnny softened up his resolve a little. For men like Gardner, it was all part of the business.

  Most paid before it got to this.

  Lucas strolled past Gardener, huddled in a kitchen chair with a sleeve pushed against his mouth. Blood dotted the gray fabric. Johnny loomed in the doorway, big arms folded over his chest as he glowered like the bulldog he was.

  Without saying a word, Lucas took his time washing the pink mug. Conscientiously, he shook the water off, then set it in the dish rack.

  Neither man broke the silence. The anger and frustration radiating off Gardner was as clear as the wheezing whistle carried on every exhale. Probably hadn’t broken the man’s nose, but it’d be swollen for a while.

  “See,” Lucas said abruptly, a conversational gambit that had the other man jumping like a startled rabbit. He wiped his hands on the homey little dish towel draped on the oven rung. “You left us in a sticky situation, Mr. Gardner.”

  Wisely, he didn’t say anything.

  Lucas nodded like he had, like the man had offered something intelligent. Taking the towel with him, he crossed the small kitchen, grabbed the freezer door and wrenched it open. A blast of frigid air wafted out over his face. “What you don’t seem to understand— And I know we’ve talked about this before,” he added, surveying the neatly stacked packs of frozen meat and vegetables. “What you don’t remember is that all we need is a good faith payment.”

  “I don’t have anything,” Gardner snapped.

  Johnny’s feet shifted under the obstacle of the freezer door, and the man shut his mouth again.

  Shaking his head, Lucas pulled a pack of frozen peas out of its neat stack. He let the door swing closed, cracking the packet as he offered, “There’s always something, Mr. Gardner. Always a little tucked away for a rainy day.” He wrapped the pack of frozen peas in the towel and offered it. “See, you’re probably the most stubborn client we’ve got. There’s something to be said about that.”

  Gardner glared at the packet. He was shorter than Johnny, with dark hair thinning at the top and something sort of desperate around the mouth and eyes.

  But they always were. Desperate.

  Enough to borrow a lump sum from a shady operation, anyway.

  Lucas gestured with the packet. “Should help the swelling.”

  A bead of sweat trickled across the man’s temple. He lowered his hand, and Lucas winced at the mess Johnny had made of his face. Split lip, nose already turning purple at the bridge. He flicked a questioning glance at Johnny, who lifted a dark eyebrow and tipped his head a fraction.

  A faintly scuffed mark on his jaw said Mr. Gardner had found some courage somewhere.

  Lucas didn’t want to like the guy. He didn’t want to feel a surge of solidarity, of admiration, for the once-happy husband in his once-happy home. As Gardner took the towel-wrapped peas and pressed the packet gingerly against his mouth, Lucas’s gut kicked in sympathy.

  “Good faith, Mr. Gardner,” he said, forcing an amicability he didn’t feel. “Then we can put all this behind us.”

  The man’s shoulders slumped.

  Ten minutes later, with the money meant for his kids’ braces promised in the next three days, Gardner shut and locked the door behind them. Johnny cracked his knuckles as he led the way to his old black Thunderbird. “That dude gets a little crazier every time,” he said, sliding into the driver’s seat.

  Lucas waited until his partner manually popped the lock on the passenger seat before climbing in. The car smelled like apple air freshener and day-old pizza, which horrified every part of his restoration soul, but he said nothing. That was the deal. As long as Lucas refused to drive his baby on the job, he’d have to deal with Johnny’s piece of crap.

  But whatever it looked—and smelled—like, the engine turned over with a well-tuned purr. “Hey,” his partner said, snapping thick fingers in front of his face. “You awake over there?”

  “Yeah.” Lucas ran a rough hand through his hair, pulling it back from his face like it
’d help him breathe easier. “Yeah, I just…”

  Jonny shook out one hand as he navigated the vehicle out onto the quiet street. The air conditioner didn’t work, so he rolled down the window and let the humid air wash away stale pizza—and the sweat beginning to pop out on Lucas’s skin.

  His fingers cramped around each other. “Johnny.”

  “You hate this job.”

  “I hate this job,” Lucas said on a hard exhale, and then snapped a sharp frown at his partner. “Wait, how did you know?”

  Even white teeth gleamed in a dry grin. “Come on, bro. Who do you think you’re talking to?”

  “I don’t know,” Lucas shot back, “but you got a pretty face.”

  “Shut up, man.” Johnny sat low in the seat, a hand lazily on the wheel. He didn’t look away from the road as he said simply, “Even Pops knew it was only a matter of time.”

  “You talked about me?”

  “Before the stroke, yeah.”

  “Jesus.” Lucas slouched, draping a hand over his eyes. All this time, he’d been sweating how to tell his partner that he wanted out, and he’d known.

  Johnny gave him a sidelong glance. “He was going to offer to buy you out.”

  “No shit.”

  “Before,” Johnny repeated quietly, “the stroke. Yeah.”

  Lucas flinched. He knew what it meant—what Mario had intended by the offer that never got made. Nobody just walked away from the business. Not usually. The income Lucas brought in would normally be peanuts compared to what Mario and Johnny moved, but with Johnny’s old man needing constant care, it wasn’t the same anymore.

  To get out, Lucas would need capital. Not just to pay off the business—to pay off his partner—but to start his new life. A business, moving costs, start-ups, whatever.

  That was how it worked. That was the scene, the commitment between the family who made a living on the wrong side of the law and the stray they’d brought in to the fold.

  He knew it going in. The hell of it was he never expected to get out. Especially not for reasons of going soft.