Stealing Home

by Harlow Cole

  “This mess isn’t your doing. You know that, right?”

  I glanced skeptically around the table at the disaster I’d definitely created on my own.

  “I don’t mean the papers, half-pint.”

  My eyes flew up to his. He hadn’t called me that name in a very long time. Maybe not since he’d woken up in the hospital and found me crying beside his bed.

  “What happened, half-pint? Are you hurt? Where are we?”

  He hadn’t remembered yet. When he’d first awakened, his brain had been too scattered and scarred to recall everything. The animosity had come later, filling him an ounce at a time as he regained memory and feeling, everywhere but his legs.

  I plucked up a sticky note and sadly crumpled it inside my fist. “I just want to be able to keep things going. At least until Dad gets back. Adjusting the slip rates is working, and the new reservations app is great. We’ve had more steady traffic.” I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s just not enough. If they rezone the land, I think we might lose it, Nathan. I’m not sure there’s anything else I can do.”

  I knew why my mother had double-mortgaged our whole life. She’d been desperate. Had no choice. She’d wanted him to have all the best care. Mortgaging the family’s future to pay for Nathan’s doctors and hospital stays in those early years was the only option she’d had. Thankfully, the bulk of my mother’s treatments had been covered by insurance. And Nathan’s surgery last year had fallen under some special research grant. If we’d had to pay those bills, too, we’d have sunk long ago.

  “You’ve tried your best. No one would ever say different.”

  I swallowed hard against his unexpected praise. “I just wanted to be able to do this. I wanted to be able to save something.” I didn’t add, Since I couldn’t save you. “Losing the marina would feel like losing a whole other part of her. You know?”

  “Yeah.” He breathed in deeply and rubbed a hand across his mouth. “Sure would be nice if Dad showed himself, huh?”

  “I’ve tried calling every day. No response. I’m getting worried.”

  “Worrying is all you do. You need to give yourself a break.”

  I shut the laptop and tried to start stacking some of my chaos into neater piles.

  “You should go to New York.”

  My head shot up as my eyes widened. “How do you even know about that?” I nodded as soon as the words left my mouth. “Of course. Brayden told you.”

  “You should go. It’s a good opportunity for you.”

  “Nathan, I can’t leave you and the—”

  “I’m a big boy, Ash. I’ll be fine. I’m considering taking off for the weekend myself. Matt asked me to tag along to DC for a couple of days. There’s a friend of his he wants me to meet—a guy he served with who used to have similar wheels.” He tapped the sides of his wheelchair.

  “Wow. Really? That’s great.” I tried to hide my utter astonishment.

  A few weeks ago, he wouldn’t even go out to eat with me. Now, he was talking about weekend trips.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Figured it would be good for me to get out of town, too. Stretch my legs a little.”

  I blankly stared at him.

  “Jesus, Ash.” He smiled. A real one. With teeth showing. It almost hurt to look at. “You can laugh. That was a joke.”

  A joke?

  My brow furrowed.

  When was the last time you made a joke?

  I smiled softly back at him.

  “Go. The money can’t hurt, right? And it will be good for you. I promise, this mess will still be here when we both get back. Maybe we can sit down together and figure out what the hell to do.”

  “I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. You’re telling me to go do something for Brayden?”

  “No. Brayden can take a flying leap straight to hell. I’m telling you to go do something for yourself.”

  “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.”

  —Yogi Berra

  Baseball Hall of Fame,

  Class of 1972

  21

  Lasso the Moon

  Ashley

  Counting the number of times I’d flown on a plane didn’t require all the fingers on one hand.

  Disney World, the year I turned seven. The Grand Canyon, when I was nine. A horrible family reunion in Ohio at fourteen. We hit turbulence on the way home during that last trip. I got so sick in my stomach, my mother dug into the seat pocket to locate the puke bag.

  Paper vomit receptacles weren’t included on this flight. Neither were real seats or the little packages of peanuts I’d planned to hoard.

  “You sure I can’t get you anything else, Ms. Foster?”

  The flight attendant made me antsy. She kept fluttering around like the butterflies in my belly.

  This trip was either a brilliant opportunity or the worst decision I’d ever made. Not that it had truly been my decision. Rocks and hard places didn’t provide many comfortable options.

  Those Brooks Brothers bank goons were my rocks.

  The hard place sat beside me, looking overtly gorgeous and smug.

  “No. Really, I’m good. Thank you,” I responded politely.

  I wanted to throw something at her.

  The plane rolled a little to the side. My hands clutched the arm of the couch as a familiar arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders.

  She nodded her head back at me, never wavering against the turbulence as she stood in three-inch navy-blue pumps.

  “Would you like me to refresh your coffee again, Mr. Ross?”

  Would you like me to suck your dick, Mr. Ross?

  I mimicked her nasally voice in my head as she smiled wider at him. She had way too many teeth. She’d been ogling him like a starstruck teenager since she greeted us, standing at the top of the stairs as we pulled up beside them.

  I couldn’t entirely fault her. Brayden looked stupidly delicious in dark jeans, a starched white dress shirt, and a linen sport coat with a silk handkerchief peeking out the front pocket.

  I wasn’t used to seeing him dolled up.

  My Brayden wore gym shorts and faded T-shirts.

  He looked older. Sophisticated. More big-city important than quaint-town casual. I wanted to openly gawk at him, too. But, at the same time, I wanted to mess up the perfectly coiffed hair, wrinkle the shirt, and make him look all mine again.

  I smoothed a hand over the cuffed hem of my jean shorts. Primping time hadn’t been an allotted part of my schedule.

  I’d been up before the sun, and had worked a full day, trying to line things up to run smoothly for Logan in my absence. My long afternoon had garnered daydreams of catnapping in the buttery leather seats inside Brayden’s car. I’d been fully prepared to live out that fantasy, as he battled through DC traffic to get to the airport. But instead of heading toward the interstate, he’d diverted us to the private airstrip just outside of town.

  My sleepiness had long since evaporated.

  Replaced by my current state of pins, needles, and annoyance with our overly attentive flight attendant.

  “We’re fine, Candace. Thank you for everything.” Brayden’s words were pleasant but firmly dismissive.

  Her toothy smile faltered slightly. “Of course. The pilot will let you know when you both should prepare for landing.” She disappeared behind the glossy mahogany partition at the front of the cabin.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his voice filled with laughter as he squeezed my shoulder.

  “This plane is”—my head turned to survey the posh space around us—“well above my raising.”

  He chuckled and leaned over to place a chaste kiss on my forehead. “You get used to it after a while. Beats trudging through National or BWI.”

  “Nothing about this could ever feel normal.”

  The private jet wasn’t the only thing I had to get used to. An oversize black SUV pulled up beside the plane as soon as we landed. A guy in a tailored black suit, with a neck as big ar
ound as my thigh, jumped out. He immediately took Brayden’s leather duffel and my small black suitcase.

  “Ashley, this is Gino. Gino, meet Ashley.”

  As the man opened my door, he smiled, revealing a chipped front tooth. “Pleasure meetin’ you, Ashley. I hear this is only your second time visiting the city that never sleeps.”

  “Uh, yeah. I came up once with my mom when I was little. We took the train up to see a show.”

  “Well, how’s about I give you’s the five-cent tour on our way to this guy’s digs? We’ve probably spruced up the place since the last time you were here.”

  Gino was the kind of guy you didn’t turn down. He had the body of a linebacker and spoke with a thick Jersey accent that certified he knew all about busting kneecaps. But it was his teddy-bear face that made me want to go along.

  Brayden stayed pretty quiet as we took Gino’s long way through town—down Fifth Avenue, past the Empire State Building, back up through Rockefeller Center, and across to Times Square. The SUV rolled down the streets like a moving mausoleum, cushioning the blow of potholes and sealing off the noise of the scenes playing around us on all four sides. I cracked my window, desperate to take in the sounds and smells. My face stayed pressed to the glass, reflecting my overwhelmed reaction to the spectacle lying just on the other side.

  It looked so totally opposite from the backdrop of my life. Nothing here was green or blue or wide open. I remembered the tall buildings and the feeling of hustle and bustle from my trip as a little kid but seeing it with adult eyes made it feel foreign and new.

  The muted palette of colors made my fingers itch for a shutter button.

  All the people on the streets were adorned in the same shades of brown and black as the dirt and grime that clung to the sidewalks and buildings. They walked with a slight turn of shoulders, passing one another without eye contact. A screaming baby rolled by, ignored by a mother shouting just as loudly into her phone. Throngs of overly important phone-typers worked while they walked.

  Everything about the scene drew me in. I wanted to know the stories of all those passersby. Who were they? Where were they rushing off to?

  I wanted to stop them one by one and capture some subtle quality that would humanize and extract them from the blended army marching both ways up and down every street.

  My hand stroked the black nylon of the camera bag that sat on the seat next to me.

  We got stopped by a throng of tourists, crossing with their faces tilted up toward the famous wall of neon. I followed suit, pressing my forehead against the window to stare up at the massive display.

  “Oh my God.”

  “What’s wrong?” Brayden asked, concerned.

  “Is that you?”

  When he didn’t answer, I turned to look at him. He moved back farther in his seat and ran a hand through his hair. His shoulders shrugged. He seemed a little timid, almost embarrassed.

  “Sure.”

  “Holy crap. You’re like . . . Godzilla in underpants.” I peered back out, watching as two women on the sidewalk giggled their way through taking a selfie.

  One held her hand up, pretending to cup the part of Brayden vastly on display. The tight white boxer briefs didn’t leave much to the imagination. Neither did the rest of his naked body, plastered up six stories tall.

  “I think those women just sexually assaulted you.”

  Gino chuckled in the front seat.

  “This is so surreal.”

  * * *

  Unlike all those people I’d studied outside the window, our feet never touched the pavement.

  Gino drove us straight down into an underground garage. As soon as the back tires passed by, an industrial-strength metal gate dropped down behind us, carefully shutting off one world from the other. A tall, gray-haired gentleman in another pressed black suit opened my door. His gloved hand helped me out of the SUV. He warmly greeted Brayden before escorting us into a sleek lobby where an elevator waited to whisk us right up to the top floor.

  My ears finally popped as Brayden fit his key in the door.

  The place was massive. Cavernous ceilings towered two stories above us.

  “Holy shit. How many people live here?”

  Brayden chuckled in response and carried our bags down a hall that led to more doorways.

  A wall made entirely of glass led out onto a terrace that overlooked most of lower Manhattan. A small infinity-edged pool swept across the side. The lights under the water twinkled against the windows, casting prisms of color back into the dark room. Rich, glossy wood and black metal accents highlighted the family room and kitchen.

  Brayden returned, flipping a switch to ignite a sleek fireplace that ran nearly the entire length of one wall. I walked toward it, holding out my hands, as if I needed warmth.

  Everything else in the room felt cold.

  Everything, except the arms that suddenly wrapped around me from behind. The scruff of his chin met my neck.

  “I’m gonna order us some bad takeout and fix us a drink. Make yourself at home.”

  I nodded, while silently questioning how anyone relaxed here.

  I didn’t even want to touch anything.

  His lips gently grazed the skin beneath my ear before he withdrew to the kitchen.

  I wandered out onto the terrace. Maybe I’d feel more acclimated after soaking in the Manhattan glow bouncing off the surrounding skyscrapers. Tipping my head back, I searched for the point where the artificial light gave way to the real night sky.

  “He was right. There aren’t any stars here,” I mumbled to myself.

  I walked all the way to the rail to peek over the side. “Holy shit.” I quickly stepped back and sharply inhaled. “How do people live all the way up here?”

  I swallowed down vertigo and went back inside to explore.

  A framed jersey in the hallway seemed like the only thing in the place linking it to the man who lived here. A little plaque on the bottom had a date and the words First Game.

  The next door I came to opened soundlessly to a pitch-black room. My hand grappled with the switch until soft light arced through the space. Deep copper walls and sky-high mahogany bookcases surrounded me. Mementos and stacks of well-loved hardbacks filled every inch of them. A large desk dominated the room. Behind it, a spotlight shone down on a spectacular canvas painting.

  I stepped closer to it, pulled by the texture and vivid shades of violet and bronze. The dark silhouette of a boy walked across a field at sunset. His outstretched hand tugged on the end of a lasso, plucking a magic boat from a twilit sky.

  “It was painted by a friend of mine. Do you like it?”

  I turned to look back at him, flustered. He stood, leaning against the doorway with two glasses of wine in his hands.

  “It’s incredible,” I said reverently. I smirked and cocked my head to the side as I turned back to him, uncertain. “Sorry if I’m intruding. The door was shut, and I just got nosy . . .”

  “Don’t be sorry.” He set the glasses down on a table beside a leather sofa and slowly strode toward me with a look in his eye I knew all too well. “This is my favorite room in the whole place. Having you here completes it.”

  I tried to prepare myself for the onslaught. I’d promised myself I’d maintain some boundaries this weekend.

  As he stepped forward, he slipped the sport coat off, slinging it over the back of a chair beside me. He stared down at me as he cuffed the sleeves of his white dress shirt up over the muscles of his forearms. The movement reminded me too much of what lay beneath the starched cotton. And of what sat on full display for the world to see a couple dozen blocks from here.

  Brayden evidently had no intention of maintaining any space limitations. He instantly became a part of mine.

  One finger traced down the side of my cheek before tipping my chin up, forcing my eyes to meet his. His other hand roughly tangled into the hair at the back of my neck, drawing me closer, like the boat in that painting.

  “Having you here
is a dream come true. You don’t know how many times I’ve sat here and imagined being with you. Here. Just like . . .” His lips met mine, cutting off his own words and killing any hope I’d had of restraint.

  It started out soft and slow. Wet, open-mouthed kisses that quickly drugged my senses. But too much time had passed since we last gave in to what we both needed. We stood there in a puddle of kerosene.

  He groaned before his lips pressed down harder. My arms encircled his waist as I pulled his shirt free from his waistband. My nails scratched into the warm skin on his lower back. He groaned again as soon as they made contact. His hands skimmed down over my hips, possessively pulling me against him.

  “I can’t fucking wait another second, Soot. I can’t. Having you here . . . it’s messing with my head.”

  My eyes grew hooded. I whispered his name, granting him the acceptance he craved. My hands cupped his cheeks, drawing him back to me.

  I moaned as he sucked hard on my bottom lip. His mouth slanted off my jaw and down across my neck. One hand drew up the side of my body, roughly palming my breast through my shirt and bra. He looked down, watching my flesh plump up in his hand, before he bent his head, replacing his hand with his teeth. I threw my head back and said his name again.

  “I’m gonna fuck you in every single room in this place.” His words tumbled out against my skin.

  I tugged at the hair on the back of his neck, forcing his eyes up to meet mine, as I bit down hard on my swollen bottom lip. His eyes nearly crossed as he stared at it with unguarded need.

  His hands traveled the length of my body until he grabbed hold of my ass, dragging me up off the ground, forcing my legs around his waist.

  “I wanna lay you out naked on every damn piece of furniture till every single fantasy of mine comes true. Then, I’m gonna take you on the patio until all of New York has heard us scream each other’s names.”

  With my legs still around him, he started to back us out of the room. My eyes stayed shut right until we reached the doorway. I opened them to gaze back into the one space that didn’t belong to a stranger.

  “Oh my God.”

  My legs slackened of their own accord, sliding down a little on his hips until he tugged harder, carrying more of my weight. My mouth formed into a perfect O as I surveyed the far wall. I’d missed it on my initial inspection. The change in my mood caused Brayden to look back over his shoulder. My legs slowly slid down to the floor.