Stealing Home

by Harlow Cole

“It’s like there are two different New Yorks. The one enjoyed by the royal class”—I tucked my free hand against my waist, pretending to bow to him—“and the one the commoners get to deal with. You guys get ushered right to every door. You spend all your time at the top of every building, where the sun still shines. All the dirt is so far down, you never see it. Everyone else is out there, trudging from place to place, sweating their asses off, and trying to ignore the body odor of the dude one seat over on the subway.”

  He blankly stared at me, dropping the spoon down into the bowl as he smirked and shook his head. “Today, I’m gonna change your mind. I’m gonna show you all my favorite places. And, by the end of the day, I promise, we’ll both smell like BO.”

  * * *

  I loved it all. Every ounce of grime and grit.

  The honking horns, pushy people, and wad of gum on the bottom of my shoe. The used bookshop where we sat on the floor and read to one another from page-ruffled paperbacks. The gallery where I met the talented friend who’d painted the massive canvas in his office. The park where we watched men play chess. All of it spoke to me, in a melody I’d never heard, but instantly knew by heart.

  My feet hurt. And they were filthy. I quickly realized why no one else walking by us sported open-toed shoes.

  “How do you feel about a little breaking and entering?” Brayden asked as we descended stairs to the subway.

  We’d only walked half of the city. The other half, we’d tunneled beneath while stuffed into smelly train cars with an intriguing cross section of humanity.

  Gino had laughed through the phone when Brayden called at seven a.m. to give him the day off. “She wants to ride the subway? Well, good luck with that.”

  Good luck indeed.

  The people-watching was unparalleled. The guy going down the stairs in front of us now had a three-piece suit and a Coach briefcase; the girl behind us had a neon-pink beehive hairdo and tattoos that wrapped around her neck.

  “Damn. I suggest you get a little down and dirty with the commoners, and suddenly, you’re resorting to a life of crime?” I bumped his hip with my own.

  “Smart-ass,” he muttered as he grabbed on to one of my hands and led me toward the right turnstile.

  As we waited on the platform, I swung our arms back and forth like I had as a young girl, smiling up at him with bright eyes.

  “Are we talking two or twenty years if we get caught? ’Cause, if it’s on the lower end, I’m in.”

  He leaned down and kissed the tip of my nose. “Two, I think. I have an in with the owner. I don’t think he’ll mind if we bust a window.”

  “How far do we have to go?”

  “It’s not far. Switch from this to the five train, and we’re there.”

  I loved having no sense of direction. All day, each new corner brought me something undiscovered. I’d spent most of my life feeling like my world dropped off at the heels of the Chesapeake and the far east edge of town. Wandering around, to all of Brayden’s favorite haunts, gave me a new appreciation for the breadth of the city. What had overwhelmed me the day before, now felt like the very best adventure. Letting myself get swallowed inside the sights and sounds and smells helped me finally fit in.

  Of course, I was the only one who did.

  Brayden didn’t look like the shiny superstar today; he looked like my very own prince. He hadn’t bothered to shave again, and he had his old red hat and a plain gray T-shirt that hung a little looser, camouflaging the fact that his body would never be ordinary.

  But, even dressed down and walking the streets like a commoner, Brayden had no chance of totally blending.

  People occasionally whispered and bumped each other. A couple of people gave him head bobs of appreciation. The owner of the little diner where we’d eaten lunch refused to let us pay. On the way out, Brayden had left a wad of cash with the guy at the end of the counter, instructing him to pay for everyone else’s meals.

  To those who saw beyond his disguise, my prince was a king.

  I couldn’t stop touching him. I tugged on his belt loops. I intertwined my arm with his. I stood on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek or neck. Being next to him felt like a fairy tale.

  When we popped up out of the subway, I started to believe in elves and fairy godmothers.

  Gone were all the tall skyscrapers and bright lights. The army of bodies gave way to mostly empty sidewalks. Trees poked up out of the cement, filling the muted shades of the city with bright pops of unexpected green. Townhouses dotted both sides of the streets. Wrought iron railings lined steps that led up to shiny black doors. Picturesque balconies jutted out of second stories. An old woman stood out on one, watering pots filled with ferns and bright red impatiens. I half-expected her to spontaneously burst into song.

  My fingers itched for a shutter button.

  “Is this a movie set?” I asked, turning a full circle with my arms out wide.

  He laughed and stopped my twirling by tugging me into his chest. Blue eyes sparkled in amusement. “No. This is the Upper East Side.”

  “It’s amazing. I don’t ever want to leave.” I tipped my head back, laughing.

  The megawatt smile almost blinded me.

  “Come on, our life of crime awaits us.” He threaded his fingers through mine as he guided me toward the end of the block.

  We turned down a side street that had an opening to an alley, flanked by tall brick walls straight out of a British storybook. Halfway down, he stopped near a green wooden door. He used the side of one shoulder to force it open and then stuck his head inside.

  He turned back to me and smiled. “Watch your step. It’s pretty overgrown.”

  Without caution, I stepped through the doorway and straight into a page torn from a child’s tale.

  Lush greenery hung from white painted trellises. An old marble fountain sat motionless, coated with a patina of neglect. Beside a rusted table, two chairs sat slightly askew, as if someone had gotten up from afternoon tea and never came back.

  Brayden lifted some vines out of our path and nervously smiled back at me again. We passed through an archway in the trees and emptied out onto a massive stone patio. I tilted my head back at the same time my mouth dropped open.

  It was gorgeous. Four stories of a massive white stone house. Towering windows surrounded by detailed marble carvings. Some of the glass was broken, and ivy crawled, unfettered, up over one side of the first floor, but none of that could tame the magnificence.

  “This can’t be real,” I muttered in amazement.

  Brayden grinned as he bent and picked up a small rock. Without any forethought or ceremony, he wound up and threw it at the thin window beside the back door. The glass shattered into jagged shards.

  “Hold on a sec.” As he stepped forward, he took off his hat and pulled his T-shirt over his head.

  I tried not to get distracted as he balled the shirt around his hand and reached in, punching his way through and twisting the doorknob open from the inside. He turned and held an arm out, inviting me toward felony. As I stepped toward him, the irony finally dawned on me.

  “Brayden, you just threw that rock.”

  His brows furrowed with question.

  “Full windup.” I curved my fingers around an imaginary fastball, demonstrating.

  “Well, hell.” He cocked his head to the side and readjusted his cap. “Had to try it out sometime, right?” His lips morphed from a tiny smirk to a full grin.

  My own personal megawatt appeared again.

  He was turning me into an addict.

  * * *

  Brayden

  “My real estate agent thinks I’m nuts. He brought me here with the idea that it was a teardown. Had plans to gut it and build a whole new house.” I sighed and apprehensively looked at Ashley. “You think I’m crazy?”

  “For breaking into your own house?” She turned and grinned at me. “Yes. Definitely. For buying this place and wanting to save it?” She held her arms out and turned in a full circle, soaking
in the massive great room. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to tear this down.”

  I followed after her, pointing out the work I knew had to be done first. At some point, the old plumbing had mostly given way, and water damage had rotted floors and torn through plaster. The electrical looked like one big fire hazard, and every single window would have to be restored or replaced.

  But the bones were still strong.

  They were just lying there, hidden, waiting for someone to love.

  “It’s a massive undertaking; that’s for sure.”

  “My father thinks I’ll be dead by the time it’s all done.”

  She paused at the bottom of the curved staircase that led up to my best surprise. Her hand gripped the mahogany newel post. “Well, we both know your father isn’t always right about everything,” she mumbled before starting up the stairs. “What’s up here? Is this a whole ’nother floor?”

  I couldn’t answer. Too much emotion and nerves clogged in my throat. I’d let her see it for herself first. I kept hanging back as she reached the top of the stairs and turned. Her profile exposed enough of her face. Her mouth hung open in awe.

  The same expression I’d held the first time I saw it.

  “Brayden . . . what is . . .” She stepped farther into the room.

  I followed her close behind, watching as she walked the perimeter.

  Her fingertips danced across the sheets that covered everything over. The whole room lay draped in ghostly white. The ceilings towered fourteen feet above us, flanked by windows that stretched just as high. The back wall, opposite all that glass, remained the only source of color. The entire expanse was plastered in layers and heavy splotches. Every shade. Every color. Dots of ink and stain, painted and splattered over what must have been an entire lifetime.

  “The man who used to own this place is close to dying. He’s in hospice care now, but before that, he’d been in assisted living for years. That’s how the house fell into such disrepair. I went to visit him last year after I saw it for the first time. I wanted to know the stories this place could tell.

  “He moved into the house in the late forties after he got back from serving in the war. It was a wedding gift from his parents. He picked the place solely based on the light in this room. His young bride was an artist, an oil painter. She used this as her studio. He said she worked here every single day until she passed, twelve years ago. He got tears in his eyes when he talked about this wall.”

  Ashley smiled in response and stepped toward it, holding her hand out to barely graze the texture.

  “It started as a joke. His wife accidentally flung some paint onto it while trying to chase him from the room. Guess, in his younger days, he tried to distract her a lot.” My voice dipped suggestively.

  Her bright eyes acknowledged my meaning. “It’s incredible. It must’ve taken her years.”

  “He caught her one night a decade or so later. She’d dragged a massive house ladder up here, and was perched all the way up, throwing paint toward the ceiling.”

  We both craned our necks, staring upward.

  “There are so many layers. The way the colors all overlap. It tells their story, doesn’t it? You can see all their years together. It’s messy and crazy, but beautiful all at once,” she murmured.

  Warmth built inside me, relief that she was experiencing it in the same way I had.

  “This has to be saved. This whole wall,” she said, her voice growing determined as she used both arms to motion toward it. “It can’t come down. You can feel her . . .” Her shoulders shrugged. “I don’t know . . . it’s her soul or something. She’s still alive in this room. This whole space is special. All these old windows . . . the light in here on a sunny day . . . it must’ve been an incredible place to work.”

  “I know.” I closed the space between us, wrapping my arms around Ashley from behind, resting my cheek against her hair as we gazed outward. “As soon as I saw this room, I knew. Knew I had to have it. And knew there was no chance in hell I could let it be torn down.”

  I pulled back to turn her in my arms. I could already picture her here. Dressed in little jean shorts and a tank top with her hair pinned up in a messy bun and a camera lens stuck to her face. Soft lights splashing against this huge backdrop.

  Now or never.

  “I knew you’d feel the same way about it. This is why I wanted you to come. To the city. To this place. I wanted you to see this. You’re right. This house is a massive undertaking.”

  My lips brushed across hers, hungry but restrained all at once. Tightness stretched across my chest, blooming inside me.

  “I don’t want to do it alone.”

  * * *

  A sound made me stir. Something out of place. My hand stretched across the sheets, uncomfortable that she’d rolled too far away.

  “Soot,” I mumbled.

  One eye opened. The comforter was pulled back on her empty side of the bed. How had she found the energy to climb out from under the covers?

  We’d enjoyed a quiet night. We’d strolled around the streets down near the park till we’d found a little hole-in-the-wall with outdoor seating. We’d lingered over a bottle of red wine. Ashley had wanted every detail about my meeting with the old man who owned the house. I’d told her about the gallery where some of his wife’s work still hung. Ever so gently, I’d slid in the notion that I’d take her there.

  The next time we come back.

  She hadn’t given any real reaction. She was shit at lying to me, so I’d figured she hadn’t let all the stuff I’d dumped on her add up in her head just yet.

  I’d talked her into a cab ride back to my place. Mainly because the buzz of the wine and the frayed nerves of the day had left me with a burning need to have my hands all over her. My fingertips had traced circles on her upper thigh the whole way home.

  We’d watched a movie, lying on the couch with our arms and legs tangled and my mouth permanently affixed to her neck. By the time the credits rolled, I’d had her shirt unbuttoned, so my palm could cup a lace-covered breast.

  We’d brushed our teeth side by side, sharing a tube of Colgate. I’d watched as she slipped a satin nightgown over her head and crawled under the covers beside me. We’d made love like grown-ups. Under the sheets. Slow and easy. Lights still on.

  The way she’d stared into my eyes twisted new knots inside me. It’d felt like she could see all the way down. Past every good intention. And past every half-truth and lie.

  I could taste it. All the things I’d wished for.

  The happy ending I’d been working toward for so fucking long.

  I’d made her come half a dozen times and shot off twice myself. I couldn’t help it. I’d wanted to fill her up so full of me, she couldn’t ever walk away. I’d wanted to pour myself into her until we couldn’t tell anymore where one of us stopped and the other began.

  I needed her to stay.

  Stay.

  That motherfucking word.

  For once in my life, I just wanted it to stick.

  We’d fallen asleep, intertwined, our bodies naked and raw. I wanted to keep Ashley here forever, locked away with me, where nothing outside of us could change her mind.

  I’d slept more soundly with her in my arms. I must’ve been half-comatose to miss her climbing from our fortress.

  I needed to go and bring her back.

  Throwing back the covers, I padded naked down the hall toward the soft light in the great room. The door to the terrace sat open. She stood out by the rail, her satin gown billowing around her legs in the summer breeze.

  Modesty didn’t hold me back. Her head turned slightly to glance over one shoulder, signaling she knew of my presence.

  “Nice pajamas,” she muttered sarcastically.

  “Not my fault you’re overdressed.” My lips met the soft skin of her shoulder. My fingertips slid the thin strap down her arm. “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night? Come back to bed with me. I’ll help you fall back to slee
p.”

  I sucked on the spot just above her collarbone, scratching her skin with my chin because I knew it drove her insane. When her body stayed rigid, I lifted my head and turned her in my arms. Tears lined the bottom rims of my favorite green eyes.

  “What’s the matter, baby girl?” I pressed my forehead down to hers, wanting to fill her sadness with feelings of something familiar.

  “I loved every single second of today.” Her eyes squeezed shut. Tears spilled over, sliding down over perfect cheeks and freckles.

  The backs of my knuckles gently grazed across them. “Then, why are you out here, crying?” I asked gently.

  “Today was a taste of the life we could’ve had.” Her eyes opened, staring back into mine.

  A vise gripped ahold of my chest. Something prickled up the bottom edge of my spine.

  “Soot”—my hand cupped her cheek—“this is the life I’m waiting to give you. That was the whole point of today.”

  “But I have another life that needs me. And you already have everything figured out. You have this whole city by a string. You can’t just pluck me up and smash me into your dream world.” She held both arms out. “Where do I fit in here?”

  “You fit beside me. You always have. That’s who you are. Who we are.”

  “I don’t know who I really am. I’ve never had a chance to find out.”

  “I want to be the one to give you that chance. That’s all I want. You just have to let me.”

  I didn’t want to understand why that made her little smile so sad.

  26

  Cracked

  Brayden

  Ashley came into the kitchen, wearing a sunny cotton dress and little white sneakers. Her long, dark hair was still damp, pulled into a low ponytail at the back of her neck. Her lashes were dark, and her lips were shiny, but nothing else covered her freckles.

  I instantly wanted to take her back to bed.

  “What time is our flight?” she asked.

  I set my coffee down and checked my watch. “We have about six hours. Is there anything you want to do? I just need to get through some of my exercises real quick, or Matt will have my ass tomorrow for skipping too many days in a row.”