Building a Hero: The Complete Trilogy

by Tasha Black

  Life in a springtime snow globe.

  She snuck a peek at West.

  He looked so funny in Dalton’s oversized Carhartt jacket and rumpled fedora. He had let his beard grow in after the accident. Not in a bushy, lumberjack way - he kept it neat. It looked good on him, but it was different. Certainly no one would recognize him.

  She couldn’t help but imagine what it might feel like, pressed against her soft cheeks.

  He caught her looking, and the corner of his mouth curved up.

  Then he winked his good eye at her.

  Cordelia giggled. The sound surprised her, it had been a while since she’d felt giggly.

  “I like that sound,” he said.

  And just like that, the dynamics of their relationship slid back into place like a stripped gear finally catching.

  Cordelia’s cheeks burned.

  “I know I can be a handful.” He gave her a smile that evoked the West she’d known before. “I’m glad you hung in there.”

  “Just doing my job,” she heard herself murmur ineffectually.

  “Yes,” he said, his dark eye now fixed on the horizon. “Yes, you are. But if I remember correctly, we had plans outside of work that were derailed by all this.”

  Cordelia was glad he wasn’t looking at her.

  She had spent the weeks since the accident rationalizing. Maybe it was all for the best. If West had made it to their dinner, there was no telling what might have happened. But one thing was for sure, he would have been bored with her in a week and her career would have been toast.

  At least, that’s what she told herself during the long, dark nights.

  But now, out in the dazzling daylight of Cobble Slope in springtime, Cordelia felt that anything was possible. If West Worthington was walking down Front Street on new legs, then why couldn’t he take her on a date?

  “You might not want to anymore,” he said, before she could reply.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  He gave her a questioning look, then gestured to himself.

  Oh. His injuries.

  Cordelia wondered for about the thousandth time if those parts were still original. She did a lot to help him, but some things were left to the nurses.

  She opened and closed her mouth twice, then buttoned her lip and shook her head.

  He laughed at her.

  “It’s my behavior then. But you already knew I was a pig when you worked for me. Did you really think I’d be a charming invalid?”

  “It’s not that,” she began. “Well, maybe it is partly that.”

  “Not after you’re used to taking care of someone like Jess,” he said. “She’s pretty amazing.”

  “Yes, she is,” Cordelia agreed, a little surprised that he’d noticed.

  Thinking back more carefully over West’s time at her house though, Cordelia realized that of course he appreciated Jess. His most light-hearted moments were spent goofing off and reading comic books with Cord’s little sister. It was part of what made having him in the house feel right in spite of his unpredictable fits of temper. But Cordelia hadn’t realized West was seeing past his own enjoyment to the bravery of the girl fighting the trap of her physical challenges.

  “I’m going to get her out of that chair,” West said firmly.

  Something in his tone made Cordelia shiver.

  He stopped and turned to her.

  “And you’re going to dinner with me,” he said darkly.

  “But, won’t someone recognize you?”she asked, fighting her body, which seemed to vibrate like the strings of a violin at his tone.

  “I’ll book every table in the place,” he replied.

  He stopped to pull his phone out of his pocket.

  As he swiped the screen, Cordelia heard footsteps behind them, and turned to move the chair out of the way.

  “Hey!” West’s deep shout startled her.

  She spun around to see a teenager in a yellow hoodie sprinting away, with West’s cell phone clutched in his hand.

  Before she could react, West was heading after the kid.

  As if in slow motion, she saw him throw himself forward. His left foot caught him, launching him forward with considerable force.

  But his right foot didn’t make it under him in time.

  He fell spectacularly across the sidewalk, his cane clattering out from under his arm where it had been tucked and landing in the gutter.

  “Are you okay?” she asked as she scrambled over to help him up.

  He didn’t speak.

  Terrified, Cordelia reached out to him.

  He rolled over suddenly. His eye was flashing dangerously, his face was drawn with rage.

  “It’s just a dumb kid,” she said immediately.

  He didn’t reply.

  “We’ll have you a new phone within the hour,” she pleaded.

  He turned away, and she realized he must be ashamed for her to see him looking weak.

  “I respect you, Westley Worthington,” she told him, and let the words hang in the air.

  Slowly, he turned to her.

  She was lost in his gaze all over again. And that was completely wrong, because he was hurting, body and soul. And all she could think about was what it would feel like to kiss him.

  So she ripped her eyes from his and focused on helping him up.

  “You can be the biggest asshole, but you are so… driven. Now get back in this chair before I have a heart attack. They said you wouldn’t walk for six months, and after eight weeks you’re already trying to run.” she scolded him.

  He allowed her to help him into the chair.

  But something had changed. It was like the colors of the spring morning had faded.

  They finished their trip around the block in silence.

  29

  West just couldn’t let it go.

  He knew Cordelia was upset.

  But he was seething over the robbery.

  He had been sent sprawling in the dirt by some punk. It hurt, physically and emotionally. It was emasculating, and embarrassing. Sure.

  But that wasn’t what bothered him most.

  On the surface, West knew that most Glacier City residents lived in these outlying suburbs instead of posh city penthouses, like his.

  But that Cordelia’s family had to live in an area with street crime made him see red.

  “Are you okay?” she asked him, as she wheeled him into the small courtyard behind the house.

  It was as though she had sensed that he needed the fresh air.

  “Yes,” he answered, trying to keep his voice light but failing. “Give me your phone.”

  “What for?” she asked.

  “I need to remote wipe mine,” he replied. “There’s sensitive corporate data on that phone. I can’t risk it getting into the wrong hands.”

  She slipped her phone into his hand. It was smaller than his, but that probably made it less prone to being snatched.

  “I’m going to make us some lemonade,” she told him.

  He nodded and managed to give her a tight-lipped smile.

  She disappeared into the house.

  He was just about to wipe his phone and call Dalton to get him a new one, when he found himself doing something quite different.

  The app to locate his phone was easy to activate. In moments he could see the pings shooting back from the phone, and he knew exactly where the thief was.

  30

  The doorbell rang as the last rays of sunshine were making their way across the oak floor of the living room.

  Cordelia’s footsteps tapped across the hallway, and he heard her greeting Dalton.

  They spoke in hushed undertones and it turned West’s stomach. They were whispering about him.

  He didn’t want Cordelia whispering with another man, especially not about him.

  The whispers in the beginning had made him feel safe, like a hurt child whose parents were conspiring to help him.

  Now it just felt condescending. He was over it. He wanted h
is life back.

  “Hey, I’m right here,” he said in a loud, clear voice. “If you want to know how I’m doing come ask me.”

  There was silence, then the sound of footsteps.

  “Hey man,” Dalton’s voice came from the doorway. West had to turn to see him with his left eye.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” West asked.

  “Okay.” Dalton’s casual tone sounded studied, but at least he was trying. “Sorry about your phone. You ready?”

  “Yeah,” West told him.

  He began the complicated ritual of standing up. In a moment he was on his feet, cane in hand.

  It was getting easier.

  Dalton stayed quiet in the car. West figured he was trying to piece together where they were going from West’s seemingly random directions.

  The streets were getting narrower and dirtier the farther out of Cobble Slope they got.

  “Okay, this is it,” West said at last.

  They were out front of a hole-in-the-wall bar. A large sign over the door proclaimed its name was The 13th Step in weathered gold lettering.

  “You’re going to buy a new phone in there?” Dalton asked doubtfully.

  “I know a guy,” West told him. “Wait here. This won’t take long.”

  He knew Dalton was thinking of following him, so he prayed he could navigate getting out of the car on his own. Falling on the way out wouldn’t do much for Dalton’s confidence in him.

  Or his own, for that matter.

  Miraculously, he hopped out in a way that he hoped looked effortless. His plain wooden cane tapped the concrete sidewalk.

  Pushing open the front door, he discovered a bog standard dive bar inside. There were a couple of pool tables and some booths in the back. Everything looked surreal through a thin haze of smoke. Apparently the anti-smoking laws weren’t enforced out this far.

  A host of tired looking people were talking, playing pool, and drinking cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon unironically.

  He slipped Cordelia’s phone out of his pocket and checked the location of his phone once more.

  It was at one of the booths in the back.

  West walked slowly in its direction.

  His target, the guy with the yellow hoodie, stood in front of one of the booths, talking to two men who were seated there.

  One had eyes that were too small for his head. He clutched a bottle of Bud Light in two hands like it was a candle on a stormy night.

  The other had tattoos on his knuckles and was drinking what looked like a Cosmopolitan.

  Classy.

  West slipped Cordelia’s phone back into his pocket and closed the rest of the distance. His legs seemed to be in the mood to cooperate. That was good.

  “I think you have something that belongs to me,” West said.

  Cosmopolitan narrowed his eyes at the guy in the hoodie.

  “You’re a moron,” he said dismissively to the hoodie guy. “You bring this kind of trouble in here? We will not be doing business together in the future.”

  “You better get the hell out of here,” the hoodie guy snarled in turn at West.

  “Sure, just hand over my phone,” West said calmly. “And I’ll be on my way,”

  The hoodie guy laughed a shrill laugh.

  The rest of the place went quiet and people started to stare.

  Quickly, West sized Hoodie up. He was skinny, almost scrawny, with a glazed look in his eyes. He was probably strung out on something. All his weight rested back on his heels. A few months ago, West would’ve taken this guy apart.

  Now, he wasn’t so sure.

  He pushed the thought away. No room for doubts here.

  “I’m going to ask you nicely one more time,” West said quietly. “Give me my phone back.”

  “Or what?” laughed the man, who wasn’t much more than a kid. “Maybe you should’ve brought that nurse with you. You’re about to need her to pick your ass up again.”

  West swung his cane at the guy.

  It broke in half over his head, and West found himself overbalanced.

  He braced himself to fall again, but his legs moved without him really thinking about it, and they stayed under him.

  By the time West had his bearings, he saw that Hoodie had grabbed a pool cue and was swinging in a looping downward arc, right at West’s head.

  Without thinking, West lifted his hand and caught the cue in mid swing.

  The force should have broken his fingers. Of course, his fingers weren’t always a mix of carbon fiber and titanium alloys.

  His new hand was tough.

  An odd, piercing cold shot down his arm. The pain receptors in his hand were triggering from the impact, but the sensation was all wrong.

  West made a mental note to report it to Mallory, and then snapped the stick in two with a gentle squeeze.

  His new hand was strong, too.

  Hoodie was staring at him, thunderstruck.

  West took advantage of the distraction to try a kick.

  As if in slow motion, the man vaulted into the air. He came down hard on one of the pool tables, sending the balls flying.

  A massive guy with a handlebar mustache snarled at the interruption of his game. He advanced on West, brandishing a pool cue of his own.

  This guy was big, really big.

  West held his ground.

  Mustache swung low with a sudden grace, trying to kneecap him. The pool cue whipped through the air. West had no chance to block this one.

  It snapped against West’s knee.

  West didn’t flinch.

  A collective whisper circled the room.

  This time, the whispering didn’t bother him.

  West grabbed the monster with the mustache and lifted him off the ground, glorying in the performance of the new limbs he’d hated just a few hours ago.

  Behind him, he heard a shuffling in the booth.

  Before he could turn, he was literally blindsided.

  A terrible crash of glass sounded against his head, followed by the smell of beer soaking down his shoulder.

  West collapsed.

  A booted foot came down on his head.

  The world began to recede.

  The blackness overcame him.

  Somewhere, far away, he heard a snarling dog, and then screams.

  31

  West woke up to the sound of a car door opening.

  “Come on, man, time to go home,” Dalton said wearily.

  The dome light seemed too bright. His head was killing him. He smelled like cheap beer and smoke.

  It wasn’t the first time Dalton had driven him home in that state. But West wasn’t really sure how he got like that in the first place.

  It wasn’t the first time for that either.

  A clatter of footsteps headed for the car.

  “What happened?” Cordelia asked breathlessly.

  “West was feeling a little cooped up,” Dalton told her. “We went out to blow of some steam after he got his phone. He’ll feel better in the morning.”

  “What did you guys do?” She asked. “He looks terrible.”

  “Just knocked back a few,” Dalton answered. “Shot some pool. It was pretty low key, I guess he’s just lost his tolerance. It has been a while.”

  Pool?

  It all came flooding back to West.

  “Thank you,” West said, searching Dalton’s familiar face.

  Dalton didn’t meet his eye. Instead, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out two cell phones.

  “Don’t forget these,” he said, pressing them into West’s hand.

  32

  Cordelia strode purposefully past the lampposts that led the way from the subway to her own front door.

  They weren’t magical anymore, if they ever had been in the first place.

  West had been out partying with Dalton last night, and he was still sleeping it off when she’d left for work that morning.

  So much for a transformation. He was back to his old ways and he couldn’t ev
en drive yet. Soon enough, he’d be back to the penthouse and the parties.

  Meanwhile, Cordelia had spent the day at Worthington Enterprises, where the board was ready to mutiny if West didn’t come back soon. Stocks were down, and investors were calling.

  Maybe no one had ever held him accountable before.

  But Cordelia was going to give him an earful.

  She practiced in her head. If he was well enough to go out partying, he should be back at the company, back in the public eye.

  And, damn it, he still owed her a dinner.

  “West,” she said as soon as she walked in the door. He would be at his usual post in the living room, sitting on the chair reading comic books with Jessica, or forcing himself to walk around the room.

  “Oh hey, honey,” her mom called from the kitchen. “They’re not here.”

  “What do you mean, they’re not here?” Cordelia asked on her way to the kitchen.

  Her mom came into the doorway, wiping her hands on a towel.

  “He and Jess took the van and left about an hour ago,” she answered. “Didn’t say where they were going.”

  “West is driving?” she asked.

  That wasn’t safe. It was one thing to be cavalier with his own well being. But where did he get off putting her sister in danger?

  Before her mother could answer, Cordelia was heading for the door again, phone in her hands, texting furiously.

  Where are you?

  Her phone buzzed back immediately. A map popped up, with a red pin at the center of an open area.

  Come join us!

  She tapped the map harder than she needed to. As it loaded directions, she headed back to the subway.

  Twenty minutes later she ascended the stairs and came out a block from the little red pin.

  Her anger made it a quick walk. She arrived at the destination slightly out of breath, but still fuming.

  A large sign proclaimed that she was entering Worthington Field.