Franc? Seriously?
Head tilted, she crossed her arms. “Don’t go putting your detective hat on. It’s not like that.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“Didn’t have to. I know that face.”
And he knew hers. The one trying to convince everyone—including herself—that she was happy, when really, something was missing.
She tightened the belt on her robe. Pink, naturally. Just like the nervous blush coloring over her freckles right now.
He drummed his fingers on the couch arm. “Still listening to Hilary Hahn?”
“Hmm? Oh.” She turned down the music but couldn’t tone down the smile her favorite violinist always ignited. “You know she’s won three Grammys now? Her interpretations and stylistic choices amaze me.” She shook her head in admiration. “If I had her talent . . .”
“You do.”
There were those pink cheeks again—calling for his fingers.
Boundaries, D’Angelo.
Thankfully, she flitted toward the kitchen. Not that it helped much. In these close quarters, her vanilla body spray’s familiar scent whirled around him. Boundaries? Yeah, right.
“Can I make you a coffee?”
“Hot?” He grinned. She was the only person he knew who was constantly cold yet never drank hot beverages.
Bree turned at the counter. “For you, I’ll make an exception.” She opened a cabinet above the coffee press. Before he even caught a glance inside, she swung it shut like she was guarding contraband.
Now he was intrigued. He moseyed over, lips to the side. “Hiding something?”
“No.” She straightened her short frame and extended an arm to stop him.
Big mistake.
He caught her at the waist, oh so tempted to haul her over his shoulder, but simply switched their positions instead.
“Josh!” She flailed in an attempt to reach around him.
Not happening. He boxed her out, opened the cabinet, and froze—for about two seconds. Laughter tumbled out at the sight of a mug that read: Drummer. Because Even Guitarists Need Heroes. “You kept my old mug?”
“No.” She swiped it from him. Toying with it in her hands, she kept her head down. “Maybe.”
And maybe she was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.
Bree peeked up toward a simpering grin he couldn’t shake. “Don’t let it go to your head. I didn’t have any money in college, so I used whatever mismatched stuff I could find.”
“Mm-hmm.”
She shoved him and mumbled, “Doofus,” while rigging up the coffee press.
Man, he missed her. Missed this. Was it naive to hope she did too?
Crunching noises from the corner drew his attention to two cats toppling over each other in front of the food bowl. “Your parents gave you Bonnie and Clyde, huh?” It still cracked him up that they’d let her pick those names. Talk about irony.
“Once I moved here, yeah.” She poured boiling water into the French press. “Not being able to take them to Eastman about killed me.” As soon as Bree squatted to the tiles, Bonnie scurried over and head-bonked her in the knee. “Good thing I have ’em now, though. We keep each other warm, don’t we?”
Josh looked toward a series of blankets draped over the couch. “Why do you have the air up this high?”
“I don’t.” She gave the cats one more rub and pushed up to her feet. “I think it’s broken. I put a call into maintenance, but I haven’t heard back yet.”
Deal or not, whatever price she was paying for this pad warranted better service. He strode for the thermostat in the living room. Seventy-two. Yeah, something wasn’t right.
A rich, nutty aroma filtered in from the kitchen as he tinkered with it. If the coffee tasted as amazing as it smelled, he may never be able to get down another cup of Sarge’s sludge.
Bree handed him his drummer mug. “Black. I assume that’s how you still take it.”
A smile found his lips. “You remembered.”
“It hasn’t been that long.”
Maybe not to her.
She leaned against the chair arm, sleek ankles crossed as she waited for the ice to cool off her coffee. Steam swirled up from her glass, fogging his senses. He kept fidgeting with the thermostat, but his eyes wouldn’t pull away from her.
When she caught him staring, another bashful smile peeked through before she went back to blowing into her cup.
The Sanchez Crew better make their move soon, because this assignment needed to end. Pronto.
With a deliberate exhale, Josh tore his gaze back to the thermostat and pried off the clamp around his voice. “I’ll, uh, bring some tools next time.” He fit the cover back on. “Might be faulty wires.” Like the ones short circuiting his heart right now.
“Thanks.” Her voice rang thick with more than she let on.
The look on her face warned him not to ask. As if tag teaming, the pizza box he’d brought practically jumped off the end table in an effort to sidetrack him.
He handed her the order of garlic knots. “Peace offering.” If nothing else, she at least had to miss these little pieces of heaven.
A glance at the logo morphed into the same loaded smile he’d called to mind dozens of times the last four years. “You trying to stink out the bad guys?”
“Shoot, if they’ve had Bella’s before, they’ll be the chumps falling right into my trap.” He snagged one of the steaming knots brimming with fresh chunks of garlic, butter, and herbs. “And they’re not just for them.”
She rose and fanned away the garlic aroma overtaking the living room. “It might be kinda hard to protect me if I have to bar you ten feet away.”
“That’s why you have to eat some too. It nixes the smell.”
“I don’t seem to remember it happening that way.”
Josh sauntered closer. “Unless you plan on kissing me, I guess it’s not a problem.”
Eyes wide and painfully beautiful, she swallowed. “I . . . we . . .” She blinked, grabbed a blanket from the couch, and twisted it in a mindless spiral.
He dipped his head under hers to catch that flustered color setting off her freckles again.
“Josh . . .”
“I know.” He strong-armed away the urge to kiss her and backed up, palms raised.
How was he supposed to do this? Camaraderie had always come easily for them. They’d been best friends since elementary school. Even before they started dating, they’d shared a closeness he’d never been able to replicate. And now he was supposed to keep his distance? Forget their past?
He heaved a sigh. The reality was, there weren’t just boundary lines separating them now. There were scars. He needed to accept that. Aside from protocol mandating they keep personal matters off the table, pushing her to give more than she was ready to would only make things worse.
He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets. “Listen, I want you to know I’m sorry about yesterday. For the things I said.”
“For being honest?” A sad smile dimmed her eyes. “The truth isn’t always fair. We both know that. I’m sorry too.” She turned toward the couch and took longer than necessary to straighten the blanket over the top ledge. “For a lot of things,” she added softly.
The need to draw her to him led his feet an inch closer, but he stopped his arm midair. “I know this whole thing is awkward, but I need you to let me look out for you till we get these guys. We’ll keep it all business.”
She turned, head tilted. “Strictly professional?”
Not if she kept looking that cute without even knowing it. He rubbed the base of his neck, exhaled, and released what he couldn’t hold on to. “Promise. Just friends—acquaintances,” he revised. As long as God gave him strength he didn’t have on his own.
Her gaze lingered on his for too long. By the time she finally moved, his pulse had already betrayed his promise.
Another heartbreaking expression lowered her eyes to the hardwoods. “You’ll always be more than that.”
Until right then, he hadn’t known just how unfair the truth could really be.
“Bree, I—”
An incoming text dinged from his phone. Knowing Daniels, she probably had some keen sense that he was about to mess up. He pulled out his cell. Not Daniels. Any residual amusement faded at the words on the screen.
Bree must’ve read his face. “What’s wrong?”
“My mom. She’s in the ER.”
Chapter Seven
What Ifs
Josh scooted forward on the stiff hospital chair beside Mom’s bed and threaded his fingers through his hair. Thankfully, they’d moved her to a recovery room shortly after he’d arrived. Because if he’d been stuck pacing across those off-white tiles in the waiting area any longer, he might’ve ended up in the ER himself.
His hands drifted to his lap. This wasn’t Mom’s first close call. After four years, he practically had the ER staff on speed dial. Still, something about this time ate at him.
He twisted Dad’s ring—to one side, the other. Back and forth, his thoughts churning. Not being there the night his parents were mugged and assaulted didn’t keep him from imagining how it’d gone down. With his eyes closed, he could see the mugger popping two caps into Dad’s torso, could hear the shriek of pain from a bullet piercing Mom’s lung.
Heated fury throbbed through the raised veins on his arms. He should’ve been there.
The familiar sting of regret burned his lungs until it was as hard to breathe as it must’ve been for Mom. He squeezed her motionless fingers. “I’ll find him, Ma. I promise I’ll solve this case. Just keep fighting a little longer.” He wouldn’t let her pass without giving her closure.
Thick, unsolicited emotion coated his eyes as he faced the ceiling. Give me more time.
Her hand ticked under his as gradual flutters opened her eyes. One look at him, and the warmth of her smile fanned the sterile room with strokes of sunshine. Her gaze strayed to the clock and back. “Slacking on the job?” she rasped.
He shook his head. The woman always had jokes.
“Johnson’s filling in for me.”
“And not doing as good of a job.”
Josh lounged against the back of the chair. “Johnson’s a good cop, Ma, and I think you might be a little biased.”
“I know what I’m talking about.” She struggled to prop herself up on her elbows but managed to flaunt the Moms-know-all-things look without any problem. She’d make a good cop herself. No way he’d want to end up in the interrogation box with her.
“All you need to worry about right now is taking it easy.” He straightened her pillows and helped her lean back.
She caught his hand in hers and brought him close, like she wanted to make sure he hadn’t changed at all since she’d last seen him. A slow smile lifted her pale cheeks. “There are the eyes I’ve been missing these last few years.”
“Years?” He laughed. “You see me every day. Same eyes.”
“You’re not the only one with detective instincts, mister.” She set a hand to his cheek and gave him a good tap. “I’m talking about eyes of love.” The last word came out in a tone she clearly enjoyed using more than she should.
“Really, Ma?” He cursed the traitorous blush working against him right now.
“Okay, fine. No mush.” She raised her hands. “But don’t try to act like I’m blind. You and Bree talked and made up, I take it?”
Josh ran a knuckle across his warm brow. “Talked, yeah,” he mumbled. “Made up?” He shrugged. “Not exactly sure you could call it that.”
An all-knowing huff dismissed his look of uncertainty. “Trust me. You made up.”
“How would you even know—?” On second thought, he let it drop.
A coughing fit wheezed through her overworked body. He reached for the call button to summon a nurse, but Mom stopped him. “I’m fine. Tell me how our girl’s doing?”
Our girl. Fighting a grin, he swiped a magazine off the side table and mindlessly thumbed through the pages. “She seems good.”
“Meaning, as stubborn as ever. Always liked that girl’s spunk. She’s good for you. Keeps you in your place.”
The magazine sank to his lap. “You calling me conceited?”
She swayed her head. “Confident.”
He didn’t bother holding in a laugh. “I think you mean hardheaded.”
“Hopeful,” she offered in exchange.
Couldn’t deny that. Especially after spending time with Bree in her apartment this morning. The way she said he’d always be more than a friend . . . His stomach tightened.
He’d given up writing her the first year she left, realizing she had to make the choice to come back on her own. But now that she was here, he felt like an awkward preteen, unsure what she wanted, needed. What if he messed up his only chance at changing her mind about them?
He slumped against the chair. How did they even end up in this situation? They were supposed to be married by now. Life was supposed to be . . . different.
Josh chucked the magazine back on the table. “I always thought we’d beat the odds, you know?” Maybe he’d been kidding himself all along.
“Who says you haven’t?” Mom’s sage-like eyes echoed the pointed question. “Time away was just one part of your journey together. Doesn’t mean it’s over.”
“You think it’s that easy?”
“Nothing’s easy about love, sweetheart. Having to fight for something is what makes it worthwhile.”
And Mom’s words of wisdom strike again. Josh shook a smile at her but knew she was right. Embers of hope reignited in his chest, whether he wanted them to or not.
“Go on, now. What are you waiting for?”
“I should stay.”
She shooed him away from the bed. “I’ll still be here when you get off tour tonight.”
Worry and affection clogged his voice. “Promise?”
Motherly assurance filled a promise they both knew she couldn’t guarantee.
“I’ll be back tonight.” Josh leaned over to kiss her cheek.
“If I’m not here, it’s ’cause I’m doing laps in the gym.”
Knowing her, he didn’t doubt she’d try. “Real funny, Ma. Try to get some rest, eh?”
“I will. And, Josh?” She sat up on her elbows. And with a smile that held her belief in him, she nodded in place of words she didn’t need to finish.
Good thing, because a response wouldn’t have made it through his tight throat if it tried. Clinging to her confidence, he pushed off the trim toward the exit and the girl he wasn’t ready to let go of yet.
The clock heckled at his attempted race through traffic. Bree’s rehearsal had wrapped up a half hour ago. Would they still be there?
He parked a block away from the Lincoln Center in the first open spot he found and jogged up the sidewalk toward his buddy Johnson leaning against his Charger. Josh must’ve made it on time after all. He clapped Johnson on the back. “Thanks for covering for me, bro.”
Johnson removed a toothpick from his mouth and tossed it in the trash. “It’s all good. How’s your mom?”
“Stable.” For now. Josh focused on a construction crew blocking off the corner up ahead. With barricades of his own, he bolted a manhole cover over the worry that’d been nagging at him all afternoon. Letting what-ifs get the best of him wouldn’t serve anyone.
He shook his watch forward on his wrist. “Rehearsal running late?”
“More like a date is.” Johnson flicked a nod behind him.
Josh turned toward the opposite street corner, where Bree walked out of a café with some poser looking like he stepped off an I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter commercial set. Had to be Franc. The name fit perfectly.
“Think that’s the boss, or conductor, or whatever?” Johnson wagged his brows. “Little private session on the side, eh? Don’t blame him. Old or not, I’d be trying to—”
“She’s not like that.” It took massive restraint not to deck Johnson dead in the nose. He
didn’t know Josh’s connection to Bree. Still, the guy could have a little respect.
“You know her?”
Josh peered across the street right as Franc lifted Bree’s chin to kiss her cheek. His starched shirt and fake tenderness had Josh nauseated from here. Was she seriously with this player? She knew better than to fall for some guy trying to work an angle.
Unless she’d changed more than he thought.
The image constricted with the suffocating answer to Johnson’s question. “I used to.” Maybe she wasn’t that same girl anymore.
The shrill of a jackhammer drilled wounds of rejection down to his bones. The least she could’ve done was own up to it instead of lying to him this morning.
Johnson landed a grasp on Josh’s shoulder and squeezed like he could sense the tension radiating off him. “Need some backup?”
To keep him from throwing the guy’s butt in the middle of traffic? Probably not a bad idea. Josh released his clenched fingers when Franc hailed a cab. “Give me a minute,” he said to Johnson on his way across the street.
Heatwaves rippled off the asphalt, vanishing with the hope he was gullible enough to think he could hold on to.
Bree met his gaze from the end of the sidewalk and smiled without any hint of chagrin. “Hey.” She balanced her violin case on the ground and studied his glower. “Is your mom okay? I was worried.”
“Clearly.”
She bristled. “Excuse me?”
Josh jutted his chin at the taxi. “Thought you said it wasn’t like that.”
Confusion sputtered down her face as she followed his line of sight. “You mean with Franc? It isn’t.”
“He kisses all the girls in the string section?”
Finally, she had the decency to blush. “It was on the cheek, and yeah, he’s friendly with everyone.”
“C’mon, Bree. The guy goes out of his way to find you an apartment, singles you out for coffee, and then caresses your shoulder all out of fatherly love?”
“Some guys have manners. You should take a lesson.” She adjusted her sweater with more force than necessary. “He was asking my opinion on the score, all right? I’m auditioning for associate concertmaster. I kind of have to interact with the conductor. I don’t know why you’re making a big deal out of this.”
Still Falling (Home In You #0) Page 4
