Five Minute Man: A Contemporary Love Story (Covendale Book 1)

by Abbie Zanders

  There were a few grumbles and protests as her father tried to round everyone up and out, but once Jack McTierney had made a decision, it was law. Everyone said their goodbyes and promised—i.e. threatened—to return the following weekend.

  Holly gave a big sigh of relief when they were finally gone.

  “God, they’re exhausting,” she said, closing her eyes and leaning her head back. Two days had felt more like two months. Now she remembered exactly why she had moved over an hour away.

  “Yeah,” Liz agreed, sinking down beside her with the tub of Rocky Road and two spoons. “But they mean well. Do you think, if I managed to hurt myself in a totally random and completely believable, un-staged freak accident, they’d come over to my place? I mean, jeez, Holly. I’ve never seen this house so clean. I swear there are enough pre-made meals in the freezer to last a month!”

  “Yeah, there’s that,” Holly sighed. As much as it chafed to admit it, her family had been a tremendous help. Lord knew she hadn’t felt up to running the vacuum, doing laundry, or cooking.

  The downside was, Holly would probably spend the next couple days putting things back where they belonged. Holly’s mom’s idea of organization was based on appearance; Holly’s was based on accessibility and common sense.

  A perfect example: her favorite zip-up hoodie was now hanging in the foyer closet instead of being draped across the kitchen chair where she could put it on when needed. Granted, her cottage had never looked so good, but Holly much preferred practicality over aesthetics.

  Holly dug deep into the ice cream, relishing the total sensory experience. Ice cream was fucking awesome. Cold and rich and creamy, it never disappointed.

  Unlike everything else in life.

  “So ... Holly,” Liz began slowly, drawing out the words, “we should talk.”

  The tone, the cadence, the phrasing—they were all clear indications that whatever Liz wanted to talk about, Holly was absolutely certain she didn’t.

  “Don’t, Liz.”

  “Then don’t talk, just listen. Because I’m only going to say this once, and then I am never, ever going to talk about it again.”

  Something in Liz’s voice kept Holly from protesting again. “All right.”

  “I know you’re hurting, and I totally get it. What Adam did was just awful. But ... maybe it wasn’t completely his fault.”

  “Excuse me?” Holly said, stiffening. Liz was her best friend. She was supposed to have her back, no matter what. No questions asked, just blind, one-hundred percent loyal support. “You’re defending him now? You saw those pictures, Liz!”

  “Yeah, I did,” Liz admitted, biting her lower lip. “And didn’t he, I don’t know, seem kind of out of it to you?”

  Holly had thought the same thing, but mostly because she had stupidly gone and fallen in love with the betraying bastard. It was her mind’s innate self-defense mechanism kicking into gear, lessening the sting just enough to enable her to hang on to her last remaining shred of self-control.

  “So, he got drunk first before he had sex with her. That makes it so much better.”

  Liz was quiet for a minute, staring into the ice cream as she swirled her spoon around the top. “I know I told you I didn’t like Eve Sanderson, but I never told you why.”

  “I just figured it was because she was a spoiled, rich, self-centered, cunt of a whore bitch.”

  Liz’s lips quirked a little at that, but her eyes were sad. “Well, there’s that. But there is another reason, too.”

  Holly waited; she knew better than to rush Liz. Whatever she was going to say was obviously hard for her, and important. Liz wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise.

  “You know I have a younger brother, right?”

  “Yeah. Nick, right? Moved out west somewhere?”

  “Wyoming,” Liz confirmed.

  “You don’t talk about him much.”

  “No,” Liz agreed. “But, at one time, we were really close. We’re only about eighteen months apart in age, and we look enough alike that everyone always thought we were twins.”

  “What happened? Why did he leave?”

  “Eve Sanderson.” Liz spit out the name with more hate than Holly had ever heard coming from her lips. “I’ll give you the Cliffs Notes version. She saw him at some party and decided she wanted him. At first, he was polite; told her he wasn’t interested. Nick was crazy in love with his girlfriend, Annie, and was saving up money to get her a ring for Christmas.”

  Liz’s voice quivered. She paused for a moment and took a breath. “Well, we know what happens when Eve doesn’t get what she wants. She spiked his drink or, at least, that’s what we think happened. One minute he was fine, the next, he was acting all loaded and out of control. I mean, don’t get me wrong; Nick was no saint and could let loose with the best of them, but he always knew when to stop.” She looked at Holly, who nodded mutely in understanding and encouragement.

  “Anyway, one of his buddies saw what was happening and managed to get him into a bedroom to sleep it off. While Nick was passed out, Eve snuck in and texted Annie from his phone, pretending to be him. She said he’d drunk too much and needed a ride home. Annie was working second shift at the hospital that night. She was a nurse, which is why she wasn’t at the party. She texted back, telling him to stay there and be safe, that she would be there for him as soon as her shift ended at eleven. When Annie showed up, she found Nick and Eve naked together in bed.”

  Holly’s gasp sounded loud in the otherwise quiet room.

  “Annie was devastated. She was every bit in love with Nick as he was with her. They were so good together, Holly. Perfect. The kind of soul-deep love you write about in your books, you know?”

  Liz shook her head. When she spoke again, her voice was completely flat, devoid of emotion. “Annie ran out of the house and got back into her car. She got into an accident and was killed. Nick didn’t find out until the next day when our dad tracked him back to Eve’s to tell him.”

  “Oh, my God, Liz,” Holly said, horrified. “That’s awful!”

  Liz had tears in her eyes, revealing and magnifying the soul-deep grief Holly had never glimpsed before. “Nick lost it. When he found out what happened, he snapped. He didn’t remember any of it. Something broke in him, Holly. He left town after Annie’s funeral and never looked back. He sends me cards, sometimes, but he refuses to talk to any of us. He says it brings back too many memories.”

  “I am so sorry, Liz.” Holly reached down and pulled Liz into an embrace.

  Liz accepted it for a few minutes, quietly sobbing against Holly’s shoulder. Then she pushed away.

  “So ... that’s all I have to say,” Liz said, sniffling and swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “You know what Eve is capable of now, so you can decide what you want to do with that information.”

  “Liz, I just don’t know ...”

  Liz held up her hand to cut her off. “No. No more talking. I meant what I said, Holly. Now grab that remote. I have half a dozen unrated movies, all with hot guys, and every one of them has at least one scene with full frontal nudity.”

  Chapter 28

  Adam hung up the phone, feeling a fraction of the crushing weight on his chest begin to lift. It had taken a little over a month, but Eve Sanderson had just been formally arrested on a laundry list of charges, including arson, criminal mischief, and illegal use of a controlled substance, among others.

  Sam said that the Sanderson’s family lawyer had already posted bail and was pushing to have Eve remanded to a psychiatric facility for evaluation. From what Sam insinuated, it wouldn’t be Eve’s first time there.

  Adam didn’t really care where she went, as long as Eve was out of his life. As long as Holly was safe.

  Holly. He hadn’t spoken to her in weeks. At first, it had been because he was trying to protect her, but now ...

  She hadn’t made any attempt to contact him, not that he had expected her to. He knew through Sam that she had cooperated fully with the inv
estigation, and that she was recovering well from her physical injuries.

  Adam rubbed absently at his chest. Thinking of Holly battered and bruised made him ache.

  Beyond that most cursory information, he was lost. He had no idea what she was thinking, no idea how she felt. Did she hate him? Were her nights plagued with agonizing dreams of him as his were of her? It was inconceivable that she would ever be able to forget what had happened, but was there any chance she might someday be able to find it in her heart to forgive him?

  The front door opened and closed, signaling Brandon’s return from his shift at Applebee’s.

  Adam ran a hand down his face and tried to wipe away any trace of emotion before Brandon found him like that. He was a man, dammit. Men did not cry in front of other men.

  Brandon paused briefly at the door, no doubt assessing the situation. It was a game they played. Adam pretended he was fine, and Brandon pretended to buy it.

  “How was work? Okay?” Adam asked.

  Brandon nodded, moving into the room. “Kind of slow now that the semester started up again,” he said.

  He went right to the fridge, grabbed the carton of milk, and poured himself a glass. The kid always did have a thing for milk, which might explain some of his sturdy six-two frame and perfect teeth. Brandon leaned casually against the counter, downed the entire glass, and then immediately poured another.

  “Guess who came in for dinner tonight?” Brandon asked, his tone far too casual to be believable.

  Adam swallowed hard. He had refrained from asking, but he did wonder every Tuesday night. Did Holly and Liz still go out every week? If they did, did they avoid Applebee’s, knowing that Brandon worked there?

  “How is she?” he heard himself asking.

  “Different,” Brandon answered vaguely.

  “Different how?”

  Brandon stared at him a long time before answering. “You know, maybe you should call her and find out for yourself.”

  Adam searched his nephew’s face. The kid meant well, but ... “Did she give any indication she would want me to?” he asked bluntly.

  “No,” Brandon admitted. “But—”

  “Leave it, Brandon,” Adam commanded firmly.

  Before his nephew could say anything else, he turned on his heel and retreated into his bedroom, closing the door in a very clear message.

  ONE DAY BECAME THE next, an endless cycle of days.

  Holly couldn’t seem to summon the energy to notice. Or care. She went through the motions, did what she had to do, but no more than that. She retreated into her own private world, preferring Max’s company to anyone else’s. The only exception was Liz, who continued to bully her into going out once a week. It was the only time Holly left the cottage, except for running occasional errands. Even those she tried to avoid, doing as much as possible online.

  At least she didn’t have to worry about losing her cottage anymore. She had received a letter the week after Eve’s arrest to inform her that the Covendale Valley Historical Society “upon further reflection” had “opted not to pursue” acquisition of the property “at this time.”

  Eventually, summer turned into fall, Holly’s favorite time of year. The air grew cooler, the days grew shorter. Each day she watched the leaves change colors a little more. Shades of green turned into brilliant hues of deep gold, orange, and crimson flame.

  It was beautiful, yet she couldn’t seem to wholly appreciate the wonder of it. It felt wrong. How could she take pleasure in so much vibrancy when she herself felt so barren inside?

  Then the colored leaves were gone, too, leaving the trees bare and stark-looking. The brightly colored chrysanthemums and kale flourishing at the front of the house dried out; the last of the roses died and fell away; the variegated green and white blades of the abundant hostas withered away, leaving everything in varying shades of grays and browns.

  It was as though the season had finally attuned itself to Holly’s existence.

  Too cold to sit outside, she sat at the kitchen table, Max splayed across the tops of her feet, lest she tried to sneak away while he napped. She sipped her coffee and stared blankly at the laptop screen. The cursor blinked patiently, incessantly, waiting for her fingers to tap on the keys and weave a new story, but it just wasn’t happening.

  At one time, writing had been her passion, the thing she loved to do above all else. In Holly’s eyes, being an author was the best job in the world. With a few strokes of the keys, she could create entire worlds where true love existed, good triumphed over evil, and the endings were always happy ones. It had been her privilege to escape into those realms each and every day, some part of her believing that somewhere, someday, someone might read her stories and find a sliver of the same joy in reading them that she had in writing them.

  But now ... it seemed pointless. To craft a good tale, an author had to be able to envision things like soul mates and happy endings, even if she no longer believed they were possible. These days, all her thoughts were dark. Her inner vixen, the one she used to call upon for sass and spice, remained silent and sullen. Even Vinny was forgotten, laying dormant in the bottom of her underwear drawer.

  Despite all that, she missed writing. She longed to lose herself in a story, to let her fingers fly as her brain tried to translate those ideas and thoughts and feelings into written, readable prose. Where she could leave her own reality behind and create something better.

  She needed that escape, but the ideas just wouldn’t come.

  Holly sighed and let her hands hover over the keyboard, twitching. Maybe, instead of writing about someone else’s world, she should write about her own. If she couldn’t create a new story, maybe she could find some measure of comfort in transcribing one she already knew.

  And so, it began. Once Holly started, she couldn’t stop. Everything she had held deep inside, everything she hadn’t been able to talk about, came out on the pages. All the hurt, the ache, the tremendous feeling of loss and betrayal.

  As she wrote, she began to realize it hadn’t been all bad. There had been a lot of good crammed into those couple weeks. Sunset picnics on the lake. Pizza and movies. Incredible, mind-blowing sex.

  The wonder of finding the one person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

  Writing her own story became an obsession. It was the first thing she did when she got up in the morning and the last thing she did before closing her eyes in exhaustion at night. She took breaks only when her body demanded it. The more she wrote, the more she remembered. All the little details that had gotten lost in the face of so much overwhelming drama. The feelings were so raw, so real, they translated onto the pages with minimal conscious effort.

  It was beautiful and tragic and heartbreaking. It was cathartic.

  Originally, Holly had begun writing it as a means of private, personal therapy. It was intended as an exercise to release some of the pain and begin healing. But by the time she finished, she knew it was quite possibly the best thing she had ever written.

  Chapter 29

  Adam was absolutely miserable. Winter had taken hold with a vengeance, which meant that many of his outside jobs had to be postponed. There was always inside work to be done, but in general, that kind of stuff required a lighter touch and a skilled hand. These last few months, Adam preferred the jobs that required less finesse and more brute force. He wanted to come home at the end of the day physically exhausted. The sooner he could fall asleep at night, the less time he had to think.

  To regret.

  Christmas was only two days away, and he just couldn’t summon the urge to care. He hadn’t even bothered to get a tree. There was no point. He would be spending the holiday alone this year, having declined his brother’s repeated invitations.

  Brandon had left three days earlier, so for the first time in months, Adam didn’t have to worry about putting up a front. For the next ten days, he could just be.

  He poured out the chunky contents of the can of soup into a bowl, then
popped it in the microwave to heat up. While he waited, he grabbed himself a beer from the fridge, as well as a package of rolls he had picked up at the mini-mart when he had gassed up on the way home.

  When the microwave dinged, he took his dinner into the dark living room, not bothering to turn on the light. Pointing the remote at the flat-screen, he turned on the hockey game and settled in on the couch. With his feet planted on the coffee table, he raised the spoon to his lips, cursing when it burned his tongue.

  He grabbed the cold beer and took a drink, swishing it around to relieve some of the pain. He had barely swallowed when the doorbell rang.

  Adam cursed again. Who would be visiting him? Nobody he wanted to see, that was for sure.

  He ignored it, expecting it to ring again. It didn’t. A few moments later, he saw the brief swipe of headlights through the slight gap in the drapes.

  Adam got up and went to the window, but he only caught the flash of taillights fading quickly as the vehicle drove away.

  Odd.

  Adam shrugged to himself and sat back down. He ate the rest of his meal without tasting it and watched the game without really seeing it.

  Who had come to the door? Why had they only rung once? And why had they driven away like a bat out of hell only seconds after doing so?

  Curiosity finally got the better of him. Adam set his empty bowl on the coffee table then went to the door. A blast of cold wind went right through his clothes, chilling him. Of course there was no one there; he didn’t know why he had even bothered. Then his eyes landed on the package that had been left on the porch.

  It was relatively small, wrapped in shiny white paper with glittering snowflakes and sporting a red satin bow. In crimson, calligraphic letters, a small tag bore his name.

  He reached down and picked it up. It was heavy, like a book. Looking once more up and down the street and seeing no one, Adam took his package and went back inside.

  He sat back down on the couch with the package in his lap, afraid to open it. In his heart, he knew what it was—a present from Holly. He ran his fingers over the paper for a while, thinking about how, only a short while ago, her fingers had probably touched this paper, too.