Hard Break (Deadlines & Diamonds, #5)

by Morgan Kearns

  She’d get through it, ‘cause—she laughed—it’s not like she had a choice. Her children needed her to be strong. And she didn’t need anyone. She’d figure out how to take the job with Dr. Monroe and she’d get her family’s happily-ever-after back. Even if it killed her.

  Nine

  Ian had had enough!

  Contention. Drama. He wanted no part of them and Kayla bought both in spades. He may love her and adore her children, but…damn! Every time he managed to distance himself, she managed to suck him back into the insanity.

  He snapped his fist forward to hit the punching bag, then danced back on his toes to avoid the backswing. Punch. Punch. Punch. Releasing his frustration and bottled up aggression this way grounded him. He got in nice and tight, pummeling the weighted bag in a quick succession of rabbit punches. The throb in his knuckles pushed him to continue. At least if he could concentrate on his fists maybe he’d be able to forget about his heart.

  This crap was seriously for the birds!

  When his doorbell rang, he ignored the interruption. Finishing his workout was priority number one. All else be damned.

  He stretched his fingers, wiped at the sweat on his brow and went back to work on the bag. With every impact his mind cleared and his resolve strengthened. Screw the Blacks. From here on out, he’d put his own life, his own desires, ahead of them. No matter what.

  Knocking joined the incessant ringing. Seriously! His visitor, whoever it might be, could go screw himself.

  “Go away!” he yelled in the direction of where the front door would be. No way the idiot on his porch would hear him. Or maybe they did, because the disruption to his peace and quiet evaporated.

  He turned his attention back to the bag. His makeshift home gym took up what was meant to be the family room. He glanced over at the kitchen island, only to have the bag reward his momentary lack of concentration with a slap. Thankfully, his ass didn’t get intimate with the tile.

  Never a good sign when instead of hitting the bag with his fist, he considered using his forehead. Pound some sense into himself. Damn, he should consider seeing a shrink.

  Instead, he’d settle for a drink. He crossed the room and pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator. The damp tank top and gym shorts he wore stuck to his heated skin, cooling him off. Sweat trickled down his back. His muscles ached in the best way possible.

  He’d just placed the cold rim to his lip when movement in his backyard caught his attention. What the hell? A tip of the head. A furrowing of his brows. A frown. Yeah, none of that helped him comprehend why Chase was skulking through his backyard. Although it did explain the persistent demand from the front stoop.

  Ian put the bottle on the counter, leaned against the granite and crossed his arms. What was he doing?

  The kid glanced back over his shoulder and that’s when Ian saw his face. Streaked with tear tracks, his cheeks were flushed. His eyes were puffy and red. Ian didn’t wait another second. He ran to the door, hurtling a basket of unfolded laundry.

  Whipping the slider wide, he grabbed the kid by the shoulders. Chase shrieked, his big blue eyes going dinner plate. He put his arms around Ian’s waist, sagged into him and sobbed.

  Ian’s protective instinct jackhammered through his body. As much as he wanted to give Chase the comfort he so obviously needed, Ian needed to figure out what the hell was going on. He pried the death grip from his waist.

  “Sorry,” Chase mumbled, going about the task to man up, wiping a hand over his eyes and swallowing hard. Five, make that six times.

  Ian dropped down to his knee, giving Chase the height advantage. “Hey, man, what’s going on?”

  “Do you have a hammer?” His voice cracked, and not because puberty hung out on the horizon.

  “Yeah.”

  “I need to borrow a hammer.” Another barely restrained hiccup accompanied the last syllable. He cleared his throat, rubbed at his tears with the neck of his t-shirt.

  “Hey.” Ian stood, putting a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “You don’t have to cry over a stupid hammer.”

  No relief registered on the freckled features. “It’s not a stupid hammer.” He clamped his lips together, but not tight enough to keep his chin from quivering.

  “A hammer is just a hammer.”

  “It’s not just a hammer!” Chase roared before his face contorted into a heartbreaking pre-breakdown.

  “Hey, hey, hey.” Ian crushed the boy to him, rubbing circles on the smaller back. “Why don’t you explain it to me?”

  Chase nodded and eased back. He looked down at his flip-flops, bit his lip, sighed.

  “Do you need a drink?”

  Another nod.

  After handing Chase a bottle of water and once again gripping his own, Ian said, “Spill it.”

  Chase’s head jerked up, his gaze slamming into Ian. “What?”

  “The story, not the water, bud. Spill it. What’s the deal with the hammer?”

  “Oh.” Chase unscrewed the lid and guzzled the water like he may never get another drink. When the last droplets were gone, he replaced the lid. “You got a garbage?”

  Stall tactic. Plain and simple. “No, just sit it there on the counter. I’ll take care of it later. Now, tell me what’s going on, Chase.”

  Those blue eyes, so like the color of the ocean, developed waves of their own. “I, um, my mom—” He shook his head, chewed on his lip.

  The kid had screwed up, no doubt about that. “I’m not going to be mad, Chase.” Ian shrugged. “You’re safe here.” As if he weren’t safe at home. Ian wanted to kick his own ass.

  Chase squared his shoulders, straightened his spine and looked Ian right in the eye. “I took my da—” He choked back the emotion. “I took my dad’s hammer.”

  Light bulb!

  “I took it. I didn’t put it back and now it’s lost.” All the big-man-on-campus melted, leaving a devastated little boy. His head drooped on his neck as if too heavy to keep up any longer. His shoulders hunched, shuddered. His fingers wove together, knitting against each other.

  “My. Dad’s. Hammer,” he sobbed. “I lost my dad’s hammer.”

  “Heeey,” Ian crooned softly. “It’s okay.”

  Juvenile eyes flashed behind the tears. “It’ll never be okay! Didn’t you hear me? I lost my dad’s hammer. My dad is—”

  “Stop!” Ian yelled to put the brakes on the kid’s guilt trip. “Just stop,” he said in a normal voice. “I’ll help you find your dad’s hammer. Why do you need the hammer?”

  “I don’t. My mom—” More swallowing. More clearing of his throat. “My mom needs it.”

  “Let’s not keep your mom waiting. She can use my hammer—”

  “But my dad’s hammer—”

  “I told you, little man, I’ll help you find the hammer. But let’s take care of your mom first.”

  He nodded, made another swipe across his face. Then, as if the solution loosened his tongue, the narrative started. “My mom was trying to hang a picture and she needed the hammer and the hammer wasn’t there and she couldn’t find the hammer because I’d taken the—”

  “No judgments here, my man. Let’s get the hammer over to your mom so she can hang the picture.”

  “Yeah, yeah, okay.” Chase followed Ian into the garage.

  Ian punched the garage door opener and light flooded the space, reflecting off the concrete and the Mustang’s paint. He blinked, walking up to the red tool chest and opening the second drawer down. “This is where I keep my hammer, Chase. It’s very important you always put the tools back where they go.”

  “Believe me, I’ll never make that mistake again.”

  Ian smiled. The kid had said exactly what he’d hoped the prompt triggered. He retrieved the hammer and handed the tool over to Chase. “You know the garage code and I expect this back where you got it as soon as you’re finished.”

  Quick, hurried nods. “Yeah. Got it. Thanks.”

  Grabbing Chase by the shoulder, Ian guided him
out into the front yard. “Come on, dude, let’s get that hammer to your mom.”

  Chase took off, jumping over the landscaping rocks separating their yards. Ian quickened his pace to keep up. As soon as Chase opened the door, Ian could hear Kayla and her mutter-scream-cry combo.

  “All I needed was a hammer.” Sniff. “One damn hammer.” Sniff, sniff. “How many times have I told you to put things back when you’re finished with them?”

  Ian guessed he expected the grumblings, his own mother had said things, in much the same way, more times than he could count. What he didn’t expect was to find Kayla teetering on a chair, stretched up on the tiptoes of one foot. She held a high heel in her right hand while steadying what he only assumed was a nail in her left.

  “Oh good hell,” he said.

  She tried to look at him and adding a turn to her already precarious combo brought the tower down. He jumped, rushed forward and caught her. Cradling her to his chest, he held on. He knew he shouldn’t, knew he should just let her go about her day. That’d be the intelligent choice. But since when could he claim to be smart when it came to the Black family?

  He chuckled softly. “Easy there, babe.”

  “Put me down.” The words were most certainly a request, but she didn’t struggle to get down, nor did she release the death grip she had on his tank top. “You can put me down now.”

  He tipped her feet toward the floor, pulled away when her soles touched the hardwood. His shirt stretched out. She offered a tiny, “Oh,” and let go. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. You tryin’ to outdo Sadie?”

  Lines appeared between her brows. “Huh?”

  He reached out, smoothed the lines then eased his fingers up to her hairline. “You lookin’ to get a scar to match Sadie’s?”

  “Oh.” She rubbed at her head, pushing his touch away. “No. It wouldn’t look nearly as cute on me.”

  Her gaze darted to the doorway behind him then back. “Why are you here?”

  “I heard there was a damsel in distress.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to keep sweeping in here to save me.”

  “I keep tellin’ myself the same thing, and yet, here I am.”

  “Why are you really here?”

  “A little bird said you were in need of a hammer.”

  She glared at Chase. “Oh yeah? Did this little bird also tell you he lost our hammer?”

  Ian stepped into her line of sight. “Why, yes, he did. He also told me how terrible he feels about it.”

  Her eyelids slipped closed as though they, and not her shoulders, bore the weight of the world. Her bottom lip trembled. He stepped forward, touching her, but only just barely. She leaned into him, dropped her forehead against his chest. Her soft sighs whispered against his skin. He felt the tear, heard the snuffled inhale. He ached to touch her, cradle her, comfort her, but left the amount of contact up to her.

  She didn’t wrap her arms around him, didn’t touch him with more than just the small slice of flesh between her brows and hairline, but it was enough. More than enough. In this moment, this pivotal few seconds, she leaned on him.

  “Ian?” Chase whispered.

  Kayla stiffened, but didn’t pull a full retreat like Ian expected.

  “I got this, my man.” He motioned to the couch. “Put the hammer over there and go clean your room.”

  “But it’s—”

  “Never clean enough. Check under the bed.”

  “Ah, man.”

  Kayla’s smile, easy and natural, amused Ian. “You forget, bud, I was ten once.”

  Chase stomped up the stairs. After the events of the morning, the kid didn’t have any fight left in him, which was good because neither did his mother.

  “Oh, Ian, I really blew it with him.”

  “He’s tough.”

  She crossed to the couch, moved the hammer to the coffee table and sat. Ian followed her, sitting at her side, close enough she could lean in, but leaving enough distance not to crowd her. She leaned forward and dropped her head into her hands.

  “I totally lost it. I’ve never, never yelled at them like that. But the hammer…it’s a stupid hammer.”

  Ian’s fingers ached to take her hand, offer whatever comfort she’d allow. He slid his palms under his thighs. “But it was Leon’s hammer. Your reaction is completely understandable.”

  “It’s only a hammer.”

  “And after you both calm down, you can have a conversation. He regrets what he did. Kayla, when he…” Ian’s throat tightened at the memory of Chase’s tears. “The kids are doing the best they can. You lost your husband, but they lost their father.”

  “I know. I’m trying. I really am.”

  Ian did touch her now, covering her hand with his. “That’s the problem, Kay. You’re only trying. You’re only treading water, simply breathing.”

  She jerked her hand from under his. Her baby blues frosted. “Who are you to—”

  “I’m your friend. That’s who I am.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m your next-door neighbor, your friend and from what I can tell I seem to be your anchor in this maelstrom.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “Seriously?” He clamped his lids tight and focused on his breathing. In, out. In, out. Snapping at her wouldn’t do anyone any good. He needed to calm down before he flipped out and made everything worse. In, out. In, out. He opened his eyes and stared at her.

  She attempted strength in all her fragility. He wanted to bust down all her walls and get to the core of the woman inside. She still resided in there. He’d seen glimpses, when her smile and laughter resonated genuine.

  He breathed deep and allowed the exhale to pass from his lips audibly. She drove him to drink, she damn well deserved to know it.

  “I know you don’t need me. Believe me, I’ve heard it loud and clear every damn time you tell me. And yet—” He spread his arms wide, exposing himself literally and figuratively. “—here. I. Am. Don’t you get it, Kayla, I love you!”

  Shit! He had not meant to announce that to the world and judging by her gasp, she didn’t expect, or welcome, the declaration. Time for damage control.

  “As your friend. I love you as a friend. Ya know like Tom loves Jerry.”

  She didn’t look convinced, but relaxed a bit. More than he could say for himself.

  She smiled. “So, does that mean you’re going to smack me over the head with a frying pan?”

  “You could sure use it. Right upside that pretty little cheek. Knock some sense into you.”

  “Hey.” She rubbed said cheek. “I’m sensible.”

  “Since when?”

  She laughed. “I haven’t always been this…this…unbalanced. I told you I am trying.”

  “How long has it been since you did something just for you?”

  Kayla sank back against the overstuffed cushioning and sighed. The point had been made. She’d argue anyway. It was in her DNA. “I do something…Why are you grinning?”

  “No reason. What were you saying?”

  She snorted. “I take some time for myself every day.”

  “Really? What do you do for yourself every day?”

  At least she looked chagrined despite the stubborn set of her chin. “I…shower.”

  Ian’s laugh burst from his toes. His insides warmed. Her cheeks reddened. He leaned forward, getting in close before dramatically sniffing her. “You shower?”

  “Yes.” She batted him away. “I shower. I lock the bathroom door and I spend a little time to myself.”

  “Do you cry?”

  She went deer-in-the-headlights. He loved and hated that he knew her so well.

  “Nevermind. I can see the answer in your eyes. What I’m asking is, when was the last time you did something just for you? Something grown-ups do, something fun.”

  Her sigh signaled resignation. “It’s been a while. But—”

  “No buts, love.”

  “Don’t,” she said adamantly.
“Please, don’t call me love. It’s too—” Her gaze lifted to his. “Intimate.”

  Schwing!

  “Got it,” he croaked. He cleared his throat. “No ‘love’. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  She ignored his statement, probably recognizing it for the lie it was. “The problem, Ian, is that I have no one to watch the kids while I get a little me time.”

  “You have me.”

  Again she snorted. Did she realize how freakin’ cute that was?

  “Ian, you have a life of your own.”

  “A life I’m more than willing to share with you.”

  Her brows jumped to hair hairline.

  “That didn’t come out right.” ShitDamnHell! “I’m really not trying to hit on you.”

  “I’m a little old for you.”

  Was she kidding? “Are you kidding?”

  “Oh, come on, I’m old.”

  His turn to snort, and he did it with fervor. “You are beautiful. The total package; smart, sexy, gorgeous.”

  She arched a brow.

  “A total MILF.”

  She laughed.

  “Not that I think of you that way.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.

  “What if I showered?” Her teasing eyes twinkled.

  “Mom!” was followed by the thud, thud, thud of running footsteps. “Mom!” The clunk of a landed jump at the bottom of the stairs. Chase rounded the corner waving the misplaced hammer above his head. “I found it. Mom, I found it!” He skidded to a stop in front of them. “Can you believe it? I found it.”

  Kayla stood and wrapped her arms around her son. “I love you. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” She lifted his chin with her finger. The boy blinked wildly against the tears building in his eyes. “Chase, I love you. It’s just a hammer and—”

  “It’s Dad’s hammer.”

  “I shouldn’t have flipped out like I did. I’m sorry.”

  The apology let loose the floodgates and Chase gave up the fight. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  Ian didn’t belong in this moment, but positioned on the couch as he was didn’t offer escape without completely interrupting the communion. He sat as still as he could and tried to fade into the tan leather.