by K. Ryan
After checking on my dad and leaving Cooper to dutifully keep watch over him, I padded back down to the office with an odd sense of foreboding snaking down my spine. My body was on high alert, fully aware that while I'd been able to run, I still had never really been able to hide.
So, when I started flipping through yet another unlabeled folder only to come across a piece of paper that made my blood run cold, I probably should've seen it coming.
"You've got to be freaking kidding me," I muttered through gritted teeth.
At first, it took me a moment to realize just what this paper really meant. But after the fog lifted, there was little I could do to convince myself otherwise. The evidence was right here in my hand.
The contract was simple, straight-forward, and easy to follow. Just an average payment schedule with standard dates and figures laid out on the chart. And right at the bottom were two signatures: Samuel Martin and Caleb Sawyer.
From the looks of it, Caleb had been helping my dad make payments on the house for nearly two years.
Right after I'd learned his diagnosis, I'd asked him point-blank about the house—specifically, what he wanted to do with it. He'd told me to sell the house and keep the money. Not one word about money problems. Nothing about having trouble making mortgage payments. And certainly not a single thing about having any kind of contact with the one person he knew I never wanted to see again.
Just when I thought I had everything worked out, just when I thought my dad and I had really set our past behind us, this bullshit happens. Did he not trust me enough? Or did he just think I couldn't handle his illness and the house all at once? And then another terrifying thought gripped me. It was very possible my dad had known about his illness much longer than he was letting on and it was even more likely Caleb had known about it while I sat obliviously in the dark.
I just...I just so pissed. I couldn't even see straight. My hands were shaking as everything went a little hazy around me. Alarm bells sounded off in my head, but I went on auto-pilot, taking off down the hallway and skidding to the garage with my dad's keys in hand before I could really take a moment to catch my breath.
This might be one of the worst ideas I'd had in a long time, but I was on the warpath now. God help the man who got in my way.
. . .
The parking lot of Sawyer Custom Builds, lined with rows of motorcycles, trucks, and pristine, fresh pavement, wasn't even half-full yet.
This wasn't the plan.
This was the exact opposite of the plan.
And something about this felt awfully familiar.
In another life, I'd sat in a parking lot not so different from this one clenching my hands around the steering wheel until they turned white just like I was doing right now. Even then, I'd known I was on the precipice of something. I couldn't have known what would follow the moment I stepped foot on that parking lot all those years ago, but I knew better now.
Being older should've made me wiser. If anything, I'd just become more reckless because I had no business being here right now.
I'd told myself that I would never, under any circumstances, find my way to this parking lot during the entire time I was in Claremont, however long that was. I'd only held out for a week. No good could possibly come of this and yet here I was, the careless moth floating helplessly towards its irresistible, seductive flame.
At least I had the foresight to pull down the visor to look in the mirror before I started my inevitable descent into self-destruction. Since I took off from my dad's like a bat out of hell, I hadn't really stopped to consider the fact that I was showing up here after six years in an old pair of yoga leggings, an oversized tank top, and a rat's nest head of hair without a stitch of makeup on. Why it mattered that I slightly resembled a walker from The Walking Dead...I shook my head at myself in the mirror.
Nope. Not going there. And I definitely wasn't going to ruminate on how I knew exactly where the shop was without needing to cue up maps on my phone, not to mention just how many times I'd pored over the website or the fact that I'd chosen to drop everything and drive over here first instead of waiting to talk to my dad like a rational person. Instead, I raked my hands through my short, messy hair and called it good. This was about getting answers, finding a quick and painless solution to the problem, and nothing more.
With a deep breath, I pushed all the warning bells going off in my head aside and stepped out of my dad's aging BMW. My eyes drank in the building's clean, red brick lines, the bright blue curls around the 'S' on the sign directly above the shop, and as I got closer, dared to let my eyes wander deeper inside the open garage, where business certainly looked to be booming.
There had to be at least 15 separate projects going on inside the garage at once and even above the cacophony of machinery and music, I could still hear the muffled voices from inside—laughing, discussing, observing, and clearly enjoying their time spent here. Judging by first impressions alone, Caleb had built himself a thriving, professional business.
As I passed the garage's entrance, everyone else was so engrossed in their work they didn't so much as glance my way. But when the time came to actually pull open the office door, knowing full well who I was bound to find inside, I almost bailed and high-tailed it back to the car. Then I remembered why I was here, and surged ahead, swinging the office door open before I could stop myself and swallowed back another nasty taste of deja vu.
Two things assaulted my attention at once: neither of the two men inside were Caleb and, more disturbingly, the sketch I'd given Caleb years ago of his bike sat framed on the desk for anyone to see.
I froze right in my tracks, my eyes locked on the careful strokes of the stretch and I could practically see myself hunched over my old bed in my dad's house, working tirelessly through the night to get the lines perfect. I blew out a harsh breath and blinked a few times just to make sure my mind wasn't playing tricks on me.
Nope. It was still there. I wasn't going crazy, but right about now, I sort of wished I was. Then all this would make a little more sense.
A deep voice called out to me through the fog and my head jerked up at the sound. "Can I help you, miss?"
The owner of the voice, the taller, older of the two men—and who reminded me a little of an aging Denzel Washington with his salt and pepper beard and weathered good looks—smiled back at me politely. The younger one gaped at me for a long moment and then his dark eyes flashed as a slow smile crept across his face.
"Yeah," he grinned at me. "Please. Let us help you. Anywhere you want it. Seriously."
The older guy smacked him in the back of the head and shook his head at me. "I'm really sorry about that, miss. This one here," he jerked his thumb at the other guy, "hasn't really been housebroken yet. He doesn't play so well with others."
"That's okay," I shrugged, shifting from side to side on the checkered tile, uncomfortable with all this attention.
"Let's start over, okay?" he didn't wait for my response and gestured to himself. "I'm Saul. That idiot right there is Lucas. We would both be happy to help you however we can in a completely professional, non-threatening way. Right, Lucas?"
The younger guy ran a hand through his dark hair and grinned back at me sheepishly. "Right."
I gulped and winced. "Thanks. I'm, um, I'm looking for Caleb Sawyer. Is he here today?
Saul laughed a little before that smile dipped into a frown as he lifted a shoulder. "Of course he is. Where else would he be?"
Oh right. That made sense, considering the fact that Caleb, according to my dad, lived in a little apartment he'd built for himself right above the garage. Where else would he be?
"Right," I laughed and even though I did my best to mask the awkwardness and the nervousness, I wasn't fooling anybody, especially not myself. "I just really need to talk to him."
Saul eyed me carefully, like he was taking stock of everything, my demeanor, my intentions, all in under a second flat.
"Sure," he drawled with an easy nod. "I'll
get him for you. Who should I say is looking for him?"
My fingers twisted into a tight knot. "You can just tell him it's Isabelle. He knows me—"
I didn't get a chance to finish because both men stilled in front of me, their eyes bugging out of their heads, and the pen Lucas was holding dropped to the ground with a loud clink.
"Holy shit," Lucas muttered under his breath and then he shot Saul a panicked glance. "I'm so dead."
Saul's expression, on the other hand, turned up until a slow, knowing grin spread across his handsome face. Instead of acknowledging Lucas directly, Saul just clapped a hand on his shoulder and beamed back at me.
"Well, Isabelle, it's great to meet you," he told me and that smile just seemed to get even bigger the longer we stood here. "I'm gonna go get the boss now. You just sit tight here."
With that, he winked at me and proceeded to push Lucas towards the door leading inside the garage.
"I can stay—" Lucas protested.
"Like hell you are," Saul murmured to him and just tightened his grip on Lucas's shoulder to shove him forward.
"Please don't tell him I—"
"Oh, you know I will."
Lucas paled, panic flooding his eyes, and he tried to turn around again, but Saul kept right on pushing. "Oh God. I'm dead. Make sure my mom and dad get what's left of my body, okay? I'd like to sort of be buried in one piece."
I didn't know if I was supposed to laugh at this pseudo-slapstick act they had going here or if I was better off just observing in stunned silence. Saul flashed me yet another grin over his shoulder as he finally shoved Lucas out.
"Don't mind us," he called over his shoulder. "Just hang on, okay?"
I smiled tightly and my chest started heaving right around the time the door closed behind them. This was it. Even if I bailed now, he'd still find out I was here. Mind as well suck it up and get this over with.
But the longer I stood here in the office—which, to be fair, probably wasn't really that long—the more that telltale tightening in my chest sent pricks of anxiety skating over me. Through some work, and admittedly, some medication, I'd somewhat conquered those good old panic attacks that seemed to sneak up on me at the most inopportune moments. Until now. Of course. It was just my luck. I'd barely gotten a handle on my shit when the doorknob turned.
I wasn't ready for this.
I didn't think I'd ever be ready.
All the time, distance, loss, tragedy, and heartache separating us faded for just one blinding moment. For that one moment, my heart stomped through the walls I'd built to keep it safe. For that one moment, my heart sang and leapt for joy.
And a moment later, Caleb walked through the office door.
Six years later and just one glimpse of him could still send every single one of my senses into overdrive. Focusing on the physical changes was all I was really equipped to handle: his hair was significantly darker and shorn close to his head. The scruff was still there, but had grown-out into a lazy goatee.
The leather cut he'd worn like a second skin was long gone. Instead, he wore a simple, if not slightly rumpled, white button-down with the sleeves rolled up at his elbows, exposing those familiar tattoos on his forearms, especially the upside-down compass I'd designed for him. There was a new one, too, right below the compass on his wrist, but I wasn't close enough to make it out, which was a good thing. And was he walking with a little bit of a limp, too?
Everything about him seemed more world-weary and more mature now. He was still just as handsome since the last time I saw him, but then that boyish, youthful charm had been right at the forefront. Now all of that had been replaced with the lethal and magnetic lure of a man.
And his eyes...they were exactly the same as I remembered. Deep oceans glittering with pain, a little bit of concern, some happiness, and most of all, that boundless, unconditional love I used to know. I could've swam around in those eyes all day, wading in their warmth and basking in their love. But that wasn't what I was here for.
His lips curled into that crooked grin that once had the power to make all feeling in my legs just disappear.
"Hey, Iz," Caleb murmured as his hand reached up to skim his buzzed head and it was then that the three letters tattooed right above his wrist finally became clearer.
Ava.
And just like that, I was right back where I started.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Ghosts
Caleb
At first, I wasn't sure she'd actually heard me. All she seemed to be able to focus on was my left wrist and as my eyes followed hers before finally resting on those three letters, my jaw clenched. Now, the dazed, bewildered expression in her deep blue eyes had me worried she might just up and bolt on me before I even had a chance to really talk to her.
Her beautiful mouth dropped open and then abruptly closed shut. She bit down nervously on her bottom lip and I would've given anything to reach out to her, even if it was only to just graze her arm.
She swallowed tightly and then finally, I heard the voice that only found me in my dreams, and sometimes, in my nightmares.
"Hi, Caleb."
I fought the urge to close my eyes at the sound of her voice and instead, stared back at her intently, willing her to keep talking. Anything just to keep her here a little bit longer. Anything just to be able to see her a little bit longer.
"Can I talk to you?" she asked me now and I didn't hesitate to nod immediately.
I only had a moment to really take her in, but if this was all I was going to get, I had to take it. At first glance, I almost didn't recognize her and it wasn't just her appearance. Her cropped blonde hair, with the front a little longer than the back, made me just want to run my fingers through it to see if it was still as soft as I remembered. The black yoga leggings and loose tank top showed off the body I'd missed, but there was something else that I couldn't put my finger on. Something harder about her that hadn't been there before.
The years we'd spent apart had only made her more painfully gorgeous and even though every second I spent watching her stung, I still couldn't pull my eyes away from her. I just couldn't help myself. She was like a balm to an open wound and suddenly, all my anxiety and all my underlying fear of what would happen when we actually came face to face just vanished.
She was here. She wanted to talk to me. And right now, that was all that mattered.
Suddenly, her hand abruptly dove inside her purse, pulled out a piece of paper, and then thrust it out to me. My fingers closed around it blindly and it wasn't until I glanced down that I realized she'd just handed me the contract I'd signed with her dad nearly two years ago.
"So I was going through my dad's office," she started a little unsteadily and raked a hand through her hair to shove it out of her face. "I'm sure you can imagine my surprise when I found that."
I just lifted a shoulder. I knew exactly where this was headed, but this was one argument she wouldn't win.
"Look, Caleb," she pressed on and my heart seized at the sound of my name on her lips. "I don't even know where to start with all this. I had no idea he...I mean, what happened?"
As much as I wanted to keep her here for as long as possible, the answer to that and all the other questions that would follow wasn't something I could give her. It just wasn't my place.
"Don't you think you should be having this conversation with your dad?"
She blew out an exasperated breath, perched her hands on her hips, and stared me down. This sure looked familiar. Still just as beautifully stubborn as ever.
"I'd like to talk to you about it right now if that's okay," she shot back.
I held my hands up in defense and cocked an eyebrow at her. "Alright. Fine. You wanna talk, let's talk."
"Good," she nodded tightly and gestured to the contract still in my hand. "Let's start at the beginning then. Why did my dad come to you for money?"
Again, that just wasn't a question I was in a position to answer for her.
"Honestly, Iz, I do
n't know."
Her eyebrows lifted in annoyance and I just shook my head at her.
"I mean, come on," I tossed the contract down on the desk, shoved my hands in my front pockets and rocked back on my heels. "It's not like your dad and me exactly have the best track record. I was just as surprised as you were. Okay, probably not as much, but you know what I mean."
She eyed me carefully and let her gaze drift down to tattoo on my wrist one more time. "Fair enough. But why did you even agree to it in the first place? I figured my dad would be the last person you'd ever want to help."
"He was worried about losing the house, Iz. What was I supposed to do? Tell him no?"
"You could've minded your own business, for starters," she replied coolly.
"Yeah, well," I shrugged. "He kinda made it my business when he came to me for help."
"You didn't have to say yes," her lips set in a firm line and then she squeezed her eyes shut with a shake of her head. "I'm sorry. I didn't come over here to fight or to be a bitch, even though I'm sure it doesn't seem like that to you. I just don't see what you could possibly have to gain by helping my dad make payments on the house."
"You're right. I don't have anything to gain," I allowed easily. "But that's not really why I did it either."
The truth didn't seem to sit well with her because she flinched at those words.
"Well," Sam had told me when he'd shown up at my shop out of the blue two years ago. "I know you won't tell me no."
I'd cocked an eyebrow at him, more than a little ticked he'd just walk in here and assume I'd even consider doing anything for him just because he asked.
"Oh yeah? And why's that?"
He'd just smiled at me. "Because you love her. That's why. And because I think it's about time both of us finally figured out how to do right by her."
Coupled with the sucker-punch of his declining health, I would've moved heaven and earth, downsized the shop, sold off whatever I had to, and anything else I could possibly do to keep that house afloat. After that, my uneasy, but necessary alliance with Samuel Martin began. It wasn't about the money. It wasn't even really about the house. It was just about her. It was always about her.
