As if on que, the question that everyone asked in that low and sorrowful tone came from Desta. “How are you doing?”
But Ivory knew the real question, the one no one asked, but prayed she’d answer. Are you thinking of doing the same? Hefting the bag containing her uniform over her shoulder, Ivory slammed the door and scooted around the smoking vehicle. “It’s as hot as the devil’s balls clad in leather pants out here.”
She wasn’t about to delve into her emotional state with Desta, even if she’d known the woman since high school. They’d never been that close anyway. And why should she when she had her nifty journal? She patted the duffle at her side, until her hand drifted over the familiar hard back that was her new best friend. Who needed an actual person to talk to?
Desta’s relieved laughter was followed by a snort. “Child, you are too funny.”
Ivory wiped her brow as little beads of sweat attacked her eyes, burning them. “Yeah, I’m a regular black Lucile Ball.” Funny side note, she’d once worked in a candy factory, and had a similar fuck-up moment like the one in I Love Lucy. “Anyway, tell Chuck the keys are in the visor and I’ll Uber to the Pick and Pull after this job to check on Betty.”
“Girl, only men name cars,” Desta chided.
Ivory picked up the pace. “No, we can do anything they can do.” She was annoyed she even had to say that.
Desta huffed. “I read on Facebook that they were trying to bring back the draft and start enrolling women. Can you believe that? Women at war?”
Ivory stopped and pulled the phone from her ear, eyeing it as if it had grown horns and started singing show tunes. Was Desta in-fucking-sane?
“Desta,” Ivory drawled slowly. “Women are in the military, and more and more join every day. War isn’t just for men.” She started walking again. Peeking at her watch, she tried to think of something to tell her aunt as to the reason she was late. Anything but Clara’s car breaking down would do. She could take a chiding, but she didn’t want to see the pity in her aunt’s eyes again.
“Yes,” Desta’s voice lowered like she was telling a secret. “But they are lesbians. You know—”
Ivory mimicked static into her phone. “D—esta?” Again, she mimicked the static pretending as if her voice were cutting in and out. “I—ca—hear—ou.” Pulling the phone away from her ear, she clicked the end button. That conversation was one she wasn’t willing to have.
Shaking her head at the ignorance, she waved at the doorman as she entered the Skyy Tower’s lounge. She made her way to the private elevator and passed her keycard over the scanner. Seconds later, the doors slowly slid open and a whoosh of cool air scented with the smell of a man’s fresh cologne wafted out.
Entering the small box, she pressed the large “R” for roof access, then scanned her badge. The door slid shut and the sound of smooth jazz drifted from the speakers as Ivory ascended the twenty-three floors of the historic Skyy Tower—home of the first person to make a cool million selling sand.
She needed to make a million dollars. And how in the hell were people making money selling sand?
Taking in a deep breath, she leaned back onto the cool metal wall and closed her eyes. It was already scorching hot, and summer hadn’t even hit yet. Virginia weather had to be bipolar because just two weeks ago, white fluffy flakes fell from the sky, coating the ground and creating less than safe driving conditions for Virginians who rarely if ever experienced the stuff.
She sighed. Miss Soon-to-Be Claymont had called her near tears about the snow two weeks before her wedding. As an out-of-towner, she hadn’t known how fickle the weather could be. The bell dinged and Ivory found herself heading into the small foyer that lead to the roof top. She ducked into the bathroom and changed into a staff uniform.
Once outside, Ivory noticed three things—all of which annoyed the shit out of her. But one in particular had her heart seizing in her chest. Quietly, as not to scare the man, Ivory stepped forward. She thought to call out to him, but what if she scared him? He was, after all, sitting on the side of a wall, feet dangling over the edge of a twenty-three-story high building.
“How in the? What in the? And who in the?” she whispered to herself.
Taking a swift glance around, she noted all the tables and chairs were set up for the reception, yet none of the silverware nor the cups had been removed from the locked storage box. For the umpteenth time, she wondered why a reception in one hundred-degree weather was a thing. Did no one get hot anymore?
Maybe the man was perhaps an employee? She didn’t recognize him as one of hers, but then again, all she could see was a well-defined back, tanned arms, and thick mane of golden brown hair.
“Why are you up here?” His voice made her heart skip a beat. It was deep and gravelly, yet poured from his lips like honey. He cocked his head, as if waiting for her to reply.
And while part of her wanted to give him what he desired, she sure as hell didn’t have to answer to some stranger. He shouldn’t be on the roof anyway, unless he were the groom, and she knew the groom. He was not him not by a long shot.
She snorted, remembering to be annoyed with his question. “I should ask you the same damned thing.” She placed a hand on her hip and proceeded to do just that. “Why are you here?” When he didn’t answer, she took the man in from his shoes and watch neatly placed beside him, to the relaxed way he dangled his legs over the edge.
Her bottom nearly dropped to the floor at the sight of it. “Hey, do you think you could like, get the hell away from one slip and I’m dead, please? It’s driving me nuts.” Without sparing him another glance, Ivory made her way to the storage box. “Plus,” she examined the cutlery, “I’m sure your break-time is over. The reception party will be here soon.”
“I don’t work for you.”
“Then how the hell’d you get up here?”
“Same way you did.”
Her annoyance flared to life again. Where the hell was everyone? Wasn’t she late? Wait a damn minute. She looked at her watch again, noticing it said the exact same time it had said last time she looked at it. There was no way it was noon still. The reception was at five, with orders to receive a few guests an hour early.
Ivory slapped a hand over her brow and groaned. “Hey, mister,” she called. At his silence, she asked her question anyway. “What time you got?” She pulled out a chair and plopped into it.
The man’s head dipped as he leaned over and checked his watch. “Eleven.”
Shit. She was an hour early, thinking she was an hour late.
“First time for everything,” she muttered as she stood and pulled the cutlery from the case. An hour gave her time to steam and buff the glassware, check on the candy bar, and take a break before her aunt and their employees showed up. More likely than not, her aunt was already here in the kitchen, terrorizing the chef.
“Do you think you could leave?” His voice cut into her thoughts like a knife.
“Excuse me?”
Finally, he turned to face her. Bright green eyes met hers, and a lock of golden brown hair fell into his face. He lifted a hand and moved it away, then scraped his hand down his face and over his lush lips. His broad chin and nose made him look like a sports star of some sort. Just the sight of this man made her loins quiver.
She looked back to his eyes and saw in them the same thing she’d seen in Clara’s eyes the day before she’d taken her life—nothing. Gem-colored orbs took her in, revealing nothing of what he thought of her. Then, as quickly as he turned to face her, he turned back around. That was when Ivory understood what was happening. She covered her mouth and took in his surroundings again.
Under his neatly placed shoes, a piece of paper fluttered in the light breeze, his watch, and what looked like a class ring sat next to the paper. Shit, shit, shit, she thought, and then anger bubbled to the surface. This guy sure had some nerve!
“Who the fuck plans to jump off a building that is about to host a reception for a wedding?” she barked the que
stion.
He didn’t even act as if he heard her. His face titled up to the sky and a breeze blew his scent to her. The same cologne she’d smelled in the private elevator. So, he had come up the same way she had. “Okay, listen.”
“What?” He turned just enough to allow her to see his profile. “You gonna tell me I have so much to live for? That I shouldn’t take the leap?”
Oh, this dude had no clue who he was talking to. Ivory and Clara had discussed her death at fucking length. The relief it would bring to Clara and her loved ones, the sadness it would eventually erase, and the memories it would hopefully burn to ash.
“No. But you could at least not do this here!” She threw her arms out to the side.
Again, he turned to her. His emotionless, cold eyes bore into her, forcing her to take a step back. She’d seen this before and she was damned sure she didn’t want to see it again.
Okay, she would seem cold-hearted in this moment, but what else was she supposed to say? Her hands itched to move, to do something so her brain wouldn’t conjure up anymore memories. She needed to remember to journal this moment—the moment where she felt weak and alone all over again.
His bark of laughter startled her. Ivory began to set each table meticulously, lining dinner and salad forks in order giving her hands something to do while her mind raced.
“You think I am up here to make a scene? If that were the case, I would have known there was a reception today and I would have waited until everyone was seated and settled before throwing myself off this tower.” His bitter tone grated her nerves.
“Either way, I won’t have you ruining the bride and groom’s day with this stunt. Please leave.” Patting her pockets for her cell phone, she suddenly realized it was in her street clothes. She gritted her teeth and waited for him to pick up his shit and leave.
“You leave. I was here first.”
“Are you kidding me right now? I wager if you were really going to jump you would have, but the fact that you are thinking about it, tells me you aren’t sure.”
“You’re breaking all the rules. You are supposed to give me reasons to step back, not dare me to do it.” His sardonic tone was back, right along with her anger.
“I’m very tempted to push your ass off this tower right now. “I wouldn’t say I follow the rules, seeing as I eat raw cookie dough, step on cracks, and rip tags off mattresses.
He said in a wry tone, “I hate the Oxford comma, sentences ending with prepositions, and I’ve been eating raw cookie dough since I was three. Yet here I stand . . . not dead from E. coli. So, I guess there’s that.” His tone had morphed into something softer, as if they’d bantered on a daily basis.
She scoffed and got back to work. “You supposed to be some sort of rebel?” Aligning the silverware, Ivory peeked over her shoulder at him. A strong, well-muscled back stared back at her. How was it they were having this conversation, while he stared death in the face?
He shrugged dispassionately. “I fuck on the first date, too.”
With a chuckle, she added, “Nothing at all wrong with that. I like to test drive the car before I commit, too.” There was a moment of silence before he spoke up again.
“I’m not going to jump.” He blew out a weary sigh.
Ivory stopped working. “And I am not going to push you.” He turned to her, his green gaze took her in again. “So there’s that.”
Chapter 1
Trent pulled up in front of his boss’s house and parked. He couldn’t wait to help build the transmission, so he could meet his girl at midnight for his birthday surprise. Harper had promised it would be special, and he prayed to all the gods in existence she was finally willing to give it up to him.
This day couldn’t get any better. He’d walked out of high school for the last time, and then tonight, he’d get to celebrate. A smile tugged at his lips as the possibilities of what she had planned crossed his mind. He was positive Harper was a virgin, meaning sex probably wasn’t on the table. His balls had turned blue and done nearly burst over the course of this past year, but being with Harper was different than with other girls. When Trent spoke, she actually listened.
She’d even encouraged him to seek a tutor when he’d almost failed Math, she’d talked him into taking the SATs just in case he changed his mind about going to college and she’d taught him how to kiss her. Trent had always believed he knew what he was doing in that area, but Harper ended up showing him a thing or two—or three.
Trent hopped out of the car and patted his pocket with the forty-five dollars in it. Sam may have been a lot of things, but at the moment, he was the only reason Trent had his blue and gold graduation cap and gown. Over and over he’d been told it wouldn’t happen, he thought as he headed up the drive and banged on the door. There were times when he’d believed it. Harper had changed that. Of course he wasn’t graduating with honors, or even a high GPA, but he was graduating and that was more than most people thought he could ever accomplish.
Sam opened the door looking like pure and utter shit. Trent pushed past him and headed inside. He looked around the messy place. It smelled of old food and stale cigarette smoke. “You been up all night?” Trent asked as he headed to the coffee pot. He pulled some filters out of the cupboard and started a pot of black coffee for Sam.
“No,” Sam’s gruff voice was in the kitchen with him. Trent turned around and pulled the money out of his pocket. He shoved his hand out to Sam, offering him the money. Sam gave him a sideways glance. “Why you handin’ me money, son?” Sam yanked open a cupboard and pulled out a box of crackers. “You work for me, not the other way around. I pay you, remember?” Sam flashed him a crooked smile.
“This is what I owe you for the graduation stuff.” Trent pushed the money into Sam’s hand and walked to the sink. He pulled out two cups and washed them with some dish soap. “I got an extra graduation ticket . . .” Trent eyed Sam as he ate, “if you want one.”
He was unsure as to why he was inviting Sam to his graduation, but of all of the people in his life, he was positive that Sam would show up. He might show up drunk, but he’d be there whooping and hollering as he walked across the stage.
"I’ll leave it here before I go.” Trent didn’t have any extra tickets. He was given five and the only person who planned to go was his sister, Paula. The other three he’d sold. It was how he’d come up with the money to pay Sam back without having to work at the shop last weekend. He and Harper had had a date that weekend.
Sam shoved a few crackers in his mouth then threw the box on the counter when the coffee pot beeped. “Leave it on the counter.”
Trent nodded. “You rebuilding that transmission today?”
“Nah, I got Auggie heading in at three and a friend coming over from Lexington to run the place this weekend.” Sam reached for a cup, but Trent had it firm in his grasp. Was he saying he didn’t need Trent anymore?
“Why? I’m free now.”
Sam moved forward and snatched the cup from his hand. “Don’t come over here holding my cups hostage, boy. I need my coffee to survive.” Sam let out a wheezing cough/laughter.
Trent didn’t return the laughter Sam barked out. He was too busy wondering how he was going to pay rent at his new place if Sam fired him. He watched Sam fill his cup and waited for him to finish a gulp of the hot liquid before he asked, “Are you firing me?”
Sam looked at him in shock. “No, son. But I thought you’d want to celebrate this weekend with that chick you been hidin’ from everybody. Hell, you graduated high school. A man like you, comin’ from where you come from . . . now, that’s a feat.”
Trent knew his words to be true, but something caught his attention. “How’d you know I was seeing a girl?”
He chuckled and took another swallow of his coffee. “I look like a damned fool to you? Son, I had me a secret girl back in the day too.” Sam looked past him as if the memory played off in the distance. Trent wondered what happened to that woman. Was she the reason Sam was so fu
cking broken?
He shrugged. “She isn’t a big secret.” Sam’s sly smile said he knew more than he was letting on, but Trent ignored it and poured himself a cup of coffee. As he was adding the sugar he thought back to times Sam may have seen him with Harper.
The problems were: she was younger, Trent was poor, and her father was not only a judge, but a hard ass. If he found out about them before they were ready, there’d be consequences. Trent wasn’t worried Sam would say a word to the judge. The Hannocks lived in Royal Gates a gated community, and Sam and Trent both lived on the other side of the proverbial tracks. He doubted Sam would ever meet Harper’s father.
“I seen you two ridin’ past here once. You and that black girl.”
Trent stopped mid drink. Busted.
Hoping not to give himself away, Trent finished his swallow and placed the cup down. “Who, Harper? Nah, I just give her a ride home. It’s a good way to make gas money.” Trent didn’t know why he lied to Sam of all people. He could feel heat rising in his chest. For some reason, he liked it better when Harper was just his and his alone. He definitely wanted to tell the world, but he knew the trouble that could cause and Trent wasn’t ready to rock the boat . . . just yet.
Sam supported his large frame against the door jamb. “You ain’t worried about that girl getting you in trouble?”
Trent glanced up at Sam questioningly. The man’s youthful gaze was reddened by the over use of whiskey and his face was prematurely lined with age. When Trent had first met him he’d reminded Trent of his deadbeat father, but over time he realized that Sam was different. There was sadness to him and that sadness had taken away his will and his serenity. Sam wouldn’t tell Trent what had made him this way, but Trent truly believe it had been a woman or maybe even two.
Open Wounds: Abel and Hope: Love Against the Odds Page 13
