by Skye Jordan
She started back toward the café, climbed the stairs, and stepped inside. Her gaze fell on Trace where he sat in one of the dining chairs, leaning forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped, gaze on the floor. His shoulders were hunched. His jaw ticked. And Avery’s heart twisted.
“Avery,” Tom said, interrupting his conversation with another deputy, “you need to stay outside.”
Trace’s head came up, and his eyes met hers, but the man she knew didn’t live there. The man in those eyes was broken and dark. And it absolutely killed her to see such a good man unjustly dragged so far down.
She turned her gaze on Tom. “No, I don’t. Show me in the warrant where it says I have to stay outside.”
He heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry, I phrased that wrong. It would be better if you stayed outside.”
“I need my phone. It’s upstairs.”
He gestured that direction. “Go on and get it.”
When she turned and glanced at Trace, he was scrubbing his face with both hands; then he threaded them through his hair and clasped them at the back of his neck, never lifting his eyes to hers again.
She jogged up the stairs with a fiery boulder in the pit of her stomach and tears burning her eyes. When she reached the landing and turned toward the apartment, she saw Austin looking through her dresser drawers.
Fear streaked through her chest. She may never use the picture, but she wanted it as insurance, because Delaney had proven holding insurance over Austin’s head kept him in line. And because Avery needed every little thread of power she could get right now—real or imagined—to help her feel in control.
As soon as she stepped through the unfinished doorway, Austin straightened. “You can’t be in here.”
“Yes, I can.” She stepped to the head of her bed and scanned the floor for her phone where she’d left it, but it wasn’t there. Avery crouched and looked underneath.
“Hey.” Austin closed in. “Get out of there.”
Her heart pounded in her throat, and she dropped to her knees for a better look, growing a little frantic when she didn’t see her phone. She swept her hand along the floor underneath the bed.
Austin gripped her bicep. “I said—”
Metal touched her fingers. Avery’s eyes closed, and her breath whooshed out in relief. Austin jerked her arm, pulling her partially to her feet. She wobbled off balance, falling sideways and hitting the wall.
“Hey man,” the other cop said, frowning at Austin. “Take it easy.”
Avery straightened and pulled her arm from Austin’s grip. “That’s just his normal, everyday abusive style—isn’t it, Austin?”
His lip twitched into a sneer of a smile, and he lifted his chin to the bed and its disarray of sheets. “And this is yours. Fuckin’ the bad boys now? I tried to tell you about him.” He shook his head with that superior smirk. “Guess you turned out more like Delaney than I thought.”
His reference to Delaney’s slutty reputation as a youth sleeping with the worst of the worst to get any morsel of attention from their father struck Avery funny considering how fantastic Delaney had turned out.
She huffed a laugh, lifted the phone, and waved it. “And you turned out a lot more like our daddies.”
Austin evidently didn’t care for the comparison to Avery’s dad, an abusive drunk, or Austin’s own father, the narcissistic bully who ran Wildwood and who’d threatened Delaney in an attempt to run her out of town.
Austin’s expression went from annoyed to pissed in an instant. He came at her, and Avery braced herself, clutching her phone, but the other deputy grabbed Austin by the bulletproof vest and hauled him back a step. “Dude, cool the fuck out.” Then to Avery he said, “Ma’am, it would be better if you waited downstairs. We’re almost done here.”
“Yes, sir.” And she trotted down the steps.
At the bottom, Tom asked, “Did you get your phone?”
“Yes, thank you.” When Trace kept his hands threaded in his hair without looking up, her heart started to numb around the edges. She could only hurt so long before she started to shut down. She wandered toward the door, doing her best to ignore all the blue uniforms messing with her stuff. Before she exited, she met Tom’s gaze and said, “Not that it makes much difference, because Trace wasn’t selling drugs here, but he had those bruises the day before he even hired JT.”
“You said you didn’t see the incident that caused them,” Tom said.
“No, but I saw the bruises.”
“And when would you have had occasion to see those?”
God, she was so sick of being questioned. “We’re sleeping together,” she said loudly, deliberately, so no one would have a question as to what she’d said or meant. “I have occasion.”
Trace swore softly, and his hands slid out of his hair to cover his face.
Avery’s chest pinched. She’d been able to push away the embarrassment over exposing her sexual habits to stand up for him. But his reaction made it wash back in on a tidal wave, creating a whirlpool of emotions. Anger vibrated in her voice when she asked, “Any other questions, Tom?”
“Not right now.”
She walked out of her café, head high, but she avoided meeting anyone’s gaze. She wasn’t strong enough to battle judgment in the face of Trace’s reaction.
At the bottom of the stairs, now confused, hurt, disillusioned, and still scared, she paused near Zane.
“Did you get it?” he asked.
“Yeah. What’s wrong at home?”
“My dad. Somewhere between the time I picked him up from Harlan’s and put him back to bed so he could sleep until Gram got there to do their regular morning routine, Dad figured out how to get past the locks and went on a walkabout—right into the construction zone three blocks away.”
For God’s sake. Avery was about to blow a gasket. “Is he okay? What happened?”
“Luckily—I don’t know how, but luckily—he came out of it with minor injuries. He’s at the ER waiting on X-rays and stitches, and Gram has a really important echocardiogram she needs to get to, so she can’t stay with him. After all you’ve already been through with our family, I hate to ask, but I’m in a real bind.”
“What do you need?”
“Would you mind going to the ER and sitting with him? Not only is he the biggest baby on the planet, but stress seems to make his memory worse. He’s going to need someone to hold his hand and remind him of what’s happening and why. I need to stay here and make sure everything stays kosher for Trace. Get him an attorney if he ends up needing one. But someone needs to be with Dad.”
All the tasks on her to-do list went to hell, and a terrifying sense of impending failure tightened her chest. At this stage of her business there were two priorities—quality and follow-through. If either of those faltered, she’d lose current customers and damage the possibility of potential customers. And when she’d spent every penny she had and was counting every dollar she earned, every customer’s opinion of her business was vital.
“Of course. Can you have Pearl come relieve me after her appointment? I’ve got a full day on my plate.”
“Absolutely.” Zane squeezed her shoulder. “Thank you so much.”
She glanced at the café, and a million nerve endings sizzled. “Would you mind getting my keys? They’re under the counter on a shelf in the kitchen. And my boots would be nice. If I go in there again, I might claw Austin’s eyes out.”
Zane broke into a grin, nodded, and headed inside.
Now, standing alone in the parking lot, barefoot, commando, and watching cops swarm her café, powerless to help Trace, her guts churned with stress and fear. And made Avery realize just how much of her heart was wrapped up in there—in both the business and the man.
A man who evidently hadn’t wanted to be pinned down as her lover. All his talk about being willing to keep their affair secret the night before to benefit her now looked more like a twisted way of pushing it under the rug for him.
Which begged the questi
on: Why was she settling for someone who didn’t want her?
Again.
Trace might have been sitting in the café, but he may as well have been back in prison. That’s where he was headed. He had no doubts. Between all these prowling cops and JT’s accusations, drugs would show up somewhere. Drugs that would put Trace back in prison.
Pearl and Zane would have to juggle responsibility for Dad until Medicare came through. If Medicare came through. And another disruption in his dad’s life would only make the dementia worse.
Trace kept focusing on those issues because he couldn’t face the repercussions of how this would affect Avery. Of how it would taint everything she’d worked so hard to achieve.
Trace curled his fingers into fists and pressed them against eyes burning with tears. Tears of fury, self-hate, regret . . .
“All right, Mr. Hutton.” Deputy Potter’s voice crawled down Trace’s spine. A numb barrier of protection expanded in his gut, preparing to be sucked into the prison system again. And this time, as a second offender, who knew for how long? He certainly couldn’t afford a decent lawyer. “You’re free to go. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”
Free to go?
Trace didn’t respond. He didn’t even understand.
“If you’ve touched something in here,” Potter called to no one in particular, “it had better be exactly, and I mean exactly, where you found it. The Harts are family friends, and my wife is especially fond of Avery, so unless you want every one of your mamas hearing from Alice, you’d best all double-check your work. Now wrap it up and hit the streets.”
Trace floated in a cautious state of disbelief, but within five minutes, the last of the deputies filed out the door, including Austin, and all the cruisers vanished from the parking lot. All but one.
Trace pushed to his feet, went to the stairs, and called a hopeful, “Avery?”
“She’s not here.”
He turned to his brother’s voice, feeling shaky and uncertain. “Where is she? And what the fuck just happened here? You know as well as I do that I should be in handcuffs right now.”
“JT obviously thought up that story after the opportunity to plant drugs had passed. And Austin knows there are cameras here. He wouldn’t risk planting evidence.”
Trace’s breath whooshed out, the relief so profound he slumped against the wall, bent at the waist, and pressed his hands to his knees. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “I thought I was going back.”
“I keep telling you criminals are criminals because they’re idiots. That’s why I ended up a cop.”
Trace lifted his head and glared at his brother. “You ended up a cop because I kicked your ever-loving ass until I shook the stupid loose.”
That made Zane laugh hard.
“This isn’t funny.”
“Ah, no, you’re right, it’s not,” Zane said easing from the laughter. “But man, you had me scared as shit, bro. It feels good to laugh.”
Trace straightened, but the tension in his gut had wound so tight he was going to lose the bile burning his stomach. “Where’s Avery?”
“Dude, you need to get your little head out of your ass and start thinking with your big head for a change. After what you just put Avery through, I doubt she’s very interested in talking to you. In fact, you’ll be lucky if she doesn’t fire you.”
Trace closed his eyes and pressed his back against the wall. God, he couldn’t feel worse.
“Seriously, Trace, sleeping with her? Of all the women you could screw around with, you have to go and mess with Avery? That’s just . . .” Zane’s face pressed into a scowl of deep disapproval. “I don’t even know. It’s like defiling an angel or something.”
“Fuck you.” He lifted his chin to the door. “Get out.”
Zane started that direction. “Oh, and when you finally get your lazy, hedonistic ass dressed, maybe you could head over to the ER when your busy schedule permits.”
Zane paused at the door, looked back at Trace, and explained what had happened with their father.
“What the . . .” Trace pushed off the wall with dread tingling down his spine. “How in the hell?”
“No idea. That must be where I got my B and E skills. He’s a little banged up, but he’ll be fine. Gram had to go to an appointment, so I’m sure he’d appreciate seeing you. And you’ll have to rethink those locks today.”
Before Zane closed the door, Trace yelled, “Could you at least tell me where Avery went?”
“She’s at the ER, watching after Dad until one of us can get there to relieve her. Think you can take care of that? And while you’re there, do the right thing and break it off with Avery. She didn’t sign up for this bullshit.”
The sound of the door latching reached Trace; then the café fell silent. The ramifications of everything that had happened in the last twelve hours lay heavily on his shoulders. But what kept pushing to the forefront was Avery and the intensity of her inner strength. How she could stand in the middle of a room swarming with male cops and not only blatantly challenge them but challenge them while defending him. Then throwing herself under the bus by admitting to sleeping with him? And now she was at the hospital taking care of his father when she had a million other things to do and sure as hell didn’t owe Trace a damn thing.
Zane was right. Avery hadn’t signed up for this, and she deserved so much more. So much better.
“Do the right thing and break it off with Avery . . .”
Zane’s words echoed in his head as he turned for the stairs. “Fuck.”
Trace moved into the bedroom and tried like hell not to look at the bed and all its pristine white sheets tangled from their passion the night before. He felt like his heart had migrated to the pit of his stomach and beat there, one painful throb after another.
“Do the right thing and break it off with Avery . . .”
He pushed into socks and boots, hurried back out front, climbed into his truck, and started for the emergency room, all while worrying what his past had cost Avery today and thinking Zane was right. Trace should break things off with Avery.
FIFTEEN
Avery sat on the edge of George’s gurney in the emergency room with a handful of cards, humming “Silent Night.” She was scraping the bottom of the barrel for songs that would keep George calm.
She pulled the ace of diamonds from her hand and laid it on the six of diamonds on the pile. “Your turn,” she told George. “You need a six or a diamond.”
He put down a ten of spades. “Where’d you say Trace was?”
“Working at my café,” Avery said for at least the twentieth time since she’d arrived. She drew a card from the pile for George and slipped it into his hand of cards. “He would have come, but he was caught in the middle of something. I’m sure he’ll be here as soon as he can.” She put down a ten of spades. “Your turn. You need a ten or a spade.”
George heaved a sigh and stared blankly at his hand. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I think I’m too tired to play anymore.”
Avery closed her fan of cards, then did the same for George’s. “You’ve had a rough morning.” She squeezed his hand. “Put your head back and relax. You should be able to go home soon.”
She straightened the deck, slipped it into the cardboard box, and set the box on the counter for the nurse who’d brought them in. When she returned her gaze to George, his eyes were still open, and the one on the side where he’d needed stitches along his cheekbone was developing a bruise.
“It isn’t like Trace to be late,” George said.
Avery lowered the head of the gurney and pulled the blanket higher on George’s chest. “Are you warm enough?”
“He’s such a good boy. Zane probably drug him off somewhere again.”
Avery glanced at the time on her phone, noticed there was no message from Trace, and pulled a chair up alongside George’s bed. She curled her fingers over his to check their temperature, but when he closed his fingers around hers, she left her hand in his.
“It isn’t like Trace to be late,” he said again. “Zane probably drug him off somewhere again,” he repeated. “Do you think we oughta call school?”
She squeezed his hand. “No, I’m sure he’s fine.” To redirect his mind, she said, “Tell me about Trace.”
George’s gaze met hers, and his mouth quivered into a smile. “Oh, he’s such a good boy.” His gaze drifted to the ceiling. “And smart. That boy could be anything he wants to be.”
“What does he want to be?”
“An architect. Wants to build big skyscrapers, like the ones in San Francisco and New York.”
Avery smiled. “Big dreams. Why didn’t he become an architect?”
Avery swore George aged ten years right in front of her eyes. “My fault,” he muttered, almost unintelligible. “All my fault.”
She leaned forward and squeezed his hand. “Why, George? Why was it your fault?”
He just shook his head and closed his eyes.
Avery released a sigh, uncurled her fingers from his hand, and sat back. Whatever. It didn’t matter. She didn’t know how long he’d had dementia. Maybe that had interfered with Trace’s ability to go to school.
The curtain across the door swayed, drawing Avery’s attention to the doctor entering again. She didn’t look much older than Avery, which made her wonder what she could have done with her life if she’d made different decisions back when she’d been seventeen.
Water under the bridge. And lesson learned. She didn’t need to make the same mistake with another man.
“Did you get ahold of Zane?” Avery asked.
“I did. He’s signed off on everything, so as soon as we finish up the paperwork, you’ll be free to take Mr. Hutton home.”
George mumbled something unintelligible but didn’t open his eyes, so Avery told the doctor, “Great. Thank you.”
“No problem. The nurse will be in with instructions on wound care and bandaging. It’s pretty straightforward. I understand that you may only be with him a few hours today, so if you can just pass on that information to his caretakers, that would be great.”
