Deep Check (Station Seventeen)

by Kimberly Kincaid

  “Hmm.” January crossed the room, pressing up to kiss him. “It might be working.”

  “Ahem.”

  The sound of a masculine throat that clearly wasn’t Finn’s being cleared made her pulse jump. “Oh!”

  “You remember Edwin,” Finn said with an I-told-you-so grin, and she had to laugh.

  “Of course.” She peeked over Finn’s T-shirted shoulder at the Cup’s keeper, who was seated in a leather chair on the far side of the suite. “Good morning, Edwin.”

  “Good morning, Ms. Sinclair.”

  “Would you like some coffee?” January asked, pulling back from Finn and pointing to the full pot sitting on the counter in the kitchenette (which was also way fancier than hers, thank you very much.)

  Both Finn and Edwin fixed her with twin looks of shock, but Edwin found his voice first. “It isn’t necessary for me to join you while you eat. My duties as the keeper only require me to be able to see the Cup.” He sent a pointed glance to the item in question, which stood proudly on the desk situated halfway across the sweeping space of the suite. “I don’t want to intrude.”

  “You’re not intruding if you’re invited,” she said. As spacious as their surroundings were, they still had to all be in the same room in order to follow the rules. Even if she and Finn whispered, chances were high that Edwin would overhear whatever they decided to talk about. Including the poor guy just seemed less awkward, not to mention more polite.

  A fact that Finn seemed to agree with. “Sure, man. It’s just breakfast.”

  “Oh.” Edwin blinked from behind the thick frames of his glasses. “Well, I suppose I could join you then. As long as you’re certain.”

  A couple of minutes had them situated around the dining table beside the kitchenette, with Finn pulling the domed covers off the half-dozen serving plates their room service waiter had delivered. January’s gaze slid to the nearby desk, her belly doing a tiny flip at being this close to one of the most iconic sports trophies in the world.

  “The Cup is beautiful,” she said, taking in the details with a longer stare. “And also kind of gigantic.”

  “The Cup’s dimensions do often surprise people when they see it in person,” Edwin agreed. His eyes lit with excitement from behind his glasses, and he straightened his bowtie as he continued. “But it has to be sturdy enough to withstand not just going from winning team to winning team every year, but to be passed from player to player within any victorious season.”

  He launched into a rather fascinating history of the Cup that lasted for most of their breakfast. Although Finn stayed mostly quiet, alternating between drinking coffee and eating more bacon and eggs and home fries than was in any way fair for a man with abs like his, January caught him looking at the Cup enough times during the meal to know her suggestion had been a good one. She got a particular thrill when both Finn and Edwin encouraged her to hold the Cup, and was equally happy to clear the dishes so Finn could have some space with the trophy before Edwin packed it into its trunk and said his goodbyes.

  “That was pretty amazing,” January admitted, walking over to the spot where Finn was standing by the windows.

  “It was cool of you to include Edwin, although after all those hockey stats you two just traded, I think he’s a little bit in love with you.” Finn reached out to pull her in close before adding, “Hopefully he’s not impressed by your love for the Rogues.”

  “Do not mock my team.” January tried for a stern frown, but her sigh at the feel of Finn’s muscular arms around her pretty much canceled it out.

  He arched a shadowy brow, melting her further with a slow, soft kiss. “Say whatever you want, Calendar Girl. I know whose jersey you’re wearing.”

  She laughed, clearly busted. “I probably should go home and get dressed in clothes that actually belong to me.”

  “I don’t know,” Finn said, pulling back just enough to fix her with a sexy up-and-down appraisal. “You look pretty cute in my jersey.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not sure I look entirely appropriate for the recon I have to do today on the venue for this fundraiser.”

  His brows lifted, eyes going wider in the morning sunlight spilling in past the giant windows at his back. “The previous volunteer booked a venue before she took off. That’s good, right?”

  Oh, if only. “It would be if she hadn’t chosen Chase Manor.”

  “Isn’t that place like a hundred years old, and not in the good way?”

  January’s heart corkscrewed behind her sternum as she rolled her eyes and grumbled, “Don’t remind me.”

  God, this fundraiser had disaster written all over it in bright red spray paint. Which her expression must have betrayed, because Finn said, “Tell you what. I’ve got an appointment with a realtor to go through my dad’s place at two. If you want, we can be each other’s moral support. I’ll go with you to check out Chase Manor if you’ll come with me to get the house on the market. How does that sound?”

  “You want to go with me to help organize this fundraiser?” She stepped back on the carpet, surprise and something else she couldn’t quite identify rippling through her.

  “Do you really want to go alone?” he asked back, and her answer popped out, automatic.

  “No.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s get you back to your place so you can change.” He jutted his chin at the door, a smirk kicking up amidst the hint of dark stubble on his jaw. “But go ahead and hang on to the jersey. I’m determined to make a Rage fan out of you yet.”

  Finn stood on the rickety front porch, looking up at the even more rickety house where he’d spent his adolescence. Dread put a bitter taste in his mouth despite the bright June sunshine and the gentle hint of a breeze taking just enough edge off the afternoon heat to keep the weather pleasant.

  This trip to North Point? Not so fucking much.

  “Hey.” January reached out, brushing the side of her hand against his with a gentle bump that offered just enough support over pity. “You want to wait for the realtor before we go inside?”

  “Yeah. She should be here any minute.” Plus, it wasn’t as if Finn would be getting all nostalgic once they crossed the (ramshackle) threshold. The quicker they could get this walk-through over with, the happier he’d be.

  January’s voice stayed light as she asked, “Are you okay?”

  Finn lifted a shoulder, but only halfway. “The house is just in worse shape than I remember, I guess.” He let his eyes flicker over the rotting porch boards, the badly peeling paint on the clapboard siding, and—shit—the section of chain link fence by the side yard that had all but caved in. “I’m a little scared about what the inside looks like.”

  “Hmm,” she said, her pretty blue gaze following his. “Well, I guess we can look at the bright side.”

  “Which is?”

  January waggled her brows, and funny, the movement put a huge dent in the tension in Finn’s chest. “No matter what we find in there, it can’t be as bad as Chase Manor.”

  As much as he hated to admit it… “You might be right there. That place was pretty bad.”

  “Look at you with the niceties.” She laughed. “Chase Manor might’ve been upscale in its heyday, but that was forty years ago. The place is trapped in a bad seventies time warp, not to mention almost certainly violating both the fire code and the health code about a dozen different ways. I’m ninety percent sure the only reason Michelle booked it was because nothing else was available. Which sadly means I’m stuck with it, health code violations and all.”

  “You’re pretty upbeat considering the circumstances.”

  January paced over the porch boards, her sandals thumping softly on the uneven, splintery planks. “Getting upset will only waste valuable energy. I’m not going to find a perfect, affordable, available new venue with a month to go. I’ve got to do the best I can with what I’ve got.”

  The slam of a car door sounded off from the street in front of them, cutting off Finn’s response and tightening the air
in his lungs. A woman in a navy blue suit approached the house, her assessing stare and the slight but definite frown that accompanied it doing exactly zip for his confidence.

  “Mr. Donnelly? I’m Dana Levine, with Levine Realty. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Finn, please.” He shook her hand, introducing January before giving up a mental screw it and diving past the pleasantries. “The house isn’t in the best condition, I know. Not that it was ever Shangri-La or anything.”

  Dana didn’t argue, but at least she was nice enough not to agree outright, either. “That’s okay. Previously owned homes are almost never pristine. Why don’t you show me around and we’ll go from there?”

  A tour of the house’s two musty, dusty levels and highly dilapidated backyard didn’t help either Finn’s cause or Dana’s frown.

  “I had the place cleared out after my old man died. Obviously,” he said, gesturing to the bare but dinged-up walls and matching carpets on the main level as the three of them came to a stop in the living room. “And I pay someone to come cut the grass in the summer. I guess I didn’t realize an empty house would need more upkeep than that.”

  “Often, it doesn’t,” Dana said kindly. “But the house has been vacant for two years, and when the amenities haven’t been updated for some time prior to a house sitting empty, it tends to make even the best maintenance difficult.”

  Finn looked around the room, taking in the awful light green walls and stained, faded carpet that his father had never made an effort to keep clean, let alone update. “I can still put it on the market though, right?”

  “You can,” Dana said slowly, shocking the crap out of him, and—if her brows-up, lips-parted expression was anything to go by—January too. “But as your potential realtor, I feel the need to be upfront with you. In this case, putting the house on the market and actually selling it are likely to be entirely different matters.”

  “So Finn would have to have some things replaced or repaired before the house would sell?” January asked, and Dana confirmed with a crisp nod.

  “There are a lot of houses in this neighborhood that are already on the market in way better shape. Despite my best efforts, I don’t think I could sell this one as-is.”

  Frustration welled in Finn’s chest, and he damn near gave in to it. But then January brushed her hand against his, just like she had on the porch, and he managed to ask, “How much work are we talking about?”

  “At bare minimum, I think you’re looking at a good three weeks’ worth of work to have the house painted inside and out, replace these carpets, and have repairs done to the roof, the porch, and the back deck. I know that’s likely not what you wanted to hear.” Dana gestured to the dingy space around them, and dammit, she wasn’t wrong on any counts. “The good news is, once those things are done, I do think you’ll be able to sell the house, and rather quickly at that.”

  For a tiny fraction of a second, Finn was tempted to say forget it and blow the whole thing off. This house, with its shitty memories, had been sitting here by its lonesome for two years. What did he care if it kept sitting here until it fucking fell down?

  But that was the problem. Finn did care. He was tired of shitty memories. He’d already put one part of his past behind him in coming to make amends with Asher.

  Now he was going to put another part behind him once and for all by selling this house.

  “Okay,” he said, letting go of the exhale that had been stuck in his throat. “Let’s plan on putting this place on the market in three weeks then. I’ll get started on the repairs first thing in the morning.”

  January’s eyes flew wide. “You’re going to do the work yourself?”

  Dana excused herself quietly, the front door giving up a haunted house-style creak and rattle as she stepped onto the porch, leaving Finn to nod.

  “Well, I’m not a contractor, so I’m sure I’ll have to hire someone to do a lot of the more complicated stuff. But the off-season just started, and all I’m doing is sitting around, waiting for my agent to broker this new deal with the Rage. I’ve got the time.”

  Yeah, Finn could go back to New Orleans and spend that time hanging out with his teammates, but most of them were scattered all over the place now that they’d won the Cup. The work here needed to be done. Sticking around for a few weeks wouldn’t kill him.

  “It’s an awful lot to take on,” January said, spinning a doubtful gaze over the dust-smudged windows and dinged-up doorframes.

  “I know. But what was it you said?” He broke off in a silent rewind, reaching out to slide his hand over hers. “Getting upset is a waste of energy. I’ve got to do the best I can with what I’ve got.”

  Grinning, she laced her fingers through his. “I guess I did say that. Lucky for you, the best you’ve got includes me. A couple of the guys at Seventeen do licensed contract work on the side. I bet they’ll be able to help you out with the bigger jobs pretty fast. And of course, I can help too.”

  “Really?” Finn asked, surprise tagging him right in the sternum. “It’s going to be a ton of work.”

  “Mmm hmm.” January turned, pressing up to her toes to kiss him. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to thank me later.”

  Eight

  January swung the sledgehammer in her grasp until the deck railing in front of her collapsed with a satisfying crack. Adjusting the safety goggles that both Finn and firefighter-slash-contractor Ryan Dempsey had insisted she wear, she wiped her brow with her forearm as she paused to catch her breath.

  “You okay?” Finn asked, walking over from the scrap pile he’d just gathered for the dumpster to pass her a bottle of water from the nearby cooler. “Here. It was hotter than hell’s kitchen today.”

  January squinted at the dusky evening sky, sliding her safety goggles to the top of her head. “Yeah, but I haven’t been out here for a full four days like you.”

  Still, she uncapped the frosty bottle for a nice long draw, because A) she really was thirsty; and B) she also wasn’t stupid. She might only be clocking a few fix-it hours after work every night, but she could still wind up with heat exhaustion if she wasn’t careful.

  Finn lifted a damply T-shirted shoulder, and God, she would never get enough of those muscles, clothed or otherwise. “Ah, the work isn’t so bad. Plus, I’ve had help.”

  He’d no sooner finished his sentence when Dempsey rounded the corner from the front of the house with a crooked smile on his lips. “Hey. I resemble that remark,” the firefighter said cheerfully.

  “Yeah, I’m glad you do,” Finn countered past his grin. “Because I’d be pretty hosed trying to replace both this deck and the rickety-ass front porch on my own.”

  “Ah, they’re a piece of cake when you’ve got enough able bodies helping out. Speaking of which”—Dempsey let his bright green stare move over the small, somewhat cleared backyard before turning back to look at Finn—“it’s getting late, and you put in a helluva day with getting this yard in shape. Why don’t you let me and Gates finish tearing down this railing so you two can get out of here?”

  January’s brows lifted. “Are you sure?”

  “As shooting,” Dempsey said with a brotherly wink. “Come on, J. You’ve been busting your butt on the fundraiser all week, and anyway, your boy here is paying me. The least I can do is spring you both with enough time to have a late meal together.”

  A flush crept up her cheeks at the more-than-friends implication, but Finn just crossed the grass to shake Ryan’s hand like nothing-doing.

  “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

  Dempsey laughed, tipping his navy blue RFD baseball hat in Finn’s direction. “Don’t thank me yet. When we’ve got the full crew here on Saturday, pizza and beer is on you.”

  “Just for that, I am leaving now,” Finn laughed back.

  After a round of goodbyes to both Dempsey and one of Seventeen’s other rescue squad firefighters, Tyler Gates, January traded in her sledgehammer and safety goggles for the keys to her MINI Cooper. Stil
l slightly sweaty, she slid behind the wheel, trying and failing to hide her smile as Finn origamied his way into the passenger seat.

  “Whoever designed this thing definitely didn’t have professional athletes in mind,” he grumbled. “Or most of the human population, for that matter. Seriously, how are you even a little comfortable right now?”

  “Um, because I’m not six three. You could always go back to the car rental agency,” she teased. He’d returned the SUV when he’d extended his stay in Remington, grabbing rides to the house every day from either her or one of the guys on Dempsey’s crew. “They might have a stretch limo. Or—oooh! A monster truck.”

  Mischief flickered through Finn’s whiskey-colored stare, sending an unexpected and oh-so-delicious shot of heat between January’s hips. “Funny. On second thought I’ll stick with this. Being in close quarters with you has its advantages.” He turned to gesture to her laptop bag, which was stuffed so full, it easily took over more than half the back seat. “Although we’re in a little closer than usual tonight. Not that I’m complaining, but…”

  Just like that, her smile disappeared and her belly filled with a whole lot of ugh. “Sorry. This fundraiser is killing me. It’s actually a good thing Dempsey kicked us out, because I’ve probably got hours of work ahead of me.”

  “Anything I can help with?” Finn asked, and she shot him a quick, appreciative glance from the driver’s seat.

  “Not unless you can come up with a theme idea that will make this event a blockbuster, and believe me, I’ve tried. Casino night, masquerade ball, wine tasting—they’re all completely played out.”

  The face he made told January she’d been right to cross the themes off her list. “Yeah, no offense, but they do sound pretty overdone.”

  “I know.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “The crappy part is, if I have any prayer of getting the logistics in place, I’m out of time. I guess I’ll just have to pick the least boring theme and give it my best shot.”

  Finn sat back, watching the traffic around them silently for a few minutes before he said, “I know you said the patrons are Remington’s elite, but this is a fundraiser for firefighters, who are a lot more laid back. So what if you went outside the box for a theme?”