At Last

by Addison Fox

  Nick eyed Fender over his water bottle. “Your excitement to attend this event wouldn’t have anything to do with Mac’s recently single sister, would it?”

  Fender’s eyes practically glowed. “The way I hear it, Becky’s already moved on. But a smart man always confirms gossip before accepting it as fact. L’s playing wingman for me. Assuming, of course, he doesn’t mention kid-eating zombies.”

  Landon’s wink was subtle, but happened all the same. “Nah. I’ll just talk Star Wars all night. It’s my greatest pickup line.”

  They’d added height and years, but Nick had to admit the conversation hadn’t demonstrably improved since grade school. While he’d assumed there would come a point when games and soda were a thing of the past, he couldn’t deny the sense of home and comfort that came with spending time with his brothers.

  “When does it start?”

  “Seven, on the great lawn.”

  Nick glanced at the list he’d left beside his computer. He had to have everything in by five anyway, and he had coverage on the bar tonight. Maybe a few beers and a shit-ton of shrimp would do something about his funky mood. “I’ll swing by Landon’s and we can head out from there.”

  If there was one truism in life, it was this: Food, music, and beer could always draw a crowd.

  Emma shook her head at the throng of people that filled the great lawn in Overlook Park. The centerpiece of Park Heights, the Overlook had been part of the master-planned design of the community well over a century and a half ago. Just like in Prospect Park and Fort Greene Park and the other public spaces that dominated the neighborhoods of Brooklyn, the denizens of Park Heights came together around the open air, scattered war monuments, and lush lawns of the Overlook for everything from sunbathing to movies to picnics.

  “I’m glad you came.” Becky Owens gave her a brief, side-armed hug that nearly tripped them both off the sidewalk. “It’s too nice a night to sit inside an apartment with questionable air conditioning.”

  “I won’t argue there.”

  Emma shot a glance toward her recently re-acquainted friend. Although the two of them had been a few years apart in school, Emma had remembered the bright smile and easygoing attitude immediately upon opening her door to her neighbor across the hall.

  They’d already managed a few wine nights since she’d moved in, and Emma appreciated the easy camaraderie as well as Becky’s seemingly understanding nature. She hadn’t asked about Cole, or Emma’s life in Chicago. Instead she’d given Emma updates on the old neighborhood and all the latest gossip.

  With that gentle understanding—and one too many glasses of Cabernet—Emma had finally offered up some of her former life, gratified when her tale of a marriage gone bad had been met with sympathy and kindness instead of pity. She’d even told Becky about the baby, and had been met with a warm sympathy that felt like shared sadness.

  “My brother said he was planning on a party. He wasn’t kidding.” Becky wrinkled her nose. “Of course, between Skip and Mac, there’s little chance of anything interesting happening.”

  “I guess older brothers would have a way of deterring romance.”

  “Especially when they’re both built like matched sides of beef.” Becky let out a sigh. “Oh well, maybe I can create a diversion to get a few minutes alone.”

  “There’s a rather cozy alcove behind the band shell, if I remember correctly.”

  Becky hip-bumped her. “You remember very correctly.”

  They came upon the crowd, and Emma was pleased to see the kegs she’d sent over earlier were set up and flowing. A pale ale and a dark stout she fondly thought of as giving Guinness a run for its money had both drawn a crowd, and even a small line.

  Skip’s wife, Jodie, was taking money at a small table and waved them both through. “You contributed the beer, Emma. And since Becky nearly took off two fingers shucking oysters, she’s earned her keep as well.”

  People smiled at Emma as they moved into the crowd, and she ran through her memories, trying to match faces with names. Some she remembered as if she’d seen them the day before, but others took some mental digging.

  “Who is that?” Becky’s voice intruded as she pressed a plastic glass of stout on Emma.

  “Who?”

  “That guy over there with Nick Kelley and Landon McGee.”

  The hard trip of her pulse nearly had Emma seeing stars, and she tried to take a few, unobtrusive breaths. Of course Nick was here. He was enmeshed in the local scene, and half of Park Heights was here. He’d mentioned heading back to the bar to do inventory, so she’d assumed she’d have an evening free, outside his orbit. Maybe inventory didn’t take nearly as long as she thought it would. Or maybe it had been an excuse.

  She toyed with saying something to Becky, but held back. While she’d been willing to share some details about her life in Chicago, she wasn’t ready to discuss her increasingly confused feelings for Nick Kelley.

  “Who?”

  “That big guy with the arms.”

  Emma suspected she knew the answer, but knew for certain when she looked across the grass at the thick, barrel chest and well-muscled arms. “That’s Hector. He works for Nick.”

  “How have I missed him around?”

  “I’m not sure. He stands guard out in front of the End Zone.”

  “Look at you, getting back in the groove of the neighborhood.”

  Becky tugged at her arm and pulled her toward the men. “Let’s go say hello.”

  Chemistry.

  His body was on high alert as Emma approached their group with Becky Owens. He had the vague thought that Becky looked pretty and Fender had picked a good night to talk to her before Nick’s attention shifted to Emma.

  And the rest of the park fell away.

  She’d left her hair down and it waved around her shoulders in sort of half curls that made his fingers itch to touch. With a tighter grip on his cold bottle of beer, he ignored the sensation. The two of them were on opposite sides of a rather large problem and no amount of attraction, or chemistry, was going to fix that.

  No matter how often the feel of her lips whispered over his.

  Landon did the honors, with a big hug for Becky and another for Emma. His brother had always dismissed his easy, geeky charm that instantly put everyone at ease, but there were days Nick envied him. Nothing ruffled Landon. In the zombie apocalypse that was life, Landon just knew how to get by, his brains intact.

  “Skip’s got a good turnout.”

  The inane comment was out before he could pull it back, and Becky shot a glance toward her brothers. “The haul’s been good this month and he wanted to do something to kick off summer. We have a family wedding next week over Memorial Day weekend, so he had to settle for a Monday night.”

  Landon pointed toward two large crowds, one playing bocce and the other cornhole. “It doesn’t look like anyone is complaining.”

  The conversation flowed easily, shifting from topic to topic. Even the normally quiet Hector got into the conversation, his rare laugh echoing more than a few times.

  “How many boats does your brother have now?” Emma’s gaze was directed toward the Owens brothers, and it gave Nick a chance to really look at her.

  A light breeze caught the ends of her hair and the impressions he’d had earlier formed and reformed as he took in the slender lines of her body. What she’d managed to hide in prim business clothes was now evident in the sleeveless summer dress.

  The woman was too damn thin.

  The lab partner he’d remembered from high school hadn’t been overweight, but she ate. She was solid and healthy and, unbidden, a memory of the day he’d seen the edges of her bra as she bent over the wash sink filled his mind’s eye.

  In that moment, he’d been captivated, a rush of teenage hormones gripping him. Up until then, he’d not given her much consideration. Sure, she was a girl. And she was nice enough and smart enough, and she was decent-looking. But for some reason he hadn’t really noticed Emma Vandenb
urg before.

  Or not that way.

  And then she’d leaned over the sink, the light curve of flesh pressed against the lines of her bra, and he’d been hooked.

  She was out of his league, the smart girl who always seemed to know all the answers and kept to herself. She was friendly enough, but Nick would no more have asked her out than he’d have volunteered for the school yearbook or debate team. Smart people did those things, and that wasn’t him.

  “You in?” He turned back into the conversation at a sharp elbow from Landon.

  “In?”

  “They’re lining up for the boil.” Landon inclined his head. “Over there.”

  “Sure.”

  That fog of memories still wrapped around Nick as they walked toward the large set of tables in the middle of the green. He hadn’t spent much time thinking about high school since he’d walked out the front doors the night of graduation, so it was more than surprising to realize how many of his memories were still intact.

  “Nick. Yo, Nick.” Hector’s voice was low, his movements subtle as he moved into position next to him. “That asshole from Friday night. He’s over there.”

  “Where?”

  Hector’s gaze shifted toward the far edge of the green, to a group of people huddled together on blankets. Nick made the guy immediately, then hung back for a closer look as their group moved on.

  “You want me to distract him? Find a way to get him over here?” Hector’s voice was a low growl.

  “Let’s keep an eye on him. I’d like to get a sense of his friends. Who he runs with. Where there’s some bad behavior, there’s likely more.” Nick scanned the rest of the asshole’s group, but didn’t see anyone he recognized or remembered from Friday.

  “He made bail fast.”

  Nick was about to respond when the moment shifted, quick as lightning. The woman who shared the blanket with their target had her face turned up to him, saying something, when out of nowhere the guy nailed her with a swift kick to the ribs. Nick moved before he could even think to check himself, Hector’s heavy tread beside him, moving in unison with him.

  “What the fuck was that?” Nick had the guy in a firm grip, moving him decidedly away from the woman.

  “Get off me, asshole!” The same wiry strength they’d noted Friday night, when the guy fought Hec’s hold, was in evidence. Nick kept a firm grip, his legs spread to maintain his balance and the minimal upper hand he held via the surprise intervention. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  Nick refused to let go, as a snarl he barely recognized slipped from his lips. “Why the hell did you kick her?”

  “She’s mine!”

  The struggling didn’t stop, only grew more violent as Nick dodged an attempted bite. The guy’s friends surrounded the blanket, circling, while Hector did a damn fine job of standing in their way. But it didn’t stop the shouts.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “Fuck off, buddy!”

  And murmured underneath the bravado of the asshole’s friends were comments from a few of the others. “Is that Nick Kelley? Zach pushed too far this time.”

  Landon and Fender flew into the middle of the group, their shouts heavy as they took up sides with Hector. It was Fender’s voice that finally penetrated through the wash of adrenaline that had his ears ringing. “Nick! You want to tell us what’s going on?”

  “Check her.” Nick dragged on the guy’s arms again, his grip growing strangely manic. “See if she’s okay.”

  From the corner of his eye he saw Landon fall to a crouch, his brother’s gaze steady on the woman. A hard pair of hands gripped his shoulders when Hector came around and took hold of the still-struggling asshole, releasing the man from Nick’s grip.

  “Nick, man. Stand down!” It was the urgency in Fender’s grip that got through more effectively than his words.

  “Yeah.” Nick shook his head. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  Fender didn’t release him, but his hold did soften before he tugged enough to pull them out of the line of fire. Hector waited a few more beats before pushing the guy aside. His friends were standing by to intercept him, as were a few of Brooklyn’s finest, on patrol in the park.

  Nick wasn’t a man to use his fists to solve his problems, but the barely leashed violence that had gripped him the moment he saw the asshole—Zach?—kick his companion had come on with all the subtlety of a charging rhino.

  “You’re the instigator of this, sir?”

  “I saw him kick the woman with him. I stepped in.” Nick fought to catch his breath, his words tripping from his lips on a hard exhale. He vaguely recognized the cop who stood before him, but couldn’t place a name. “I own a bar here in Park Heights. The End Zone? Guy was in my place Friday night making trouble there, too. He was clearly on something.”

  “You call it in?”

  “Yep. He was removed from the premises in a squad car.”

  The cop made some notes in his notebook before asking Nick to stay where he was. The sounds of the park gradually came back to him, filtering through the adrenaline pounding in his ears.

  How had he lost control like that? He was a big man and a trained athlete to boot. He didn’t use his fists to solve problems, damn it.

  Hadn’t even attempted to in years.

  “Come out and deal with me like a man, boy!”

  Ma had ignored the outburst as long as she could, but by the third night she’d had the cops on speed dial. What she hadn’t counted on was Nick’s escape out the back alley so he could confront his father smack in the middle of Cherry Street.

  The bass drums the marching band beat on the opposite end of the field while he practiced had somehow transferred to his chest. The hard, rapid beat drove him on, his feet thick with the tempo as he did his own march toward Arch Kelley.

  The streetlights threw off their golden glow, crisscrossing his shadow over his father’s. As he moved closer, those shadows blended and merged, until it was hard to see where one started and the other ended. He was as tall as the old man now.

  When had that happened?

  Of course, Nick supposed it made sense. His adoption had gone on for a while. Landon and Fender’s paperwork had already gone through, but his fucking father had pushed and pushed, claiming he wasn’t giving up his rights to his son.

  “Get the hell out of here.” Nick reveled in the element of surprise—likely the only one he’d get—as Arch turned from the window, another bellow dying in his throat.

  “You got no right to talk to me like that. I’m your father. I want to know how you’re doing.”

  “Fine. It doesn’t give you a right to stand out here raging like an animal.” Nick held his ground, even when his father stalked closer. “What are you on?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Blue eyes so like his own clouded with confusion before Arch pulled himself up to his full height. “You’ll talk to me with respect, boy.”

  “I’ll give you respect the day you deserve it.”

  The words spilled out, that thick, bass drumbeat growing louder in his veins. He didn’t sass his father. He’d learned that lesson—and had hidden far too many bruises to forget it. But fuck it all, his father had harassed Mama Lou.

  And that wasn’t going to happen again. Ever.

  “You’re my kid.”

  “Kid or no, law says you can’t come around here.”

  Something flickered in his father’s eyes, deflating the pushed-out chest before it puffed up once more. “I don’t care what the goddamned law says. You got my eyes. My nose.”

  “The one you bloodied the last time you came around here?”

  Arch moved up into his grill, but Nick held his ground. He wouldn’t cower.

  “You’ve got my fucking blood.”

  “Why the hell do you care? You’re only here because you ran out of whatever you’ve been drinking tonight. What else did you add? A little coke this time to perk yourself up?”


  “You don’t know nothing. You don’t understand.” The punch came out of nowhere, and Nick dodged it, his reflexes better since he’d been running his agility drills with coach after practice. Without checking the impulse, his own fist flew, his father stumbling backward from the hard strike to his stomach.

  Nick pushed forward, the thick wall of flesh that was Arch Kelley giving way as Nick used his newfound strength. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He wasn’t going to be beaten and abused. He had a future.

  With that thought, the fire in his belly that pushed him forward faded, and Nick checked his next punch, pulling his arm before stepping away from his father.

  He had a future.

  Mama Lou had given him one.

  And because he did have one, he stopped, holding his hands tight at his sides, fists clenched so hard he wondered he didn’t break his fingers from the pressure.

  His father stared up at him, his pupils small dots in eyes that had gone dim with defeat.

  “Nick!” The scream came out of nowhere, near his ear before a small, whirling dervish of determined female moved between him and his father. “No, sweetie. No!”

  His father leaned over and spit on the ground. “You need a woman to fight for you?”

  Nick pulled Mama Lou to his side before he pushed her behind him. “I fight my own fights. I’m rid of you. Go the hell home.”

  “You’re mine. You’re my legacy.”

  He hadn’t slept that night. Nor did he sleep in the weeks that followed. He’d catch a few hours on the couch after school, but that was it. When night came, he was ready.

  But Arch Kelley hadn’t come back, and Nick refused to go looking for him. It had taken more than a few years to quell the ever-present feeling the old man would return, and other than a few outreaches once he turned pro, his father had kept his distance. With time Nick had come to see the events of that night in a different light. Despite Arch’s bluster, Nick wasn’t his father’s legacy. The harassment and physical attacks had resulted in the court’s ruling that Lou could foster him and eventually adopt him as well. She’d been persistent as a bulldog, using his father’s lack of support, addiction, and tendency toward violence to resolve his problems to their favor.