Build it Strong (The Ballard Brothers of Darling Bay Book 2)

by Rachael Herron

  But Aidan’s face grew darker. Then it went red.

  She’d embarrassed him.

  Even Jake looked disappointed in her.

  “I mean, I’m just joking. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  Felicia sighed. “Can you just deliver the last line, please?”

  Shit, shit, shit. “Yes. Of course.” She tried to put lightness into her voice and face, but she could still feel the wetness of her tears on her cheeks. “But this house is off the market! And it’s all mine.”

  Aidan’s eyes, when she said the last three words, were so dark and blank that she shivered.

  “Are we done?” he said.

  Felicia barely looked up. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  Aidan ripped of his mic, spun on his boot heel, and leaped off the porch. He was around the house and gone before Tuesday could even think of another word to say to him.

  Her heart was ragged, shredded.

  The key Liam had handed her sat in her palm. It felt heavier than any key she’d ever touched.

  Weakly, she slid it into her pocket and held her breath. Soon, she’d be alone.

  Then she could really cry.

  Chapter 33

  A

  idan left.

  He shouldn’t leave the site, he knew that. There were probably finishing touches he could help with. Make sure the crew picked everything up. Check the lock on the basement.

  But he got in his truck anyway, brought it to life and roared down the driveway toward town.

  Away from her.

  He drove in a circle for a while, waiting. He knew Liam needed to get back to the office—he’d give him half an hour and then go accost him.

  How had Aidan’s life spiraled like this?

  He’d been getting paid to date the woman of his dreams.

  He’d been falling in love.

  No, goddamn it. He was in love. With an infertile liar. Shit. He wished he weren’t.

  Jesus, he’d imagined Tuesday in a wedding dress. Wasn’t that exactly what a red-blooded American male wasn’t supposed to think about? But the image had made his mouth dry. He’d wanted to see her walking down an aisle toward him, her eyes lit with unabashed joy.

  He was such an idiot.

  He pulled up at the marina and watched three fishing trawlers putt in. He considered buying a six-pack and drinking them all in his truck. Instead, he started the engine and burned out of the parking lot. Three more turns, one impulsive and kind of stupid dodge around a slow-ass SUV, and he pulled up in front of the office.

  In his mind’s eye, he touched his other fantasies to see if they hurt the same way the wedding dress dream did.

  He’d imagined sitting on a wide, low couch with her. Out the back windows, the oak boughs danced. Tuesday held a white plastic stick with pink lines on the end. She smiled at him with tears in her eyes, tears that matched his.

  Fuck, Ballard. He wasn’t an idiot. No, he’d blown right past that and into fucking moron-of-the-century territory.

  He stormed up the steps of the Victorian. “Liam! Are you here yet?” His voice came out in a shout. He hadn’t meant it to.

  Liam looked up from his desk in surprise. He was wearing a black T-shirt instead of the button down he’d had on at the Callahan house. “Why are you roaring like a monster?”

  “I want to sell my condo.”

  Liam carefully put down his pencil. He steepled his fingers. “Why don’t you sit down and we can talk about it?”

  Did his brother think he was stupid? “That’s your customer voice.”

  “Is it?”

  Fine, Liam could play dumb all he wanted, but Aidan knew the tone of voice his brother got when he was mollifying a problem client.

  Which he was totally willing to become, if that would make the process go faster. “Selling.” He jabbed his finger onto the desktop. “The condo. Draw up the paperwork.”

  “It’s not like there’s a Sell-Me-Now form that I submit electronically to the state. Sit. Tell me what the hell’s up your ass.”

  Aidan could no more sit than he could do a headstand. “I want to buy a house.”

  Liam sighed. “You can’t buy Tuesday’s house.”

  “Not her house.”

  “Really? What house, then?”

  “Any house. Piece of shit hovel, I don’t give a fuck.”

  “Well, there are plenty of those on the market.” Liam shook his head. “But I need more. What’s going on?”

  “I can’t have the house I wanted.” Or the woman. “So I’ll just buy a different one.”

  “You might be moving too fast.”

  “You ain’t seen fast yet. How soon can I sell the condo?”

  “Come on. Even if we had a buyer right now, which we don’t, it would take a month. And your place isn’t even ready to be put on the market, am I right?”

  “It’s ready.”

  “Did you even ever finish painting?”

  Aidan scowled.

  “Or finishing those cabinets?”

  “You think I don’t do enough sanding at work? It’s the last thing I want to do when I get home.”

  “Fine. What I’m saying is it’ll take a while.” Liam punched his keyboard. “But while I’m pulling some comps, you tell me what’s going on. This is about Tuesday, right?”

  Aidan lowered his eyebrows so much he could almost see them. “No.”

  Liam laughed.

  The ass-hat laughed. “I hate you.”

  Liam shrugged. “Yeah, I’m not too worried about that. I gotta say, seems like she’s gotten under your skin.”

  “Like scabies.”

  Liam winced. “Or like love.”

  “Fuck love.”

  “Sore spot?”

  Aidan would show Liam sore. “Shut up.”

  “Make me,” said Liam lightly. “Okay, we’re looking at about two-fifty for condos that size on the east side of town. Do you think—” He broke off, bouncing a pencil between his fingers.

  “What?”

  “I just have to say that I like what you’re doing.”

  Good, at least one of them knew what Aidan was doing. “And what’s that?”

  “Admitting that you can’t control the future. Taking a step that isn’t planned.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m just saying.” Liam smiled. “You’ve been so closed up for a long time. Unwilling to make any sudden moves.”

  “Me?” He’d made a sudden move, all right. He’d fallen in love with the wrong woman.

  “The only thing you’ve ever committed to is this business and that tiny condo you bought ten years ago. No room for anyone to get close to you. If you kept a girlfriend for more than a month, you’d have to give her at least a drawer in your place, but you always eject before that.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Dude. You know it is. Jake and I talk about it all the time.”

  “You talk about this with Jake?”

  “He’s worried about you. So am I. We thought Tuesday would be good for you, and I have to say, I still think she is. Even if it’s not in the way I thought she would be.”

  Aidan dropped into the chair, finally. “How was that?”

  “I thought you two would fall in love, get married, and fill that house with kids. Your dream.”

  He’d never actually said that was his dream. Not in so many words. “How did you know that?”

  “I remember that crush you had on Mrs. Brown. You’ve always been hot for teacher, right?”

  Aidan snorted. “God.”

  “You were so funny. You’d go there for dinner, and then for the next week, nothing was good enough for you. They used a different brand of ketchup—”

  “Yeah, not generic.”

  “And you suddenly couldn’t use ours. Remember how Bill would tease you about how much it sucked, you having to live in the wrong house?”

  Aidan had forgotten that, but as soon as Liam said it, it all came flooding back. Bill had loved them so
much, but he’d always felt bad that he hadn’t had much money. He remembered driving by Mrs. Brown’s house in Bill’s old truck. You wish you could live in a nice house like that one, kiddo?

  Nah.

  You don’t have to lie about it. It’s not a bad thing to want a little more than you have.

  “What I don’t get,” said Liam, “is why you have to do this right now. Why not just wait? We’ll get the crew in, do a quick remodel, and sell it for a third more.”

  “If I sell it fast, with my savings I’ll have enough cash to buy a small house outright.”

  “That’s never mattered to you before.”

  “My house is gone.”

  Liam said, “Yeah, well, Jake and I have been hoping you would end up in that house anyway. Sideways, like.”

  He’d hoped that, too. “Never going to happen. And if I spend all my money on a different place, I’ll have to fall in love with that instead.”

  “Does it work like that?”

  Aidan pressed his palms together. They were slick with sweat. “It has to.”

  “If I couldn’t be with Felicia, I’d be alone. I wouldn’t try to replace her to distract myself.”

  “That not what I’m doing.”

  Liam just arched an eyebrow.

  Aidan spent twenty long, pleasant seconds hating his brother with every fiber of his being. Then he said, “Will you just sell my fucking place for me?” His voice cracked, and suddenly, he wanted to cry.

  Or hit something.

  His brother was pretty handy.

  As if he felt it, Liam held up his hands in surrender. “Fine. Hey, I saw the dailies for your diary cam. Why did you say that? About Bill? And you being like Dad, choosing the wrong woman?”

  “Because it was true. I’m exactly like Dad.”

  “Where did you get that idea?”

  Aidan stared at his brother. “He was talking to you when he said it.”

  “I remember him saying that—”

  “That I was the biggest chip off the old block. That I was going to be just like him, and end up in jail or worse.”

  Liam shook his head, as if to clear it. “I vaguely remember that, but I remember what he said next better.”

  Aidan had run away, that was true. He hadn’t heard whatever Bill had said next. “So? What was that?”

  “He said that he was looking forward to watching you grow out of it. That you were going to be the kind of man he’d have coffee with. He said you’d be the one who really made it. And you have.”

  “Come on.” It was a weak protestation. The inside of Aidan’s brain felt scoured.

  “I remember it exactly. He said I was never going to be the tool guy of the bunch, but that my math skills would help us. And he said you’d be the foreman of our crew someday, and that you’d be good at it. He said you’d be on city council.”

  Aidan was. He was the most junior council member, but he loved going to the meetings. Other people said they were boring. He thought they had a certain beauty. An order.

  “He said you’d the be the first of us to own your own place.”

  Aidan had bought his condo when he was only twenty-four, years before the three of them bought the Ballard office.

  “And he said you’d be the last of us to go to jail because you were the one most scared of being like Dad. He said you’d be the one to soar.”

  Oh, God.

  Liam was still staring at him. “Did you really think Bill didn’t believe in you?”

  “I’ve thought it since I heard him that night.”

  “And you’ve been trying to prove him wrong.”

  Aidan gave one short nod.

  “When all along, Bill was right, and you’ve turned into exactly the man he thought you would be.”

  Aidan bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood. “Dude.”

  “You’ve been wrong a long time, then.”

  Aidan nodded. “Shit.” It felt like the word held his soul.

  “And now you’ve lost her, too.”

  “Because I’m too stupid to live.”

  “Then do something really smart.”

  “For once.”

  “No, you idiot. Like usual.”

  Liam hugged him then, and Aidan hugged back. He thought about saying I love you, but then Liam would take him to the hospital, so he just said, “You smell like dryer sheets.”

  “Thanks. Back at you.”

  Chapter 34

  O

  n her new bed for the first time, Tuesday curled up on top of the white bedspread. The whole room smelled like paint, and she was sure she’d forever associate the scent with heartbreak.

  Aidan had fallen in love with her.

  But the real problem was that she’d fallen back.

  And then she’d screwed everything up by not being honest with him—the one thing he said he needed.

  She’d been alone at home in Minnesota. She’d been content in her singleness. After the accident, her hospital social worker had told her it might take her a long time to want to date again. You’ll get used to the scar, but it might be hard to show it to anyone intimately for a while. The scar? That was the least of her problems, really. Take a long time to date? It would be forever. She was damaged goods.

  Her mother had told her that the right person wouldn’t mind the scarring.

  Tuesday hadn’t told her that wasn’t the problem.

  She was too scarred inside. No one needed to know that but her. How could she love another person, knowing that a moment of indecision, a second of not paying attention could hurt or kill the person she loved? Her parents thought her refusal to drive was something she’d eventually get over, and she’d let them think that. She agreed with them when they brought it up. Sure, she’d get another car someday, she told them. When the settlement came through, they’d thought she should go buy a nice midsize sedan with some of the money immediately. Get back up on that horse, her father said. You’re a good driver, her mother said. You don’t have to have a passenger for a long time. Years, if that’s what it takes.

  It wasn’t about the passengers, that was what she’d never told anyone, not even her post-accident therapist. It was about her being in charge of a huge, heavy piece of machinery that she wasn’t sure she could always control. What if she had a stroke at the wheel? There was no history in her family—no reason to think she would. But if she did, her car would keep moving, and might hurt someone. It was better not to drive.

  Public transportation was nice.

  She would keep people from being in danger by not driving, ever again.

  She’d never really stopped to think about the danger inherent in being near someone else’s heart.

  It sure felt like hers was going to stop. How was a heart supposed to keep beating when it hurt to breathe? She remembered coming out of anesthesia, right before they told her they hadn’t been able to put her back together. She’d thought the pain was unbearable then, that no one could live through it. She’d whispered it to the nurse, unable to make her voice louder. I hurt. They’d upped her painkillers, and told her she couldn’t have children, and while the physical pain finally retreated like an angry animal, there was no painkiller strong enough to touch the real pain. I am unfit.

  She was unsafe for others. She wasn’t even a real woman anymore.

  The scent of paint was overwhelming. She swore when the walls peeled in the distant future, she’d let them.

  Tuesday stood and threw open the French doors. The fug of paint fumes couldn’t reach the balcony, thank God. Maybe she’d sleep out here tonight. How cold did it get at night? Would she freeze to death?

  Was that a completely terrible proposition?

  She’d been holding her cell phone loosely in her hand, unable to decide what to do with it. Should she email her parents?

  What she desperately wanted more than anything was to call Diana. To hear her raspy voice, to tell her about Aidan and how stupid she was to fall for a man who wanted to use
her to get the house of his dreams. She wanted Diana to tease her, to laugh at her.

  Tuesday broke everything.

  Absolutely every single little thing.

  Her phone buzzed in her hand.

  Mom and Dad.

  Tuesday shouldn’t answer. She should let it roll to voice mail. There was no way she could talk to her mother without crying, and then she’d know—but at the last moment, just before it stopped ringing, she pushed the green button. “Mom?”

  “Hiya, you.”

  The words tumbled out. “I hurt a kid.”

  An indrawn breath was all she heard. “What do you mean?”

  “Not physically.” That she had to clarify that made the muscles in her jaw ache. “This girl who lives next door kind of attached herself to me. Fast.”

  “As kids do.”

  “She asked for some school help, and I said no.”

  Her mother laughed. “Is that all you did? Honey.”

  “You should have seen her face.”

  “She’ll get over it.”

  “We bonded over our scars.”

  “Oh…”

  “And her mom’s never home.”

  “Honey, you can’t take on the whole weight of the world.”

  Was her mother kidding? Tuesday wasn’t taking on anything at all. That was the problem. She was hiding. She’d hurt the first kid who felt comfortable talking to her. “She looked like I’d punched her.”

  “So go apologize.”

  “No, way. I’m just going to stay away.”

  “Because that’s what you do now?” Her mother’s voice was unexpectedly sharp.

  “Pardon?” It felt like a physical blow. It wasn’t like Tuesday didn’t know it. She just didn’t think her mother would say it.

  “You’ve turned into someone who runs away.”

  “Mom—”

  “And that’s a strategy. Your father and I agree it’s fine for now. But if you’re going to keep it up then you have to keep your distance from everyone, even the people there, or you’ll end up hurting them, too.”