Trust In Me: A Fight for Me Novel

by Jessica Linden

  Marco stared at his brother for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t know what the hell I want.” Though it was honest, it was less than helpful.

  “Well, let me know when you figure it out.” Tony exited the ring, leaving Marco to watch after him.

  * * *

  Kat knocked on the door of her brother Ryan’s ground-level apartment, shooting a disgusted glance at the pile of dog shit sitting just off the patio. He rented the bottom level of a duplex and his landlord lived on the top level with three dogs that barked incessantly. But because the man was Ryan’s landlord and his rent was way below market value, Ryan didn’t complain.

  Kat, on the other hand, was tempted to scoop up the pile of shit, put it in a paper bag, and set it on fire on the man’s doorstep.

  The screen on the window hadn’t been fixed yet, either. Granted, it was too cold to open the windows, but it still needed to be repaired. But she knew what Ryan would say if she asked him about it—Joe would get around to it when he got around to it.

  She sighed, wanting to add it to her own to-do list, but knowing he’d take care of it himself in his own time and way.

  Ryan opened the door and Kat smiled. He looked good today—he’d showered and his clothes were clean. These days, he was having more good days than bad. It was such a relief. She could still remember when her will for him to live was all that kept him going.

  “Hey, sis.” Ryan pushed back in his wheelchair to allow Kat to enter. He was amazingly adept at navigating the small space that wasn’t meant for wheelchairs.

  At the time of the accident, she’d been living in Florida with Leo. Shortly after the accident, that situation blew up in her face and she returned home. The timing was lucky at least. Their mother hadn’t been doing shit to help Ryan.

  She liked to think that she’d been Ryan’s salvation during a dark time in his life and while that was true, it wasn’t the only truth. She’d been in the middle of her own dark time and she’d needed him as much as he’d needed her.

  As she passed him, she leaned down to give him a kiss on the cheek. Then she continued into the kitchen and placed the bags of groceries on the counter.

  Ryan eyed them warily. “I told you not to buy my groceries.”

  Kat looked at him and arched an eyebrow. She pulled open the fridge. Empty save for some leftover Chinese takeout, as expected.

  “Then start buying your own,” she challenged. When his leg was first amputated, she tried coddling him, but quickly learned that he didn’t take well to it. So she’d turned to a careful balance of coddling and tough love. But dammit, it’d been nearly four years and he still wasn’t fully taking care of himself. When he lost his leg, he lost more than just a limb—he’d lost part of himself. She was slowly trying to help him find it, but he didn’t make it easy.

  It would be so much easier for the two of them to find a two-bedroom apartment and split everything, but Ryan wasn’t having any of it. He didn’t want his little sister babysitting him, or so he said.

  Whatever. He would starve to death if she didn’t make sure his kitchen was stocked.

  “Have you eaten yet?” she asked.

  Ryan shook his head. It was already after seven. Kat had gone straight to the grocery store from work and the errand had taken longer than she’d expected. If she cooked the chicken she’d bought, it would be at least eight by the time they ate.

  Soup and sandwiches it was.

  She hunted around in his drawers for the can opener.

  “Got any plans this weekend?” he asked.

  She shifted so he couldn’t see her blush. That was another reason he didn’t want her living with him—he didn’t want to “cramp her style.” His words, not hers. There really wasn’t any style to cramp. Since the Leo situation, she’d sworn off men.

  So why the hell did she have a date lined up with Marco Adamo for tomorrow night? And why the hell couldn’t she stop thinking about him?

  Because he was sexy as hell. She couldn’t deny that. And she couldn’t deny that the memory of his mouth on hers had kept her awake at night.

  If his lips had felt that good on hers, she couldn’t imagine how good they’d feel elsewhere on her body.

  Thinking about that while her brother stared on proved she’d been in the self-induced drought long enough.

  Maybe it was time she loosened up on her “no men” policy. Her new job would give her more free time, Ryan didn’t need her quite as much as he used to, and she had to face it—she was lonely. The kiss with Marco was the first intimate contact she’d had in years.

  And anyway, it was a done deal. She wasn’t going to cancel on Marco. She’d reevaluate after this date. She wished she could move forward without having to overthink everything, but her carelessness in that way had cost her a great deal—almost her life—and she wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. Bad things happened when she let her guard down.

  “Yo, Earth to Kat.”

  Kat cleared her throat, keeping her back turned as she lathered the slices of bread with butter. “Actually, I do have a date tomorrow.”

  Her brother waited a beat, as if he was expecting her to call out “Just kidding!” That irked her and she stood up straighter, her mouth set in a firm line. But really, what did she expect? She hadn’t been on a date since she moved home.

  Since Leo had nearly killed her.

  “Seriously?” he finally asked in a disbelieving tone.

  “Yes, seriously.”

  “Where’d you meet the guy?”

  Kat whirled around to see Ryan with his chest puffed up and his eyes narrowed. “Oh, no. You don’t get to pull this big brother crap on me. Not after you’ve been telling me I need to get out.”

  “You do need to get out. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

  She’d grant him that. Outside of work, she didn’t have much of a life these days, dating or no dating. It had gotten a little better in the past year since she and Natalie became friends, but they were both so damn busy it was hard to find the time for a girls’ night.

  “He’s the brother of a friend.” She’d leave it at that. Ryan didn’t know Tony. And he certainly didn’t need to know that she’d only learned Marco’s relationship to Tony after the fact—after she’d already met him on the side of the road. Considering how pissed she’d been when she found out, it was funny she was using it as justification now.

  “Good. I hope you have fun.”

  Fun wasn’t exactly how Kat would describe her time with Marco. The word somehow wasn’t intense enough.

  She’d had faulty judgment where men were concerned in the past. Life-altering, barely - escaped - with - her - life faulty judgment. But Marco was a good man. She was certain of it.

  As she flipped the sandwiches on the stove, she couldn’t stop the small smile that crept onto her face.

  Finally things were starting to go her way.

  Chapter 7

  Kat knocked on Gram’s door, holding a bag of donuts and hoping the older woman would be having a good day. They were becoming rare these days so Kat wasn’t holding her breath. She never knew which Gram to expect—the sweet grandmother or the irritated, cranky, and confused old woman.

  “Come in,” came a soft voice.

  Kat peeked around the door before entering the room. Gram was sitting in her chair by the window, looking out over the garden. Kat let out a sigh of relief. The cranky old woman was not in residence today.

  Gram smiled when she saw Kat. “I didn’t realize you were coming by today.”

  Kat said nothing, instead leaning down to kiss Gram’s wrinkled cheek. She’d been coming by every Saturday morning for the last six months. When she was still a bartender, that was about the only time she could ensure she’d have off every week. So even if she’d had to work until four in the morning the night before, she’d drag her tired ass out of bed to make the visit.

  It was disappointing that Gram’s mind wasn’t sharp today, but she’d take a slightly forgetful
Gram over the cranky Gram any day.

  “How are you today?” Kat asked. “I see you got your hair done.”

  Gram patted her white hair that was styled in a bouffant. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s gorgeous.” Kat had made the appointment for the in-house salon just last week. She was glad to see Gram had been up to going. She laid out some napkins and pulled a jelly donut out of the bag. “Here you go.”

  Gram looked at it suspiciously. “What kind is it?”

  “Raspberry jelly. Your favorite.”

  Gram shook her head emphatically. “I don’t like those.”

  Kat sighed, trying not to show her frustration. Though Gram wasn’t agitated, she wasn’t having as good of a day as it had first appeared. It broke Kat’s heart to be losing the woman to Alzheimer’s when they’d only recently connected.

  “You don’t have to eat it. Do you want a plain one?” Kat reached into the bag.

  “No, I can’t eat that. I need to fit into my dress.”

  “What dress?”

  “The blue one.”

  It was on the tip of Kat’s tongue to ask where she planned to wear the blue dress, but the dreamy expression on Gram’s face told her Gram was somewhere in the past. She likely didn’t even own a blue dress.

  “Blue will look lovely with your eyes,” Kat said instead.

  “Thank you, dear.” Gram reached across the table toward Kat’s face, so Kat leaned forward so the older woman could pat her on the cheek. “That’s so sweet of you to say. What did you say your name was again?”

  Kat choked back a sob. “I’m Kat.”

  “Are you a friend of my son’s?”

  “No,” she said softly.

  Kat was most definitely not. She hadn’t even met Gram’s son—her father—and she wanted to keep it that way. She worried in Gram’s troubled state she might slip and reveal Kat’s existence. Though, her father probably wouldn’t believe her, anyway, thinking she was just confused. Either way, it was a headache Kat didn’t need. She’d sworn off relationships with toxic men, and that included her father.

  Though, from the best she could tell, X hadn’t come to visit his mother in six months, so it probably wasn’t a huge concern. Kat shook off her worries. No need to invite trouble.

  “I wish he would find a nice girl like you. You must make your mother proud.”

  Kat stood abruptly, walking over to the mini-fridge to give herself something to do so that Gram wouldn’t see her face. It did no good to upset her.

  And Kat didn’t know why she was letting Gram’s confusion get to her this morning. Normally, she shook it off. For some reason she was having trouble doing that today.

  She knelt in front of the small fridge. “Would you like some juice?”

  “No, but some tea would be nice.”

  Kat wiped the tears from her eyes and stood, flipping on the switch for the electric kettle. “Coming right up.”

  * * *

  Marco’s attempt to take his mother to brunch was a miserable failure. Ginny hadn’t been lying when she’d told him she refused to go anywhere. She’d dug her heels in and refused to listen to reason. It kind of reminded him of when she’d ruled over him and his brother with an iron fist—a loving one, but still, she had to be tough to keep him and Tony in line. He tried to find comfort in the fact that she still stood up for what she wanted, even if what she wanted wasn’t what was best for her.

  But who the hell was he to know what was best? He hadn’t been back very long, so he’d assess the situation for a little while longer before taking action again.

  So now, he was sitting at the kitchen counter while she cooked him breakfast, the total opposite of what he’d intended.

  “Do you have any trips planned?” he asked. His mother had wanderlust and spent most of her time traveling, something she hadn’t been able to do when he and his brother were kids.

  “No.” She cleared her throat. “The lawyers think it’s best if I stay here, at least until . . . until it’s over.”

  She hadn’t mentioned either her husband or the impending trial since he’d been home, so he took advantage of the opening. “What do you think about all of this?”

  She was silent for a few moments, long enough that he wondered if she’d heard him.

  “I hope it’s over soon.” Her back was turned and he wished he could see her expression, to know if it was okay to keep talking about this.

  But dammit, it wasn’t healthy for her to keep it all in or pretend nothing was happening. If she wouldn’t talk to him, he’d arrange for her to see a therapist, except he knew she’d reject that idea even more vehemently than brunch.

  “Mom,” Marco said quietly and when he got no reaction, he spoke louder. “Mom.”

  Finally she turned. Her eyes were clear, devoid of emotion. Marco stared at her for a moment. He hated seeing her like this. She’d always been so vibrant and full of life. He desperately wanted to bring that back, but he was at a loss.

  “I think you should talk about it,” he said finally.

  “There’s nothing to say.” She turned back to the stove.

  Marco ran a hand over his head. “Are you sure about that? He’s your husband.”

  She laughed bitterly. “Trust me, I’m aware of that fact.”

  Finally. Some kind of emotion. He wasn’t going to presume to tell her how to feel. She could be pissed, upset, sad—hell, she could even be happy. But she should have some kind of reaction.

  Nonna wandered in, still dressed in her pajamas. “Is that bacon I smell?”

  His mother turned and smiled at her mother-in-law. “Yes, it certainly is. Pull up a seat.”

  Marco watched the two women for a moment. The smile her mother showed Nonna was genuine and the affection between them heartfelt. Though he wished Nonna were in better health, he was glad she’d moved in here. It would do both of them good.

  At some point, he should probably go to the facility where his father was being held to see him, but he had no desire to do so. Santi Adamo could rot in his jail cell for all Marco cared. He was nothing but an asshole who’d continually hurt two good women, the two women Marco cared about most.

  The asshole deserved whatever was coming to him.

  * * *

  Marco sat in his truck outside the run-down apartment, getting his nerve up to go to the front door. He’d waited nearly four years—too long—and he used these last few moments to muster up his courage. His friend—if he even could be called that anymore—wasn’t expecting him. Perhaps he should have called first, but Ryan might have told him not to come. And he needed to do this. He’d put it off far too long already.

  He got out of the truck and strode to the front door, knocking twice. Hearing movement inside, he took a step back.

  The door flung open, and Marco’s gaze fell down to the man in the wheelchair—the man he’d put in that wheelchair.

  “Holy shit.” Ryan gaped at him. “What the hell are you doing here, Adamo? Aren’t you supposed to be shooting up bad guys in the desert or something?”

  “I’m on leave.”

  Marco observed Ryan, trying to ascertain his reaction to Marco showing up on his doorstep unannounced. Other than the obvious surprise, Marco couldn’t tell. Was Ryan a split second from slamming the door in his face? He wouldn’t blame him.

  “Well, come in.” Ryan wheeled backward to allow space. “Don’t just stand there.”

  Marco entered the apartment, shutting the door behind him. It was sparsely furnished and somewhat messy, with papers strewn all over the coffee table and empty soda cans lined up on the end table beside the couch.

  He stood in the center of the room and shoved his hands in his pockets, not knowing what to do or say. Perhaps he should have given more thought to what would happen beyond knocking on the door.

  Damn. This was awkward. Marco hadn’t seen Ryan since that one time in the hospital, shortly after the accident. His friend’s face was unshaven and his hair wild. Before, Ry
an had been somewhat of a prima donna when it came to his appearance, always styling his hair and wearing the latest trends. The most significant change, though, was his missing left leg from the knee down.

  “How are you doing?” Marco asked, knowing his question was insufficient.

  Ryan shrugged. “Not bad. I mean, I’ve been better.”

  Shit. Marco didn’t know how to respond to that, either. He’d expected this visit to be difficult, but he hadn’t thought he’d be this tongue-tied.

  “Why didn’t you cash any of my checks?” Marco asked. He hadn’t planned on asking about this so soon into his visit, but he wanted to know. He’d sent a sizable check to Ryan every month, even after he discovered his old friend wasn’t cashing them.

  “I don’t need your charity,” Ryan said, not meeting his gaze.

  They came from opposite ends of the city, but after backing each other up in a bar fight one night, they’d become fast friends. At the time, they’d had a lot in common—all they cared about was partying, women, and their next high. The economics of their lifestyles hadn’t come into play. It was actually a symbiotic relationship—Marco had had the money to pay for things while Ryan had the connections. In his stupid twentysomething mind, it had been a win-win.

  Marco should have gone to jail after the accident, but charges were never filed. He’d never asked, but he suspected his father had something to do with that. He should probably be grateful, but he’d deserved to be punished. He’d wanted to be punished. When it became clear that wasn’t going to happen, he’d enlisted, deciding he’d shape his worthless ass into someone who would benefit society instead of being a scourge on it.

  “It’s not charity,” Marco said.

  “Bullshit. You’re giving me money I didn’t earn,” Ryan countered. “How is that not charity?”

  “Dammit, Ryan, it’s my fault you’re in that chair.”

  “Fuck, man.” Ryan shook his head. “Are you still blaming yourself? Come into the kitchen and have a beer with me.”

  Marco followed Ryan into the other room and sat at the small table. Papers were spread out all over it and he couldn’t help but notice the header—Hillsong Telemarketing.