by Abby Brooks
Praise for Abby Brooks
“Abby Brooks is a wizard with Beyond Us—entertaining and pure enjoyment!”
Adriana Locke—USA Today and Washington Post bestselling author
“A masterful blend of joy and angst.
Praise for Abby Brooks
“With just the perfect amount of angst and remarkable character development, Abby Brooks has crafted a masterpiece…”
Praise for BEYOND WORDS
"Once again Abby Brooks creates a world filled with beautifully written characters that you cannot help but fall in love with.”
Praise for BEYOND LOVE
"A lovely story of growing beyond your past, taking control of your life, and allowing yourself to be loved for the person you are."
Melanie Moreland—New York Times Bestselling Author, in praise of Wounded
“Abby Brooks writes books that draw readers right into the story. When you read about her characters, you want them to be your friends.”
Praise for Abby Brooks
It’s Definitely Not You
An Enemies to Lovers Romantic Comedy
Abby Brooks
Copyright © 2020 by Abby Brooks
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 9798697727829
abbybrooksfiction.com
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
Beyond Words Sneak Peek
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
From Abby
Acknowledgments
Also by Abby Brooks
Connect With Abby Brooks
Chapter One
Joe
Explaining what I was about to do would be difficult if I got caught, but there was no way around it. It had to be done. That didn’t change the fact that I felt like a creep for doing it. Looking more out of place than me at the Grammys, my rusted truck rattled and bumped down a quaint street. Sunlight glinted off the hood and burst through the windshield as I parked in an inconspicuous spot. Sweat gathered at my temples and I swiped it away with a curse.
I never thought I’d get tired of living in paradise, but, tada! Squinting through endless days of perfect weather in the Florida Keys had officially exhausted me after only a few months. My cold, dead heart yearned for…well, not much really.
Hence it being cold.
And dead.
My boots—black, like my soul—thumped onto sizzling pavement as I hopped out of my truck and surveyed the area. Older homes. Gorgeous architecture. A few of them sagged under the heat just like me while the rest had been meticulously cared for over the years. I slipped a pair of sunglasses in place and ambled toward my mark.
601 Swaying Palm Way—the most decrepit house on the street.
A woman sat in a car parked a few houses away with a phone pressed to her ear. Long hair the color of an old penny cascaded down her back. Her jaw was almost too square. Her nose a little upturned. Her lips, full and painted a vivid red. She rolled down the windows as heat shimmered around her.
Her gaze passed over mine. It felt significant enough to almost send me skedaddling back to my truck, until she returned her attention to whoever was on the phone with a roll of her eyes and a pouty frown.
“Get it together, Channing,” I muttered under my breath. My nerves had me imagining importance where it didn’t belong. Whoever she was, the less attention I paid her, the better it would be for both of us.
Summoning nonchalance, I resumed my stroll down the sidewalk and took stock of the home I’d come to see. The front door was in bad shape. One swift kick would take it off the hinges, no doubt about that. The windows lining the porch weren’t set in the frames properly and I’d eat my boots if the locks worked. Which spoke volumes. I loved my boots. They’d carried me around the world without complaint. Each scuff in the leather told a wild story.
“Maxine’s not home.”
I jumped and whirled. How the hell had anyone been able to sneak up on me, let alone someone encased in a velour track suit three sizes too small? If the friction between those thighs wasn’t enough to sound an alarm, the powder blue fabric’s cries for help should have done the trick.
In a perfect world, no one would have seen me near this house.
Too bad we didn’t live in a perfect world—something I knew better than anyone. Life had found every opportunity to teach me that lesson, beating me over the head with it whenever I got too comfortable.
Shrewd black eyes met mine as a nest of crow’s feet wrinkled into a smile. “She’s meeting Carl for lunch, but I’m sure she’ll be back in a couple hours.” A friendly pat on the hand brought images of hand-knit sweaters and toilet paper rolls hidden under crocheted dolls.
Perfect. Casing the joint would take ten minutes, tops. Knowing the old woman who lived there was out for the afternoon meant I didn’t need to be as inconspicuous as I originally thought.
“Thank you, missus…” I lifted a questioning brow, quirking my head like the friendliest puppy on the block.
Nothing to be suspicious of here.
Nothing at all.
Definitely no reason to tell Maxine about the strange man lurking in front of her house.
“Never been a missus, and never will be.” The woman threw her head back and barked laughter. “Though for you, I’d be willing to change my mind. I always did have a thing for dark hair, blue eyes, and tight tushies.”
This earned me another pat on the hand that had me imagining running for my life.
“I’m Delores, by the way.” With a swish of tortured velour and the faintest pinch on my rear end, she ambled down the sidewalk and disappeared around the corner.
Glancing over my shoulder to ensure the woman in the parked car wasn’t watching, I followed the walk to Maxine’s front porch. The steps may have been painted white, though they were so chipped and peeling it was impossible to tell. The third one from the bottom squealed so loudly under my weight I was afraid I’d sink up to my thigh in jagged lumber and rusty nails if I lingered too long.
“No sneaking up on this place,” I muttered as I hopped onto the porch and glared at the offending wood. After a quick inspection of the front of the house, I hurried around the back before another neighbor stuck her nose—and fingers—where they didn’t belong.
Life had a way, didn’t it? If I traveled back in time and told me from
a year ago I’d be scurrying around a stranger’s house like a common criminal, I’d have laughed in my face and shot myself the bird.
I’d partied all night in Paris.
Watched the sun rise in Milan.
Hung out with stars who shined so bright, I was still blinking through the afterimage.
I had enough money to keep me comfortable for a long time, but I didn’t have what mattered. Purpose. Not one that belonged to me, anyway. My entire life had been devoted to protecting a friend so close I considered him a brother, and here I was at 31 with nothing of my own.
It was time to remedy that situation. Hence, my reason for casing an old lady’s house before agreeing to take the job she’d posted on Craig’s List.
Maxine Monroe needed someone to move in and fix up the place, for the super exciting pay of…drumroll, please…the pleasure of living in her guesthouse. I needed to build my resume and brush up on my contracting skills before I opened my business and charged for my services.
Sounded like a match made in heaven to me.
Or Hell.
I’d be clearer on that after my meeting tomorrow.
A squeal of rotting wood and a surprised gasp froze me in place as I came around the corner. The woman from the parked car stared in annoyance at the step, her hands on her hips and judgement in her eyes. “Why do I fall for that every freaking time?”
While the Tushy Tickler might not have found anything wrong about a strange man standing on the sidewalk in front of Maxine’s house, me sneaking out of the backyard after a scouting expedition was a different look.
I didn’t wear it well.
And if that woman was here often enough to know about the step, then she’d also know I didn’t belong anywhere near the place.
Swallowing a string of curse words, I tried to slip back around the house, but a tree of birds took flight in a squawking huff and the woman’s attention snapped my way. Her jaw dropped as she threaded her fingers through her dirty penny hair. Her fuck-me lips pulled into a thin line and her eyes narrowed.
Well, shit.
“I thought I saw you sneaking around the place.” She lifted her chin as her eyes raked over my body. “Who are you and why are you here?”
The look on her face and the frostbite in her voice told me I’d been convicted without a trial. I could have explained, but where was the fun in that?
So, I did what I did best. I went on the attack. “The more important questions is, who are you and why are you here?”
“Me?” she asked with a hand to her heart. “I’m someone who carries pepper spray in her purse and has her finger on the emergency call button. And it’s none of your business why I’m here.” A delicate eyebrow lifted, daring me to take even one step closer.
Always eager to exceed expectations, I ambled her way. “I’m not doing anything wrong here.”
“Said every criminal ever.” With fire in her eyes, she brandished her phone with the confidence of a wolverine.
A smarter man would have explained himself. Or shut up and walked away. I couldn’t bring myself to do either of those things. The conversation was stimulating. The spark in her eyes was interesting. While her judgement annoyed me, I felt compelled to get closer.
And so I did.
She was prettier up close. Too bad her personality didn’t match.
“Spoken like a truly open-minded individual,” I said with a smirk. “Your compassion knows no bounds.”
Her lips parted, the corners tugging up ever so slightly as she aimed her parting shot. The glint in her eyes said it would be a doozy. I braced, but it never came. Instead, she made a show of unlocking her phone and stabbing at the screen, while her gaze held mine in a vice.
Fantastic. I may have finally found a worthy adversary, I thought.
“You’ll feel like an idiot if you make that call.” My feet were in motion, boots thumping across the dead grass in the front yard. “At least take a look around the place before you make a fool of yourself with the police. Nothing’s missing.”
“Yet.” Nevertheless, she lowered the phone and took a tentative step off the porch, right onto the squealing step of doom. It delivered its line with enthusiasm and Penny Dreadful shrieked her surprise. Again.
A low chuckle escaped my lips as my feet hit the sidewalk.
“I better not see you around here again!” she shouted at my back.
“You’re in for a surprise then,” I muttered, as I lifted my middle finger over my shoulder and sauntered away.
Chapter Two
Kennedy
The would-be burglar lurking in my grandma’s backyard had the audacity to shoot me the bird. Like any intelligent almost-victim, I snapped a picture as he climbed into his train wreck of a truck. If I did decide to call the cops, I would need to do better than, “He looked like sex on a stick, but in villainous kind of way.”
Who wore black jeans and a black leather jacket in the Keys, anyway? In July? Someone with criminal intent. Or a low IQ. Either way, his emo rock star attire told me everything I needed to know. What a shame to waste such a gorgeous face on a man like that.
After Captain Asshole scurried away, I perused the grounds as if I, Dr. Kennedy Monroe, had an inkling of what to look for after stumbling on a strange man in my Nan’s backyard. I hemmed and I hawed, pulling at the scruffy ferns out front as if the answers might be hiding under a half-dead plant. After finding nothing out of the ordinary despite my perfect impersonation of a detective, I made my way back to the porch, shrieking for the third time that day as the rotted step squealed under my weight.
Maybe the stair had a point. Maybe I’d been eating too much fast food.
I laughed. There was no maybe about it. My hectic schedule left little time for exotic things. You know, like trips to the grocery. And cooking.
“Maxine’s not home.”
“Shit!” My heart stopped and I spun to find Delores McIntire standing directly behind me, proudly sporting her favorite outfit. She swore the light blue brought out the highlights in her hair while I couldn’t hear over the velour’s screams for mercy. How in the world had she made it up the stairs without sounding the alarm? Maybe the step was right to question my eating habits. My hand went to my belly as I sucked in air.
“Sorry, honey. Seems I’m stealthy today.” Delores pursed her lips and wiggled from head to toe. She reminded me of a Labrador, if Labs came in powder blue and had a history of being overly friendly with much younger men. No one was safe from her wandering fingers. Not delivery men. Baggers at the checkout lanes. Or random strangers who caught her eye. Anyone else would have a sexual harassment rap sheet longer than her arm, but something about her personality kept her safe. Even if the men around her weren’t.
“Maxine’s out to lunch with you-know-who.” Delores lifted her eyebrows and gave them a wiggle, too.
I nodded like I was in on the secret. I didn’t know who, but I didn’t have time to admit it. Asking for info would lead to a three-hour dissertation on the comings and goings of everyone in a four-block radius. “I thought I’d surprise her on my lunchbreak, but I’ll check in again tomorrow.”
I considered asking Delores if she’d seen Captain Asshole on his backyard expedition, because if anyone had the dirt on someone who looked like him, she’d be the one. A check of my phone confirmed I definitely didn’t have time for that conversation. I said my goodbyes and headed for my car, squealing one last time as I stepped off that blasted stair.
Five hours and fifty patients later, I dropped into my car and pressed my head to the steering wheel. The name of the game at Key West Pediatrics seemed to be Get ‘Em In, Get ‘Em Out, preferably with as many prescriptions as I could write. Not exactly what I had in mind when I signed my life away to NYU’s med program, but hey. At least I was helping people.
With exhaustion curling the hair at my temples, I queued up my favorite playlist of Collin West’s greatest hits. His music never failed to lift my mood. Anticipating the catchy beat,
I was already smiling as I closed the door, just in time for an incoming call to interrupt the first song.
“Sorry, Collin. We’ll have to pick this up later.” I grinned as I saw the caller ID, then stabbed a finger at the accept button. “Hey there, Mama. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Do I need a reason to call my only daughter?” Mom sounded like the voice of God coming over the car speakers. Where Collin West deserved to test the limits of the sound system in a five-year-old Honda, she did not. I turned down the volume and put the car in gear.
“Usually.”
“Kennedy.” The heavy accent on that first syllable dripped with mock disappointment. “Why would you say such a thing after I sacrificed everything to raise you?”
“I think that might be a record. Five-seconds in and the guilt-knife is already firmly lodged in my stomach. Have you considered going pro?”
Her laughter filled the vehicle and sent a rush of familiarity to release the tension in my shoulders. It reminded me of long nights tucked under her arm, the two of us stealing popcorn from the bowl on her lap as we watched movies I was too young to understand. Of her perched on the edge of my bed, giving me terrible advice on relationships like a wizened sage. My mom had been my best friend for a long time. Maybe that made me weird, but I was pretty sure the rest of the world could do with a little more weird in their life.
