Hit&Run

by Freya Barker

  “Jesus...”

  “Steele’s suitcases were found still unopened in the bedroom. He didn’t even have a fucking chance to unpack.”

  A niggle of guilt works its way to the surface. Since yesterday, I’ve discovered, aside from being a catalyst, Kyle Steele had no involvement with the attacks on Rosie, as I previously suspected, and now the man is dead.

  “Fens confessed his guilt voluntarily to the arresting officers,” Dimas takes over. “I’m sure we’ll find out more in the next couple of days, but I’m thinking he was still high on adrenaline when he arrived in LA. Not sure how he got even got there, he must’ve rented or stolen a car, but it’s safe to say he wasted no time. Probably his reception at Steele’s place was not what he expected, or perhaps he let slip what he had done, but it’s obvious his object of obsession would have nothing of it. I think we already know Olaf does not take rejection well.”

  It’s quiet in the car the rest of the drive to my place, each of us lost in thought. I can’t stop thinking how small the eye of the needle Rosie and Grant crawled through had really been. He could’ve easily killed them outright, but I guess he wanted it to look like an accident so he could walk away. His delusion there was still a future for him with Kyle Steele was what motivated him.

  Both my truck and Rosie’s new wheels are in the driveway when Yanis pulls up to the house. I throw a questioning glance over my shoulder at Dimas, who shrugs dismissively.

  “Radar helped. Rosie’s keys are on the kitchen counter, your keys are here.”

  He hands them to me and I nod my thanks at the explanation.

  “Now get the hell out and get cleaned up. Dimi and I are heading back to the house to meet with Bree and the fire marshal. She’s going to try and get us in to pull whatever is salvageable from the apartment. The house itself has extensive damage to the kitchen, and smoke and water damage in other parts of the house, but that should be fixable.”

  “Thank you,” I voice to both of them. “You don’t have to do that, but I appreciate it. Rosie hasn’t said anything, but I’m sure the reality will hit at some point. Anything you can save for her will be welcome.”

  “Of course,” Dimi states as a matter-of-fact. “She’s yours, so she’s family.”

  Fuck, those words mean everything. I force down the lump in my throat and reach my closed fist over my shoulder to bump his, and I do the same with Yanis, swallowing hard.

  “Before things get too touchy feely in here, you should know I’m gonna dock your pay for a thorough detailing job,” Yanis comments, a disgusted look on his face as he sniffs the air. “You stank up my ride. Smells like a fucking chemical fire in here.”

  Relieved at the levity, I grin and grab for the handle. “Yeah, whatever.”

  I hear Dimas chuckle as I get out.

  WHAT WOULD NORMALLY be a three-minute shower lasts a fuck of a lot longer. The moment the hot water hits my back and shoulders, I can feel every single muscle that has been tightly coiled since yesterday. Pleasure and pain, as tension is slowly released, and with it every contained emotion I’ve tried to control. Like sand in an hourglass, pouring faster and faster until I’m left drained and tired to the bone.

  The only thing stopping me from collapsing on my bed is the need to get back to Rosie. So I grab a pair of clean jeans and a shirt, pull on a pair of sneakers, and am tossing the dirty clothes in the washer when my phone rings. It’s Hillary.

  “Rosie can go home.”

  “What—right now?”

  “Yes. I just helped her get dressed.” I can hear hesitation in her voice when she continues, “Jake...I...she can stay with me if she needs a place.”

  “That’s nice, but she has a place,” I assure her. “With me.”

  “Phew! What a relief,” Hillary exclaims, making me chuckle. “Not that I wouldn’t love to have her, it’d be fun to bunk with her. It’s just when I suggested it, she looked almost disappointed. I don’t think I’m her first choice.”

  “I’ll be there shortly. Let her know I’m on my way.”

  HER EYES ARE ON THE door when I walk in, twenty minutes later. I left the vehicle under the watchful eye of the guard, after explaining I was picking up a patient. By the way Rosie is perched on the edge of her chair, she’s ready for a quick getaway.

  “Your chariot awaits—that is, if you’re ready to go.”

  “I so am,” she says with a big smile, pushing herself up when I walk to her, wrapping her arms tightly around my midsection.

  I put a finger under her chin, tilt her face up, and kiss her mouth short and sweet.

  “Then let’s go home.”

  Her eyes glisten as she smiles up at me and nods her assent.

  We start walking to the door when Hillary comes in, pushing a wheelchair.

  “Hop in,” she says to Rosie, who grumbles but still sits down as instructed. “Hospital policy. Suck it up, buttercup.”

  Hillary insists on pushing Rosie all the way outside.

  “You brought my new car.” She smiles when she sees the Subaru I brought, figuring she’d be happy to see it survived the fire unscathed. “Or should I say your new car?” she adds with a sharp tone to her voice.

  Ouch. Serves me right to try to pull a fast one on her. I’m guessing she saw my transaction with Brick go down in front of his garage. I’d been in a hurry to get to the meeting and passed on Brick’s suggestion to step into his office to finalize the deal.

  “Your new car,” I repeat with emphasis, putting my hand on her neck as I lean down in her field of vision. “And my peace of mind to have you drive around in something reliable. That’s worth much more to me than a couple of bills.”

  A little smile is back on her lips. “Apology accepted. Just don’t lie to me again.”

  “So noted. And in the spirit of honesty, I’ll admit I wanted to test drive it, and didn’t just bring it because it’ll be easier for you to get in and out of than my truck,” I tell her, earning a snort.

  “Not like I broke my leg, honey. I’m pretty much good to drive.” I simply raise an eyebrow and help her out of the chair and into the passenger seat. “Spoilsport,” she mutters under her breath when I strap her in.

  “I don’t ever want to see you here again,” Hillary says, leaning into the car to give Rosie a hug.

  “Ha. Afraid that’s not going to happen. I’ll be back tonight to see Grant. You’ll tell him, right?”

  Hillary promises, and after a lengthier than necessary goodbye—including some discussion about when and where they might meet up soon, and a whole lot of waving—I resolutely pull onto the street and aim us for home.

  “You don’t mind, do you?” Rosie asks after a while, and I try not to look clueless as to what she’s talking about. “Grant doesn’t really have many people. I’m the closest he has to family.”

  “Of course not.” I reach over and grab her hand, lacing our fingers together. “He’s part of your life, that makes him my family too.” I pretty much echo Dimi’s words to me from earlier. I mean every word, even though the brilliant smile she shoots me is a nice bonus.

  “And maybe then we can swing by Mom’s too, if we’re in the neighborhood anyway,” she adds cheekily.

  “By all means,” I agree, grinning, because I know if either Mazur brother were listening to this, they would rib me to no end.

  Whipped already, but I’d be lying if I said I minded.

  ROSIE

  “Are you sure?”

  My response to Jake’s question is to pull off his shirt I’m wearing, over my head, and toss it over the side of the bed.

  “Mmmmm.” He knifes up, slides his hands from my ass to press lightly against my upper back, and presses his face between my breasts.

  I look over his head at the approaching night outside the window. In the light of day, I can see the mountain ridges in the distance. Beautiful, just like the man who is bringing my body to life with his touch.

  We spent most of the afternoon in bed: dozing, snuggling, but
mostly talking. He told me Olaf was in police custody, and he likely wouldn’t see the light of day for a very long time, and why.

  I cried when he told me Kyle was dead, in part because it made me sad, but also because I realized how lucky I had been. Especially when he gave me some insight into Olaf’s history. A sad story all around.

  At around five, Jake got up to make us some grilled cheese sandwiches. Neither of us had eaten since breakfast, which in my case was a cup of yogurt and a banana. Our stomachs filled, we headed out for a few necessary groceries, and paid a quick visit to Grant and my mom.

  By the time we got home, I was exhausted and crawled right into bed and promptly fell asleep.

  Jake was lying beside me when I woke up just now, looking sexy and relaxed, one arm tucked behind his head, and the other protectively around me, his hand loosely resting on my butt. So tempting. I didn’t last long before lifting my leg over his hips and settling my aching pussy over the ridge of his dick. That’s when he woke up.

  “I’m positive,” I whisper as his lips tug at my nipple, and his hands slide back down and slip under my ass, fingers playing in the wet collecting at my core. “I need you inside me,” I finally tell him with some urgency. “I want to feel you.”

  His hands lift my ass off him, and for a moment I expect him to free his cock and slide me down on it. Instead, he twists around, flips me on my back, and keeps me trapped on the mattress with his body.

  “I need you to understand something,” he announces seriously, his nose almost touching mine. “Growing up like I did, barely remembering my parents, other than an occasional mental snapshot, there were parts missing in my upbringing. Things I should’ve learned from parents or family, that I was never taught, or shown. The only loving family I was exposed to was the Mazurs, but as much as they made me feel at home, I still felt like an outsider looking in.”

  My hand involuntarily comes up to cup his face. “I’m sorry.”

  With a smile, he removes my hand and captures it in one of his above my head.

  “Don’t be. This is not about that. What I so inadequately am trying to tell you is it doesn’t make a difference that I never really experienced it, understood it, or ever used the words. Loving you doesn’t require any teaching or experience, or even understanding. It just is. I love you instinctively, because there’s simply no other way.”

  “Jake...”

  My chest is so full; I barely make a sound when I say his name.

  “Shhh,” he soothes with a finger against my lips when I try a second time to respond. “Just let me love you.”

  He leans to one side and grabs my leg behind the knee, pushing it up and out, before settling into the cradle he creates. My body open in wide invitation, he slowly fills me, until there’s no room for anything else but him.

  Later, when we lay together, our bodies tangled, sated and spent, I press my lips against the hollow between his collarbones.

  “I’ve lost just about everything this past year,” I mutter in the dark, feeling his steady heartbeat against my skin. “But I’ve never felt richer than right now. I love you.”

  The fingers of his hand in my hair twist tightly as he tugs me closer, his lips touching the shell of my ear as he whispers.

  “I know...”

  CHAPTER 26

  JAKE

  “I’ve got the cooler. Do you wanna grab the bread?”

  I wait for Rosie to get the bag from the back seat before I lock the doors and follow her up the path.

  “Place looks great, right?” she says over her shoulder.

  It does, it looks amazing.

  Grant started the work on his house the week after he got home from the hospital, well before he saw even a penny of his insurance settlement. The large garage and apartment have been replaced with a smaller one-story structure, making room for the renovations he’s made to the house. The kitchen was done first, built on the footprint of the former one, but designed as per his own ideas.

  The final, and most obvious change is the large wrapped porch he had built on the front, along the side and part of the back of the house. Work on that was just finished this past week. Hence the reveal party today, a warm-up to the holiday season, as Grant called it.

  It’s been just shy of three months since I brought Rosie home from the hospital, and during that time I’ve laughed more, played more, fucked more, or argued more than I have in the past thirty years. She’s given me a completely new perspective on life. I now have friends, brothers, a family, and as of two weeks ago, a rescue dog. I happened to mention I’d always wanted a dog growing up, and before I knew it, a mangy looking mutt, with legs the size of a small horse’s, had taken up residence in my corner of the couch.

  I watch as she steps onto Grant’s new porch and turns to wait for me, her nose red from the cold spell that’s held us firmly for the past three days. She stops me in my tracks. God, I love that woman.

  “You coming?” Her eyes dance under the hood she’s pulled way down.

  “Right behind you,” I say, smiling back at her as I close the distance, pull her toward me, and kiss her hard on her cold lips.

  “Oh for Pete’s sake, you’re like fucking Siamese twins. Every time I see you two, your lips are fused together. Do you have to be so disgustingly happy?”

  Rosie giggles in my arms, before she twists free and throws herself in her friend’s arms. “Come here, you big grump. You’re just jealous because Richard is on call this weekend.” He grumbles, but lets her hook his arm and drag him inside.

  Ironically, a few weeks after Grant was released, he bumped into the ER doc, who’d patched up his face, in the meat department of the City Market around the corner. As the story goes, sparks were flying over the free-range pork display. Grant’s doc is a good guy. A little older than Grant, but according to my woman, he’s a silver fox. Whatever that means.

  I grab the bread bag she dropped on the steps when I kissed her and follow along behind them.

  I GLANCE AROUND THE room and catch Hillary throwing her head back as she laughs at something Dimi says.

  There are groups of people spread over the living room and new open concept kitchen. The food is amazing and plentiful, and luckily Rosie received quite a few compliments on her breads—an art she finally mastered after months of practice.

  A couple of us are at the dinner table, playing a few hands of euchre. Another skill set I’m afraid Rosie needs some practice on. The whole concept of left and right bower seems to elude her, but she’s a good sport and laughs at herself when she mucks up.

  “I need another drink,” she announces when she loses yet another hand. “This game requires a far more advanced level of inebriation.”

  “Beer, sweetheart?” I ask, shoving my chair back.

  “Please. Thanks, honey.” She blows me a kiss.

  “Nauseating, isn’t it?” Grant says to the small group. I shake my head and grin as I fish one of Rosie’s beers from the cooler. “They’re this way all the fucking time.”

  “New love,” Marvin, Grant’s buddy, pipes up. “I vaguely remember the days, but it must’ve been well before kids. Those little assholes kill the romance.”

  “Right,” his wife says. I think her name is Neeta. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the dirty socks you like to leave around the house, or the after dinner tuba concerts you try to gas me with.” She turns to Rosie. “Please ignore my husband, it’s clear he was raised by primates.”

  “No worries,” she responds, smiling wide. “I’m sure you both speak from experience.”

  “Ahhh...” Neeta chuckles. “We have a diplomat. Let me ask you; what’s your stance on kids?”

  The question comes from left field and leaves Rosie instantly blushing beet red. I sit back down and cross my arms, curious to find out her answer. Kids are not a subject we’ve broached, but I’ve noticed Rosie’s glances every time we pass a pregnant woman or see a family with babies or small children. She looks with longing.


  Kids have never been on my radar. Not with the kind of childhood I’ve had. I’ve never harbored the illusion I would be able to offer anything to a child. But just like with everything else in my life, Rosie entering my world has me considering possibilities I never would’ve before.

  Her eyes shoot to me, slightly panicked, and I give her a little nod of encouragement and a wink.

  ROSIE

  Why me?

  Is the ticking of this biological clock I started hearing a while ago that loud, people around me can hear?

  I like Neeta, I do, but right now I could shove her down a canyon. Grant clearly thinks it’s all quite amusing, snickering behind his hand, and Jake...well, him I can’t read.

  Kids. Gah...Cute little babies with dimpled fists and wet gummy smiles. The pregnant woman, with a protective hand so naturally resting on the child inside. A rambunctious toddler, with a shock of dark hair and gray eyes, a miniature version of his daddy, from whose shoulders he discovers the world.

  I want all of it.

  For years I’d harbored the dream of a family, but eventually simply gave up even hoping. My fortieth birthday had been a come-to-Jesus moment when I felt I passed that invisible barrier between; it could still happen, and your ovaries now grow dust bunnies. That’s what I’d told myself; women after forty do not have babies, until a couple of months ago, Hillary told me she was so excited, because a girlfriend of hers got pregnant and asked her to be the birth coach. The friend is a single forty-five-year-old woman. Aside from thoughts around whether you should, or shouldn’t, make a conscious decision to have a baby on your own at any age, let alone in your mid-forties, the story cracked the seal on what I thought were hopes long buried.

  Once a thought like that is ‘out there,’ it doesn’t leave you alone. It’s like the genie that won’t go back in the bottle.

  And a subject I have not had the guts to broach with Jake. Avoidance sometimes seems the safer choice, because you don’t give someone a chance to disappoint you. Totally self-defeating, because you will get disappointed, it just won’t be right now.