“I’ve been hunting down criminals, Mom. Just the norm.”
“Your hair,” she says gently.
I snort. “Mom, are you really surprised?”
She considers this. “No. Any chance you can help me fix Gretchen’s hair?”
“No!” Gretchen cries, then gives me a sympathetic expression. “Sorry, Grace, but you aren’t touching my hair.”
“Aw,” I say, lifting my hand and wiggling my dirty fingers at her. “Come on, sis.”
Her expression turns disgusted and she cries, “This is so bad.”
I snort-laugh, and Stacy can’t help herself, she joins in.
“At least give me some suggestions, you two!” Mom snaps. “Instead of laughing.”
“Okay,” I say, walking to the sink and washing my hands. “Let’s take a look.”
“Do not put your hands in my hair, Grace!” Gretchen warns.
“Yes, queen.”
She mumbles something and I stand by Mom, staring at my sister’s perfect hair. They’ve tried to put it in an updo, but it looks like a bird’s nest on top.
“Get your hair curler, and curl those ends. It’ll take away that, ah, bird’s nest look.”
“What?” Gretchen squeals. “Mom you said it was fine, just a little off.”
Mom shoots me a look and I give her a sympathetic smile. “It’s really not so bad,” I tell Gretchen. “Stacy, go and get the curling iron.”
Stacy gets up and returns a moment later with her curler. I get to work on Gretchen’s hair, much to her disgust. An hour later I’m done. I step back and smile, I’m impressed. I’ve always been good with tools and equipment. I guess that extends to beauty equipment, too. Her hair now has soft curls at the top instead of a strawy mess.
“Wow,” Mom says. “That actually looks really good.”
“Show me!” Gretchen cries.
Stacy takes a photo with her phone and shows Gretchen. “Well, Grace, you might just have some of our blood in you after all.”
Another smile. Yes, things are definitely better in my world.
Epilogue
“Can I open my eyes?”
“No.”
“Raide!”
“Hush up, woman.”
Raide’s hands are on my shoulders and he’s leading me up the trail where we had our first date, the one near his cabin. We’re up here for the weekend, it has become our thing since we started officially dating. If it wasn’t for my job, I could easily lock myself up here with Raide and never, ever leave.
“Did you buy burgers again?”
He chuckles and slaps my bottom. “Be quiet.”
“Seriously, you’re freaking me out. Are you going to throw me off the cliff?”
“Tempted.”
I laugh and he chuckles, low and sexy. “Right, stand here and don’t fuckin’ move.”
“Swearing is not very romantic.”
He snorts and I hear him shuffling around. After a moment, he takes my shoulders and moves me again. He takes me to another stop. Then he reaches up and takes my blindfold off. I stare at the scene in front of me, and my heart melts. I can tell the effort he’s put in this time, because it looks amazing.
There’s a table for two set up under the stars. Candles and roses are perfectly placed on the top, and the chairs even have their own decorative covers. There are plates covered in silver lids and wine chilling in a bucket beside it. Soft music plays in the background.
My heart melts all over again and I turn to Raide, throwing my arms around his neck. “You did all this?” I breathe.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, looking down at me. “You told me you wanted a romantic date, I’m doin’ it.”
I beam. “I think I love you, Raide Knox.”
“Baby, I know you do.”
I chuckle as he leads me to the table. He sits me down and lifts the lids off our meal. No burgers this time; instead, he’s got steak topped with mushrooms, served with green beans and potato. Yum. He sits and I smile across the table at him, completely blown away.
“Stop smiling at me like that,” he says.
I try. I can’t wipe it from my face. “It’s impossible—you’re too sweet.”
He huffs. “Eat your damned dinner, lady.”
With a grin, I dig in. When we’re finished and we’ve shared a good deal of laughs and wine, Raide stands and stretches his hand out to me. I stand, too, and let myself fall into his arms. I love being here. He’s so strong, so powerful, he makes me feel so safe. He twirls me out and back in, and I laugh loudly. “Raide, you know how to dance!”
Again, he chuckles. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“I think there’s a secret romantic side to you.”
He scoffs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I smile and reach up, cupping his cheek. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”
His eyes crinkle and he spins me out again. I let my body go, and twirl back into him. Then, I let him go and find the music, switching it off. He tilts his head to the side and studies me. “What’d you do that for?”
I lean in close, pressing my cheek to his chest and closing my eyes. Raide is everything I need. He might have come from a twisted situation, but he’s found a way to complete me. I don’t want him to pretend. I want him just as he is. A man who steals flowers from his friends’ garden, serves me burgers and shakes, and dances with no music because he can see beauty without it.
“There’s this guy,” I say softly, “and he once told me you don’t need music to enjoy something beautiful.”
“There’s beauty in everything, lady. You just gotta be willing to see it.”
He’s right.
There’s beauty even in the things you can’t see or hear. You just have to open yourself up and let it in.
I’m letting it in.
* * *
I stare down at the gorgeous headstone. Raide’s hand is clutched in mine and he’s squeezing hard. I read the inscription and my heart aches.
HERE LIES KELLY KNOX, BELOVED SISTER AND FRIEND. TAKEN TOO EARLY. FOREVER IN OUR HEARTS.
Raide places a flower down, and a soft drizzle begins to fall, landing over us and making me shiver. I want to be here, though. I need to be here. Kelly will never be a part of my life, but she was a massive part of his, and he lost her. He deserves this and so does she.
“Do you come and visit her much?” I whisper, still staring down at his sister’s grave.
“Not nearly enough.”
I squeeze his hand. “We’re here now. Tell her what you’re holding on your chest, Raide.”
He looks over at me, and I nod.
“Let it go, honey. You have to forgive yourself so you can move on from this. You deserve to be happy. She’d want that for you.”
His jaw goes tight, and he stares down at the headstone. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I’m sorry for not being there when you needed me. I’m sorry I wasn’t quick enough. I’m sorry I let you down.”
My throat goes tight and tears burn under my eyelids but I don’t say anything. I let him talk because he needs to talk. He needs to let this go so he can move on. He needs to forgive himself for what happened to Kelly.
“I’m sorry you had to go so early,” he whispers. “But I know you forgive me, sis. You want to know how?”
I swallow.
“I know you forgive me because you brought me Grace.”
I bite my bottom lip to stop myself from crying.
“You lost your life, but you made sure I had mine. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have found her. She makes me happy, kid. And that’s thanks to you. I only wish you could be here to show her that fuckin’ beautiful smile of yours.”
I can’t stop it now; I hiccup and choke back a sob.
Raide squeezes my hand. “I love you, Kel, and I miss you every goddamned day.” He turns to me, and his eyes are glassy. “Thank you … She doesn’t have many people.”
I nod, swallowing. “She has you, honey. That’s more t
han enough.”
He looks down at the headstone again, and then wraps an arm around me. “Come on, it’s freezing.”
He turns me back toward the car, but I stop him halfway there. “Just … hang on. I left something behind.”
He nods and watches as I turn and rush back to Kelly’s graveside. I glance back to see he’s already gotten into the car, so I kneel down and pull a single rose from my jacket. I place it on her grave, and then I run my fingers over her headstone. “I never knew you, but I know what you meant to him. I know you loved him and I know he loved you. I’m so sorry this happened to you. I wish that we could have had the chance to be friends. I can’t give you much, but I promise you”—my voice grows strong—“I promise you, Kelly, that I’ll take care of him. I swear it.”
And I will.
Until the day I stop breathing.
Read on for a sneak preview of the next Alpha’s Heart novel by Bella Jewel
HARD TO BREAK
Available October 2015 from St. Martin’s Press!
PROLOGUE
Exhaustion threatens to take over my tired, aching body as I walk carefully down the stairs. My eyes are burning from the lack of sleep in the past few days and my feet are hating me for every painful step I take. My house is dark, but I know he’s down there because I can hear him retching. Frustration seizes my chest, a savage twist to my heart, as my feet slowly take me closer to a scene I’m so tired of acting out.
“Quinn?” he cries between retching. “Quinn!”
Swallowing down the anger threatening to rise and explode from my chest, I walk with numb legs towards the bathroom. I step over an empty bottle of whiskey on my way there, the remainder of its contents soaked into the carpet for me to clean up once again. I put my hand to the slightly ajar bathroom door and push it open, stepping inside. My father is on the ground, curled in a ball, covered in vomit.
Pain rises up and flashes through my body as I walk towards him and stare down at his pitiful form. He wasn’t always like this. Before my mother died he was happy, fun loving and clean. Now he’s a drunk and he has been since the day she was taken from us. I’m the only person in the world who cares enough to stand by his side, no matter how hard that is at times.
“Dad, you need to get up and into the shower. I have to clean this mess up.”
He groans and rolls to his back, his shirt soaked with stale sweat. My shoulders slump and I know there’s just no way I’ll get him into the shower. He’s too drunk, too far gone. Instead I go to the sink and fill it up, and then I take a washcloth and start the daunting task of dabbing him clean. When his shirt is vomit free and his face is wiped clean, I get to work helping him out of the bathroom so I can clean up in there, too.
We make it to the couch before he vomits again. Swallowing down my tears for a third time, I start cleaning up that mess. When I’m done, I force him to drink some water then I go about hiding the remaining alcohol in the house because I know he’ll look for it. He’s too drunk to bother to try too hard. If he can’t find it he will, as always, just pass out.
Once the bathroom is cleaned and sanitized, I cover my passed-out father with a blanket and then disappear down the hall to my bedroom, closing the door gently. I gather my clothes, take a shower and then slide into bed. It’s late, probably past 1 a.m., and I have an entire garage to run tomorrow. The dull ache in my chest, the one that never leaves, is heavier tonight. It’s heavy with the burdens of our lives. How the hell am I supposed to fix it all?
I’m twenty-five years old. I should be out with friends, falling in love and have no care in the world except what I’m going to wear for the day and what sort of coffee I’m going to order. Instead, I have the responsibilities of a business, because it’s the only thing that keeps me sane. I have to keep this two-bedroom shack tidy because it’s the only home I have.
I have no friends, except the guys that work at the garage with me. I have very few family members, and only one of them actually gives a shit about my dad and me. That’s my uncle, who visits as much as he can, but mostly, he is too busy. I have never been in love. In fact, the only boyfriend I’ve had time for was when I was sixteen. He left me when he saw the state of my house and my father, oh, and when he got into my pants. Since then, there have been only a few random dates that didn’t go anywhere.
I want happiness, truly I do, but there are far too many obstacles in my way to ever begin to imagine where to start. The business is struggling. The expansion we did two years ago didn’t pay off the way we originally thought it would and our debts have doubled. The mortgage is overdue and utility bills are piling high. My dad gets worse by the day, in fact, it’s been over two weeks since he’s dragged himself off the couch and came in to check on his own garage.
So it’s just me. I’m all I have and right now, I’m okay with that.
Aren’t I?
As I close my eyes and drift off into a fitful sleep, I wonder just how much longer I can take all of this before I eventually end up exactly like my father. When the pain becomes too much, where will I go from there?
CHAPTER ONE
“Good morning, Dad,” I say, heading into the kitchen the next morning.
My father is sitting on the couch still, his head bowed, a cup of joe in his hands. He looks up when I come in and I wince. Once, a long time ago, my dad was an exceptionally handsome man with his golden hair and bright blue eyes. He had a big frame and was all muscle. Now he’s frail and weak, his hair is dull and his eyes … they’re empty.
“Morning, sugar,” he rasps. “I’m, ah, sorry ’bout last night.”
He says this every time that happens.
“No biggie,” I say in my best chipper voice, pouring a coffee. “Are you coming into the garage today?”
He frowns. “I would, but my stomach … it’s not so good. Maybe tomorrow.”
He says that every time, too.
“Okay, Dad.”
I gather my keys and carry my coffee to the front door. As I pass him, my dad reaches out and curls his hand around my wrist. “I’m sorry, Quinnie … I’ll try to be better.”
I look down into his empty blue eyes and I wish I could believe that, I really do. There’s a pain etched deep in my chest, and it’s one I live with on a daily basis. There is pain for the loss of my mom. There is pain because my dad is so broken. And there is a deep pain knowing that my family is no longer beautiful like it once was. I don’t resent my dad for being this way, but I can’t accept it either. I’ve tried to understand, but I guess since I’ve never had a love like theirs, it is beyond me.
I pat his shoulder and pull my wrist from his. “Okay, Dad. Later.”
I rush out the front door and get into my old, restored, baby blue Mustang with white leather interior. It’s the only thing I cherish in my life. It is important to me because when my dad was sober, and my mom was alive, we fixed this car up together. It’s the only piece of the old him I have left, so I hang onto it with both hands, cherishing the memories it holds for me. My dad taught me everything I know about cars and how to restore them. I’ve never loved anything as much as I love being under the hood of a car. Strange, I know, but it takes me back to a place where happiness was like a bubble surrounding me.
It was hard growing up being a tomboy. I had the looks to be a girly girl, but I never used them. I loved being around the guys, and I loved being with my dad. During my high school years, I got a good deal of taunts thrown my way, because I was different from the rest. I still recall the memory when I told Dad I wanted to be a mechanic—the very thought makes me smile.
“You want to be what?” he asks, his eyes wide.
“I want to be a mechanic,” I say proudly. “Like you, Daddy.”
He blinks. “Baby, you’re a girl.”
I stare at him, shocked. “And?”
He shakes his head. “Shouldn’t you want to, I don’t know, wear dresses and paint your nails?”
“Not all girls do those things, Dad.”
<
br /> He laughs. “No … but … honey, I don’t think it’s the right profession for you. It’s a world of males and … well … male things.”
I straighten. “You don’t think I can handle that, because I’m a girl? That isn’t enough of an excuse, Daddy. I’ve been under those cars since I was big enough to do so, and you know it. Don’t be like the rest of them, don’t make me feel stupid for pursuing something that isn’t necessarily feminine.”
My dad’s face softens. “Baby,” he says gently. “I’m damned proud when I watch you under a car, I just want you to do what’s right for you. If this is it, then Quinn, I’m over the moon. You know you’ve been my little sidekick since you were little. I’d love nothing more than to be able to expand your knowledge.”
I beam and throw myself into his arms. “Are you saying I can work for you?”
He chuckles, squeezing me tightly. “After you talk to your mother about it.”
I come back to the here and now, with a smile on my face. My dad never had a chance of stopping me. I was born to be under cars and once he convinced my mother of this, I never left the garage. With a smile, I back out and drive to work.
The garage my dad owns, and has owned since I was born, is only about twenty minutes away from home. There are five of us that work there. Jace, Lenny, Oscar, Matty and myself. These guys are the only reason I keep fighting as hard as I do, because there are so many times when giving up would be so much easier. They’ve been in my life for a solid five years now, and if it wasn’t for them, I would have never been able to hold the garage together. During this time, I’ve managed to bond with them all. They’ve become the only family I know.
Jace is my closest friend out of the four guys. He’s two years older than me and an amazing mechanic. He’s got a skill under the hood that not many people have. He’s also a playboy at heart. He has more women than underwear, but I have a friendship with him that is just that, friendship. There is, and never has been, anything sexual between us, even though he’s handsome, he’s funny and he makes me smile.
Lenny and Oscar are the oldest of the group. Lenny is fifty and Oscar is fifty-eight. Both are friends of my father’s and so therefore, are like second and third fathers to me. They’re loyal to him and they do amazing work. Lenny has serious talent when it comes to fixing the bodies on cars. He has a way of making them look better when they leave than when they came in. Oscar is an old-school mechanic, and people love him for that very reason. The garage just wouldn’t be the same without them.