“I loved him too much. I wanted to give him the kind of life he deserved,” she answered with simplicity, like it was this grand sacrifice.
So why the fuck did she keep me?
This was all so ridiculous. One death. One phone call. One offer to move here and start over. I didn’t know Lance, but he was like every other man that swooped in and tried to save my mother and me. He made grand gestures, offered to let me live with him until I got on my feet. Even helped pay for the funeral bills when I realized how fucking expensive caskets were.
I’d never even seen his face aside from the photo he sent me of him in Cozumel. I spent many nights staring at that photo of him. I guess I was trying to find hints that we were cut from the same cloth. He had blond hair and bright blue eyes. His skin was tanned, and the boyish, carefree grin on his face hinted at the burdenless life he’d had.
Oh, but Lance knew all about me. He spoke with my social worker, called my school, and paid for repairs on my car so I could drive out to Memphis. Lance did his homework the moment he found out he had a sister and decided right then and there he wanted to save me.
With my eighteenth birthday just last week, the state kept an eye on me, then eagerly signed me off as a legal adult. I was one less temporary problem to solve, one less kid on the streets. He said he would have come to pick me up himself but a busy project at work was keeping him here.
I walked down the long hallway, dread filling me with every step. Reading the numbers as I passed each door, I noted a man leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, glaring at my back as I passed.
He was hot, despite the furious expression on his face. He had a mess of black waves touching the tips of his ears. His eyes were dark and demanding, framed by long lashes and thick eyebrows that were perfectly shaped but also masculine. His nose was rounded at the tip, and a demanding frown kissed his lips, which were plump and addictive.
I couldn’t help but feel like he was watching me. He looked poised and ready for action, and the swirling intuition in my gut made me question if he was waiting for me. I knew he wasn’t Lance. My brother had blond hair and blue eyes according to the photo he’d sent me. This man was dark and dangerous. A shiver traveled up my spine, telling me to run.
Once I made it to the right door, I lifted my hand to knock and hovered it over the wood. I debated on scrapping this entire trip and running back with my tail between my legs to Texas. What’s the worst Lance would do? Come and get me?
“Who are you?” the strange man with a deep voice asked behind me. I turned to stare at him as he smoothed his jacket with his right hand. He was wearing a navy suit that was fashionable and cut to mold his tapered silhouette.
“I’m Blakely. My brother lives here. The doorman let me in,” I hesitated, not sure who this hot, pissed-off dude was and why he was talking to me. He pushed himself off the wall and stalked toward me. It made my pulse rush. Sweeping his eyes up and down my body, his gaze lingered on the spot where my white summer dress hit mid-thigh.
I felt silly, then, for dressing up to meet my brother for the first time. For some reason, I had wanted to make a good first impression. This was, after all, a fresh start for me. No one knew me as the daughter of a poor, single mom. I figured I could be anything I wanted to be, and I wanted to be happy.
“So you’re the girl that’s moving in to mooch off Lance?” he sneered. It felt like someone had stepped on my heart with stilettos.
My mother was a mooch. She always latched onto people and held on for dear life. She would bleed them dry if given half the chance. It was why I was so prideful, why I took care of myself and struggled so much with coming here. Lance didn’t seem bothered, so who the fuck was this guy, and why was he saying this?
“I’m here to meet him, yes,” I choked out, feeling unsure how to proceed. It was bad enough that I had to meet my brother for the first time, I didn’t need this. “Who are you?”
How did he know Lance? Was this his boyfriend? His boss? The landlord? Feeling like I needed to salvage this unexpected greeting, I forced a smile on my face. He reached out his hand to shake mine almost reluctantly. I took it as he introduced himself in a deep tone that I could practically feel in my bones. “I’m Decker Harris, Lance’s best friend and temporary roommate.”
Roommate? He hadn’t said anything about a roommate. It was bad enough I had to navigate learning how to live with one virtual stranger. Now I had to worry about two? The hallway ambush didn’t make sense. If we were supposed to live together, why the hostility?
“Oh, I see. So you’re the current mooch, worried I’m coming in on your turf, yeah? Don’t you worry, I have no plans to stay long,” I said with a little bite to my tone while fumbling to shake his hand. I could only manage one confident gesture at a time, and my shaking fingers betrayed the fierceness of my words with their clumsiness.
He lingered in the touch for a moment, and it wasn’t until a good few exhales had escaped my trembling lips that I realized he was still holding me, pressing his index finger into my wrist, as if he was testing my erratic pulse. He looked pissed as hell.
“Were you waiting for me?” I asked while snapping my hand back. I rubbed where our skin touched, not sure if I should run or punch him in the dick.
“Maybe. Come inside so we can talk,” the dangerous looking man demanded while glancing down. “Is the rest of your stuff in your car?”
I tucked a blonde strand of hair behind my ear before responding. “This is it,” I barked. At my words, my feet started bouncing in embarrassment.
It wasn’t my fault I didn’t have anything. Money was tight. I was all about surviving. There was nothing left in that trailer home I wanted anyway. It all reminded me of her. The only reason I saved her photo was for Lance.
“Fine. Come in.” He looked me up and down quizzically, then walked past me to unlock the door. I got a whiff of his scent and breathed it in.
He smelled like soap, leather, and expensive single malt scotch. I knew that drink. One of Mama’s boyfriends, Colby, always came over smelling like it. He had a wife and kids and a big house in the suburbs. Colby liked to come over when his life was feeling stagnant. He used to tell my mama that the cure for boredom was getting his dick wet. I learned long ago that you could tell a lot about a man by the way he smelled. And Decker smelled like trouble.
“I figured you’d be here yesterday. I was worried I’d miss you before Lance got here. I want to talk,” he said while setting his keys on a table by the door and walking inside.
“Is this the part where you try and scare me away? Warn me that if I fuck with your boyfriend, you’ll kick my ass?” I asked, forcing my tone to sound polite, despite the anger swirling in my gut. I didn’t want to bullshit my way through a conversation about why I was here.
That was another reason I didn’t want to come. I knew Lance would have questions. He’d want to know about the woman that gave him away. I just wasn’t sure he could handle the truth. People liked to think highly of those that died. It’s why the preacher called my mother a saint at our quaint burial service. And it seemed like Decker had already made up his mind about me. He lumped me in with my deadbeat mother, and it pissed me off.
“You’re perceptive,” Decker replied, interrupting my thoughts.