Chapter Two

 

Raven

I dodged a neon pink Corvette, a string of at least twenty Hot Wheels lined up behind it, an orgy of naked Barbie dolls, and the makings of a Lego pirate ship on my mad dash from the bathroom to the kitchen.

“Raven, you wanna play with me?”

“Not now, Lavender Lou, I’m already late for work.”

In the old farmhouse kitchen, Ebony filled a travel mug with coffee as she held the ends of her baby blue, terrycloth bathrobe together. Her black curls were sleep-matted and tied into a less than perfect bun at the back of her head. Some less-long pieces framed her face as she forced the lid on the mug and handed it to me with heavy, barely-awake eyes.

The kitchen was spacious and rustic—falling apart for lack of a better description. Yet, the disrepair gave it the character it deserved being it was a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old Victorian farmhouse on the outskirts of Dewhurst Point. The ceilings were high, the crown molding authentic, and the built-in cabinetry crooked and showing its age in chipped wood and creaky hinges. Even the original hardwood floors groaned when you walked across them.

“Will you be here for dinner tonight?” Ebony asked as she leaned against the counter, yawning and scratching her mop of hair, dislodging a few more strands.

I kissed her cheek, and while I leaned in, stole the already buttered toast off one of the plates behind her, shoving it into my mouth and talking with it wedged between teeth.

“Can’t. Got practice six to nine. I’ll grab something quick after the move.”

She nodded absently and called into the other room. “Lou Lou, get your brother and come and eat before there is none left.”

Shoving the single piece of butter smeared toast all the way into my face, I grabbed the second piece off the plate and dodged a swat.

“You, ass. Make your own food.” Ebony’s lazy smile and soft laugh made her admonishment less than serious.

She re-opened the bag of bread and fit two more slices into the toaster as two sets of pattering feet ran full-tilt into the kitchen. The old floorboards were uneven and full of generous gaps that might cause an unsuspecting visitor to trip, but the duo had grown up in this house since they were little and skipped over the flawed floor with ease before plunking themselves onto their respective chairs at the table.

Ebony waited with her butter knife at the ready for the toast to pop so she could replace my thievery as I ruffled the matching heads of black ringlets who waited for their breakfast. Louise and Cody were the spitting images of their mother. Same dark curls, same icy blue eyes, same laid-back temperament and easy, soul-crushing smiles.

“You two behave. Don’t give your mother a hard time today.”

I planted a kiss on Louise’s cheek and earned a more appropriate fist bump from Cody who’d decided kisses were gross and he didn’t need them in his life anymore. I gave it five years, and that would all change.

With my coffee and remaining breakfast, I shuffled into my steel-toed work boots without lacing them up and shouldered out the side door onto the huge, wrap around porch and into the cool spring day.

“Raven,” Ebony called.

Before the screen door slammed shut behind me, I caught the edge with my foot and poked my head back inside as my sister deposited a new plate of toast on the table for my niece and nephew.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t forget to check your schedule today. I need to know if you can watch the kids next Saturday night.”

I curled my nose. “If I say I’m not available, will you cancel your date?”

“No. If you aren’t available, I’ll find a babysitter.”

“The guy is a slimeball.”

“I’m not looking for your opinion, I’m looking for childcare. Just check your schedule.”

“I will, but I suggest calling your babysitter. Saturday nights are gig nights. I don’t have anything planned yet, but G is supposed to be hitting a few local bars to see if he can get us booked. I can’t make promises.”

She sighed and looked thoughtful as she absently stroked her fingers through Lou’s hair. “Okay. See you later.”

I dropped my travel mug into the cup holder before fastening my boots and climbing into my beater, 1990s Dodge Ram van. The back seats were long gone, and the interior was customized for my personal use. Tools lined the walls on both sides, and the floor space was wide open, designated for the transportation of gear to and from gigs. I’d bought it with the band in mind, and despite the fact that it was a nearly thirty-year-old vehicle, it kept chugging along, serving its purpose.

Before pulling out onto the dirt road leading into town, I checked my calendar and messages. My life and responsibilities were all over the place. I barely knew what I was doing from one minute to the next, especially when I tried to balance two jobs, a practice schedule for my cover band, and the handful of gigs we picked up here and there.

There was one message waiting for my attention. Ricky.

Ricky: Where are you? You’re late!

The clock on the dash confirmed his accusation, and I cursed, turning the key in the ignition before typing out a quick response to let him know I was on my way. Throwing the van in gear, I headed out into the early morning.

DJ’s Movers was located on the south end of Dewhurst Point—a twenty-minute drive from the farmhouse where my sister had allowed me to take root for the time being. It was a family owned business, run by a guy named Johnsy who’d taken over the small moving company after his father’s passing a few years back. He hired laborers to come work jobs only when he and his son couldn’t keep up with the higher demands. Ricky and I were top of Johnsy’s list and generally got called a minimum of two days a week to work.

Once I entered the small office space—no larger than ten feet squared—Ricky jumped up from where he’d been sitting, ass perched on Johnsy’s plywood desk. His dark eyes told of his irritation.

“’bout time.” He chucked me the keys to one of the twelve-footer trucks and hiked his drooping jeans back in place after pocketing his phone. “Johnsy said it’s an easy one. He and Warren took off about twenty minutes ago. Gate’s open, but we need to lock up behind ourselves.”

“Yup, let’s go.”

Ricky and I had been paired up a year ago when I was first hired. Although we got along, for the most part, we had a habit of rubbing each other the wrong way. Ricky was filter-less and arrogant. He said whatever popped into his head, and he didn’t care who was listening or whose feelings might get hurt in the process. It was a work partnership based on toleration mostly.

Despite all the times I’d wanted to smack him upside the head, he was tireless and hardworking. We could clear out a three-story house owned by a neurotic hoarder, successfully fill a twenty-two-footer putting all Tetris champions to shame, and still manage to break for lunch by noon. We read each other’s minds and knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses. It may have only been a part-time job for extra cash, but if Johnsy’s business ever grew enough to need us on a more full-time basis, he knew the value of having us on board.

Ricky hated driving, so while I went into the back parking lot to find our truck, he waited by the gate so he could lock it up once I’d pulled out.

“Where to?” I asked once he’d dropped into the passenger seat beside me.

“Maple Ave. Two-oh-two. Johnsy says it’s a break-up. Guy’s leaving, girl’s staying, so not a full house to move, just whatever they’ve agreed upon.”

“Let’s hope those decisions have been made before we get there.”

Ricky grunted and rolled down his window, sticking his elbow out and letting the wind ruffle his auburn hair. My own chin length, wavy black hair whipped across my face and required me to hold it back as I drove across town so it wouldn’t be in my eyes.

“Should I make a coffee stop on the way?” I asked as we approached a red light, two intersections down from our favorite café.

“Nah, I’m good. Carolyn woke me early, and I think I downed a whole pot already. I’m wired and ready for this.”

“Perfect.”

I felt Ricky’s eyes on me and peeked over before returning my focus to the early morning traffic and signaling to make a turn. “What? Why are you staring?”

“Johnsy needs to get you a new shirt. That sucker is on its last legs.” To prove his point, he stuck a digit into a hole I’d torn in the sleeve on our last job.

I flashed my eyes from the road to inspect my navy T-shirt, the one supplied by the company with their logo splashed across the left breast. It was frayed in places along the hem and pulling apart. The hole Ricky pointed out wasn’t the only one either.

“Meh, whatever. It works. The holes match the jeans.”

They were work clothes, it wasn’t like I’d donned them for a night on the town. Faded, tattered jeans, held up with my favorite brown leather belt, a snug T-shirt, and work boots. I looked the part of a laborer. Who the hell was I impressing while sweating through a moving job?

We pulled up front of a small, single-family-style detached home located on a quiet cul-de-sac. Tan brick, two car garage, and perfectly landscaped, it seemed a nice little place for a young couple to start off together. Too bad whoever lived there hadn’t managed to survive that fairy tale.

Ricky opened the roll-door at the rear of the truck and hopped inside to pull out a trolley and unearth a stack of blankets we would use to protect the furniture. As he busied himself, I tugged on a pair of work gloves and made my way to the front door to let the occupants know we were there and ready to start. 

The wooden door swung open before I could knock, and the guy standing in the entrance short-circuited my brain for a solid few minutes making me look like an idiot when all I could do was stare.

Tattoos covered both his arms from his wrists to where they disappeared under the rolled sleeves of a cotton button-up—one that was scarcely buttoned up. More tattoos peeked through where his chest was exposed—a beautiful, solid, hairless chest. The guy oozed muscles and sex.

Jesus.

Both his hands were tucked under his pits as he hugged himself with an edge of tension that made his biceps pop, firm and defined. His blond hair, with slightly darker roots, was gelled and messed into a casual lift off his face. And his piercing blue eyes rivaled my own.

Gauges decorated both ears, a straight bar pierced his eyebrow, and a hoop sat in the corner of his lip. They all worked together to cause a rush of saliva to pool inside my mouth. It took more than a few distinctive swallows to prevent myself from choking on my tongue and to find my voice.

I thrust my hand out and nodded a greeting. “Raven Kingsley from DJ’s Movers. Some people call me Stone, but I’m good with either.”

He didn’t take the offered hand and stepped back to allow me to enter. “Come on in.”

Feeling like an idiot, I lowered my hand and followed him inside. He’d probably caught me eating him alive and was put off immediately by the attention. But, come on, I’d have to be blind not to react.

The interior of the house was as picturesque as the exterior. Open space, beautifully decorated, clean, and… not a single packed box to be seen. This was not good. We weren’t being paid to pack, we were being paid to lug boxes and furniture into the truck.

A petite woman came through from another room dressed in a sundress and a light sweater, curls the color of chestnuts pinned back off her face. Her arms were crossed, but not in the same fashion as her partner’s—or rather, ex-partner’s if the move was any indication. Maybe he’d decided he was gay and that was why he was leaving.

A man could hope, couldn’t he?

“We were just ironing out a few small details,” the man explained, eyeing the woman with an unreadable expression.

“Nope, we aren’t. It’s settled. I told you. The living room furniture is mine. We bought it together with the intention of it matching the room. Bedroom ensemble, also mine. Same reason. Washer, dryer—”

“All put on my credit card, Julia. We are still paying for them.”

“And who’s hard earned money has been paying it off?”

“Both of ours!”

Just what we needed, a possession war that hadn’t been settled before we arrived. Perfect. Ricky bounded into the house a moment later, slapped me on the back, and nodded at the residents.

“Hey, y’all. Where we startin’?” he asked me.

“I think it’s up for debate.”

The tattooed man squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “No. No, it’s fine. I’ll have you start in the spare bedroom. All of that stuff goes.”

He angled his head to direct us to follow. His closed-off posture didn’t change, and when we entered the spare room, he kept space between us by positioning himself on the opposite side of the bare bed. At least that room had been packed up. Boxes lined one wall, waist high, and the furniture was pushed together, drawers removed from dressers and end tables, carpet rolled up and leaning against the corner of the room, and a few odds and ends that were too big to be packed had all been gathered in one place.

“I didn’t know if the bed needed to be taken apart.”

“It’s fine like that,” I said, examining the collection of items and scratching fingers through my permanent layer of scruff covering my chin. “We can make it work, but we do need to know all the big stuff that’s going so we can piece it together properly in the truck.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I’ll sort that out.” He sighed and slinked around us with an exaggerated effort to maintain distance. The wide berth was unusual, but maybe he was too uppity to get close to a pair of sweaty movers.

Regardless of the oddness, I couldn’t stop my eyes from trailing after his retreating form, noting the way his ass moved under his snug jeans. I imagined the taut muscles he was hiding were just as impressive as the ones that were exposed.

“Gawk much?” Ricky swatted my arm with a raised brow.

“Um, did you see him? How could I not?” I whispered.

“Perving on the newly-single straight guy, you’re a winner, Kingsley.”

“Shut up. Let’s do this. We can at least get some shit out the door and give them time to figure out the rest.”

Ricky chuckled and tugged his work gloves in place as he crossed the room to snag one side of the mattress. Together, we leaned it against the wall then grabbed the box spring and took it outside first.

In no time, we had the spare room emptied and stacked loosely into the back of the truck. It needed properly organized, but we still had no clue what all we were packing in.

Ricky swiped a hand through his sweaty mop and tipped his chin at the house. “Now what? Think they fought it out?”

“Guess we better ask.”

“You do the honors, I’m shit with confrontation. Johnsy will kill me if he gets another call. I’m gonna fit this stuff tighter.”

I slapped his shoulder and headed back toward the house. It was true, Ricky had poor people skills and a big mouth. If the pair inside were still arguing, chances were, something inappropriate would slip out, and Johnsy would be getting another call from a disgruntled customer.

Inside, the couple was no longer in the front hall or in the main living space where they’d been discussing their belongings.

“Hello?” I called as I poked my head into various rooms, looking for someone.

Working my way through the house, I found a game room, a home gym, an office/library, a sunroom, and a formal looking dining room. But no people. When I came to the kitchen, Mr. Tattoo was leaned against the counter, sucking back a juice box.

“Hey,” I said when he didn’t notice me enter. His head flipped up, and the smile I received was forced and wary. The guy looked worn out, and it wasn’t even noon. “We’ve got that bedroom cleared, gonna need some direction from here.”

“Right.” He dropped his empty juice box into a trash can and rubbed at his arms before hugging himself again. “Apparently, if we bought it for the house, it stays with the house. There isn’t a whole lot more to move, I guess. I’ll show you.”

We did a round of each room, and as he pointed out a few items, I stuck bright orange sticky notes on them, so we knew what to grab. An entertainment unit, a weight set, a more battered desk than the one I’d seen in the office, and a trunk that looked dated and falling apart. In another bedroom, a few more packed boxes were stacked and labeled “clothes” and a final box in the bathroom was marked as “toiletries.” He wasn’t kidding, the woman was definitely coming out ahead in this break-up.

The tour ended back in the kitchen. We hadn’t run into his ex, and I wondered if she’d slipped out while Ricky and I were loading the truck. I didn’t ask.

“I’m going to make another box or two with the kitchen supplies I’ve been permitted to take,” he explained, putting emphasis on the word permitted. “Otherwise, that’s about it. I’ll just need a few minutes to pack them up.”

“No problem. We’ll get the rest out of here while you do that.” Before I left him to his packing, I swiveled back and tried another introduction since the first had failed. “Um… I didn’t catch your name earlier.”

He’d just laid a box on the counter and paused, eyeing me as he opened a cupboard. “I’m sorry. It’s Ireland.”

I held out a hand to shake—again. Ireland’s gaze dipped to the offering, but he just shook his head and turned back to the cupboard, scanning the contents. I lowered my hand for the second time, fishing for something to say that might kill the awkward tension I’d inadvertently caused.

“Ireland. That’s a different name.”

“This coming from the man who introduced himself as Raven a.k.a. Stone.”

I chuckled and rejoiced at the slight curve in his mouth indicating a hint of a smile. Fuck, Ricky was right, I was totally perving on the straight guy.

“Well, my parents were hippies in their earlier days, and with my black hair, they found it fitting. My sister’s name is Ebony. Same hair. See a pattern? Stone is a nickname I adopted in my early twenties. A stage name kinda. I sing in a band. What’s your parents’ reasoning? Are you Irish or something?”

He didn’t look Irish.

“No.” Ireland turned to face me, his baby blues scanning my face as his smile bloomed to full fruition. “My parents named me after the place I was conceived.” He almost rolled his eyes but stopped himself as a hint of embarrassment or shame overtook his features. “They celebrated their honeymoon in Ireland. My mother came home pregnant with me. I swear to you, I don’t have an ounce of Irish blood in me. But you aren’t the first to inquire.”

“It’s kinda a cute story, actually. Your parents sound like they know how to have fun.”

His smile fell, and something dark eclipsed his once radiant blue eyes like a storm had moved in unexpectedly. For a brief moment, his attention turned inward before his composure snapped back in place again, and he met my gaze. Only now, he was guarded.

“Julia took off, so she won’t be in the way. If you guys have any questions, just holler. I’ll get back to this.” He nodded to the empty box over his shoulder.

I didn’t know what I’d said or done, but Ireland’s mood had shifted drastically. He hugged his torso tighter than before and pressed himself hard against the counter as he waited for me to leave. He seemed threatened by me for some reason.

Not wanting to aggravate the situation, I tossed a thumb over my shoulder and tried to reassure him with a smile. “I’m gonna find Ricky. We shouldn’t take too long getting your stuff out.”

Considering Ireland had few boxes and even less furniture, Ricky and I had the truck loaded and ready to go by eleven. I whipped off my gloves and tossed them in the front seat of the truck before running my fingers through my sweat-dampened hair. What were once waves had turned to almost ringlets as we’d worked. I hated humidity and worked to tame them and flatten them out.

“I’ll find out where we’re heading,” I said to Ricky as I made my way toward the front door a final time.

“Check and see if he minds if we stop for lunch. I’m starving.” Ricky put his weight behind yanking the roller door down and securing it. He too shucked his gloves and ran an arm across his forehead. “See if you can talk him outta some water, too. Fuck it’s hot for this early in May.”

It was warm, but I was sure if we hadn’t been exerting ourselves all morning, the weather wouldn’t have felt half as bad. In fact, the breeze cooled my damp skin whenever we paused for a break, and I took more than a few precious minutes to enjoy it.

I found Ireland at a side door which led into the garage. He’d adorned a pair of Converse sneakers and was pulling keys from a hook on the wall. Since the weird moment in the kitchen, he’d made himself scarce.

“We’re all set to take off. Got an address for us?”

He acknowledged me with a sharp nod as he ducked around and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Also,” I called after him. “Any chance we could trouble you for some water?”

“Of course. I’m sorry, I should have offered.”

Ireland returned with two bottles and a sticky note with writing on it. Instead of placing them in my outstretched hands, he dropped all the items on a small table by the door.

“If you guys need to break for lunch, that’s cool. I’ll head over right now and try to decide where I want everything.”

“Sure.”

I watched him closely as I retrieved the two water bottles and note from the table. He kept a distance from me, more than was usual for most people, and I wondered if maybe my earlier ogling had made him uncomfortable. Maybe the guy was a raging homophobe, and I’d creeped him out. Now what? Did I apologize for checking him out? Sorry, dude, but you’re stunning, and I couldn’t help myself.

Choosing to stay silent, I checked the address on the paper.

“Um… Do you mind if I get your number, in case we get turned around and can’t find it?” I asked.

A blatant lie. I knew this city like the back of my hand and couldn’t get lost if I wanted to. But for some stupid reason, I felt compelled to get the guy’s phone number, even though I knew I’d never use it in a million years.

“Ah, yeah. Hang on. I’ll grab a pen.”

I offered to hand him back the paper, but he wouldn’t take it. Instead, he disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a pen. Again, he dropped the item on the table, completely ignoring my extended hand.

What the hell?

Apparently, we were five, and I had cooties.

I put the two water bottles back down and took up the pen, holding it at the ready while he recited his number, and I wrote it down. I didn’t offer the pen back to him, knowing well enough by now he wouldn’t take it. Leaving it on the table, I pocketed the paper and snapped up the waters.

“We’ll meet you there in about an hour.”

“Sounds good.”

I left Ireland by the door to his garage and skipped outside. Ricky was already in the truck waiting. I tossed him a water through his open window and rounded to my side to get in.

“What took you? You flirting in there or something?”

“Or something,” I muttered, rolling around thoughts of the odd behavior I’d witnessed. “Let’s grab food.”

There was something strange about the stunningly gorgeous Ireland I was missing, and I was almost convinced my theory about him being some gay-hater was true. The man had gone out of his way not to go near me. That seed of information sat ugly in the pit of my stomach. As hungry as I’d been, my appetite was gone.