WEDNESDAY. KYLE MARTIN’S Home, Seattle, Washington.

Kyle Martin swept the basket of condolence cards into the metal garbage bin. A week was long enough to put on this show. He didn’t owe that bastard he’d called Dad anything else. Not a moment of grief, anger, nothing.

The people who wrote the cards, they were the same ones who’d looked at a little boy with a broken arm and accepted whatever lie Dad told them. They were the same ones who averted their eyes when Dad put his cigarette out using Kyle’s shirt, or whatever was closest. And worst of all they’d smiled when Dad called Mom names or belittled her because of her disability.

“Want me to take that out back?” Grant Anderson hauled another bag of garbage toward the door.

“I’ve got this.” Kyle stared at the glittering heart on a card at the top of the pile.

Their sympathy was fake just like the smiles and empty words they’d offered when Mom died. Funny, back then Kyle had thought her death meant his ties to the family were cut. Dad wanted nothing to do with him, which was mutual.

Kyle turned and followed in Grant’s wake out through the garage apartment door and into the backyard.

A third man, Shane Yates, sat by the flames, keeping an eye on them.

Grant hauled the bags to the overflowing garbage bins while Kyle went straight for the fire. He sat in one of the Adirondack chairs and flicked a card into the flames. He knew better than to dump the whole basket into the pit.

“How goes?” Shane asked.

“We’re down to furniture and carpet.” Grant pulled the mask up off his face. “I don’t know what you’ll do about the smell.”

Kyle tossed a few more cards on the pile then turned to look at the converted garage apartment Dad had called home until the very end.

What was he going to do with that place?

“You could always turn it back into a garage, I guess?” Grant sat in the third chair, elbows on his knees.

He’d been smart and brought gloves to help with the clean out. Kyle was fairly certain he’d never get the stench of cigarettes out of his hair and skin. He examined his hands and blackened nails. He’d foolishly tried to clean the tar off the walls in the beginning with a scrub brush.

“Is it against city ordinance to just burn it down?” He glanced at Grant, the more likely of the two to answer.

“That’s arson.” Grant leaned back in his chair.

“Fuck.” Kyle tossed more cards onto the flames.

“How long has the boss sidelined you?” Grant asked.

“Four weeks.” Kyle grimaced.

“Shit. Better watch out. Shane here might give you wedding duties.” Grant thumbed at Shane who merely rolled his eyes.

“If I can do anything, let me know.” Kyle shrugged.

Dealing with Dad’s death was bad enough. Now that the funeral was over, Kyle wanted nothing more than to get to work. Returning to his routine would help more than time off. Work had always been the thing that helped him deal with the rest of his life. Without that, he needed something to keep him busy for the next three weeks.

Kyle could take a trip, but where would he go? And how pathetic would the life of a solo tourist be?

No, he needed to get back to work somehow.

“We hauling the furniture out front?” Grant asked.

“Yeah. I figure we put it out front with a sign and it’ll be gone before the rain rolls in this weekend.” Kyle glanced up at the still clear skies.

“I’ll help.” Shane stood and nodded at Grant.

“Looks like you’re on fire duty. Don’t burn the place down?” Grant gave him a pointed look.

Kyle presented his middle finger to Grant.

He hadn’t had the best things to say about Grant before the last two weeks. They’d done an op together that very nearly came to blows, but after the fact Kyle had come to realize Grant was right about a lot of it. Kyle hadn’t been at his best and Grant’s criticism wasn’t personal. They both wanted to do the job right and bring everyone home. Most shocking of all was that Grant was one of the first guy’s to show up and help. It changed Kyle’s opinion of the guy.

He stared at the flames eating through the broken bits of a wooden chair and a light smattering of cards.

Dad had never cared for anything or anyone. Given the state of the garage apartment, maybe Kyle should have the whole thing torn down and hauled off. All those memories, the smell—just wipe it off the planet. He wished he could do that mind. Bleach the whole thing clean and keep going.

He grabbed another handful of cards.

A blue one in the middle caught his eye.

The inside was covered in black ink, the writer chastising Kyle for not being present during his father’s final moments. That particular busybody always had something to say back in the day and now was no different.

Kyle had chosen not to be there during the final days. He’d known that Dad wouldn’t last much longer, and he’d taken every extra job he could. It was that, or smother the old man to death. What would Kyle have said if he were there, anyway?

Hurry up and die faster?

It wasn’t like Dad would suddenly change and beg forgiveness for a lifetime of wrongdoing.

No, it was better that Kyle had been away. Dad’s favorite home hospice nurse, Bethany, had been there round the clock and handled everything, down to the smallest detail, in accordance with Dad’s final wishes. Kyle would have been in Bethany’s way.

He tossed more cards on the flames.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice called out.

Kyle turned, frowning.

What the...?

Speak of the devil.

He knew that voice. It was temptation born into a woman with bright blue eyes and a killer sense of humor. She wasn’t supposed to be here.

“In the back.” He set the garbage can down and got to his feet.

Shit.

Kyle strode through the grass to the parking pad that he’d had widened during the remodel.

Why was she here now? He wasn’t ready to see her again. His rules of engagement with Bethany that had kept him in his place didn’t apply anymore.

His mouth dried up and his palms grew damp.

Bethany Rossi.

She’d been a fresh breath of air the day he’d met her. There was something about her kindness that enduring tender way she treated everyone. While she’d been Dad’s nurse Kyle had also benefitted from her healing nature. She always knew what to say, how to anticipate their needs.

“Bethany? What are you doing here?” He rounded the corner of the house and stopped.

The thing in his driveway wasn’t human. It was...a basket with legs.

A black bun above two glittering, blue eyes peered over the cellophane at him.

“Shit. Sorry.” He darted forward to take the monstrosity from her before the woman carrying it was crushed to death.

He hauled the basket of doom over to his washing station next to the main house. His mountain bike sat propped up, covered in mud. He set the basket on top of the waist high bench and stepped back, unsure why she was here and what this was for.

Bethany Rossi stood next to him and they stared at the basket. The iridescent material made it hard to see what was inside. There was another box of God damn tissues and what looked like beef jerky. More than anything, he stared at Bethany’s face reflected back at him in the iridescent plastic.

She’d been a fixture in Kyle’s life for more than a year. Bethany was the only person from the home hospice company Dad hadn’t been able to run off. She was patient, compassionate, and she took none of Dad’s crap. Kyle was certain Dad had come to grudgingly respect the woman. He sure as hell liked Bethany more than Kyle. He was okay with that. After all, Kyle liked Bethany better than Dad, and that had always been his problem.

It was why Kyle had established his personal rules for dealing with Bethany.

No conversations over ten minutes. Always keep on task.

No asking about personal details.

No getting closer to her than was necessary.

No complimenting her.

What Kyle wanted from someone like Bethany, he couldn’t have. He wasn’t cut out for it. And she deserved better than a battered guy like Kyle who specialized in holding it all together with duct tape and an iron will.

BETHANY CLASPED HER hands together.

Yuck.

She was sweating again. But she always sweated whenever Kyle Martin was around. It was something about the way he looked with that ultra stern, I want to be a bad boy, kind of vibe he tried to put off. She’d watched him care for his father with too much tenderness to believe he was one of the bad boy variety.

Here you are. What now? Where did all your planned questions and hints go?

After Mr. Martin passed Bethany had realized her mistake.

In the year she’d been coming to the Martin residence she’d never dare cross the line outside of her job. She had no valid reason to stop by and catch Kyle fresh off a bike ride or just home from a trip. When she’d seen the condolence basket ready to go out today she’d seized the opportunity to grab it and go.

She wanted to see Kyle one last time and maybe, just maybe, muster up the courage to talk to him about something that wasn’t focused on his father.

“I tried to call.” She glanced up at him and bit her lip. Her stomach did another uncomfortable summersault.

“Oh...” Kyle pulled his phone from his pocket and frowned. “Shit—sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m the one who dropped in unannounced.” She turned slightly, the better to catch a glimpse of his face.

The lines around his mouth and eyes were deeper. His gaze wasn’t as sharp as usual. She was willing to bet he didn’t sleep or eat much, but not for the same reasons as other families in his situation.

She knew what an abuser sounded like, what they did. There’d been days in the beginning when she’d wanted to leave. Mr. Martin’s language was just the beginning of the problem when it came to caring for him. Even her boss had said that if she didn’t want to go, say the word, and they’d inform Kyle that they could no longer provide care.

And that was why she’d stayed on.

For Kyle.

In the beginning he’d intimidated her. She’d left almost in tears after Mr. Martin burned her with a cigarette, ready to give up. But she couldn’t leave. Not without telling Kyle to his face what would happen next. So she’d come back after driving around the block a few times.

She’d come back, parked and walked up the drive. When she’d seen the door to the garage apartment open, she’d been sick to her stomach thinking she left it that way.

When she got closer, she’d heard voices. She’d peered inside and watched Mr. Martin put the same cigarette out on Kyle’s arm. He didn’t even flinch. Because it wasn’t the first time.

That was when the truth hit her.

Kyle couldn’t escape his abuser like she had.

Bethany had cut all ties to her family to escape her boyfriend. She’d rebuilt her life around a new career and with a family she chose, but Kyle didn’t have that option. There was no sage advice she could offer him, but she could ensure he didn’t go through the end alone.

Over the last year she’d seen what kind of man Kyle really was, and that was why she was here. There weren’t a lot of men like him. Good ones. Kind ones.

“How are you holding up?” she asked to fill the silence.

“Oh, you know.” He glanced over his shoulder at the open apartment door. “We’re cleaning the place out this week.”

“We?” She clenched her teeth and tried to push the image of an unknown girlfriend here pitching in.

“Some guys from work are helping.”

“That’s good.” Not a girlfriend then. “Have you had the funeral?”

“Yeah. A few of his old friends came out, and we did a thing.”

“That’s nice.”

“Sure.”

Bethany had rarely spoken to Kyle about anything except Mr. Martin’s care, mostly because she wasn’t sure what she’d say once she started talking. Now, she didn’t know how to talk to him. There were no charts or medications to go over. It was just them. What did she really know about him?

“If you need anything we’re still here for you.” Bethany smiled through the lame offer, but she couldn’t bring herself to say what she really wanted to.

“Thanks, Bethany.” Kyle finally looked at her.

She swallowed and tipped her chin up a bit more, soaking in his full attention.

“I don’t know how I’d have gotten through this without you,” he said.

“It was my pleasure,” she managed to say without her knees knocking together.

A look like that inspired ideas.

“Watch that side,” a man called out.

Bethany turned and watched two men haul the rolled up carpet out through the door to the garage apartment. Kyle wasn’t kidding when he said they were cleaning it out.

“Wow...”

“I’m supposed to be watching the fire,” Kyle said.

“The fire?” Bethany blinked up at him.

“Yeah. Come on.” He picked up the basket and walked back the way he’d come.

Bethany had done what she’d come here to do. Her work day was over. There was no reason she couldn’t stay. Was this the right choice?

When it came to her attraction to Kyle, it was complicated. She identified with Kyle. She understood where he was coming from. She felt for him. And she also plain liked him. A guy who could care for a declining, cruel parent the way he had was admirable.

Wasn’t this what she’d wanted?

Bethany followed Kyle through the grass toward a square fire pit. Kyle set the basket down in an Adirondack chair and gestured at one of the vacant ones for her to sit in. She’d seen Kyle out here on a number of evenings, but she’d never ventured over. It seemed like a violation of his privacy, and that was crossing a line she wasn’t ready for. Probably still wasn’t considering she’d promised herself another six months of no dating, but she didn’t want to let this chance pass her by.

“What are you burning?” She squinted at the kindling in the bottom of the pit.

“Dad’s clothes. The bedding. Anything flammable, really. It’s either singed or smells so bad we can’t donate it.”

“Makes sense.”

“You want a drink? I think we’re down to the cheap beer one of the guys brought.” Kyle nodded at a cooler sitting nearby.

“Thanks, but I need to drive home soon.”

“You sure I can’t talk you into staying? These goons aren’t much company.” Kyle nodded at the two men entering the garage again.

Of all the nights he’d ask.

Her roommates wouldn’t forgive her if she abandoned them, especially for a man.

“Rain check? I’m off this weekend.” She leaned her elbow on the arm rest and curled a foot under her. She’d never been able to figure out if Kyle was simply being friendly, or if there might be something else in the way he looked at her.

“I don’t have any plans.” The way he looked at her changed. She didn’t have words to describe it, but her body reacted.

Bethany’s throat tightened and her mouth went dry. Her stomach did a nauseating summersault and her knees were too weak to stand anytime soon.

That was not a polite, friendly stare. Right then he had more of a Big Bad Wolf thing going on, and she liked it.

WEDNESDAY. GRAMERCY House, Seattle, Washington.

Jay Diaz sat on the floor, eyes closed. He’d carved out a nice little spot for himself in the hallway coat closet over the last year. The women never even knew he was there. They never knew he was listening.

He cupped his hands over his ears, straining to hear the voices of Faith and Megan in the kitchen. Someone had moved the microphone or put something in front of it and he could no longer hear them as easily as he used to, which was frustrating. He couldn’t have the perfect plan if he didn’t know what they were going to do.

The front door opened.

Bethany.

She was late.

“Hey, sorry.” Bethany was breathless and her voice was...different.

“Where have you been?” Megan demanded.

“I had one last house call to make, and it ran long. The patient passed away, and I had paperwork to go over with the family.” Bethany’s voice grew softer as she walked across the house, then louder. The couch springs gave her position away. Twelve o'clock. Sitting.

“Which patient was this?” Faith’s voice was crystal clear now.

“Mr. Martin.”

“That old man that wouldn’t die? How long did he last?” Megan asked. She was a lot like her parents. Waspish and short. Demanding like her father.

“He held on longer than expected.” Bethany’s tone remained sweet, just like her.

“Over a year at least. How’s his family holding up?” Faith again. She wasn’t Jay’s favorite. She fucked around too much when the other’s weren’t home. If Megan or Bethany knew they’d have a House Meeting over it.

“He only has a son.” Bethany’s voice got weird again. Jay didn’t know how to describe it.

“A son?” Faith gasped. “Is this son incredibly hot and in need of a shoulder to cry on?”

“Shut up, Faith.” Bethany sighed.

“I’m hungry,” Megan announced.

“Did you order pizza already?” Bethany asked.

“Yup. Almost ate without you, too. Come on, and tell me all about cranky Mr. Martin’s hot, bereaved son.”

“Stop it, Faith. That’s not funny.”

“I never said it was.”

The girl’s voices faded as they entered the kitchen. Jay grit his teeth, annoyed he couldn’t listen to every word. He needed to know them inside an out or this wouldn’t be perfect. After three years, everything had to go according to plan starting tomorrow night.

He couldn’t wait.