CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MALCOLM BLED THE NEW, LONGER BRAKE LINES FOR THE JEEP THE customer ordered lifted. He suspected the kid wanted the modification more for looks and peer status than any serious offroading.
Whatever the reason, Malcolm figured he got paid the same.
Working methodically with his iPod blasting out his playlist from its port on a workbench, he replaced the front shock absorbers and the coil springs with their taller counterparts. The customer’s requirement meant modifying the control arms, the track bars, and lengthening the brake lines.
The kid would end up right this side of legal—barely.
It wasn’t a rush job, nothing he had to dig into after closing. But then neither was the oil change he’d slated to take care of next instead of passing the basic job to Glen.
Busywork, he admitted as the Killers rocked out. Well, he wanted to keep busy.
The time he spent jacking up the kid’s ride, doing an oil change, then a brake job, meant he wouldn’t spend that time thinking.
Mostly.
Thinking about what was screwed up in the world, and currently his life, wouldn’t fix it.The world would continue to screw up no matter how long and hard he thought about it.
And his life? A little time and space was probably in order.The Parker thing had gotten pretty intense, and maybe a little crowded—and that was on him, no question.
He’d pushed, he’d pursued, he’d plotted the course. Somehow he—she—they, he wasn’t entirely sure—had navigated that course a lot speedier and into much deeper territory than he’d expected.
They’d been spending nearly every free moment together, and plenty of moments that weren’t exactly free. Then boom, he’s thinking about next week with her, and the next months—and okay, beyond even that. It just wasn’t what he’d banked on.
Plus, before he knows what’s happening, he’s taking her to dinner at his mother’s, asking her to stay the night in his bed.
Both of those particular events broke precedent. Not that he had hard-and-fast rules about it. It was more a cautionary avoidance to keep things at a comfortable level.
Then again, Parker wasn’t comfortable, he thought as he installed a skid plate for the oil pan. He’d known that going in.
She was complicated and nowhere near as predictable as she looked on the outside. He’d wanted to know how she worked, he couldn’t deny it. And the more he’d examined the parts, the more caught up he’d become.
He knew those parts now, and how she worked. She was a detail-oriented, somewhat—hell, extremely—anal, goal-focused woman. Mixed in there she had a talent and a need to arrange those details into a perfect package and tie them with a bow.
If that, plus the money and pedigree, had been it, she’d have probably been a beautiful pain in the ass. But inside her was a deep-seated need for family, for stability, for home—and God knew he understood that one—and an appreciation for what she’d been given. She was unflinchingly loyal, generous, and, being hardwired to be productive and useful, had a work ethic that kicked ass.
She was complicated and real, and like the image he had of her mother on the side of the road in a pretty spring dress, he thought she defined what beauty was. In and out.
So he’d ended up breaking those not-exactly rules because the more he’d learned, the more caught up he’d become, the more he’d known she was exactly what he wanted.
He could deal with wants. He’d wanted plenty. Some he’d gotten, some he hadn’t. And he’d always figured things averaged out in the end. But he’d realized the night before, when he’d gone to her because he’d been edgy and unsettled and just fucking sad, that want had merged with need.
He’d needed to be with her, just be there, with her, in that ordered space she created where somehow everything just made sense.
Needing something—someone—that was jumping off a building without a safety harness. He’d learned the hard way he was better off taking care of himself, dealing with himself and what was his. Period.
Except he’d started thinking of her as his. He’d already told her bits and pieces of things he’d never told anyone else, and didn’t much see the point in thinking about.
So . . .
Better he’d pissed her off, he decided. Better she’d tossed him out. They’d both take a couple of breaths, simmer down. Reevaluate.
He checked the modifications, moving from the front end to the rear.
And over the music of the Foo Fighters he heard the distinctive sound of high heels on concrete.
He only had to angle his head, and there she was, wearing one of her sexy business suits, that arresting face unframed, a bag the size of a Buick on her shoulder.
“The door wasn’t locked.”
“No.” He pulled the rag out of his back pocket to wipe his hands.
She shouldn’t be here, he thought.The place smelled of oil and engine and sweat. And so, he imagined, did he.
“I thought you had a thing tonight.”
“I did. It’s finished.” She gave him that cool-eyed stare.“But we’re not, so would you mind turning that down?”
“I’ve got to get the wheels and tires on this thing.”
“Fine. I’ll wait.”
She would, he concluded. She was good at that.
So he figured the Foo Fighters would have to learn to fly without him. He put down his tools, shut down the iPod, then opened the cooler he’d put on the bench beside it. He took out one of the two beers he’d packed. “Want one?”
“No.”
He opened it, took a long pull while he eyed her.“Something on your mind, Legs?”
“Quite a bit, actually. I heard about the accident, about those three girls.Why didn’t you tell me about it last night?”
“I didn’t want to talk about it.” The image—shattered glass, blood, blackened metal on a rain-slicked road—flashed back into his mind. “Still don’t.”
“You’d rather let it eat at you.”
“It’s not eating at me.”
“I think, I really think, that’s the first lie you’ve told me.”
It infuriated him, unreasonably, that she was right.
“I know what’s going on inside my gut, Parker. And talking about it doesn’t change squat. It doesn’t make those girls any less dead, or keep the couple in the other car from a fucking world of hurt. Life goes on, until it doesn’t.”
The heat he spewed did nothing to ruffle her cool.
“If I really believed you were that fatalistic and callous, I’d feel sorry for you. But I don’t.You came to me last night because you were upset, but you couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me why. Maybe getting mad at me helped, maybe you could displace the upset with anger. But I don’t deserve that, Malcolm, and neither do you.”
Chalk up another in the She’s Right column.The score, Brown: 2; Kavanaugh: 0, just pissed him off.“I shouldn’t have come by last night when I was in a crappy mood.You want an apology? I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you know me at all, Malcolm?”
“Christ.” He muttered it and took another swig of the beer he didn’t really have the taste for.
“And don’t take that dismissive male attitude with me.”
“I am a male,” he shot back, pleased he’d scraped away a layer of that calm, revved to scrape away more.“I have a male attitude.”
“Then you can stuff this in your attitude. If I’m with you, I’m with you when you’re doing flips and handsprings, and I’m with you when you’re in a crappy mood.”
“Yeah?” Something choked him, twisted in throat, in gut. “Couldn’t prove that by last night.”
“You didn’t give me—”
“What part of ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ don’t you get? And how the hell does this get turned around into being about you and me? Three kids are dead, and if they were lucky, they died fast. But it wouldn’t have been fast enough. Five, ten seconds of knowing what’s coming is forever. That and never getting to grow up, never getting to push the rewind button and say ‘let me do that different this time’ is a hell of a price for some girl who barely had her license a year and two of her friends to pay for being stupid.”
She didn’t jolt when the bottle he heaved smashed against the wall, but let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a hum of sympathy. “I nearly did that same thing last night after you left. Then I thought what good would it do, and I’d just have to clean it up. Did it help?” she wondered.
“God, you’re a piece of work. Not everything has a neat, practical answer. Everything doesn’t always add the fuck up. If it did, three girls wouldn’t be dead because they were driving too damn fast and texting friends.”
Her heart hurt at the waste of it all. “Is that what happened? How do you know?”
“I know people.” Damn it, he thought, and shoved at his hair as he struggled to box in the rage that had blindsided him. “Listen, they’re keeping that under wraps until they finish the investigation.”
“I won’t say anything. Mrs. Grady knows the driver’s mother, and it’s hit her pretty hard. Maybe listening to her, making her tea, holding her hand didn’t help all that much. Maybe it wasn’t a neat, practical answer, and maybe it doesn’t all add the fuck up. But I had to do something. When someone I care about is hurting or upset or just sad, I have to do something.”
“Whether they want you to or not.”
“Yes, I suppose so.To my mind, reaching out, reaching for one another doesn’t make what happened to those girls less of a tragedy, or make anyone less heartsick for them and their families. But point taken.You don’t want me to listen.You don’t want me to hold your hand. So that makes the need to do those things about me, not you.”
She took a long breath, and he heard the unsteadiness of it. That, more than anything she’d said or done, cut at him.
“You throw the glass against the wall, then you clean it up and throw it away.That’s your practicality, Malcolm.”
“Sometimes a smashed bottle’s just a smashed bottle. Look, I’ve got to get the wheels back on this Jeep.”
It wasn’t anger he saw on her face, and her anger had been the goal. It was hurt. It was that single, unsteady breath.
She nodded once. “Good luck with that.”
For a moment, just as she turned to walk away, he wished he still had the beer bottle in his hand. Just so he could smash it again.
“I thought I was dead.”
She stopped, turned. She waited.
“When it went wrong, when I knew it was going south, I thought I could pull out of it. But the whole thing was fucked. Technical glitch, miscalculation, and some budget cuts that didn’t get passed down to those of us on the line. Several people up the chain made a bad decision, doesn’t really matter why. The why’s the reason I ended up getting a big fat check at the end of the day.”
“The why’s the reason you got hurt.”
“Put it down to a clusterfuck.” That’s what he’d done. That’s what he’d had to do to get past it. “Anyway, I had that initial moment—gag’s gone south; then the next—I can deal. Then . . . then the next when I knew I couldn’t and thought I was dead. We’re talking seconds from one point to the next, but it all slows down.There’s noise—snatches and bursts—and outside this tunnel you’re in, it’s just a blur. But inside, everything’s slowed down so that few seconds is endless. And it’s goddamn terrifying. That’s before the pain.”
He had to take a breath, had to calm a little.While he did, she walked to the workbench and took out the bottle of water he’d tossed in with the beer.
She opened it, and with her eyes steady on his, handed it to him.
Jesus, he thought. Jesus, she was a piece of work. An amazing piece of work.
“Okay.” He cooled his throat. “After the pain, you know you’re not dead. You just want to be. Inside you’re screaming, and that sound’s barely human. You can’t get even that sound out when you’re choking on your own blood. When you can’t breathe because your lungs have started to collapse. It’s more than you can stand, those seconds, trapped in the pain, waiting to die. Wanting to so it’ll just end.
“What good does it do for you to know this?” he demanded.
“It’s part of you. We’re not blank slates, Malcolm. What we’ve done, what we’ve survived, all go into us.What happened to those girls, your reaction to it—”
“I don’t know why it hit me the way it did. Maybe because it had been a long day, maybe because it was close to home. I don’t flash back to my own crash every time I deal with a wreck. It’s not like that.”
“What is it like?”
“It’s over, or I wouldn’t be standing here. It started being over when I woke up in the hospital. Not dead. It’s a pretty big deal, not being dead, and I wanted to stay that way.”
He put the water down to get the broom and dustpan, and started sweeping up the broken glass.
“If it had to hurt like ten levels of hell, okay. I’d lived through the crash, I’d live through that. Need to put me back together with pins? Go right ahead, as long as I walked out of there. I started making plans to do that; it was a way to get through. No more living day to day.”
“You pushed the rewind button.”
He glanced back at her. “Yeah, in a way. Or maybe I switched to forward. But I knew when I woke up, and my mother was sitting there, when I saw her face, I knew I wasn’t going back. I’m not going to say I’m all she had, or has, because she’s more than that. But I could stop living the kind of life that put the rest of her family at risk that way. I got the chance to do something for her, and to move forward for myself.”
He sighed now, dumped the glass with a clatter into the trash. “She wouldn’t go home. Even when I got strong enough to yell at her, to piss her off, I couldn’t make her go.”
“Is that what you wanted?” she asked quietly. “Did you want her to go?”
“I . . . No. God, no. But I didn’t want her to stay the way things were either. She quit her job, picked up work waiting tables out there. I walked out on her when I was eighteen, that’s basically what I did. Sure I sent her money, but I could count on one hand the number of times I came back to see her. But she wouldn’t leave me alone. I got a chance to change things, and I took it. That’s all.”
“You’re very lucky to have your mother.”
“I know it.”
“And she’s fortunate to have you.”
“We do okay.”
“Malcolm, how would you define you and me? What we have going on?”
“How would you?”
“No, no, you get away with that too often.The question is on the table. Pick it up.”
“Jesus, Parker, sometimes it’s hard to follow you. I apologized for last night, and I gave you reasons. More than I like getting into.”
“Do I take that to mean you can’t define what we have?”
“I wasn’t looking to define it.” He picked the water back up, put it back down. “If I had to, I’d say we have a situation.”
“A situation.” Her breath came out on a laugh. “All right. Do you think I want to be in a situation with you and not know how you dealt with a trauma, how it affected you, how it—or you because of it—changed the direction of your life?”
“Clearly you don’t.”
“It’s important to you to know how things work. Well, I can’t know how you work, or how we might work, if I don’t have all the pieces.”
That hit home with him. “I get that, but I didn’t like all the pieces, so—like I’m doing with this Jeep—I modified them. I don’t run the same way I did before the crash. I don’t think we’d be in this situation if I did.”
“We’ll never know, but I like who you are, Malcolm, and that includes where you came from. I don’t want to feel like I’m intruding anytime I ask you a question about where you came from.”
“That’s not how I want you to feel. I just don’t like digging through the past. It’s gone.”
“I just don’t agree. Don’t you remember the first time you rode a two-wheeler or kissed a girl or drove a car?”
“I remember the first time I kissed you, except you made the move. Fourth of July.”
All right, she thought, enough for tonight. Let it go.“That was to kick at Del.”
“I still got the benefits.” He glanced at his hands. “I’m not in any shape to touch you without messing you up. And that’s a nice suit.”
“Then hold still and keep your hands to yourself.” She moved to him, leaned in, laid her lips on his.
“I hope you don’t consider that make-up sex.”
“It’s the best you’re going to get under the circumstances.”
“Maybe you could hang out awhile. Guys love it when women hang out and watch them work on cars.”
“We do that to placate you.”
He lowered the Jeep a couple feet. “When did you ever date anybody who got under a car?”
“I haven’t—previously—but Mac did, so I have it on good authority.”
Relaxed, with whatever had been balled in his throat, in his gut, loosened, he grinned at her. “That’s sexist. I’ve known plenty of female motorheads.”
“That sort wouldn’t be expected to ‘hang out and watch.’”
“Fine. Can you reach the steering wheel?”
“I suppose, but—”
“Do me a favor. Go on up there, turn it all the way to the right. Then all the way to the left.”
“Why?”
“Because lifting the suspension like this involves a lot of mods, and I want to make sure there’s no interference before I put the wheels on.”
“What would you have done if I hadn’t come by?”
“Stayed mildly pissed off.All the way right,” he added, then got down on a creeper and scooted under the Jeep.
“I meant about the Jeep, but I actually prefer that answer.” She leaned inside, turned the wheel. “Like that?”
“Yeah, looks good. Really good view from down here.”
“You’re supposed to be looking at whatever’s under this Jeep, not under my skirt.”
“I can do both.To the left, Legs.”
“Do you think your mother would like to come to Thanksgiving dinner?”When he said nothing for a moment, she cast her eyes at the ceiling. “Or would Thanksgiving dinner be out of place in our situation?”
“Give me a minute.” He rolled out, grabbed a tool, rolled under again.
She heard some light clanging. “Turn it again.There we are.”
He rolled out, rose, then stepped over to pick up an enormous tire. Why did he call it a wheel? Maybe the wheel was what she thought of as the inside the tire holder—and fit it on . . . would that be the axle?
Why the hell did she care?
“I’ve never been in this particular situation.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t.” He used some sort of air tool that made a loud hiss, a thump.“I’ve been in situations, but this particular one’s different.”
“I do see, Malcolm. It’s a different situation for me, too. And I understand, really, if a traditional family holiday doesn’t fit.”
“I guess we can find out. I know she’d like it, but she’s going to ask me all kinds of questions, like the dress code or—”
“It’s black tie.”
She kept her face bland for about five seconds while he made an obvious struggle not to swear. “Oh, for God’s sake, Malcolm.” She had to laugh. “There’s no code. And for a good chunk of the day, like the majority of households in America, at least the male portion of the group will be in front of the TV watching football.”
“I bet the cranberry sauce won’t come out of a can, like in the majority of households in America.”
“There you’ve got me. I’ll talk to your mother, and spare you the inquisition.”
“You’d think. Appreciate it, but she’ll still grill me, and she’ll stay on my ass so I end up wearing a suit.”
“You look good in a suit.Why are those tires so big?”
“Because the kid who owns the Jeep is a show-off.” He pressed the lift button until the tires were on the ground.“I need to check the steering again, like this, then with each side jacked up to max. Need to do the front-end alignment.”
He studied the Jeep, then the woman. “I can do that in the morning. Why don’t I wash up, lock up, then take you out to dinner?”
“It’s a little late for dinner.”
Since he wasn’t wearing a watch, he gestured toward her wrist, angled his head to read hers. “Yeah, I guess it is, unless you haven’t had dinner.”
“Tell you what. Why don’t you wash up, lock up, then follow me home. I’ll scramble you some eggs. It’s today’s special.”
“That’ll work. Parker? I’m glad you came by.”
PARKER GRABBED THE PHONE AND ROLLED OUT OF BED AT THE same time. Her quick glance at the time told her it was barely five, and Friday evening’s bride was already up.
“Good morning, Leah. How—”
She broke off, slipping into the adjoining sitting room as the bride relayed the crisis.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. No, listen, don’t worry about the time. I’m yours all day. I don’t want you to worry about anything to do with the wedding. If you talk to Justin, tell him we’re all keeping his mother in our thoughts.We’ll work out the rest, Leah. Leave it to me. Let me ask you this: Can one of the other groomsmen stand as best man?”
Parker listened, grateful her bride kept her cool despite having the best man on his way to Seattle on her wedding day.
“That’s good.Yes, that still leaves you short a groomsman. Is it possible either you or Channing knows someone who could fill in? Yes, I understand it’s very last minute, and there’s the matter of fit with the vests and the shirts you decided on.”
Pursing her lip, she eased the door open, narrowed her eyes at Malcolm, who’d taken advantage of her absence to sprawl diagonally over the bed.
“I might have someone who’d fit. I understand neither you nor Channing know him, but . . . No, don’t think about it. Let me see what I can do, and I’ll get back to you. I promise you, we’ll take care of everything. Give me about an hour.”
Parker slipped back into the bedroom, considered strategy.
It never hurt to soften up the quarry.
She eased back into bed, snuggled up against his back. It was hard work, she thought as she stroked a hand down his flank, brushed her lips over his bare shoulder. But somebody had to do it.
And he was warm, firm. When she glided her hand over his hip, over his belly, down, she smiled and thought, very firm.
She danced her fingers down his thigh, up again. Then got serious about the task at hand. Using hands and lips, she stirred him awake, shifted him onto his back where she saw his sleepy eyes glint in the dark.
“Good morning,” she murmured, laying a line of kisses down his chest.
“It’s looking that way.”
She nibbled at his throat, gentle, teasing bites. “Since I was up, and so were you . . .” She worked her way up to his ear as his hands moved over her. “I hope you don’t mind if I just help myself.”
“Do what you gotta do.”
She laughed and straddled him. She slid up, offering her breasts to his mouth, and let herself fall into the lazy pleasure. There was still so much of him she didn’t really know, so much about him she might never fully understand.
But here, in the dark, they knew each other.
She rose up, took him in.
She surrounded him, body, scent, the sound of her breathing sighing out, the taste of her lingering on his tongue. She moved over him, pale shadow, soft fantasy, warm woman. Before morning broke she took him over, ruled him, owned him.
When she bowed back, taking that reckless fall, she pulled him with her.
She made a sound he equated with a cat licking up the last drop of milk, then stretched out on him, full-length.
“Now that . . .” She repeated the sound. “That’s a perfect way to start the day.”
“Breakfast of champions.”
“Mmm.When do you have to go into work?”
“Seven, maybe seven thirty. With this kind of jump-start I might grab a half hour in the gym.What the hell time is it?”
“You’ve got a couple hours.You’ll be back later?”
“Yeah, I’ll come back.” His fingers trailed lazily up and down her spine. “I should be able to get away about four if you’re looking for some help tonight.”
“That would be great.” She smiled, turned her head to kiss the side of his neck. “Since the call that gave us this lovely early start was from this evening’s bride, and there’s a complication.”
“I’ll make sure I get back. I figure I owe her.”
It was, Parker thought, almost too easy. “Actually, you’re just the one to solve the complication.”
“What? The limo needs a tune-up? Or some Cinderella carriage needs a wheel changed?”
“You’d be the one to call. But no.” She kissed his stubble-roughened cheek.“The groom’s best friend, and best man, had to fly to Seattle this morning.”Then the other.“His mother’s having emergency surgery.”
“That’s rough. Serious?”
“Peritonitis.They’re worried about sepsis, and other complications. More, she was out there taking care of her mother, who just had a hip replacement, so it’s doubly difficult for everyone. Leah and Channing are worried about their friend, their friend’s mother, and are missing a best man. They’ll upgrade one of the groomsman for that, but that leaves them one short.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“So, we’ll need a substitute, and one who’s about the same build as Justin, the best man, so the tux fits.”
“Right.”
“You’re about a thirty-eight long, right? Thirty-two waist? I’d say a thirty-five sleeve.”
“I guess. I haven’t . . . Whoa. Wait.” When he pushed at her shoulders, she just burrowed in.
“You’d be doing me a huge favor.You’ll like Channing. He’s a sweetheart. He and Leah actually grew up together, so to speak. They were an item for a while in high school, then lost touch for a bit during the college years until—”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”This time he put a little more into the shove and rolled her off.“You don’t seriously expect me to put on some guy’s tux and—”
“I really think it’ll fit. Del needs a forty, and Jack’s a regular. And they wouldn’t be able to wear their own, as the wedding party’s coordinated.”
“There’s no way I’m—”
“Consider it pinch hitting. That’s really all it is.” She rolled back, sliding over his chest. “You’ve been in a wedding before, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, but—”
“All you have to do is show guests to their seats, stand up there with the groomsmen, and then escort a very attractive attendant in the recession. It would really take a huge burden off Leah and Channing.”
“Maybe I’d care about that if I knew Leah and Channing.”
“You know me.You’d really be helping me out, Malcolm.” She brushed a kiss along his jaw. “And I’d really appreciate it.”
“I’ve got to work.”
“But you’ll be here in plenty of time. Really, if you’re back by five forty-five, I can make it work. I’ll take care of all the details. All you have to do is wear the tux—oh, and the shoes you wore for Sherry’s wedding would be fine—”
“Thank God.”
“Sarcasm noted, and ignored.You just show up, look gorgeous, and direct a few people to their seats. It’s going to be a beautiful wedding.The cake’s amazing. Chocolate marble with a marbleized fondant over buttercream. Laurel’s serving it in pools of caramel sauce.”
“You think I can be bribed with cake?”
“It’s exceptional cake.” Now she nipped, ever so lightly, at his jaw. “And I bet I can confiscate some extra caramel sauce for . . . later.”
“Now you’re bribing me with caramel-sauce sex?”
“I am.”
“You’re freaking diabolical, Legs.”
“Thanks.”
“And the wake-up call? That was to prime me for all this?”
“Absolutely.”
“It was good thinking.”
“You’ll do it?”
“I’d like to meet the man who can hold out against caramel sauce.”
“Thank you.” She planted a hard, noisy kiss on his mouth. “Seriously, thank you. I’ve got to call Leah, let her know.” She jumped out of bed, grabbed the phone. “Don’t worry about a thing.All you have to do is be here, and I’ll coach you through the rest.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
And as she called the bride, Malcolm pulled a pillow over his face.