From Winter's Ashes: Girl Next Door Crime Romance Series - Book Two (24 page)

Silence stretched longer than seemed natural, so she opened her eyes. The light pierced her skull with a profound pain, and she felt another bout of dizziness swing her around again.

“Why don’t I track down your date
Cody
for you? Wouldn’t want to miss out on any end-of-the-date rituals, now would you?”

With the spinning in her head, she could barely make sense of his words. “I’d really rather just go now. Please? Don’t you have an old truck, or something?” She loved old trucks. She’d learned how to drive in Yia-Yia’s classic cherry red 1966 Ford F100.

Taking in the strain of his magnificent features, her moment of nostalgia faded. He was angry about something. She about reached up to smooth the lines knotting his eyebrows together, but he spoke before she got the chance. And based on his words, saved her the embarrassment.

“Too lowly for a princess. And, hey, you held out for better, so we’ll get you your carriage.” Grabbing her arm, he tugged her along with him.

Scarcely keeping up, her heel caught the raised edge of the threshold transitioning the floor from tile to carpet and she stumbled forward like a rag doll. Only she didn’t land on the floor. She was instantly swept up in Finn’s arms. And she decided—despite the venomous glare and the scowl—it was a pretty nice place to be.

The brushing cadence of his steps on the plush surface and the soft sway of her body in his arms made her feel a bit sleepy, so she relaxed against his chest and shielded her eyes from the pain-inducing light. “Are you taking me home now?” The words pressed into his shirt and she snuggled a little closer—breathing in that tantalizing musk of a guy that didn’t need cologne to smell like fresh spice and warm leather.

His steps quickened.

“Why are you so grumpy?” she thought she heard herself murmur. But as the music behind them faded, the sound they approached swelled with equal intensity and irritation.

And then Finn stopped, one arm stretching out from beneath the cradle under her knees to rap on a door.

She didn’t need to see that the door had swung open, or who was standing behind it, the artificial man smell rushed on the movement of air and stung her nose.

Cody.

The thumping music rocked her eardrums so hard she swore they must have shaken loose. And when she felt another swirl of air rush around her she peeled her tired eyes open and saw several guys leaving a room. A few of them coughing and laughing, one of them as droopy eyed as Joselyn. Cody stepped out into the hall.

She looked away and glanced up at Finn who looked intent on ignoring her, which must have taken quite the effort considering he was holding her tight against his chest. “Finn, please.” Something felt wrong. And she didn’t know what was going on here, but she felt like a loose thread was exposed somewhere and one pull would unravel all the safety she felt here in Finn’s moody arms.

Tightening her grip on his neck, she inched up closer to his ear to compensate for the overbearing noise. “Finn, please. Take me home.”

But he still wouldn’t look at her. Instead, he pried her away from his chest and dumped her in Cody’s arms.

She couldn’t be sure, but when his voice broke through the thundering bass line it sounded something like, “Here you go, man. She’s all yours.” And before the door closed, the last thing she saw was his arrogant swagger, striding away after depositing her at the threshold of Cody’s lair. The doorway to her own personal Hades.

Those self-preservation techniques kicked in just in time. Unfurling her mind from the wicked memory, she blinked back the tears.

And then she saw Yia-Yia—eyes so earnest and kind, swimming with an understanding that made Joselyn regret taking her along for the ride.

“That’s not the end of the story, is it?” Yia-Yia’s voice was muggy, her gaze too keen despite the missing pieces of memory.

Joselyn couldn’t lie, yet she couldn’t quite gather up the nerve to purge the rest of the truth at the moment. Either way it felt like she was taking advantage. Instead of confirming, she moved on. “But now this guy, Finn, is back in my life. And it seems like he’s changed.” Joselyn shook her head, hating that tug of vulnerability, and calling to trial her foolish heart versus her sensibly stoic brain over one particular doozy of a question.

Can people really change?

“Hmm.” Yia-Yia cleared her throat and tapped her lips with her Barbie-pink fingernail. “Do you still love him?”

Joselyn didn’t need to mull it over to produce an answer, but she gave it a moment regardless. “Yes. But I wish I didn’t. Everything seems tainted by the past. And I’m not convinced I’m strong enough to get over it.”

“Love is the strongest force in this world, Joselyn. Just think about that man on the cross.”

Joselyn’s brain screeched to a halt.

Something about Yia-Yia had always bent toward the spiritual or whimsical, but she’d held those deeply personal convictions close to the cuff. There had been a quiet strength to her faith that Joselyn hadn’t been able to decide was more admirable or confusing. Regardless, she’d never been this frank with Joselyn in the past. Granted, a lot of baggage was just unloaded and Yia-Yia might simply be reacting in an effort to console the damaged young woman who’d spilled her guts to a stranger.

“Oh, fiddlesticks. I chipped a nail.”

And just like that—with one blink—Yia-Yia’s eyes changed and the slate was wiped clean.

If that was mercy pouring over her poor grandmother, Joselyn would take it, 

“You there, nurse. Would you grab my nail polish?” She muttered incoherent babble and something like, “I look like a
schlemiel
.”

So Joselyn stayed and preoccupied herself by fixing Yia-Yia’s manicure, feeling mildly unburdened that she’d shared at least a part of her story with an actual person, instead of a journal to her dead mother.

And it wasn’t until later that Joselyn remembered the warm wave of peace that had invaded her body and soul when she’d stepped outside her grief and let someone else carry it. Peace that followed her the rest of the day.

Chapter 30

Finn Carson

Ribbons of golden sunshine wove in through the flimsy shades of Finn’s bedroom window, adequately announcing the arrival of the day and a time well past suitable for lazing around in bed. But sleep had been a stubborn target last night, and more than nightmares were to blame.

Joselyn had occupied his fitful mind well into the wee hours of the morning—and not because of her fantasy-worthy allure. It was something else. Something had changed in a single day, and that veneer had gone up again, masking all the progress they’d made in the past few weeks.

What had happened at the nursing home yesterday? Was something wrong with Yia-Yia?

Naturally when he’d asked her about it she’d shrugged it off. The Future Mr. & Mrs. Archer Hayes had been hovering more than usual and then Finn’s parents had stopped by after their date night, squashing any possibility of alone time for Finn to dig any deeper.

Finn had even offered to pull couch duty again, but Archer had staked a claim and in doing so shared a secret smile with Sadie, triggering an expedient departure from the big brother who did not want to know. 

Dodger huffed out a snort of air and wiggled a little tighter against Finn’s leg. Having kept him company in his hours of unrest, the pup deserved a little mattress time for his faithful companionship. Finn dug his fingers into the mutt’s fluff and rewarded him further with a nice long scratch behind the ears. “What do you think, Dodge, time to get up?”

Dodger froze mid-stretch, legs jutting perpendicular to Finn’s, and then hurled himself off the bed. Engaging in a little dance and turn at the top of the stairs, the dog signaled his owner’s neglect of the call of nature until Finn untangled his weary limbs from the sheets, tossed on a hoodie and some pajama pants, and ventured down the stairs to let the dog do his business.

When they got back inside Finn’s cell phone was rocking out from the coffee table. Closing the distance quickly he scooped it up and answered without a glance at the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Please hold for Declan Whyte.” The woman’s voice was as pinched and irritating as the request.

A bland, jazzy elevator mix played over the line while Finn waited. And waited. Right when he was about to throw in the towel, that signature Scottish burr piped in.

“Finn, my boy. We’ll need to make this quick, I have a conference call in a few minutes.”

“Fine. Fire away.” Finn tried not to wince at his word choice.

“Unfortunately, since you and Joselyn missed your date the other night the press has gone wild with accusations again. Now, I was able to keep the car bombing under wraps, but the circus has only begun with the speculation about your breakup.”

“Sir, I hardly think the public’s opinion about our relationship is important right now. Joselyn and I were almost killed.”
You narcissistic pig!

He found the unspoken insult helped to curb his anger.

“Well I realize it seems trivial, but the weight of the campaign is bearing down and we have to keep up appearances when we can. So, I have issued a leak about Joselyn feeling under the weather and rescheduled your date for Friday night. Same place and time. Security will be firm.”

The man breathed commands. It seemed it was the only language Declan Whyte knew.

“Fine. But with all due respect, sir, have you even gone to see Joselyn? She was understandably shaken up. I’m sure she could use a little more support from you.”

“Ahh,” the native grunt reduced the man to a grizzly. “She’s a tough lass. She’ll be fine.”

Finn gritted his teeth so hard his jaw clicked. “This is bigger than your precious campaign, Mr. Whyte. This is about the safety of your daughter. Remember her? A living, breathing person, not a pawn to score you points in the polls.”

“Watch your tone, lad, I am not to be trifled with. You’d do well to remember our agreement.”

He clenched his fists until crescent moons cut into his palms. Declan Whyte was a self-serving egomaniac, and he didn’t deserve her.

Thinking of Princess Joselyn in her lonely, ivory tower stole the steam from his mounting fury. He wouldn’t trade all the wealth in the world for the life she’d endured because of this cold, callus man. “I feel sorry for you, sir. You’re missing out on something with immeasurably more value than your precious career. Open your eyes. Your daughter needs her dad. And since you refuse to be a decent human being, let alone a passable father, I’ll be there. I’ll be the one she can count on. But know this—I don’t work for you. You couldn’t pay me any amount of money to stay away from your daughter—”

“That’s enough!” The razor-edged rebuke forewarned the force of his retaliation. But Finn couldn’t care less. The man was the lowest of the low. Abandoned and manipulated his daughter to suit his ego-driven gain, deceptively dangling love and affection he had no intention of giving for her compliance.

“If you so much as cross me, boy—” He cut off with a grunt. “The conference call. I shall spare you with this one warning—play your part Friday night. I will not have another slip up. Consider yourself lucky I won’t make you pay for that little tantrum.”

“I am lucky, sir. But it has nothing to do with your
sparing
me and everything to do with your amazing daughter.
You’d
do well to remember
that.
”

Finn wished for simpler times where he could actually slam down the phone. Severing the connection with the resolute jab on a touch screen didn’t seem to satisfy the violent urges blazing in his blood.

So he started pacing, grumbling the unspoken frustrations under his breath.

Soft scraping followed his ranting, and he looked down to see the faithful Dodger warring out the anger march to match. Of course, the wagging tail and lapping pink tongue didn’t much mirror Finn’s tense simmering rage, but he appreciated the support.

He’d finally wrestled down the last remnants of fury when his phone rang.

Private caller
.

“What now?” He snapped, expecting Declan Whyte’s retaliation from being hung up on.

“I’m sorry, Finn. This is Trisha Bollivar, from the group home. Is now a bad time for a visit? I’m afraid I have some news.”

Switching gears, his anger melted away and equal concern filled in its place. “I’ll be right there.”

With each step the weathered boards groaned the swan song of the weary, aging house. The aching sound beneath Finn’s feet resounded yet another failure as it shuddered through him.

Why hadn’t he replaced that loose, splintered board before the winter weather settled in? Someone could get hurt. And that wobbling banister was certainly not up to code. There was so much to do. So much need. And Finn was certainly no hero.

The house served as a reminder of that.

The gutters were constantly spilling over from the clogging remnants of autumn leaves. A dusty black shutter had slipped loose during a storm and hung diagonally across an opaque window. And the roof, well, Finn had done some patching to remedy a few leaky spots but the whole thing needed to go. Everything about the house seemed to sag—as if it were a vestibule for the forgotten.

The screen door whined, the sound trailing away on the bitter wind. Finn rapped on the next peeling red door. And when
that
door echoed a wail on its equally rusty, old hinges it revealed a compassionate Trisha Bollivar—looking as stressed and pained as the old, moaning house.

The middle-aged woman had started the group home over twenty years ago, after losing her husband and newborn son to carbon monoxide poisoning while she worked the night shift as a nurse, turning her tragedy into a purpose.

Trisha stepped back to let him in, and he noticed the tight strain of her tired gray eyes shadowed under the new entry light Finn had installed last month. “How is she?”

She shook her head, the chestnut brown of her wispy hair now overrun with an overgrowth of coarse white making her fifty years seem more like seventy. The woman looked overworked and undernourished, but she did the best she could to give these kids a stable intermediate home before they could be permanently placed, or in some cases, reunited with their parents.

“I tried to explain it, but I’m afraid she didn’t quite understand. She’s pretty upset and wouldn’t stop asking for you.”

He tipped his head toward the hallway. “She in her room?”

With a sad smile, Trisha nodded. “I was thinking maybe you could take her out if you’re not too busy. Chrissy has a visit from a couple who are working toward her adoption in an hour. Probably be best if lil’ miss isn’t here for that.”

“Sure, I’d be happy to take her. It’s still early, so I’ll have all day to cheer her up. What time is naptime again?”

“Around two o’clock. But she hasn’t been sleeping well the past week.” The woman wrung her frail hands together—hands that somehow managed to carry all the pain and worry for the six young girls under her care.

Finn touched her shoulder. “I’ll bring her back before bedtime. Give you a little break.”

As he started down the hallway he allowed a miniscule touch of pride. Contrary to the abysmal exterior, the little improvements he’d made to the interior of the run-down Victorian house over the past few months had really made it feel like a home. A slap of fresh paint in a pale, friendly yellow made the rooms glow with warmth and cheer. New overhead light fixtures chased away the dim casts of spooky shadows from previously drab, lamp-lighted rooms.

The floors were newly refinished and glossy, tested by Finn and the girls upon completion to be sock-slideable. The plumbing was now functional, and the musky old air that had plumed from the gritty vents newly filtered and healthy since he’d cleaned out the ducts.

The efforts weren’t enough to turn the home into a showpiece, but compared to the wreck he’d stumbled upon almost five months ago, it was becoming a place where a kid could flourish under a nurturing hand.

The soles of his Converse squeaked on the smooth surface as he traversed the hall. When he got to the right door it flew open.

“Finn! You came!”

And his heart melted right there, as the little girl, so innocent and forgiving, launched into his arms and refused to let go.