Here Comes Trouble (11 page)

He hit him so hard the ball fell from his hands, and he skidded backward on the grass. Ignoring the cries of protest coming from the other men, Matthew walked slowly over to him, adrenalin racing through his veins. He knew his own power, and he hadn’t even exerted all of it.

Lewis looked up with a dazed expression. Matthew looked down at him with his chest puffed out and his lip curled up into what could only be described as a snarl.

“Run tell that.”

Chaos broke out, with the men on the other team yelling at Matthew, but he didn’t budge. He wanted Lewis to get up and confront him so he could level him to the ground. Roarke tried several times to move Matthew, finally hooking his arms under his armpits to pry his feet from being rooted in the earth and drag him over to the kitchen area. Meanwhile, Lewis’s teammates helped him up off the ground. 

“Bring him back over here. Let’s finish this,” Lewis said, now he’d regained his senses and had reinforcements around him.

“Yeah, we want a piece of him,” someone else said.

“Can’t let you do that, guys,” Roarke said in a calm tone, standing in front of him. Even though he was smaller, his instinctive response was to protect his brother.

“Let me go. I can take them,” Matthew said.

“Chill,” Roarke said in an angry whisper.

Lucas, Xander, and Roarke’s friends stood between them and the opposing team, holding their hands up in a placating gesture to calm them down.

“Matt, this is touch football,” Antonio called. “What’s wrong with you?”

Matthew continued to eye Lewis, now in the process of dusting off his jeans. “He’s lucky I didn’t do more,” he muttered so only Roarke could hear.

“I’m leaving,” Lewis said. But before he did, he lifted his finger and pointed at Matthew. “You have issues.”

Matthew made a move toward him, but Roarke lifted his arm to stop him. After a shake of his head, Antonio and the other two men followed.

Roarke rounded on Matthew. “All this for Lorena? Do you think she’s going to be happy you tried to flatten the man she’s dating?”

He hadn’t been thinking. That was the problem. “I’m sorry, Roarke. I busted up your cookout. I have a lot on my mind.”

“I see. Apparently what’s on your mind is trying to kill someone today. Or be killed. If you want to win her back, I’m sure you know this isn’t the way to do it. You have to prove you’ve changed. Until you do, Lorena won’t give you another chance.”

“I know.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Matthew looked his brother in the eye. “I’m going to prove to her I’ve changed,” he said with conviction.

Chapter Eight

Sweat drenched Lorena’s skin as she ran along the lighted sidewalk on the way back to her house. Her sneakered feet hit the pavement in an even rhythm. It was nighttime, and although she felt safe in her neighborhood, in her right hand she clutched a container of pepper spray. One could never be too careful.

She’d left the house after a phone call with her brother. Hearing about the confrontation between Matthew and Lewis upset her, and the solitude of running helped her to think. The fresh air renewed her spirits and created a blank slate in her mind so new thoughts could germinate.

She felt guilty about what had happened and speculated her behavior at Matthew’s apartment had encouraged his atrocious action toward Lewis. She needed to talk to Lewis about their future together. With the acknowledgment of her feelings for Matthew, she couldn’t continue to date him. It wasn’t fair to him. She’d rebounded with Lewis, using him to try to get over her heartache.

As she neared her yard, her pace slowed to a cooldown jog, and she was surprised to see Lewis’s car parked in the driveway. He stood by the driver’s side, talking on the phone. When he saw her, he ended the call and gave her a welcoming smile.

“Lewis,” Lorena puffed, trying to catch her breath. She placed her hands on her hips. “What brought you here?”

“Longing to see you, and you haven’t returned my phone calls.”

True. Guilt gnawed at her insides over what she’d done. She brushed a sweat-dampened curl from over her eye. “Sorry. I should have called you sooner.”

“No need to apologize.” He walked over and bent down for a kiss, but she ducked her head.

“I’m sweaty and gross,” she said by way of excuse, but the truth was, she didn’t want his kiss. After she said what she had to, he wouldn’t want to kiss her, either.

“I’m not bothered by a little sweat,” he said, pulling her into his arms.

She went rigid and accepted a peck on the lips before pulling away again.

Lewis frowned down at her. “Is something wrong?”

“We need to talk…about us.”

“I agree. I think it’s time we take our relationship to the next level, don’t you?”

He’d been pressing for an exclusive relationship ever since they started dating, which made what she had to tell him that much harder to say.

“Let’s go inside,” she said instead of answering his question.

****

Down the street, hidden in the shadow of a large oak, Matthew gripped the steering wheel so tight his biceps ached. He’d been sitting there, waiting, debating if he should stick around since Lorena wasn’t home. The minutes had dragged by, but he had hated to leave and miss her. He wanted a chance to talk to her, and a chance to offer her the bouquet of roses resting on the passenger seat beside him.

Maybe he was a masochist, intent on torturing himself over a woman who insisted she didn’t want to have anything else to do with him, but he couldn’t help it.

He’d been about to drive away, when Lewis drove up in his flashy car. He wished he had left and not seen Lorena kiss him. They’d gone inside and…He didn’t want to think about what they were about to do in her house.

He started the truck and swung the wheel hard, making a U-turn in the street, almost hitting a black sedan coming toward him.

He almost couldn’t manage the pain and anger whirling through his blood. It hurt him to think of her being with Lewis. It angered him that he’d brought this on himself.

It was over.

He had to let her go. She’d made her decision and moved on, even though he couldn’t.

Just like his mother.

The thought shot through him, and he clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to be like her. He didn’t want his happiness dependent on another person.

He remembered the day his mother passed away. At the time, he’d just turned twelve. The medical examiner said she died of a heart attack, but the family insisted she’d died of a broken heart. He and his brother and sister had watched her die, slowly, over a period of a couple of months.

Tears burned his eyes. He momentarily squeezed them shut and pressed his fingers to his lids to block out the pain of his loss sixteen years ago.

He’d been the one to find her…

****

A plane crash had taken the life of Matthew’s father and his mistress. After their deaths, his mother fell into depression. She’d lost her husband, and his untimely passing had revealed his continued infidelity with the woman he’d fathered a child with. That child was his half brother, Derrick.

She withdrew from the family and often ignored the needs of her children to simply remain in bed with the lights out and the curtains drawn.

As the oldest, Roarke stepped in, trying to keep their routine as normal as possible. Right after becoming the man of the house, he took on the role of both parents. He watched over his siblings like a hawk and made sure they ate three meals a day, dressed properly, and continued to participate in extracurricular activities to keep them preoccupied from the sadness around them. All this in the midst of preparations to go to college.

One Saturday Roarke took Cassidy, almost eight years old, to her dance class. Matthew stayed home and watched television. Even at that age, he knew something wasn’t right that day. The house was too quiet.

He climbed the stairs and knocked on his mother’s bedroom door. He wanted to see if she needed anything. Sometimes days went by and they didn’t see her, and he missed her. When she didn’t answer the door, he knocked again. She still didn’t answer, so he went in.

Thick drapes kept the room dark, but Matthew could clearly see the bed and the outline of her body under the covers. He quietly called out to her.

No response.

He walked to the bed and touched her arm. The coldness of her skin startled him. With his heart pounding, he shook her, but she didn’t move. Then he knew.

She was dead.

In a panic, he quickly backed away and lost his footing, crashing to the floor, onto his butt. He scurried across the carpet on his hands and knees, and once outside the bedroom, he called Roarke. Roarke said to stay out of the room, and he did. He sat in a corner of the hallway. He didn’t move even when Roarke came home and checked for himself.

When the police arrived and asked questions, he answered them calmly, taking strength from his big brother’s reassuring presence behind him, a comforting hand resting on his shoulder. The worst part was when Cassidy started crying. She tried to go into the room, but Roarke didn’t let her.

The three of them stood at one end of the upstairs hall as the coroner and officers went in and out of the bedroom.

“I want my mommy!” Cassidy cried.

Roarke sank to the floor, holding her, and Matthew slid down the wall beside him.

“I want my mommy!” Cassidy sobbed, reaching toward the covered gurney carried by two big men toward the staircase.

But Roarke held on to her, whispering soothing words, trying to keep her calm. The three of them huddled in the corner as their mother’s lifeless body left the house.

“Mommy! Mommy!”

Cassidy’s shrieks pierced the air, and the sadness on Roarke’s face gutted Matthew. But he didn’t cry. Boys didn’t cry. He didn’t cry—until Roarke hooked his arm around his neck and drew him into a tight hug.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’re going to be all right.”

Matthew broke down and sobbed into his brother’s chest.

They’d lost both their parents within the span of two months.

The three of them had been inseparable ever since.

****

Driving down the almost empty roadway, Matthew shoved the pain back down his throat with a big swallow. He pulled over onto the shoulder of the road, gravel and dirt crunching under the tires. He hopped out and walked to the passenger side and crouched, ducking his head to forestall the nausea creeping up his throat from his knotted stomach.

He hated thinking about that day because it always drained him. Tonight, though, he saw the events in a new light. It suddenly dawned on him the root of his deep fear of relationships.

His mother had died because of her love.

Having seen such devotion had filled him with a fear of loving anyone so hard and so deep. He’d been so afraid he’d gone in the opposite direction. He’d become as close to being his father as he could.

He’d become smooth and suave like his dad—the coolest man he’d ever known at the time. In doing so, he’d managed to protect his heart. But had he really? He’d fallen in love anyway. Being without Lorena made him realize he didn’t want to be like his father. He wanted love, a family, and he wanted all those things with her.