The Reasons to Stay (Harlequin Superromance) (12 page)

Adam was the polar opposite of transient. And
so
not bad. She was the one who chose the truth first and always; after that kiss, she could no longer deny the attraction. She felt betrayed by her own curiosity, and her traitorous libido. But why a good boy all of a sudden? And why hadn’t she recognized it sooner?

Trying to leave her thoughts behind, she strode down the hall. Hand on the knob of her apartment door, hearing laughter from inside, she threw it open.

Forearms on the table, Nacho leaned over the puzzle, laughing. “That doesn’t belong there! It’s not even the right color!”

“Oh, I thought because of the green...” Olivia looked up at Priss and winked.

Nacho said, “Priss, you have to come help. Olivia stinks at this.”

“That is rude, and she’s Mrs. Preston to you, bud.” Amazed by the happy-go-lucky kid in her kitchen, Priss stepped inside and closed the door. He looked as wholesome and normal as a milk-commercial kid. Well, except for the tats.

Olivia smiled. “No, he’s right. I’m better with word games.” She patted Nacho’s hand. “Next time, I’ll bring my Scrabble game, and wipe the floor with you, young man.”

“Thank you so much for staying, Olivia. You didn’t need to.”

She managed to make climbing out of a chair and onto a walker look graceful. “I’d much rather be with Nacho than ‘hang’ by myself.” She glanced to him to be sure she got it right.

He gave her two thumbs up.

“Good night, Ignacio.”

“’Night, Mrs. Preston.”

Priss followed Olivia out and waited until they both were in the hall. “Did you put him under some kind of spell? And when will it wear off?”

Olivia’s wheels squeaked to her door. She chuckled. “He’s a good boy.”

Priss looked back at the open door of their apartment. “He can play that part.”

“He’s scared to death, you know.”

Priss snorted.

“He’s testing you to be sure you won’t throw him away.” Olivia opened her door, then stopped. Priss squirmed inside. Outside, she made sure to hold the woman’s stare.

“I didn’t think you would.” A small, smug smile turned up the corners of Olivia’s lips. “You’re a good girl. You’re going to be good for Adam. Good night.” She stepped into her apartment and closed the door, leaving Priss slipping over consonants and vowels that refused to congeal into words.

* * *

A
DAM
HAD
EVERY
intention of going home. He even made it to his car. But once there, he stood, hand on the door handle. The evening had left him antsy. Unsettled. He could jog home. Maybe that would calm the riot that was raging in his chest. Or—he glanced up and saw the light flip on in his mother’s kitchen. Maybe a cup of tea and some innocuous conversation would distract him. Besides, he should tell his mother good-night, and thank her for watching Nacho. It was the least he could do.

At his knock, his mother called, “The door’s open, Adam.”

She sat in her favorite chair, two steaming cups of tea on the table beside her. “How did you know it was me?”

She patted the chair beside her. “Mother’s intuition.”

He crossed the room and sat.

“Are you all right?” His mother eyed him like a robin does a particularly juicy worm.

He now knew why worms squirmed. “Yeah, fine, why?” He scooched back in the seat.

“Because you look uncomfortable.” She tried to hide a smile behind her teacup.

“I’m not.” He should have known this was a bad idea. He set down the teacup and stood. “Okay, so maybe I am.” He strode the length of the living room. “I don’t know why, but I am.”

“Talk to me, Adam.”

He stood before the wall of family photos he’d put up at his mother’s direction. His parents, on their wedding day. His father, out in front of the store, back when it was still a five-and-dime. He and Roger in Little League uniforms, arms around each other’s shoulders.

“Mom, do you think it’s possible for a person to change?”

“Of course I do.”

“I don’t mean small changes. I’m talking a one-eighty.” He turned. “My life used to fit me so well. But it’s like I woke up one morning and realized it doesn’t anymore. It just seems bland and...” He walked back and plopped into the chair. “Boring.”

“I’m so glad, son.”

“Glad? This is awful. I had it nailed. Life was good. Now I can’t count on anything.” He stood. “Do you know how unsettling it is to wake up a different person than you thought you were?”

“Change is frightening for everyone, Adam, but even more so for you.” She set down her cup. “But it may comfort you to know, you’re not becoming a different person. You’re becoming Adam again.”

“Huh?” He sat down and ran his hand through his hair.

She looked over his head, remembering. “You were such an inquisitive child. Rushing here and there, as if afraid you’d miss some adventure happening while you were in the midst of another.” Her hand stole over to touch his knee. “After the accident, you became this Adam—incurious, cautious and quiet.” Her hand warmed the cold skin of his knee. “I like that old Adam a lot. Welcome back, son.”

“You may remember that Adam, Mom, but he’s a stranger to me. It’s disconcerting.”

“Disconcerting never hurt anyone.” Her lips curled to smugness. “I told you Priss was the one.”

CHAPTER TEN

T
HE
NEXT
MORNING
Priss sat at a table in the soda fountain before the pharmacy opened, scanning the paper. “Sin, do you know anything about the YMCA?” She took a sip of coffee.

Behind the soda counter, Sin put her hand on her hip and shot off three gum snaps. “Village People hit in the late seventies.”

Priss chuckled, then choked, grabbing a napkin so she wouldn’t spray coffee all over the newspaper. When she could talk again, she said, “Oh, God, I needed that. Thanks.”

Sin shot her a “humor the crazy lady” look. “Anytime.”

Adam walked in.

“Mornin’, boss.” Sin poured him a cup of coffee.

“Good morning.” He glanced at Priss then took the mug from Sin. “Thanks. What’s so funny?”

“Got me.”
Snap. Snap.
“I gotta restock.” She walked to the storeroom at the back of the store.

When Adam crossed the floor and sat, Priss’s levity winked out like the New York skyline in a blackout.

“Good morning.”

“Hi.” Her throat locked in a stranglehold and she coughed to clear it. She couldn’t claim to be surprised to see him; after all, she’d come here to talk to him. But now that he sat across from her with the memory of last night in his soft dark eyes, her courage fled as fast as her amusement.

If Nacho can apologize to a pissed-off yeti, you can do this.

“I’m sorry I ran away last night. I owe you—”

He looked away. “For the candy. I know.” His jaw in profile was hard.

“—an explanation.”

He turned to her, his eyes holding a look of hopeful guardedness.

The truth had seemed simple when she’d been in the shower. When she’d driven Nacho to school. Even when she’d sat down with the paper a few minutes ago. It was still simple—it was just hard to say. She fingered the edges of the newsprint, folding the corners in precise angles. “You scare me.”

“I scare
you?
”

“You think that’s funny?”

His chuckle looked like it pained him. “I’m not laughing at you. If you knew me better, you’d get the joke.” He shrugged. “I’m nothing to be afraid of. What you see is what you get.”

“Yeah, and that’s what scares me.” She folded another corner. This was not going as planned. Planned? Hell, truth was she hadn’t thought past spitting out the truth. “Look, what happened last night shouldn’t have. You are a ‘nice guy.’ I don’t do nice guys. I’m sure I’m not your normal type, either.” She frowned and cocked her head. “It’s weird. There’s this...”

“Pull.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He drew the word out, as if testing it. “Maybe we should get to know each other better.”

A sparkler of excitement fired in her chest, burning hot even as she opened her mouth to say no.
You came down here to finish with him. Do it.

He rushed on. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. I have a game in the morning, but after that why don’t we load up Nacho and a picnic lunch and drive up the coast?”

“I—”

“Have you ever seen an elephant seal sunbathing in a bikini?” He waggled his eyebrows.

She smiled. “You say that like I’d want to.”

The smile faded in his eyes, replaced by a somehow sexy wistfulness. “Come on, Priss. If you take a chance, I will.”

She wanted to say yes. But she needed to say no.

She shook her head. “Um. Okay.”

* * *

T
HE
LUNCHTIME
RUSH
OVER
,
Priss wiped down the bar, then checked her stock. The regulars sat engrossed in a game show on TV.

“Three fifty,” Ian said.

Barney dismissed him with a wave. “Are you kidding? Dish detergent is expensive. Seven ninety-five.”

Numbers flipped and the TV dinged.

Barney took a pull on his beer. “Loser. What would a dude in a chicken suit know about shopping?”

“Everyone okay for now?” After they nodded, Priss grabbed the handle of her bucket. “I’ll be right back.” She walked to toward the back room, where the industrial ice maker lived.

I should have said no to Adam.
She imagined driving up PCH, wind in her hair, Adam beside her. Her heart took a happy skip.

Pushing open the door, she saw Gaby lying on the tile floor, half in, half out of the room-size cooler, her feet on the overturned milk crate they used as a step stool.

Priss’s heart broke into a full gallop. She dropped the bucket and ran the few steps to drop on her knees at Gaby’s side. She put her fingers to the wrinkly skin at Gaby’s neck, feeling for a pulse while she scanned the rayon-clad body for obvious fractures.

Gaby came to with a start, slapping at Priss’s hands. “Get away!”

Priss sat back on her heels. “Did you fall? Are you dizzy? Is your—”

“Whatsamatterwithyou?” The old woman struggled to sit up.

Priss reached to help her, but thought better of it just in time.

“Back off.” Gaby lowered her feet from the crate. “What do you want? I’m allowed a lunch break.”

When Gaby sat up, Priss noticed a yoga mat on the floor under her. “You did this on purpose?”

“Of course I did, you little fool.” Joints popping, she crawled to her knees, took a few breaths, then slowly pushed to her feet. She pulled at her bra, straightened her dress, and after shooting Priss a death ray, walked out with all the stiff, awkward dignity of a strutting ostrich.

What the hell?

Priss slid the yoga mat out of the entryway and closed the thick door of the cooler.

Retrieving her bucket, she walked to the ice maker. She scooped, trying to work out what she’d just seen. Gaby had her feet up, in the cold. Did the woman’s feet ache? They must. But those old bones, lying on a hard tile floor, even with a mat—that had to hurt, too. Which meant Gaby’s feet hurt worse.

It took both hands to drag the ice-filled bucket across the tile.
Why should I feel bad for the old hag?

She pushed the swinging door open with her butt. Porter saw her and rushed over to carry the bucket.

She followed him behind the bar and slid open the ice bin lid.

The ice rattled, drowning out the TV game show. “Thanks.”

“No worries. A little thing like you shouldn’t have to do that.”

“You do what you have to.” She watched Gaby exit the restroom.
I’ve got it easier than some.
She shook her head to clear out the sympathy. Gaby was as helpless as a cobra, and about as even-tempered.

Priss walked to the end of the bar. “Hey, Barn, you need another beer?” She removed the empty bottle and crumpled the wet napkin beneath it.

“Nope.” He pulled out his ancient wallet. “I want to be home in time for the double-header this afternoon.” Counting out a few ones he laid them on the bar, then pulled his change purse from the other pocket. He leaned in and whispered, “Did I tell you I got a new TV?”

“You did? I’m so glad.” She picked up the bills, a small trickle of satisfaction warming her stomach.

“Yeah. I think my son had it delivered. It’s not new, but it’s a gem.” He pushed the change around the small leather purse, selected two quarters, and laid them on the bar. “Did I ever tell you that my grandson is a backup shortstop for the Tigers?” Pride sparkled in his little blue eyes.

And the trickle in her stomach froze to ice chips. “No, Barn, you never did.”

* * *

“W
HERE
ARE
WE
GOING
?” Nacho sat with his head stuck out the window, squinting against the wind like a retriever happy to be out for a ride.

“We’re going to check out the Y-M-C-A.” She sang the last part.

“What’s there?”

“Art classes.”

“For you?”

She reached over and ruffled his hair. “No, my cute little brother, for you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Why would you think I’d want stupid art classes at the YMCA?”

“Well, Bear said you had talent. This is a way for you to develop it without getting arrested.”

“What will
help
is for me to work with Bear, not finger painting with a bunch of losers.”

“Nah, they don’t do finger painting with kids your age. Anyway, how do you know they’re losers if you’ve never been there?” She turned left into the parking lot of the community center, next to the library.

“Because I’ve been there.” He slouched down in the seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “When I bitch—complained about hanging at the library with Mom, she took me over here.” He pointed to the one-story stucco building. “It’s just a giant babysitter.”

So Mom did try to keep him busy and out of trouble.

While Mona settled, Priss unbuckled her seat belt. Nacho didn’t move. “Hey, look at me.”

He held still long enough to let her know he didn’t want to, but not long enough for her to protest. He turned to her with a bored adolescent look on his face. “What?”

“I’m trying, okay? Do you think you could try a little, too?”

He grunted, undid his seat belt, and got out of the car. But when she rested her hand on his shoulder as they walked to the building, he didn’t shrug it off.

They were greeted at the door by the squeak of tennis shoes on waxed wood, shouting and the smell of kid sweat. Walking to the front desk, they passed a picture window to the gym, displaying a basketball game in progress. After getting directions, Priss led the way down a hallway of classrooms to the last one.

The cavernous room was filled with round tables and smelled like tempura paint and library paste. A college-age guy looked up from helping a girl about Nacho’s age, who was working with clay.

Nacho heaved the sigh of a prisoner facing a life sentence as the young man came over to greet them.

A half hour later, after renewing
Lord of the Flies,
Priss sat in a comfortable chair at the library, studying. The book club was next week, and though she’d finished her reading, she wanted to make notes so she had at least a shot at not embarrassing herself at the meeting.

But she shifted in her chair, realizing she’d just read the same paragraph twice. She checked her phone. Nacho wouldn’t be done for another hour and a half.

Forget about the date with Adam, already—what’s wrong with you?

Looking up, she noticed the row of public-use computers. Nacho had said their mom had spent hours at the library, researching something. But what?

She still didn’t understand what the wad of money she’d found at her mother’s apartment had been earmarked for, or what the cryptic list she’d found meant. Priss closed the book, stood and pulled her wallet from her back pocket. Thumbing through it, she pulled out the scrap of paper that listed all the states with Nevada, Florida, Michigan and Ohio crossed off. Maybe that was a place to start.

It was over an hour later when she gave up. Apparently research on the internet only worked well if you knew what you were looking for. All she knew was that what she wanted wasn’t in four states.

What were you doing, Mom?

* * *

H
AIR
STILL
WET
from the shower, Adam walked out the back door of his house carrying his picnic carton. Balancing the box on his knee, he pulled the door closed and double-checked the lock.

He was a little leery about having left the afternoon’s baseball schedule in the hands of Willie the bookie, but the day was pretty, the Winos had won the game and he had a date. Better than a date—no upscale restaurants or elevator music. This was more like a playdate. He bounced down the back stairs and trotted to the one-car garage. Well, if a threesome could be considered a date.

He’d definitely rather leave Nacho home. But he understood that Priss couldn’t very well trust the delinquent to stay out of trouble all day. He whistled the opening notes to Clapton’s “Layla” while he stashed the carton in the trunk of his car, slid into the seat behind the wheel and backed the Camry out. Even Nacho couldn’t ruin this day.

When he pulled up behind the store, Nacho and Priss were waiting beside her land yacht of a car. Nacho wore his usual uniform: crotch-to-knee shorts, untied tennis shoes, and a T-shirt sporting a stylized skull oozing something that didn’t bear thinking about.

Priss, on the other hand, looked as fresh and wholesome as the tomboy next door in straight leg jeans, Converse sneakers, and a numbered baseball jersey.

He pulled up beside them. “Hop in. Daylight’s burning.”

Nacho rolled his eyes.

Priss put her hands out, palms up. “On a beautiful day like this, we’re going to drive up Coast Highway in a metal box when we have a convertible we can take? Are you high?”

Adam’s heart plunged onto the floorboard with a splat and lay fibrillating as panic mainlined into his blood. Arguments did laps around the inside of his skull. “That thing doesn’t even have a roll bar. Aren’t you worried about driving Nacho in that?”

The two did an identical head-cock and studied him as if waiting for the punch line.

Shit-shit-shit.
If he made a big deal of this he was going to look like a freaked-out wimp. He eyed the monstrosity. “Okay, we’ll take your—that.” At least when they got in a wreck, they’d have a ton of Detroit steel around them. Of course, that wouldn’t matter, because they’d be ejected immediately.

He turned off the engine and raised his car windows.

He should have known that reclaiming his life wouldn’t be as easy as it had seemed when he made that vow.

One fear at a time.

If he survived, surely he’d come out on the other side of the drive less afraid, right?

Survive being the key word.
He took a deep, steadying breath, squared his shoulders, and opened the car door. “Okay, but I’m driving.”

Priss opened her mouth, but after squinting into his eyes for a few seconds, closed it. “Okay.”

He unlocked the trunk of his car and lifted out the picnic box.

Nacho bounded for the passenger door as Priss called out, “Dude. Backseat.”

The boy huffed, but pulled the front seat forward and plopped into the back.