Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
JOSEPHINE “JO” BOOKER
My eyes flutter open and I immediately groan as my temples throb something wicked. I blink, silently willing my vision to fall back into focus and when it finally does, I lay lifeless, staring at an exposed brick wall. It registers that I’m in a foreign place, but I can’t seem to care. I curl deeper under the thin blanket, breathing in the faint scent of cedar.
Flashes of the night before come flooding back to me in drips and drabs, starting with answering the call no one ever wants to receive, and ending with Johnny tucking me into bed. The vision of him laying me down against the cool sheets plays on a constant loop, and before I can force my foggy mind to recall what led to that moment, I bolt upright. The blanket falls to my waist and my gaze swings downward. Realizing I’m still dressed in the clothes Johnny gave me, I blow out a relieved sigh, but that doesn’t stop shame from creeping in.
Getting drunk with my brother’s friend on the night I found out he took his own life is probably the lowest thing I’ve done to date. It’s like the moment he arrived at the police station, I lost sight of why I called Johnny in the first place. Now, I’m in his bed with a killer hangover. My brother is still dead, and Chestnut has no home.
A knock sounds at the door, and Johnny’s voice drifts into the room.
“Jo? You awake?”
My head snaps up, and I stare at the closed door. Alarm bells sound in my head, warning me there is absolutely no part of me that is prepared to face him just yet, but Chestnut doesn’t seem to get the memo. The dog jumps from the foot of the bed and rushes toward the door. He stands on his hind legs and scratches at the wood. His bark startles me. Until now he hasn’t made a peep. The poor thing has shown more remorse over losing Andrew than me.
“It’s okay, bud,” Johnny croons. “It’s just me.” The doorknob jiggles, and my fingers curl around the frayed hem of the blanket as the door slowly opens and Johnny sticks his head inside the room. His attention goes straight for the dog, talking in hushed tones as he pats Chestnut’s head, ushering him away from the door so he can fully open it and slip inside the room.
“Thatta a boy. You taking care of our girl? Yeah, you are.”
A heavy weight falls on my chest as I watch the exchange between man and dog. I’ve never really given Johnny’s love and appreciation for animals much thought. I understood the mission statement behind Booker & Mann, but I always assumed at the end of the day it was just a job. Seeing him in his element, it’s clear there is passion there. Johnny wasn’t driven by the almighty dollar when he decided to open Booker & Mann, and that is kind of amazing in today’s day and age.
Johnny closes the door with the heel of his worn moto boot, padding further into the room. His hand doesn’t leave Chestnut’s head as he lifts his chin and his eyes fine mine. For a second he just stands there, petting the dog as he stares at me. Those bright blue eyes of his intensely assessing me, making me feel like a specimen under a microscope. The urge to speak, to cut through the tension and fill the void between us, claws at me. But my throat is dry, and my mind goes blank.
This is why I started drinking last night.
I thought a little liquid courage would help me navigate this situation better.
“Wasn’t sure if you were awake yet,” he says.
His hand abandons Chestnut’s head, and he takes another step closer to the bed. My pulse flutters, and in an effort to keep my voice even, I tear my gaze away from him.
Licking my lips, I concentrate on the neon sign that hangs from the brick wall. I don’t know how it’s possible I’m just noticing it, especially when it’s my last name that shines back at me.
Booker & Mann.
“Is that a replica of your logo or something?”
Christ, my voice sounds hellish.
Scratchy, and hoarse.
Like I swallowed a bunch of nails.
“Sure is,” Johnny confirms. “Holly had it made for me last Christmas.” He pauses and I involuntarily turn to him, watching as he scratches at the scruff lining his jaw. His eyes don’t leave the neon sign as he continues,iHisHI “I think she meant it to be a gag gift after I gave Theo a dog. The woman wasn’t too pleased with me. But I love it. I keep nagging her to give me the name of the place she got it from because I want to put one in my office.”
He drags his gaze back to me and lowers his hand. “Holly is Maverick’s wife. I keep talking about her, but I don’t think I ever explained who she is. And Theo is their youngest son.”
“To be fair, I don’t know that I’d remember who she is even if you did explain. Things are a little fuzzy for me.”
He shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “Yeah, I bet. How’s the head?”
I groan. “Pounding as expected. Why did you let me drink that much?”
It’s not his fault, but idle conversation is not my strong suit.
A ghost of a smile whips across his lips, revealing a single dimple. “I tried to cut you off, but you bared your teeth to me. Didn’t know you could be such a vicious little thing.”
My cheeks heat.
“I’m sorry. I…” The words die on my tongue.
I don’t have much recollection of how much I drank. One minute I was standing in the doorway, the next I’m at the bar surrounded by bikers. Everyone was unbelievably kind to me and drank in memory of my brother. They let me chew their ears off while I shared random memories of Andrew, and if memory serves me correctly, I think they even offered to stock their pantry with foods I liked, which was kind of bizarre. I mean, these bikers were nothing like the ones I watched on FX.
Lifting my chin, I brave a glance at Johnny. “I wasn’t disrespectful to anyone was I?”
He’s not quick to answer which leads me to believe I definitely crossed some lines I wasn’t supposed to. Lowering my face into my hands, I mutter a curse. That’s what happens when you’re a recluse. You don’t know how to act when you’re surrounded by good people.
Johnny sighs and I feel the bed dip with his weight. I’m too much of a coward to lift my head, so I just kind of sulk until I feel his hand on my knee. Even with the barrier of the blanket and my borrowed sweatpants, his touch is electric.
“You were fine, Jo. Everyone loved you. Hell, if you were thirty years older, Leftie might ask you out on a date. He told me this morning he’d settle for your Aunt Barbara. Poor guy nearly cried when I told him she was in a nursing home.”
At the mention of my Aunt Barbara, my mind starts to race with all the things I have to do and sitting high on the top is having to break the news of Andrew’s passing to the woman who raised us. I tear my hands away from my face and shove the blanket away. Johnny’s hand immediately falls from my knee, and I swing my legs over the side of the bed, carefully avoiding touching him at any cost. The soles of my feet touch the laminate floor and I stand a little too quickly. All the blood rushes to my head.
I’m never drinking again.
“Whoa…where’s the fire?”
“No fire,” I say as my eyes dart around the room in search of the clothes I wore here. I remember folding them and putting them on the chair before I went in the shower, and now they’re gone.
“Looking for something?” Johnny questions.
I snap back around and push my fingers through my hair.
“My clothes. I left them right there on that chair.”
“They’re in the washing machine.” He says it so nonchalantly, like it’s no big deal, and all I can do is stare at him with my mouth hanging open like he’s a mysterious wonder of the world.
“Come to think of it, I should probably go put them in the dryer.”
Again. Like it’s no big deal.
Like him being some domestic type of biker isn’t supposed to shock me. Not to mention, this place is totally deceiving. It looks like a warehouse from the outside, but it’s got the amenities of a four-star hotel. I wouldn’t be surprised if there is a pool somewhere on the property. It’s no wonder why Johnny calls this place home.
“I’ll go do that in a minute,” he continues as his eyes track my body. “You cold? I can give you a sweatshirt.”
Forcing myself out of my stupor, I blink at him.
“Cold?” The single word comes out like a squawk, and I shake my head. What the hell is wrong with my voice? Swallowing, I try again. Maybe this time I won’t sound like a dying bird. “Not particularly.”
He clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, then slaps his palms against his denim clad thighs. My eyes follow the movement and I swallow thickly. The man’s thighs are like tree trunks.
Pushing up off the bed, he crosses the room and opens a drawer. He grabs a black sweatshirt and offers it to me. I glance at it, then bring my gaze back to his.
“I’m not cold.”
“Humor me,” he grinds out.
I’m about to argue but before I can, he presses the sweatshirt against my belly. His forearm unintentionally grazes the underside of my breast, and the contact sends an electric shock throughout my system, making me hyper aware of the fact I’m not wearing a bra.
And here I thought this situation couldn’t possibly become anymore uncomfortable. In come my nipples saluting Johnny, saying hold my beer .
“Don’t need you walking out there with your headlights beaming, Jo.” For the first time this morning his tone sounds harsh. “Put the sweatshirt on and I’ll swap your clothes from the washer to the dryer. Leftie’s got breakfast cooking and there’s a fresh pot of coffee ready.”
Still holding the shirt against my belly, he reaches for my hand with his free one and forces me to take the shirt from him. My fingers curl around the soft fabric and he takes a step backward, his eyes never leaving mine. The longer we stand silently staring at one another the more anxious I become.
This is all too much.
He is too much.
In an attempt to preserve what is left of my common sense, I blurt, “I need to get out of here.”
I’ve seen how this plays out. Girl calls guy in time of need. Guy steps up. Girl gets attached even though she knows she shouldn’t. Then, bam! Guy breaks what’s left of her heart.
No, thanks. I’m good.
I shove the sweatshirt against his chest.
“If it’s okay, I will just wear this.” My hand sweeps down the length of my body, referencing the borrowed clothes I’m wearing. “I’ll wash everything and return it. I assume you’ll be at Andrew’s service. I can give it to you then.” I turn around, and start pacing the room, sending a silent prayer that he didn’t throw my bra in the wash too.
“Jo.”
“I need to get on the road. I have to go to the salon. I left in a hurry when the detective called, and I have some things I need to square away. Then I should probably figure out which funeral home I’ll be using. I’m going to bury him in the same cemetery as our parents, I think.”
As soon as those words leave my lips, my brain kicks into overdrive and I start running the numbers inside my head. I don’t know how much a plot costs, but I know they’re not cheap. I don’t think Andrew had insurance, and even if he did, I think a life insurance policy becomes invalid if the person commits suicide. But he was a veteran, and they have certain death benefits. Of course, I don’t have any paperwork. I really need to get inside Andrew’s apartment before I make any moves. With that in mind, I decide calling Detective Reynolds needs to be the first thing I cross off my list for the day. Hopefully, he’ll tell me the released his apartment and I can get in.
Forcing myself to focus on the here and now, I push all the never-ending responsibilities to the back of my head and look behind the chair for my bra. When I fall short, I hiss. “Where the fuck is it?”
“Jo.”
I ignore Johnny’s clipped tone, and head for the bathroom connected to his room. I don’t remember taking it off in there, but it’s gotta be somewhere.
Dear God, please don’t let it be in the washing machine.
Before I can cross the threshold, Johnny’s hand closes around my wrist, halting me from taking another step. His calloused fingers press into my skin as his chest comes flush with my back, and his breath skates across my ear. Goosebumps skate across my arms, and a chill races up my spine. The last time he got this close, I was left feeling like a fool.
Chestnut barks, and hurries toward us, trying to wedge his body between our legs, but Johnny doesn’t give him any leeway. He just snaps his fingers, and the dog miraculously sits.
I guess I know where his loyalty lies.
“You got a man?” He growls against my ear.
I try to pry my wrist free, but his grip tightens.
“What does that have to do with burying my brother?” I hiss.
The tip of his nose grazes the side of my neck, and I fight the urge to moan. What the hell is wrong with me?
“What about friends? Got many of them?” he presses, his tone all gravely. Somehow, he manages to get even closer, all his hard lines pressing against me, making it nearly impossible for me to breathe, yet alone think.
I swallow past the lump in my throat.
“Of course I have friends.” I squeak. I wouldn’t call myself Ms. Popularity by any stretch, but I consider some of the stylists that work for me my friends. Katie for one and Georgia too. Oh, and the ninety-year-old man that lives in the apartment below me. Gus might actually be my best friend.
“Yet you called me. Not your man, and not them.”
He releases my wrist and turns me around. Instinctively, I take a step backward, trying to put a little space between us, but he swallows it up and I find myself with my back plastered against the bathroom door. He splays his palm against the wood over my head and leans into me, those bright blue eyes darkening to the where they look almost navy.
“Quit saying you have to do this, and you have to do that, and start telling me what we are doing, because you called me. In your darkest hour, you called me, and I take that shit very seriously, Jo. So whatever has to be done, we’ll get it done together. No more of this I shit. From this point forward, we’re a team. Now, from all that rambling, I take it we got a long day ahead of us. We’ll get some coffee in you, have a little breakfast, then we’ll start tackling the list. I’ll call Detective Reynolds and see where we’re at with them releasing Andrew’s apartment. Leftie’s sister works for a funeral home, and he’s already put in a call. She’s expecting us in an hour. After that we can swing by your salon.”
My head spins with all of that, and my eyes begin to water as I process everything. In my intense bid with grief, I temporarily let my carefully structured armor fall, and Johnny slithered in, but life has taught me a hard lesson, and I know deep down his comfort and support is fleeting. No one ever sticks.
Not my parents.
Not Aunt Barbara.
Not Andrew.
And Johnny certainly isn’t going to be the one that breaks the cycle.
I don’t mean to sound bitter about it either. It’s just facts. I learned to never rely on others. There are no bailouts for me. I’ve crawled my way out of much deeper holes than this, and I’m still standing. I remind myself of that, and fit my armor back in place, meeting Johnny’s gaze as I will my tears not to fall.
“I called you because of the dog. That’s it.”
His brows draw tight as he narrows his eyes.
“What about him?”
“I…didn’t know about Chestnut until Detective Reynolds asked me what I wanted to do with him. Andrew’s landlady can’t keep him, and I don’t feel comfortable placing him in a shelter.”
“What about you?”
I shake my head. “I can’t have a dog in my apartment, and even if I could, I’m not home all that much. It would be cruel for him to stay by himself all day.”
He seems to mull that over a for a moment, and I take that as my opportunity to slip under his arm. I abandon my quest to find my missing bra, and slide past him, grabbing my sneakers from the floor. As I slide them onto my feet, I meet his gaze.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m trying to do the right thing here. He’s a service dog, Johnny. If someone can benefit from him, then he should be with that person. Not me.”
When he doesn’t reply, I place my hands on my hips, and cock my head to the side.
“I appreciate you helping me last night. It was nice to have someone to lean on for a little while, but we both know whatever this is—”
“Oh, cut the shit, Jo.” He closes the distance between us. “I don’t know who the fuck hurt you, but you can drop your guard with me.”
I almost laugh at him.
You hurt me, you fool. You, and anyone I ever allowed myself to care about.
Instead of letting that truth fly out of my mouth, I bite my lip and glare at him.
“I’ll take Chestnut off your hands if that’s what you truly want, but it don’t end there. Now, put the fucking sweatshirt on. Breakfast is getting cold, and I’d prefer my brothers don’t stare at your nipples while they eat their fucking eggs.”