Chapter Three
––––––––
T J didn’t move. He couldn’t, somehow frozen in place by the shorter woman standing before him, and her use of his name. No one had called him that in more than a year. It felt like it belonged to a stranger now.
Immediately on the heels of that shock, suspicion took hold. He tore his gaze from her to the other one still sitting in a chair. He’d recognized her immediately. She had come here the day after the riots to talk to him and worked for Crimson Point Security out on the coast. What the hell did she want this time? He’d answered all her questions last time.
He kept his expression impassive as he looked between them. “Can I help you with something?”
His tone was guarded. He didn’t like this. Didn’t like the feel of it at all, especially that the new woman knew his name. And he didn’t like the weird flash of attraction he felt toward her either, to her sweet curves and pretty face.
Whoever she was, whatever she wanted from him, she needed to leave. He had work to do. He got paid by the hour and had another eight to go before he would have enough to afford a couple more nights in a cheap hotel. The overcrowded shelters around the city rarely had beds available these days, and he hated sleeping outside even though the weather was warm.
The standing woman’s smile slipped a notch. “Could we talk outside, maybe?”
He shot a glance at the office manager, who was watching them with interest, then focused back on her. “What about?”
“It’s private.” She adjusted the narrow, dark-framed glasses that emphasized the stormy blue eyes still locked on him.
He didn’t want to talk. Not to her or the CPS woman, or anyone else for that matter. He just wanted to be left alone. “I gotta get back to work.”
“It won’t take long.”
He bit back a retort. Life on the streets had hardened him. He had no problem being rude anymore, didn’t give a fuck what anyone else thought of him. But for some reason, locking stares with her, he couldn’t find it in him to walk off or tell her to go back to wherever she’d come from. She looked so...earnest. Hopeful, almost.
For reasons he couldn’t fathom, he gave a curt nod and a gruff, “Fine. But make it quick.”
He stepped outside onto the small bit of decking that led to the steps and stopped to wait for her, leaning back against the wooden railing with his arms folded across his chest.
She came out a moment later, alone. “Just you?” he asked.
She nodded and reached a hand up to adjust the right side of her glasses again, her shiny brown hair loose in subtle waves around her shoulders. The fabric of her red summer dress clung to her curves in all the right places, leaving her shapely calves bare. “Cassie’s just here for moral support.”
She’d needed moral support to come here? “What do you want?”
“Well.” She took a breath, released it. “Your name is Tomás, right?”
“No. It’s TJ.” Tomás was dead, had been for a long damned time.
A slight frown appeared over the bridge of her nose. “Okay, but...I think you might know my brother.” She reached into her hip pocket, pulled out a photograph and held it out for him to see. “Eric Moreau.”
Shock hit so hard and fast, his pulse thudded in his ears. He stared at the image of him, Moreau, and two other guys during their first deployment in Afghanistan. It sucked him back in time to a different life. A span of six months that had been some of the best and worst moments of his time on earth.
“That’s you, isn’t it?” she asked quietly.
Dragging his eyes up from the photo, he met her gaze. Now that he understood the connection, he could see a bit of resemblance in their coloring and eyes. “Where is he?” he asked instead of confirming it.
How the hell had Eric’s sister found him? And why?
She hesitated a moment, and he knew what she was going to say before she spoke. “He died a couple years ago.”
Damn . “I’m sorry to hear that.” Moreau had been a great soldier and an even better person.
She lowered her gaze, nodded. “He...struggled a lot. It started when he came home from that first deployment and got progressively worse. But the toughest part was when he left the military. He couldn’t adjust back to regular life, didn’t feel like he fit in anywhere, and couldn’t relate to anything anymore.”
Yeah, TJ knew the feeling.
“His drinking got out of control. He wound up on the streets for a while.”
Hell. A guy like Moreau had wound up homeless? Fucking broken system.
“But he made it out,” she said with a proud smile that belied the slight wobble in her voice. “For a while. Unfortunately, not long after that he was killed by a drunk driver. I know he would appreciate the irony.”
Fuck . “I’m sorry,” he said again, her pain clear in her face and voice. “He was a good guy.”
“Yes, he was.” She blew out a breath. “Anyway, Cassie—my stepsister,” she clarified, aiming a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the woman inside, “was over the other night and saw this picture. She thought this might be you and had told me you’ve been living down here, so I thought...”
“Thought what?”
She opened her mouth, closed it. “I thought I would come and see if it was you and find out if you needed help with anything.”
“I don’t need your help.” The answer was immediate and instinctive, the sudden spike in anxiety catching him off guard as much as her offer. It was almost a crawling sensation along his skin, a mounting need to get away from her. Or get her away from him.
“Okay, but please at least just take this,” she blurted before he could turn away, holding out a business card.
“What is it?” He wasn’t going to contact her.
“A potential job with good benefits. They’re a specialized residential reno company based in Crimson Point that work mostly on heritage homes, and they exclusively hire veterans. I was told you only work part-time here, so if you’re up for a change of scenery and a move to the coast, they’re looking to hire more people on full-time. They also provide their full-time employees with housing. The owner is an Army vet too. He said to call him if you’re at all interested.” She offered the card again.
TJ reluctantly took it, staring at her as he tried to figure her out. Or at least her angle. Was she for real? She’d driven up here from the coast to find him, not even knowing for sure it was him, just to check in on him and offer him potential work? Who did that shit?
She licked her lips. “I know all this must seem pretty presumptuous of me, but I just wanted to meet you and see if you’re okay. Eric would have wanted me to.”
He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had checked in to see if he was okay. Or given enough of a shit about him to care how he was. He was so used to being unwanted and invisible to the rest of society, he didn’t know what the hell to make of her standing in front of him now.
“My number’s on the back,” she added when he didn’t say anything, and clasped her hands behind her. The motion pushed rounded breasts that he definitely should not be noticing against the fabric of her dress. “In case you need anything, or...want to talk or whatever.”
It was too much. That crawling, panicky sensation was unbearable now, a constant alarm clanging at the back of his head. “I don’t need anything,” he said gruffly and turned away, the thud of his boots sounding hollow on the wooden steps.
As hollow as the emptiness inside him.
It wasn’t until he was on the other side of the site that he realized he still had the card in his fist. He started to crumple it up. Then stopped, thinking about Eric.
Cursing under his breath, he tucked the fucking thing into his jeans pocket, tugged on his work gloves and got back to pouring concrete, hoping that the day’s hard labor ahead of him would make him stop thinking about Eric Moreau’s sister and her pretty, storm-blue eyes.