Chapter 20
Chapter
Twenty
QUINTON
Maise is dancing around to Christmas carols, the volume so loud I can barely hear myself think. Luckily, we’re about to head out. I have to help the crew with the last day of cleanup and pack up at the inn job.
“Maise! Turn it down, kiddo. We got to go in ten.”
She’s dancing, arms in the air, to some upbeat Christmas tune that would surely turn anyone who wasn’t already deaf off Christmas altogether.
When she keeps spinning, belting out the chorus in her high, lilting tone, I zip the lunch bags up and shoulder my backpack before padding to the speaker. I hold a finger on the power button, and the noise snaps out instantly.
Maisey turns on me, a frown plastered over her pouty little face, hands on her hips. “Daddy! I was in the middle of something!”
A crash from next door sees us both turn toward the noise.
Fuck.
“Stay here,” I growl out, flying through the front door. Barefoot, I plow through the snow toward CC’s front door.
Something smashes against a wall as I come up against their locked door. I pound a fist into the wood, rattling the wreath Maise insisted on hanging last week.
I get no response, just more crashing.
Hell.
I round the house, and what I find when I make it to the oversized windows of the sunroom flips my gut, sending heat through my veins. The room is trashed.
And vacant.
Dammit, Hank.
I try the sunroom door, but it too is locked. I back up a step and kick it in. My steel caps thunder down the hall as I head toward the racket further inside the house.
“Celeste! Where are you?” I peer into each doorway I pass—the guest bedroom, the TV room, the living room.
“Who the fuck are you?” Hank appears in the hallway, coming from the kitchen.
No, not again.
I hold my hands up, trying to look as unintimidating as possible. “I live next door, Hank. I just came to see if you’re okay, bud.”
He all but snarls at me. “I’m not your bud. I don’t even know you. Agnes lives next door, so who the hell are you?” His hands ball to fists by his sides.
Agnes. My grandmother.
Fuck, this meltdown of Hank’s is worse than I thought.
“I’m her grandson, Hank. Staying with her for a while.” I decide to play along to avoid enraging him further.
“Never heard of you!” He picks up a vase on the hallway side table and tosses it at my head. I duck sideways, and it shatters the second it connects with the wall, shards raining onto the hardwood floor.
All I can think of is getting to Celeste.
But she’ll have my balls for baubles if I hurt her father to get to her. Too damn selfless for her own good, that little woman.
I take a step toward the kitchen.
“Don’t come any closer, or . . .” Hank tilts his head, gaze tightening like he means business.
Which he fucking does.
“I just want to make sure Celeste is alright. Please.”
His face blanks.
“Please, Hank, let me past.”
“I don’t know who you’re dribbling about, boy. Me and Tisha are in the middle of something here. And it ain’t none of your business.”
The fuck?
“I know you don’t want to hurt her. I just want to check she’s okay. Come on, Hank.”
But he doesn’t back down, stepping into my space now. “Why is another man coming to check up on my wife, hey?”
Oh geez.
“I’m just a friend, nothing more.”
“I don’t believe you, sonny.” He swings.
I catch his arm and bend it behind his back. He crashes to his knees, crying out. My hold on him almost slips when he fights back. He’s surprisingly strong for an old guy.
“Calm down, Hank. Nobody is here to hurt anyone.”
“Quin,” a small voice quivers from the kitchen doorway. Celeste’s tear-stained cheeks are reddened under watery eyes. “Please don’t hurt him.”
“You know I won’t. Call the paramedics. Tell him he’s had another episode.”
“M-my phone’s upstairs.”
“It’s okay. We’ll wait.” I nod to the stairs.
She takes them two at a time on wobbly legs. When she returns, she’s already speaking to someone, small sobs escaping between each answer she gives. By the time she hangs up, Hank’s relaxed in my hold. His eyes flicker up to his daughter, and I witness the moment he realizes what he’s done. Again.
“Celeste . . .” His voice breaks.
“I’m okay, Daddy. The paramedics are going to come and help, okay?” She kneels in front of him, their eyes level. “Maybe they can just adjust your medication, you know. So you don’t get so confused and upset?”
Hank shakes his head, but he’s tense in my hold again.
We wait with bated breath for the ambulance. And when the brakes squeal on the slushy street outside, CC runs for the door to let them in.
I don’t let go until the medics have given him a sedative. And the second the paramedics have Hank safe and taken care of, I haul Celeste into my arms.
An onslaught of sobs crashes into my chest as they place Hank onto a gurney and wheel him out into the ambulance.
“He needs an assessment, Celeste. He’ll be okay. Possibly his condition has outgrown his medication. The docs will have him sorted, I promise.”
Fingers curl around my now-damp shirt.
When the ambulance drives back down the street, I hold CC at arm’s length. “You did so fucking good by him, baby. Please don’t think any of this is your fault.”
Her face breaks, and I just know she is blaming herself for this.
“I got to get back to Maise and then to work. Will you be okay, or do you want to tag along?”
She wipes her face, looking around the trashed house. “I should clean this up.”
“Leave it. I’ll help you when I get home.”
“It’s fine, I can do it. I need to keep busy, anyway. And tagging along will probably just end up with me being in your way. I don’t want to be a hassle.”
I trace a finger over her temple, brushing a damp strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Baby, you are never a hassle. You got that? You need me—hell, even just want to hang out and someone to talk to—I’m right here.”
She nods, rolling her lips together.
I dot a kiss to her forehead and spend a few minutes righting the heavy items back on their feet before telling her I’ll check in later. Pulling the sunroom door to the backyard closed, I make a mental note to fix the broken latch when I get home.
When I push through the front door to our house, I find Maise pacing, arms folded, face pinched with worry. “Is CC okay?”
She flies into my arms.
“Yeah, kiddo. She’s okay.”
“Then it was Hank in the ambulance?”
“It was. Grab your coat. We’re late.”
We pile into the truck and head for the inn. The instant I climb out of the truck, Caleb is in my face.
“Is Celeste okay? We heard Hank’s in custody.”
Holy hell, they weren’t wrong about the small-town grapevine.
“Hank is getting his meds adjusted, hopefully. Maybe some respite. There were no handcuffs involved, Caleb. Where on earth did you hear that from?”
Caleb’s sheepish expression turns to the inn’s front door, where Helen from the front desk stands waiting.
“Ah, I see you’re getting your intel from a reliable source, at least,” I deadpan.
“Yeah. Shit, sorry. Should have known better than to believe a word the Grafton grapevine had to say.” He throws Helen an annoyed look. She tilts her nose up, rolls off the doorframe, and stalks inside.
I help Maise out of the truck, and we get to work. Double-checking every part of the renovation, I walk the jobsite like I would any big build and triple-check all the small details. Maise follows behind, listening and asking the boys if they have done this or done that.
Mostly it gets laughs out of them. Until she catches a mistake or an imperfection.
“Maise, can you grab some sodas from the cooler in the back seat of the truck?” I ask.
“Sure, Daddy.” She skips off, heading for the truck parked by the entrance.
“See the boss lady has you all sorted out today,” Caleb says with a chuckle.
“It’s been a weird morning. First I was sassed for turning off some abomination of a Christmas song by my five-going-on-fifteen-year-old daughter. Then the whole Hank thing. To add insult to injury, I left Celeste alone after . . .”
“Fuck, man, you could’ve stayed. We have this covered.” He frowns.
“Maybe. Besides, it’s my job to double-check, not yours. It’s my reputation on the line.”
“Ah, true.” He slides a screwdriver into his back pocket and rifles through the hardware box until he comes up with another antique brass fitting.
Installing it, he looks back at me. “You know, we all love Hank and CC. But old Mr. Black has been struggling for a while. Before Marie left, he was starting to muck up in town. That’s why she stopped taking him out. ”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, he was bad. Always ripping his clothes off. Getting aggressive with folks for no reason. At least it looked that way, anyway. I was surprised when Marie left CC in charge. If anything, that man needs more help. Marie kind of did the dirty on CC. And I’m guessing by what happened this week, CC had no idea. ”
“Fuck.” I swipe my hand through my hair. “Let’s hope they keep him in the hospital a while. It isn’t fair to CC. And you’re right, he needs more help than just a live-in caretaker. Much more.”
“Guess someone will figure that out. None of our business, I suppose.”
I chuckle. “Says Mr. Grafton Grapevine.”
He just shrugs, returning his focus to the hardware in his grip. I grab a few pieces from the box and get to fitting them. With most of my checks done, I need to keep my hands busy.
“Here, Daddy.” Maise hands me a soda. “Can you open mine?”
“Sure, kiddo. But only half, alright?”
“Uh-huh . . .” She’s nodding, but somehow I don’t believe her.
My back pocket buzzes, and I slip my screwdriver between my teeth and pull the phone out.
Thank you for this morning.
Damn, CC.
This little woman has gone far too long without someone on her side. Someone to always root for her.
Anytime, baby. You know where I live.
I do.
That simple response has my face stretching in the most ridiculous smile. It feels out of place after this morning. But drama aside, I can’t help but notice how every day we grow so much closer. Maybe it’s too soon. We’ve only known each other weeks. Three, to be exact . . .
But if the intensity of those three weeks was weighted accordingly, it would be more like months.
And what I wouldn’t give for months with Celeste.
Even years.
Maise walks the room, hands on her hips like she’s the boss, not her old man. And the way the guys play the part in her little charade is heartwarming.
Ronan strides over, packing away the tools as Caleb and I install the last few pieces of hardware. “Place is looking stellar, boss man.”
“Tidied up pretty nicely, I reckon.” I let my gaze wander over the finished dining room. We did good. And just in the nick of time.
Miranda saunters in. “Oh, packing up already?”
“All done. All it needs now is a final inspection.” I wave my hands toward the renewed space.
She takes a turn around the large old room looking over every section of it, like she hasn’t been here the entire time we’ve been on the job.
When she spins back with a smile, hope blooms. “Very nice, Quinton. And on time, too. At this rate, we’ll have you fixing up the rest of the place before long. ”
“Any work you can send our way is welcome, Miranda.”
Her smile widens. “I’m sure there is plenty of that.”
Maybe this small-town thing will work out, after all.