Chapter Seven
Charlie
Finally, dawn pearled the overcast sky a luminous gray. The soft light chased away the last of my fear and I pushed my tablet aside. Closing my eyes, I drifted into an uneasy sleep.
It didn't last long. I'm one of those people who wakes up at the same time every day, no matter when I go to sleep. Even missing half a night’s rest, my eyes popped open before eight a.m.
That was about the best I could do when it came to sleeping in, but it was better than nothing.
I dragged myself off the futon and pulled up the sheet and blanket, folding them over neatly. I'd grown up with a housekeeper, but the Winters children made their own beds. Every day.
My mother always said it was enough of a job to beat back the dirt, fingerprints, and crumbs we left all over the house. Mrs. Williamson didn't need to deal with making our beds or cleaning our rooms.
Coffee. I needed a cup of coffee. Preferably many cups of coffee. Standing in my bathroom, I reached for a hairbrush, planning to tie my hair back in a messy ponytail when I caught sight of my face in the mirror.
I grinned at my reflection. My new haircut looked pretty damn good first thing in the morning. Messy, wavy curls framed my face, needing only a swipe with wet fingers to tame them.
I pulled on a pair of jeans and another T-shirt before stumbling down the hall into the kitchen, headed straight for my new coffeemaker.
In the light of day, my panic from the night before seemed childish. Sipping from my mug, I approached the back door, my shoulders tight. Boldly, I flipped the deadbolt, turned the handle, and swung the door open.
As I'd suspected, everything looked normal. There was no sign that anyone had been on the porch the night before. I stood in the open door, both hands wrapped around the warm mug, breathing in the fresh morning air and listening to the sounds of the neighborhood.
Voices. A car starting. The beep of a truck backing up. My little street was removed from the main drag, but all in all, it was a much livelier neighborhood than what I was used to.
I liked it.
I let out a breath, the tension in my shoulders unknotting, when I saw it—a cigarette butt crushed into the grass at the bottom of the steps.
It doesn't mean anything, I reassured myself.
Just because I hadn't seen it the day before, just because I didn't smoke and Lucas didn't smoke, didn't mean it wasn't from one of the contractors or workmen who'd been in and out of the house over the last month.
Just because I hadn't seen it yet, didn't mean it had been dropped the night before by the mysterious shadow at the back door.
I wasn't going to jump to conclusions. The last thing I needed was to go rushing off to my brothers or my cousins, panicking about someone trying to break in.
Before I could insist I was fine, they'd bundle me up and drag me home. Or worse, move in with me.
I stared at that cigarette butt for a very long minute.
Refusing to consider the reasoning behind my actions, I picked it up by the charred end, carried it into the kitchen, wrapped it in a paper towel, and carefully placed it in an envelope of papers I had propped up against the wall of the kitchen.
Checking my phone for the time, I decided it wasn't too early to call Sinclair Security. I dialed Evers's direct line, hoping he was in the office.
He wasn't. I left a message explaining that I needed an upgrade on the security at my new house and asked him to call me back.
I'd get faster service if I went through the front desk, but then everyone—everyone meaning both my family and the Sinclairs—would know I needed fast service and they'd want to know why, what was wrong, and try to talk me into moving home.
It was easier to play it casual.
Fatigue weighed on me. My early morning nap didn't make up for the hours I'd missed when I should've been sleeping. I longed for my bed, but just like I couldn't sleep in, I was not a good napper.
If I got back in bed, I would lay there, fighting to keep my eyes shut, my mind and body too awake to find sleep. My best bet was to exhaust myself with work so that I would sleep deeply that night.
My plan set, I pulled on a pair of scuffed work boots, grabbed my crowbar and hammer from where I'd left them next to the front door, and went back to work on the front porch.
The muscles in my arms and shoulders wailed with affront as I pried free the first board of the day. By the third, I was sweating, but the activity had loosened up my muscles and my arms didn't hate me anymore. A few more hours, and I might have the front porch ready for the contractors.
Every time I wanted to take a break, I pictured what the front porch would look like with fresh, straight boards in place of the rotted wood I was tearing out.
I still needed to redo the pillars and repaint the siding and the front door, but fresh planking on the front porch would make a huge difference. It was the first step in making the neglected house look like a home again.
I needed that, to see it begin to shine the way it was meant to. Bringing the house back to life was worth the hard work. I could take a break later, when the job was done.
The smack of my crowbar and the creak of wood were loud enough to cover the rumble of an engine in my driveway. I turned in time to see Aiden's car come to a stop.
Dammit.
I wasn't ready to talk to Aiden. Not yet.
He emerged from his sleek, low-slung car, his eyes locked on me over the roof, face carefully neutral. I couldn't tell if he approved, disapproved, or was braced for a fight.
It was hard to figure out what tactic to take with him when he gave me nothing to work with.
He bent back into the car and straightened, shutting the door before coming around to walk through my yard. He was carrying, in one hand, a white cardboard cup that looked like it was from my favorite coffee shop.
"I come bearing hot chocolate from Annabelle's, but I'm not going to give it to you if you're going to throw it in my face," he said, holding out the white cup.
I put my crowbar and hammer down before I climbed over the framing of what was left of the front porch and approached Aiden. He stood in the scrubby grass of my front yard, surveying the house, one eyebrow slightly raised.
I wanted to be mad at him. I was mad at him. Furious. On the other hand, this was Aiden. My big brother. And he'd brought me cocoa.
When I was a little girl, Aiden hadn't known what to do with me when I was upset. Our parents’ death had thrown him headfirst into fatherhood when he was barely out of his teens.
We'd been close when we were just brother and sister, but once our parents had died and he’d had to fill their shoes, he'd been at a loss.
Typical of Aiden, he'd approached the challenge of raising me like a problem to be solved. If something didn't work, he took a new tack and tried again.
Aiden refused to give up on me. He could've hired a nanny and gone on with his life. Instead, he worked his way through every hurdle and he never let me down.
Early on, he'd discovered that a mug of hot cocoa was the fastest way to stop my tears, whether they came from a nightmare or a fight at school.
Even once I grew up, it hadn't been unusual for him to pop into my office at Winters Inc. with a cup of Annabelle's hot chocolate when he knew I was having a stressful day.
I sighed.
This would be easier if I could just be pissed at him.
"Is that a peace offering?" I asked, stopping a few feet away, my hands braced on my hips.
"Maybe. Or maybe it's just hot chocolate."
I took it, bringing the white paper cup to my nose for a long sniff. Annabelle made the best hot chocolate. Her shop also had amazing coffee and pastries I couldn't resist, but her hot cocoa was the best, rich and not too sweet. Heaven.
"So this is the house, huh?" Aiden asked.
"Yep, this is it."
"Based on what Vance said, I thought it would be falling apart," Aiden said, his eyes scanning every inch of my beloved, but somewhat decrepit, new house.
I kept my mouth shut and waited. Finally, he spoke again.
"It's got good bones. And this neighborhood has solid investment value. How was the inspection?"
"It was fine," I said tightly. Was he just going to pretend everything was okay? He had to know I was still furious with him.
"Fine meaning it's not going to fall down on your head? Or fine meaning the foundation is in decent shape?"
I crossed my arms over my chest, pressing the warm hot chocolate against my collarbone, savoring the bittersweet scent.
Trying to control my frustration, I said, "Fine meaning the foundation is in great shape, and the rest of it isn't as bad as it looks."
"Are you going to show me around?" Aiden asked.
"Are you going to apologize for firing me?" I demanded.
Aiden let out a short laugh and shoved his hands in his pockets, shaking his head. His brown eyes met mine long enough for me to recognize his innate stubbornness was at play.
Damnit. The only person I knew more stubborn than me was Aiden.
"No," he said without remorse. "I'm sorry the situation ended up with me having to fire you. And I'm sorry that you're angry. But I'm not sorry I did it."
"Then I don't think I have anything to say to you right now." I sipped at my cocoa to cover the quaver in my voice.
"I'm really pissed at you," I went on once I had my emotions under control.
"I know you're used to having the whole world fall at your feet like you're the king of the universe, but that was my job you took away.
I've been working my ass off for that company, our family's company, my entire adult life, and you just yanked it out from under me because you thought you knew what was best. Now, you think you can stroll back in here, and I'm just supposed to let it go? It's not that easy, Aiden."
Aiden looked away, seemingly very interested in the missing decking on my front porch. He let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping just a little.
"I don't want you to be mad at me, Charlie," he said.