Chapter Twelve
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lincoln/ Seven Years Ago
T he twenty-one-year-old taking up temporary residence in my bed is far more intriguing than she should be. When I was her age, my only focus was getting fucked up with my friends, fucked by women, and getting out of the Marines in one piece. With every little detail I drew out from her in the course of a four-hour dinner, I realized how different our circumstances were.
My parents let me do whatever I wanted growing up. Even when I screwed up, they didn’t make it the end of the world. Everything was a learning experience that they hoped I would take something from. And most times, I did.
Georgia didn’t have that. In her world, there was no room for error. Everything had to be perfect. Not a hair out of place or downtrodden smile. She sounded more like a trophy to be shown off at the events she talked about than a human being, and that pissed me off way more than it should.
“No offense,” I tell her when I pay the tab and wait for the receipt. “But your father sounds like a dickhead.”
She winces, but I don’t feel bad for telling the truth. I’m sure she’s not used to hearing it because people kiss her father’s ass. I have no intention of doing that.
“He’s a difficult man,” Georgia murmurs, staring at the bar top we ate dinner at.
I chuckle, picking up the pen the new bartender gives me with the receipt to sign. “That seems like it’s putting it mildly.”
We’re quiet as I calculate the tip amount before sliding the card back into my wallet.
“His job makes him stressed,” she defends. Why, I don’t know. If I were her, I wouldn’t speak too kindly of the person who tried pawning me off into a loveless marriage and then kicking me out when I refused to be part of it.
I guess that’s where me and the girl beside me differ.
McAdam’s be damned, I want to help her—I want to learn why her family was so quick to turn their backs on someone who seems so…fragile.
Kicking her out was feeding her to the wolves. Anybody could have gotten to her. So what was the purpose?
“How did your dad get into his business anyway?” I question. “You make him seem so regal. That’s hardly the kind of person I picture running a concrete company.”
She shifts in her seat, shaping her straw wrapper into an accordion. “It was because of his former partner, William Murphy. They went into business together down in Georgia. Uncle William—” She flinches at the name, and I make a mental note to ask her why. “Er, William did some contracting work in the Atlanta area. He’s my mother’s brother. My father and him decided to create their business, MDR Inc., that’s since been renamed The Del Rossi Group after William was arrested.”
“What made them move the business to New York?” I wonder aloud.
Georgia glances over at me from the busywork she makes with the wrapper. “I’m not entirely sure. Family, I guess. Maybe better business opportunities. I remember William telling my father that there was a real estate boom and they could make a lot more money if they targeted wealthier families near the city. My father had some distant family on Long Island, so it was enough to make them move the business north.”
The contracting boom in the nineties made a lot of people like her father wealthy. I’ve got family on the island who made a good profit on selling their homes, which had been worth a fraction of what they are now because of the developing land around them.
“Where is William now?”
Georgia frowns. “Why so many questions?”
Is she uncomfortable? “I’m curious. You don’t have to answer. I’m just trying to figure out your family dynamic. It’s different than what I’m used to.”
Nibbling her lip, she sits up and drops her fidgeting hands into her lap. “He was arrested, like I said. I’m not entirely sure what the charges were or where he was sent. My father said it was none of my business when I asked why Uncle Will never saw us anymore. I assume he’s out. I mean, it’s not like he killed anybody. At least, I don’t think he did.” She winces at the doubt lingering in her tone.
“What did your father say about William?”
She frowns. “That Uncle William got in over his head and had to pay the consequences.”
How…ominous.
“My father took over the business, changed the name, and started expanding,” she continues, lifting a shoulder. “I don’t know much more than that other than he’s been stressed since William went away. I used to go in and help organize paperwork, but he stopped letting me do that a few years ago. He said that was no place for a girl like me.” Her lips twitch. “Whatever that means.”
Her father keeps her in the dark about a lot of things it seems. “You miss him,” I note, seeing the dull in her eyes. They’re not caked with makeup like they were before. I like her better this way, not wearing any type of mask or pretending to be somebody she’s not.
All she says is, “He’s my father.”
As someone who believes family is important, I understand. Maybe not very well, but blood is thick.
“Come on, Peaches,” I say. “Let’s go home.”
Her eyes turn to me.
Home.
I can tell that word does something to her.
A few hours later, I’m staring at the brunette who fell asleep on my couch watching some reality show she put on when we got back. She’d been quietly curled up on the couch, absorbing the mindless drama playing out on the screen.
Looking at her now, I can’t help but be glad she’s away from Nikolas Del Rossi. Her face is usually painted in carefully contoured makeup but is bare to me now, with frizzy hair resting over her shoulders and her guard down in the baggy clothes she stole from my room. She’s half tucked under the throw blanket my mother bought me when I moved in, cuddling with the ends looking…peaceful.
The facade she wore the night we met was just that—a girl playing make-believe in borrowed clothes that weren’t her own, drinking her problems away the way I’ve done one too many times to count. She hoped to find something to free her from the metaphoric shackles her family put on her. I guess it was ironic that she found somebody with handcuff keys.
Picking her up, she stirs and settles into my chest as I walk around the couch and toward the bedroom. “Where…?”
“Shh. Go to sleep. You can have the bed.”
She stiffens as I lower her onto the mattress, her eyelids fluttering open to stare up at me. The second her gaze locks on mine, my heart clenches in my chest.
“I’ll take the couch,” I reassure her, ignoring the weird feeling taking over my ribcage. I get a good glimpse of her naked face, my eyes roaming over every dainty, feminine feature. From her full bottom lip to her long lashes that flutter as her eyelids close, I soak her in.
The woman lying here has been shaped by the choices made for her. And I can’t help but wonder if she’ll conform to them or figure out who she is without the people who’ve influenced her life.
But I want to help her figure it out.
Just as I’m closing the door behind me, I hear the quietest, “Linc?”
It stops me in my tracks. Linc.
I’ll be damned if the softly uttered word didn’t do some shit to my heart. “Yeah, Peaches?” My voice is raspy, so I clear it.
“Can you…?” She pauses, stirring. I can feel her eyes on me even though I can’t see them in the dark. “Can you lay with me for a while?”
She’s asking me to sleep in here with her?
As if she senses my hesitation, she whispers, “I think I’d sleep better.”
There’s only a moment of hesitation before I walk back into the bedroom and close the door behind me. I hate sleeping in pants, but I don’t dare remove my joggers. With her, layers probably aren’t a bad thing to mask how she makes me feel.
My fingers linger on the shirt I’m in. “I can’t sleep with a shirt on,” I tell her, tugging on the material.
“That’s okay.”
I pull it over my head and drape it on the floor beside me, crawling into bed. “Come here,” I coax, opening my arm for her to curl into.
She doesn’t hesitate, settling perfectly into the nook of my arm. I hear the softest inhale as she nestles into me, her body relaxing after only seconds.
I lean my cheek on top of her head and close my eyes, listening to the steady sound of her breathing before sleepiness greets me. Then I press my lips against the crown of her skull, hug her closer to me, and find myself thinking, I could get used to this.
*
Two weeks go by of grueling days being physically and mentally tested. Eight people leave the academy. They say a third of us will be gone before we even reach the halfway point.
When Friday comes around, I’m bone-deep exhausted. Stressed. Pushed to my limit. I don’t blame the people who decided that moving forward wasn’t worth it. It’s not an easy process, but that’s why they put us through it. State troopers need to be ready for anything—at their breaking point so they can learn how to control and move past it.
I’d like to think my time in the military prepared me for the bullshit I deal with five days a week, but that doesn’t mean I’m not glad to go home when Friday afternoon rolls around. In fact, being in the car driving almost two hours back to my apartment is the first time I can breathe easier.
Especially knowing that I have a warm body to fall asleep next to like I did the last two weekends. It’d been unexpected but welcome. I didn’t cross any boundaries, made sure to keep my morning wood far away from her when I woke up, and simply enjoyed being able to cuddle someone again.
When I pull up to the apartment, there’s an eagerness to my walk that wasn’t there earlier when I dragged my sorry, sore ass off the campus. Opening the door, I stop when I see the absolute mess covering the kitchen. There are dirty dishes everywhere, flour coating the counters, and an equal amount of flour caked to the girl standing in front of a tray of what looks like black hockey pucks.
Kicking the door closed, I drop my things on the couch and walk over to where Georgia holds out a plate to me with a timid smile.
“Hey, you,” I greet, stopping myself short from bending over and pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek.
Boundaries, I remind myself.
I pick up one of the cookies and take a bite, but my smile quickly fades. I gag from the strong salty, burnt taste and spit it out into my hand no matter how hard I try swallowing it. “Is that…?” I search the mess of ingredients on the counter and see the canister of salt. “Did you use salt instead of sugar in these, Peaches?”
Georgia frowns, examining the plate and then the counter where the line of ingredients is. “I don’t think so?” It sounds more like a question than an answer, so I nod with an amused grin and toss the cookie back onto the plate.
“I really appreciate what you tried to do,” I say honestly, fighting a smile. “But those are…I don’t know a nice way to put it. Those aren’t edible, sweetheart.”
The frown on her face deepens.
Taking the plate from her, I set it on the counter and pull her in for a hug. “Don’t look so sad. It was a nice thought.”
She’s stiff for a second. “I found a recipe in your cookbook,” she murmurs, her hands slowly finding their way around my waist. “Your mom said you liked cookies, so…”
She’s quiet.
Then she says, “I didn’t think I’d mess it up.”
I take in the familiar scent of my shampoo before kissing the top of her head. I’d gotten her new shampoo and body wash that smelled floral and girly before I left last week, but I like it a little too much that she still uses mine. Smelling myself on her makes me hard.
Pulling away, I ask, “Have you ever baked before?”
Embarrassed, she shakes her head. “I helped Mrs. Ricci make brownies once for some charity thing my stepmother was hosting at the house. She let me crack a few eggs. I got more shells than eggs in the bowl.”
“Happens to the best of us,” I reason, recalling the older woman’s name from the stories she shared on our first date. She looked at her like a mother figure. Somebody who cared for her in an otherwise cold household. I was glad she had Mrs. Ricci.
“My stepmother walked in and saw me helping her and scolded me for distracting the help. Then she got mad over my dress being dirty.” The tiniest smile appears on her face from the memory. “Between us, I’d done it on purpose. I hated that dress.”
Chuckling, I use the pad of my thumb to wipe some of the flour off her cheek. “You tested her a lot, didn’t you?”
The way Georgia lifts her shoulders in nonchalance tells me I’m not wrong. “In all fairness, she tested me more. I don’t think she liked me very much.”
I’m not sure who wouldn’t like her. “Why do you say that?”
Her tongue wets her bottom lip. “Because I’m my mother’s daughter. And my father’s second priority.”
“Second?”
“His business was always number one. If my mother were alive, I’m pretty sure I’d be bumped to third place because he loved her that much. Leani is probably in his top five, but barely. She knows he still loves my mother.”
“You deserve to be somebody’s first priority,” I tell her softly.
She peers at me through her thick lashes before quickly dropping her gaze when she sees me watching her. “One day,” she murmurs.
I study the kitchen. It looks like she took every pot, pan, and tray out to find the ones she needed. “We should try cleaning up in here before the food gets stuck on everything.”
She steps back, grimacing at the sight. “I thought I would have more time to clean before you got home.”
“I tried calling you to let you know when I’d get here, but it wouldn’t go through. I think your phone is dead.”
The color in her cheeks deepens. “It got shut off. I think my father wants me completely cut off from everyone. My credit card…” She winces. “My card was declined at the dollar store when I tried buying the flour for the cookies. The nice older man behind me ended up paying for it.”
Eye twitching, I press my lips together. Nikolas is throwing a hissy fit that she didn’t come back home. Isn’t he worried about her? Wondering where she is? Who she’s with?
“Has anybody reached out?” I know the last time I asked, she hadn’t heard from anybody.
Softly, she admits, “No. Nobody.”
Fuck. “Come on, then.” I hold out my hand for her to take.
She stares at it. “Where are we going?”
“It’s not safe for you to be without a phone,” I say, taking her hand. “I’ll get you one.”
“Lincoln—”
“It’ll probably be cheaper to put you on my plan, so don’t worry about it.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I repeat, cutting her off from arguing. I don’t like the idea of her being alone with no way to get ahold of anybody. “God forbid something happens, you’ll need to be able to call for help. Okay?”
Her eyes go to the floor.
I tilt her chin up with my finger. “Don’t. We’ll get this figured out. Until then, you can pick something out at the store.”
She swallows, her eyes saddening. “I’m sorry.”
My brows pinch. “For what?”
“For this.” She gestures around us. “I didn’t expect any of this. That’s not why I came home with you that night. If I’d known it would lead to this, I might not have bothered. I would have…I should have stayed home. Or I should have tried getting Millie to come get me at the bar. Something. Now you’re buying me groceries and a phone, and it’s…a lot. It’s too much.”
If she hadn’t gone out, she’d either still be under her father’s hand or somebody else’s. The thought of her engaged makes my blood boil, and I barely know this girl. “Better me than somebody else,” I tell her, hating how my jaw tics at the thought of another man touching her. “And, for the record, I like being able to help you. And I especially like coming home to you wearing my clothes and smelling like my soap. If the circumstances were different, I’d show you exactly what that does to me. But I won’t. I’ll be a gentleman. For now.”
Her chest rises and falls slowly.
“Get dressed, and we’ll go to the store.”
She stares at me for the longest time, then takes me by surprise and wraps her arms around my waist, her pillowy breasts pressing against my chest. “Thank you.”
My heart does a little flip, but I try pushing away the feeling as I brush my lips against the top of her head. “You don’t have to thank me, Georgia. That’s what…friends do.”
“Friends?” she asks.
“It sounds better than temporary roommates,” I point out, resting my chin against the crown of her skull.
She pulls back, studying me. “Friends.”