Isaiah
“It snowed.” Genevieve stared out the window, looking at the parking lot.
I pulled a sweatshirt over my head and walked to stand by her side. “More like dumped.”
Given the thick white layer on the staircase’s railing, we must have gotten three inches. We’d had small flurries over the past month but any snow that stuck melted away days later. As usual, there’d been a skiff on the ground for Halloween last week.
But as of this morning, winter was here.
“Bet we’ll have a quiet day at the shop.” Not many would want to venture out to have their vehicle serviced on a day like this. Most avoided the roads if possible on the first major snow of the year.
There’d be a handful of fender benders today caused by idiots going too fast on slick roads. People forgot over the summer what it took to drive on ice and snow. The tow company in town would be busy until it thawed next spring.
Dash had asked me last week if I knew how to pop out dents and dings. My experience before working here had been centered entirely around engine work. This week, he and Emmett were going to teach me some body basics. I’d start with the easy stuff, and maybe one day I’d get to help on the customs.
“Guess your bike is in the garage for now.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. I had an older truck—not the cool kind of old—that I drove in the winter. Now that I’d spent months on the bike, I was dreading starting up the ’96 Ford and being trapped inside a cab for the next five months.
“What did your brother want?” Genevieve spoke to the glass, her gaze mesmerized by the snow outside.
Kaine had called right before she’d disappeared into the bathroom to get dressed for the day. She was wearing an olive sweater that draped over her shoulders but fit snugly across her hips. She’d paired it with a tan skirt and leather boots that ran up to her knees.
I’d never met a woman who dressed like Genevieve.
Her clothes were sophisticated without being snobby.
She was down to earth but had so much class.
She put effort into her style, taking the time to add little touches like jewelry or scarves that set her apart.
When she walked into a room, heads turned.
And she was stuck with a guy like me.
Every day I thought about letting her go. All I’d have to do was walk into the police station and confess, and she’d be free to live a better life than the one here in this cramped apartment.
But I couldn’t walk away.
The painting was done. Genevieve had made this place nicer than it had ever been. It was warm and stylish, but it would never be good enough. Not for her.
Neither would I.
My eyes ran down the back of her sweater, following the loose curls in her hair that cascaded to her waist. My gaze raked over her ass, the perfect shape of her hips and the skirt that tapered at the knees, framing her tight curves.
Fuck, but she was sexy. I hadn’t found a woman sexy in years. The only women I saw in prison were those who’d visit other inmates. And once I was out, I’d been too fucked up to think about a woman. Hell, it had taken me months to get used to sleeping in a regular bed again.
Or sleeping at all. For three years, I had guarded my nights by not sinking into a deep slumber. I’d figuratively slept with one eye open.
Finally, about four months after being home with Mom, the years of exhaustion had caught up with me, and I’d let myself truly fall asleep.
Then, I’d slept for days.
Mom had been worried I was sick or dying, but I’d just explained that I was tired. The burden of prison memories was mine to carry alone.
Things were easier after that. I’d found a job at a local lube shop. The owner was a friend of Mom’s and had broken company policy to hire me as a favor. I’d worked. I’d gone home. I’d slept.
I didn’t meet women because I didn’t want to meet women. Shannon wasn’t on my mind as often as she’d once been, but I thought of her. I remembered her—another burden to carry. No woman’s beauty or grace had compared to her memory.
Until Genevieve.
Nothing in the world could have prepared me for Genevieve. She’d crept up on me, consuming more and more of my thoughts, day by day. And then she’d stolen my dreams.
A month ago, I’d woken up with a raging hard-on, dreaming that she’d come to the couch and straddled me in one of those short sleep shirts she wore sometimes. The dreams hadn’t stopped since. Tonight, I’d dream of hiking up that tan skirt.
I was waking up earlier so I had time to get off in the shower and staunch some of the ache.
I’d started wearing pants for sleep, anything to help hide my erection as I went into the bathroom every morning.
She didn’t need to know a man who was supposed to be her friend couldn’t control his cock during a dream.
“Isaiah?”
My head snapped up from her skirt. “Sorry. What?”
“Your brother?”
“Oh.” I rubbed the back of my neck, embarrassed she’d caught me staring at her ass. “He wanted to invite us to Lark Cove for Thanksgiving. I told him I’d check. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to go.”
“Sure.” She nodded. “That sounds nice.”
“Are you sure? You can stay here.”
Her eyebrows came together. “Do you not want me to go?”
“No. That’s not it. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to stay. Maybe do something with Draven.”
“Oh.” She shook her head. “No. I think Nick and Emmeline are coming up. He should spend time with them and their kids before . . .”
Before the trial.
Draven’s case had been moving at a snail’s pace, which was a good thing. It gave us more time to find the real killer—if a miracle happened and a new lead surfaced.
Since the meeting with the Warriors last month, we hadn’t heard a thing.
It seemed . . . too easy. So we maintained our guard.
I followed Genevieve to work every day. I went to follow her home each evening.
As Bryce’s pregnancy began to show, Dash became even more protective, and she went nowhere without him now.
The vibe in the shop had shifted this past month too. There wasn’t as much teasing or banter. The air was heavier. It arrived each morning with Draven and lingered long after he’d left the office for the day.
Hope was waning. Dread was winning out.
Genevieve had been so steadfast and determined to find Amina’s killer, but as the days had gone by and no new information had surfaced, the wind had left her sails.
That notebook of hers appeared less and less.
Not only would there be no vengeance for her mother, she was also going to lose her father.
Over the past month, Draven had come each Sunday morning to the apartment to take Genevieve to breakfast. I hadn’t gone since the first time, making excuses so the two of them had some time alone.
Genevieve’s heart was thawing toward Draven. She was softening with every encounter. Maybe she was even growing to love him. His incarceration was going to devastate her, whether she wanted to admit it or not.
“I’d better get to work.” She sighed. “I’ve got a busy day.”
She was pulling more and more from Jim, doing whatever she could to make his life easier so he could focus on Draven’s case.
Jim would do his best to paint Draven and Amina as reunited lovers. He would tell all the truths. The two had been affectionate and there was no motive for Draven to kill her, especially since they shared a daughter.
But the prosecution had the murder weapon. They had Draven at the scene. They had everything they needed to convict an innocent man.
“Let me start the cars and warm them up.” I pulled on my boots and a coat, then took my keys and hers off the hook she’d hung beside a coat rack. “Be back.”
I went outside, the snow muffling my steps down the stairs and on the pavement. I swept off Genevieve’s car first and started it up, cranking the defrost and heat. Then I did the same for my truck. With them clear, I went back inside to find Genevieve on the couch, her shoulders slumped forward.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She stood, wincing as she did. “I’m just sore today.”
“Probably because you slept on the couch.”
She’d insisted for a month. I’d refused for a month.
Then last night, she’d finally had her way. I’d been in the bathroom, brushing my teeth. When I’d come out, she’d already been tucked in on the couch, curled up and fast asleep. She’d looked so peaceful, and I’d left her there instead of carrying her to the bed.
I should have moved her.
But I hadn’t been able to make myself pick her up. Carrying her to bed felt too intimate. So I’d told myself she’d get the couch for one night, then I’d take it back. I’d slept in the bed with the smell of her vanilla lotion and lavender shampoo on the pillow.
No surprise she’d been in my dreams.
“I’m taking the couch from now on.”
She stretched her back, planting her hands on her hips and leaning back. “No, I’m fine. I’ll get used to it.”
No, she wouldn’t. If I found her there again, I’d get over my own shit and put her in the bed. “Better wear a coat. It’s cold.”
“Okay.” She shuffled to the coat rack and pulled off a black wool dress coat. Her eyelids drooped as she shrugged it on and tied the belt around her waist. The woman was dead on her feet.
“Maybe you should stay home. Sleep.”
“I can’t.” She waved it off. “I’ll be fine.”
Her steps were sluggish as she trudged down the stairs. She cut through the snow, following my tracks to her car.
Should I drive her? Drop her off and pick her up? Yes. I reached out a hand to stop her but pulled it back.
Fuck me, I couldn’t do it.
There was no way I’d be able to put her in the passenger seat.
Shame pulled heavy on my shoulders as I followed her to the driver’s side door. This was just one of many reasons Genevieve didn’t need me in her life. She might think she needed me, but she didn’t.
How were we going to make the drive to Lark Cove? I hadn’t thought that far ahead when I’d accepted Kaine’s Thanksgiving invite. That trip would be hours. Driving separately wouldn’t work this time. I didn’t have an excuse to give.