Broken Bridges (Bridges Brothers Book 2) Read online

  We take some images of the place and I make some notes in my phone, which I’ll send to Ray when I get home. “I’m going to head out back, Lo. Can you check all the doors and windows? Make sure we’re squared away?”

  His answer is a head nod, and I slide open the glass door and step onto the small cement patio. At least that’s still intact because the rest of the yard is a sea of weeds and dead plants.

  A shuffling sound to my left catches my attention, and I take two full steps forward to look around the side of the house from a distance. It wouldn’t be the first time I was greeted by a stray dog. Instead, I’m met with two large dark eyes—a haunting gaze that looks terrified. Not like a deer in headlights but more like prey at the end of a hunter’s rifle. Her black wavy hair bumps around her shoulders when she swipes a glance behind her like she’s weighing her options. She turns back to me, then oddly, we both just stand there and stare at each other. I’ve never been one to react irrationally, choosing to think things through before I make a move. But the only thing I can move at this moment are my eyes as I take in the young woman before me. She’s actually stunning in a reckless sort of way, but I can’t tell if I’m looking at a teen, possibly a runaway, or a woman doing who knows what here.

  Why is she just staring at me too?

  Finally, I come to my senses and speak. “Are you…okay?”

  A calm settles her expression and though a tiny smile forms on her full lips, she shakes her head slowly.

  I hear the click of the back door and turn to look.

  “Dude! Any day now,” Logan calls with his head sticking out of the house.

  I just stare at him, still stunned by her presence, but when I turn back to where she was, she’s gone.

  Chapter 2

  Ari

  Watching from down the street, I see their car pull away from the place I’ve been calling home for the last week or so. Still, I wait another half hour before I return in case they come back. When I enter through a bedroom window I jerry-rigged to stay unlocked, the place feels different. Smells different. I wonder if that’s him or the other guy he was with. I still can’t believe he didn’t call the cops or at least threaten it. Based on the way he was looking at me, I don’t think he would call the police. Something in his gaze seemed too…concerned.

  In one of the bedrooms, I pull the step ladder from the other side of the room, drag it into the closet and climb up until I can reach the panel. I push it aside and reach in to grab the bag I keep hidden there. This has been convenient and the best solution to lugging around my whole life—well, what’s left of it, anyway—and looking like a homeless person. I laugh to myself. Isn’t that what I am currently? I mean people on the streets are all there for different reasons. The poor, the vets, the mentally ill. Just because my reason is different doesn’t make me any less homeless. I guess it was never my home to begin with, anyway. Which is why I’m grateful to have come across this little gem.

  I take my bag into the living room, where I have my sleeping bag set up, and pull out a clean shirt. Thank God they didn’t toss this. I’ve been sleeping in the living room since the first night. For some reason being in a bedroom gave me the creeps. I mean, in an empty house, what does it matter anyway, right? And this way I get to sleep next to my mamá. I’m going to miss her when I have to leave and it looks like that time might be soon. I just can’t imagine going back to that shelter. One night was depressing enough, but I’m grateful for some of the items they let me leave with.

  After I change, I sit on the ground and look through my bag and take inventory of its contents. Funny how new habits form so easily. I snag the small pack of charcoal pencils—which I picked up on clearance at my favorite art store—like it’s a stuffed stocking on Christmas day. I find a smooth space of wall and sit cross-legged facing it. My working memory has always been incredible, which bodes well for an artist, so I guide my hand to form the image in my brain. His face was strong, clean-shaven. His chestnut brown eyes…not scary or threatening but like a lost puppy. Maybe it was just confusion. As the image of him comes to life in the dim light of the room, a thought bursts through and my hand stops. If this guy comes back, I don’t want him seeing his face on the wall.

  I put the charcoal away and rub my fingers on the back of my pants. What now? Another fun game of Guess that Insect? My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out with relief and a smile. There’s only one person with this number, so I know the text is from her.

  Kiki: Haven’t heard from you in a while. Everything okay?

  Me: All good. How are you?

  Kiki: How is everything “all good”? If you’re alone, can you call me?

  I quickly dial her number, and she answers on the first ring.

  “Ari!”

  “Um, yeah, but I think I just lost my hearing.” I try to keep my voice light, even as I gaze around the empty, lonely space.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m just so happy to hear your voice.”

  “Chica, same.”

  She laughs and then there’s a quiet pause. “Ari, where are you?”

  I turn my body and lean against the wall, facing the mural I painted of my mamá, pulling comfort from her gaze. “Just some crappy motel.”

  “You okay for money? Just let me send you a little.”

  I hear some babble in the background and my heart warms. “Is that my little nene?”

  “Yeah, only he’s not so little anymore.”

  I pull my knees to my chest and wrap one arm around them, attempting to pretend that everything is normal and not completely fucked. “You’re such a good mamacita.”

  “And you’re avoiding. Why won’t you take help from me?”

  “Because I’m fine.” And I know she can barely afford her rent.

  “At least let me send Jacob to come get you. You can live with us.”

  “You’re telling me, your baby daddy can’t even change a diaper but he’s going to drive two hours to come pick me up?”

  “I’ll make him.”

  “Venga, please.” I laugh because I’m sure she believes she could make it happen and she’d do anything for me. “Thanks, Kiki, but you know I have to stick around here for a while.”

  “Ari…”

  “Crap! Hold on,” I whisper. I see a light flash across the window and I freeze. It’s probably just a random car. Sometimes they come down this way not realizing it’s a dead-end and have to turn around. But I can’t take a chance, so I crawl to the window to take a peek. It’s not the best neighborhood.

  “What’s going on?” she whispers as if she’s right here with me. “You know those shady motels have hookers and drug dealers and stuff. Do you have the chain on?”

  “Yeah, of course I do. It was just some guy walking his dog.”

  “Some guy walking his dog scared the shit out of you?”

  Dios, this girl. “Look, babe, you don’t have to worry about me. I can take care of myself. Just because I’m a little jumpy doesn’t mean anything.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just worried. You’re the strongest person I know. Took guts to do what you did. When do you think you’ll get your stuff?”

  I don’t think it counts as guts when you don’t have much of a choice. “I don’t know, but I’m not leaving without it. Which is why I don’t need your sugar daddy even if he did come here. I really miss you, though, and I’m going to be back there soon.”

  “Miss you too, girlfriend.”

  There’s a moment of quiet, something we never used to have, and it saddens me.

  “Guess what!” And before I can actually guess, Kiki jumps in with the answer just like always. “I’m taking classes online.”

  “Wow, that’s great.” I want to smack myself that I have to put more excitement in my tone that should come naturally. “What are you—”

  “Crap! Drew, no, no, honey… Sorry, babe, I’ll fill you in next time.”

  “Oh…sure.” This time I don’t hide my disappointment. Her voi
ce is the only thing keeping me company.

  “Sorry, I know. Love you.”

  “Love you.”

  I promise to stay in touch before we say goodbye. Even when we are limited on time, hearing her voice does make me feel better. It’s the reminders that sour my mood. I’ve always hated being needy, asking for help, being an inconvenience to anyone. It’s why I won’t let her know the extent of my situation. Not to mention I can’t help but feel embarrassed about what happened. Kiki might not be doing things in order but she’s doing them, dammit, and what am I doing?

  I rest my chin on my knees and stare up at my mamá for a few calming minutes, thinking back to the times we stood in the kitchen, making chicken empanadas together. Mamá was strict, but she always made sure I was happy. Even if that meant making a few strawberry or cinnamon ones for after dinner.

  I need something to lift my spirits, to ward away the bad dreams. Usually that means sketching or painting but I can’t finish mystery guy’s face, and I only have two blank sheets of paper left from the sketch pad I bought at the drugstore, so I decide to count my money again, as if it will somehow be more than the last time I counted. I’m not at the pan-handling phase yet. I pray to God I will make this last for the next couple weeks. I pray to mamá to keep me safe and guide me. Because once I get my stuff, I literally have no clue what to do with my life next. I suppose having no ties gives me some freedom, but right now all I feel is alone.

  I cuddle inside my bag and pull out the only book I have to read: Nancy Drew and The Hidden Staircase. I found it on a bus bench. I like to read by the light of my phone until I fall asleep. I try to make sure I don’t go too late because I am usually awakened in the morning by the sunrise coming through the windows that don’t have blinds. Plus, who knows if those guys will come back tomorrow. I noticed work being done on another house in this neighborhood, so this one could be next. I dread thinking of where I’d go.

  When I finally close my eyes to sleep, one vision is held in my mind’s eye and I can’t shake it. That man who found me in the backyard. Tall, handsome, some sort of business man by the way he was dressed, though I wouldn’t mind seeing him in some snug jeans. But mostly I was struck by his eyes. So serious. As if he instantly knew I was in trouble and wanted to do something. I felt it in my bones. He wanted to help me, but he didn’t know how. If only I had someone like him to in my corner. Someone who made me feel safer simply by standing there and looking into my eyes.

  Chapter 3

  Mason

  I’m sitting at the table, still in a haze, when Megan’s hands slide onto my shoulders and rub. “You were quiet at dinner. Everything okay?”

  I reach up and place one of my hands on hers. “Yeah, of course. Just tired.” I get up and start to clear the plates from dinner but realize mine is the only one left. Then I hear Logan and Mollie in the kitchen, laughing, dishes clanging, water running. “Wow, sorry.”

  Megan takes the plate from my hand and smiles. “They don’t seem too unhappy. Just let them.” She backs away toward the kitchen. “More wine?”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  I wander over to the living room and stand behind the couch. The TV is set to jazz music so there’s nothing to watch, but I stare anyway and lose myself in the colorful swirls on the screen. Why can’t I stop thinking about those eyes? Whoever she was seemed troubled. Or in trouble. I’ve never seen anyone who held so much story in one expression, and yet for the life of me, I have no idea what her story is or what she was possibly thinking looking at me. The young-looking beauty may have been homeless, needing a place to sleep, but my gut tells me there is more to the story.

  I must have been visibly shaken after our brief encounter because Logan kept asking me what was wrong and for some reason, I didn’t mention her. Almost like she was a ghost or some figment of my imagination. Watching the swirls on the screen shoots me back to the image on the wall. Did she paint that? And somehow, I know she did.

  Megan comes in holding a glass of wine and sits down in a chair—her favorite black leather recliner, which faces her favorite view, and I suddenly feel a bit annoyed that we’re at her place once again and not mine. Sure, I could give a damn where we eat most times but when we have people over, Megan insists it be her place. I thought I was set in my ways until I met her.

  I sit on the couch and turn toward her. “Come sit next to me,” I say with a smile I’m not feeling.

  She stares at me a moment, her honey blond hair draped around one shoulder, and takes a sip of her white wine. Then, she sets it on a coaster on the table next to her. Slowly, she rises from the chair, keeping eye contact with me, and slides in right next to me.

  I reach through her silky mane to grip the back of her neck and pull her to me, taking hold of her parted lips with mine. My discussion with Logan might have highlighted some of the flaws in our relationship but we do have a connection. Evidenced by the wispy moans floating from her mouth to mine. The taste of sweet wine on her tongue is intoxicating, and I relax into the kiss.

  It feels like it’s been a while since we just spent time like this. Just kissing. Like an old married couple, oftentimes we skip the appetizer and go right to the entree. So, this moment with her is satisfying, reaffirming there’s more to us than business.

  When she runs her fingers through my hair, I release my hold on her neck and slide my hand up and down her thigh from the inside. With Mollie and Logan in the kitchen, things will only go so far, but for now neither of us seems to mind. Until Megan pulls back slightly and whispers, “Oh, I forgot to tell you about my meeting with Anderson.”

  This is typical, something I’m used to, but for some reason it annoys me right now. Still, I try again. I move my hand over her hip and draw her leg across my lap. “Later…” I trace her mouth with my index finger and then follow the same path with a brush of my lips. We kiss lazily and I’m two seconds away from picking her up, walking her back to her bed, and kicking Logan and Mollie out on the way.

  Megan obviously has other intentions as she pulls back and removes her leg. She stands and reaches for her wine before turning back to me and sipping. “Anderson can wait. But I have other news. Dad thinks we should all get together soon and talk…about the future.”

  I sit up and place an ankle across my knee. “All?”

  “Us, him, your dad…even Logan if you want, though he’s not really up to speed on things, right?” She sits back in her chair and draws her knees up like we’re having a cozy conversation. “What exactly is his position going to be, anyway?”

  I glance over my shoulder toward the kitchen, unsure if I’m worried he’ll hear, or if I’m hoping they’ll walk in and save me from this conversation. Sometimes the way she talks, it’s like she’s a real part of my business. Yes, her company has given us some lucrative jobs. But, hell, we still did the damn work.

  I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with strength and my mind with the words Gramps said to me, prepared to take this conversation where I’ve previously avoided. “Babe, you know I appreciate all the work. The connections. It’s helped us through some lulls. But we aren’t at the point to talk about anything…as vague as that invitation sounds.”

  She lifts her brows and tilts her head, as if she asked me to take out the garbage and I chose to watch the ballgame. I stand and lean an elbow against the hearth, going with my momentum. “In fact, now that I’ve got Logan on board, he and I are going to be exploring some options, so anything else would probably not work out right now.” I give her a pointed look, hoping she gets what I mean without having to actually reject her or her father.

  “Options?” She sets her wine down, joins me at the hearth, and puts a hand on my arm. “I thought we had plans, were heading to bigger and better things…together.”

  “Your dad has plans. Maybe you have plans too, but it’s my family’s business. The one my dad grew from nothing. That means something to me.”

  She rubs my arm and gives me that confident, endearing
expression I’ve seen her use to close many business deals. “Honey, no one wants to take that away from you.”

  Before she can say anything else, I add, “Besides, we’re small potatoes compared to some others you’ve worked with.” I leave the so why our company? unsaid. Part of me can’t help but feel the reason is that Megan simply always wants the upper hand when it comes to us and our relationship. Control is her thing. And I won’t be manipulated like that.

  She nods, even though she’s confirming our company isn’t that significant. “I’m just thinking of our future together…”

  And right then, something switches inside me and I feel caged, my breathing stilted. I loosen my tie. I can’t live in this limbo, trading vague ideas back and forth about us, about my company. “Let me ask you this? What do you see in our future? Marriage? Kids? What do you want from life? From me?”

  By the time I get to the last question, her eyes narrow and she takes her hand from my arm. “Mason…that’s a tall order. Are you telling me you want to map out our whole future right here, right now?”

  “Actually, no. I just think we keep having the same conversations, and yet I really don’t know what you want from me.”

  “What I want?” Her tone is hurt, indignant.

  I guess I went too far and my brain scrambles for what to do. Backtrack. Backtrack. I reach for her and take hold of her arms. Her eyes look glassy and I’m reminded that she’s not all business. She’s a woman with feelings and fears just like anyone else. “Look, baby, I’m sorry to be so blunt. You know how much I care about you, but you have to admit we aren’t a typical couple. We—”

  “That’s what I love about us.” She runs her fingers under her hair and fluffs it forward. “Why do we have to be like everyone else? We have a lot in common, we put our careers first, and we make a great team.”

  Put our careers first?

  My stomach drops at those words and her voice fades from my consciousness. I suppose she’s right, but to hear her say it is like a punch of reality to the gut. What’s wrong with us that we put business before relationships? Should I care if she does? Maybe she’s right and we are perfect for each other. Yet in this moment, I don’t believe it. And then my mind flashes back to that house today. The image of her doesn’t belong here right now, but I can’t help feeling changed just from looking at her. She’s at least a reminder that life is more than work. People are more important than business.