Blue-Collar Bad Boys Next Door: The Full Eight-Book Collection Page 7

  I jump out of the driver’s side door, hardly aware of slamming it closed, and race across the street. I’m literally growling, I’m so angry.

  Angry, and scared.

  It’s been a while since I’ve seen my sister Nancy. York Bay isn’t that far from Port City, but once she started dating Curtis, I hardly saw her again. She would take days to respond to calls and texts, and she’d turn down any invitations to get together. When she called me tonight, before I even answered the phone, I knew something was wrong.

  “Harlowe,” she said, her voice cracking. “Something’s wrong.”

  Once she explained the situation, I told her to stay put and that I was coming.

  But first, I made one phone call. One phone call to someone I’ve known for years but never really spoken to since high school, who is the reason for all of these police cars I see.

  I’m terrified of what I’ll see on her. And I’m so furious with Curtis, I’m worried I’ll kick his ass if I see him and wind up arrested myself.

  I don’t see Nancy out front, but I reach the sidewalk in front of The Pit just in time to see Curtis being led to a police car, hands cuffed behind him. He catches my eye and curls his lip.

  “You piece of shit!” I shriek, rushing toward him without thinking.

  “Whoa!”

  From behind, large, strong hands close around my arms and haul me back. “Calm down,” a familiar voice orders in my ear. “Harlowe. Stop.”

  I stop fighting, drawing in huge, gulping breaths as tears blur my vision. I can’t see Curtis’s face as he’s pushed into the car, which is just as well, because if he sneers at me again, I will kill the bastard.

  “He’s gone,” the man who holds me reassures me, and it’s like his voice is a hand that reaches through my darkness, grabs me, and pulls me toward the light. Or maybe it’s just distracting me, because these are the most words he’s ever said to me in the past twelve years.

  I slowly turn around.

  Darby Cisneros gives me a slight, one-sided smile as he gazes down at me. “I don’t want to have to arrest you too.”

  Has he always been this tall? Has he always filled out his clothes so well? His biceps swell against the tight sleeves of his black patrol uniform. I let my eyes wander to his face, blinking away my tears. The lanky, slightly nerdy boy I remember from high school is barely there in this rugged stranger’s face. His sandy-brown hair is styled in a neat but edgy way, with shaved sides and slightly longer on top, replacing the shaggy mop he used to constantly brush out of his dark-blue eyes. He has…tattoos now, for Christ’s sake. One covers his left bicep, the other his entire right arm. But they don’t look poorly done—each one is crisp and shaded.

  “Harlowe?” he says quietly, tilting his head to look into my eyes. “Are you all right?”

  I swallow, lifting my gaze to his face. He chews one side of his plump lower lip, a nervous habit I remember from high school. That might be the only thing about him that’s the same.

  “Wh-where is she?” I mumble. “Nancy.”

  Darby sweeps me off to one side, out of the crush of people and cops. “Stay right here. I’ll go get her. She’s inside.”

  He shoulders his way inside. Then a moment later, he leads out a slim young woman. Even though her hair is cut into a short, edgy angled bob and dyed black, covering the dark-golden-brown tresses we naturally share and she’s dressed all in black, I’d know my baby sister anywhere.

  Her tired green eyes light up at the sight of me.

  I shove the people near me out of my way and run toward her, then sweep her into my arms. She clings to me.

  And then she bursts into tears.

  “It’s okay,” I say in a firm, neutral voice even though I’m sobbing as hysterically as she is on the inside. But she needs strength right now. Unfaltering, unwavering strength. “You let it all out. I’m never letting him get near you again. You’re safe, Nancy, do you hear me?”

  She says something incoherent, but it doesn’t matter. She just needs to know her family is here for her.

  I glance over Nancy’s shoulder to Darby. He gives me another half-smile. “You good to drive?” he asks softly.

  I nod.

  “Get her home, then,” he tells me. “I’ll—check on you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks,” I tell him, hoping he understands exactly what and how much I’m thanking him for. I lead Nancy back across the street to my car, my head whirling.

  Our families have lived next door to each other since we were born, so Darby and I have known each other since childhood. But despite the fact our parents were friendly, because the Cisneros didn’t have a daughter for me to befriend, Darby and I largely ignored each other except when we had no choice, like at cookouts and holidays. We attended all the same schools, but he had his friends and I had mine. My mother pushed me toward athletics and cheer and debate and the school newspaper. Darby hung out with kids we termed “nerds” and “geeks,” skateboarders. The outsiders.

  We were friends in high school—at least, outside of school. I always said hello to him in the halls, but he was pretty quiet in that building with all eyes on us. But in our old neighborhood, we had long talks on the porch on summer nights. We watched a meteor shower on my roof. And then, one time after a fall picnic, when it was dark and we were alone in the little space between our houses, he almost kissed me.

  Even after all these years, I’ve never forgotten that.

  But after graduation, I was off to school in another state and living the university life. I heard about Darby in passing. He stuck around home and went to Port City U. Then he became a cop.

  It was him I thought of when Nancy called me for help. I needed someone who knew us, understood my family. Someone who might want to help more than just because it was his job to do so.

  He sounded surprised when I called him tonight, but didn’t miss a beat when I explained what was going on. “I’ll be there,” he promised me.

  And he kept that promise.

  Back at my apartment, Nancy’s calmed down. I make hot chamomile tea and while she sips her from mug, I make up a bed on the couch for her.

  “I guess…I’ll go home,” she says.

  “You don’t have to go back there.” I punch a pillow to fluff it up. “It’s too hard right now.”

  “No, not the apartment in York Bay. That was never home.” She pulls in a deep breath. “I mean…home. Mom and Dad’s.”

  I straighten, looking at her. To say she didn’t leave town on the best terms is an understatement, but I know my parents miss her like crazy. “Are you prepared for that?”

  Nancy lifts a shoulder. “I packed a suitcase when I left.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” I fold my arms.

  She sighs. “I don’t know. But I’ve been away so long. He—he made me feel like I wasn’t allowed to see my family. Told me none of you cared about me.”

  My anger flares. “That’s not—”

  She holds up a hand. “I know it’s not true. Now.” She presses her lips together. “I want to go home, Har.” Then she smirks wryly. “Even though I’ll have to listen to Mom saying, ‘I told you so’ in her way.”

  “And then telling you she has a friend with a doctor son she wants to fix you up with,” I add drily.

  “Is she still all about that? Finding us rich husbands?”

  Despite myself, I can’t help but laugh-groan, dropping my face into my hands. “Yeah. She is. And don’t worry, kiddo. You’re not the only one who’ll get an ‘I told you so’ lecture. I can really pick ’em myself.”

  Nancy tilts her head. Her haircut would be adorable if it wasn’t covered in that matte black pen ink she calls hair dye. I’ll tell her that—tomorrow. “What do you mean?”

  I shake my head. “I’ve had my own questionable breakup, but…” I wave my hand dismissively. “It’s fine.”

  Another thing that can wait until tomorrow.

  I make sure Nancy’s asleep before I finally retire to my b
edroom. It’s time for me to look for a new place too. I shared this apartment with my ex-boyfriend Bill for the year we were together before I kicked him out a few months ago. He was controlling and self-righteous, and I had enough. But this place still stinks of him, and I need a fresh, brand-new start.

  For some reason, on the tail-end of that thought, Darby enters my mind.

  I think about his quiet, steadfast presence tonight. I think about his gorgeous face, and his tall, muscular body. He’s changed so much from the boy I knew, but yet…he’s still the same person in the ways that seem to count the most.

  I grab my cell phone.

  Me: Thank you again so much for helping me tonight.

  A few minutes go by with no reply. My eyelids start to grow heavy. It’s okay if he doesn’t reply. I just want him to know I’m grateful.

  I’m about to swan-dive into repose when my phone vibrates.

  Darby: I’ll always be there for you when you need me.

  2

  Darby Cisneros

  Is it possible to technically wake up when you haven’t slept? I mean, I laid in bed with my eyes closed all night. But I wasn’t sleeping.

  I was thinking of her.

  Growing up next door to Harlowe was always a little bit of that “so close and yet so far” idea. Our parents hung out, but she and I didn’t. We were polar opposites growing up. She was golden and popular and a great student. I was shy, geeky, and kept to myself and my little group of friends. I was actually decent at basketball, but too shy to go out for the team. It wasn’t until puberty hit me and passed that I felt like maybe I could actually talk to Harlowe, and I did. We became friendly. She never cared about what her popular friends would think about her talking to her nerdy neighbor, although I rarely engaged her in conversation at school, and she never made me feel like an outsider, which only made my feelings for her stronger. But she always had a boyfriend. The point guard of the basketball team. The quarterback of the football team. The captain of the baseball team. She had a type, and I didn’t fit into it.

  Except for one fleeting moment…

  It’s a memory I hold onto and can recall in vivid the detail. The night where I was a guy—strong, confident. Our parents had a fall block party to celebrate us starting our senior year of high school, and despite Harlowe having a boyfriend—the star quarterback, who was a huge jerk—we were particularly flirty with each other that night. And those flirtations culminated in the two of us alone between our houses, Harlowe’s back to the side of her house, and me, palms pressed against it on either side of her, slowly, so very slowly, leaning in.

  Our lips had just brushed together when her boyfriend started calling for her.

  And just like that, I was just the nerdy boy next door again.

  But that’s never done anything to diminish the fact that I’ve always been in love with Harlowe Monroe. Even her mom and the lie she told me that spring afternoon senior year of high school—when I showed up to ask Harlowe to prom and Mrs. Monroe told me she already had a date—couldn’t shake my feelings. It just showed me I wasn’t right for Harlowe.

  To say getting her call last night shocked me would be the understatement of the goddamn year. I didn’t even know she had my number, although she probably called one of her parents to get it. Probably her dad, because her mom would have had lots of questions as to why her successful accountant daughter wanted the number of a lowly, blue-collar patrol cop.

  When I heard the distress in her voice, nothing could stop me from doing whatever I could to help her. Nancy was in trouble. Her asshole ex-boyfriend hit her, she ran, and he followed. If there’s one thing I’ve come to absolutely despise in my years on the force, it’s a man who abuses women.

  I alerted dispatch, who put the call out on the radio, and a few of my crewmates and I headed to The Pit. When I saw Harlowe, I was hit by the same tidal wave of want and need and the surge of protectiveness that always reminds me of how much I care for her.

  I don’t think about how much my appearance has changed over the years, but Harlowe seemed to notice it as if for the first time. Our families celebrate holidays together, but I’m always working and so is she, so we rarely catch more than a passing glimpse of each other.

  The way her beautiful brown eyes widened slightly when I pulled her away from murdering Curtis with her bare hands makes me harden as I lie in bed now. She liked what she saw. And I certainly loved what I saw, the way I always do.

  I could easily lose myself in another fantasy of her now and do something about my cock getting harder with each second, but in light of last night’s events, I could also show some damn respect.

  I get up and head to the gym for my daily two-hour workout—running, lifting, a little boxing. I have to go hands-on with suspects pretty frequently, so staying in fighting shape could mean life or death. I work the night shift, three to midnight, so having my days open is a nice way to make sure I’m taking care of business.

  Harlowe’s still heavy on my mind all through the workout and on the drive back to my apartment. She’s on my mind during my shower—and, fine. I gave into my urges. Sue me. I touched her for the first time last night, and I don’t want it to be the only time it happens.

  I make a protein shake and stare long and hard at my cell phone on the counter. Her number is sitting in my call log from last night, and I am curious to know how she and Nancy are doing.

  Just do it. Don’t be a fucking coward.

  I grab my phone before I can talk myself out of it and dial her. My heart’s pounding.

  She answers on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

  I blink at how flustered that one word sounds. “Harlowe? It’s Darby. Everything all right?”

  She laughs, but it’s one of those hysterical laughs that’s a breath away from tears. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

  I lift a brow. “Are you sure?”

  I hear a deep, shuddering breath on the other end. “I just—a pipe just burst in my apartment while I was taking Nancy to my parents’ house. My stuff is destroyed. I have no idea what to do. I just—”

  “Breathe,” I tell her in a low, soothing voice. “Take a deep breath.”

  She tries.

  “Take another one.”

  She does it again.

  “Call your landlord first. Then call your insurance agent. If you have renter’s insurance, they should cover anything that’s ruined.”

  “But I can’t stay here,” she says. “I guess—I guess I’ll have to go to a hotel or something.”

  My apartment complex has a few furnished units for long-term corporate stays. In fact, one of them is right next door to my apartment.

  “Hotels could get pricey,” I tell her. “I happen to have a furnished unit where I live. I could call my landlord and work something out for you. It’d be much cheaper than a hotel.”

  “You would do that for me?”

  “I told you last night,” I say gently, “that I’ll always be there for you when you need me.”

  She’s silent for a beat. Shit. Did I say too much?

  “Thank you, Darby,” she says finally, and the relief in her voice is clear. “I’d really appreciate that.”

  “Let me get on the horn with him and I’ll call you back, all right?” Harlowe agrees and we hang up, then I dial my landlord. It’s an easy yes, especially because I signed a bunch of fix-it tickets for him. I make sure she’ll get a fair rate, then call Harlowe back with the offer. She accepts it immediately, and I give her the address and unit number.

  “Do you need help moving your stuff?” I ask.

  She sighs. “No, I can manage. It’ll just be clothes—whatever isn’t ruined.”

  “Well, I’ll be here when you get here if you need help getting settled. I’m right next door.”

  “That’s great,” she says warmly. “Next-door neighbors, like always.”

  I am thrilled at the prospect of having her so close. But I want her closer than next door.

  I want H
arlowe in my arms.

  3

  Harlowe

  “So, that’s basically the place,” Darby says as we walk back into my new, temporary home. He’s just given me a tour of the grounds, including the clubhouse where I signed a temporary one-month lease. He also showed me the clubhouse’s small gym and the nice, big pool out back with lots of deck chairs.

  “The property manager’s really responsive if you need anything,” he continues. “It’s pretty quiet in this building.”

  “Thanks,” I say, glancing around. The unit is smaller than mine, but it’s spotless and I can tell there’s a fresh coat of paint on the walls. It’s got a big window and a sliding glass door that opens to a little balcony. I’ll be comfortable here.

  I glance at Darby, who’s watching me. I’ve been so flustered this morning with the unwelcome surprise of my pipe bursting that I haven’t stopped to really consider what he did for me. I get easily overwhelmed in unpleasant situations—as evidenced by how I tried to strangle Curtis last night—and the culmination of Nancy’s situation, my own situation with an asshole ex, my mother’s uncanny ability to criticize me for something even in passing, and the destruction of my apartment suddenly become too much.

  I give him a shaky smile as tears fill my eyes. “Thank you,” I murmur. “For everything. I mean, really. These last few days—last few months—have really been…” My voice crumbles in my throat.

  He takes one step toward me, closing the entire gap between us, and enfolds me in his strong arms. I instinctively lean against his chest, my head fitting perfectly into the nook where his neck meets his shoulder.

  “You’re going to be fine,” he tells me emphatically in a soft voice. He squeezes me gently, then one hand runs languidly up and down my back. “You’ve always been a strong, resilient person, Harlowe. It’s one of the things I’ve always admired about you.”