Dawn Atkins - His Brother's Keeper

“Make an effort.”

He just looked at her. “Is that it?”

“There’s one more thing.” She took a deep breath before delivering the blow. “I’m going to need you to pay rent.”

“Rent? What the hell?” He pushed to his feet, as if braced for battle.

“Don’t loom over me, please. Sit down so we can discuss this.”

He stalked around the desk and dropped into the chair. “Rent was not part of the deal.”

“It is now. I lost my funding. Your rent will help cover it.” It would get her through the end of the year, she hoped, if she was brutally frugal. After that, she had no idea what she’d do. Hope for a budget boost? A grant? A charity? A miracle?

“How much?” he said through gritted teeth.

“We can be reasonable. Five dollars a square foot is well below current rates. With you using five hundred square feet, that’s $2,500 a month.”

“You’re crazy.”

“You charge fees, don’t you?”

“The kids pay fifty a month when they can. The full rate is one hundred and fifty. I cover the rest as scholarships.” He glared at her. “You’re reneging on our deal.”

She held his gaze. “You extorted that deal from me and you know it. Circumstances changed, so the deal has to change.”

“I can’t pay rent.” He paused, staring at her. “But then, you knew that, didn’t you?” Fury roiled in his eyes, like dark water in a storm. “You want us out. I get it.”

“You can stay if you pay.”

“You always get what you want, don’t you? No matter what it takes or who it hurts. Well played, Cici.”

“What does that mean?” But she knew. He meant Robert—that she’d used him, left him in jail and run for the hills. Her face burned. She’d been a scared, angry kid. She’d gone along with Robert, not dragged him into trouble. And when her mother got a job, she’d had to leave. And her mother—

She stopped her awful thoughts. “No matter what you think about me, Gabe, I’m doing what’s best for the kids.”

“Save your speeches for the PTO or the press or whatever politician you need to snow.”

She could tell he wanted to let her have it, tell her exactly what he thought of her, then and now. His fists were clenched, his jaw was working and his breathing was ragged. But he only said, “You win. We’ll be gone as soon as I find a place.” He turned and left.

She stood, as if to call him back, but her throat was tight and she was breathing as though she’d run ten miles. Where did he get off acting so self-righteous? She’d made a reasonable offer. He was supposed to bargain with her, not give in and stalk out.

She sank into her chair, irate and hurt. He’d insulted her integrity and accused her of exploiting Robert in one vicious sentence. He was an angry man with a chip on his shoulder so broad you could balance a tray of drinks on it.

A drink was what she wanted right now, but that would be a mistake. She always stayed in control. That was the only way to get by. That and being flexible. She knew how to roll with the punches, adapt and move on.

Not Gabe. For Gabe, life was black or white, yes or no—make that yes or hell no. Gabe was a brick wall. Under pressure, he would crack and fall, while she bent and shifted and found another way. He was so wrong.

So wrong.

She had loved Robert. What happened had devastated her. She’d locked down emotionally after that, gone numb. She hadn’t had a single boyfriend in high school. Only a few dates in college, for that matter. Truth be told, she still missed him. He showed up in dreams. She remembered him on his birthday, on the date they first kissed and on the day he died. Tomorrow, it would be fifteen years since he was buried.

She tipped the wave box, wanting the gentle waves to soothe her, but she was trembling, so the waves were as jerky and jagged as her nerves.

Underlying everything was her blasted attraction for Gabe. Anger and lust both fired the blood, she supposed.

When he stared at her, untapped feelings stirred and flared. He made her think about sex. He made her long for sex.

How would he be in bed? Rough and demanding? Tender and generous? Both, depending on what she needed? And he would know because he would read her like a book and—

Oh, for heaven’s sake. Still shaking and upset, she opened the Play-Doh and began to knead and roll the bright green clay to calm down, to help her think, to do some creative problem solving.

No way did Gabe want to move, but he’d be too proud to come back. She’d have to make the first move—ask for less money, though the less she got, the less she could offer her students.

She looked at her hand and realized she’d squeezed so hard, the dough had squirted from between her fingers like the spikes of some martial-arts weapon. Not good. She needed to make peace, not war.

GABE©STEPPED©OUT©OF©HIS©VAN in front of Discovery at noon the next day, muscle-sore from the landscaping job he’d left early to try to work out a deal with Felicity. His friend Carl was happy to hire him whenever Gabe could do it. He’d need more work to pay the rent she was extorting from him. He clenched his jaw.

Settle down. Be nice. This was for his boys.

He regretted bringing up the way she’d used Robert, but the rent she’d asked was insane and she’d known it. Clearly, she wanted him out.

But he needed to stay. Even on the west side, he’d have to pay at least a grand a month, and he’d lose half his kids for lack of transportation.

He could manage a thousand, he figured, if he scrimped, bought no equipment, worked more for Carl and took double shifts with the cab he shared. He hoped to hell he wouldn’t have to tap into the scholarship cash.

Outrage surged in a hot wave. So she’d lost funds for her stupid homework club. That didn’t justify breaking the deal she’d made with his boys. This was extortion, pure and simple.

Kind of like blackmailing her with a media threat for more time?

He shrugged, uneasy about his own behavior.

On the way over, he’d grabbed award-winning gyros from Giorgio’s Grotto, the Greek restaurant owned by his mother’s new husband, as a peace offering.

A shared meal cured a lot of ills. He liked cooking for people he loved. He wasn’t much for hugs or flattery, but a loaf of herb bread hot from the oven, served with basil butter and gazpacho from farmer’s market heirloom tomatoes said plenty about what was in his heart.

Part of his trouble with Cici was he kept mixing up anger at her with wanting to get her naked. He didn’t understand her, didn’t even like her, but she spiked his wiring somehow, blowing all the circuits with a look, a move, a twitch of her glossy lips.

He’d felt like this way back, when he’d watched her thump into the pole outside his house. She was so short that at first he thought the car was driverless. When he ran to see if she’d been hurt, she turned away to scrub off her tears, then acted tough as nails. He could see she was terrified to tell her mother. He had the idea her home life was grim, even if she was a Scottsdale snot.

Raul owed him a favor, so he’d fixed the bumper for free. When Gabe had brought her that drink, she’d looked at him with so much amazed gratitude, you’d have thought he’d found her long lost kitten.

A feeling had surged in him then—the urge to take care of her, be with her, figure out her quirky workings.

They never talked about it, but the vibe was always there, a constant low hum. And her candy smell hanging in Robert’s room liked to kill him at times.

Her office door was half-open, so he tapped on it, then went in.

She looked up from a yellow pad, her eyes crackling, her mouth tight, her movements jerky with anger. Not at him, though. Couldn’t be.