A Forever Kind of Guy: The Braddock Brotherhood, Book 2

Dedication

For my friend Wendy.

She never met a rule she wanted to follow and she
always
deviates from the plan.

Thank you, God for every bit of writing talent you gave me.

And to the mortals here on earth who’ve been there for me, a big thank you to all of you, especially to my own forever-kind-of-guy Bill for never wavering in his support of my writing efforts.

Thank you to my readers and critiquers (in no particular order): Danielle Meyers, Garda Parker, Sharon DeVita, Wendy Pomella, Dawn Peplinski and Michele Dunaway.

Finally I would like to thank my editor Sue-Ellen Gower and all the crew at Samhain Publishing.

Chapter One

Hayley Christopher swiped gloss across her lips and stared at herself in the bathroom mirror.

Why do I bother?
she silently asked her reflection.

Her plan for the future dangled just out of reach like a rabbit in front of a greyhound. She wanted to race forward, shake the Florida sand off her feet and arrive in Los Angeles ready to start her life over, but something always held her back. Ten years ago it had been a man. Though she’d vowed never to sacrifice her dreams for a man again, she hadn’t counted on a little boy getting in the way of her second chance.

Just a few short months ago she’d been ready to escape Jacksonville and the life she’d once had with Trey. Her bags were packed. An airline ticket awaited her. She’d planned to step off the plane in L.A. and never look back.

Marriage to Trey derailed her plans the first time. Now she’d allowed her semi-orphaned, stepnephew Fletcher to block her path. But she hadn’t had a choice, had she? With his mother OD’ing on heroin, dying in her arms, begging her to take care of him, to protect him from his violent father, what was she supposed to say? “No, Steffie, sorry, I’ve got a new life in L.A. waiting for me”? Everyone else had turned their backs on Stef and for good reason. Hayley couldn’t. She’d made a promise to watch over Fletcher without realizing what it would mean.

The other options were to leave Fletcher with strangers, or worse, at the mercy of his father Carlos, should he ever get out of jail. She shuddered at the thought that Carlos might make good on his threats against her. That he’d hurt his own son in the process. The poor kid had been traumatized enough in his young life. While she knew she wasn’t the ideal candidate to take custody, at least Fletcher knew who she was, though they’d hardly bonded in the few months she’d had him. They probably never would.

As long as he was with her, Hayley knew Fletcher wouldn’t be mistreated and he’d be kept away from his father. With any luck at all, he’d be adopted by the kind of family Hayley herself had always dreamed of. A mother and father. Siblings. There’d be a big backyard with a swing set. Dinner on the table at six every night. Maybe even a dog.

Sure it was a dream. It hadn’t come true for her, but maybe she could make it come true for her stepsister’s son. If Carlos ever came looking for Fletcher, he’d be long gone, absorbed into the system with a new name, a new family and tightly sealed records. Somehow she’d make that happen. And afterward she’d move forward with her own plans. She and Fletcher would both be free of their pasts.

She stowed the lip gloss and mascara in her makeup case and stared at her reflection once more. What was the point in wearing makeup or making an attempt with her hair? Why did she bother putting cute workout clothes on?

“L.A. Someday. Soon,” she promised herself as she did every morning.

She sat down on the closed toilet lid to wrap the Ace bandage around her swollen ankle. Giving in to a burst of exuberance after teaching one of her aerobics classes yesterday had been a mistake. Her professional cheerleading days were several years behind her, and she was getting too old to do back flips. She should have known better.

Life as she’d known it was over, she reminded herself. Some days there seemed no point to anything.

The doorbell rang. She heard Fletcher move away from where she’d left him on the sofa watching cartoons.

“Don’t open the door, Fletch,” she called. “I’ll be right there.”

Quickly she finished wrapping her ankle, making sure the self-securing bandage would stay in place. Who could be ringing her doorbell? She knew virtually no one in tiny Perrish, Florida. Oh God, she hoped it wasn’t more bad news. Bad news had been following her for too long, showing up when she least expected it. Maybe the ringing of the doorbell heralded a change in that pattern.

She grabbed the despised crutches and maneuvered her way out of the bathroom, wincing when she bumped her injured ankle with the tip of the crutch. She’d needed the crutches for less than a day but it was long enough to know she hated them.

Four-year-old Fletcher stood to the left of the front door, his attention focused on whatever was on the other side of the slender pane of sidelight glass. Hayley moved closer to see a man hunkered on the other side making funny faces at Fletcher. She glanced down to see Fletcher’s reaction. His expression was the one he usually wore of serious concentration, but a ghost of a smile played around his lips. At least Hayley wanted to think he might be close to a smile. It’d been a long time since he had.

There was no chain on the door, so Hayley debated for a moment about whether to open the door to a strange man. It was broad daylight and he looked harmless enough. He straightened when he heard the deadbolt slide back.

They stared at each other for what was probably a split second but felt like a lifetime. Hayley felt the ripple run through her. She’d experienced
the
ripple effect
twice in her life. Once with her ex-husband and the first time with—

“Hi, I’m Ray Braddock,” he began.

—Ray Braddock when she was fourteen. She’d been a brand new student, a freshman at Jannings High School. He and his twin brother Rick had been the hottest boys in the junior class. She’d worshiped Ray from afar, though she’d never actually met him. But every time she saw him, the ripple effect slammed her full force
.

Okay
, she told herself.
You can do this. You are not attracted to him. The last thing you need is a man in your life. Men are bad news. Men cause pain. Men mess up your plans. The ripple effect means nothing. The ripple effect is evil.

“Hayley Christopher.” Good. That’s good. She remembered her manners. She remembered her name. Now if that excitement fluttering in the pit of her stomach would cease and desist, she’d be fine.

“I know.”

Her radar shot out a warning. “You know? What do you mean, you know? How would you know my name?”

“From the property management company. I—”

“Oh? I can’t believe they gave out my name. They have no right. Who I am and where I live is my business and no one else’s. There must be some kind of law—”

“Whoa. Slow down there. I hired the property manager. I’m the owner of the property. I live in the other unit.” He nodded toward the other half of the duplex.

“You—own—wait a minute. What?” The other half of the duplex had been vacant during the short time she’d lived there. Or so she thought.

As if sensing her distress, Fletcher moved closer to her, wedging himself between her leg and her crutch and clutching her thigh. He sent out one of his trademark, almost inaudible whimpers of inquiry. Awkwardly, she patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, sweetie.”

Ray rescued her from her confusion. “I was out of town for a while. So I hired the property manager. But I’m back. Starting next month, you can pay your rent directly to me.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“What happened to you? Do you need to sit down?” Ray gestured at the crutches and Fletcher hanging onto her. “Want me to come in for a minute?”

Hayley couldn’t take her gaze off her landlord. He’d been good looking as a teenager and he still was. But his handsome face had more character now. Tiny lines radiated from the corners of his eyes. As she recalled, he’d been leaner than his brother, and that hadn’t changed. He looked tanned and strong and capable. But he also looked sad. And a bit lost.

Maybe that’s what I look like too
. It was certainly how she felt most days. Giving herself a mental shake, she tried to regroup and say something reasonably intelligent.

Inviting him into her personal space was out of the question. “No. That’s okay. I’ll make the rent checks to you from now on. Was there anything else?”

“Is everything all right with the place? Appliances? Plumbing? Air conditioning?”

“Everything works. I’m not crazy about some of the decorating choices, but it’s nothing critical.”
Except the bathroom wallpaper,
she added silently.
It’s hideous.
She’d seriously considered doing the next tenant a favor by ripping down the wallpaper in the bathroom. Bare drywall would be an improvement over the garish flowered foil.

“All right, then. Here’s my phone number.” He handed her a plain white business card on which he’d written his name and the number. “Let me know if you have any problems.”

She took the card. Her fingertips touched his. She ignored her reaction.

Not.

“It’s only you and your son, here, right? Fletcher? Is that his name?”

She glanced down at Fletcher, who was staring up at Ray. “Yes. Uh, well, sort of.”

Ray’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t feel required to explain her relationship with Fletcher to him. “How do you know his name?”

“The property manager.”

“Oh, right. Okay.”

Ray stood there a moment longer. Hayley wondered what else she should say. She couldn’t think of anything. Her mouth went dry. Her brain became addled. Every nerve ending she possessed went on high alert and sent mixed signals, scrambling her thought process.

Invite him in.

Make him go away.

He’s hot.

You’ll get burned.

Step closer.

Stay away from him.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

Hayley stared at him.

He studied her intently. “You look kind of familiar. Like maybe we’ve met before.”

Great, she thought. Even relocating this far from Jacksonville, she couldn’t get away from the negative publicity. “Do you follow sports?”

“Well, yeah—”

“The Jacksonville Jacks?”

“Not so much lately—”

“Then you probably know that according to every reporter in the greater Jacksonville area, I’m the ex-pro cheerleader, gold-digging, cheating hussy their beloved quarterback Trey Christopher divorced. You probably recognize me from some unflattering photos that ran in all those rags the past couple of years.”

Ray’s gaze remain fixed on her as if he hadn’t been listening. “No, it’s not that.” He cocked his head a bit and narrowed his gaze.

“What do you mean ‘it’s not that’? What else could it be?”

“I haven’t read a Jacksonville newspaper in about two years. Are you sure we’ve never met? Maybe when we were younger?”

He couldn’t possibly remember her, Hayley thought.
Why not?
Her sub-conscious asked.
You remember him.

“You mean like in high school?”

“I think I’d remember you if you went to Jannings Point.”

Hayley’s ankle began to throb, warning her she’d been in an upright position for too long. Plus she needed to leave for work shortly. “I did, but I was a couple of years behind you. I don’t think we ever met.”

“Maybe not. But I still feel like I know you. Anyway, I’ll see you around, I guess.” Ray turned and exited the small screened porch and headed back to his side of the duplex. He stopped halfway and turned back to her. “Let me know if you need help with anything.”

I most certainly will not.
She knew from her experience with Trey exactly what happened when she relied on a man. Even if she wasn’t too good at it yet, she relied only on herself now, and her plans called for her to keep it that way.

Of course it would have to be raining, Hayley thought with a sigh as she parked in front of the duplex that evening. She had a trunk full of groceries, a throbbing ankle, Fletcher in the back seat and her beloved crutches to contend with. The rain was the icing on an absolutely splendid day. She turned off the wipers, yanked the key from the ignition and stared at the water droplets beading against the windshield.

First Ray Braddock had shown up at her door this morning, which had caused her to think about him off and on all day.

Since she couldn’t teach exercise classes with a sprained ankle, the director of the Y had relegated her to front desk duty, which she hated because it meant she was stuck there checking ID’s, handing out towels and answering the phone. After lunch he’d sent her to help out in the child care center, giving her a chance to see how Fletcher was doing.

Fletcher had simply clammed up after her stepsister’s death a few months ago. Hayley couldn’t imagine what Steffie’s son had been exposed to in his young life that would cause him to refuse to speak. There didn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with him. Hayley had done what she could for Fletcher, rescuing him from the hovel of an apartment where Steffie had been living with Fletcher’s no-good father, who was now in jail. For the time being, she could watch over Fletcher until other arrangements could be made. It was the only thing she could do for poor Steffie.