Afraid to Fly (Fearless #2) (28 page)

T
HERE WAS A REASON
why people hated Mondays.

It was the reset button.

The proverbial flush of weekend bliss in order to make room for the following week’s fresh pile of bullshit.

I had gone into my Monday with an open mind and an open heart, two things I never imagined could coexist within me. But Raven . . . Raven was my monkey wrench. My plot twist. She flipped the switch on my pessimism and gave me a renewed sense of hope. So, I looked toward the future. I was excited to go into work Monday morning. I was thrilled with the prospect of seeing both her and Toby again. I was optimistic. That is, until I arrived and remembered . . .

It was fucking Monday.

Helping Hands had been broken into over the weekend. The entire place was trashed. Papers littered every inch of the floor, computers were smashed, and food was smeared all over the snack bar, the stench giving us a warm welcome when we came in this morning. The place was destroyed, and thousands of dollars—and even more hours of work—had been lost.

Insurance would help us recoup some of our losses, but it wouldn’t replace the children’s art projects and science experiments. We prided ourselves on providing them a safe environment, and now, it seemed none of us were safe. How could they thrive in chaos?

The whole team worked tirelessly to clean up as much as we could while Amber worked with the police. We didn’t have the funds to hire a cleaning crew, especially now, and with cops everywhere, it’d be wasted anyway. As second in command, I made the call to prepare the gymnasium for after school activities, since it seemed the least destroyed. We cleaned up the floor and walls, removed all the trash, then set up groupings of table and chairs for tutoring sessions. The bleachers could be used for private mentoring and individual activities. I even planned to order pizza for their after school snack out of my own pocket. I didn’t want the kids to see this as a tragedy. A stumbling block, yes. But we would make the most out of it.

“What happened?” I heard a familiar voice gasp from behind me. I turned around to find Kami taking in the scene, her eyes wide with shock. Shit. I had forgotten about our lunch date, and with all the commotion, hadn’t thought to call her.

“Break in,” I answered before leaning forward to greet her with a peck on the cheek. “Damn, my bad. I should have called before you came all the way down here. We’re swamped here.”

Her gaze grew wide with panic. “A break in? Are you ok?”

“I’m fine. No one was here. Just a mess is all. Probably some neighborhood punks. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Oh God. Anything I can do?”

“Nah. Just let Angel know that I might be home late tonight.”

After I walked her back to her car and kissed her goodbye, I thought about texting Raven to let her know what was going on. I didn’t know where the impulse came from; I didn’t check in with anyone outside of Kami and Angel. But, I thought . . . maybe she’d care. Maybe she’d want to know I was safe. Maybe she wanted to hear the sound of my voice through those typed letters, just as I craved to hear hers.

I grabbed a broom and continued to sweep instead. Because . . . maybe she didn’t.

As we anticipated, the afternoon was complete pandemonium. The kids were worried, many of them shaken by the shift in routine. The pizza helped, along with a promised game of basketball after the allotted hour of study time, but I could still feel their anxiety. Especially Toby’s. Uncomfortable with such a large crowd convening in one enclosed space, when he arrived, he made a beeline for the highest level of the furthest bleacher. I made it a point to save him some pizza, and once everyone was settled in their designated groups, I took it over to him.

“My man,” I said placing the flimsy paper plate beside him. “Sorry about the craziness. Trust me, it sucks.”

He shrugged a shoulder and looked down at the textbook he was holding. Math. He had math tutoring today, but he was too upset to go to his tutor. It meant exposure in front of everyone.

I gestured towards the book. “Hey, I can help you with that if you want me to. I mean, I don’t know how good I’ll be, but maybe we can figure it out together.”

He looked at me, and just a little of the carefree boy I saw last night playing Monopoly peeked out. The corner of his mouth turned up, and he nodded.

“Ok, cool. Why don’t you eat this slice before it gets even colder, and I’ll try to explain what we’re doing without totally confusing you.”

He chuckled and nodded again, handing me the book and picking up the plate. I turned to the page that was bookmarked by the homework worksheet.

“Ok, dividing decimals by whole numbers . . .”

Somehow, some way, we survived 6
th
grade math. At least one day of it. Well, one hour.

As promised, the kids got to play ball until it was time to go home. And while Toby didn’t want anything to do with it, I did manage to get him to come down to the bottom of the bleachers to watch and listen to me play coach. I was almost sad when parents started arriving to pick up their kids. In the past, I had given serious thought to coaching little league sports, but I didn’t have children of my own, and I didn’t want to risk someone thinking I was a predator. So it was nice to be able to do something I was passionate about without dealing with certain assumptions.

“Hey, Coach Trevino.” Even though the sound of her voice had been echoing in my head all day, it was still no replacement for the real thing. Not even close.

I made myself not turn around too quickly, and forced myself not to smile too widely. But the moment I took her in—wearing blue and yellow duck scrubs—all my restraint went out the window.

“Hey,” I grinned. Oddly enough, she was beaming too.

“Hey.”

“Good to see you.” It was the appropriate thing to say in front of a gym full of kids, teachers and even a few parents. But what I really wanted to do was scoop her up in my arms until her blue, Croc-covered feet no longer touched the ground, and kiss every bit of that perfect mouth.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” she remarked, taking in the makeshift classroom/basketball court.

“Yeah. Looks like some kids got in over the weekend.”

She frowned and shook her head. “Anything get stolen?”

“Not that we can tell. Lots of damage though.”

“Then I doubt it was just kids.”

Damn. She was right. All the iPads, computers, hell, even game consoles . . . something should have been stolen.

I needed to talk to Amber, find out if there were any particular political or social groups that would have something against inner-city youth getting ahead. But I wasn’t quite ready to leave Raven. Not yet.

“Um, uh . . . do you think I can see you? Tomorrow?”

She looked back at Toby who seemed overly interested in a thread on his sleeve, and rolled her eyes. He was listening. He was always listening.

“I’m training at Dive tomorrow. But only for a few hours. Maybe . . . after? We can pick up dinner, since I won’t have time for Hashtag Spaghetti Tuesday.”

“Or . . . how would you feel if I cooked for Hashtag Spaghetti Tuesday?”

She raised a cynical brow and put a hand on the curve of her hip. “You want to cook spaghetti?”

“Come on, how hard could it be? Between me and Toby, we got this.” The kid lifted his head at the mention of his name and smiled.

“Ok. If you think you two can handle it . . .”

“Piece of cake. Sauce, meat, noodles,” I said with a wave. “And if you’re cool with it, I was thinking I could save you a trip by just letting Toby hang out with me until I get off. Then maybe you could meet us at my place?” Her body went visibly rigid at that thought, so I hurriedly tacked on, “Only if you’re comfortable with it. If not, no biggie.”

“Um . . . ok. Yeah. I guess that’d be ok,” she nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Great. So . . . see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

Ok, so I lied. I could not cook spaghetti.

I couldn’t even boil noodles without them clumping together. And you’re supposed to brown the meat
before
adding the sauce?

Toby was no help. He was more excited to get to ride in my Charger again. Then when he saw Angel’s pimped-out pad, I pretty much lost him to the 85-inch flat screen with every channel known to man, plus our PS4, Xbox One and Wii U.

“A little help here?” I called out, trying to figure out why the sauce kept splattering everywhere.

Toby walked right in the kitchen, turned the range’s dial and walked right back out without so much as a look in my direction. I looked at the mess around me, myself included. It was a good idea and a valiant effort, but I didn’t want to serve Raven this crap. Hell, I wouldn’t serve a dog this crap. So I called in the big guns.

“Kam, how fast do you think Mr. Bradley can whip up a few orders of his Cajun shrimp and chicken pasta?”

“I don’t know. Want me to ask?” she answered over the Dive Happy Hour background chatter.

“Please. And tell him I need it as quick as he can. It’s an emergency.”

“Does that emergency start with an R?” she teased, excitement in her voice.

“Yes. And a failed attempt at spaghetti with meat sauce.”

She made a tsking sound and laughed at my pathetic culinary experience. “Should have called me.”

“I know. So can you make sure it gets done? And if one of the bus boys can drive it over by . . .” I looked at the clock. Shit, less than an hour. “ . . . seven o’clock, tell him there’s twenty bucks in it for him.”

“You got it Wolfgang Puck.”

“Haha. Love you. And don’t tell anyone it’s for me!”

At 6:57pm, I was tipping Dive’s bus boy, Gary, his twenty and thanking him for the food, while Toby watched the entire exchange over the Xbox controller in his hands. I was still trying to hide the Styrofoam evidence when the buzzer sang for the second time in five minutes.

“It’s . . . me? Raven?” she stammered, when I answered through the intercom. I could see her through the security monitor, fussing with her hair and applying another coat of lipgloss. I was tempted to just stand there and watch her for a few more moments.

“Come on up,” I said, smiling to myself.

I had to play it off like I wasn’t waiting impatiently by the door for her, but when I looked over at Toby and caught his smirk, I knew I’d been made.

“Oh, hush. Give it a few years, and you’ll be doing the same.”

He shook his head, trying not to laugh, as if to say,
“Yeah, right, dude. Not me. I’d never be that whipped.”
To which I shot him a look that said,
“Oh, you just wait. Some girl will come along and put you flat on your ass, struck stupid but happy as hell.”

When Raven knocked on the door, breaking us from our unspoken conversation, I braced myself for the worst. One: I had never brought a woman here for any reason other than sex. Two: I had never taken a woman anywhere without it either leading or following sex. And Three: I had never given a damn whether they had children, siblings, pets, whatever. That wasn’t my concern.

But here I was, Dirty Dom, serving pasta to a woman I’d only had the pleasure of kissing, and said woman’s kid brother. And I had never been so excited to be so square and
normal
in my life.

“Smells great in here,” Raven remarked as I took her light jacket and purse, and hanged them up. Her wide eyes roamed the palatial, ivory-hued space with the same awe and amazement that most people did when they visited for the first time. I inwardly cringed. God, I hoped she didn’t think I was a pompous douche.

I felt like I should apologize, or some shit, for an apartment that wasn’t even mine. But before I could, Raven spun around and said, “Nice digs, Trevino. Compensating for something?”

I exhaled a nervous chuckle and shook my head. “No. Not at all. But you should probably ask Angel. According to her, she’s got the biggest . . .
ego
. . . ever. And will threaten bodily harm if you try to test it.”

“Oh, God, do I even want to know?” she laughed.

“Probably not. Unless you know Tyrone.”

“Can’t say that I do, Trevino.”

“Good,” I jibed, wiping faux sweat from my brow.

We took our playful banter to into the living room, where Toby was still parked in front of the TV, game controller in hand.

“Hey kid,” she greeted him, ruffling his hair. He flicked his gaze up at her and gave her a nod.

“Sorry. Seems I’ve created a zombie.”

“S’okay. I’m sure it’s a nice change from the board games. How about the grand tour while he finishes up?”

I extended the crook of my arm and bowed. “Certainly, m’lady.”

I showed her the necessary rooms—the bathrooms, the dining room, Angel’s studio (she got a kick outta that). Of course, I saved my bedroom for last. It was the last room down the hall, but I also had my own reasons.

“Nice,” she mused, checking out some of my old sports trophies from high school. “You still play?”

“Not unless I want to embarrass myself,” I replied, shaking my head. I was good in my day, but not pro good. And honestly, I only took up sports because I thought that was what I was supposed to do as a
real
man. As a
straight
man. I never bet on actually liking them or even being good.