Falling Fast (Falling Fast #1) (4 page)

The older man rushed forward. “Gentlemen, please.” He eased Mia’s father away. “Mr. Wentworth, calm down, sir.” He brushed his hands across the man’s rumpled shirt sleeves and let out a beleaguered sigh as he took everyone in. “I suppose we should all sit down and discuss this together now. If we can be civil.”

Raleigh raised his hands. “As long as I’m not attacked.” He glanced at Mia, whose head was bowed, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose in embarrassment.

“I’m Ben Shatke,” the attorney said, sticking out his hand briefly and shaking Raleigh’s before gesturing toward another conference room.

Mr. Wentworth didn’t go without jabbing his finger at Raleigh. “This will never fly. I will crush your little scheme in court, punk.”

Over a freakin’ lounge chair?

Raleigh met Mia’s gaze just before she stepped out of her father’s way. Even with the chaos and confusion, his heart leaped. The attorney put his hand on Raleigh’s back to guide him to the chair on the opposite side of the long table from Mr. Wentworth. He then took the seat between the men, with Mia on the right side of the table next to her mother.

Raleigh couldn’t look at her big brown eyes, the wisps of hair that had escaped from the hair clip she’d used to pile it atop her head. He forced his gaze to the attorney, but Mrs. Wentworth stole his attention first.

“You ruined our lives. Ruined my daughter’s life.” Her eyes narrowed. “And now this.”

Mr. Wentworth said, “My mother was obviously senile. Or one of those lonely older women who fall prey to con men.”

“Sir,” Raleigh said, keeping his voice modulated despite the fact that he wanted to reach over and shake the man. “If the chaise lounge means that much to you, keep it.” Maybe she’d left him the whole set, but he knew the man’s outrage had nothing to do with the furniture. It was their hatred of him, of who he was, and what he’d done to Mia.

His gaze started drifting to her when Shatke said, “I don’t believe it’s the deck furniture that’s at issue here.”

“I didn’t think it was.”

“It’s the half share of her home.”

For a second, the sound of the ocean filled Raleigh’s ears and drowned out Mr. Wentworth pounding his fist on the table, Mrs. Wentworth rolling her eyes and nattering on, and Mia, looking shell-shocked herself but saying nothing.

Raleigh cleared the roar and turned to the attorney. “Excuse me, what did you say?”

“Mrs. Nancy Wentworth left you and Mia equal shares in the house. This was where we, er, took a break.” Shatke referenced the papers in front of him. “In her words: ‘To my granddaughter, who has suffered more than her fair share in life, and to Raleigh West, another kind soul who has suffered his own share of unfairness, I
bequeath—stupid
language—equal shares in my Chambliss home. Raleigh, I know that you started helping me as a way to atone for what happened to Mia, but your friendship grew to something much more meaningful.’ “

“Sick son of a bitch!” Mia’s father snarled.

Shatke placed a hand on the man’s arm and kept reading as though he hadn’t been interrupted. “ ‘You became the grandson I never had, taking care of an old lady, making her laugh…and feel loved. You’re a good boy, and you deserve a break at last. A way to make your dreams come true. Don’t be sentimental. Mia, Raleigh, work on fixing up the house together and then sell it. Raleigh knows what needs to be done; goodness knows he’s been trying to get me to redo the deck and front porch for years. Of course, you were right; the deck is a hazard.’ “

“It was,” Raleigh said. “I redid both of them three months ago.”

Shatke flicked a glance at Mr. Wentworth before continuing. “ ‘I just didn’t want to lose the use of it for even a week, not when time is so precious. And limited. The funds in my bank account should cover everything. Raleigh has been wonderful at keeping the place in good shape. And making an old lady happy in her final years.’ “

“I bet,” Mr. Wentworth muttered, aiming a vile look at Raleigh.

At least that’s what he interpreted out of his peripheral vision, because Raleigh was glued to Mia. Her eyes were wide, lower lip clamped between her teeth, but otherwise he couldn’t tell what she thought.

“ ‘Preston, stop glowering,’ “Shatke said, then blinked at the man’s shocked look as his head whipped around to the attorney, who pointed to the document. “That’s what your mother wrote. ‘Your britches will no doubt be in a twist over this. Raleigh didn’t coerce, charm, or seduce me. I know that’s what you’ll think. You see, you’re just like your father. And, Marie, get your panties out of your ass crack, too. I’m not doing this to get the kids back together. But I do want them to have some closure, something you prevented.’ “

Mia gave her mother an “I told you so” look. Then her eyebrows furrowed. “What does she mean by ‘something you prevented’?”

“They threw my letters out,” Raleigh said.

“You were in no shape to deal with him after the crash,” her mother said. “Emotionally or physically. We were only protecting you. Look at what he’d already done.”

Raleigh’s fingers curled on the table’s wood surface, guilt eating at him.

Mia shot her parents an accusatory look. “Did you—?” She turned to Raleigh. “Did you get the letter I sent to Grandma to forward to you?”

Raleigh’s heart lifted. She’d written to him? “No.”

Mia turned back to her parents, but her father said, “Again, we were protecting you. It was better to sever the connection altogether.”

“You took my letter out of the mailbox and
opened
it? Read it?” Her voice was shrill.

“Perhaps this is something you should discuss at a later time,” Mr. Shatke said. “Shall I proceed?”

“Is there anything else?” Mr. Wentworth gritted out.

Shatke leaned over the document again. “ ‘The contents of my home shall be divided between Mia, Marie, and Preston, or sold at your discretion. The deck furniture goes to Raleigh. My car goes to the Chambliss Meals on Wheels. I hope that good can come from my passing. I’ve had a great, long life. Please don’t be sad.’ “He looked up. “That’s all.”

Raleigh stood. “I’ll sign the house over to Mia. I just want the lounge chair.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mia’s mouth drop open, but he kept his gaze steady on the attorney. “Draw up the papers.”

“Are you sure?” Shatke stood, too. “That’s a substantial—”

“I’m sure,” Raleigh said, even as his insides caved. The money that would secure his loan. But it wasn’t his money, not really. And he didn’t want a long fight with Mia’s parents. Just as he’d accepted a plea deal on the reckless-driving charges so she wouldn’t have to testify, he would back down to keep her from being in the middle of this snarl. He finally looked at her. “I’ll go over, assess what needs to be done, and give you contact information for contractors who can do the work. I’m glad to help in any way that I can.”

He left, hearing utter silence in the room behind him. He would not let her parents think he’d conned Nancy out of anything, or, even more disgusting, seduced her for it. He found a smile as he stepped outside. She had known her son would stoop that low.

His smile continued as he thought about the letter Mia had sent. What had it said? How might things be different if he’d received it? That sure stole his smile. They might have gotten closure a long time ago. Maybe they’d even be friends.

When he returned to the shop, Peter asked, “So? Did she leave you the stash of cash in her mattress?”

Raleigh managed a smile. “Just the deck furniture.” He changed into his coveralls and went back to work on the SUV at his station. How long would he be here in this space? Wearing the
PETE’S GARAGE
logo on his uniform? The import mechanic on the other side of town had offered him a job if this place closed, but he couldn’t let Raleigh work on his own cars after hours. Liability or some such shit. Tweaking high-performance cars was his high nowadays. What he really wanted to focus on, and on his own terms. He wasn’t giving that up.

Mia flashed into his mind. She’d been his high once. And, dammit, he still felt it whenever he saw her. Memories flickered through his mind like a commercial for a movie. Her squealing in delight when he flew down the abandoned strip of highway, the wind whipping through the open windows. The first time he’d taken her to the Airstream travel trailer parked in the middle of five acres of woods, scared that she’d see him for the poor, nothing boy he was. But she’d run through the tall grass in the field nearby, her arms outstretched. He’d chased after her, catching her around the waist and spinning her in his arms. She’d looked down at him, her hands on his cheeks, and he’d let her slide down his body until their mouths connected.

This patch of scrub pines and grasses had been a paradise to her. No roar of traffic. No light pollution. Only the spray of diamonds against a coal-black sky and a chorus of crickets.

He leaned against the side of his car.
Dammit, forget that. Forget all that. You’re going to make the list of work to be done, along with the people you trust to do it, and hand it to her.
He wanted to give her closure. But there was a part of him that wanted something completely different. It wanted an opening.

Her parents had pulled the “everything you put us through” card, effectively shutting up Mia’s protests about their deception. Of course, they’d only been trying to protect her, as they’d always done, blah-blah-blah.

She stood on the back deck, seeing the faint lines of foam where the waves rolled up onto the shore. In the dark, with hardly any moonlight, that was the only evidence of the ocean, apart from the sounds. The beach seemed to disappear into inky darkness, punctuated by one lone light bobbing on the horizon.

Thank God her parents didn’t want to stay here. They had gotten a room at the nicest hotel in town, much nicer than the surviving motels on “the strip,” as the kids called the main road that ran parallel to the Gulf. The road still bore the pastel-colored shacks with shells and the open-air restaurants that boasted fried shrimp and rum runners. All of that was where the dredging’s effects hadn’t reached. North of that, where the sand had been pumped in, sat a line of name-brand hotels and high-rise condos.

Nancy’s cottage was just south of those, and had benefited a little from the downwash of that sand. Sand that Mother Nature was inexorably pulling back into the Gulf of Mexico. Mia could see the smattering of lights and was doubly grateful that her parents were there and not here. They thought she was odd to want to stay here alone, with ghosts from the past.

Maybe Mia hoped Raleigh would stop by, especially now that she knew that was his car she’d seen the night they arrived. She’d watched him walk to his car after he left the attorney’s office, his fingers at his temples. While her father pressed Shatke to draw up the papers for Raleigh to sign over his inheritance to her, Mia had slipped out to get a drink of water and gone right to the front window.

Raleigh had looked shocked at the meeting, clearly not expecting Nancy to leave him half of the house. Or say the things she’d said about him. But why, why would he offer to sign over that much money? Mia didn’t understand. That money could change his life. Was he still trying to atone for the accident?

Mia turned back to the house, fully lit inside, warm and welcoming. “Well, Grandma, you wanted me to get closure. That’s what I’m going to do. Because my parents stole my letter to Raleigh. It galls me. No, forget that. It pisses me off. All these years I thought he was too hurt or angry to respond. I’ve been beating myself up for hanging up.”

She was in the rental car forty minutes later, having applied makeup, brushed her wind-tossed hair, and tried on a dozen outfits…pretty much everything she’d brought.

All chosen with seeing Raleigh in mind, her conscience taunted.

No point in denying it. Mia had the roof down, the convertible a counterpoint to the grief and guilt with which she’d been wrestling. Her heart started hammering even before she spotted the garage. The inside lights were on. A midnight-blue classic muscle car was parked out front. Just like the old days.

Except this was nothing like the old days. So much had happened since then. They’d grown up. Changed. Heck, he could be married, for all she knew. Engaged. Seeing someone, at the least.

The thought dinged her heart even as she told herself that it was for the best. It would make things easier, for sure. Put her memories where they belonged: in the past. She was here for business, after all, not reminiscing. Still, so much crammed into her brain, words that wanted to be said. Apologies, thank-yous.

I loved you so much.

God, no, not that. They’d never exchanged those words. She suspected they weren’t words he used or heard much, as rarely as she did. With summer coming to an end, along with their romance, it seemed pointless to declare something so monumental. Once, she thought he might say it. He’d been looking at her so deeply, his mouth open, and he’d said, “Mia, I love…” He’d cleared his throat. “I loved being with you this summer. I wish it wouldn’t end.”

She’d tried to come up with ways that it didn’t have to end. He could move to Minnesota. She’d spend her senior year down here with Nancy. That last idea had been a heart-thumper. Of course, she knew her parents would forbid it, especially since they knew that she would be staying because of Raleigh. They didn’t know she’d been sneaking out, but they did know she was seeing him.

She pulled into the parking lot, keeping her headlights from sweeping into the open bay of the garage. She wanted to walk in as she’d done that first time, to watch him work without his knowing. But as her sandals scraped across the asphalt she saw him standing at the opening. With the light behind him, his expression was in silhouette. She hoped it was the one he’d worn at the memorial, a hint of a smile and a lot of curiosity. Maybe he’d already turned down the music, because she only heard a low rock-and-roll bass line in the background. Maybe he’d outgrown the blaring music.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” she said, squinting as she stepped into the brightly lit garage. She stopped, seeing him in the light, and felt the full impact of being this close to him again.

Shirtless. A smear of grease across his cheek. Hair tousled. The thin blue fabric of his mechanic’s pants showcased muscular thighs, then grew baggier as they went down to his scuffed boots. He was taller and more filled in than he’d been at nineteen, his shoulders now broad, his chest contoured.

She raised her eyes to his face again, realizing that she’d been gawking. “You’ve changed,” she managed, because she couldn’t exactly ignore the fact.

“So have you.” The corner of his mouth lifted, a smile that didn’t even get started.

But here, in this moment, nothing had changed. She felt as she had seven years earlier, coming here when she knew he’d be alone. Her heart hammered in her chest, sucked the moisture from her mouth.

Did he feel as locked into the moment as she did? His blue eyes held hers spellbound, several emotions flashing across them. He blinked, then gestured for her to come in and headed toward the sink in the back corner. “Would you like a drink?”

Did he drink alcohol nowadays?

“Sure. What do you have?” She followed him, relieved that he hadn’t made an excuse for her to have to leave. Clearly, he was as busy as he’d been back then, trying to cram two jobs into one life. One day. She’d always admired his work ethic.

He pointed to the small fridge as he headed to the industrial sink in the corner. “Water, soda, Gatorade. Help yourself.”

He still had the confident, easy gait, and she still wanted to run her finger down the indent of his spine where it dipped down at his tailbone and disappeared into the waistband of his pants. Once they had crossed that line, she had often acted on the impulse. She had touched all of him, had experienced the freedom to touch a beautiful man. Indulging in whatever her heart desired had been new, delicious, decadent.

He used his elbow to turn on the water and pumped several shots of soap from the dispenser onto his palms. She opened the fridge, bending down to see what lurked within. A leftover sub that smelled of Italian dressing. Several cans of soda. No beer. She remembered that he didn’t drink because it reminded him of his father. Liquor had been his dad’s downfall. Made him weak and loose and undisciplined. Raleigh hadn’t wanted to be any of those things. His expression had always grown disgusted and hard when he talked about his father. She’d only glimpsed him once, when Raleigh had grabbed her and ducked around the corner of a building. The man had been wiry, tanned, with shaggy blond hair. An older, rumpled version of Raleigh.

She removed a bottle of water. “Want one?”

“Sure.”

He still washed his hands as meticulously as before. Was it wrong to drink in the way his biceps flexed and the muscles moved across his back? It felt right and torturous at the same time. He dried his hands as he approached where she leaned against the counter, bringing a fresh citrus scent.

When he reached her, she gestured toward his cheek. “You have some grease…right there.”

She wanted to take the wadded-up towel and wipe it away, but that would be wildly inappropriate. So she touched her own cheek, and he followed her motions.

“No, the other cheek—here, just let me.” She laughed nervously as her fingers rubbed along his broad cheekbone through the thick paper towel. “I must feel like your mom.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“That’s right. I’m so sorry.” She was inches from him, the towel still pressed against his skin.

He touched her wrist, guiding her hand down, away. “Nothing about you reminds me of a mom.”

“I…suppose not.”

“Hey, at least you didn’t spit on the towel, right?”

He was trying to lighten the awkward moment, something she was grateful for. “I always cringe when I see a woman doing that. Here.”

He took the bottle she held out and wandered over to the cherry-red Mustang that he was working on. One of the newer models. He leaned against the front quarter panel and patted the space next to him as an invitation.

She moved closer, wishing she could ask him to turn off half of the lights. But that would make her sound either self-conscious (she was) or flirtatious (she wasn’t). Even if she did drink him in, draped so languidly against the hot car, taking a long chug of water. Appreciating the way the fabric tightened on his biceps. His Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow, and the angle made his neck look long.

He set the bottle on the roof as she neared. “Like old times, huh?”

She couldn’t help but bite her lower lip and nod.
I wish it was.
“Except—”

“It’s not. I know.” The light in his eyes dimmed. “Well, I haven’t changed.” He swept his hands out to encompass the garage. “Still here, skulking around like a chop-shop operator, as Pax likes to say.”

She slid her fingers along the seam of the hood. “More like working your butt off trying to make your life better.”

He glanced around. “Yeah, trying.”

And not
succeeding—that’s
what he didn’t say. She wanted to touch his arm, tell him she was proud that he was trying. He’d probably been humiliated at her hearing him at the bank.

She leaned her hip against the car, facing him. “You will succeed. You’re that kind of guy.”

He closed his eyes, dropping his chin and inhaling. “You always did believe in me.” Then he met her gaze, taking in her face, perhaps her scars, in the harsh fluorescent light. “I never understood why.”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure I can explain. It’s just something I saw in you. Still see. You’re a hard worker. You’re smart and good with cars. I Googled you.” Damn, had she actually admitted that aloud? She shrugged, owning it. “Just curious. Several racers credited you for their success.”

Raleigh lifted one shoulder. “I give them the right equipment, but it’s driver skill that’s most important.”

“And you’re modest, too.”

He looked away, clearly uncomfortable with her compliments. She took a sip of water, recapped the bottle, and reined in all the questions she wanted to ask that had nothing to do with her reason for coming. Was he dating? Married? Her gaze strayed to his left hand. No ring, but then again he might not wear it at work. “It says a lot, you working at the same place all these years later.”

“Peter took me back when I got out of jail, treated me the same as before. I couldn’t quit him.”

“Even to open your own business? That was your dream.”

“Wouldn’t be right.”

Because he had that kind of loyalty. It shored up her reason for coming. Their gazes locked. He swallowed. “Don’t go giving me that look.”

“What look?”

His eyes took in hers as though he were searching their depths. “Like I did more than anyone else would do in my position.” His voice grew softer when he said, “The way you used to look at me.”

Was she looking at him like that? Probably. She blinked several times. “Fine. See, it’s gone now.”

That got a laugh out of him, a subtle shake of the head. “So, Mia Wentworth, what brings you by?”

Okay, they were moving on. Getting to the point. Oh, and being all businesslike, too. “I don’t accept your offer.”

“I didn’t make an offer. At least, I didn’t say it aloud. Did I?”

She wanted to laugh. Did that mean his mind was racing, too, shoving thoughts at him that he couldn’t voice? “I refuse your refusal to take your inheritance. Grandma wanted you to have that money. For this.” She indicated the garage with a flick of her eyes.

“I don’t deserve—”

She pressed her fingers to his mouth, stilling his words. “Yes, you do. In fact, you deserve it more than I do. I didn’t—” The warmth of his lips tingled on her fingertips, and the heat of his body radiated out, enveloping her. She stepped back. “I wasn’t the one who was here to help her all these years. To keep her company, fix up her house. So I refuse your refusal.”

“But your father—”

“It’s my inheritance, not his. I won’t let him drag his lawyers into this, and, honestly, I’m not sure he has any legal ground to do so. I’m sorry about that whole scene at the lawyer’s. And at the memorial. My parents don’t know how to let go of the past.”

“I don’t blame them, Mia. After everything you’d already been through—”

She pressed her fingertips to his mouth again, but only for a second. “Don’t. Don’t do that whole ‘poor Mia who fought cancer, so delicate and frail’ bullshit. Okay?” she added to soften the vehemence in her voice. “I guess Nancy told you?”

He nodded. “I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me? That’s…huge.”

“Because I loved that you didn’t know. That you didn’t look at me as exactly that: poor, fragile Mia. You saw me as a normal, healthy girl. And I
was
normal and healthy when we met, had been for two years at that point. And I am now. I didn’t want you to know I’d been anything else.”

“I guess I would have treated you differently if I’d known.”

“You wouldn’t have invited me to the races. Wouldn’t have encouraged me to sneak out. Or…” She couldn’t say
make love with me.

“I don’t think that would have stopped me,” he said, maybe reading her mind on that last unspoken bit. “But—”

“Don’t ‘but.’ Do you know what you did to me? For me? There was an expectation that I should embrace life because I’d been through so much. But I didn’t feel that way at all. I was afraid, ready for the cancer to come back. My parents didn’t help, hovering, overprotecting me. I felt like one of those glass ballerinas in a music box. I couldn’t relate to people, and I couldn’t pretend to be like everyone else. I felt alone. Isolated, spinning to my own tune in my own world. You shattered the box, freed me. You made me want to live like I should have been—savoring every moment.”