Trick Read online

  As he makes his way over the threshold of the door, I suck in a breath, willing my lungs to let it out. Rebecca was right, he is gorgeous. Like “climb him like a tree and devour the strong column of his throat” gorgeous. He’s tall. His shoulders wide, waist lean, hands have smidgens of grease on them. He’s blue collar, and for that I breathe a sigh of relief. Blonde hair is short and unkempt – a little long on the top – sides shaved. But it’s his face that’s so devastatingly handsome it makes me want to weep. High cheekbones, angular nose, and the beginnings a beard cover his cheeks, the hair light against the natural tan of his skin.

  “About time you made it, Patrick,” Rebecca stands up, striding across the room with sure steps, her heels pounding against the hard floor.

  “Becky,” he gives her a smile that I’m sure have made many panties drop. “We don’t do first names between us. I’m Trick, remember?”

  “You’re late,” she fixes him with a glare and a disapproving purse of her lips.

  “And I’ll stay to make up for it as long as,” his eyes find mine, and he raises his eyebrows. “What’s your name?”

  “Hadley,” I supply, because I’d like to hear what it sounds like coming out of his mouth.

  “Hadley,” he repeats and I think I may have died a little right in this chair. The sound is rough, sexy, and almost a growl, as rugged as the man himself looks. “Is okay with it.”

  I agree because I know Riley’s going to be a tough nut to crack. She’s going to be pissed he’s late, and I want him to have a chance. I want him to break through her shell, like I haven’t been able to. I’ll help him as long as he takes interest because I truly believe he’s my last hope. If he can’t bring her back to me, I’m at a loss; I have no more ideas on what to do.

  “We’ll stay as long as we can. We have some things to do today.”

  “Good,” he smiles at both of us. “Can I meet her?”

  Rebecca hits the intercom, asking them to bring Riley in and I shoot up a prayer. This has to work. If it doesn’t, I’m not sure what we’re going to do.

  Trick

  I run my hand through my hair, trying to tame it. The top seriously needs a cut, and I know I look like I just rolled out of bed. They probably think I tied one on and left a woman asleep on my pillow. Fuck. As I bring my hand down, I see smudges of grease still in the corners of my fingernails. So much for making a great first impression.

  “Any tips you want to give me?” I look over at the mom, hoping she responds to my question. I’ve always liked kids, but haven’t really been around them before.

  She shakes her head, her blonde hair falling in her face. “Sorry, I can’t make this easier on you. It’s her you’ve got to impress, not me.”

  So it’s like that? I admit to myself I would have judged her had she not been such a mama bear to her daughter. “I can respect that.”

  The pointed look directed my way lets me know I better respect it.

  The door to the room opens and I turn around. There are moments in your life no one can prepare you for. Snippets of time that make or break the future. As I get a glimpse of the little girl standing in the doorway, I realize with startling clarity this is one of those moments.

  "Riley, meet Patrick," Becky puts her hand out, motioning for her to come further into the room, but Riley doesn't take it.

  She glances up, looking at me through glasses that appear to be too large for her face, because she's so small. Her blue eyes are huge, and she reminds me of one of those cherubs on baby commercials. I offer her a smile, but she doesn't smile back.

  "Mom," she looks behind me, her wide eyes on Hadley. "Why was he late?" Her voice is shaking, and I realize immediately the fear there. I've had that fear too many times in my life to count.

  It's the fear you've been forgotten and left alone.

  Hadley opens her mouth to answer, but as she does, I go down on one knee. Hopefully being more on her level will help Riley be more receptive to me.

  "I was late," I admit, having a seat on the ground, sitting cross-legged. "See," I hold out my hands so she can take in the grease stains. "I'm a mechanic and I was up late last night trying to get someone's bike up and running. They had to get to work this morning."

  Riley steps closer, inspecting my hands. "But that meant you were late," she accuses.

  I could go into a whole explanation about how people pay me to make their experience better than my own, but at six I know she won't understand.

  "I know," I clasp my hands in my lap. "And for that I'm very sorry. I can tell you I won't be late again."

  She juts her lip out at me. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

  This kid is so damn smart, and she's been hurt so deeply it makes my head ache. "I didn't promise," I point out. "I said I wouldn't do it again."

  I reach out, flipping my hand over, palm side up, wondering if she'll take the bait. Will she allow me to have some sort of physical connection to her.

  Her eyes look down at my palm, then back up into my face. She’s not going to go for it, not yet anyway. "Why didn't you promise?"

  As someone who's consistently been lied to their whole life, I recognize it in her wariness. "Promises are meant to be broken, right? Nobody ever keeps them."

  She's quiet, taking in what I've said to her. "My mom does."

  "But she's the only one, isn't she?"

  Riley nods. "So let's not bullshit each other," I let it slip before I realize what I've done.

  Riley giggles and I give her a grin. "Probably shouldn't have cussed, huh? Let's not say things we don't mean. I'll be honest with you; you be honest with me?"

  There's a silence as she mulls it over. After what feels like a thousand hours she walks slowly over to me, and sits in front of me, her legs matching mine.

  "Okay."

  One word - four little letters - have never meant so much.

  "Are you mad at me for being late?" I ask, because it's important to start this off truthfully.

  "Yes," she whispers, almost as if she's scared to be honest.

  "I'm mad at myself for being late, too."

  The admission seems to make her eyes soften towards me, and I want to say more, but I'm unsure of what will make this better.

  "Riles, we gotta go," I hear Hadley say in the background, saving all of us from the awkward silence that's starting to descend.

  "Can we do this again tomorrow?" I ask, hoping they aren't going to shut me down. I think the kid needs it, just as much as I do. I hurry to stand, to act like the adult I am in the face of these ladies who’ve put me through the wringer.

  "You'll have to be on time tomorrow," Hadley tells me. "She has piano lessons and we can't afford to miss them."

  I wonder if she chooses the word afford because of the cost, or if Riley wasn't musically gifted and one missed session affects her in a bad way. As bad as I want to know, I decide to keep my mouth shut.

  "Alright, can we meet here again tomorrow? Same time?"

  Hadley looks at her daughter. The two of them have some sort of conversation with their eyes, and then Hadley nods. "We'll be here, go grab your bag," she motions with her head to her daughter.

  After Riley is out of the room, she walks up to me, facing me down. Her head comes to my collar bone, but it doesn’t seem to bother her.

  "Whatever you do, don't disappoint her again. She's had enough of it in her life already. I'm willing to give this another shot, but if you're late tomorrow, you're going to have to enjoy your time behind bars."

  I grab her shoulders and it's like I've been struck by a bolt of lightning. My heart beats double-time, and I find myself at a loss for words. Weird snippets of a life I've never had flash before my eyes and my breath comes faster. I look down at her, and notice her cheeks are flushed, her breathing is also accelerated.

  It takes me a moment to grab hold of myself, but when I finally do, I push the words out from between my dry lips.

  "I don't make the same mistake twice. Not anymore.
"

  Her blue eyes, so much like her daughter's flash. "See that you don't."

  3

  Trick

  Sweat drips from my forehead, trailing down to my eyes. Right as I know it's going to slip in and sting like a son of a bitch, I use my forearm to wipe it away. A happy sigh releases the tension from my shoulders and I glance around.

  This is my happy place, my shop is everything. From the oil-stained concrete floors to the walls holding the tools that allow me to do the job at hand. It's small, barely big enough for me, sometimes a helper, and ten bikes, but it's mine. Free and clear is something I never thought I would say, but it's true. This place is mine and nobody is going to take that away from me.

  Unless I end up having to serve time.

  Most days I can keep that thought at bay, other days it's at the forefront of my mind. I've been there before - serving time - and I don't want to go back. I can’t go back after I've had this taste of freedom.

  In my jeans pocket, my phone vibrates. Forgetting I have grease all over my hands, I reach in, pulling the device out. Fuck, I mumble as I realize I've covered up the message with the mess on my hands.

  Getting up, I grab a rag, doing my best to wipe everything off. When I can finally see enough of the screen, I see it's a text from Becky.

  B: I can't be there tomorrow Patrick, but please be on time for Riley's session. It's as important to her as it is to you.

  Fuck all these people who think they know me, think they know what I'm going through. It's probably more important to me than it is to Riley. I have to prove to someone in this life I can do at least one fucking thing right. If it's helping her not to feel the same loneliness I feel, then so be it.

  T: Got it.

  The familiar rage boils up in my gut. I want to hit something, get rid of the inadequacy I always feel when I fuck up.

  "This is what got you into some shit last time," I remind myself. I'm older and wiser now. Older and wiser me decides to take a break, and take a run. If I'm physically exhausted the only thing I can do is work or sleep.

  Two things that definitely won't get me in trouble.

  Four miles later and I find myself in front of the neighborhood store. I didn't grab a bottle of water when I started out, and now I need one.

  Walking in, I wave at the cashier, who's usually the one here when I come in.

  "Afternoon, Trick," the older man calls to me. "Hot one today, huh?"

  "Hopefully the last one," I'm grabbing the biggest bottle of water when I realize I'm kind of hungry too. Turning the corner, I find myself in the section with kid’s toys.

  "The weather man says so," he's continuing. "Supposed to have a cold front move through tonight. They're saying low sixties in the morning."

  "I can't wait," I mumble as I glance over stuff decidedly much more pink than anything else I've ever looked at.

  Am I trying to buy her affection? It's a question anyone would ask themselves, but I feel like she'd talk more if we did something together. Decision made, I grab a container of crayons and a coloring book. Every kid loves to color - right?

  Taking everything up to the counter, I grab a bag of beef jerky and add it to my purchases.

  "A coloring book?"

  I answer with a chuckle. "Don't even ask. You wouldn't believe it if I told you."

  He bags it all up, and I walk slowly outside, having a seat on the curb as I drink my water and eat my jerky.

  My future is more up in the air than it's ever been, but I can't help but hope it's all going to work out. I'm just not sure for who. Me? Riley?

  I hope for both of us, but that cynical part of my personality won't allow me to fully believe it.

  Hadley

  "Do you need my help?" I ask Riley as we enter our small apartment hours later.

  It's been a long day, and I don't really want to help her, but she's the best thing in my life, and I would never voice those thoughts to her. The fact of the matter is, I’m tired. This life is much different than our previous one, and I’m still desperately trying to find my way.

  "No Mom, I got it," she shuts the bathroom door and I hear the bathtub water running.

  With a sigh, I open my bedroom door, not wanting to necessarily look at the little corner I've converted into a business center. I'm tired, and the last thing I want to do is work at filling the orders from my Etsy store.

  But this is what puts food on the table and allows Riles to take the piano lessons she loves so much. So I'll do it, even if it means it's only going to be five hours of sleep for me tonight.

  Unlike her father, I won't ever allow myself to disappoint her. Doesn't matter what it takes, what I have to sacrifice, I'll prove to her there are people she can trust.

  Even if there's no one for me to trust.

  4

  Hadley

  "What do you wanna wear today?" I take a huge drink of the iced coffee I made myself first thing this morning. Some mornings I need the jolt of caffeine worse than others; and today I really need it.

  "My pink shoes," she claps her hands.

  I can't help the smile spreading across my face. We got those pink Converse at Goodwill brand new with tags, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to afford them at the time. It was before I realized I had a gift for what I've turned into my side business. When there had been no extra money for anything, I figured out how creative and motivated I am.

  "Pink shoes we got," I hold them up. "But what else?"

  She thinks for a moment, her expression pensive. "Jeans like yours."

  I look down seeing my jeans with the hole in the knee. I guess I should thank my lucky stars that deconstructed jeans are now a thing. These are just so old they're falling apart, but everyone thinks I spent a hundred bucks on them.

  "Okay girlfriend, go grab them," I hold up the red flannel shirt I'm going to wear over my gray t-shirt. "Grab your pink flannel too. We'll be matchy."

  It's her favorite thing to be. If she's not wearing a tutu, she loves to match me. At first it seemed weird to me, but I've grown to love it and it works well for the budget.

  "We're not gonna have time to grab breakfast."

  I was up late last night filling orders. My side business - an Etsy store that makes stickers for planners and handmade bullet journal stamps - has really taken off in the past few months. I'm finally getting some savings, but the hours are killing me.

  "Can I eat pop tarts?" she asks, coming to the kitchen, putting her arm through her long-sleeved shirt.

  We've already had Pop-tarts once this week, but I have to do what I have to do. "One, and take a banana, too. I'll eat the other Pop-tart."

  We hustle out to the car, and since Riley's so small, she scampers to the back, where she still sits in a booster seat. Only a few more pounds to go, though.

  "You think he'll be late, Mom?"

  I hope like hell he won't. "I'm sure he'll be there, waiting on us." My smile is unsure, even to my own eyes, as I see my reflection in the rearview mirror.

  If he's not, I'm going to find out where he lives, and give him a piece of my mind.

  Traffic sucks, especially crossing the river, over into the other part of town. This bridge always makes me nervous, has since I've been able to drive. I used to hold my breath every time I went over it. Now, I grip the steering wheel and make it my bitch.

  Together, we sing along to a song we both like on the radio, and as I turn into the parking lot of the center that holds the Companion Program, I'm greeted with a sight I'm not expecting.

  "He's here Mom!" Riley informs me from the back seat.

  So he is. Oh. My. God. It's a good thing I didn't see him arrive yesterday. Patrick Tennyson sits astride a matte black Harley, a cell phone to his ear, as he has a lively conversation with someone on the other end. I can tell because he's gesturing with his hands, the sunlight catching the lenses of the aviators he's wearing as he moves his head back and forth. The weather cooled overnight, and he's dressed for it. A beanie on his head, a
black leather jacket over his body, and blue jeans with just the right amount of room cover his legs. I let my gaze travel down to the motorcycle boots he wears on his feet. They look like they could stomp a hole in someone. The whole picture he paints is lickable.

  “But you don't need a man, and you don't want a man,” my independent voice from deep in my brain reminds me.

  I blindly tell that voice to shut the fuck up. My body knows what it wants because it's responding.

  "You two need help?" he asks as I get out of the car and go back to help Riley out.

  "We got it." We always do. There hasn't been anyone around to help in a very long time.

  He gets off the bike, and I have to bite back a moan as he approaches us. Where he's obviously ridden the crap out of the bike, his pants are well-worn at the crotch.

  "You okay?" he asks.

  I hope he can't tell what I'm thinking, and I really hope I didn't make any noises. This is so damn unlike me.

  "Great, you ready to go inside?" I fake an excitement I'm not feeling. "Becky said we could use the room today."

  "Sounds good," he nods. "How's it going, Sprite?" he asks Riley.

  I grin because I've always thought she was a little fairy myself.

  She looks up at him with her eyebrows drawn. "Yeah, but I don't have anything to drink."

  I laugh loudly, as does he. From the mouth of babes.

  "It means a fairy," he explains. "You know you looked like one yesterday, with your skirt."

  "It's a tutu," she corrects. The word is serious in her world. You must get it right.

  "I'm sorry," he puts his hand over his heart. "Your tutu."

  She glances up at him, reaching for his hand, which surprises me.

  "They're clean today," Riley observes, seeing no traces of grease in his nails today.

  "Told you I'd have it together today," he reaches in his jacket and hands something to her.