Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

DANIELA

I really shouldn’t have sprung for the five-dollar bottle of wine, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and five dollars really won’t put a dent in the mountain of debt I’m currently in.

It’s that logic that has me refilling my wineglass.

Christmas is in six weeks, and unless God decides to grant me a miracle of some kind, it’s going to be the most miserable one my kids ever experience. I take a giant sip of the crappy wine, and stare at the bills that decorate the kitchen table, most of them all are final notices.

Between waitressing at the diner, and working at the grocery store, I’m working well over sixty hours a week, and I still can’t make ends meet. I had to get rid of my car last month because the insurance skyrocketed, but I didn’t even care about that. What really broke me was two days ago when I had to tell my oldest son he couldn’t join a basketball team because I didn’t have the money for the registration fees.

Tears sting my eyes as I recall the disappointment reflected in his eyes. He tried to brush it off, but I knew he was heartbroken. The kid never asks for anything, and when finally asks for one little thing, I can’t deliver.

I set the glass down and toss my head into my hands. I can take drowning in debt—half the country is—but failing as a mother, when my sons only have one parent they can rely on, well, that’s just too much.

I don’t think I can take another blow.

Pulling my hands away from my face, I’m about to reach for my glass again when my phone dings with a message. Hoping it’s one of my managers offering me more hours, I abandon the wine for my phone. However, as soon as I see the number on my screen, I instantly regret my choice. That doesn’t stop me from reading the text though.

Hey. It’s John from the diner. I hope it isn’t too late. I’d really like to take you out to dinner when you’re free.

John is a regular at the diner I work at, and for the last few months he’s been shamelessly flirting with me. Not in a creepy way, though. If I’m being honest, I like the attention he gives me. It’s the only time I actually feel a little bit like the old me— like the woman I was before a bad marriage weighed me down.

Tonight, before he left, I caved and gave him my number. It was a moment of weakness on my behalf. I got a little too wrapped up in the banter and forgot all about my problems. But nothing serves like a wakeup call more than a stack of bills. Now, I have to backpedal. I don’t have time for dates.

Maybe when my kids are older.

I just hope my libido isn’t dead by then.

Until then it’s me and my vibrator.

Commotion sounds from the hall, disturbing my thoughts, and I drop the phone. My gaze darts to the clock above the stove. The last time we had issues this late at night, Gretta, the retired woman who lives in the apartment across from mine found our landlady unresponsive.

I quickly push out of my chair and make my way to my door. Pulling it open, I rush into the hallway. Across the way, Gretta’s pregnant teen granddaughter stands in front of their doorway, a bored expression on her face. I wave her over as Gretta and Carmine continue to shout downstairs.

“Amanda, come over here and stay in my apartment in case the boys wake up,” I instruct, not waiting to see if she listens. She rarely does.

I follow the sounds of Carmine and Gretta arguing, hurrying down the stairs, but I pause midway, taking in the scene before me. There my nearly eighty-year-old neighbor, Carmine, stands with a shotgun pointed directly at man dressed head to toe in black. He towers over Carmine by a good eight inches or so, but as impressive as his height is, there’s plenty more to gawk at.

Tattoos creep from the neckline of his Henley, stopping just shy of the neatly trimmed beard he’s sporting. I’ve never been a fan of facial hair on a man, but there’s something about this guy—he totally pulls it off in a badass kind of way.

His eyes contradict his light brown hair—so dark and mischievous. When they abruptly cut to me, I feel small. The power of his gaze is crippling. Still a rush of something I haven’t felt in years floods my veins.

Realizing I’m staring at him with my mouth slightly agape, I smack my lips together. Now isn’t the time to remember I’m still a woman… a woman who hasn’t gotten laid in years.

Shaking that thought from my head, I draw my attention to Gretta who wields a broomstick as a weapon and stands between the black-clad menace and Carmine.

I bet it would take no effort at all for him to snap that stick in half.

My legs carry me down the rest of the stairs, and I pry the broomstick out of Gretta’s hand.

“Jesus Christ,” I hiss, propping the broom up against the wall. I turn back to the Gretta. “What the hell is going on?”

“This fella here claims to be CeeCee’s son,” Gretta reveals. “Calls himself our new landlord, but I don’t know too many landlords who break into their own buildings. Usually they have keys.”

“That’s right,” Carmine shouts, poking the barrel of shotgun against the man’s chest.

“I don’t have a key,” he says. “I’ve been gone for five years.” He releases an exasperated sigh. “If you put the shotgun down, I’ll show you my license.”

I stare at the man for a moment, trying to place him in the many photographs that decorate CeeCee’s living room. All of the photos were from years ago, but the man does bear a striking resemblance to them.

He’s just bigger.

Harder.

And a whole lot angrier looking.

He raises an eyebrow, his lips twisting into a thin line as he catches me sizing him up… again.

“Carmine, put the gun down,” I say gently, but loud enough so that he can hear me. He lost part of his right ear in the war and doesn’t hear well. Placing one hand on the old man’s shoulder I cover the hand holding the shotgun with my own, easing it out of his grasp.

I don’t catch Gretta reaching for the broomstick again, and when I turn back to her, she’s waving it in front of CeeCee’s son’s face. “No funny business,” she warns. “Just reach into your pocket and give us your license.”

To my surprise he does as he’s told, but instead of handing the license to Gretta or Carmine, he offers it to me.

“You seem to be the most reasonable out of the bunch,” he explains.

I don’t know why that catches me off guard, maybe I’m just struck by the deep timber of his voice. Whatever it is keeps me rooted in place for a beat too long. When I finally pull myself together, I hand Carmine the shotgun, giving him a scolding gaze, before I return my attention to Mr. Make Your Panties Melt.

Plucking the id from his fingers, I zero in on his left ring finger.

Bare .

Then again, these days, that doesn’t mean much.

My gaze flits back to his license and I carefully inspect it.

Cash Combs.

Born on March third, nineteen eighty.

Six three, brown eyes and his license is registered to this address.

Cash clears his throat, forcing my eyes to meet his.

“Satisfied?” he growls, annoyance heavy in his tone.

“It’s true,” I say, not breaking our intense stare. “He’s CeeCee’s son.”

He snatches the license from my hand and shoves it back inside the pocket of his leather vest. I should be trying to wrap my head around the fact Carmine just held a gun to our newly appointed landlord, but I’m too distracted by the patches that decorate his vest.

Gretta drops the broomstick.

“Well, you sure know how to make an entrance,” she says, rushing for Cash. She throws her arms around him, catching him by surprise. “I’m so sorry about your mom, son. She was a good woman, with a great big heart.”

That was putting it mildly in my opinion. CeeCee Combs was one of a kind. There will never be another like her. Tough as nails, but beyond generous to the people she took in and considered family.

“The best,” Carmine agrees.

Cash clears his throat and pulls out of Gretta’s embrace. Shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, he jerks his chin.

“That she was,” he agrees.

“I found her,” Gretta reveals. “Broke my damn heart to see her like that. Daniela here tried to do CPR.” She juts her thumb toward me, and Cash’s gaze follows the motion. His eyes darken as they latch onto mine.

“Thank you for trying to save her,” he says.

Wetting my lips, I force myself to nod.

“Of course,” I squeak. “I only wish I would’ve been successful.”

He doesn’t respond to that, but he doesn’t tear his gaze away from me either. The longer his eyes stay pinned to me, the more flustered I become. It should be illegal for a man to have this kind of effect on any woman.

“We’ve been waiting on someone to tell us when the service is. We want to pay our final respects.”

Cash finally breaks our stare, bringing his gaze back to Carmine. “It was this morning.” He pushes his fingers through his short hair. “I’m sorry. We don’t have much family and I kept it simple.”

The three of us go completely silent. Those words hit me like a Mack truck, and suddenly I’m not enamored by the handsome man standing before me. I realize his presence causes a threat to all of us.

CeeCee gave us a home despite our individual circumstances. She took in all the misfits—all the broken toys—and gave us a place to lay our heads without worry. Now she’s gone, and her son couldn’t even bother to tell us when her service was.

Dread churns in the pit of my gut.

Cash Combs isn’t going to take pity on us. He’s going to turn our lives upside down. I glance at Gretta, then Carmine—both share a look of bewilderment. The sad thing is, I don’t think they’re aware of how much trouble we’re in. It hasn’t dawned on them yet that this guy can essentially throw us out on our asses.

“Well, where is she buried?” Carmine questions.

“She’s being cremated.”

Gretta gasps. “Good God, boy. Were those her wishes?”

Ignoring the question, he sighs.

“Look, it’s late. I apologize for disturbing all of you, but if you don’t mind, it’s been a long day. I would prefer not to pick another lock, so if either of you have a spare key to her apartment, I’d appreciate it.”

“You’re staying here?” I blurt.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, his eyes cut to mine. “For the meantime.”

“What does that mean?” Gretta asks.

“Well, it means I need to go to court tomorrow, and get things situated. After that, I plan on cleaning out her apartment.” He pauses, his eyes bouncing between the three of us. “Might as well clue you all in now, while you’re together. Consider this your notice, I will be selling the house. A realtor will be coming in the next few days to scope things out, so I’d appreciate your cooperation. I might be out of touch with some things, but I don’t recall my mother being handy, so if there are things that need fixing in the apartments, let me know.”

And there it is.

“Wait a minute…are you telling us we need to move?”

He crosses his arms against his chest as he quietly assesses me for a moment. The excitement that spurred inside of me when his eyes first drank me in is nowhere to be found, and I’m realizing I’m completely underdressed for this whole ordeal. I mean, I’m only wearing an oversized t-shirt. My bra is hanging on the doorknob in the bathroom, and my legs are completely on display.

Refusing to shrink under his stare, I mimic his pose, crossing my arms against my chest. That seems to snap him out of his trance, and he quickly lifts his gaze.

“I’m telling you the house is going up for sale. Maybe the new owner will want to keep the tenants, but I wouldn’t bank on that.”

I don’t care how handsome Cash Combs is, he clearly has no compassion.

“But… you can’t do that…” I stammer. “I mean, you can…” I uncross my arms, dropping them to my sides, as I mentally try to work through what he’s saying without sounding like a panicked lunatic. This place, while basically free, is no palace. No one in their right mind will buy it in this condition. “You’re talking months, right?”

“God, no,” he mutters. “I’ll fucking kill myself if I have to stay here that long.” He blows out a ragged breath as he glances toward my neighbors. “No offense. I’m sure you’re great people, but this place isn’t home. It hasn’t been in a long time, and I’m hoping I can get back on the road in a couple of weeks.”

My eyes blow wide.

“Weeks?” I shriek. “You do realize it’s Christmastime, don’t you? I have two young boys, and Gretta’s granddaughter is due to have a baby any in the next three weeks. I get you want out of here, but you’re completely uprooting our lives.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, but there isn’t a hint of remorse in his tone.

“You can’t do that,” I snap. I was on the verge of a breakdown before this guy showed his mug, and this news just tipped the scales. It’s the final blow before the knockout. “There’s a thing called renter’s rights! Plus, we have leases…”

The first may be true, but the latter is a big fat lie.

But I’m desperate, and desperate people have a tendency to say some stupid shit.