Back to You: Bad Boys of Red Hook Page 13

  “But things went crazy, huh?”

  Damn, the kid put her arm around the mutt, and they leaned into each other. Storm didn’t have the balls to tell Nicki she couldn’t keep the dog. No, if anyone was going to be the bad guy in this scenario, it would be Bree, and it would serve her right too. Still, he had to take care of a few things before Bree found them. He grabbed his phone and told her to call off the dogs—if she only knew. He put his phone back on his belt and got down to business. “Do you have a leash or anything for the pup?”

  Nicki’s eyes went wide; she puffed up her chest and did her best to keep the mutt behind her. “Why? What are you gonna do with Dee—Oh—Gee?”

  “I’m not going do anything. If you’re going keep him, he needs his shots and a bath—not necessarily in that order, and then we need to go to one of those big pet stores where we can buy him food, bowls, a leash, and a collar.”

  Nicki looked as if she didn’t believe him.

  “Nicki, you can’t very well bring him home looking like he’s been rolling around in a sewer and expect Bree not to completely freak out, can you?”

  “You mean you’re really not gonna take D.O.G. to the pound?”

  “Hell no.” He’d been in the human equivalent of the pound, and he didn’t want to be responsible for putting anyone else in there—not even a mangy-looking mutt. Storm put his phone in his pocket and took off his belt, looping it around the dog’s head and handing the end to Nicki.

  His phone dinged—Bree texted him back. He smiled at Nicki. “Bree said she’d deal with you later. The good news is she’s going grocery shopping, so we can sneak what’s-his-name upstairs and give him a bath. Hold on to him, and I’ll make sure the coast is clear.”

  Nicki grabbed the belt and tugged to keep the dog close. “His name is D.O.G., sheesh.”

  Storm ran through the restaurant just as Bree left through the front door. He turned on his heel and headed to the alley, holding the door open. “Come on, kid.”

  Nicki tugged on Storm’s belt and dragged the shaking mutt through the bar and restaurant to the steps. She went up a few steps, but the mutt planted his front paws on the first step, halting her progress, and whined.

  “Come on, boy,” she called to him.

  The dog took a tentative step up and looked as if he didn’t know what to do next.

  Storm stood behind the dog to keep him from turning tail and dragging Nicki along with him. “The mutt doesn’t know how to go up stairs.”

  Nicki rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s not like he ever needed to learn.”

  “Yeah, and we don’t have time for puppy practice now either.” Storm held his breath—the mutt really stank—and picked him up. The dog rested his head on Storm’s shoulder—he seemed as trusting as Nicki. “Nicki, you run interference. Close Pop’s door and open the door to the bathroom, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Nicki did the honors, and Storm carried D.O.G. into the bathroom. He started the taps, and the dog stuck his nose under the spigot, lapping at the water in the tub. Storm’s four-hundred-dollar Ferragamo belt was history. “Shit.”

  Nicki planted her hands on her hips and shook her head like a miniature Breezy. “If Bree hears you talk like that, you’re gonna be in big trouble.”

  “That’s nothing compared to what she’s going to say when she sees this dog if we don’t get him cleaned up real quick.”

  As Storm set the dog in the tub, the scent of wet dog slapped him in the face and the double whip of the dog’s tail hit his cheek.

  The mutt slipped on the slick porcelain surface, sloshing the water everywhere, and clawed at the side of the tub, trying to escape. The only thing keeping him in the water was Storm’s grip on the belt around his neck.

  A knock on the door set the terrified dog into a fit of barking. “What the hell is going on in there?” Pete hollered over D.O.G.’s yelps.

  Nicki opened the door. The wet mutt slipped the makeshift collar, and Storm’s Ferragamo belt fell into the tub of filthy water.

  D.O.G. ran for his life, knocking Nicki over in the process. Muddy water splattered everything four feet off the floor down as the dog made a beeline down the hall, past Pete.

  Storm loped after him and made it to the living room just as D.O.G. stopped, splayed his legs, lowered his head, and wound up for the shake of his young life.

  Time slowed, as a Spirograph of muddy water cascaded through the air, hitting everything—the curtains, the ceiling, the window, the walls, the couch, the lampshades, the coffee table—nothing, including Storm, was dry. The scent of wet dog mixed with raw sewage permeated the apartment.

  Pete leaned against the wall, held his sides and laughed, the laugh turning into a cough. “Well, you’d better get that mutt back into the tub and clean up after him or Bree’s going to kill you. I’m just glad you’re going to have to explain it and not me.”

  Storm grabbed the dog by the scruff of the neck. “I don’t have to explain anything to Bree.”

  Pop laughed and coughed some more. “You just go ahead and keep thinking that, son. I’m gonna have a great time watching you squirm. You’re on your own with this one. I’m already stuck eating tasteless egg whites, and if Bree blames this on me, she’ll have me on a tofu diet.”

  “That’s really helpful. Thanks, Pop.”

  Storm looked at the disaster of an apartment. He needed to finish bathing the damn dog before he could even think of dealing with everything else. “Nicki, bring me my belt.”

  The little girl slid down the wall and peeked at him from behind Pete. “You’re not gonna hit D.O.G. with it, are you?”

  Pete slipped his arm around her and pulled her against him. He raised his eyebrows as if waiting for Storm to deal with her.

  Storm loosened his grip on the dog slightly and schooled his expression. “No, I’d never hurt an animal, kiddo. It’s not his fault he got scared in the tub. I just need to keep him under control, and I can’t do that unless I have some kind of collar.”

  Nicki nodded and took a tentative step forward, holding the belt behind her, gauging his mood.

  “I’m not gonna hurt him, Nicki. I promise. We’ll get him cleaned up and then start on everything else. It’ll be okay.”

  Nicki smiled up at him, and Storm felt as if he’d just won something precious. She looped the belt around D.O.G.’s neck. “He won’t hurt you, boy. He promised,” she whispered to the shaking mutt.

  Since Storm was already soaked, he picked the big lug of squirming dog up and carried him back to the bath. “Okay, boy, let’s try this again.”

  * * *

  It was only a few blocks to the Fairway, but Bree took her car. She had a grocery list as long as her arm for Pete, and as if that weren’t enough, she had her mother’s list too.

  The only good thing about her mother’s reluctance to leave her own home was that she’d stopped showing up while Bree was at work or sleeping. Her mother hated the fact that Bree worked somewhere as unsafe as a bar and was never one to take Bree’s late nights/early mornings into consideration. In Bree’s mind, there was little worse than being woken up way too early by her loving mother. Contrary to popular belief, Bree needed more than three hours sleep a night—not that she’d been getting it, especially since Storm sailed back into her life, wreaking havoc.

  She did her best to put Storm Decker out of her mind and concentrate on shopping for two households.

  Bree let herself into her mother’s house and carried in the groceries. “Mom, it’s just me. I went to the store for you.” She slid the ice cream into the freezer. Just as she shut the door, her mother stepped into the kitchen. It had been a few weeks since Bree had seen her mom—she hadn’t had time since before Pete’s heart attack, and Bree was taken by how beautiful her mother still was. Her red hair, almost the same shade as Bree’s, was a little sun streaked, and she had a healthy-looking tan. She even had a smile on her face for once. “You look good, Mom. Have you lost weight?”

  Her mothe
r gave her a quick hug and shrugged. “I don’t know; I might have. I’ve been using the treadmill you gave me for Christmas, and I’ve been working out in my garden almost every day. It’s really coming along.” She pulled a few cans from one of the bags and put them in the pantry. “You look tired. You’re working yourself to death.”

  “Pete just got out of the hospital today, so I’ve been juggling a lot. I didn’t sleep well last night.” She hadn’t slept at all, but that wasn’t her mother’s business. The woman was always insanely worried about her, and the last thing Noreen needed was more ammunition to use against her. She had perfected the fine art of guilt.

  It hadn’t always been that way. Bree thought back to her childhood and tried to recall when it had all changed. They’d been happy, or at least that was what Bree remembered. On her father’s days off, they’d picnic in Prospect Park and fly kites while her mother cheered them on from a blanket in the shade where she sat reading a book. Bree remembered the three of them hiking in Forest Park and going to Coney Island in the summer where she would play in the surf. She remembered her parents holding hands and how she’d squeeze in between them for a hug every night when her father came home safe and sound. She remembered family dinners full of conversation and laughter and Pete and other guys from the force coming over on weekends for barbecues in the backyard—she remembered the good times.

  “Coretta told me Storm is back in town.”

  Bree had arrived wearing a smile that quickly deflated to a grimace. Leave it to Patrice’s mother, Coretta, aka the Town Crier, to make sure Bree’s mother missed nothing. “Storm flew in a few days ago and will leave just as soon as humanly possible.”

  Her mother’s face transformed from the pretty fiftysomething woman to that of a shrew. Even without makeup, she could be a stand-in for the Wicked Witch of the West.

  “Don’t start, Mom. There is nothing between Storm and me except hostility. The man is insufferable. He just sails in like some kind of savior and does nothing but make matters worse.”

  “Since Storm’s here to take care of Pete and that child he took in—”

  “That child has a name.” Bree tossed the empty reusable shopping bag back on the counter and tried to control her temper. “Her name is Nicki, and she’s a wonderful little girl.”

  “Still, now that Pete has help, there’s no need for you to be involved.”

  “Mother, just stop. I’m tired of fighting about this. I have my life and you have yours. I’m an adult, and I’ll live my life the way I see fit.”

  “Oh, and you’re doing such a good job of it. Look at yourself, Breanna. You work all hours in a bar, and you have no one. By the time I was your age, I had you and your father. I had a full life.”

  “I like my life just fine.” Bree emptied the last of the groceries and folded and stacked her reusable grocery bags. “Mother, I have to go. I have groceries melting in the car. I’ll call you in a couple of days.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes, Mother. I have a lot to do.”

  “But it’s your day off.”

  “And I have errands to run and an apartment to clean. I haven’t had a day to take care of my own things in weeks.”

  Bree gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Mom.”

  Her mother turned around and walked away without another word—just like she always did.

  Bree swallowed back disappointment, walked toward the front door, and heard the echoes of long-forgotten sighs of relief her mother let out every night when her father’s car pulled up in front of the house. She remembered the hours her mother paced in front of the bay window waiting for him; the stress in her mother’s shoulders if her father wasn’t home on time. She remembered the hard looks, cold stares, and the catch in her mother’s throat as she swallowed back her fear and frustration. And, yes, Bree remembered the fights her parents had after she’d gone to bed, and how she’d pull her pillow over her head to muffle her mother’s wails and tears and recriminations and pleas.

  Her mother had begged him to get a safer job, begged him to leave the force, or at least take a desk job, begged him to leave Red Hook. Bree remembered her mother’s constant refrain—if he loved them enough, he’d want to be there for her and Bree. It was always followed by the sound of her dad’s deep, calm voice explaining over and over and over that he would always be there for them and it was his dream to make Red Hook a safe environment for her mother and a wonderful place for Bree to grow up in.

  Things had gotten worse even before her father was killed by a snot-nosed kid robbing a convenience store. Her mother had changed. Little things stuck in Bree’s mind, such as her mother taking to walking her to school again, holding her hand so tight it hurt. Her mother waiting by the fence to walk her home and the fear in her mother’s eyes if Bree took too long getting her books together or had to stop to talk to a teacher. She remembered the first time her schoolmates noticed that her mom was weird, and the last time she invited a friend over to the house, and the first day she recognized the feeling of being smothered.

  But most of all, she remembered the day Pete came to the house to take them to the hospital, where, after what seemed like a lifetime, her father died on the operating table, confirming her mother’s worst fears and sending her over the edge. Her mother had to be sedated, and Pete took Bree home and held her all night, telling her he’d always be there for her and her mom. But her mom had never wanted Pete’s help and stopped answering his calls after the funeral. Bree wasn’t sure why. Did her mother blame Pete for her father’s death, for her father’s refusal to give up his job? All Bree knew was that her mom didn’t want Bree to do anything without her. She refused to allow Bree to see Pete, and later, after he’d taken in Storm and his brothers, she didn’t want Bree to see the boys.

  No matter what Bree did to try to help her mother, it wasn’t enough. After college, she’d taken on her father’s dream of making Red Hook a safer community. Her mother refused to be involved, and her hatred of Red Hook grew.

  Bree wasn’t enough to keep her mother from sliding down the long, slippery slope of despair. Bree had never been enough to make anyone happy, to make anyone stay, and after what had happened with Storm last night, she knew she never would.

  Bree slammed out of the house, dragged in a deep breath to push away the feeling of utter suffocation, and pulled the phone out of her purse. She texted Rocki on her way to the car to give her a heads-up and see if she needed anything, only to find out that she was still on the ferry. She tossed the bags and her purse on the passenger seat, started the car, and groaned. “Note to self: Check to see where someone is before asking them to stop by and check on Pete and Nicki. Shit.” She’d been gone over an hour. Lord only knew what kind of trouble Nicki and Storm could get into.

  * * *

  Bree heard Nicki’s startled cry and ran into the apartment. The stench hit her before her feet slid out from under her, landing her on her ass on the wet linoleum. Nicki’s scream had Bree scrambling over the scattered grocery bags and running to the hall. She opened the bathroom door and was bowled over by a wild animal. For the second time in two days Bree had the wind knocked out of her. All she saw was an animal with wild eyes and enormous teeth. She dragged in a breath and screamed, crab-crawling away. The next thing she knew, she was standing on the kitchen counter—still screaming. The animal—a huge rabid-looking wolf—ran straight for her. She eyed the distance between her and the top of the refrigerator. She might be able to make it.

  “Bree, stop screaming.”

  Storm. Of course he’d have something to do with this.

  “He won’t hurt you.” Storm had the nerve to smirk at her as the wild animal jumped up, his front paws clawing the counter.

  “Get that…that thing away from me.”

  “Calm down. It’s just a puppy.”

  “That’s not a puppy. It’s a rabid wolf.”

  “He’s not foaming at the mouth; that’s just baby shampoo. D.O.G. is
n’t a fan of baths, but he’s harmless.”

  Nicki ran toward the animal and grabbed a big leather strap.

  “Nicki, get away from him! He’s dangerous.”

  Nicki shot Storm a questioning look, and Storm winked at her. “Try to get him back into the bathroom while I handle Bree.”

  Bree watched as Nicki put her arm around the neck of the vicious animal and whispered in the ear that stood straight up, tugging him along with her.

  “You let her touch that…that…thing?”

  Storm had the nerve to smile. If she could reach the pan on the stove, she’d smack that smile right off his face and see how he’d handle her then. Storm stared at her. His gaze started at her painted toenails and traveled the length of her legs. She should never have worn her white shorts, which, thanks to Storm, were soaking wet and probably see-through. His gaze continued past the short-sleeve filmy top she wore over her red tank, zeroing in on her breasts. Somehow they’d gotten wet too, probably from being knocked down by the wet wolf he called a puppy.

  The air-conditioning kicked on, not doing her any favors. She wrapped her arms around herself to stop the shaking. She wasn’t sure if it was from fear, cold, or an adrenaline overload—but then, it could be from the way Storm stared at her.

  “Come on.” He held out his hand. “Let me help you down.” When she didn’t move, he stepped forward and plucked her off the counter.

  “Don’t touch me.” She dragged in a breath and almost gagged. “God, you stink!”

  “Yeah, well, you shouldn’t talk. You’re not smelling too pretty either.” He set her down. “I’ve got to finish giving the mutt a bath, and then I’ll clean up everything else. Don’t worry.”

  Nicki let out a yelp and flew by them, holding on to the end of the leather strap for all she was worth. Grocery bags flew—their contents scattered and rolled as the dog lay down and bit into a one-pound package of beef bologna—holding it between his front paws and tearing the bag to shreds.