Page 2 of Matthias’s Protective Embrace (Cardinal Falls #3)

Chapter One

Matthias

My backyard is a disaster zone.

No, that’s too kind of a description of the scene in front of me. When I agreed to this backyard makeover, I knew it would be bad. Sam, my contractor, warned me that if we did the whole thing in one go, the first few weeks would be chaotic. This though? There’s no way he meant it would be this bad.

I dig in my pocket and pull out my cell phone. I can’t live like this for the next two months. Or longer. I’ve never known any home-improvement project to finish on time. I tap Sam’s contact card and wait for the line to connect.

“I warned you, Matthias.”

God, he knows me too well. “You didn’t say it would be this messy.” I stand on my back deck and look out over what used to be my backyard. The space hadn’t been anything special, but it’d been clean and organized. Now it looks like a supply truck exploded.

“I said it. You didn’t listen. ”

I pull the phone away from my face and glare at it, hoping the indignation on my face somehow travels through the cell network.

“Today was only the first day. We unloaded all the supplies, sorted them, and we’re ready to go tomorrow.

Doing it this way is easier and cheaper, but it means that your yard is a combination of work zone and storage space for a while.

Any of this ringing a bell?” Sam’s a no-nonsense guy, which is one of the reasons we get along so well, except when he’s working against me.

“Could it at least be an organized mess?” Unable to look at it anymore, I turn and head back into the house.

Sam barks out a laugh. “I don’t think that exists.”

As much as it pains me to admit, Sam’s right.

He’s worked on my parents’ house since I was a teenager and now on mine.

There was a moment of awkwardness when we ran into each other at Daddy Night at the local gay club, but we’ve gotten past it.

Mostly, we both agree never to mention it to my parents.

“It gets better from here on in, I promise. The guys’ll be back tomorrow, and I’ll remind them to clean up and keep things as neat as possible.”

“Great and?—”

“I’m not done. While they’re doing that, you’re going to remember that all the fancy upgrades you want require us to tear things up and make a mess before we put them back together.

” He sighs, and I can picture him rubbing his temples the way he always does when someone tests his patience.

“You’ll need to figure out how to accept that.

I recommend closing your blinds and staying out of our way. ”

That’s not happening. I trust Sam, but I’m way too much of a control freak to let go completely. “Thank you. That’s all I ask, that they do their best to keep things clean and orderly.”

“I’ll make that clear. I’ll also make it clear that they should come straight to me if you give them any shit about it.

Then I’ll deal with you myself.” The downside of hiring someone who knows me well is that he has no qualms about calling me out on my bullshit.

He’ll follow through in a heartbeat, too.

“I’ll keep out of the way.” That’s the best I can promise.

“I’m glad we understand each other.” The line goes dead before I can say anything else.

Maybe this is a good excuse to spend more time at the office.

Then I won’t be home to see the space during daylight hours.

Given that it’s winter, that won’t be too hard.

I’m in the grinding stage of my career, trying to prove to everyone at the firm that I deserve this job because of my work ethic and skills, not because my father’s a founding partner of the company.

It’s been a struggle, but I can see an end in sight.

At least, I think I can. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell the difference between the light at the end of the tunnel and an oncoming train.

Taking Sam’s advice, I shut the blinds, trying not to look out the window. It’s ten weeks. I can make it ten weeks.

FRANK

“Is that you, baby?”

I pause in the entryway, deciding how I want to handle this situation. The right answer is to go into the living room and say hi to my mom. Yep, that’s what a good son would do.

I’m more of a mediocre son. The kind who’s busy and already running behind.

Which seems to be my constant state. Either late or on time, never early.

Mostly late. A detour to the living room to assure my mom I’m still alive isn’t on today’s schedule.

It’s been nine hours since she last saw me.

Very little opportunity for me to die. Or even get sick.

“Hey, Mom. I gotta get going.”

“Could you help me? It’ll just take a few minutes.”

I wince. The secret phrase that’ll get me to do anything. “Sure.” I can’t turn down a request for help. Then I’d be demoted to terrible son. As the youngest and perpetual screw-up, I need any chance I can get for bonus points.

I check the time on my phone. At this rate, I’ll be so late I might as well not go.

Nope, I pull the brakes on that train of thought. That’s what old me would do. New me, or at least newer me, shows up no matter what. Even late.

When I get to the living room, my mom’s on the couch surrounded by stacks of books. “What’re you doing?” I ask, even though I’m not sure I want the answer.

“I’m going through our books to donate the ones we don’t need to the church yard sale next month. I forgot how heavy they are.” She makes her point, heaving a stack of books a whole two inches away from her.

Yes, encyclopedias are, in fact, very heavy. And useless. No one will want these, no matter how needy they might be.

I bite my lips and start hauling books from the stacks around the couch back to the shelves. It’s not worth arguing. If I get them out of the way, maybe I can find the time to organize them later.

“Those over there are for donation.” She waves her hands towards a few small piles, which suspiciously don’t contain the encyclopedias. Good thing, too. I’ll still be able to look up forty-year-old information about the USSR during a power outage.

“Where do you want them?” I grab one of the smaller stacks.

“Maybe the dining room? Somewhere close to the wall where we won’t trip over them.”

Sure, after carting heavy loads of lumber and rock around all day, what’s a hundred pounds of books? I keep my sarcastic comments to myself, also part of the new me. They don’t help the situation. Ask me how I know.

I make a few trips into the dining room, stacking the books near the far window. We only eat in here on Thanksgiving and Christmas, so if they’re gone by then, no one will notice.

Of course, the fact that no one will notice means we’ll walk in here on Thanksgiving morning to find that they were never donated. Then we’ll be stuck with a copy of Making Windows 98 Work for You on our shelf for another year.

I excuse myself once all the books have been put in the dining room or back on the shelf. If I hurry, I can at least change clothes. A shower would be better, but there’s no time.

“One more thing,” my mom starts.

“Mom, I have to go. Can this wait until I get back?”

“But it’s always so late when you get home.”

“You can leave me a note,” I offer, eyeing the stairs down to the basement apartment where I live. Apartment is a strong word for it, but it sounds better than telling people I live in what used to be the playroom.

“Fine,” she says in a voice that tells me it absolutely is not fine . I don’t have time for theatrics, though, so I make my escape.

I swap my work pants and t-shirt for jeans and a Henley and take a moment to apply extra deodorant.

Hopefully, I don’t smell too bad. Sweat is a constant side effect of manual labor.

I don’t mind or notice it anymore, but I’m sure my classmates do.

I check the mirror before grabbing the backpack and ball cap next to my desk, and I run back up the stairs.

“Bye, Mom.” I holler as I pull the front door closed. And okay, I sound like a teenager. I hate it. It’s hard to break those old habits, especially now that I’m living at home. Again .

I hop in my Honda Fit , Squeezy, and drive toward the community college.

If I hit every green light on the way there, I’ll only be ten minutes late to class.

Not great, but at least I’ll be there. That’s my motto these days.

Just show up. It’s a low bar, but I spent most of my life ducking under it. Repeatedly.

My phone rings halfway through the drive. My mom can argue with me via voicemail. As I go to decline the call, I spot my boss’s name on the Caller ID. His calls come with overtime or extra shifts, which means extra cash.

“Hey, Sam, what’s up?” I put it on speakerphone so I can drive while talking. Squeezy isn’t fancy enough for a Bluetooth connection. She’s a beautiful, limited-edition lemon color, so I love her anyway. Maybe I can save up for a newer model sometime in the next five years.

Okay, ten years.

“Hey, Frank. Matthias, the owner of the yard we’re working on, called me after you left today.

” I cringe. I knew that guy would be trouble.

I can tell by looking at the house. Everything’s a little too pristine and tidy.

“I’m sure it’s fine, but I promised I’d ask you guys to keep the site as clean as possible. ”

“There’s an assload of material. Where does he think we’re going to put it?” I spent eight hours today hauling wood, rocks, and gravel from the front of the house to the back of the house. Every muscle in my body is screaming from the experience, and tomorrow’s going to be worse.

“I warned him this would happen. Matthias is a friend, so I’m trying to keep everyone as happy as possible. That’s why I’m passing on the message to you.”

Fuck . We’re scheduled to work on his yard for over two months. If this is day one, I’m not looking forward to dealing with him in the middle. It always gets worse before it gets better.

“We’ll try.” There’s not much else I can offer. I pull my car into the lot and find a spot near the back. That’s the other problem with being late. All the good parking spots are taken, which means I walk more. I wouldn’t mind the exercise if it didn’t take even more minutes off my in-class time.

“Get some sleep, Frank. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You got it.” I hang up and get out of the car, slipping my backpack over my shoulder.

Yep, get some sleep. Right after, I survive class, do an hour of homework, rearrange the bookshelf, and find something to eat.

By the time I slip into my seat in the back of the auditorium, I’m a full eighteen minutes tardy. Not my best. Not my worst either, so I’m calling it a win.

I pull out my notebook and start taking notes. If I stare at it long enough, maybe calculus will finally make sense.