Page 10

SIMON

“I’m surprised you were able to talk Myra into this.” Christian looks over the main floor of his sister-in-law’s house with the critical eye of a man in his element. “I’ve tried for the past six months to get her to let me get this place done for her, but she wouldn’t fucking have it.”

Keeping my posture loose to hide how much it bothers me that Myra’s been living like this, I follow behind my friend as he moves through the space. “Yeah. She told me about that.”

I think I know why—one of the reasons at least—but I keep it to myself. I don’t want Christian to feel like Myra doesn’t think of him as family, and I don’t want Myra to feel like she can’t open up to me.

I know how hurt Christian would be to know Myra still feels like a visitor here. All of us went a long time without family, and now that we have it, we will do anything for each other. No questions asked. Hearing Myra doesn’t feel the same would be a gut punch.

And knowing Myra feels that way makes me want to protect her even more. Be the person she can trust. The one she can lean on.

The one she can ask for anything.

“You know how overwhelming starting over can be.” I tuck both hands in the pockets of my jeans. “It takes some time to wrap your head around things.”

Christian nods slowly. “I know. I just hate feeling like I can help and knowing I can’t .”

It’s one of many reasons Myra will eventually trust Christian. Think of him the way he’d like her to. He’s a good person. Has come far enough to understand sometimes you can’t do what you want to do because it’s not what’s best for the other person.

He’s a better man than I am.

“Now you don’t have to worry about it anymore.” I motion toward the two rooms Myra gave me to work on. “Not this area, anyway.”

After we had breakfast, Myra thought over which spots in the house she would allow me to tackle.

I wasn’t expecting to get anything important, so I was shocked when she gave me the family room and the front section next to it.

Shocked and pleased. I know it’s fucked-up, but the concept of being able to leave my mark on such a significant part of her life satisfied me on a deep—probably dark—level.

“What are you thinking?” Christian braces both hands on his hips as he surveys the task before me. “I’m sure you have ideas.”

I chuckle. “I guess you have known me long enough to assume I’ve got a plan in place before I start.”

Christian gives me the side eye, one corner of his mouth tipping up. “You usually have a plan before you even have a fucking idea.”

I shrug. “You can’t do shit without a plan.” For so long, plans were all I had. Some people would call them hopes and dreams, but that’s not how I saw it. For me, they were intentions. Goals and aspirations.

And I’ve accomplished most of them.

Not all, though.

“Fair enough.” Christian lifts his brows at me. “What’s the plan then?”

I spend the next hour going over some of what I’d like to do.

Listening to what he has available for me to work with and working it into my vision.

I’ve pushed Myra enough—and likely overstepped—so I want to stay within the parameters of only using materials Christian has laying around his warehouse.

Mostly.

By the time he leaves, we’ve figured out what I need from his stock, and he’s contacted his employees to start separating the materials out. This isn’t going to be as Christian-free of a project as Myra thinks it’ll be, but I know something she hasn’t yet come to terms with.

Having a family is all Christian—and the rest of us—ever wanted, so being a person your family can rely on is a dream come true. Allowing Christian to help her, even in the smallest of ways, gives him something he never believed he would have, And that makes it a win-win for both of them.

“I’ll head over later this afternoon to start grabbing things, if that’s okay.

” I have plans for my time before that. Like everything else I’m doing, they’re probably overstepping.

But now that I’ve seen the extent of Myra’s house—of how she’s living in general—I’m feeling less and less bothered by that.

I assumed she’d feel like she was part of our family because Lydia is part of our family, but that’s not turning out to be the case. And if Myra doesn’t think she’s part of our family, that means she’s not part of any family since the bulk of hers is currently in prison.

Not that they acted like her family before that.

“Come whenever you want. Someone will be there to help you load up.” Christian’s eyes drift across the front area that will serve as a basic sitting room until Myra decides what she really wants it to be.

“You know, if you put hardwood down in that room, it’ll make just as much sense to keep going into the entryway. ”

I give him a sly smile. “I know.”

Christian gives me a grin. “It’s a slippery slope. Everything connects. This project could bleed through to the whole house if you’re not careful.”

“I’m walking a fine line here, man.” I can’t bulldoze my way through Myra’s house. Not when it’s the first home that’s ever been hers.

Christian snorts. “Good fucking luck with that.” His eyes come to my face. “None of us are good at walking lines.”

He’s not telling me anything I don’t already know. “I’m gonna do my best.”

Christian tips his head in a small nod. “I know.”

He walks to the door, pausing to look back at me. “Did Myra tell you she’s going to be singing with us at The Cellar Saturday night?”

That stops me in my tracks. “No.”

“Yeah. Lydia told me she used to sing in church, but I figured they’d ruined it for her.” He shoots me a look I can’t quite decipher. “Guess not.”

I watch him go, too stunned by this new information to do more than breathe.

I’ve been telling myself I need to leave Myra alone because she’s not ready for everything I want. That she’s not in a place for me to pursue her.

I haven’t been listening to myself—I rarely do—but at least I was trying.

But now…

Now that I know she might be ready to take back a little of what was tainted by men who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air she did?

Now I’m even more fucked than I was when I pulled in yesterday.

I’m just finishing laying out the last of the studs I’ll use to build the walls separating the two rooms I’m creating, when I see Myra’s headlights illuminate the backyard.

She doesn’t have a garage—an issue that’s only going to be more problematic as the weather cools—so she parks under the large tree dominating the outdoor space.

I’m not sure how she’s going to react to me being in her house—even though she’s aware I’m here—so I hold my breath a little as she climbs the steps and opens the door.

The first thing she does is scan the pile of materials taking up one side of the mostly open main floor. The second thing she does is take a deep breath.

A hint of a smile curves her lips. “Something smells good.”

I release the air locked in my lungs, relieved she doesn’t seem to regret her decision to let me help her out. Looking down at my filthy shirt, I give her a grin. “I can promise it’s not me.”

She laughs softly as she sets her purse and a larger bag on the counter just inside the door. “I figured you didn’t wear cologne that smells like garlic and…” She takes another deep breath. “Seafood?”

“You have a good nose.” I cross to the kitchen, scrubbing my hands clean before turning to pull the foil pouches containing our dinner from the oven. “Hopefully you don’t hate fish.”

Myra comes to stand on the opposite side of the granite island, watching as I peel open the first packet. “I don’t hate much of anything.” Her eyes jump to my face before dropping again. “Food wise.”

I can imagine she has a pretty decent list of people she hates, and I don’t blame her for that. I hate a decent number of people myself.

“That’s good to know. But you won’t be seeing any liver or lamb, so hopefully those aren’t two of your favorites.” To be fair, I’ll choke either of them down if she tells me they are. I won’t be thrilled about it, but I’ve eaten worse.

Way worse.

Myra shrugs. “I can eat them, but I don’t love either one.”

She watches closely as I gently slide the contents of the first pouch onto a plate. After adding a couple wedges of the lemon I cut earlier, I pass it off. “It’s nothing fancy, but since you said you’d be home late, I figured it made more sense to keep things simple.”

Myra takes the plate. “It’s way fancier than what I would have made myself.”

“What would you have made yourself?” I’m curious to hear her answer, considering all that was in her fridge when she left for work was condiments and a pack of string cheese.

Myra gives me another little smile. “A delivery order through DoorDash.”

I’m struck by the mental image of Myra sitting here all alone, eating lukewarm take-out, while the rest of the neighborhood lives the lives they always dreamed of.

I may not be living the dream, but I’m also not surrounded by everyone who is day in and day out.

It’s too painful. Jabs at the sore spot I still carry, and I can’t fucking handle it.

It says a lot about Myra that she can.

“Does that mean your DoorDash driver is going to wonder what happened to you this month?” I’m trying to gauge how often she’s here alone. Eating dinner by herself.

I’m also trying to make it clear I’ll be handling her meals while I’m here.

“They might.” She goes to a drawer and pulls out two forks, passing one to me. “I’m sure I’ll make up for it next month when you go back to work.”

The reminder sits sour in my stomach. I usually can’t wait to get the fuck out of town, but I’m already dreading the day I have to leave. Hating that she’ll be here alone again.

Sure she’ll have a completed family room when I’m gone, but that doesn’t ease the sting of knowing she’ll be the only one enjoying it.

Myra pokes the tip of her fork tines into one of the shrimp from her plate and slides it into her mouth. As she chews, her eyes roll back and she lets out a soft sound that hits me in places it shouldn’t. “This is really good.”

“I’m glad.” What I’ve made her isn’t fucking fine dining, but the collection of potatoes, shrimp, fish, and asparagus is one of my favorite meals. I eat it at least once a week because it’s easy to put together and hard to fuck up.

Myra wanders around the piles I’ve made in her house, looking over the stacks of two-by-fours and reels of wire. “This doesn’t look like stuff Christian took out of houses.”

I was hoping she wouldn’t call me out so quickly on the stretching I’m doing with the parameters she gave me, but I can’t say I didn’t see it coming.

And I’m sure as hell prepared for it.

“It’s not.” I trail behind her, watching Myra’s expression as I offer up my explanation. “This is stuff left over from the renovations Christian and Tate did to their houses.” I let out a little breath when Myra takes another bite of her food.

She wouldn’t keep eating it if she was pissed at me, right?

Myra peeks at me over one shoulder. “This is a lot of leftovers.”

“It is. Christian was glad to get it all out of his way.” That part isn’t as accurate as the rest of it—Christian’s warehouse is fucking huge. This stuff is a drop in the bucket to him. “If you’re interested, I also saw the materials for a complete half bath while I was looking through stuff.”

Myra sighs. “Yeah. Christian told me about that.” She turns to face me but her eyes don’t come to my face. “But he’s already given me a whole kitchen and the bathroom off my bedroom. It didn’t feel right to let him give me another bathroom.”

Myra confirms my suspicion that she doesn’t feel like part of the family my brothers and I created.

Honestly, I don’t know how much I’m a part of it right now either.

Everyone—with the exception of one, but he’s basically fallen off the face of the earth—is at a different place in their lives.

They’ve got wives and kids, and I don’t.

But I’d still let Christian give me as much shit as he wanted to.

“I get what you’re saying, but there’s not much else he can do with it.” I shrug, hoping she can’t see how much I’m hoping she’ll bite on this opportunity. “If you don’t want it, he’ll probably end up donating it to one of the places that sells used building materials.”

I know damn well the only reason Christian still has it sitting there is because he’s hoping eventually Myra will take it. It matches the cabinets in her kitchen too well, and the quality is too high to ditch it. He’s hanging onto it for a reason, and I’m staring right at her.

Myra presses her lips into a considering line and hope blooms in my gut. “But then I’m taking away from people in need.”

“Christian sends so much stuff to that place, I promise they’re not going to miss one little bathroom.” I keep my tone light and easy. “And I’m positive they won’t put in the effort to make the tiles usable. They’ll just toss them in the dumpster.”

Myra’s lips twist to one side. “Putting in a bathroom is a lot of work.”

Again, I’m ready to counter. “Not as much as you’d think.

” I move to the spot tucked off the entryway that would be a perfect location for a half bath.

“The water heater is right under here and the distance to a sewer line is minimal. The hardest part will be cleaning the tiles.” I give her a grin. “And that can be your job.”

She wants to help. I want to teach her. But Myra already puts in long hours at her job managing the day spa one of Christian’s clients owns.

I’ve got no problem showing her how to do everything, but I’ll be assigning her the least physical jobs.

And while cleaning off the tiles is tedious, it’s not labor intensive.

Myra narrows her eyes at me. “I’ll think about it.”

It’s not a yes, but I feel one coming. Maybe not tonight, but soon.

“Good.” Resting one hand on her lower back, I direct her toward the chairs currently serving as our dining area.

I know I should quit while I’m ahead, but that’s never been my style.

“Now, sit down so I can also convince you to let me work on the entryway.”