Page 2 of The Handyman

My mother had been her beautiful, kind self when she gave her house to my sisters, at least, so I wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of selling it. Living wills were a bitch to get out of. She always worried that it wouldn’t be old age that got her, and she was right. Getting jack-knifed by a semi was a horrible way to die, but it was better than being neglected while being too senile to stand up for herself.

To be honest, I wouldn’t have been surprised if my mom had intentionally stayed in the path of that out of control 18-wheeler. Every call for the past few months, she’d sounded more haggard and stressed. I could practically smell the anxiety through the receiver— but it could’ve been just my mind playing tricks on me.

“It’ll all hit me when I get back to New York.” My grumble drew down my mouth in a hard frown and I flexed my hands on the wheel stiffly. Being in my hometown made me soangryfor so many reasons. Being forced to take a day during the aftermath of the Makovich disaster only made it worse. I’d played patron to his gaggling entourage for an entire month, and I still hadn’t recovered.

Fishing my phone out of my pocket, I crawled down the road as I tapped around to find that lawyer woman’s number. The trill of the call connecting to the car speakers rang loudly, and I set my phone in the cupholder and stuck the gas.

“Francine Macello Estate Planning. Who’s calling, and who are you calling for, please?”

“I’m Reece Brandt— I have an appointment with Francine at 4. I was wondering if she had an earlier opening?” I got put on hold, but the call was just a formality. Weeks ago, Francine had called me to let me know that I was the sole proprietor of my mom’s estate, and blah. . . blah. . . blah. I hadn’t been paying attention to most of what she said, but I knew that my mom’s assets were being shipped to a storage facility in New York City. Incredibly well-maintained, expensive, solid wood furniture her father had made for her, family heirlooms she didn’t want in the hands of people that would sell them as soon as they could— even the ‘good’ china that, according to legend, my mother’s grandmother brought over from Scotland.

“Hello— Mr. Brandt? It’s Francine. I’m open after 2:30. I have all your paperwork ready and waiting.”

My thoughts scattered at the sound of her voice pumping through my car and flying out the open window, and I nodded absently. “Yes, I appreciate it. I’ll be there earlier, but I don’t mind waiting. Honestly, anywhere is better than my hometown.” There wasn’t much more to say. Francine said her goodbyes and hung up as I breached the speed limit.

Glancing at the time, I rolled my lips between my teeth and sighed through my nose in irritation. I wouldn’t get back to New York City until tomorrow morning, but at least it gave me an excuse to get trashed in the daytime.

2

Reece

Rifling through the pages of my mom’s will, I rolled my jaw thoughtfully. That Francine woman was good at her job, meticulously cataloguing everything my mother had bequeathed me. Somehow, she’d convinced my mom to have proper serial numbers put on the furniture my grandfather had hand carved, and there was a whole page dedicated to each individual piece of china.

Flipping through all those numbers, my chest tightened at the obvious care taken. My mom loved her stuff; she was a very sentimental person, and I felt honored that she’d trusted me. I knew she was very aware of what would happen to her beloved house once she died.

It’d be falling down before the year was out. Either that or it’d be such a point of contention of my sisters that they’d destroy it outright. Mary would want to live in it, and Rebecca would want to sell it foroodles of cash.

My cell phone vibrated insistently on the kitchen table. I laid the packet flat to grab the device. Grunting my name, I reached for the glass of whiskey waiting patiently to be drained and lifted it to my lips.

“Hey, Reece.”

Surprise rippled down my neck and twitched my cheek, and I took a hasty gulp of my drink.

“I don’t know if you remember me… um, we met at Black Cat a while ago.”

“Riley. How could I forget you, huh?” Memories blossomed in my mind’s eye as I sat back in the stiff chair and stretched my legs. “How have you been? It’s been a couple weeks since I’ve seen you there.”

“I’m here now…can you come in? You said to call you if I was ever in trouble, and—I’m in trouble.” Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, and

The hairs on the back of my neck bristled as I listened.

“I feel bad for only calling because I need something, but—I don’t know who else to turn to, Reece.”

“Did something happen with your dom?” Standing up, I was suddenly glad I’d decided to stave off getting blackout drunk until after I went through my mom’s paperwork. Worry tightened my chest at Riley’s ominous silence, and my mouth dried as those memories popping behind my lids became more intense. “I’m on my way— I’ll be there in half an hour, tops. Are you safe?”

“Yeah, I’m safe. It’s just. . . a couple days ago, my partner beat me. He knows I’m not into pain, but he did it anyway. I went to the police, but they said he said it was consensual and we were a BDSM relationship, so they didn’t do anything about it.” Riley’s voice wobbled dangerously, her sniffle sharp enough to cut my cheek through the line. “I went to my parents’ house, but they’re not taking me seriously, either.”

“Does Black Cat know what he did?” I could picture Riley nodding her head, her cherry red hair flinging all over the place as the line rustled loudly. We’d hooked up a few times at Black Cat before she went under contract with her partner. At the time, I’d wanted to talk her out of it because I couldfeelthe guy was a dickwad. He was new to this scene, introduced by a friend of a friend or something.Ever since that fucking book series came out, the community had gone to shit, and even Black Cat was being infected.“I’m leaving my place now. What happened? Did you meet up outside Black Cat or something?”

Snatching my keys off the hook by the door, I twirled them against my palm before grabbing the doorknob. I honestly didn’t know Riley very well. We had three sessions together, which werefantastic, and I’d been considering contracting her. Heading for the elevator, I thought back to the night she told me she was contracting with someone newer. Her rationalization was that she was also new, and maybe it’d be easier?

BDSM wasnotsomething that ‘just wing it!’ applied to, though. A lot of damage could be done so easily, and I wasn’t surprised that Riley had been burned.Horrified, yes. Surprised? Not at all.

“No. It was here. I told the manager, and he told me to go to the hospital and police, which I did and it didn’t get me anywhere. So, I came back, and they asked if I had anyone I could call. And that’s— that’s the situation.” She sounded so sad and troubled, but at least Riley didn’t sound ashamed or guilty. “I’m okay— physically. My mom told me that if I didn’t want to get hurt, I shouldn’t be doing something so disgusting in the first place.”

Stepping onto the elevator, I reached to rub my jaw absently as I grunted in acknowledgment. Riley was easily the sexiest woman I’d ever laid eyes on, but I didn’tknowher. Our sessions were based on sex, and she’d cut me out before we’d gotten any farther.

“I’m sorry, Reece. I feel really awful that—”