Page 4 of Tripped By Love
Marco
OLD FRIENDS
“It’s hard to put your finger
On the thing that scares you most
And you can’t tell the difference
Between an angel and a ghost.”
Performed by Chris Stapleton
Written by Clark / Clark / Dobson
I tapped my phone to myforehead, silently swearing at my own ridiculousness. It was bad enough that I found my way to the window in the apartment over her parents’ garage at five o’clock each night, knowing she’d be driving in. Calling had been over the top. Normally, I just made sure she and Chevelle got into the house okay, but there’d been an aura of sadness about her today that had me dialing before I’d even really thought it through.
In the fading sunlight, her hair had glinted with golds and whites, shimmering like a halo around an angel. The two ever-prevalent buns she needed to keep her long, thick mane out of her face had been losing their battle with tendrils escaping everywhere. The flowy skirt and Golden Heart Café T-shirt she’d had on were her standard uniform?some unique combination of seventies flower child and modern?but it also hid her willowy limbs and lean frame from the world.
While I hadn’t been able to see them, I knew her feet were shoved into orthopedic shoes most people would deem ugly-as-sin. I had a love-hate relationship with them because I knew they helped her stand on her feet all day in the kitchen, but I also knew they made her feel undesirable when she was anything but.
That was when I cut my thoughts off.
No way I could desire her. Not only because she was my boss’s sister, but because I could never be the person she deserved at her side. My silent vigil and training her would have to be where the story ended. I’d make sure she had the strongest muscles possible and ignore the way she looked in a workout tank that showed off silky skin and shorts that clung to her hips.
My phone shook in my hand with a text from my partner. Trevor and I headed the Garner Security protection detail for Brady O’Neil. When he was touring, the team quadrupled in size, and the owner, Wayne Garner, took on a larger role, but whenever we were in Grand Orchard, he left Trevor and me in charge.
TREVOR: Ghost and family are home for the night. A reporter fromThe Exhibitorwas sniffing for news about The Painted Daisies album he’s producing. I had to kick the guy off the property. Told everyone to keep their eyes peeled.
Brady’s code name was based on the single off his second album and went back to a time when I’d just come onboard with Garner, and Brady had had a real-life stalker on his tail. I’d barely known what I was doing then, having gotten into the protection business right as my military career had ended in a fiery storm.
ME: Thanks for the heads-up.
I yanked off my uniform of black on black on black, locked my two Glocks in the gun safe, and changed into workout gear. I had two hours to fill before I could ease through the backyard and over to Cassidy O’Neil’s house. The workout I did with her was never enough to keep me in the shape required for my job, but then, it had been designed for her and not me. I headed out onto the street for a run. After I came back from her house, I’d burn myself out with more weights until I was so tired that my memories couldn’t haunt me. I might sleep then. A handful of hours at best, but it would be enough to get me through.
The first few blocks, I kept my pace slow as I cruised by the edge of Wilson-Jacobs College. The apple trees lined the campus’s stone paths, and the heady scent of their fading blooms saturated the air. The sounds of crickets and a boom of bass coming from the dorms carried through the midnight-blue sky as it started to fade into black. A few stars began flickering into sight, and the temperature dropped.
As the old stone buildings covered in moss and ivy disappeared behind me, I had a decision to make. Curl my way through town or head out into the orchards. It was an easy choice. I skipped the red brick and wooden sidewalks that screamed small-town America and pounded my feet along the pavement toward the trees and farms. While upstate New York was very different from where I’d grown up in Texas, both places were capable of humidity that sank into every crevice. Tonight, there was only a hint of it in the air as May wound its way into June.
As if I’d sent out some kind of bat signal to her by thinking about Texas, my phone rang, and Maliyah’s wrinkled face appeared with a video call.
“Hola, Tía,” I answered, stepping off the side of the road and into the soft dirt that surrounded the orchard.
“You’re out running,” she said.
“I’m not even out of breath. How could you know that? I could just be taking a leisurely stroll.”
Her lips twitched. “You? Leisurely? Besides, you always go running before you work out with Cassidy.”
I was getting predictable if even Maliyah knew this about me. I needed to shake things up. Break the routine. But that meant breaking my workouts with an angel, and my chest seized at the thought.
“How are you?” I asked, changing the subject.
“I’m fine. Jonas is fine. We’re all fine. Stop worrying.”
My lips twitched more. “You called me,Tía. So, who’s really worrying?”
She waved a finger as if she was scolding me. “When are you taking a vacation?”
