Using the same set of keys he’d had since he was nine, Lock entered his parents’ home.
“Dad? You around?” When Lock didn’t get an immediate answer, he closed the door and headed through the sunroom into the living room, through the dining room, and straight in to the kitchen. A big bowl of berries sat on the table and he grabbed a handful. He could hear sounds coming from the basement, so he entered the tiny hallway, which had a doorway to the right that led out into the backyard and to his parents’ two-car garage, and a set of stairs to the left that led to the basement.
Lock barely had his foot on the first step when he heard a, “No, no, no, don’t!” Followed by a “woosh!” and a definitely girlish squeal that he refused to believe came from the old man.
Lock charged down the stairs but stopped when he hit the last step. He simply wasn’t in the mood to get his boots wet.
He watched his favorite childhood stuffed dog float by before looking in the corner to see his father standing there, looking typically guilty and holding a giant wrench. Beside him stood…
Lock blinked, not sure he was seeing correctly.
“You,” he said, too shocked not to show it. Then he did something he rarely ever did—he laughed. Bent-over-at-the-waist laughing. He couldn’t help it. Not a day had gone by when he hadn’t thought about her. Part of him still ashamed he’d left her alone, part of him mad she’d made him care one way or the other. But he never thought he’d see her again. At the very least he never thought he’d see her again in his basement, with his dad, drenched from her knees to her boots from whatever fuck-up Brody MacRyrie had managed to get himself into.
“Lock?” his father asked, most likely shocked at the laughter coming from his only boy. “Are you all right?”
Lock couldn’t answer. He was laughing too hard, which did absolutely nothing but piss off the little feline with the hospital phobia. And even though she clearly didn’t appreciate being laughed at, she decided to take it out on Brody rather than Lock.
Yanking the wrench from Brody’s hand, Gwen shook it at him—although Lock would be eternally grateful she didn’t use it to bash the man’s head in.
“What did I say? I said don’t touch!”
“I was just curious.” And that only made Lock laugh harder. He’d lost count of how many bad days with his parents began with the sentence, “But I was curious!” It was true, almost all bears were curious by nature, even Lock, but Brody took it to an extreme that made those who knew him love him and want to punch him all at the same time. “I merely wanted to see—”
“Out!” the little feline roared, the sound a bit more frightening as it seemed to combine the roar of a territorial lion with the warning growl of a pissed-off tiger.
“But why? I didn’t do—”
“Dad.” Lock stood up, wiping tears from his eyes. For a moment he thought that wrench would come right at his head. “Upstairs.”
“I’m your father, boy. You can’t tell me—”
“Up. Stairs. Or I’m calling Mom.”
“Traitor,” Brody mumbled, but he mumbled while moving, so Lock didn’t bother arguing with him. “And you’re both being unreasonable.”
Lock waited until his father marched up the stairs and back into the kitchen, then he focused on Gwen.
“You’re the plumber?”
Those gold eyes narrowed dangerously. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m having a hard time believing you can fix my parents’ plumbing.”
“Why? Because I’m a woman?”
“No. Because you’re you.”
The wrench slapped into her left palm with a “swack!” “First my brother and now you. What a perfect fucking day.”
He sloshed over to her, grateful he’d worn his work boots rather than his sneakers. “I don’t know your brother. Just the half-brother of your half-brother, which I still find entertaining.” He took hold of her left hand and lifted it. “But these are not the nails of a plumber.”
“What’s wrong with my nails?” She snatched her hand back and studied them. “The polish isn’t even chipped.”
“Exactly! What kind of plumber has pristine nails?”
“A smart one.”
Lock took her hand again, studied her nails. “Are these the colors of the Philadelphia Eagles?”
Once more she snatched her hand back. “I support my teams. You got a problem with that, too?”
“If they’re the Eagles.”
“At least we have a team,” she shot back. “And just because I have style and my nails look good, doesn’t mean I’m not the best plumber you’ll ever know.”
“Is that right? Are you even licensed in Jersey, Mr. Mittens?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“How did you manage that? You have to live in Jersey to get a license.”
“What are you? The plumber police?”
“Only for the Tri-State area. And how come you won’t answer my question?”
“Because I don’t have to! And—” she threw the wrench to the floor, water spraying the front of his jeans “—you left me!”
And there it was. He couldn’t describe how satisfying it was to know that she had cared he’d left that day and that she still thought about him. He’d hate to think he was obsessing all on his own. “I had to leave. They called the Park Rangers.”
“Who did?”
“I’m guessing the half-brother of your half-brother—and can I call him that for eternity?”
“No. His name’s Brendon. And you let some cop force you to leave me when you promised you wouldn’t allow the organ thieves to get me?”
“The organ thieves didn’t get you, and yes, I just said that out loud. And it wasn’t some cop or some ranger…it was Toots.”
“Who the hell is Toots?”
Embarrassed, Lock didn’t answer her right away, and Gwen put her hands on her hips. “Well?”
“He’s a polar. Okay? Seven-seven, almost four hundred pounds, and he beat me up once.”
“He beat you up?”
“We were only fifteen at the time, but it was lasting damage.”
“Physical?”
Lock cleared his throat. “Emotional.”
“Emotional damage?”
“It can be just as devastating, Mr. Mittens!”
“Yeah. I can see it. You look completely devastated.”
“At least I can admit to my fears, She Who Is Stalked by the Organ Thieves of America.”
“That’s it, I’m leaving.”
Lock started laughing again. “Why? Because I’m rudely suggesting you have issues?”
“I don’t have issues.” She bent down and picked up her wrench. “I’m fine.”
“You snuck out the window when no one was looking so you could get away from your doctor.”
“I’m not talking about this.”
He grabbed the wrench from her. “You brought it up.”
“I brought up the fact you left me in that mortuary to die.”
“You call a medical center a mortuary and you don’t think you have issues?”
Snarling, she reached for the wrench, but he kept it from her by lifting it over his head. “You have to fix whatever damage my father’s done before my mother gets home.”
“Find someone else.”
“Please. I promise I’ll keep him upstairs and out of your hair.”
“Another promise? You sure do toss them around.”
“This one I can keep as long as the half-brother of your half-brother doesn’t show up and ruin everything.”
“Stop calling him that.”
“No need to hiss, Mr. Mittens.”
“And stop calling me that!” She leaped up and snatched the wrench from him. “Get out of my sight!” she ordered after she’d landed.