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  “What is wrong with you?” I glared at him, malice in my eyes.

  He plastered on the smile he always used with me, thinking I am easily won over by a show of perfect pearly whites. “We were just giving him a hard time, Boss Lady.”

  “Don’t Boss Lady me. Do you want to be sued and go to prison for wrongful death?” The silence I was met with was eerie.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, a shocked look on his face.

  “I’m talking about killing a co-worker by exposing him to something he’s deathly allergic to, Davies.”

  “What?” Davies's eyes grew wide.

  “Deacon is allergic to peanuts and can die from ingesting them in any form.” I’m going to Hell. Lying about an allergy was not funny in the least bit, but this type of treatment was not acceptable, and there needs to be a precedent set. Might as well go for broke. “And now I can get in trouble for breaking HIPAA laws for disclosing that. Thanks a lot.”

  “I didn’t mean to—I was just—”

  I pointed my finger at him, which, if the situation weren’t what it was, would be comical seeing as how he was nearly as tall as Deacon and even a bit brawnier than him. “It doesn’t matter what you were doing. You were immature, and that’s not okay on this worksite. Shame on you.”

  “You’re such a dick, dude,” one of the guys commented, the others growing irritated now.

  Anderson, one of Daddy’s long-time foremen, came to back up my defense. “That shit’s toxic to someone who’s allergic. My niece has a severe bee sting allergy and can’t play soccer because of it. Way to go, asshole.”

  Davies looked around him, a child being scolded by many. “I—I didn’t know.”

  “No, you didn’t. But when a co-worker, someone who’s supposed to count on you to help keep him safe, and vice-versa, tells you to stop what you’re doing, you do it immediately, or you find another place to work. Got it?” He shook his head in affirmation. I motioned to his face. “And go clean that mess up. You’re bleeding on the gravel.”

  I stormed away from the group of men, now fully berating Davies for his transgressions, and prayed God would forgive me for lying so blatantly. I slammed the door shut behind me, feeling guilty for how bad they must be reaming him now.

  “You didn’t have to say anything to him.”

  I startled at the deep voice coming from over by the window, the dark figure looking out the side, a wet paper towel over his hand. “Grey’s would rip into him harder if he found out what happened, so I think he got by easy with it being me.”

  Deacon looked at me, the tiniest smirk appearing. “Trust me. That was way worse.”

  I closed the bathroom door he had left ajar and turned off the light. “You have a peanut allergy, by the way.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  I looked at him with a smirk of my own. “You do now.”

  “Charlotte Kasen, did you lie?” he inquired, his grin widening at the thought.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Maybe.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “No, I didn’t—but we don’t tolerate foolish behavior like that here, and he should know better.” I motioned for him to remove the towel and let me look. “Are you okay? Your hand is bleeding.”

  He pulled his hand back from my scrutinizing frown. “I cut it last night. Accident.”

  I internally cursed myself for initiating contact and being vulnerable, reminding myself that this was Deacon, and he didn’t know how to do affection of any sort. He did that one night. Yeah. And look how that turned out.

  I stepped back from him, his eyes following me. I decided some fresh air was what I needed, and with my work done, I thought an early dance session before classes at the studio would be in order.

  “Will you be all right? Need me to fill out an accident report or file a complaint against Cookie Monster out there?”

  “I’ll survive. Think I need to look for another job?”

  “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that since the guys are giving him down the road for doing that. However, let’s keep the cracked noses to a minimum, please?”

  He laughed. “I’ll try.”

  “That’s a relief. I don’t think made up allergies are going to work next time.” I matched his grin with one of my own. “I’m going on over to the studio. Close the office door behind you when you finish getting cleaned up and tell Grey to call me when he gets back.”

  He nodded. I grabbed my keys and phone and made my way out, leaving a crew of men staring at me as I left and one in the office, no doubt, looking out the window.

  “Miss Charlotte!” Dana Anderson was one of the ballerinas in my littles group, my last class of the evening.

  “Yes, Dana?”

  “I’m selling Girl Scout cookies. Do you want to get a box—or five?” She grinned widely, a saleswoman in the making.

  I smiled. “Sure. I know a few people who need some Samoas and Thin Mints in their lives.” Filling in the form, I asked Dana’s mom who to make the check out to, but I stopped short when I noticed my purse was not where I usually set it. I combed my brain back through the hours and remembered I didn’t grab it on the way out—other matters pressing at the moment. “Shoot. I left my wallet at the site. Could I bring it to you next class?”

  “Okay. See you later, Miss Charlotte!”

  I adored my littles class as it was my only ballet class and enjoyed seeing them grow in their skills throughout the months I had them. Staci was in the studio over from the one we danced in and was belting out the lyrics to her favorite Metallica song. She had a fantastic voice, so much control and such a rich sound for someone who still had another month to go before her 16th birthday. I let her finish before getting her attention with an ovation. “I see those voice lessons are paying off.” Her pale skin, bright green eyes, and wavy blonde hair favored my looks much more than her half-sister, but her stunning height, long legs, and lean body was something I could only envy. She looked much older than her age, which sometimes led to older boys and men hitting on her, something Nikki vehemently shut down. She was a looker and would be a lot of heartache and headache soon for some poor guy—and more than likely, her sister.

  “You think so?” Humble as she was beautiful, she didn’t see her own worth, which worried me when it came to who she hung around because she didn’t always have the best judge of character.

  “You’re a natural, Stace. But lessons always help us hone our craft. You’ll be up on a stage, singing for adoring fans before you know it.” I winked at her as she gave me a bright smile in return.

  We hopped in the car and drove back through town to the site to grab my purse. Staci had become a surrogate little sister to me along with her older sister Nikki, my best friend since my blow up with Britton. Nikki had gone through a lot in her past, much of which she didn’t speak of, but I knew it was awful because of how protective she was over Staci. She and Stace had been placed in foster care when they came to live in Silverton, sweet Mrs. Carolyn Myers taking them under her wing. Nikki had planned to go to school at NYU on an art scholarship, a prodigy in her own right, but Mrs. Myers’s untimely death a month after we graduated high school grounded Nikki’s flight plan to leave the state and left her sister without an adult to care for her.

  Rather than let her sister go back into the system, Nikki chose to legally adopt Staci and stayed back to work and go to community college. My parents had offered to take Staci in, but Nikki couldn’t stand the thought of handouts. After I returned home from college, she gave up Mrs. Myers’s rental, and we all lived together in the first house that Grey ever flipped. We didn’t have to pay much in rent, but Nikki had to use all of her earnings from random jobs to pay for the bare necessities. Little extras like voice lessons for Staci was entirely out of reach until I told her about an “internship” they were offering at the studio, which was really just Grey paying for it in secret because he knew how much Staci wanted to take them and how much it hurt
Nikki not to be able to afford them. She would probably never know of all the things he had done behind closed doors for her, but he wanted it that way, knowing she would refuse them if she knew someone was taking pity on her.

  I jumped out of the car and ran into the office, grabbing the lights as I walked through. I opened the drawer I left my purse in and closed it back. I turned to head out but noticed a piece of paper

  The note was folded over neatly, a tiny piece of tape its only barrier of security, my name written neatly in a manly fashion. I recognized the handwriting as Deacon’s immediately. I sighed, preparing myself for the tongue-lashing he no doubt left behind because I embarrassed him in front of the guys—a cardinal sin. I opened it carefully, steeling my heart for the oncoming angry rant, but I was surprised by what I found instead.

  Thank you for always coming to my rescue, even when I don’t deserve it. —D

  I couldn’t stop the smile that spread over my face any more than the warmth in my heart. I knew I should toss it in the trash, but I stopped for fear of one of the men finding it. I tucked in my purse for safekeeping and would throw it away offsite—at some point.

  Nikki was working late tonight, so I made sure I got Staci in bed as I did. I laid there for a while, thinking back to my dream last night and the events of this morning. Grey had called me, telling me that he had touched base with Mr. Arlington and set up a dinner meeting on Friday. I couldn’t help but feel on edge whenever he mentioned Caz’s name, but I knew this partnership was a necessary evil if our men were to keep their jobs, and Mom and Dad were to keep the company. He had also given Davies a lecture, pointing out violations in his contract and leaving him with a stern warning. He had also let Deacon know that violence on company property was a fireable offense, no matter how much it was deserved. Both men on notice and agreeing not to act out of turn again settled the issue.

  But as I started to drift off to sleep, I thought about the day peanut butter had become a dirty phrase, and the boy I had admired across the yard came to live across the hall.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Charlotte

  14 Years Ago

  I pulled on my puffy hot pink coat and prepared myself for the inevitable chill waiting for me outside. Mom had set the table with our prettiest dishes, and our “Girls’ Night In” tradition was ready to roll except for the missing flowers in her favorite milk glass vase.

  Daddy had taken my three annoying older brothers out for a fishing trip over the weekend, so Mom and I got to spend those blissfully quiet hours doing all the girly things the boys would complain about: painting our nails, watching our favorite Disney movies, and chatting about everything and nothing. With two women to four men, it was hard for Mom and me to get any quality girl time together, but for the last 48 hours and the next three, the house was ours—blissfully quiet and entirely ours.

  “Why don’t you want flowers from the store, Mom?”

  “Give me a flower any day that’s too stubborn to give up when the cold sets in. Resilient and dependent—that’s the best kind of flower there is.” She pulled the zipper on my coat, tugged on the collar to make it stand up straighter, and leaned in, whispering, “It makes for the best kind of people too.” She gently tapped me on the nose and threw me a wink, shooing me out the door in search of wildflowers.

  The sudden turn in the weather from Friday to now made me realize how quickly winter was approaching and how Mom’s favorite wildflowers would soon be no more. The smell of rain was in the air, which sent a shiver down my spine. A cold downpour was the worst, and I hoped Daddy and the boys were able to get the old johnboat loaded up before it started to pour.

  I walked over to the little stone wall that separated our property from the Devereaux’s, looking for a few wildflowers that would go with Mom’s vase. The prettiest ones grew right against the wall, which was fine by me because it gave me a reason to see if Deacon was in his backyard. I hadn’t seen him since Dad and my brothers took off on Friday afternoon for their wilderness adventure, and I had snuck glimpses his way often. Deacon and my brother Aidan had become the best of friends since they moved to the neighborhood, but I couldn’t deny the flutters in my heart when I saw him. He was always so quiet because he had trouble speaking, but every word was music to me because all of them were his. He never smiled, except at me, and I cherished each one of them.

  The crisp air of late autumn made my cheeks rosy as the gusty wind nipped at them. A few leaves had drifted from their perch to the ground, a small blanket of red crunching beneath my feet as I walked on.

  When I reached the little row of old stonework that met me at the waist, I bent down to pick up the last remaining flowers of the season. Gathering with one hand and bundling with the other, I chanced a glance at Deacon’s kitchen window. It was dark inside, and with the light of day fading into night, I wondered why the stove light wasn’t on as it usually was at this time. Maybe he and his dad decided to do something this weekend. I looked around to see if maybe Mr. Devereaux’s blue truck was gone, but it sat idly in the driveaway. Something was off. Maybe Mr. Devereaux wasn’t feeling well again. Deacon had said his dad gets lots of headaches and needs the quiet.

  Worry began to set in. What if Deacon’s sick? I scrunched my brows and sat the wildflowers down on the top of the wall. It couldn’t hurt to run over and see if everything was okay. Placing my hands atop the short stone fence, I readied myself to hop over the divider, just like I had seen Deacon and my brothers do many times over the years. My too-short stature and too chubby frame kept me grounded—quite literally, so I stopped myself, looked for the lowest part of the wall, and jogged to it. Right foot firmly planted on one of the stones that stuck out just a little too far, I leveraged my hands and began to lift myself when a noise caught my attention. It was low and soft and sounded a lot like someone crying.

  I peered over the wall, seeing nothing to the right. But what I saw twenty feet to my left broke my heart in two. Deacon was sitting there, right shoulder against the wall near my willow tree, his knees tucked under him, his face hung low, and his bare arms crossed over each other as his whole body shook. Why does he not have a coat on? I quickly pulled myself up onto the wall and flung my legs over, landing less than gracefully on my side. So much for all that ballet training.

  I walked over to him and whispered his name. His red eyes made the blue that much brighter, and his face glistened with a few tears and the streaks of many leaving his cheeks marked. “Deacon? What’s wrong?”

  No answer. Only more shaking.

  “Are you okay?”

  Inky black locks of hair fell back as he turned his face up to look at me. He looked like his world was coming to an end—or maybe it already had.

  As I wrapped my arms around him and patted his back, he whimpered, stiffening at my touch. I pulled away, slightly reeling from the rejection. I know Deacon wasn’t affectionate towards anyone but my mom, so I wasn’t completely devastated when he rejected my hug, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting. I pulled my hands back and placed them on my thighs. “I’m sorry.”

  “You di-didn’t do an-anyth-thing wrong.”

  “What happened?”

  “I can’t tal-talk about i-it.”

  “Deacon, it’s me.” I laid my hand gently on his reddened cheek, noticing an angry cut on his upper lip. “I wanna help you.” I pulled my hand back, noticing a pinkish handprint where my hand had just been. I looked down at my hand, then caught a glimpse of it on my pants. I raised my hands, noting the red color on them both.

  “D, what’s on your shirt?”

  He only answered in more tears. I stood up to get a glimpse of what he had gotten on his shirt, and what I saw would be forever seared into my mind. Deep red oozed from crisscrossed lines, which now decorated the entire back of his shirt from the tops of his shoulders to just above the waistband of his jeans. He was hurt, and someone had done this awful thing to Deacon—my Deacon.

  “Who did this to you?”

/>   He grimaced, whether in pain from his back or of suffering in his heart, I couldn’t tell, but I could feel the hurt rolling off my friend. He glanced, “Why does h-he hate me s-s-so much?”

  Not knowing what to say, I held out my hand to help him up. “Mommy will help us.”

  He stood to his full height, save for a slight hunch due to his back—no doubt because of all the pain he was in. I looked into his eyes, and I knew, no matter what, I would do whatever it took to protect him from anything—or anyone—that wanted to cause him pain. I took my jacket off and was immediately met with his outstretched hands and grief-saturated face.

  “It’s not for your…” I paused. “It’s for your arms. You’re cold.”

  He let me pull the sleeve on his arms, the jacket too small and on backward. “Thank you.”

  We walked around the willow and came through the backdoor, trying to keep him hidden as best we knew how. “Mommy?”

  “Hey. I was wondering if you—well, hello Deacon. Come to join us for supper?”

  The grave looks on our faces stole the joy from hers.

  “Mom, we need help.”

  Deacon had a hard time looking at my mom, keeping his head lowered. She looked him over, trying to assess the situation as best she could.

  “Charlotte, I’d like for you to go get my first aid kit and bring it to your all’s bathroom. Grab one of your dad’s old work shirts too.”

  I did as my mom asked and returned with her requested items, coming back to a scene that I would never forget.

  “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” My mom smoothed her hand over Deacon’s hair while the other cradled the back of his neck. Deacon’s face was mostly buried into my mom’s shoulder, quietly sobbing. His arms wrapped around her and his hands gripped the back of her sweater. “It’ll be okay. I promise.” She lifted his head and pressed her lips to his forehead and assured him he would never have to go back there again. Deacon nodded his head, and Mom smoothed her thumbs under his eyes, wiping away.