Rhys (Secrets Book 1) Read online

  Figures, since I had a week full of normal business right here in Grand Rapids to keep me busy. Now I’ll probably end up in Chicago somewhere for a couple of days, or who knows? I’ve ended up in St. Louis before on a job.

  Using the few minutes I have before Mikey gets here to my best advantage, I place a few calls and move my meetings around for tomorrow at least. My gut screamed at me last week while scheduling consultations; I knew I shouldn’t have booked them here.

  I’ll let you in on a secret: Martinelli doesn’t know about my side business—at least not that I know of. I’ve been looking for a way out for the last few months. I’ve never taken the Omertà oath, so technically I’m not a member of the Martinelli ‘family’. What I do with my time outside of actual jobs is my own.

  Besides, it’s not like I’m going to be in competition with them. In other words, I should be golden.

  Oddly enough, I’ve never liked violence. I know, right? You’re calling me a liar. It’s okay, I’ve been called worse.

  Back in high school, I was in one fight, with Brant. Unbeknownst to either of us, that day set my future in motion. Why? Because my father witnessed it and insisted I follow in his footsteps and enlist. After arguing with him for months, I signed the paperwork with a recruiter and left for basic training the summer after graduation.

  One fight was all it took to alter my future.

  One fight set everything in motion.

  One fight about a girl.

  One fight.

  Do I regret throwing the first punch? Yes and no. It’s not as cut and dry as it seems.

  Brant’s girlfriend at the time kissed me. She kissed me, I didn’t kiss her. We were sixteen and he never should’ve been dating her to begin with. Putting it mildly, she was a slut. He was only dating her because she took his virginity at a party. Pathetic, right? He lost his balls to a chick and we fought over her because the slut kissed me with her boyfriend in the next room. She wanted out of the relationship and into my pants. It was never gonna happen.

  The next day, Brant came over prepared for a fight.

  Dad was all for it. He believed Brant had been wronged and I deserved an ass-kicking for it.

  Brant was all over the place, his moves all squirrely. He thought he was Rocky, I swear. All it took was me throwing one punch to knock him on his ass. I took advantage of the situation and placed a boot on his chest, keeping him down on the ground, letting me talk some sense into him.

  My dad saw honor in it.

  All I saw was a scared kid with a weird nickname who was about to lose his best friend—a friend who meant the world to him. When I reached down to help him up, I started down a path. I was army bound and didn’t know it.

  For the next few months, I trained. Every evening my dad trained me in hand-to-hand combat, strength training and weapons. No son of Frank Gallhagar’s would go into basic training as an average Joe.

  Basic training taught me one thing he didn’t. How to kill. Being a trained killer thanks to Uncle Sam opened up a whole new world to me.

  A violent world.

  Coldblooded. Vicious. Deceitful.

  My temper was always there, grappling in the background, but basic training brought it bursting to the surface. Good thing about it is I’ve always been able to control it…until recently, that is. I’ve snapped a few times—yesterday morning, for instance. Yes, I’m to blame for my reactions, but I blame my lifestyle choice on my dad. If not for his insistence on me enlisting, I doubt the beast inside would’ve been awoken. Those four years in the army gave me a taste of what it was like to kill a man. It’s not a taste I want to sample again. Instead, I now use my hands as a weapon.

  No longer on speaking terms with my father thanks to my choosing to leave the army, I was in need of friendship more than ever. Instead of following in my footsteps into the army, Brant went off to college. It was his moving to Michigan that influenced my decision on where to study law. It was as far away from my parents as I could get.

  One night while out bar hopping with Brant, I met a guy named Vincent Martinelli, and we became fast friends. It was like fourth grade all over again, only this time without the candy. For the next two years, Vinny, Brant, and I were thick as thieves—until Vinny found himself at the wrong end of a bullet. His own father had his eldest son whacked. His own namesake.

  Martinelli Senior believes he found me, but that’s not true—I found him. His son’s death led me to his door. Vinny’s death and the way he was killed made me question everything I knew. If I could join the ‘family’, maybe I could find the answers. Maybe his death would start to make some sense to me.

  It was fate, our being in the same place at the same time. A weekend trip to Chicago and dining in the right place had our paths crossing. Once I saw him, I staged a fight with Brant, which put me in his sights. He hired me on the spot, within minutes of knowing me.

  Shaking his hand was as good as signing a contract in blood.

  Vinny’s blood.

  I may not be a member of the mob, but I’m mobbed up. Connected for life.

  Martinelli knows I’d never kill for him. He sends me on these stupid missions to ‘talk some sense’ into his so-called associates, send them a message by breaking their bones. What he refers to as my force is my special talent—my temper and my fists. He’d love for me to beat the answers out of them but nine times out of ten, I get away with using words.

  Until last year.

  A knock on the door alerts me to Mikey’s presence. It’s time to stop reflecting on my past and go. As I’m walking out the door, I grab Tylenol and take a dose. I have a feeling I’m going to need the pain reliever.

  Turns out I shouldn’t have bothered to reschedule anything for Monday because the job wasn’t in Chicago. Nope, it was right here in good ol’ Michigan, about an hour’s drive from home, and I was back at my place before the nightly news broadcast.

  Unless my boss calls me in for another job, I’m free for this fine Monday afternoon.

  Without a moment of hesitation, I’m texting Averill to ask if she’ll join me for lunch.

  Me: Hey, this is Rhys. Are you free for lunch today? I’ve suddenly found myself with the afternoon off. I’d love nothing more than to see you.

  Choosing not to stare at my phone, waiting for her to reply, I attempt to fix my damn coffee machine. For the last three days, I’ve had to resort to running out for coffee.

  You’d think I’d cave and buy another one, but this machine is perfectly fine—or should be. It’s barely a year old. Fucking manufacturer probably sets them to malfunction so they get more money from us coffee addicts—once you buy one of these stupid one-cup machines, you’re a goner for life. You’ll never go back to the way it was before. Where a regular coffee maker takes a good fifteen minutes to brew a pot, this one-cup brewer has the mug of steamy goodness in my hands within a minute.

  It’s on its second cup of vinegar to descale it when my phone chimes with an incoming text alert.

  Tiger Lily: Get ready because a long, drawn-out explanation is coming… Are you ready? Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

  My phone chimes again while I’m reading the first message.

  Tiger Lily: I’m working alone at my store today, so the short answer is, no. The long answer is, you scare me. You’re different Rhys. The guy I remember didn’t fly off the handle at the drop of a hat. I thought about calling you several times over the weekend but stopped each my phone was in my hands. You said for me to trust you but I don’t know you. How can I trust something I don’t know? Also…

  Also…what?

  Me: I’m not that man, Averill. He’s not me. The guy you knew is still here. He’s going to take some uncovering to find but I have faith in you. You can bring him back to me.

  Tiger Lily: Also, I have a complicated past. I know that doesn’t cover it or give you a sufficient explanation, but if you knew my past, you wouldn’t push me on this.

  Tiger Lily: Your text came as I was typing.
You’re lost too?

  Am I lost? She said too—she’s lost? Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I basically asked her to find me by saying she could bring the old me back. Maybe I am lost and I don’t know it. I’ve always thought of myself as struggling to stay afloat, treading water while trying not to drown. Lost isn’t too far off; I guess drowning could be considered lost.

  Me: Yeah, I guess I am.

  It takes her a while to reply this time. Instead of driving myself crazy waiting for her to reply, I google her. At first it’s to see the name of her store, but it turns out to be more. What I find is an avalanche of information. Information I’m sure I’ll regret knowing ahead of time. Information she should tell me herself. Secrets. One in particular I regret knowing the instant I read it: her live-in boyfriend was found dead in their apartment, and she was the one who found him.

  I’m halfway to the door, planning to go to her store when my phone goes off again.

  Tiger Lily: Bring me lunch, I’m hungry. I’d like something spicy, surprise me. I’m at Threads & Trends on Moore Ave. Is noon okay with you?

  Me: Perfect.

  My solitary word must appease her because she doesn’t send another text.

  I’m not sure what I expected walking into Threads & Trends, but it wasn’t this. This place screams class, from the window displays to the gold trimming everywhere my eyes land, but the most beautiful thing my eyes see?

  Averill.

  She’s laughing again, like she was the other morning, lighting up the entire store. The customer she’s with is also laughing. It sparks something inside of me again, much the same way it did over coffee.

  She turns to glance my way, and the smile beaming from her face is catchy. I find myself smiling in return.

  “Hey, Rhys, you can drop the food off in the back office if you like. I’ll be a few minutes yet, feel free to browse, or whatever.” Turning her back to me, she doesn’t give me time to reply. She’s dismissed me and is all about her customer again. It’s okay; she’s working and I shouldn’t be her concern.

  The back office is barely big enough for the desk she has somehow squeezed into the corner, and the invoices spread all over the top make me smile. She’s as messy as I remember. I place her lunch down and decide to check out the storage room. I’d like to glance at what all she carries before heading back into the store itself to ‘browse’.

  I’m still in the storage room when she comes to find me.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey beautiful.” The comment seems to throw her off balance—good; it’s only fair that she be as off kilter as I am. The expression on her face shows me she’s not unaffected by me.

  “Friends, Rhys. I’m only looking for friends. You asked for my help bringing back the person you once were and I’d like the same from you. Friendship is all we can be, for now, and maybe forever. If you’re not okay with those terms, you can leave.”

  “Easy there, Averill, calling you beautiful isn’t a declaration of love, or me assuming we’ll be anything more than friends.” Am I lying? Undoubtedly. She knows I want more from her; it’s written all over my face and threaded through all my actions thus far.

  She’s skeptical. Good, she should be.

  She gestures to her narrowed eyes before quickly pointing back to mine. “I see you, Gallhagar. I’m calling bullshit. Don’t think for one second I’m fooled by your words. Your eyes tell me more.” The next few words she says are hard to make out because she says them below a whisper, making me think I wasn’t supposed to hear them, but I do anyway. “Those frustratingly beautiful ocher eyes. Gah. Men!”

  “Did you call my eye color ocher?” What the hell is that?

  “You weren’t supposed to hear that,” she mumbles.

  “I heard it, and I’m not sorry I did. Now, what the hell kind of color is ocher?”

  “Can we forget I said anything?”

  Instead of waiting for my reply, she turns around and walks out of the storage room, dismissing me. Hearing the crinkling sound of a paper bag, I know I’ll find her in her so-called office.

  Leaning against the doorjamb, I study her as she takes out all the food containers and grabs a seat, opening one and diving right in. She wasn’t kidding when she said she was hungry.

  In between mouthfuls, she caves and answers me, throwing a catalog at me in the process. Catching it with one hand, I make a scene out of flipping through the pages.

  “Page 57. There’s an article about the colors of the year.” She stops for a moment to take another bite, moaning in bliss. That moan. “Congrats, you made the list!”

  Quickly finding the article, I can’t help but laugh—well, grunt is more like it. She’s comparing my eyes to iron.

  “So basically my eyes are the color of yellow iron? Why not call them whiskey, or fuck, I don’t know, honey?”

  “Because you’re the moody sort. Ocher fits.”

  “Normally people don’t go around saying, ‘You have such beautiful ocher eyes.’ Admit it, it’s a weird color.”

  “Weird color for a weird guy. It. Fits.”

  “While we’re on the subject, the same can be said for your eyes. I mean, if you want, I can call them ocher, but it doesn’t suit you. Whiskey would fit you better. You’re feisty and slightly rough around the edges. You’re exactly what I’d like to come home to and drink after a stressful day of work.” Turning to look her straight in said eyes, I say once more, “Whiskey.”

  She breaks eye contact and resumes eating her lunch.

  “Did you close the store so you could eat or what? I would’ve run the register for you while you ate. I do know how to work.”

  “You’re not eating? When you asked me to lunch and I changed plans, I didn’t mean for you not to eat with me. I said no because of my being unable to leave the store. I didn’t want to close it for the amount of time it would’ve taken to meet you somewhere. Plus, well…I wasn’t certain I wanted to see you. What I said in my text is true. You scare me.”

  “I don’t want to scare you. My first instinct with you is one of protection. Yes, I’m a changed man. After the first few weeks in basic training, I knew I’d never be the same again. It changed me, maybe not for the better. The kid you knew, he was trained how to be a killer, but know this: I’d never hurt you. Not intentionally.” Pausing only for a moment, I push some papers aside and lean against her desk; I can look at her more directly this way, which is better for telling secrets. “Did I fly off the handle over coffee? Yes. It pissed me off that someone would look at you the way he was looking at you. He had to have seen what I saw. Your laugh lit up the whole shop. The glow on your face, man, if you could’ve seen yourself—beautiful doesn’t cover it. Could I have handled myself better? Yes. I’m trying Averill. I’m a broken man, but deep down something tells me you are my answer. Whether it’s friendship or more, I’ll take what I can get.”

  I’ve never admitted it out loud, but I am broken. When she asked me earlier if I was lost, it threw me off kilter, but it did make me question my life—even more than I have been these last months.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she admitted.

  “Trust me, I know the feeling.”

  I’m going to give her some time to think things over, let her decide if she wants to be in my life for certain. Right now, she still has the chance to turn around and never look back. She should. I’m not worth her time. She deserves someone without questionable morals, someone who’s honest, trustworthy, dependent, honorable.

  Placing a gentle finger under her chin, I lift her gaze back to my own. Instead of talking, I lean in and gently place a kiss upon her cheek.

  “The ball’s in your court, Averill. You choose if you want me in your life. I’ve given you a small part of myself, who I am now, the work in progress, and I’m asking for a chance. I’ll leave you to think everything through. You know how to reach me.”

  With those parting words, I leave.

  As soon as I leave her office, I know what her answer
will be.

  Yes.

  Yes to friendship. If she eventually wants more, we can deal with more later. For now, she needs a friend, and so do I.

  Walking out wasn’t easy, but she needs time. It’s okay. I get it. I’m halfway down the block, almost to my car, when I hear her voice.

  “Rhys! Come back…please.”

  Turning around, I stride back to meet her. It takes me less than five seconds to be standing in front of her.

  As soon as I’m close enough, I hear her whisper the only word I need to hear pass from her lips: “Yes.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need more time to think it all over? And what exactly are you saying yes to?” If it’s friends, I need to know that shit. She knows I want more from her, but I told her I’d take whatever she offered me.

  “Can we start as friends and see where it goes from there?” Her murmur is low, almost impossible for me to hear. It’s more like she uttered the words on a sigh.

  What has happened to the outspoken woman from a couple days ago? Shit, what happened to the feisty one who was in her office just now? All this soft-spoken bull isn’t her. She’s never been afraid to speak her mind, so why is she choosing to be shy on me now?

  “Okay enough, I have to ask, why are you whisper mumbling? And yes, before you argue with me, that’s what you’re doing. It’s the only way I can describe it anyway. Does admitting you’d like me in your life scare you that much? I knew you to be outspoken and confident. As of five minutes ago, you weren’t afraid to argue with me about my own eye color. Where’d she go?”

  “I’m sure in time, you’ll find out. I’m uh…a bit more reserved than I used to be. The two times you’ve been around are the only times Tiger Lily has come out. She’s in hiding, too, same as the boy I once knew you to be.”

  Her confession makes me sad.

  Sad for her, yes, but also sad for the world. If what she’s saying is true, the brightness, the life that shone so brightly from her the other morning has been dimmed. It’s a damn shame. Part of the reason I was infatuated with her as a teenager is gone. She needs me as much as I need her.