After the Storm

  After the Storm by Faith Andrews

  Copyright © 2015 by Faith Andrews

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Except the original material written by the author, all songs, song titles and lyrics contained in the book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  Cover Designed by:

  Najla Qamber Designs

  Interior Design and Formatting by:

  Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable

  Table of Contents

  AFTER THE STORM

  Dedication

  Prologue

  PART ONE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  PART TWO

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Faith Andrews

  To the ladies who keep me sane; you are so much more than co-hosts and PM buddies. Babs, El, Liv, and Rose, I don’t know what I’d do without you. I love you like sisters.

  Falling for a married woman was never my game plan. I’m a stand-up guy. Being part of a love triangle or a flat out affair—just not my M.O.

  I’m the good guy; the one you take home to Mom. The one Dad fawns over because I always say the right thing. I’m a fucking catch. But right now I’m nothing but a rejected loser, because when it comes to Mia Page—or Mia Murphy, as I was reminded by her husband just moments ago—all my morals and practicality mean shit. Mia was the game changer. Mia was the one I’ve been waiting for my whole life. But Mia was not available and I’m a schmuck for thinking she ever was.

  Too little, too late. End of the line, buddy. She chose the man of her dreams and you are not him.

  The throbbing pain in my battered fist is nothing compared to the aching emptiness in my heart. I was falling for her. Scratch that, I fell. Hard. Mia wrapped me around her pretty little finger—the one with the wedding band screaming a warning—and now I’m left alone, like a chump, without so much as a consolation prize for all the back and forth I endured these last few months. She strung me along and I allowed it because I was happy to have her any way I could. I was that desperate for the dream of the future I longed for, and I truly believed Mia was supposed to be a part of it. I guess some dreams just aren’t attainable, no matter how hard you fight for them.

  Running through the events of the last half hour—asking Mia to come to San Diego with me, Declan showing up at the bar and singing to his wife, my fight with him, losing the girl—I don’t know how much more I can take. But as Mia’s best friend Grace’s car pulls away from the curb with Mia and her asshat husband in the backseat, it all sinks in. She was never mine. I know this because Mia doesn’t even give me a farewell glance. She’s too busy tending to her husband’s broken nose. That was my parting gift. The least I could do, if you ask me. My ego is bruised, my heart is crushed, and his face got the brunt of it. Asshole.

  But who’s the real asshole here? Me. That’s who.

  I should have known better than to accept her invitation the night of the reunion, but I couldn’t help myself. The nostalgia, the alcohol, Mia’s smoking hot body, and the longing in her eyes—I took my chance because she gave me the go ahead.

  I should have known better than to get in bed—so to speak—with someone who wasn’t available. Mia found a way to convince me it was okay because she was separated. She made me believe it wasn’t wrong to give in to the curiosity we felt as teenagers and carried around with us for ten years. I thought I had a chance to steal her away from what no longer made her happy.

  I should have known better than to ask a married woman to uproot her kids, her life, her home and move across the country with me to follow my dreams. My decision to take her with me wasn’t on impulse. It was well thought out. I put a lot of consideration into our unique situation, poring over every potential setback. But even the best laid plans can get shot to shit by a husband swooping in to serenade his wife and win her back.

  What I do know now is that I’m heartbroken for the first time in my life.

  I shake my head and rake my hands through my unruly hair. Her car becomes a blur in the distance. She’s gone for good. I’m moving to San Diego without the girl, without the dream, all alone.

  I’ve never felt this fucking low.

  The sun beats down on my crew without remorse. This sweltering day is unlike the San Diego summers I’ve become used to. Mild temperatures, welcoming sunshine—I came here for some of the right reasons. The others, I don’t think about anymore.

  Shrugging and ignoring Blaze’s efforts to set me up, yet again, I growl, “When you know, you know, Blaze, and I just know.”

  “You know shit, Noah. That chick has been asking me about you for weeks. Get her number already, you slacker.” Blaze fails to mention it would seem like robbing the cradle if I tried anything with Willow Jones. She’s hot as sin and sweet as heaven, but she’s young. Like way too young for someone like me; a jaded, weary, thirty-something loner. Someone as gorgeous as Willow deserves more than a guy who can’t keep up.

  “Worried you can’t keep up?” He laughs.

  Dick’s always reading my mind . . . and cutting me to the chase. If he weren’t the closest thing I have to a brother, I’d rip him a new one. “I can keep up, Blaze. Believe me—just ask Tori.”

  “The only thing I’m asking Tori is why she goes home with your sorry ass when she can have all this instead.” He waves his hand over his sweat soaked shirt as if he needs to convince me that he’s the total package. Everyone knows he’s a good looking guy; his days before becoming my foreman were spent as a stripper in one of those cheesy male review joints. Blaze has taken many a joke about his old gig. Serves him right for gloating about his former “career.”

  “Have at it if you want her, bro. I stake no claim to Victoria I’ve-been-around-the-construction-site-one-too-many-times Preston. You know she’s just a convenient lay. Work has me too busy. I don’t want to settle down and even if I did, Tori is certainly not the settling down type.” Tori is the relieve-your-stress-with-a-brain-numbing-screw type.

  That woman’s tongue should come with a warning label. What I like best about her is that she doesn’t expect all the warm and fuzzy that the girly girls—like Willow Jones—want after a good round of hot blooded fucking. She’s okay with no strings attached. She likes getting off and going away. It’s
all I can commit to right now, anyway.

  Staring at me as though I’m some pathetic charity case, Blaze wonders, “What happened to the Noah I met five years ago? The guy with the good heart, even if it was in pieces. Tori was not the girl for the All-American guy who came to San Diego to mask his troubles in twelve hour work days. You’re too good for meaningless sex.”

  Wise, young Blaze strikes again. He’s right. The Noah who strolled into town on a mission all those years ago was not the same guy I am today. That dude was heartbroken, this guy is over it. “Listen to what you just said.” I pull a bandana from my rear pocket and wipe the sweat from my brow. “Meaningless sex. Say it again. Savor it this time,” I command, hoping he’ll drop the Willow thing and just get back to work.

  Laughing, Blaze hauls a four-by-four over his shoulder and smirks. “Meaningless sex. Two amazing fucking words. Now go have it with Willow Jones.”

  Relentless mother fucker. He should have stuck to stripping and left me to handle the real dirty work.

  “The last of the pavers will be laid tomorrow, Mrs. Fitzgerald. Blaze will handle the finishing touches because I have a meeting with the community board, but you’re in good hands until I get back to oversee things at the end of the day.”

  Mrs. Fitzgerald eyes Blaze like he’s a piece of meat. I guess he’s used to it, but still, I’d be slightly offended if I were him. He’s better than this. He’s a hard worker; his attention to detail is almost as keen as mine. He started with me on the Habitat for Humanity tour, and picking him up as an employee when I decided to open up shop not only proved great for business, but really good for me. He’s a great friend and a respectable guy, behind the bad boy façade, of course. And Mrs. Fitzgerald is taking full advantage of that right now.

  I can’t help being annoyed by the whole cliché bit. Our client—Mr. Fitzgerald—has plenty of money to blow, but he spent a small fortune on this backyard remodel and his wife should show some respect for that. She should also show a little reverence for the brains behind the design that created her poolside oasis. Even if said brains are enjoying every minute of her ogling.

  Momentarily taking her eyes off her version of the fantasy pool boy, Mrs. Fitzgerald signs the documents. “No problem, Noah. I can’t believe you’re almost done here. I might have to convince my husband to put on that addition he’s always wanted just to keep you two around.” She winks a heavily made-up eye in Blaze’s direction. That was definitely an invitation and knowing my sex-crazed sidekick, he’s RSVPing fuck yes with that overzealous smirk.

  Shit, has the world gone mad today? Everyone’s horny and ready to pounce and I’m too damn exhausted to give a shit. So I pretend I don’t. “If Bill needs us for anything else, he knows where to find us,” I say as I pull the last of the invoices out of Mrs. Fitzgerald’s grip.

  With that, I make my way to my truck. I expect my friend to follow right behind me, but he’s doesn’t. He’s still enamored by his very own Mrs. Robinson. She’s definitely fuckable—if you’re into that rich, snobby, plastic sort of thing. And by the looks of it, Blaze likes what he sees.

  “I’ll catch up with you later, Noah. I forgot my tool belt around back.” And by tool belt he means dignity. He’s going to screw our client’s wife’s brains out before the poor bastard gets home from his nine to five.

  I turn my head on the whole scenario because affairs and getting mixed up with married women are something I want nothing to do with—anymore.

  “Later, Blaze. See you at Sullivan’s?”

  “You betcha.”

  And with that, I hop into my truck, looking forward to another night spent slinging back brews with my best friend and fucking my cares away with Tori Preston.

  Two beers in, a familiar song plays overhead and I wish someone would just turn it off. Matchbox Twenty and all things 90’s pop are not my friend anymore. It’s okay—I’m over that too. I’ve succumbed to the melancholy sound of country music to rid me of any unnecessary nostalgia.

  Before I can mention my need for an Eric Church or Dierks Bentley tune to the bartender, Blaze strides in with a shit eating grin. “Round of shots on me,” he shouts, causing an uproar amongst Sullivan’s locals. He plunks onto the stool next to me, and whispers, “Or shall I say, drinks on William Fitzgerald and his boner deprived wife?”

  His insufferable and inappropriate gloating are only heard by me, but still—what a douche. “You tapped that? Why would you do that, Blaze? Have you no regard for the sanctity of marriage?”

  Blaze snorts, rolling his eyes. “Says the man who dated a married—never mind.” He cuts himself short midsentence. He knows better than to rehash my former fuck ups. It will only cost him revenge in the form of my unpaid bar tab or another lecture. I don’t take scolding from Blaze McKinley lightly. I am technically his employer, after all. He should watch his step if he knows what’s good for him.

  But of course he doesn’t, and I let him get away with it because our friendship stretches past the scope of work buddies. “Listen, old man, yes, I screwed her. She’s the married one, not me. If she has no respect for the vows she took with baldy McGee it’s not my issue.”

  “Whatever you say. I guess I have no choice but to drink to that.” I concede and raise my glass to clink against his. Together we down the brutal amber liquid and slam our empties on the bar top.

  “Tori here?” Blaze asks, eyeing his surroundings.

  “Nope.” I can’t help sounding partly disappointed. Seeing Blaze chipper and good humored from his adulterous fun makes me wish I had someone to keep my bed warm tonight.

  “Don’t look so sad, dude. Her replacement just walked in.” His eyes glow as though he’s the devil himself, illuminated by the fiery flames of Hell.

  “What are you talking about?” I swivel in my seat to catch a glimpse of—

  Shit!

  “Hey, Willow,” he calls before I can object. “Over here!”

  Willow and her friend dart surprised glances our way and then saunter over to the bar to greet us.

  It’s not that I haven’t noticed how attractive she is—she’s kind of the first face you see when you walk into Matheson’s Contracting. Willow’s flirty smile is the most pleasant welcome I’ve had in the four years I’ve owned the business. As appealing as it would be to return that smile when she greets me most mornings—I keep my distance. It’s professional. Or at least that’s what I tell myself these days.

  But tonight? I’m fucked! There’s no avoiding her tonight. She’s knock-out, drop-dead, hold your nuts before they explode gorgeous. Not only is her face beautiful, but her body is insane in all the right ways. Her long blonde hair flows loosely around her slim shoulders and down her back instead of tied up in a bun the way she wears it at the office. Nice. The bar’s dim lighting makes her smooth, sun-kissed skin look good enough to lick. Delicious. As I peruse the masterpiece before me, I take note of her feet, barely covered in sandals that show off a feather tattoo on the bridge of her foot. Intriguing. It’s tasteful and erotic at the same time. But what gets me most are her legs—those long, silky, naked to the thigh legs—emphasized by a tiny floral skirt that leaves nothing to the imagination. Mesmerizing.

  “Hey, guys. I didn’t know you hung out at Sullivan’s.” Willow greets us genuinely, her warm smile unexpectedly burning up my insides.

  “Every Friday night for the last three years.” Blaze cuts in, smirking. He’s trying to make her uncomfortable and I don’t like it. I can tell when a girl has an ulterior motive and there’s nothing about the innocence in her eyes that says Willow knew this was my scene.

  “Oh, shut up, Blaze.” I elbow my rude friend in the ribs, hoping he won’t do anything stupid. Like mention he told me about Willow’s secret interest in me. If she knows that I know, then she’ll think I haven’t acted on it because I’m not interested—it’s not that at all. I’d be interested if—I’m just not in the market right now. I’m better off alone. The way I like it.

  Derailing my curr
ent train of thought before it travels into unwelcome territory, I tell Blaze, “Order the ladies a drink.” And then my stomach drops as it hits me how little I know about my beautiful employee. “You are legal. Right, Willow?”

  Her heart-shaped lips curl into a brilliant smile, revealing perfect teeth. She really is something. “Of course. I turned twenty-five this March. You won’t get arrested for encouraging a minor.” God, why did that sound so fucking appetizing? Get with it, Noah. She’s your employee and you don’t mix business with too-young-for-you pleasure.

  “What can we get you ladies?” Blaze asks, gawking at Willow’s brunette friend like he’s five years old and she’s a triple scoop ice cream cone.

  “I’m a vodka and cranberry girl, but you don’t have to pay. We’ve got this.” She starts to open her purse but Blaze drops his hand atop hers, interrupting her.

  “Nonsense. Now, please introduce us to the other part of your we.”

  Please stop drooling, Blaze. It’s pathetic, even for you.

  “Sorry,” Willow flashes a shy smile. “This is my friend Sloane.” She motions to her pretty companion. I say pretty because she is, but she doesn’t hold a candle to Willow. Not even close.

  “Nice to meet you two. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Sloane shakes my hand and then Blaze’s. I let go like a normal, polite human being.

  Blaze holds on tight, narrowing his gaze on Sloane. “Are you looking for a job too? Noah mentioned hiring someone else to help Willow. This is our busy time—we need all the pretty little hands we can get.” He jumps right into things the way he always does—without thinking before he speaks.

  “My pretty little hands already have a job,” Sloane snaps, pulling her hand from his. “’Lo, you said they were nice. This one’s kind of creepy.”

  Willow and I share a moment of uncontrollable laughter. Sloane and Blaze are left in a standoff, eyeing each other with contempt. Looks like his ego just got a dose of reality. I love when a chick hands him his ass.