Favors, Strings, & Lies_Men of NatEx_A Package Handlers Novel Page 6

  That’s when I’ll get my shot. And I’ll make it worth her while.

  Chapter 7

  Cadence

  “Cade!” my sister squeals into the phone the second I lie down in bed. “I gave you all day to call me so I can hear the details, but you never called. So I hope you spent the day with Brian!” She practically sings his name as she drags the syllables out.

  “How do you have the time for gossip this close to your wedding?” I ask her, readjusting my head on my pillow.

  “Easy! My awesome maid of honor has everything under control.”

  I sigh down the line, but I smile anyway. I do have everything under control. Because that’s the kind of person I am. The kind who has everything under control. At all times. Yep. That’s me.

  My smile turns into a full-on belly laugh. I crack myself up.

  But I’m not amusing my sister.

  “Cade? Why are you laughing? Tell me you have everything under control.”

  “Oh, everything’s under control, Gina.” As my laugh tapers out, I sound like a crazy person. “Everything for the wedding is fine. No worries there.”

  “Good!” After a momentary pause, she says, “Then tell me all the deets about Brian. He was yummy. You didn’t mention that part to Mom.”

  “Of course I didn’t tell Mom that part. That’s gross,” I tell her, my lip curled up.

  “Well, you could have told me! I’m your sister. We can talk about these things.”

  “You’re getting married,” I remind her. “You don’t need to hear about these things.”

  Truth be told, I don’t want to talk about it with her, either. Especially with her. How would I even begin telling her that I went to his house—which I loved, by the way—stumbled into his arms, and then let him take me to bed, go down on me, and leave as soon as the clock struck eight thirty without extracting so much as an explanation as to why? It’s odd to me and I’m the one who lived through it.

  Even though I put myself through the paces and completed my training run today, hangover be damned, I don’t have patience for the inevitable questions. Or answers.

  “Getting married doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear about these things,” she stresses. “We’re still family and I’m still here for you. You know that, right?”

  I take a deep breath and let her words settle over me. She’s right, but that still doesn’t mean I want to talk about it. Yet she won’t let it go, so I have to give her a little something.

  “I do know. Thanks, Gina. I just don’t know what to say.” I pick at my sheets for something to do, wishing they were the cream-colored ones I woke up on. “There isn’t much to tell.”

  “There’s something to tell,” she insists. “You left together.”

  Yeah, we did. And then I didn’t get his phone number, his address, or his real fucking name. But you know. There must be something to tell her.

  So I settle on, “He’s just…Brian.” Because that’s really all I have. And all I have is a lie.

  Gulp.

  “Fine,” she huffs down the line. “I’ll let you have your little secrets, but only on one condition.”

  Oh, for goodness’ sake. I’m tired of conditions. But, if it gets my sister off my back, I’ll consider it.

  So I say, “Lay it on me,” just like I did to Brian. Er, whatever his name is.

  “Well, you just have to bring him to family dinner on Friday!” Then she squeals. “Yes! He should meet the family.”

  “He’ll meet them at the wedding, Gina. He doesn’t have time to go to both.”

  “Did you ask him already?” she asks. Then she pauses. “Wait. Is he there right now? Can he hear me? Oh, you naughty little—”

  “No! He’s not here,” I tell my nosy-ass sister, ready to hang up on her. “I’m not sure when I’ll talk to him again, but I’ll ask him about Friday if it’ll make you happy, okay?”

  “What will make me happy is having him at dinner on Friday, not just you asking him.”

  “Fine!” I shout, mostly to shut her up. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “He better be there on Fr—” That’s all she gets to say.

  I got the hint. It’s ridiculous though. I wasn’t lying when I said that I wasn’t sure when I was going to talk to him again. The only way I know how to contact him is by having something delivered to my house. I’ve been to his house, but I didn’t have the good sense to write his address down. If I knew his real name, I could use my realtor access to look him up, but I—

  I can get his name. I can call NatEx to find out the name of the man on my route. But that almost seems too easy. We don’t do easy, do we? Nope. So, instead of settling into bed and falling asleep, I head back downstairs to my computer to find something to buy.

  Something he might appreciate too, once he’s delivered it to my house.

  ∞∞∞

  Matt

  Monday night after my shift, I pull my car into a parking space at the nursing home. Visiting hours are almost over, but Randi, the receptionist, always lets me in whenever I’m able to make it here. Today is no exception.

  “Hey, Matt!” she says as soon as I walk in. “I was getting late, so I wasn’t sure if we were going to see you today.”

  I run a hand through my hair. “It was a long day at work, but I’m here now.”

  Aidan wasn’t at work, so I didn’t have him to give a weekend play-by-play to. I could have called him on Sunday, but guys don’t exactly do that. He and I don’t, anyway. Sometimes I have to pry things out of him, though if it’s about Veronica, I don’t get to do much prying. He shuts himself down before I get the chance. He’s still pretending like he’s not completely infatuated with this mystery lady, but he probably thinks the same about me with Cadence.

  Christ. We’re a mess of a pair.

  “Well, Simon will be so happy to see you,” Randi coos, handing me the clipboard to sign in. “He’s been asking about you.”

  “Then I’m glad I was able to make it.” I sign my name and hand the clipboard back to her. If he’s been asking about me, then he’s aware today, and that’s always good. “Is he in his room?”

  She nods. “Yep. He just finished dinner and a game of checkers with Carol.” Then she quietly chuckles. “That woman keeps him on his toes.”

  I can’t help but crack a smile. “I’m glad he has someone here who’ll do that for him.” But then I realize that my grandpa has more game than I do and my smile vanishes in an instant. Shaking that thought out of my head, I ask, “Dr. Chu isn’t still here, is he?”

  She shakes her head. “No, he had to head out early today.” Then she types something into her computer.

  “I’ll try to catch him next time.” I start walking around the desk.

  “Enjoy your visit. I’ll see you when you leave,” Randi says, hope shining in her eyes.

  Of course I’ve thought about what it’d be like to take her up on her silent offers. But she’s not the type of woman I want to burn bridges with. So I give her just enough—a smile, a wink—to keep her happy without taking it too far. I like being able to see my grandpa whenever I can, so I have to draw the line.

  Oh the things I do for this man.

  Luckily, he appreciates it. I’m all he has right now, but I think he’d still be happy that I visit him as often as I can even if I weren’t all he has. We’ve always been close.

  When I enter his room, he’s spooning some green Jell-O into his mouth. The plastic container is almost empty, so his nightly snack is almost gone, which is the perfect time to see him. He’s always happiest after his Jell-O.

  “Hey, Grandpa,” I say, giving him a wave before sitting in the chair next to his bed.

  “Matty, my boy.” He scoops the last bit of Jell-O into his mouth and swallows, sticking the spoon into his empty cup. “It’s good to see you.”

  “I thought I’d swing by tonight, see how you’re doing.”

  He hits the button on his bed so he can lie down a bit more. Then he
reaches out for my hand. “You say that every single time when you come by. I’m onto you and your game, son.”

  With my hand in his, I laugh and aim my head down. Of course he knows. The Alzheimer’s hasn’t completely stolen him yet, but it does make his memory a little fuzzy. Even if it’s totally gone one day, I’ll keep coming back.

  He squeezes my hand, though it’s with weak pressure. “Hard day at work?”

  “A little bit,” I tell him, not wanting to complain when he’s the one bedridden in a nursing home. Then I give him a small smile. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Well, anything worth having is worth working for,” he says like he always does. He readjusts his head on his pillow to get more comfortable, settling in for something I probably don’t want to talk about. That’s just his style. “So, how’s Cadence?” he asks, clicking the button on the remote to turn his TV off. “When do I get to meet this woman of yours?”

  At that, I gulp. This is a topic I don’t want to talk about right now.

  About a year ago, I told my grandpa about her in an effort to make him happier. He wasn’t sick when things ended with Joyce, so he knows full well the hell I went through with her. But he didn’t want things to end that way for me, so he kept asking about when I’d find someone new. In a momentary lapse of judgment, I mentioned the woman I love delivering packages to, and since then, he’s remembered her name even when he can barely remember mine.

  I have no idea how Alzheimer’s works, but it has some weird-ass tendencies.

  He asks about her nearly every time I come for a visit, and in order to give him some hope that I’m doing okay, I’ve kind of fibbed a little—or, well, a lot—when it comes to her in our conversations. As far as he knows, we’ve been dating for the last year. Obviously, that’s so far from the truth, but we humans do a lot of stuff to make things better for the people we love, even if they are lies.

  It was a harmless lie, as far as I was concerned. It’s lifted his spirits, knowing I’m happy and settled down after the mess with Joy. He’s content and doesn’t have to worry about if I’m being taken care of. It’s better for him to continue to believe the lie.

  So I take a deep breath and keep feeding it. This time with something that resembles the truth though. “She’s good. We went out this weekend, and we’re going to a wedding together.”

  “That will be fun,” he tells me. “Who’s getting married?”

  I freeze, mentally running through the limited conversations we had about the wedding we’re attending. Because this part is actually the truth, I shouldn’t have a problem with it. But it seems I’ve gotten better at lying to my grandpa than being truthful with him. Luckily, what I think is the truth comes to me.

  “Her sister.” Then I rush out with, “It’s a week from Saturday,” so he won’t ask me her sister’s name. I make a mental note to find out though.

  “Well, congratulations to her.” He pats my hand. “Next, it’ll be you,” he says, pointing at me. “I’m sure of it.”

  Keep dreaming, I think. Because I swore that off a long time ago. Yet I can’t seem to quiet that tiny part in the back of my brain that’s telling me he could be right. Partially, anyway. That I shouldn’t swear off marriage and love altogether when there are women like Cadence in the world. When there are women who taste like Cadence in the world.

  In this moment, I wish I hadn’t lied about her with my grandpa. If anyone’s good at giving advice, it’s him. He helped me through everything with Joyce like no one else could have. He’d be able to help me fix this shit, but he thinks I’m already with her. So I decide to put the whole conversation behind us and move on.

  “I saw Joyce today, actually,” I tell him, scooting farther up in my chair. “And, before you fly off the handle,” I add, seeing as he’s squeezing my hand tighter already, “it went well, all things considered. She apologized, if you can believe it.”

  At that, he lets up on his grip. “No kidding.” Then he purses his lips. “And you left it at that?”

  “Pretty much.” I shrug. “I owe her coffee though. I forgot my wallet when I met up with her, so I’ll see her before she leaves town again. Sometime in the next two weeks.”

  “Hmm.” That’s all he says, squinting behind his glasses. Which means there’s a lot more he isn’t saying.

  “Lay it on me,” I tell him, though he will even if I don’t give him permission. And the words bring a flood of memories from this weekend. Cadence and I both used that phrase, and something in my chest aches at the thought.

  “I just don’t think that’s all she wants from you, son.” He narrows his eyes at me. “And I think you know that.”

  “She went to rehab, Grandpa. She’s going through her twelve steps,” I tell him. “Part of that is being honest.”

  “Well, I don’t buy it,” he grits out, flicking his TV back on. “Just be careful, Matty.”

  “I will,” I promise him. Though I don’t think I have to be. I won’t let her hurt me ever again.

  “Good.” He readjusts his blanket over his legs. “Because your grandma will be crushed if that woman does anything to upset you.”

  And, just like that, he’s gone. I probably won’t get any more clarity from him tonight. But, instead of reminding him that Grandma’s been gone for two years, I pat his hand.

  “It’ll be fine,” I assure him, gazing at the ground. “I’ll be fine.”

  When I look at him again, his eyes are closed. His breathing starts to level out, his chest rising and falling in a soft, even pattern. With him asleep, I have a moment to reevaluate my last words, and I wonder if I’ve gotten so good at lying to him that I’m starting to fool myself now too.

  Will I be fine? For the first time, I’m beginning to think that nonattachment and this no-strings game is doing it for me anymore. Waking up with Cadence in my arms was like a dream come true. But is that because she’s the woman I’ve been waiting to be with for a year and a half? Or is it because I actually enjoyed waking up with someone next to me—and didn’t want them to leave?

  The irony isn’t lost on me. She didn’t seem to want to leave, either. And she didn’t. I’m the one who took off like a bat out of Hell. I’m the one who did the leaving, which isn’t unusual. But it was the first time I didn’t want to do it—yet I had to. Plans with Joyce pulled me out of the house.

  So maybe she is still ruining my life. Maybe I’m still allowing her to have power over me without even realizing it. Maybe I have no fucking clue what I’m doing with my life. What I even want from life. All thanks to how much she fucked things up for me years ago. Apparently, my head still can’t wrap itself around a life beyond her if I let her get between me and the woman I’ve been wanting to get with for over a year.

  But Cadence seemed insistent when it came to the same things I wanted: one night, no strings. So she’s likely just as messed up as I am.

  And those thoughts make me more confused than ever.

  Chapter 8

  Matt

  Aidan is still not at work the next day, so I have no one to brag to when Cadence’s name shows up on my manifest. I have to get into my truck and sweat it out the whole day as I wonder if she’ll be home and how that interaction will go.

  After deliveries at nearly all of my regulars’ houses—including Mr. Hayden, who asked about my grandpa again, and Mrs. Patterson, who was wearing leggings with stars all over them—I arrive at Cadence’s house. I turn the truck off in hopes that we’ll have a conversation that warrants that action. It’s my last delivery of the day, which I did on purpose, also in hopes that this won’t be a quick stop.

  I grab the small box off the passenger’s side and step out of the truck, heading around the back. The second I step around the corner and pass the end of the truck, Cadence’s package flies out of my grasp as a body slams into me. A small, sweaty body, which I wrap my arms around to keep us both from falling to the ground. Once we’re steady, I lean away from the person, my hands on their shoulders, a
nd find green eyes blazing at me.

  Green eyes I never want to look away from.

  Green eyes I was hoping to see when I got here.

  Green eyes I can’t read at the moment.

  “Sorry!” she says as she rips the earbuds out of her ears. Then she rubs her forehead with the back of her arm, wiping her sweaty bangs off her face. “I didn’t mean to plow into you like that.”

  Being in her presence while she looks like this—sweaty, out of breath, partially naked save for her shorts, her tank, and some kind of necklace made of a thick cord—has all kinds of naughty things running through my head. Like, I wouldn’t mind plowing into you like that. And, I should be the reason you’re so out of breath and sweaty. That kind of thing. The kind of thing that isn’t productive in a conversation on the sidewalk.

  Instead, I say, “It’s all good. I’m glad you’re not hurt,” as I pick the box up. Then I congratulate myself on a job well done. I didn’t say anything inappropriate. Way to go.

  She takes a step back and wraps the cord of her headphones around the back of her neck. “Back to professional, I see.”

  I hand her the package she ordered and then tug at the collar of my uniform. “Just doing my job, ma’am.”

  She gives me a tight smile before reaching under her shirt and yanking down. When she produces a knife, I’m simultaneously shocked and proud. Shocked that it was there and proud that she’s protecting herself when she’s out running. And I’m kind of interested in seeing what she’s ordered. Call me nosy. I don’t care.

  “Well, thanks for keeping me upright.” She slices through the tape on the box. Reaching inside, she says, “I appreciate it.”

  “Not a problem.” I keep my gaze on her, but she’s not looking at me, so I try to see what’s inside the box. No luck yet. So I decide to hedge a little. “How was your toast the other morning?”

  “Plain,” she says on a sigh, pulling out some kind of…bra? “Seriously. Who prefers strawberry jam over grape jelly?”