All That Really Matters by Nicole Deese (new books to read TXT) 📕

just, I’ve been keeping track. I know Carlos was released on parole a few weeks ago.”

“You’re right, he was,” I said. “Nearly a month ago now.”

Jake looked at me, all humor stripped from his gaze. “Has he contacted you?”

“No.” Yet I knew he would find a way. Carlos always found me when he wanted something.

Jake leaned in closer, elbows to knees, his gaze focused on the scar on my right forearm as if he were remembering all the gory details I’d done everything in my power to forget. “But you’ll tell me if he does?”

The charge in the air thickened immediately. Though Jake was six years my junior, there was nothing young about the fight for justice that ran thick in his blood. He was all jokes until somebody messed with the people he cared about. A dangerous combination, and one I’d never allow him to act upon on my behalf.

As much as Jake wanted a fight, there was more at stake than righting a past that couldn’t be righted. It wasn’t Jake’s job to protect me. It was my job to protect him, as well as everybody else in my life who could be tainted by an addict’s lies. “He’s been locked away for three years—that’s the longest term he’s served. There’s a possibility Carlos won’t want to jeopardize his freedom again.” A possibility that seemed slim considering the number of times he’d claimed to be clean. And I’d likely never really know for sure, considering I’d cut off all communication with him after his sentencing.

“I don’t give a rip about his freedom or about the lessons he may or may not have learned in prison. He doesn’t deserve to call you his brother.”

And yet I wondered how many times a day Carlos must have thought the same about me.

8

Molly

I figured Glo would be surprised to see me back at The Bridge unannounced. I also figured she would be under strict orders to keep me off the premises, removing me by armed guards with Nerf blasters if need be. But neither of those assumptions appeared to be true.

“Hello again, Glo. I brought you something,” I said as she met me in the lobby, wearing an all-black outfit with slip-on Birkenstocks. This time the two straps across her feet were tan colored. Perhaps she considered this her “pop” of color. In all honesty, I hated that made-up fashion term. A person did not need one pop of color to complete an ensemble. They needed synergy.

I turned up my smile several notches, letting go of my internal argument for now, and handed her the shoe box. “So, I obviously didn’t know your exact shoe size, but I guessed you to be about an eight. Just to be safe, though, I also bought a pair of sevens and nines. They’re out in my car.”

Now Glo did look shocked.

“You bought me a pair of shoes?”

Technically, I’d bought three pairs. “I was in Seattle yesterday, and there was this great pre-summer sidewalk sale going on and I couldn’t resist—”

“How much do I owe you for these?”

“Oh, nothing.” I gave a quick shake of my head. “Absolutely nothing at all. They’re a gift.” I waved her on, encouraging her to open the box.

It wasn’t until she looked at me with such a dazed expression that I realized how foreign this gesture might be in Glo’s world. But in mine, the reality of gift packages showing up from companies and small businesses hoping to be mentioned on my pages had become as commonplace as receiving a mortgage statement each month. Whether they be for product placement purposes or for review, there was hardly a day I didn’t have a package or two waiting for me to open.

I didn’t know Glo well enough to gauge all the things going on in her head, but once she peeked under the lid, she simply stared at the shoes as if they might disappear if she blinked too quickly. I wasn’t exactly sure which way to take that.

“It’s totally okay if you don’t care for them,” I hedged. “You are under no obligation to wear them, or even to like them—”

She shook her head slowly, but no verbal response followed. Instead, she went over to the worn couch in the massive lobby and sat, setting the box beside her with a reverence that made the back of my throat tingle.

As she slipped off her worn sandals and lifted the shoes out of the box, I held my breath. I hadn’t anticipated the moment to feel like this . . . but then again, I hadn’t expected Glo to look as if I’d given her an all-expenses-paid island vacation, either.

She slipped one foot inside the matte-black kitten heel and then did the same with the other one. Standing up, she took a wobbly step forward, righting herself quickly before strutting her way across the lobby. And then back again.

She spun on one heel. “You weren’t lying. These really are comfortable.”

I clasped my hands and held them tightly to my chest. “So you like them?”

“I love them.” Again, she met my eyes with a wonder that caused something to bump and burst inside my chest. “And they’re quite possibly the best bribe I’ve ever received . . . and that’s saying something.”

I flashed her a guilty grin. “To be fair, I would have bought them for you anyway, on principle. Because I believe every woman should own a pair of go-to heels to spice up an outfit if she wants them. But yes, I am hoping you might help me with something.”

She laughed and tilted her head to the side. “Have you come back for a redo?”

“A . . . redo?”

“That’s our lingo around the house for a second go. Another chance. A do-over.”

I nodded. “Then, yes. I’m here for a redo. I have—” I reached inside my satchel and pulled out a rose gold portfolio folder that contained the syllabus I’d worked on until 2:00 a.m. One I hoped Silas couldn’t refuse.

“Ah, good for