Wrecking Ball (Hard to Love 1)

“I know, Ma. If they ask…just tell them…I’m homeschooling his nephew and we’re still getting to know each other. It’s not serious.”

“A fake boyfriend,” she grumbles, her shoulders slumping as she walks into the house. “What has this world come to?”

By the time my mother wraps up enough leftovers to feed a small nation, and I tear Sam away from her persistent hug, we get home around nine. The best part of the evening was when my mother’s fancy cappuccino machine got clogged and my father decided to take it apart and fix it. Sam was by his shoulder, watching as if it was the coolest thing he’d ever seen. The kid definitely has a bright future as an engineer if he wants one.

As soon as I park the Yukon, Sam is on his way to get ready for bed. I’m in the kitchen, putting away the leftovers, when a rap on the countertop causes me to glance up. Calvin is sitting on one of the stools, the weight of his stare heavy on me. He’s so large and imposing that he actually makes the massive island look regular sized.

“Did you eat?” I ask tentatively. I don’t know how to talk to this man. I don’t know if I’ll get grumpy Shrek, or the guy signing autographs that made me cry. This moment is no different. He shakes his head slowly. “Do you like meatloaf? It’s lean, mostly veal. I can warm it up for you.”

He gives me a brief nod that makes me feel like I just won something important.

“Where’d you go?”

Wow, actual words. Turning toward the gas stovetop, I get busy warming up his food.

“My parents. They were dying to meet Sam.” He nods absently. “Cal…where are his parents?” I place the dish in front of him and wait patiently for his answer. His brow tightens into a scowl and his eyes move to the food he enthusiastically digs into.

“My sister’s in rehab. I don’t know where his father is. They were never married. He stuck around for a year. We haven’t heard from him since.” Frustration and anger radiate from his expression, tension rolls off the rigid set of his shoulders.

“Is she going to be okay?”

He meets my eyes and pauses for a beat. “I don’t know. She’s just like my mother.” As the confession leaves his mouth, my heart lurches. We’re wading into very personal waters here and I don’t want to overstep.

“How?” Curiosity gets the best of me.

Narrowing, his eyes move off into nothing. I watch his Adam’s apple rise and fall. “A drunk.” I can tell by his posture and expression how it hurts him, how sensitive he is about it. I’m dying to know more. Although he’s being so forthcoming, I’m almost afraid the spell will be broken if I push.

“Is that why I never see you drink?” A small shrug. That’s the only answer I get. A teeny, little baby shrug. “They’re lucky to have you.” The words are out of my mouth before I have time to stop them. His gaze meets mine. Then he gets up and walks to the sink, and I know he’s done talking about it. He looks pensive as he washes the dish. “There’s a wedding I have to go to next weekend.”

I’m too busy thinking about what he’s just told me. I’m barely listening, but I catch it, something odd in his voice. Wedding. Okay. Sure. Whatevs. Wiping his large hands on a paper towel, he turns and stares me right in the eyes and says, “You’re coming as my date.”

“I’m going as his date,” I say past a mouthful of maraschino cherries I snagged from the bar well. I waited all night to tell Amber. Yes, I’m a coward. And I didn’t even consider telling her about his quarter million dollar offer.

She slips her arms into her jean jacket and simply stares. Amber speechless is a rare thing. “Da fuck??” she finally screeches.

“I know, I know, I know. I had it out with him the other day, but he’s convinced it can benefit both of us.” I grab my purse and we begin to walk out the back door. It’s like someone pushed the button on spring, the weather getting remarkably warmer overnight.

“I can’t wait to hear more about this stinking pile of bullshit.”

“He doesn’t want women hanging all over him, and he seems to think that his superstar, king of New York status can whitewash my tarnished reputation.”

“I don’t know, Cam––” she offers, her skepticism coming through loud and clear.

“I know. I’m hoping it can distract people long enough to forget about Matt.” What I don’t say, though we both know, is that it’s impossible for me to say no to someone who asks for my help. Impossible.

“If he hurts you, so help me God they’ll find him floating on the Hudson in five separate coolers.” That’s Amber for you. Girlfriend always has my back.