Page 7 of Irresistibly Wicked

“Hitting on nurses?” Zander managed.

“You got that right.” His mother smiled. “Mads got into an argument with one of the nurses because she wouldn’t let her spend the night in your room, and your grandfather did his best to sweet-talk that nurse.”

Zander smiled, imagining his sister giving some poor nurse hell, and his ornery grandfather, who was still madly in love with his late wife, doing his best to charm a nurse for Madigan.

His father gently squeezed his forearm. “You gave us quite a scare, Alexander, but the doctors have assured us that in time you’re going to be just fine.”

Zander apologized, or at least he thought he did as he gave in to the weight of his eyelids, whispering, “Tired.”

“Get some rest, honey. We’ll come see you tomorrow.” His mother brushed his hair away from his forehead and kissed him there. “I love you, sweet boy.”

“We all do,” his father said.

“Love you, too,” Zander managed, and finally surrendered to the lull of sleep.

ZANDER’S DREAMS WERE chaotic. One minute he was cruising along the coast on his motorcycle, and in the next he was thrown back in time to his cousin Ashley’s funeral. Just as the pain of that loss slayed him anew, he was catapulted forward again, infiltrating a dogfighting ring with the club, carrying one of the lifeless dogs out to his truck, and then everything disappeared, and he was standing in total darkness, calling out for his family, unable to find them. Her voice threaded into his dream like a melodic beacon in the darkness. He followed it, but the faster he ran, the farther away it seemed. Wait. Don’t leave me. The singing stopped, and he stilled, breathing hard, listening intently.

Her voice slithered through the darkness. “I heard you don’t have any major cognitive deficits. I’m glad you took my advice to heal.”

Her voice faded into the darkness, and he felt like he was floating. Then he heard her again, a tender whisper calling out to him. “So many flowers, pictures, and gifts, and all I got you was this song by Andra Day. I heard it on my way to my pole class, and it reminded me of you.” She started singing just above a whisper about being tired and broken down and standing by him, helping him rise up.

Her voice was soulful and real. He wanted to live in that melody, wrapped in the comfort of her voice. He was so caught up in the soft sounds of her singing, he felt like he was floating. As her voice faded, something brushed over his hand. He curled his fingers, trying to capture whatever had touched him, but there was nothing there. He forced his eyes to flutter open, catching a glimpse of a woman walking out the door, her dark hair pinned up in a ponytail.

“Come back,” he said, his throat scratchy and raw, but she was already gone, and he was fading back into the darkness.

Chapter Four

ZANDER GRABBED THE drawings he’d just picked up from a local architect and climbed out of his truck at Cape Renovations. It had been three months since his accident, and he was glad to be back on his feet. But everyone was constantly checking on him, treating him like he was made of glass, and he couldn’t take it anymore. To make matters worse, his father was still giving him menial jobs instead of letting him work on the major renovation project Zeke and Tobias were tackling.

He eyed his father’s beloved black Trans Am, grinding his back teeth against the conflicting emotions gnawing at him. He had many fond childhood memories of watching his father tinker with that car, and later, of helping him fix it up. He had his old man to thank for his love of fast cars, but the accident had changed the way Zander looked at many things. He’d much rather see his old man driving a car that had airbags, which made no sense coming from a biker who would never give up his motorcycle. But he’d become acutely aware of how fragile life was, and when he thought about the people he loved, he wanted to protect them even more fiercely than before. Protecting them meant changing his ways. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the accident. If he hadn’t gone home with those women, he wouldn’t have overslept or been at the intersection at the moment that truck had barreled through it. He’d been selfish, living life to the fullest, consequences be damned. But that time it had nearly ruined all their lives.

Pushing those worries away, he headed inside to set his father straight.

It would not be an easy conversation. His father had always been one of his heroes. Zander had severe dyslexia and ADHD, which they hadn’t known enough about to test for when he was young. It had gone undiagnosed for years. From the time he was a little boy, written words were mixed up, letters danced across pages of books and menus, and his thoughts were too chaotic for him to be able to concentrate. He’d thought those dancing letters were normal and that he was just too stupid to figure out how to read. He’d never mentioned what he saw to anyone. He knew he was different than his smarter, more patient siblings, and he hated it. He’d learned to deflect attention from those differences by becoming the class clown in school, and a jokester outside of it, which admittedly carried over into his adult life. He was labeled a troublemaker, and his father had tried to help him find something to capture his attention and keep him on the right side of trouble.

His father had given him his own set of tools and projects and had worked with him to complete them. Even if they worked on them for only ten or twenty minutes at a time a few days a week, and they took months to complete, his old man never gave up trying. The praise his parents had given him along the way had given the kid who didn’t want to be different a sense of pride for being able to do the things his father could do.

Over the years, his father taught him everything he knew about contracting, instilling confidence and giving him a trade that he excelled at. But he couldn’t take the bullshit jobs anymore.

He headed down the hall and saw his mother sitting behind her desk, smiling up at his father, who was sitting on the edge of her desk. His father reached for her hand, bringing her up to her feet. Her mahogany hair brushed her shoulders as he guided her between his legs, his arms circling her. His parents had always been openly affectionate, and the way they looked at each other was something to be revered.

Zander wasn’t searching for that, but ever since his accident, when he saw his parents, or his siblings or cousins with their significant others, it tweaked something in his chest. He glanced away before it could settle in too deep and cleared his throat to let them know he was coming in.

“Hey, baby,” his mother said, stepping away from his father.

“Hi, Mom. Sorry to interrupt your make-out session.”

“Sure you are,” his father teased. “Thanks for picking those up.”

“No problem.” Zander handed him the drawings. “What time are we meeting at the Martels’ tomorrow?” The Martels owned the home they were renovating.

“I need you on another job tomorrow. Fascia repair and a few other things in Eastham. I’ll text you the info.”

“Seriously, Preach?” Zander asked incredulously.

His father’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, seriously.”

Zander glanced at his mother.