Blake Strickland shoved his tablet and printouts into his computer bag and grabbed the last of the coffee before heading out the door.
His condo neighbor, a friendly old woman, strolled down the stairs with her chihuahua tethered by a leash.
“Good morning, Mrs. Parker.”
“Oh, good morning, Blake. Off bright and early?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied as he sidled passed.
“You work too much. You need to find yourself a nice woman and settle down.”
He forced a smile her way.
He’d heard that sentiment before . . . from Mrs. Parker, from his mother, from his aunts. He couldn’t make them understand settling down was not his thing. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
Blake stopped short when a two-inch scratch on the bumper of his European sports car caught his eye. Shit! He paid extra for this secluded parking spot. Well, he would have to deal with it later; there was nothing he could do about it now.
He pulled away from Park Ridge and merged south onto I-90, heading for downtown Chicago. The radio played some classic rock and roll, not that it mattered. His mind was already on business. That was his modus operandi—think about work before, during, and after work. Occasionally, he could be distracted by a basketball game, a poker night, a few hours with a woman, or writing code for an app. People called him a workaholic. He didn’t care; his devotion to his career had led him to success.
Two years ago, he sold his first internet company for several million dollars. He was twenty-seven at the time. And Blake wasn’t ashamed to admit he was working tirelessly on his next company. His goal—to grow it to the point where he could sell it for a handsome profit.
His thoughts were interrupted by a phone call. The screen on his dashboard read Jackson Whiteside, his cousin.
“Hi, Jack. How’s it goin’?”
“Hey, Blake. I’m good, man. How’s life in the concrete jungle?”
“More comfortable than sweating it out in the Middle East digging up old scrolls written by men in white beards, I’m sure.”
Jack laughed. “At least I don’t sit on my ass staring at a computer screen all day, every day. You hear about grandma?”
Blake wondered when he’d get the call from one of his cousins. His mom had called him the week prior to tell him that his grandmother, his father’s mother, had suffered a heart attack. Medical reports showed she was fine, but needed time to recuperate.
“Yeah, I heard. How’s she doing?”
“She’ll bounce back. I just got to Fort Collins. Ty’s been here for a while now.”
“How’s he feeling?” Blake couldn’t imagine what the recovery was like from a gunshot wound.
“Real good. In fact, we just finished up reshingling her roof. Since I’m here, he’ll be heading back to Noble Pass tomorrow. We decided we need to take turns staying with grandma. Give her some company and fix up the house. The exterior looks like shit, and who knows what needs tinkering on the inside. She can’t do it by herself.”
“Okay,” Blake said, drawing out the word.
“So, man up. I’ll be here through July, and Knox said he’d come after football camp in August. That means you’re on deck in September.”
Why the hell did he need to go to Fort Collins? “I thought Mya looked after her.”
“I’m not discussing Mya.” Jack’s voice hardened.
“Touchy much?”
“Rosie’s our blood, our responsibility.”
“You’re right.”
“That’s why I’m calling now. Give you time to plan, Mister Big Wig.”
“Whatever.”
All the cousins were successful in their own right. They were good men, and Blake’s only regret about them was that they didn’t live closer to each other. Since he didn’t have any siblings, his cousins were like brothers to him.
“So can you make it?”
He exhaled. “Yeah, I’ll make it.” But it was the last place on God’s green earth he wanted to be.
“And leave your monkey suits at home. You’ll need real work clothes. The place needs some TLC.”
“Shit.”
Jack chuckled over the phone. He loved to antagonize him. “Hang in there, big man. I’ll see you when you get here.” The line disconnected.
Blake stared at the road ahead. Well, that’s just great. Going back to Fort Collins, Colorado wasn’t his idea of fun. He loved his grandmother, that wasn’t the issue. He’d do anything for her. What he didn’t want was to run into Charlotte Brookfield. Charlie.
It had been eight years since he saw her last. What a fucking fiasco.
He cranked the fan on the car’s air conditioner.
There was a bright side. He’d heard Charlie moved back to Lace after graduation. Her entire family lived in Lace. Chances were good that he could get in and get out without so much as hearing her name. He nodded to no one. Yup. Get in, get out.