Chapter Two

Present Day, Slate Quarry, Northeastern PA

“Cut!” Aden shouted and dropped the whisk. It clattered into the bowl, knocking over the aioli, splattering white sauce across the counter. The not-yet-homogeneous mess resembled his life.

Kayla pulled her hand away from Aden’s chest, where a moment ago, she’d been loosening the button on his shirt. “Relax, don’t be such a stiff.”

“Aden, what are you doing?” Barry, the producer of the TV show, joined Kayla in harassing him. “That was great. Hot.”

Aden slammed his hand down on the black marble countertop of the slick modern kitchen, and both Barry and Kayla jumped. Finally, he had their attention. “The show is called Down Home and Delicious. Not Down and Dirty. It’s intended for a G audience. Why don’t either of you get it?”

“I’ve told you about the online guy. He’s crushing the ratings.” Barry flipped his phone around. “See, dude’s got millions of views.”

“Aden, I don’t mind.” Kayla began rubbing his arm. “Besides, I look good in this dress. Sexy.”

She’d shown up on set in the low-cut, red sheath that left nothing to the imagination.

He wanted to throttle her.

The camera guy, the assistants, all the men, and a few women, stopped what they were doing to stare when she’d strutted in.

Yes, Kayla was gorgeous, but Aden’d had enough.

None of this was his style. He’d been too distracted running Rock House Grill and overseeing the construction of another restaurant. By the time he’d gotten to the set, Barry had already signed the lease. Instead of a replica of Rock House, Aden found himself in a different genre. Modern, shiny, and instead of warm and welcoming, cold and deterring. “Everyone out.”

“Aden, you can’t just stop production,” Barry droned.

“I just did.”

“Aden, please. I said I don’t mind. You always like it when I touch you.” Kayla smoothed the front of her dress sensually to ensure gazes followed her hands. She knew how to work her sexuality.

He glared at her. Of course, she wouldn’t mind. She and Barry wanted to amp up the heat in the kitchen—and not just in the ovens. But this was his career, his business, and his life. They were all slipping out of control. “Did you not hear what I said? Everybody out—now.”

Stainless steel pots clattered on countertops, and a glass plate hit the floor and shattered, as the production staff evacuated into the front room of the restaurant.

Aden pulled in a deep breath through his clenched jaw, placed his hands on the counter, closed his eyes, and silently counted to ten. He was slowly unraveling from the pressure and exhaustion.

“Aden?” Kayla said his name softly at first, then louder and shriller. “Aden.”

Standing upright, he scrubbed his face with his hands. With another deep breath, he finally got himself under control and opened his eyes.

Kayla now stood next to Barry on the other side of the island.

The lines were drawn. It would be a him-versus-them argument. “I let it go when you picked this place.” He pointed at Barry. “Though you knew what I wanted. This kitchen is more for show than actual cooking.”

“Don’t.” He opened his hand when Barry began to interrupt. Turning to Kayla, he took another cleansing breath. Focus, man, it’s time to take back your life. “Both of you need to get back on board with me.”

Kayla stared at him like he was crazy. “You want to be famous. This is how it’s done, Aden.”

“I didn’t want fame.” Running his hand through his hair, Aden began to pace. “You knew my plans when we started this. Down Home and Delicious is meant to inspire young chefs, as well as new ones.”

“Come on, Aden. I’m paying a crew to stand by.”

Barry’s voice grated on his last nerve. “We’re done for today. You two know what I want. Either you’re with me, or I’m out.”

“You can’t quit.” Kayla’s usually husky voice grew shrill. “What about me?”

“It’s not always about you, Kayla.” He stalked to the door, glanced over his shoulder, and pinned first her, and then Barry, with a glare. “Stop pushing me to be something I’m not.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Kayla followed him. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No!” The last thing he needed was her harping at him. Their relationship was comfortable at first. Kayla had been fun, but since he’d signed on to Down Home and Delicious, she was more show than substance. If he could only figure out how to break it off without the drama sure to ensue.

He stiff-armed the door open, and it gave a satisfying crash against the outside wall. Striding to his car, he didn’t even feel the sense of satisfaction usually brought about by seeing his restored white ‘68 vintage coupe. Somewhere along the line, the joy of living and doing what he loved had disappeared. Sticking the key into the lock, he twisted it and opened the door. Hot air rushed out. The sun had gone down a little while ago, but it was still warm and humid.

A bead of sweat rolled down his neck as he slipped behind the wheel and sat, staring out the windshield. He’d never been so tired. The looks he’d been getting recently, from those closest to him, flooded his mind. A couple of times they’d tried to talk to him, but he shut them down. It’s my life.

It’s ours as well, Aden. Olivia, his beautiful twin sister, had gazed at him sadly a few days ago. It’s my, Eli’s, and Margaret’s lives, too.

When they’d opened Rock House Grill, Aden hadn’t planned on starting a second restaurant. Then, one night, after the grand opening, he and Olivia were sitting around with glasses of wine, talking about their dreams.

When I see the Rock House, and how you’ve attained what you wanted, I think back to all the hopes Manny and I had. Her voice was wistful. When Manny died, part of Olivia did too.

He saw something in her he hadn’t for years—the spark of life. It only took a moment for him to decide they would expand, and Olivia would get Jazz House. He’d forgotten how much work was required to get a restaurant up and running.

The overhead light went out when he pulled the car door shut and shoved the key in the ignition. A throaty rumble emitted from the pipes as the engine started. He rolled down the window, adjusted the mirror, and then pulled out of the parking lot.

Classic rock pounded out through the speakers when he turned on the radio. He cranked up the volume and listened. Appropriate. Maybe a hurricane wasn’t blowing, but a bad moon had risen. Tapping to the beat with his fingers on the steering wheel, he tried to sing along but had a hard time remembering the words.

Fatigue beat at him. He hadn’t been home in days, only napping on the couch in his office at the Grill whenever he found a couple of minutes. Always too short a time before someone came hunting him down. Come on, man, stay awake. You’re nearly home.

Twenty minutes out, Aden’s head began to bob. When his head snapped forward, it occurred to him he should pull over. He talked himself out of it. “No, you’re almost there.”

He switched from classic rock to a country station and cranked it up further.

And now for a real oldie, the smooth voice of the evening host purred.

When the chorus came on, Aden tried to focus on the words. The song was about a man burning through life. His friend telling him he needed to change his ways.

His head bobbed again.

****

Aden’s eyelids flickered as he became cognizant of his surroundings. Pain flared to meet awareness. Dread seeped in. It was dark. He could barely move. The still air and heat was smothering. Something covered him. Was he dead? Was a body bag around him? He began to flail his arms, which made the pain in his legs spike.

“Easy, you’re going to be okay.” A soft voice eased through the chaos around him. The owner of the voice grabbed his arms and held them in a firm but gentle grip. “I’m right here with you. You are not alone.”

“Can hardly m-move.” His voice slurred. “C-can’t see anything.”

“You’ve been in an accident. I’m an EMT with the ambulance squad,” the velvety voice calmly explained. “You can’t see well because we’re under a tarp. Hold still, okay?”

“‘K.” A small light flickered at the edge of his vision. It shone into a bag next to him. Penlight.

“You’re restrained to a board. It’s to keep your head from moving and causing more injury.” She continued to talk to him.

The voice reached down somewhere inside him, calming and peaceful, so he focused on it. A glow from spotlights on the outside lit whatever covered them. The shadow gave the woman the appearance of a halo—like an angel.

“The tarp protects us while we extricate you. The noise is from the rescue crew cutting the car away.”

Even in his pain, Aden winced at the thought of his baby being chopped up. The voice was busy shuffling something around. While she worked in the dark, he tried piecing together what happened. He grabbed at her hand when she began to place something over his face.

“Stop. It’s just an oxygen mask. It won’t hurt.” The steady order was backed up by compassion in the tone.

His angel meant business.

“Hold on, Shannon. We’re ready to pop the lid.” A man’s voice called from outside their inky cocoon.

“Told him not to call me that,” she muttered under her breath.

Shannon, my angel’s name is Shannon. A loud pop came from the front end, and then scree. Some metal-eating monster was taking a big bite out of his baby. The car jostled, sending a flame of pain shooting up his legs. He moaned.

“Shh, I’m sorry. There’s no way to make this not hurt.”

His car screamed again, and the steering wheel pinning him began to pull free of his legs. Even in the dark, there were spots of light before his eyes. Bile burned in the back of his throat. Everything started to fade away, as he recognized her taking his blood pressure.

“Aden?”

He felt muddy. Then tapping at his face.

“Aden!” The tap came harder. “That’s his name, right?”

“Yeah, it’s who the plates are registered to,” a male voice answered.

“Aden, come on, open your eyes. You need to stay with me.”

He forced his eyes open but could barely make out any features behind the helmet’s shield. He latched onto the woman’s voice like a lifeline.

“We’re almost ready to move you, Aden. I don’t want you to fight us or try and help. Let us do all the work.”

After a few more minutes of torturous screeching, the tarp covering him pulled up and away. Glass tinkled to the ground and crunched under boots. The air was thick with the smell of diesel.

He couldn’t lift his head. Right, they’d strapped it to a board. His gaze skittered around, taking in red, yellow, and blue flashing lights. At first, he was grateful when they uncovered him. But when they began to remove him from the remains of the car, the pain grew unbearable. He groaned.

There were moments of clarity as he slipped in and out of consciousness. The noise and the flashing lights gave a dreamlike quality to the scene. The world slithered by in slow motion. Flat on his back, he floated through the air as they carefully carried the stretcher toward the flashing red-and-blue lights of an ambulance.

“Angel?” He’d lost her.

“I’m here.”

She grasped his flailing hand.

The warmth of her hand and sound of her voice cut through everything else, calming and encouraging him. Things he could lock onto. Her face now visible, free from the protective shield, held his gaze. Worry creased the space between her eyes.

“Aden, right?

“Yeah.” He licked his split lip and could taste the metallic tang of blood. A man’s shout cut through the increasing buzz in his ears.

“He’s crashing!”

“Hold on, Aden.”

For the first time since he initially heard her voice, she sounded unsure—shaky.

I’m dying. Visions of what this would do to Olivia filled him with regret.

When they loaded him into the ambulance, the pain in his legs overwhelmed all other thoughts. Darkness seeped back into the edge of his vision. The last thing he heard was his angel curse.