Bad For Me Read online

  When she’d gotten out of the hospital several weeks later, Tristan’s parents had offered to let her stay with them while she’d recovered, but she’d refused. It wasn’t their fault—she knew that—but she couldn’t be surrounded by pictures of him, not when she couldn’t get the image of his face, twisted with rage, out of her mind.

  But she also couldn’t go back to the house she and Tristan had shared. So she’d hired a cleaning crew and movers with the money from her mother’s life insurance policy, and after burying her in the Carmichael cemetery, Callie had moved into a gated, one-bedroom apartment in El Dorado Hills. She’d changed her phone number and attended months of physical therapy for the damaged nerves in her shoulder. She tried to move on, tried to get better, but she couldn’t sleep. If she slept, the nightmares would come, and she didn’t want to see him there—or anywhere—ever again.

  Even during Tristan’s trial, she couldn’t look at him. His lawyer had brought in character witnesses and mental health experts, all saying the same thing: Tristan was a good man, a wonderful son, but he had snapped because of untreated schizophrenia. He had no recollection of what he had done; therefore, how could he be responsible?

  After a long recess—where the judge, the prosecutor, and Tristan’s lawyer had spoken behind closed doors—they’d pled Tristan down to manslaughter. Guilty, but with a mentally ill addendum that allowed him treatment in a prison mental health facility and five years of psychological monitoring and probation. He was required to see a therapist once a week and have regular doctor’s visits. It was a slap on the wrist, but the lawyer she’d hired to file a restraining order informed her that he could have been found not guilty; at least this way, he was paying for what he had done.

  But being out of the hospital within two years didn’t seem like punishment to Callie. Which had made his stalking worse. She’d switched jobs and was working at a tiny station in Placerville when one day, Tristan was waiting by her car.

  “Callie, please talk to me. It wasn’t me. I swear, I don’t even remember it!”

  The minute she’d seen him, she’d started screaming, blocking out his words, his voice. Her lawyer had gotten an updated restraining order, and he’d tried to enlist Tristan’s parents’ help.

  “He’s really better, Callie.”

  Callie had hung up on them and changed her number once more, but no matter what she did, she couldn’t escape him. It was hopeless.

  After that, everything in her life became tainted. Faster than she’d thought possible, Callie had fallen down a rabbit hole of pills and booze—anything to block out the pain, the nightmares, the fear. She’d hit rock bottom hard.

  Her mother’s face flashed through Callie’s mind, and she jerked open the shower door in self-disgust. Even though they’d never had the healthiest relationship, it had gotten better once her mother had started working the program. Still, they weren’t lying when they said alcoholism ran in families.

  Like mother, like daughter. Only it had taken Callie just two years of heartbreak—not twelve, like her mother—to realize that drinking only exacerbated the problem. Callie had never dealt with stress and loss in the healthiest of ways. Most of the time, she’d run from her problems or just buried them in whatever she could get her hands on. In many ways, Tristan had been her salvation from an unhappy childhood.

  Well, at least that’s what she’d thought. In high school, she’d escape her mother’s drunken rages and sneak off to his house where they’d get stoned and screw. Afterward, he’d just held her, telling her that she was always safe with him.

  Unfortunately, he had been dead wrong without even realizing it.

  Once Callie was all ready for work, she grabbed her cell phone off the charger, and skimmed through her messages: Changed your mind yet?

  Callie shook her head at Caroline’s persistence. Maybe it was about time to share the shadows of her past with Caroline, just so she would stop pestering her.

  It could be fun, if you just let yourself go.

  But she couldn’t listen to that inner voice. If she let herself go, let down her barriers and boundaries for even one second, she could end up right back where she’d started—a foolish girl who had ignored all the danger signs.

  Which was why her attraction to Everett Silverton was so unsettling. Seeing him yesterday on the trail had been a surprise, and her mind immediately had gone to the dark side, especially when she’d seen his gun. She’d been so caught up in the legend of a small-town hero that she’d started to soften, to enjoy his easy smiles and even his self-deprecating humor.

  It was a dangerous thing to be lonely. It made you crave normalcy, someone to go out with and enjoy. Someone who might just chase the shadows and evil away.

  Callie knew better, though. Especially with a guy who was already dealing with his own past. She’d heard too many news stories about good people who’d snapped. You never knew what someone else was capable of, no matter how long or how well you might think you knew him. She just had to keep reminding herself of that and to stay the hell away from Everett.

  EVERETT POURED MORE coffee into his mug, trying to wake up, despite the fact that it was three in the afternoon. He had slept for maybe four hours the night before, and those hours had been restless—and intense. It was always like that when he dreamed of Robbie.

  This dream had been different, though. In it, they had been sitting at his kitchen table, shooting the shit.

  “So who’s this girl you’re obsessed with?”

  He could have sworn it was really Robbie’s voice. And as they’d gone back and forth, razzing one another, it actually had taken Everett longer than usual to realize he was in a dream. And like a hundred times before, he’d apologized to Robbie for not being able to save him.

  “Bygones, man. I know you tried. Besides, no one else thought twice about saving his own ass before mine. Just you. Only why are you wasting your life bottled up like some fucking hermit? You got to live, so get your ass out there and do something.”

  But before Everett could respond, Robbie had burst into flames and disappeared. Which was fucked up, until Everett himself had started to catch fire and had woken up in a panic. Eight years had passed, but the excruciating pain of his flesh melting was something he’d never been able to leave behind.

  He’d managed to get out of bed to shake the dream, but the lack of sleep was hitting him hard now. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to take a little nap, especially with how bad the weather was outside. He’d been taking calls since seven and really had no reason to go out anyway.

  His cell phone started blaring, and he slid his thumb across the screen to accept the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Everett, it’s Gemma Bowers. I was just calling to let you know that your books came in. And I gotta tell you, you have the most eclectic taste of any man I’ve ever met.”

  “You tell me that every time I order.” He’d been frequenting Chloe’s Book Nook since getting back into town and loved ordering a variety of genres. He’d always enjoyed books, but it wasn’t until he was deployed that he’d begun realizing their true value. He’d needed the distraction from the horrors he was witnessing, and now, books helped ease his loneliness.

  Somewhat.

  “Only because I admire the hell out of you for not just sticking to typical guy novels.”

  “Well, thanks. I’ll come pick them up.”

  “Okay. See you soon.”

  So much for not going anywhere.

  He wanted those books, though. He’d reread everything on his shelf and had been meaning to go to the library, but Mrs. Nelson, the librarian, loved to talk his ear off. Sometimes an hour would go by before he could get out of there. At least Gemma was friendly, without jawing away at him all afternoon.

  Grabbing his keys and jacket, he pulled his hood up over his head. The rain pounded down on him as he ran from his front door to his truck. Everett shook like a dog as he climbed inside. He didn’t mind the rain, especially a warm r
ain, but thunderstorms were another matter. The boom of a lightning strike could sound a little too much like an explosion, and he hadn’t refilled his anxiety medication in a while, hadn’t felt like he needed them. But last night’s dream, plus his lack of sleep, had him on the jittery side.

  Pulling out onto the main road, he headed toward the heart of town as the wipers whipped water off the windshield too slowly to give him a clear view for long. He was just coming around the bend when he saw a white Jeep pulled off the road and a woman in a bright red slicker bent down by the back tire. At least, he was pretty sure it was a woman.

  He craned his neck as he passed, and in the front seat, he saw a large tan shape.

  A dog.

  “Well, shit.” It was Callie. If it had been anyone else he’d have pulled off already, but he didn’t want to give her the wrong impression.

  Are you really going to be a chicken shit just because she hurt your pride?

  Flipping his truck around, he pulled off onto the side of the road. His heart was pounding like a jack hammer as he jumped out of the truck and jogged up the road. Thunder growled above as he came up behind her.

  “Looks like you could use a hand.”

  “SON OF A bitch!” Surprised, Callie spun around from her kneeling position so fast that she fell over, landing in the softening muck with a splat. She’d been too busy cursing the shredded tire and the pouring rain to hear Everett behind her until he spoke.

  Callie shook her mud-covered hands and was sure she heard a snort of laughter from Everett over the pouring rain and Ratchet’s muffled barking inside the Jeep.

  “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that sneaking up on someone is rude?” Callie glared up at Everett, who was holding his hands down to her. Even though he wasn’t smiling, she’d have to be blind not to catch the amused gleam in his eyes.

  Jackass.

  Ignoring his offer of assistance, she climbed to her feet, but her bruised pride earned her even more mud as her jeans were soaked through. She tried to wipe off the muck, but it just smeared.

  “They have, which is why I didn’t sneak; I walked. I saw you huddled over and figured I could help.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got this,” she said.

  Thunder erupted over their heads, and Callie felt like the sky was laughing at her too.

  “You sure? You’re shivering like crazy, and I can have this changed in under four minutes. I’ll have you know I hold the Silverton family record for fastest tire change.” Lightning lit up the sky, highlighting his cheeky grin. “And I’ve been told more than once that I’m good with my hands.”

  She didn’t want to smile at his gentle teasing, but she was cold and miserable, and he was offering her a way out.

  “I was just going to call triple-A for a tow—”

  “It will be faster if I just change it; believe me. Here.” Everett reached around her and opened the door to the Jeep. “Hop in, and I’ll grab the spare from the back.”

  Callie’s face burned with embarrassment. “It’s not there.”

  “What?”

  “I meant to buy another one, but these suckers aren’t cheap and I just . . . I never got around to it.” She leaned her head against the door, laughing humorlessly. “Pretty stupid, huh?”

  “Well, yeah, but there’s no use in me lecturing you when you already know.”

  Callie glanced at him sharply. “Thanks a lot, Dad.”

  “Come on; I’ll take you to Jose’s Tires, and we’ll get you a new one.”

  “I told you; I can’t afford it right now—”

  “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”

  “Um, no. I don’t like being in anyone’s debt.” She squirmed under his thoughtful gaze and added, “Thank you, but I must decline.”

  “Well, I must insist. You can’t just sit here on the side of the road until payday, and triple-A will ding you for using one of your get-out-of-trouble calls.” Another crack of thunder shook the sky. “Look, I get it. You don’t know me from Adam, but I can get you over to Jose’s and get you a line of emergency credit. That way, you won’t owe me anything, and I don’t have to stand out in the rain. Sound fair?”

  Her insides churned, and she cursed. If she’d just gotten a new spare when she’d bought her last set, she wouldn’t be sitting in the rain at the mercy of a large former marine.

  Who you can’t seem to get out of your head.

  And now she was about to get into a car with him and have to make small talk. What if he started flirting with ideas that she was interested in him as anything more than an acquaintance?

  Why? Because you actually feel something for him, unlike every other guy since Tristan? You gotta start to move on sometime.

  But moving on meant putting her trust in another man, and she wasn’t sure she could ever make that mistake again.

  “Okay,” Everett said. “I really don’t want to stand out in the rain while you debate whether or not I’m some dirt bag trying to scam you, so how about I run up to Jose’s, get the tire, and come back?”

  He was giving her an out and still offering to help her. If she was smart, she would take him up on the offer and climb up into the safety of her Jeep, away from him and his warm brown eyes.

  He’s Fred’s son, and everyone says he’s honorable. It’s not like you’re driving to Mexico. It’s right up the road. He didn’t even have to stop—most people wouldn’t have.

  “Wait,” she said when he started to turn away. Grabbing Ratchet’s leash and her purse from inside her car, she ignored the voices in her head. “We’re coming.”

  Chapter Four

  EVERETT KEPT GLANCING toward Callie out of the corner of his eye, but his view was blocked by her enormous dog sitting between them on the bucket seat.

  “So where were you headed when your tire crapped out?”

  “I was going to meet a friend for coffee.”

  Was that code for a date?

  “Do you need to call him or her and let them know you’ll be late?”

  A few seconds passed before she spoke. Her tone definitely sounded amused. “Thanks, I’ll let her know.”

  Everett started whistling, fighting a shit-eating grin.

  Just because she doesn’t have a date tonight doesn’t mean she’s not involved with someone.

  The pessimistic voice dimmed his relief. Besides, with the way she’d fought his offer of help, he had no reason to believe he had a shot in hell with her.

  But man, did he want one. Even soaking wet and covered in mud, she was a pretty sight.

  Trying to catch a glimpse of her again, he met Ratchet’s eyes. The dog stopped panting long enough to give him what could only be described as a look of warning: Back off, asshole, or I’ll rip out your throat.

  Everett unconsciously rubbed his neck.

  He turned onto Main Street toward Jose’s Tires and slowed down when he saw a Rock Canyon police cruiser coming from the opposite direction. Checking his speed, he realized he was going about ten over the limit.

  Everett said a silent prayer. The last thing he wanted was to be pulled over with Callie in the car. Nothing killed a romance faster than a nosy member of RCPD asking questions and spreading the word.

  The cruiser flashed its lights, a clear message to slow down, and Everett took his foot off the gas.

  “Are we getting pulled over, Hamlin?”

  Everett laughed. “Didn’t peg you for a NASCAR fan.”

  “Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she said.

  But I’d like to.

  Everett glanced in the rearview mirror, relieved that the cop hadn’t turned around. “So you’re a radio deejay with an affinity for NASCAR and big dogs. What else should I know about you?”

  “Why do you need to know anything?”

  “Maybe I find you interesting.” Okay, it was a bold move, but she’d asked. No, she’d basically dared him to make a move.

  This time when he glanced her way, she was looking around Ratchet’s
head and caught his gaze. Those eyes of hers were like warm honey, and he imagined her lips were just as sweet.

  He shifted in the seat, as just the thought of her lips stirred his interest. His jeans had not been made with comfortable erections in mind.

  She sat back out of sight. “Trust me; I’m not.”

  He didn’t believe her for one second, but he didn’t argue.

  Silence filled the cab until Ratchet sniffed at him, dragging his wet, drooling lips across the arm of Everett’s jacket.

  “I think your dog has an overactive salivary gland.”

  “He’s just not a fan of car rides,” she said.

  “He’s not going to puke on me, is he?”

  “You know, I thought about teaching him to puke on command, but it wasn’t in my dog training book.”

  He chuckled. “I’m glad, since, you know, I’m such a nice guy. Helping out a damsel in distress. I should definitely get more than a lap full of puke.”

  “You like to toot your own horn, don’t you?”

  Everett couldn’t resist tapping the horn several times.

  The husky sound of her laughter filled the truck, and satisfaction uncurled in his stomach. He wanted to hear more of it, wanted it louder and freer. There was still a hitch, as if she was scared to let herself go, and he wanted to get around that, to help her.

  For some crazy, unknown reason, he felt like she needed him.

  CALLIE STOOD NEXT to Everett, nibbling her lip thoughtfully, as he talked to Jose. In the last twenty minutes, she had laughed, teased, and smiled more than she had with any man in the last seven years, even her friend, Mike Stevens. But Mike didn’t stir her the way Everett did.

  “Jose Rameriz, this is Callie Jacobsen.”

  Everett’s hand grazed her shoulder and despite the thick sweatshirt that separated his skin from hers, an electric shock raced down her arm. She looked up at him sharply, wondering if he’d caught her swift intake of breath, because his hand dropped back to his side suddenly. It was true she didn’t like to be touched in most instances, but Everett’s warm strength kept drawing her to him. She would have never gotten into his car otherwise.