Deeper (The Deeper Chronicles #1) Page 7

  Noah stepped over the threshold without another glance.

  Here he’d thought his old friend wanted back into his life.

  “Noe,” Harry called out.

  The September night’s temperature had significantly dropped. The wind howled in Noah’s ears. The man’s silhouette greeted him when he spun around. Harry held the door open.

  “I told you then and I’m telling you now. I know you. I know your heart.”

  Noah’s lips tightened.

  When would Harry get it?

  Who he’d become was in his blood, as part of him as the color of his eyes. Hell, if Afghanistan had taught him anything, it was that he couldn’t be anything else but the man who wasn’t fit to walk through Harry’s front door.

  Noah expelled a breath. “Give the guys a call. They miss you.” Then he walked away.

  I miss you.

  He dropped his head, blending in with the night.

  It was two weeks after her disastrous date with Jayson, and Avi was yet again embroiled in a self-inflicted disaster. This one couldn’t be helped though.

  “So, this bitch told me, ‘To look at you, you’d never know. You have a beautiful smile, but your roots are all bad’. Can you believe the nerve of that dentist?”

  Ouch. Avi was tempted to turn her head for a glimpse of the person who’d been sharing chunks of her personal life, and loudly too, for the last ten minutes. She knew about the woman’s cheating husband, and a cousin who was recently arrested on a parole violation. Way too much information from the woman’s life was now swimming in Avi’s head for so early on a Saturday morning.

  “Yeah, girl.”

  There was a pause, and Avi hoped the woman would have enough decency to end her call and wait for the privacy of her home before she divulged anymore of her business inside the crowded post office. The vestibule was already tight; people went to and fro from their mailboxes, while others with foresight and planning only had to slip their envelopes with the correct postage into the slots on the far wall. Avi needed the assistance of the sole postal worker ahead of her somewhere behind the thick plexiglass. Between the Chatty Cathy behind her and the line that stretched to the front doors, she was ready to leave the place.

  “And I swear, I’m not sending no more damn care packages to this prison...”

  That was Avi’s signal to tune her out. She peeped around the portly man in front of her, only to see that she was miles, or so it seemed, from reaching the front of the line. Her shoulders sagged. Who knew coming to the post office would be this involved?

  The woman behind her continued grumbling about this and that just as one of Avi’s reasons for standing in the infernal line flew out of her hand. She stooped, jostling the metal chain link to reach the envelope, yelping when her fingers were almost crushed by a passing customer.

  The letter was smeared.

  A sooty boot heel was imprinted on the front, right over her name.

  Avi pulled the envelope toward her. With quickness, she dug into her bag for something to wipe away the grit. Her hand landed on a piece of Kleenex, which she used to brush the front. It didn’t help. Whatever was on the person’s boot was now good and stuck onto Avi’s envelope. Damn. Her name was blurred and dirtied, almost unrecognizable by the time the envelope joined the rest Avi was returning to its sender.

  Of course my name would be sullied. Makes perfect sense. She didn’t know why, but her eyes glassed over the longer she viewed the letter. Pin-pricks of remorse stabbed at her heart; she never got used to them, though they’d taken up residence in her chest for the last three years. If she didn’t feel them then she’d worry. She wished the letters would stop arriving, that her silent hint would finally sink in. But, down deep, what she wished was that her cowardice would shrink and she could open one of them.

  Avi was pulled from her head by the vibration in her pocket. She slid the envelope back into place, adjusting the elastic around the rest of her package so none would escape before shoving all twenty of them back where they should have stayed: hidden and out of view. Like me.

  “Meet me at Chambers and Church.”

  Avi stared at Sofie’s text with confusion. The line began to pick up its pace, dragging her gaze from her cell’s screen. She perked up at the sight of another postal worker. Thank God, Avi thought while she typed out a response.

  After her drawn-out morning, she was going straight home, burrowing her head under the covers, and praying she would dream of a time when dirt and guilt weren’t part of her vocabulary. Even through the phone, Sofie was a persistent little thing, and her next text message gushed about them hanging out at “the best crêpe restaurant in the city”.

  But Avi didn’t care. She fired off a final response, her steps lighter when she heard the bellowed, “Next,” and it was her turn.

  “I can’t believe you,” Avi muttered, sliding down. She didn’t want to get used to the feel of the cushy seat under her, because she wasn’t staying. Any minute now, she was going to stand up and figure out which one of the city’s confounded trains would take her from Tribeca back to Harlem.

  She continued fuming when she remembered how she’d strolled down her block, only to find Joe helping Sofie from the back of a car. Avi had considered turning around—it would be more like running—but Sofie had to possess superhuman sight that allowed her to see through Joe. It was too late, and Avi was face-to-face with the woman who’d squealed and clapped her hands in excitement, pushing her inside the car.

  “Will you relax?” Sofie begged. Avi blinked, coming back to the present. “I’m still deciding what to get.” Her pushy friend tapped a polished finger near her mouth.

  It was hopeless. Sofie wasn’t paying attention and was unconcerned that Avi didn’t want to be here. Even though here was an intimate bistro with cute, beret-wearing servers. The women were dressed in fitted black shirts and matching pants, while the sole male attendant wore a stripped black and white long-sleeved shirt with black pants. It was like Avi was an extra in Audrey Hepburn’s classic movie Funny Face.

  “Sofie,” she growled.

  Her friend’s beaming face and smiling eyes greeted Avi’s sour features, which drooped under the other woman’s cheerfulness.

  “Yes,” Sofie drawled out.

  “I have things to do.” Knowing Sofie, she’d need to give solid reasons when she stood and left. Avi wracked her brain for something that wasn’t necessarily a lie. “There’s my laundry I’ve been meaning to do, next week’s lesson plans—”

  Sofie rolled her eyes, cutting short her list. “You have to live in the moment. Sit back, take your damn jacket off for goodness’ sake, and allow your friend to introduce you to Manhattan.” Sofie went back to perusing the menu.

  Avi’s hand loosened her belt with reluctance. She shouldn’t sit back, unwind, or relax. The memory from the post office rushed back to her. She was dirty...she’d caused dirt.

  “Woot. Woot.” Sofie shimmied in her seat, drawing a half-smile from Avi. Without doing much, she was able to get Avi to be the young woman she was, even though Avi kicked and screamed all the way. “I know what I want. What are you getting?” Sofie slapped down the laminated menu on top of the table.

  Avi’s eyes landed on the large blackboard on a back wall filled with handwritten, mouth-watering choices like ham and cheese, Nutella, apricot jam, and...

  That can’t be salted caramel, can it? She licked her lips in anticipation. Then her sight landed on Sofie’s bent head. She hated to admit her friend was right. “Thanks,” she mumbled. “I shouldn’t be so...”

  “Are you looking for a word that rhymes with witchy?” Avi heard the smile in Sofie’s voice just as her friend’s head popped up and the server arrived. “Hello, good looking.” The little charmer didn’t hesitate to pull out all the stops. “I’m going to have the butter and sugar crêpe.” But then a frown replaced her grin. “I didn’t see a wine menu. Don’t you guys have anything stronger than Perrier and juices?”

&nbs
p; Avi squinted at Sofie’s inquisitive gaze.

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  “Well, that won’t do—”

  “She’s joking.” At least, she better be. Not knowing what had brought on that question, she ordered the salted caramel crêpe for herself and two cups of hot chocolate for the table. When they were by themselves, Avi was quick to ask, “What did you mean by stronger?” Her friend always had a drink too close for her liking.

  A cool breeze played with her hair since Avi’s back was to the door. She waited for an answer from her friend, but Sofie was too caught up with what was going on at the restaurant’s entrance.

  “Shit.” Sofie lowered herself into her seat. The whispered curse was laced with embarrassment.

  Avi turned around as Joe shook the hand of a dark-haired man with small eyes and a nose ring. His hair was in one of those man-bun styles made popular by an actor who Avi secretly crushed after. The two men spoke before the trim-built man turned his head in their direction.

  “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

  You couldn’t forget a man with those high cheekbones or deep chocolate eyes. You most certainly didn’t want to be caught in a dark alley with him either. He strolled over, exuding grace and a whole lot of danger.

  “Sofie?” Avi whispered from the side of her mouth.

  “You’re slumming it in my neck of the woods now?” he asked, his attention on Sofie. The scar under his left eye became prominent when he grinned.

  Her usually snappy friend reddened like a schoolgirl under the man’s intense gaze.

  “Hi, I’m Avi,” she said, extending her hand.

  He grasped it, her palm grazing over his roughened one. “I’m Gavin. I work with,” he tipped his head at Sofie, “her uncle and Noah.”

  At that name, Avi pulled her hand away, becoming hot all of a sudden. Then, she shrank down in her seat as her friend had moments ago.

  He laughed. “Mind if I sit?” Obviously, it was a rhetorical question, because he’d already snatched a chair from a nearby table, swinging his limber leg over the seat. He leaned toward them over the back of the chair. “My morning just started looking up.”

  Avi swore that Sofie mumbled, “I’m going to so need a drink now.”

  “Why the hell do they have to throw the cans in the middle of the street?” Harry muttered to himself. He parked his Oldsmobile with a grimace.

  Coming home from a long shift, Harry wanted to dive into some leftovers and take in a few John Wayne movies while he sat—snored was most likely what would happen—in his La-Z-Boy. But all that would have to wait so he could gather his trash cans that the sanitation workers had haphazardly thrown to the ground during their collection yesterday while he was at work.

  “I should call 311 on their asses,” he grumbled. New York City’s residents used the number for non-emergency complaints like damaged trees, water leaks, and much more.

  “Afternoon, Mr. Manning,” Paul shouted out from Harry’s neighbor’s front steps.

  The two met on the sidewalk. Paul, the neighborhood letter carrier for a good number of years, and Harry had developed a decent relationship. On days when Harry was home, he was sure to pass the aging man either a bottle of water on blistering hot days, or a cup of hot coffee when Brooklyn’s temperature was bitter cold.

  “What do you have for me today? If you’ve got bills there, you can keep those.” Harry grinned.

  Paul belly-laughed. “No, thanks. I’ve got enough of my own.” He pulled a bundle from his arm, which Harry took. “Enjoy the rest of your Saturday.”

  Harry took his time walking up his steps then unlocking his door. He shuffled through the packet as he walked farther into his home.

  Bills. That’s for later.

  TV Guide. I’ll need that in a few.

  His hand landed on a large package with ‘AARP Welcomes You’ splashed across it. He groaned, suddenly feeling every bit of his fifty years.

  His feet stopped in their place. A simple white envelope scrawled in a script that would be forever etched in Harry’s memory. With haste, he slid his index finger under the glued edge of the envelope. He whisked out the single sheet of lined paper. His heart thumped, falling from his chest cavity to the pit of his stomach. He quickened his stride to his chair, needing to sit in fear of passing out. He flipped the envelope over, the return address registering in Harry’s consciousness.

  New York welcomed autumn with open arms. Willow leaves changed to deep ruby reds and burnt oranges that floated off tree branches and onto pavements. Avi’s students frolicked in the fallen leaves during recess with smiles that overtook their cherubic faces. On her way home from running errands, her neighbors’ children could be found on the sidewalk laughing and playing or basking in the last of the day’s sun before they went indoors.

  Unlike them, Avi could never relax.

  She was tightly wound. More letters arrived daily, but the worst were her dreams. A month had passed since Avi had entered Club Envy for a simple night of fun and forgetfulness. She had left with the promise of a date, but not with the man she wanted to say yes to, despite her better judgment. She had been thinking way too much about the mysterious man. Avi wished she could erase the way his dark murky eyes that crinkled at the sides and made her stomach leap, or how the rough pads of his fingers ignited goose bumps along her skin.

  Plopping onto her loveseat, she slid the zip up on her boot. I’m as confused now as I was the night he left with someone else. Avi didn’t want to care who Noah left with. She didn’t want to wonder, in the middle of brushing her teeth or teaching the importance of punctuation, what he was doing at that moment. Many times, Avi had opened her mouth to ask Sofie for something, anything about Noah Adams, but in the end, she lost her nerve when memories of Florida brought her back to her senses.

  Her gut told her to stay away, and that was her intent.

  “I’ve got enough on my plate,” Avi said to the empty room, yet her words lacked the conviction she was going for.

  Her case wasn’t helped by the dreams that had been plaguing her.

  Panty-drenching dreams.

  Steamy dreams.

  Dreams that all starred a certain dark-eyed man.

  In every single one, her body was deliciously curved into pretzel-like positions—dominated by his large, heavy hands, and his hard body. Each morning, without fail, she woke soaked from head to toe.

  Light perspiration dotted Avi’s upper lip when she remembered her latest dream. Not even the breeze coming through her cracked window helped. She glanced at her watch.

  “Where the hell is he?” She peeked through the blinds onto the street below her window. “I hate being late.”

  Maybe I need a damn cat or something, so I don’t have to talk to myself like a crazy person. Her cell rang.

  “Finally,” she said, as if the caller was in the room, and then picked up the phone. “Hello.”

  “Are you coming down?” he asked.

  “Already on my way.”

  She grabbed her overnight bag from the floor. Rising, her eyes snagged on the unopened letters. Those were the reason she couldn’t become involved in anything complicated—and Noah screamed complication. Grabbing her keys, she decided she’d deal with the letters when she came back. She clicked the lights off and locked her apartment door.

  Jayson stood by the back of a car with the trunk open. Avi’s eyebrow rose. She knew next to nothing about him or his finances, but guessed there was little chance he’d be able to afford the Bentley in front of her. Though Avi had said friends, Jayson kept hearing a different word and continued to press his case to her at various intervals, many times during text messages.

  “It’s a rental,” he said, jogging toward her.

  He stopped a few feet from her, appreciation evident in his smile. Jayson didn’t hide that he was checking her out, and she fidgeted under his perusal, which left her cold and uninterested.

  She was a curvy woman thanks to her very hippy mother, who also blesse
d her with a butt that stuck out too much, in Avi’s estimation. “Damn skinny jeans should’ve been left in the store. I don’t care what Sofie said,” Avi said under her breath, rolling her eyes.

  Jayson stalked closer and rubbed his hands together with a wolfish grin on his face. That was what kept her from saying ‘yes’ to his most recent requests to have drinks together. After a month of knowing each other, she was adamant they remain friends, while he was confident that one day soon he’d wear her down and she’d claim him as her own.

  That day would never come.

  But he still stuck around.

  A part of her questioned if she just wasn’t interested in dating generally, or dating him specifically. If a certain man with dimples were to ask...

  “Hey,” Jayson said, taking her duffle bag from her.

  His voice, so different from the man who met her in her dreams each night, jarred her back to reality. Just as he was about to kiss her on her lips, she gave him her cheek as she’d done each time he came too close. She saw him bury the rejection under a forced smile. Distancing himself, Jayson walked back to the trunk and placed her bag inside.

  He cleared his throat. “Let’s hit the road.” He yanked the passenger door open, not waiting for her to get in before he strode to his side of the car.

  Avi frowned at his quick temper. Jayson ran on two distinct temperatures: hot or cold, and grew frosty when he didn’t get his way. During the last times they’d texted each other, he was veering more and more toward irritability, though he tried to mask it. His words stated he accepted Avi’s decision about their relationship, yet at times, his actions showed the opposite.

  Once settled in the warm interior of the car, Avi appreciated the luxurious design and soft butterscotch leather seats. To break through the tension that had settled between them, she was the first to speak as he merged with traffic.

  “How was your week?” she asked then clicked her seatbelt closed.

  “Good. You know these high school kids,” he responded, moving into the fast lane. “They’re all know-it-alls trying to sneak onto Instagram or Snapchat.” He shook his head.