Opposites Ignite by Sadira Stone (crime books to read .txt) 📗

face-saving pretense, the nights of bone-melting passion, the warmth and support—he’d crumpled it up and tossed it away. She must hate him.

He dropped his head into his hands. “I’m so sorry, Rosie.”

“Too late for that. But I hope you don’t surrender your dreams. There’s got to be a way you could do both—help your parents and open your bar.”

Damned if I can see how. He laid his hand on the table, palm up. “You were right about one thing—it’s time for me to man up and face this.”

“Guess you don’t have a choice anymore.” Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “Funny what we can do when our back’s against the wall.” She slid her palm into his and squeezed. “You’re a good guy, Eddie. You deserve a partner who’ll help build your bar. I’m sure she’s out there.” She withdrew her hand, and instantly he felt the loss of her warmth. “I deserve that too. Maybe someday I’ll meet a guy more like me—someone who blurts and bumbles through life. There’s someone for everyone, right?” She sniffled and swiped at her nose. “Now get outta here before I cry and smear this drawing.”

He’d wounded her deeply, and still she was being a good sport, saving face by pretending in front of their friends. What could he do but leave her in peace?

Shoulders bowed under the weight of his defeat, he trudged to the locker room, pulled on his coat, and rested his spinning head against the cool metal of his open locker door. Rosie was right—she deserved someone who’d stand up for her, the way she’d stood up for him. She deserved someone as brave and strong as she was, and he had a damned long way to go before he qualified. Alone and aching, he slunk into the icy darkness outside.

****

“Okay, Uncle Pete. I will. And thanks.” Eddie disconnected the call and tucked his phone into his pocket, then gathered his armor. He was as prepared for this battle as he could possibly be. Pete would set up a meeting with a law school friend who specialized in small businesses. He had a lunch date Saturday with Uncle Leo and Cousin Nadia. Hopefully, his parents would come. If not, Eddie would present his plan alone.

He slid his tablet into his briefcase, then pulled his vision board from its hiding place behind the TV. Before going downstairs, he paused for a lingering look around his cozy little apartment. Eight years ago, he helped his father and grandfather build this place from the studs up. He hated to leave it behind, but it was time.

The sky was still dark, and the icy wind nearly ripped the poster board from beneath his arm as he descended. A sign from above? Fuck no. He gripped harder, crossed the driveway, and opened the kitchen door.

Mama looked up from the pot she was stirring, her gaze flat, her lips tight. “Well, well. Look who’s here, Papa. Our long-lost son deigns to join us at our humble breakfast table.”

Dad looked up from his newspaper. “Enough with the drama, Alina. You knew he was coming. Why else would you make kasha porridge?”

She raised her nose and sniffed. “I happen to like kasha porridge. So warming on a chilly morning. And it reminds me of family.” She pulled a ladle from a drawer, then banged it shut. “Family is so important, don’t you think?”

Dad rolled his eyes and folded his newspaper. “Sit, son. Your mother is still in a snit, but I am ready to listen.”

Mama slopped porridge into earthenware bowls. “Who says I’m not listening?” She banged a bowl down in front of Dad, then filled another for Eddie.

Dad passed the sliced strawberries before drizzling his dish with honey.

Mama clucked her tongue. “Not too much, Dorogóy. Think of your health.”

“I’m not diabetic, for God’s sake.” Dad rolled his eyes. “Your mother, the dietician.”

“Well, forgive me for wanting to keep you around a little longer.”

Eddie blew on his steaming porridge. He knew better than to interrupt Mama when she was venting, but Dad had no such compunction. “Sit, woman. We need to be at work soon.”

Grumbling like a disgruntled hen, she joined them at the table.

“So, what is this about?” Dad crossed his arms over his still-trim middle. Except for bags under his eyes and softness at his jawline, he looked as fit and vital as ever. Eddie kicked himself for not noticing his father’s signs of pain. Hell, he’d probably seen little grunts and winces and written them off as Dad being his usual grumpy self.

Eddie straightened and faced his parents. “First of all, I apologize. We should have had this conversation long ago. I knew you’d be disappointed, and I wanted to be as prepared as possible. I had no idea you wanted to hand over the shop so soon.”

“We didn’t, until the doctor…” Mama dumped sugar in her coffee and stirred, clinking her spoon loudly. “Besides, you’re a grown man, Eduard. You have a good head on your shoulders, a nice way with the customers, and if you’d just put forth an effort—”

“Let the boy talk, Alina.” Dad pointed with his chin. “What’s all this stuff you brought?”

Using the spare kitchen chair as an easel, Eddie set up his vision board. A magazine cut-out of vodka bottles fluttered to the floor. He slapped it back in place and cleared his throat. “As you know, I’ve been working at Bangers for a little over a year now.”

Mama sniffed. “Carrying beers and mopping floors.”

“Actually, I’m acting assistant manager. I’m learning everything I can about the bar business because someday I want to open my own place.” He swept his hand over the board. “Here it is.”

Dad rose from his chair and squinted. “Looks like a kid’s school project.”

Mama’s eyebrows rose. “It’s a vision board. Like on Oprah.”

“Exactly. My Business Leadership professor says we should visualize our plans.” He patted the board tenderly. “This is Dacha. Our specialty is Russian bar food and a hundred