Bring Me Back: Chapter 2

I wake up to the sound of banging.

Again.

I shield my eyes from the sun streaking through the blinds and sit up with a groan. This is a different type of noise than the one that jolted me out of bed last night. It’s a steady hammering, followed by a high-pitched drilling sound.

Throwing on my oversized sweatshirt, I pad down the hall, but my feet falter at the top of the stairs. I squint to make sure I’m seeing this correctly.

The front door is wide open, the chair I had propped against it now lying on its side in the entryway. James kneels in the doorway as he drills a screw into my doorknob—a shiny new doorknob.

What the…?

I trot downstairs, studying him as I approach. In the daylight, I have a much better view than I did in my dim hallway last night. His expression is a perma-scowl—dark brows pushed together, eyes narrowed and focused while he works. Is there a term for resting bitch face for men? Because he’d be the poster boy for it. Harsh, intense lines make up his profile, as if each detail was hand carved out of stone by an angry artist. Smooth, olive skin surrounds his dark features. He’s intimidating and beautiful at the same time.

My baseball bat left a nice purple knot on his forehead, and I almost feel bad about it. Almost, but the man continues working as if he doesn’t see me standing in front of him, and that irritates me.

I clear my throat. “Isn’t there a law about making noise before a certain time in the morning?”

He glances at the watch on his wrist. “It’s noon.”

“Yeah, well, some asshole broke into my house last night so I didn’t get much sleep.”

He presses the trigger on the drill, and the noise makes my shoulders jump.

Jerk.

After the noise stops, he reaches down for another screw.

I cross my arms over my chest. “I could’ve done this myself.”

“That’s a funny way of saying thank you.”

My eyebrows shoot up. Is he shitting me? “Oh, yes. Thank you for replacing the doorknob you broke when you illegally let yourself into my home last night.”

“You needed a better one anyway.”

“Why do you care?”

“It’s not safe without a lock on your door.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He lets out a long exhale, and the muscles in his jaw work under his skin as he stares down at the screw between his fingers. “I feel bad about scaring you last night. Figured I should replace the lock so you can feel more secure here.”

I pause. A criminal wouldn’t care about how I felt. Neither would an asshole. And when was the last time someone cared enough to make sure I felt safe?

I swallow the retort climbing up my throat and glance at my new doorknob. “Well, how much do I owe you for this?”

He shakes his head as he pushes off his knees to stand.

“No, no. This one’s much fancier than the one that was on there before. Tell me how much it was.”

He collects the garbage and places the key on the railing before turning to make his way down the stairs.

I throw up my hands. “I know you hear me.”

He glances over his shoulder, and his eyes finally meet mine. His irises are a light-yellowish-brown color, like honey reflecting in the morning sunlight. They’re beautiful and warm, despite the way his skin tightens around them to scowl at me.

“Just let me do this, okay?” He asks the question with a desperate edge to his voice, like it’ll pain him if he doesn’t do it, and I’m only making it worse by trying to get him to take it back.

“Sure.” I avert my gaze to the doorknob again and chew on my bottom lip. It looks so much nicer than the rest of the house. “This place really went to shit. My father would hate to see it like this.” Sadness seeps into my bloodstream, coursing through me like a slow and subtle poison.

James gives the house a quick appraisal—the overgrown, weed-filled landscaping, the rusted railing, the dilapidated garage door, and the rotting shutters. He hesitates a moment, and I wait for him to say something. But James just turns around and walks back to his house.

Good talk.

Returning my attention to my house, I start making a mental checklist of all the things I can see that need fixing. I head inside to write them down and sort them into tasks I can do on my own, versus jobs I need to hire people for. I’m not too handy, but I’m not incapable either. I’ll fix whatever I can from YouTube and pay for a professional to fix whatever I can’t.

Keeping busy is important when you have depression. When your mind is occupied, you don’t have time to think or wallow in despair. People with a purpose are less likely to kill themselves, which is good news for me because I can’t leave anything unfinished. Not books or shows or projects. I have to see it through to the end. I figure if I start a project in the house, it’ll lead to another, and another. At the very least, it’ll get me through the upcoming dark winter months.

I stan the House of Stark, after all, and winter is coming.

I’ve been spackling all day, going from room to room like a tornado.

The walls will look nice with a fresh coat of paint after I’m finished filling holes and fixing nail pops. It would’ve made Dad happy to see.

Not sure how much the noise carries outside, but even though it’s after nine o’clock at night, I raise the volume on my Bluetooth speaker. It’s “Bodies” by Drowning Pool, and you can’t not rock out to this. Hopefully the neighbors will understand.

Music has a way of making me feel as if I’m not alone in my pain because there’s someone out there who feels as much as I do. The lyrics articulate the things I can’t bring myself to admit to anyone, sometimes not even myself, and for those few minutes, it heals my broken soul.

Draining the last of my water, I make my way into the kitchen for another bottle. I close my eyes as I belt the chorus down the hallway. But when I open my eyes, a bloodcurdling scream tears from my throat. A man in a black baseball cap is halfway through the window above the sink. Glass shards are scattered across the counter and on the floor. And I’m frozen where I stand as an intruder breaks into my home.

Again?!

His dark eyes meet mine as he hoists himself into my kitchen and plants his feet on the tile. He raises a tattooed index finger to his lips. “Shh. You’re going to wake the neighbors.”

The neighbors. My neighbor is a cop. Go!

I spin around and bolt down the hallway. Skidding to a stop in front of the door, I flick the lock, swing it open, and run face-first into a brick wall on my porch.

James grips my shoulders to steady me. “What’s wrong?”

I point toward the kitchen. “There’s s-someone… in my house.”

He pushes me behind him as he stalks down the hall.

I pull out my phone and stop the blaring music. “Is your dad home? Should I call the cops?”

“I am the cops.”

My head jerks back. What? But before I can ask what the hell that means, James spots the man in my kitchen and his hands ball into fists.

“Hey, big brother,” the stranger says, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to smash in a window and climb into someone else’s kitchen.

Wait, brother?

James lunges at him, but the man darts away and runs straight for me. I don’t have to do much to stop him though. He slips on the tarp I have laid out on the floor in the entryway where I’ve been spackling, and his legs go up while the rest of him slams down onto the tile. His hat flies off, and then James is on him. He bends down to grip his hoodie and drags him toward the door like he weighs all but two pounds.

I step aside to let him pass and follow him out onto the porch. “Did he just say he’s your brother?”

James ignores me as he slides the guy’s body down the stairs like a sack of potatoes.

“Ow! Jesus, fuck. Watch my spine, dude.”

James lets out a sardonic laugh. “Oh, I’m just warming you up for what’s coming.”

“Hold on a second.” I run down the stairs behind them. “Is this the brother that’s been missing?”

His brother answers while he’s being dragged across my lawn. “I just took a little vacation.”

That strikes James’s last nerve. He lets his brother fall onto his back as he mounts him and slams his fist into his face. “You selfish piece of shit!”

His brother chuckles, revealing a bloody mouth. “And where does being selfless get you, James? Tell me, how’s that Captain America bullshit working out for you?”

James lands another punch. He hammers him again, and again before he pushes off the ground to stand, and swings his foot, the toe of his boot connecting with his brother’s ribs.

The quiet, composed man installing my lock this morning has been replaced by an explosive angry one. He’s kicking the shit out of him, and I can’t say I blame him. If my brother went missing and acted as nonchalant about it as this guy, I’d be pissed too. But if I’ve learned anything about family over the years, it’s that you can’t make them be who you want them to be no matter how hard you try. Beating his brother’s ass won’t make a difference.

James winds back for another punch, but I catch his elbow. “Enough! You’re hurting him.”

He freezes, and his brother rolls over onto his side, coughing and clutching his midsection.

“Breathe.” I slide my palm over James’s shoulder in slow circles, hoping to soothe his rage.

He blinks as if he’s clearing his vision, and the warmth returns to his wild eyes. He stares down at his brother and uncurls his fists. “Dad will be home soon.”

His eyes flick to mine, and in that instant, I know how he feels. You don’t fight for the shit you couldn’t care less about. You only fight for the people you love, and the things that matter. James loves his brother very much.

And that resonates with me.

I bend down and hold out my hand to the bleeding stranger. “Come on. I’ve got a first aid kit in my house.” I toss one of his arms over my shoulder, and James takes the other. We hoist him up and walk him back inside.

He groans as we prop him up on my toilet seat. “I think you broke my ribs, bro.”

James doesn’t say a word. At least I’m not the only one he ignores.

His brother, however, has no problem continuing to fill the silence. “So, who are you?”

I lean forward and dab his lip with a cotton ball. “I’m your new neighbor. This is my house.”

His eyes flick to the open buttons on my Henley. “Sweet. I’ve always wanted a hot neighbor.”

I grip his jaw hard. “Eyes up here, buddy. There’s nothing in there for you.”

He chuckles, until I put peroxide on his cut, and then I’m the one wearing a smirk as he hisses.

“I’m Leo. Where are you from?”

I toss the bloody cotton ball into the trash and pick up another. “New York. This was my family’s shore house.”

“Was?”

I steal a glance at James who’s staring down at the box of Band-Aids before I focus back on Leo. “Why didn’t you tell your brother where you were? He’s been looking for you.”

Leo’s Adam’s apple bobs. “I don’t need to answer to him. I’m a grown-ass adult. He needs to worry about his own life and stop worrying so much about what I choose to do with mine.” I press more peroxide into the gash on his lip, and he jerks his head back. “Take it easy. That shit burns.”

James finally pipes up. “Dad was worried.”

Leo’s jaw clenches. “Everyone needs to stop worrying so much. I can take care of myself.”

“Is that why you broke into my house tonight? Is this you taking care of yourself?” I shake my head. I should mind my business, but he came into my house, so in a way, he made this my business—and I can’t help the words from tumbling out. “You know, you’re lucky to have a family who worries about you, and actually fucking cares about your well-being.”

Both of their heads snap to me.

I snatch the box of Band-Aids out of James’s hands and pull one out. Without meeting either of their curious gazes, I peel off the backing and smooth it over Leo’s eyebrow. “You owe me a window.”

I leave them in the bathroom and make a beeline into the kitchen, picking up Leo’s baseball cap along the way. Footsteps sound in the hall a moment later, and then the front door opens and closes. I breathe out a sigh of relief, and slump against the counter, rubbing my forehead in small circles.

Despite the fact that my neighbors seem pretty dysfunctional, I can’t help but feel jealous. I’ve been here for two days, and my brother has yet to call or text. I shouldn’t be surprised—he barely called to check in on me while I was in Clearview—but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less. My own mother disowned me when I was at my lowest. I truly have no one who cares about me, other than Drew, who’s only my friend because we were stuck in a mental facility together.

How did I get here?

Hot tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away, not wanting to give in to feeling upset about people who clearly don’t feel upset about me. Or miss me. Or think about me.

It’s easier to be angry than it is to feel this disappointed.

Fuck them.

I toss the larger glass shards into the recycling bin and sweep the smaller pieces into a dustpan. Just then, the front door opens and closes again, followed by the sound of heavy boots clomping down the hall. James appears in the kitchen holding a piece of cardboard and a roll of duct tape.

I lift an eyebrow. “You going to tie me up and finish what you started last night?”

He shakes his head as he walks over to the sink. “This will do until I can get you a new glass pane tomorrow.”

“Why isn’t your brother here fixing it?”

“You don’t want my brother fixing anything, trust me.”

I dump the contents of the dustpan into the garbage and watch James while he works. He presses the cardboard to the window and secures it with tape around the edges. That’s when I notice the skin on his knuckles, red and swollen from pummeling his brother’s face.

I snatch the dish towel hanging from the handle on the stove and dig into the ice bucket in the freezer. “Give me your hand.”

He hesitates, so I step closer and take his right hand.

He jerks it back, but I grab it again and press the ice against the top of it. “Hold still. Don’t be a baby.”

“You’ve helped enough.” His eyes meet mine for all of two seconds before dropping to the towel. “Thank you, by the way. For dealing with my brother.”

“Your dad seems nice. I didn’t want him to see the two of you fighting like that.” I pause before asking, “Where’s your mom?”

“She passed.”

I drop the conversation because I know all too well what that’s like. No wonder he’s fighting so hard to keep his family together. These Russo men are all each other has.

I shrug and try to lighten the situation. “Just figured I’d ask in case there are any other Russo members I should expect to come crawling through my window. What is it with your family and breaking into people’s houses?”

The corner of his mouth twitches.

“I mean, I should just make each of you a spare key. That way, you don’t have to keep breaking my shit.”

His warm honey eyes meet mine. “I promise it won’t happen again, Phoenix.”

My body stills at the sound of my full name. His father must’ve told him after he saw it on my license last night. “No one calls me that. It’s just Nix.”

He cocks his head to the side, watching me for a moment. “You don’t like Phoenix?”

“I don’t.” I take the ice and dump it back into my freezer, needing to turn around so he stops looking at me like a science experiment. “Thanks for boarding up the window. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He takes the hint, and I wait until I hear the front door click shut behind him.

Only later as I lie in bed does it dawn on me that I have no idea why he was standing on my porch tonight in the first place. I’m grateful he was there to handle his brother when he came through my kitchen window, but…

What was James doing here?