Chapter 3: Bring Me Back: Chapter 3

“Are they hot?”

I roll my eyes. “Does it matter?”

Drew clicks his tongue. “Of course it matters. Looks always matter.”

“And why is that?”

“Think about it. If an unattractive Shrek-like woman breaks into my house, I’m calling the cops. But if she’s good-looking—let’s say a smoking brunette with big boobs—then I’ll be more apt to play break-and-enter before I enter her.”

A loud laugh rips out of me. “Oh my god. You’re sick. Are they even doing anything for you in that place?”

He chortles. “You know I’m right. That’s why you’re laughing.”

I can’t argue the fact that the Russo brothers are attractive—in very different ways. Leo’s tattoos definitely draw the eye. He’s the leaner, scrappier of the two. The fallen angel. The bad boy. Lots of women like that type, the kind they think needs saving. James is the larger, clean-cut version of his younger brother. His muscles are thicker, and his eyes are captivating. Plus, he’s got the whole quiet and brooding thing working for him.

Apparently, it’s working for me too.

I let out a frustrated sigh, but I can’t deny it. “Fine. James is good-looking. But that’s it. He’s just… nice to look at.”

“Well, don’t go and get a boyfriend before I even get out of here. We need to enjoy some single nights out first.”

“I’m not getting a boyfriend. Don’t worry.”

The doorbell rings, saving me from enduring the rest of this conversation. “He’s here, let me go.” I end the call and scurry toward the door.

It’s been well over two years since I’ve so much as kissed another man. Depression, my father’s death, my suicide attempt, and spending the last year and a half in a mental institution haven’t exactly been great for my love life. So it’s no surprise the sight of my attractive neighbor has me fanning myself. He’s hot. No big deal.

Until I swing open the door and see James standing on my porch, and all of the air leaves my lungs. He towers over me in a short-sleeve navy-blue button-up tucked into matching pants. The uniform conforms to his muscular arms and legs, hugging his trim waistline, and putting his strong forearms on display. His hair is neatly styled, shiny from the product he used to slick it into place, and dark aviators conceal his eyes.

But despite the eye candy standing before me, it’s the holstered gun hanging from his hip that has my jaw hanging wide open.

James Russo is a police officer.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep the laughter from bubbling out. “You’re shitting me.” A giggle escapes me, and I clamp my hand over my mouth. “You’re a cop? The man who broke into my house is an enforcer of the law?” More laughter spills out of me until I can’t control it.

James shifts from one foot to the other, clenching his jaw. “It’s not that funny.”

I hunch over and brace my palms on my knees for support. I wheeze, each word barely coming out. “You were in handcuffs the other night.” A tear forms in the corner of my eye, and I swat at it as I try to catch my breath.

James pushes past me, clearly out of patience, and he lumbers into the hallway with his measuring tape. “I need the dimensions of your window. I’ll be back with the glass tonight after my shift.”

I sniffle as the laughter subsides and follow him to the kitchen. “I can do that myself if you have to get to work. Then I can have the glass waiting here for you when you have time to install it.”

He stretches over the counter, measuring the window as if I didn’t just speak.

I cross my arms over my chest. “What, do you think I’m not capable of taking accurate measurements or something?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I’m capable, you know.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

But then it dawns on me. This is what he’s used to doing. Leo fucks shit up, and James swoops in to make it all better. He’s the fixer.

“What were you even doing here last night?” I lean against my counter. “You were already standing on my porch when I opened the door.”

“I was coming to tell you to turn down your music.”

I snort.

. “You don’t bat an eye when you break into someone’s home, but loud music is where you draw the line?”

He retracts the measuring tape with a snap and spins around to face me. “Are you going to keep throwing that back in my face? I said I was sorry, and I fixed the lock on your door. What more do you want?”

“Easy, officer. I was just kidding. I’ll keep the noise down. Jeez, someone’s grumpy in the morning.”

“I’m not grumpy. I’m just…” He pulls off his sunglasses and blows out a long stream of air through his lips. “I’m stressed, and I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Why don’t we start over?” I stick out my hand between us. “Hi, I’m Nix. I just moved in.”

Amusement flashes in his eyes. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m James.”

His hand engulfs mine in a firm shake, and warmth spreads up my arm. I try to think of something witty to say, but with those beautiful eyes of his on me, my brain turns to mush. He needs to put those sunglasses back on.

Still holding my hand, he says, “Well, have a nice day, Phoenix.”

I yank my hand away. “I told you not to call me that.”

“What’s wrong with your name?”

“I just don’t like it, okay?” I give his chest a light shove. “Now, go. I have a lot of shit to do today.”

My pace slows as I round the corner of my cul-de-sac on the way back from my evening run.

Some of the houses on the block are owned by retired locals who live here all year round. Any one of them can be the cause of this scent. Baby Boomers love their marijuana. But a cloud of smoke rises from the alley between the Russo’s house and mine, and I have a sneaking suspicion I know who it’s coming from.

Leo smiles wide as I enter the alley. “Hey, neighbor.”

I arch a brow. “I knew I smelled trouble.”

He looks happy as a clam despite the scabs and bruises on his face. “What you’re smelling is . The scent often gets confused with trouble when uptight pricks get a whiff of it.”

I chuckle and lean against my house facing him. “Fun wouldn’t be hiding out here in the alley if it weren’t causing trouble.”

“Touché, neighbor girl. So, does that mean you came out here looking for some trouble?” He holds out his joint and wiggles his eyebrows.

“Trouble’s not my thing.”

“Ah. That’s too bad.” His eyes trail down the length of my body, lingering on my spandex-clad thighs. “We could’ve gotten into some together.”

“Look at me like that again, and I’ll make the beating your brother gave you last night feel like a tickle fight.”

He throws his head back as he laughs, and then winces, clutching his ribs. “Okay, okay. No need to get all Black Widow on me. I can take a hint.”

“Something tells me you need more than a hint. Maybe a giant flashing neon sign.”

“Nice hat, by the way.”

I tap the brim of Leo’s black hat I decided to wear today. “Call it my consolation prize.”

He spreads his arms out wide. “I’ll be your consolation prize, baby.”

I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. “I’d rather an apology instead.”

“I’m sorry. Your house has been empty for years. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be living in it.” Leo jerks his chin toward my house. “I envy you, with that house all to yourself.”

“Is that why you came through my window last night? You wanted to be alone?”

“To be fair, I tried the front door but it was locked.”

I laugh. “What’s wrong with your house?”

“It’s too suffocating in there.”

“Well, I envy with a houseful of people who care about you.”

“Maybe we can do some shit, and switch bodies.”

I snort. “All you’d do is play with your tits and get yourself off.”

“You’re not wrong.” He winks. “So, what’s your name?”

“Nix.”

“Like Stevie?”

“No, and don’t ask me to sing.” I stuff my hands into the pockets of my bubble vest. “Why is it so suffocating in your house?”

He digs the heel of his hand into his eye. “They want me to be someone I’m not. They expect me to be like them.”

“And you’re not?”

“There are two types of people in this world, Nixie: The do-gooders, and the fuckups. I’m the latter, and they can’t handle that.”

I hum. “That puts me in the same category as you then.”

His dark irises meet mine. “Is that why you’re here alone? You’re the fuckup of your family too?”

“Yup. But I don’t think your theory is correct. Life isn’t so black and white. I think we’re all a little fucked up, and it doesn’t mean we’re bad people. You can’t lump us into the same category as the Ted Bundy’s of the world.”

“I did break into your house.”

“You just said you thought it was empty. You weren’t trying to hurt me. You don’t go around kicking dogs, do you?”

He shakes his head. “People don’t see it that way though. Everyone looks at me like I’m a piece of shit. I’m just the loser junkie.”

“People resort to drugs because they’re in pain.”

Leo watches me through narrowed eyes. “It never goes away though. When the high wears off, the pain is still there.”

“We all carry around the weight of our traumas and try to survive. We do what we have to in order to cope.” I glance up at the night sky. “It’s not us who’s fucked up.

is fucked up.”

He takes a long pull and holds his breath before blowing out the smoke. “How do cope with your trauma?”

I swallow, rubbing my scar. But I don’t have time to answer because footsteps crunch on the concrete path followed by his brother’s deep voice. “Goddamnit, Leo. I can smell you from here.”

I snatch the blunt from Leo’s fingers just as James comes into view at the end of the alley.

His eyes bounce between me and his brother before dropping to my hand. His lips press into a firm line, nostrils flaring. “Give me that.”

I hand over the contraband, feeling like I’m back in high school even though I’m a twenty-eight-year-old woman.

James doesn’t take his eyes off me when he speaks. “Leo, get inside.”

“Maybe you should take a hit of that, big brother. You need to loosen up.” Leo pats his shoulder as he slips past him. He walks backward and mouths “thank you” before he disappears.

I squirm under James’s hard glare. “It’s just weed, James.”

“He doesn’t need to be around it. He needs to get clean.”

“Weed isn’t like other drugs. Some people need it to calm down. It helps them.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

His clipped tone makes my shoulders jump. “Well, you should. There are more important things in life than right and wrong. You should try being his brother, and not his parole officer.”

“You’ve got a lot to say for someone who doesn’t know us at all.”

“You’ve inserted yourselves into my life, so it feels like I have a right to offer some friendly advice. In fact, here’s another: He’s not your responsibility.”

“Says the one who took the blame for him.” He holds up the joint he confiscated. “I know this isn’t yours.”

I plant my hands on my hips. “You should cut him some slack.”

He towers over me as he steps into my space. “Who are you to tell me what I should do with my family?”

“Blood isn’t everything. He needs a friend.”

“How would you know what he needs?”

“Because I know what it feels like to have no one.”

James’s eyes bounce between mine as my words hang between us. I wish I wouldn’t have blurted them out, but it’s too late now. So, I pluck the joint from his fingers, take a puff, and then blow the smoke in his face just to be a brat.

His head rears back, and he lowers his gaze to my outfit. “Running and smoking pot don’t exactly mix.”

“Sure they do. They both help with anxiety.”

His eyebrow arches. “You have anxiety?”

I don’t normally go around telling strangers I have a mental disorder, but it’s easier to say that I have anxiety than it is depression.

“Yep. I’ve had it my whole life.” My eyes narrow. “And if you tell me to , I’m going to kick you in your balls.”

He grunts. “People tell you that often?”

“It’s as if we didn’t already think of relaxing. Like yes, Martha, thank you for that very helpful advice. The next time immense, uncontrollable fear seizes my body, my lungs constrict, and I stop inhaling oxygen, I’ll be sure to remind myself to fucking relax. What a revelation.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Still, marijuana is illegal.”

“Barely. And it’s your fault anyway. Two break-ins in the last forty-eight hours aren’t exactly great for my nerves.”

His shoulders droop as if I stuck a pin in his bravado. “So much for starting over, huh?”

I lift my hand and let it fall. “Look, I don’t want to fight. He’s your brother, and I’ll mind my business.” I move around his large frame, but he surprises me by reaching for my hand.

“I can come by and fix your window. Is now a good time?”

“Sure.”

James walks me to my front porch, where a pane of glass is propped against the first step. “I was going to throw some frozen pizza in the oven. You want a slice?”

“You’re going to eat pizza after a run?”

“Okay, Judgy Judgerton. You telling me I can’t afford to have some pizza?”

“No. That’s not what I meant at all. Your body is… you’re…”

My feet slow on the porch, and I turn around to meet his worried gaze.

He scratches the back of his neck as his eyes trail down my body. “I mean, you’re perfect.”

I laugh it off. “Hardly. But I can’t cook, and frozen pizza is all I’ve got right now.”

He’s quiet as he follows me inside, and I go about making my dinner of champions while he works on installing the new glass.

I may or may not glance at his round, muscular ass several times as he stretches over the sink. I’ve never been particularly drawn to a man’s rear end before. But every now and then, one demands you take notice. And I’m definitely taking notice.