Page 1 of The Persistence of Thornes
CHAPTER 1
HALLE
It’s like a slow-motion replay of a lion attacking a gazelle, the way the ball sails through the air, arcing toward the man climbing out of his car next door.
Please, don’t hit him! Don’t hit him! Don’t?—
Smack.
The soccer ball ricochets off his head.
What an excellent first impression for my new neighbor.
The glower I turn on my fourteen-year-old brothers is deadly.
“Isaidto take the ballto the backyard.”
The two of them take off, Quinn scooping up the ball on his way, scattering for the broken fence and overgrown lawn beyond it.
I’m livid. Mostly because I’m exhausted. A bone-deep tired I’ve never felt. At twenty-three, I am now my brothers’ legal guardian. This was not part of the plan, yet here we are. I couldn’t let them end up in foster care. They’re my brothers, my flesh and blood. They belong with me, even if taking responsibility for them puts an unbearable weight on my shoulders. I was barely getting by before. Now? I’ll figure it out. I always do.
I set the box on the ground and cross the side lawn that separates my scraggly yard from the immaculate one next door.
The man rubs at his head, looking around for the source of his sudden concussion.
“I’msosorry about that.” I come to a stop in front of him, cringing. Not only because of the soccer ball incident, but because this man is dressed in an expensive, sharp-looking suit, while I’m standing here in ripped jean shorts and a t-shirt with a cartoon character on it I’ve owned since middle school. “My brothers… I told them to play in the back, but they’re fourteen and aren’t too keen on listening to their sister.”
He lowers his hand from his head and focuses his gaze on me. The move finally allows me to get a good look at his face.
Holy fuck.
He might be the best-looking man I’ve ever seen. Bright, expressive blue eyes. Sandy blond hair. Chiseled jaw withjust a hint of stubble. And the posture of a man who’s both confident and easy-going.
“It’s okay,” he says, voice deep and soothing. “I know how kids are. Your parents are moving in next door?”
“Oh, no. I mean yes, we’re moving in next door, but no to the parents part. It’s only me and my brothers.”
“Ah.” He nods, rubbing the spot on his head again. “I see.”
The words aren’t condescending, despite the way he eyes the house next door,myhouse. It looks like a verifiable dump compared to every other house on this street.
I straighten my shoulders. “It’s not much, but I’m going to fix it up.”
When I can afford it, which, at the rate I’m going, is never. But we’ll have a roof over our heads. That’s the most important part.
His blue eyes skate over my body. The move is perfunctory. Rather than checking me out, he’s trying to commit me to memory so he can place me later. “If you need any help over there let me know. I did a lot of the work on my place.”
I blink at him, surprised. “You did?”
He looks too clean-cut in his suit and tie. Though his hands are large and masculine with thick veins, they still don’t look like the hands of a man who does manual labor. Though the sight of them makes me think I’d enjoy finding out all the things he can do with them.
He lets out an amused chuckle. “A fair amount, though I had help. Thayer”—he points to the house on the other side of his—“next door to me, owns alandscaping business. I’m sure he’d be happy to help with the yard.”
Wincing, I eye the crab grass and dying plants. Our new place sticks out like a sore thumb in a row of well-maintained homes on this street. According to my realtor, this house sat vacant while family members fought over who would get the money from the sale. Apparently they never learned how to share. The fight dragged out so long, the house fell into disrepair, and that placed it squarely in my budget. It’s in a good school district, though. I never thought I’d be thinking about things like that at my age, but here we are.
“That would be great.” I paste on a smile even though I know there’s zero chance I’ll ever ask him or this other guy for help.
In many ways, I’m a stereotypical eldest daughter, which means I loathe the very thought of requesting help. If I can’t figure it out, I’ll die trying.
