He'd stood in this very spot six months ago. One week after he'd moved back to Austin. And he'd decided at that moment that somehow, someway, he'd make it happen. And the fact that his finances were a goddamn mess wasn't going to stop him.

After a quick glance behind him to make sure no one was looking, he pulled out the jackknife-style lock pick kit that Richie had given him the week before the cops had taken him away. All things being equal, Spencer would rather have his brother, but as the lock on the gate clicked open, Spencer had to admit that there were times when the skills his brother taught him came in handy.

Richie might be a screw-up, but he'd always had Spencer's back. He'd been the one who'd fought to get Spencer into Trinity Academy on a full scholarship, pushing and prodding their father to fill out the applications and find recommendations. He'd taught Spencer to ride a bike and to pick a lock. Helped him frame his first house when Spence was only fourteen. Taught him how to lay brick. Richie always had been damn good with his hands.

Too bad those hands had held a gun. Wrong place. Wrong time.

Richie may have fucked up his own life, but he'd always been a champion for Spencer. Always watched his back.

Except where she was concerned.

He winced.

For years, he'd forced every thought of Brooke Hamlin out of his mind. Lately, those thoughts were fighting back. She was in his head. And, dammit, he couldn't seem to banish her.

It was because of the house, of course.

And here he was again, his mind still debating if he should buy the damn place.

Was he considering the purchase in spite of her? Or because of her? To prove he was worthy, even if she never even knew he was doing it?

No, he told himself sternly. He was doing it because he loved the house. Its bones. Its essence.

And, yes, he loved its memories.

With one quick glance toward the street, he slipped through the open gate, confident that no one had noticed him in the fading light. The house might be located near downtown, but it was the last house on a dead-end street, and the gate off the driveway was shadowed by a massive oak tree.

He pulled the gate shut behind him, making a mental note to oil the hinges once the place was his, then followed the stone path past a weed-choked garden to the kitchen door. It was locked as well, but in this case, there was no need to pick the lock. The breakfast area windows had been boarded over, but it was easy enough to pry one away from the framing, now rotten from lack of care and exposure to the elements.

He slipped inside, using his phone to illuminate the area. He'd stood in this very spot with Brooke, their hands clasped tight as rain pelted the building and flashes of lightning revealed her sweet, innocent smile.

Back then, he'd thought that pretty picture was real. Soon enough, though, he'd learned she wasn't innocent at all.

Damn her. And while he was at it, damn himself for continuing to let her fill his mind.

With a stern order to put her aside, he moved slowly through the house, seeing everything with an expert eye. The dull, scraped parquet floor. The sturdy doorway arch marred by chipped paint and various dings and gashes. The dust-covered wood of an intricately carved banister. The broken glass that littered the floor. The water stains and buckling floorboards. The wires that hung empty from the ceiling. The peeling wallpaper revealing long, brown stains.

For a moment, he simply stood there on the spongey floor, anger boiling in him that something so beautiful had been left to fade.

And that was it. The kicker. The defining moment.

No more wavering. No more considering.

Whatever deal he had to cut, whatever promises he had to make, this house was going to be his.

He turned off the flashlight feature on his phone, then pressed the button to speed dial his agent.

"They're interested," Gregory said, without preamble.

Inside, Spencer was doing mental fist-pumps. Outside, he forced himself to remain calm and business-like.

Yesterday, Spencer had told Gregory to feel out Molly and Andy, the executives in charge of his former show, Spencer's Place. After the debacle with his asshole financial manager, Brian, Spencer had walked away from the show, leaving enough footage for them to finish the season, but refusing to do another season until he was well and clear of the rat bastard who'd screwed him so bad financially.

That had been a year ago, and the network had been hounding Spencer ever since, telling him that they wouldn't consider him in breach of contract if he did another show. But the idea of another season in front of a camera didn't interest Spencer at all. All he'd wanted was the work, and Hollywood even sapped the fun out of that.

Spencer had never wanted to be recognized in the grocery store or discussed in the tabloids. He didn't want his personal tragedies shared on social media. He wanted to wash his hands of all of it.

And he'd gone so far as to discuss with Gregory what it would take to buy out the rest of the contract. Unfortunately for Spencer, it would take every dime left in his now-meager bank account.

Tags: J. Kenner Man of the Month Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net