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  ROCK SOLID

  A ROCK SOLID CONSTRUCTION NOVEL

  BY

  RILEY HART

  Copyright © 2015 by Riley Hart

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission of the author except where permitted by law.

  Published by

  Riley Hart

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover Design by X-Potion Designs

  Cover Photo by jackson photografix

  Dedication:

  To Dawn Martin Frakes—thank you for naming Rockford Falls. It’s the perfect home for this series.

  Also, this book is dedicated to anyone who suffers from the devastating disease that is addiction. You are strong. You can overcome it. There is a beautiful life out there for you, waiting for you to live it.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Epilogue

  CHAPTER ONE

  Trevor Dixon looked across the desk at his younger-by-six-minutes brother. His dark brown hair lay flat on his head, reminding Trevor that he hadn’t combed his own this morning. He didn’t much get the point. It wasn’t as if his fingers didn’t run through it a million times a day. Plus, they worked construction for God’s sake. They wore hard hats most of the time, their hair either wet with sweat or the water they poured over themselves to keep cool.

  Still, today, Trevor and Blake’s hair each behaved much in the same way as Trevor and Blake themselves, in that Blake behaved...and Trevor didn’t.

  Trevor scratched the side of his head, where it was buzzed shorter than the couple inches it was on the top.

  “How you doing, big brother?” Blake asked him. It was a simple enough question, and Trevor knew that he only asked because he cared, but it still grated on his nerves.

  It wasn’t a how you doing today, kind of question. It was a you’re not having the urge to drink, right? question.

  “Rock solid.” Trevor grinned at his brother, who laughed.

  “Pun intended, right?” Rockford Hills. It’s where they’d lived most of their lives. Trevor left to get clean, and he was in San Francisco a lot when he wasn’t clean, but for Blake, Rockford had always been home. Add in the fact that they were co-owners of a new construction company, Rock Solid Construction—yeah, the pun had been intended.

  “You’re hilarious,” Blake added.

  “I try hard. So, what do we have for today?”

  “It’s the last week on the library. JT, Jason, and Andrea are already on their way out. We have to meet them there. We’re going to have to take two trucks, though. I got a call for an estimate this morning. It’s a remodel out at the old Stoneridge property. I didn’t know someone bought it, did you?”

  Before Trevor could reply, his brother continued. “Anyway, could be a good job, which we need. I’d like to be able to keep JT and Andrea on after the library, but it depends on what we can land. I’d really like to remodel that house. It’s fucking gorgeous. Plus, there’s no doubt the money could be good. I figured I’d go out and meet with the guy. You can head over to the library and then I’ll meet you out there when I’m done.”

  “Why don’t you let me go?” Trevor asked.

  Blake paused. It was a shitty feeling to know his baby brother didn’t trust him to be able to close a deal. It wasn’t that Trevor didn’t get it, either. He’d fucked up a lot in his life. Fucked up badly. But that was in the past. He was getting his shit together now. He’d been clean for one year, one month, and three days. They were running a business together now, or trying to. Trevor could handle this.

  “Blake, if this is going to work, you have to trust me. What do you think I’m going to do? Stop and get a beer on the way? I could do that just as easily on my way to the job site if I wanted to.”

  “No. Hell no. That’s not it.” Blake shook his head, but Trevor knew it kind of was it. At least partially.

  “I can’t only do the heavy lifting. I have to be able to do both parts of the business. What if you’re sick or, hell, what if you want to go on vacation sometime? I can do it. I can nail this.” Because they really needed the work. Things were slow since they were just starting up. They were lucky to have enough work that they needed JT and Andrea right now. If they wanted to keep Blake’s friends on, they needed to get more jobs lined up.

  It wouldn’t matter if they had no work at all, Jason would always be around. He and Blake were inseparable. They had been for years. But Andrea and JT...they couldn’t make the two of them any promises, but Trevor wanted to do his best by them.

  “Yeah, okay. You go get this job and I’ll go work my ass off at the job site. I see your plan.” Blake winked at him and Trevor grinned.

  His brother had every reason not to trust Trevor. Most people he knew had every reason not to trust him, but Blake was his twin. No matter what had gone down, they were always close. They read each other, and understood each other in ways most people didn’t. In a lot of ways, they were the same person, even though Blake always did the right thing and Trevor often did the wrong one.

  Even when Trevor started going off the rails, drowning in a bottle like their father did, Blake never turned his back on him. He told Trevor when Trevor was fucking up, but he’d never turned his back on him, even when Trevor probably deserved it.

  If anyone believed in him, it would be his brother.

  “Thanks, bro.” They both stood and Trevor gave him a half hug, patting him on the back.

  “No problem. You go get this job for us, okay? You got this. I know it.”

  “I know.” This time it was Trevor who winked at Blake. He would do this. He would land this job, and they would keep Rock Solid afloat. They would thrive and Trevor would stay clean. He’d make everything up to them, and maybe even deserve the second chance he’d been given.

  ***

  Simon Malone opened and closed his right hand over and over again. It was stiff, though it always was now. He didn’t have all the feeling in it that he should, though he had more than he used to.

  It wasn’t enough. The stiffness, the
lack of feeling, the lack of control wouldn’t work for him. Couldn’t be a very good surgeon if your hand didn’t work properly. He couldn’t be a surgeon at all, not anymore. Still, Simon opened and closed his hand as though the simple exercise would suddenly change things. As though the feeling would suddenly come back, and the shaking wouldn’t be a problem. Like he would be the man he used to be, the decorated cardio-thoracic surgeon with the magic hands.

  Before he could start his day too pissy, Simon pushed out of his kitchen chair and went to fill up his glass of orange juice. If he didn’t do something to take his mind off his lack of career, there would be no coming back from his bad mood. He’d bite the head off of the construction worker when he arrived, which would screw up his plans for today of figuring out who could help him remodel the house the way he wanted. It gave him something to do, planning this remodel, and it wasn’t like he could do the work himself.

  Who was he kidding, though? Simon was a miserable bastard, and regardless of getting his mind off his hand, he’d be an asshole to whoever came to the door.

  He poured his drink and stood in the kitchen, gulping it down in quick swallows.

  Once it was finished, Simon washed the glass. As he set it on the rack to dry, the doorbell rang.

  Finally.

  He glanced at his watch and then went to the door. “You’re late.” Five minutes, but still.

  “I’m sorry about that. It’s been a while since I’ve come out this way. The driveway is a little overgrown and I missed it.” The brown-haired man ran a hand through his hair before holding it out to Simon. He had a tattoo from elbow to wrist on his right arm—a skull and something else. Simon would never understand that, marking your body that way. He had a dark brown beard that matched his hair. It wasn’t thick, just a few days worth of growth, neatly trimmed, and damned if he didn’t have a stud in his bottom lip. Ridiculous. “I’m Trevor Dixon from Rock Solid Construction. I appreciate you giving us a chance to come out here and see what you need done. I think you’ll find we’re the right people for the job.”

  Simon couldn’t tell if the man was simply that confident or if he just wanted to come off that way.

  They shook hands, and Simon immediately had the most ridiculous thought... Can he feel it? Can he tell my hand is fucked up just from touching it?

  Simon pulled back. It was a crazy thing to think. He knew that. And in most activities, he was fine. Yeah, there was pain, but he could handle that. Every day activities and repairing hearts were two different things.

  “If you’ll follow me. The work needs to be done on the main house.” Simon stepped out of the guesthouse and closed the door. “I want a pretty hefty remodel. The upstairs especially. I need a wall knocked out between two of the upstairs rooms to make one. One of the rooms will become a library, so I’ll need shelves on all the walls—”

  “A library?” Trevor asked. Simon sensed interest in the construction worker’s voice.

  “Yes,” was his only reply. He wanted a medical library. Eventually, he would write a book on the heart.

  They made their way to the house. Simon showed the other man around, giving him ideas of everything he wanted done. Walls knocked down here, new walls there. He wanted the layout of the downstairs slightly changed.

  Trevor, Simon thought his name was, asked questions here and there. He wrote down close to everything that Simon said.

  “Great. This sounds like it’s going to be a beauty when we’re done with it.” Trevor winked at Simon and he realized the man was playing him. He wanted Simon to think he was confident so that Simon would give them the job. He wasn’t stupid, though. Rock Solid wasn’t the only place he called.

  “The timeframe might be pushing it a little bit. We’ll need permits. We’ll also have to look into a few contractors we work with on electrical, but I can give you more specifics after I sit down with my co-owner. We’ll draw up some plans and get a quote going for you—shit!”

  Simon turned to look at the construction worker, who held his hand.

  “What happened?” Simon asked just as blood started to slide through Trevor’s fingers.

  “Nothing. It’s okay.”

  Great. The construction worker cut his hand before Simon had even decided if he wanted to give the man the job or not. That couldn’t be a good sign.

  “Let me see it,” he said. “And what did you cut it on?”

  “Nothing. It’s okay. It’s not bad. My mistake. Either myself or Blake will call you in a day or so with more information.”

  Simon reached out and grabbed Trevor’s hand. His vision swam a little, not because he had a problem with blood but because he had a problem with injured hands.

  “It’s deep. You need stitches.”

  “No, it’s okay. I—”

  “It’s not,” Simon cut him off, just as he saw a nail, the end broken off, sticking out of the wall. At least he knew the culprit. He added a tetanus shot to things Trevor might need. “Let’s go inside. We need to wrap it up to stop the bleeding and then get you to the ER for stitches.”

  A hospital. The one place he didn’t want to go again, yet the place he used to consider home. This day was shaping up to be a real doozy.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The tone of Simon’s voice told Trevor the man definitely wasn’t happy about having to do this. Welcome to the fucking club. Trevor wasn’t either. What he really wanted to do was tell Simon to pull the stick out of his ass and relax. Oh, and Trevor could get himself to the hospital, thank you very much, but he managed to bite his tongue. Telling the guy off wasn’t the best way to get this job.

  Not that he probably had a chance now. Ripping his hand open on a nail sticking out of the wall wasn’t the best way to show the guy how capable he was.

  Perfect. Just perfect. Blake would be understanding about it like he always was, but Trevor knew what he’d be thinking—that if he’d gone himself, this wouldn’t have happened.

  And he’d be right.

  Simon’s steps were quick as he led Trevor back to the other house. If his hand wasn’t bleeding all over the damn place, Trevor would take the time to admire the man’s ass. It was tight, sexy, but definitely nice handfuls to grab ahold of. Too bad he was an uptight prick.

  Simon’s movements were smooth as he cleaned Trevor’s hand and wrapped it with gauze and tape from a first-aid kit. Either Simon cut himself a lot, or he had experience. Not that it surprised him. The guy reeked of money, and a holier-than-thou attitude. It would make sense if he was in the medical field.

  “Really, I can drive myself to the hospital. It’s a cut on my hand.”

  “No. It’s my responsibility. It happened on my property,” he said tensely.

  Shit. “You don’t have to worry about that.” They definitely weren’t getting the job now. The guy felt like he had to pay for Trevor’s injury. And maybe technically he was supposed to, but it was Trevor’s dumbass mistake, not paying attention. That was important to him now, taking responsibility for his own actions.

  “Actually, I do. My car is this way.” He looked at Trevor like he was an idiot.

  Don’t hit him, don’t hit him, don’t hit him, Trevor repeated in his head. It was an easy way to handle conflicts before. Things were different now. He was a twenty-five year old man. He could and would take care of himself. Still, he didn’t want to screw this up more than he already had, so Trevor followed Mr. Stick-Up-His-Ass to the car, wishing like hell he could tell Simon a dick was a lot more fun.

  They were silent the whole way to the hospital. When they got to the Emergency Room, Simon walked up the counter. “I’m Dr. Simon Malone, part of the cardiac team at Roosevelt Heart and Vascular Institute in San Francisco. We had a little accident on my property. Mr...”

  Simon turned his determined eyes on Trevor.

  “Dixon,” he supplied his last name for the second time.

  “Mr. Dixon cut the palm of his hand pretty bad. It’s going to need stitches.”

  “I’ll l
et the nurse know, Dr. Malone, and they’ll get him right back.” The receptionist scampered to the back.

  “You shouldn’t have done that. I can wait like everyone else.” Shit like that pissed Trevor off; Dr. Malone, throwing his title around like he was more important than everyone else.

  Trevor ignored the throb in his hand as Simon raised a brow at him. Of course. This wasn’t about Trevor. It was Simon who couldn’t wait.

  “Why don’t you go? I’ll have someone pick me up. I don’t need anyone here holding my hand. As far as I’m concerned, this didn’t even happen on your property.”

  “Mr. Dixon, we have a room for you.” The receptionist stuck her head out of the sliding door.

  Before Trevor said anything, Simon was walking back. Trevor really had no choice except to follow him, and his hand hurt like a bitch.

  They’d probably give him some good....fuck. He couldn’t take anything. He wouldn’t. Drinking might have been his gateway, but there had been plenty of pills that followed it, and other drugs behind the pills. The last thing he needed was to get any of that shit in his system again.

  Trevor squeezed his eyes shut. My job, Blake, Mom... He thought about the things he had in his life that were important to him. The things he risked losing if he screwed up.

  He wouldn’t fuck this up. No matter what. He was doing this. One day at a time. That’s what they told him in his classes. One day at a time.

  ***

  A registration clerk came back to get all of Trevor’s information. Simon watched silently. This part used to bug him sometimes. What he was doing was so much more important, but now, as crazy as it sounded, he actually missed it. Missed the whole process that led a patient to his table. The place where Simon would fix them.

  His heart sped up with the memories. The pride that filled him when he saved someone. When he repaired their heart.

  “Can I get your insurance information?” The clerk’s question snapped Simon out of his memories.

  “I’ll be covering it. Can you bill me?” he asked.

  “No, that’s fine. Please, bill me,” Trevor said, and Simon’s muscles tightened in annoyance.