Heart First, page 1
Table of Contents
A NineStar Press Publication
Heart First
Dedication
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Coming Soon from S.B. Barnes
Connect with NineStar Press
A NineStar Press Publication
www.ninestarpress.com
Heart First
ISBN: 978-1-64890-711-1
© 2023 S.B. Barnes
Cover Art © 2023 Melody Pond
Edited by Elizabetta McKay
Published in December 2023 by NineStar Press, New Mexico, USA.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact NineStar Press at Contact@ninestarpress.com.
Also available in Print, ISBN: 978-1-64890-712-8
CONTENT WARNING:
This book contains sexually explicit content, which may only be suitable for mature readers. Discussion of a university student’s attempted suicide (side character, off page), discussion of cannibalism; guns/gun violence, murder, power imbalance/harassment, alcohol use, grief, stalking.
Heart First
A Hudson Valley Murder Mystery,
Book One
S.B. Barnes
For B. and K.
Prologue
With his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his hoodie, he’d rather be anywhere but here, standing in a corridor of the film department’s building, waiting for her under the flickering fluorescent lights.
“How many times?” he asks.
She rolls her eyes. “When did you last take a shower?” She’s almost dismissive, but there’s still a hint of concern in her voice, a shadow of caring.
He’s going to lose that if he keeps going. He’s well aware, but he needs to know. If he doesn’t know, he can’t keep track, and if he can’t keep track, he won’t know how much…
“Did you hear me?” she asks. Snaps, really.
“I don’t know; sometime this week,” he mutters.
“I’m really worried. This isn’t good for you.” Her dyed-dark hair swings into her eyes, and she pushes it behind her ears angrily. One strand catches on her nose ring. “Can I take you to counseling?”
“No,” he says instantly. He’s been too many times, and it’s humiliating and tiring, and he can fix this if he can only keep count. He’s sure of it because she’s told him so; she’s told him this is the right track to fix everything and make it all return to how it used to be. “I just need to know—”
“It’s my life,” she tells him with an air of finality. “You may not agree with my choices, but you can’t keep doing this.”
“How many times?” He steps closer, forgetting he’s taller than her until he’s towering over her, angry and desperate and all the things he didn’t want to be.
She shrinks back. “You’re scaring me.”
“Just…tell me!”
Mutely, she shakes her head. “If you won’t let me help, leave me alone.”
She turns on her heel and disappears toward the office she came from.
“Damn it,” he mutters. That’s twelve that he knows of.
“Twelve,” he repeats to himself. “Twelve.” He counts his steps as he leaves the building, twelve at a time. Twelve steps at a time as he walks toward his building.
In his room, he sinks to his knees in front of the picture. He lets his fingers trace across the words carved into the floor as he picks up the bread. “Twelve,” he mumbles to himself, counting out his bites. Twelve of them. He needs new bread.
It’s not her fault, and she shouldn’t have to hurt for it. If he eats, she’s free.
“I will eat your sins,” he promises.
Chapter One
“Hello?” Daniel calls out into the seemingly deserted garage. “I, uh…I brought my car in?”
He winces at himself. Of course he brought his car; it’s an auto repair shop. What else would he have brought? A tricycle? There’s something about places like this that make him acutely self-conscious of his own ignorance. There’s probably nothing seriously wrong with his car, and he’s already bracing for some guy with a mustache and a baseball cap to tell him condescendingly he could have easily fixed it himself.
“Just a second,” a voice calls back, much closer than Daniel expects. He flinches and looks around, trying to find the source.
There’s a clanging noise, like someone dropped a tool on the floor, immediately followed by the sound of wheels scraping over asphalt. From beneath the sleek black car parked to the left, a guy in a pair of washed-out jeans and a stained white tank top emerges.
He has a mustache.
Daniel called it.
Granted, he also has a beard, which makes the mustache less out of place, but still.
“Hi,” Daniel says and waves awkwardly.
“Hey,” the guy says. “Wasn’t there someone at the front office?”
“There was.” Daniel bristled a little. “She told me to come here.”
The guy rolls his eyes and pushes a strand of hair out of his eyes. The rest of it is in a short ponytail at the back of his head, with the once close-shaved sides grown out a bit. With the mustache, it’s an intense look.
“Fuck,” the guy says. “Uh, sorry. I’m guessing she didn’t give you any paperwork?”
Daniel shakes his head. Mostly, the goth girl at the front desk snapped her gum and said “Uh-huh” when he tried to describe the sound his car started making this morning on the drive over from Rhinebeck. When he finished, she pointed him wordlessly toward the garage. She didn’t look up from her phone once during the interaction.
“I wish I could fire her,” the guy mutters to himself, wiping sweat off his forehead with his forearm.
It gives Daniel an unobstructed view of his arms, which are really nice.
Not the time, he chastises himself. Hitting on a mechanic in an auto shop in a dinky little town in upstate New York sounds like a neat way to get himself in trouble, and anyway, making a move on someone while they’re at work is just bad manners. Besides, that mustache is really something, and while it does suit the man’s face, Daniel’s not sure how he feels about it.
“Sorry, I’m Tony. I should probably have led with that.”
Daniel grins. “Hi, Tony. I’m Daniel, and I’m having trouble with my car.”
“Well, you’re in luck. I happen to be a mechanic.”
“Wow, what are the odds?”
Tony shrugs and gestures to the rows of different-size chains hanging on the wall. “You walk into a setup like this, it’s an even split—mechanic or sex worker.”
It shocks a laugh out of Daniel. He gets the impression he doesn’t need to worry about homophobia here if Tony’s using respectful language, which is a relief.
“So, what’s wrong with your car?”
Daniel winces. “It’s been making this weird noise all morning. Like a kind of irregular clunking?”
“All the time or just when you go over a bump?”
“Um…” Daniel considers. The roads are pretty shitty between Rhinebeck and Lobell College anyway, so he wasn’t exactly sure how frequent the noise was. He didn’t hear it much on the better-paved way into Kingston, but he was also focused on finding the garage and wasn’t really paying attention.
“Your muffler might be loose,” Tony tells him when he fails to answer the question.
“Okay,” Daniel says slowly. “And that’s…bad?”
Tony blinks. “Not a car guy, huh?”
“No,” Daniel says quickly. “Computers guy. Classic literature guy. Fourth season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer guy. Very much not a car guy.”
A frown line draws tight on Tony’s forehead. “That’s a really bad season, which, okay, no one’s perfect. Here’s what we’ll do. Technically, we’re booked totally full today, but you’re here now, and I don’t feel great about sending you away when we don’t know for sure what’s wrong with your car. I’m gonna take a quick look at it to see what’s wrong.”
“That would be amazing,” Daniel says. “Thank you so much. I’m sorry to put you out.” It figures they’d be busy. He chose this place because it’s the only auto shop in a twenty-mile radius that takes walk-ins, and he couldn’t quite work up the motivation to call somewhere. He’s probably not the only one.
Tony waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Just don’t tell my boss or Mrs. Cooper when she comes to pick up her car in an hour.” He nods toward the car he’s been working on, and Daniel taps the side of his nose.
For a long moment, they grin at each other widely. Tony has r eally nice eyes. Daniel’s always thought brown eyes exuded warmth, and Tony has exceptionally long eyelashes. There’s something kind in there, in the crinkles around the corners. He must laugh a lot.
“I, uh, I’ll need your keys,” Tony says.
“Oh, right.” Daniel fumbles for his pocket like an idiot. “Of course. Sorry.”
“That’s cool.”
He hands over the keys. Their fingers brush, and oh shit, Daniel has really done a full one-eighty here on the whole it’s probably a bad idea to hit on this guy thing. It’s still a really bad idea, but now Daniel wants to do it anyway.
“So, do I wait in the office?” Daniel asks, trying to sound casual and not at all like he’s wondering what those calluses on Tony’s fingers would feel like if they were to touch more intentionally.
Tony’s teeth flash white as he grins. He has dimples. Daniel is really coming around on the mustache. “You can. If you want to enjoy my sister’s charming company some more. Or…”
Daniel raises an eyebrow, a neat trick it only took him about two hours to learn when he was fourteen. “Or?”
“Or you could stay here and keep me company.”
This is how Daniel finds himself sitting on a plastic stool, ogling an inconveniently hot mechanic bent over the popped hood of his ‘98 Honda Civic. “So, the receptionist is your sister?” he asks because it’s better small talk than Did you buy those pants specifically to drive me insane?
“Unfortunately. Worst receptionist we’ve ever had.” Tony stands up, stretching. The planes of his back and shoulders are very clearly outlined, and Daniel appreciates it a lot.
Trying to sound polite and not at all like he’s ogling Tony, Daniel says, “She did seem a little, uh…uninterested in customer service.”
Tony snorts and walks around the car to look at the rear. “That’s a very nice way to say that she’s driving away customers.”
“I mean, I’m still here,” Daniel points out.
“Clearly, you’re an exceptionally patient person,” Tony says with a wink over his shoulder.
“Somehow, I think Mrs. Cooper would disagree.”
“Eh.” Tony shrugs. “What she doesn’t know…” He comes back around the car. “So, it’s definitely your muffler. That’s an easy fix, just tightening some bolts. I’m going to change your oil, too, though. It looks like it’s been a while.”
Daniel winces.
“Really not a car guy.” Tony shakes his head. He’s smiling, though, so Daniel doesn’t take it personally. “If I ask you to hand me a wrench…”
“I will tell you I am only 85 percent certain what a wrench is,” Daniel admits. “I could have fixed this myself, couldn’t I?”
Tony brushes past him on his way to get the long silver thing Daniel had been pretty sure was a wrench. He smells like engine oil and sweat, and it makes Daniel a little dizzy. “I’m pretty sure you specifically couldn’t have, sweetheart,” Tony tells him.
Okay.
It’s a little condescending, but Daniel’s knees are officially weak.
“Sweetheart, huh?”
“Too much?” Tony pulls his rolling bench thingy over from the car he was working on before Daniel’s car and disappears between the wheels.
“Nope,” Daniel says, popping the p.
The wrench on the bolts makes a really satisfying sound, and then Tony’s rolling out from under the car. “Glad to hear it.” He rolls under the front of the car, presumably to change the oil. Daniel would be lying if he were to say he cared about anything besides the way Tony’s thighs strain against the seams of his jeans when he bends his knees.
“All right.” Tony comes out from under the car. “The oil needs to drain now. That should take a while.”
“Okay.”
“While we wait…” Tony looks Daniel over. He wipes his hands off on a towel.
“Yeah?”
Tony closes the hood of Daniel’s car and leans against it. “Well, either I try to salvage what’s left of my professionalism and get back to work on Mrs. Cooper’s car, or you come a little closer.”
Daniel licks his lips. “I won’t get you in trouble?” He steps a little closer.
“Can’t say I really care if you do.” Reaching out, Tony grabs Daniel by the belt loops of his chinos and tugs him close. Just in time, he tilts his head to the side, and their mouths collide in a slick slide.
It’s instantly wet, deep, and not how Daniel would kiss a first date. Fitting, for a run-in this unprecedented. Daniel swore off hookups when he was twenty-three and it stopped feeling good or convenient to go out on the pull, but there’s a nostalgia to it now. It’s electric to click this well with a stranger, to skip the pleasantries and the not-so-pleasantries of getting to know someone. His hands find Tony’s hips on instinct and push the tank top up until he can run his thumbs along warm skin.
“You’re sure?” Daniel asks when they pull apart for a moment.
Tony smiles. It makes him look a little less dangerously sexy, a little softer. “I won’t get in trouble; I promise. Sweet of you to care.”
Daniel leans forward to nip at his lips. “I’m not that sweet.”
“We’ll see about that.” Tony grins.
Daniel has all kinds of ideas as to how he could prove it, and he would get started on them right away, but Tony’s hands are firm on his waist, and Daniel really likes the prickle of Tony’s mustache against Daniel’s own shaved upper lip.
He’s missed being kissed.
Tony is warm and his arms are pretty much as muscular as they seemed, something he proves by twisting them around until it’s Daniel leaning against the car. The base of Daniel’s spine bumps awkwardly against the side mirror, but to be honest, he doesn’t care. He cares about the soft, spiky feel of the shaved parts of Tony’s hair under his hands. He cares about Tony’s shaky inhale when they part for breath. He cares about how red Tony’s mouth looks now he’s been kissed.
“I—” Tony’s staring at Daniel. His eyes are dark, or maybe that’s the lighting. “Um.”
Daniel waits a moment, but Tony doesn’t add anything.
Daniel leans forward and kisses him again. It’s hesitant this time, gentle. Daniel’s probably reading way too much into things, but he wonders if maybe between the two of them, he’s the one who’s kissed more strangers.
He tilts his head, kisses Tony’s jawline, the side of his neck. Tony exhales sharply, a little gasp, and Daniel instantly wants to hear more. He lets his teeth trace lightly down the line of Tony’s neck and—
The door between the front desk and the garage slams open.
Tony stumbles away from Daniel so fast he trips and nearly falls.
A woman’s voice shouts, “Yoo-hoo! Anthony!” so loudly it rings through the entire garage.
“Mrs. Cooper,” another voice says. That must be the receptionist. The sister. “I told you to wait—”
“Oh, I only want to see how my baby’s doing.”
She pats the hood of the car next to Daniel’s. He realizes he’s still pressed uncomfortably against his passenger side door and steps away from it hurriedly.
“Hi Mrs. Cooper.” Tony’s smile is apologetic. “You’re early.”
“Just a smidge.” Mrs. Cooper is at least forty-five, charitably, and her wispy brown hair is up in a chignon that was probably really nice this morning. Her eyeliner is a tad too dramatic, and her smile is extremely wide. “How is she?”
“Almost done,” Tony promises. “I’m running a little late today.”
“I can wait,” she says breezily and sits on the stool Daniel occupied previously. “I see I’m not the only one.”
Daniel smiles politely and tries not to think about how his lips are tingling. He especially tries not to look at Tony, who’s bending down over the hood of Mrs. Cooper’s car.
“Are you from the area?” she asks him.
Daniel blinks. “Uh, no, I’m from California.” He’s on autopilot, hoping it’s not too noticeable that his heart is pounding and the back of his neck is flushed unattractively. “How about you?”
“Kingston born and raised,” she says cheerfully. “What brings you to our neck of the woods?”
“I have a teaching job over at Lobell.” Too late, he considers he should probably ask what she does. He’s not really used to nonacademic small talk anymore.
