Built to Last Read online

  Built to Last

  Black Ladder, Volume 2

  Eden Rayna

  Published by Eden Rayna, 2022.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  BUILT TO LAST

  First edition. February 11, 2022.

  Copyright © 2022 Eden Rayna.

  ISBN: 978-1999087395

  Written by Eden Rayna.

  Also by Eden Rayna

  Black Ladder

  Built to Last (Coming Soon)

  Not for Sale

  Driven by Fire

  Just a Fling

  Driven by Fire

  Out of Bounds

  Focused on You

  Driven by Fire Box Set

  Watch for more at Eden Rayna’s site.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also By Eden Rayna

  Chapter 1 | Kelsey

  Chapter 2 Scott

  Chapter 3 Kelsey

  Chapter 4 | Kelsey

  Chapter 5 | Scott

  Chapter 6 | Scott

  Chapter 7 | Kelsey

  Chapter 8 | Scott

  Chapter 9 | Kelsey

  Chapter 10 | Scott

  Chapter 11 | Kelsey

  Chapter 12 | Kelsey

  Chapter 13 | Kelsey

  Chapter 14 | Kelsey

  Chapter 15 | Scott

  Chapter 16 | Scott

  Chapter 17 | Kelsey

  Chapter 18 | Scott

  Chapter 19 | Kelsey

  Chapter 20 | Kelsey

  Chapter 21 | Kelsey

  Chapter 22 | Scott

  Chapter 23 | Scott

  Chapter 24 | Kelsey

  Chapter 25 | Scott

  Chapter 26 | Kelsey

  Chapter 27 | Scott

  Chapter 28 | Kelsey

  Chapter 29 | Scott

  Chapter 30 | Kelsey

  Chapter 31 | Scott

  Chapter 32 | Kelsey

  Chapter 33 | Scott

  Chapter 34 | Scott

  Chapter 35 | Kelsey

  Chapter 36 | Scott

  Epilogue | Scott

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  Further Reading: Driven by Fire Box Set

  Also By Eden Rayna

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Kelsey

  I can get through this with a little more focus. Grunt. Radiating wrinkles from the corners of my pinched eyes deepen with my growing concentration. Grunt. Just a little longer. Grunt.

  “Are you listening to me, Kelsey?” Cassidy, the owner of the small CrossFit gym I go to, asks.

  After one last grunt, I finish my set of chin-ups and, with absolute control, lower the ten-kilo plate from between my knees, issuing the barest thud on the rubberised floor. Then I swing forward and let go of the bar in a similar, and strikingly graceful manner.

  I’m pushing myself extra hard today, although not nearly as hard as Cassidy.

  “I’m listening.” I lift the bottom of my shirt and mop sweat from my brow. “You know I’m always keen for a night out. It’s what you’re not telling me that has me turning you down.”

  I walk to the squat rack and replace the weight with Cassidy trailing behind like a stray puppy looking for a belly rub.

  “What am I not telling you?” Her voice is way too high to make her disillusion credible.

  “The part where, as we walk into the club, you casually mention that you brought a date for me.” I whip my chin over my shoulder and lock her eyes in a dare to deny it.

  “I’d never do that,” she says, despite having absolutely done that. “Besides, you’re dating that guy. William, right?” Her eyebrows crinkle as her head tilts.

  “We broke up.” We didn’t date in the traditional sense, but it’s the easiest expression to use because explaining my dating philosophy takes a hell of a lot longer, and my first client comes in at eight a.m. I grab a set of dumbbells and start doing shoulder raises.

  “Aw, why?” The hopeless romantic in her drowns out her three-time national CrossFit champion badass-bitch persona. “I liked him.”

  Cassidy married her high school sweetheart, so although we’re roughly the same age, she’s been married for nearly a decade and has two children approaching semi-independence. She’s taken it upon herself to ensure that each of her single clients find the love of their life just like she did. Little does she know that—besides my best friend Izzy—my membership at this gym is the longest adult relationship I’ve had. And that’s fine by me.

  Her gushy feelings about William are less believable than tonight’s no-strings-attached invitation. She met William once, and it was by accident. We found ourselves at the same pub and pre-sex drinks turned into a double date. I still taste bile in my throat every time I think about it.

  Strangely, that wasn’t the worst thing to happen with the guy, nor was it the reason we stopped seeing each other. As soon as he asked me to go golfing with his brother and sister-in-law, I could barely get wet enough to make the sex enjoyable. When ninety percent of a relationship is about sex and the other ten percent is about matching schedules, there’s little room for messing up.

  “Meh, he was alright.” I express the same enthusiasm for William as for the grocery store customer service survey I filled in yesterday. Given that I went through the self-checkout, it was hard to offer full marks to the closest kid in an apron, who paid more attention to counting the cereal boxes in the promotional display than what I put in my bags.

  “Rain check on the night out, though?” I soften the blow to her kind heart.

  “Deal.” She takes the small win, even though she won’t rest until I’m happily partnered. Little does she know that I have found my own partner for tonight: Antonio No Last Name from Tinder.

  Cassidy takes two steps away then spins back to me. Dangerous light shines in her beautiful emerald eyes.

  That about face happened in record time.

  “One more thing.” She rolls those suddenly less alluring eyes at me at my raised eyebrows. She isn’t going to ask that question again. At least not so soon. “The annual Remembrance Day charity CrossFit event is looking for sponsors. Is that something you’d be interested in?”

  I agree to it because the exposure for my physiotherapy clinic will be great. CrossFit clients make up a large portion of the people I treat. Would-be athletes overtrain, they’re sent to my physio clinic so I can fix them up, and I send them back to keep training safely.

  “If only talking to you about boys was as easy as talking about work.” Her dramatic exhale precedes her retreat to the front desk.

  I resume my workout, staring straight ahead, examining my reflection in the mirror as I roll out my shoulders and shake my arms loose. I’m not vain like Jeff behind me, practically kissing his biceps after each curl. I exercise because I like how it makes me feel and because it’s part of my ethic. Physical strength translates to mental strength, and mental strength reduces everyday burdens. My schedule is packed, and I have to stay on top of my health to make it through all my commitments in a week.

  I drop into a straight-arm plank and dive into push-ups. Last set for today. While my face is dipping towards the floor, someone jumps from my left like a monkey swinging from tree-to-tree and latches onto the chin-up bar above me. I rotate on to one arm, twisting upward to see who could be so rude, although I don’t know why I bother. Only one person would do that.

  “Seriously? You couldn’t wait for me to finish?”

  Jeff doesn’t answer, his earbuds must be pumping music at volume Obnoxious. Every gym has a Jeff. The guy who doesn’t wait his turn patiently, the guy who doesn’t wipe down h
is equipment after sweating on it, the guy who shaves his pubes in the shower.

  Still in my push-up position, I walk myself backward from under his swinging body. The last thing I need to be is a patient in my own clinic when he forgets that I’m beneath him and lets go of the bar.

  I finish my set and head to the changeroom before my inside voice sneaks out and I end up in a conversation with Jeff that I’ll never win. Assholes like him never think they’re the asshole. Also, this is a small CrossFit gym. I know most of the regulars here—hell, I treat most of the regulars here—and I’d like to keep my reputation as far away from Jeff’s as possible.

  “See you tomorrow.” I tap the front desk twice on the way out, getting Cassidy to look away from the video of her favourite fitness influencer.

  “If you change your mind about tonight—”

  “I won’t.” Antonio has promised to do very wicked things to me, and I won’t trade that in for someone who’s looking to be set-up for life.

  “You will one day.” She sings as if there’s some secret to falling in love that I need to experience for myself.

  “Not likely,” I mumble under my breath, pushing through the door.

  Later that day, after I’ve had a chance to look over the charity event details, I pull one of my physiotherapists, Paul, into my office.

  “What would you say about swapping out one of your Saturday shifts in the clinic to represent us at a CrossFit event?”

  Paul was one of the first physiotherapists I hired and the least likely to make a big deal about spending time with his boss outside of the office.

  “Sure. Will any of my clients be competing?”

  “It’s not a competition, and yes, you’ll probably know some people there.” Cassidy encourages her clientele to sign up for charity events because they’re the perfect avenue to show-off in a non-threatening way.

  Paul leans on the doorframe and crosses his arms over his chest. “Will you be taking part?” If he thinks his winning smile will be the way to get personal with his boss, he’s wrong.

  I tip one side of my mouth in a sly smile. “Nice try.”

  Asking to see my skills is the most common question I get from my staff outside of asking for days off. While everyone here knows I do CrossFit religiously, no one has seen me in action. I maintain a professional distance between myself and my staff by keeping my personal life separate from my work life. It’s hard to be a boss to friends.

  “One day you’ll let an outsider into that sacred gym of yours.” Paul slides around the corner, leaving his thought hanging.

  What’s with everyone predicting my future today? Do I have a sign hanging around my neck saying Lost soul looking for encouragement? If I cared enough to broadcast my feelings, my sign would say I fucking love my life. My business is successful and my sex life is phenomenal. People need to stop trying to mess up my system.

  Chapter 2

  Scott

  My parents’ car in my brother’s suburban driveway tells me they beat me here. Sunday mornings have always been family time. Every week, without exception, we’re expected to be at the table for brunch. It wasn’t an easy commitment to make during the university years, but we somehow did it, and now that I have a niece and nephew, I’m glad the tradition stands.

  I open the truck door for my two foster dogs and watch as Goofy on his much shorter legs chases Charlie up the walkway. I let myself inside the house, calling out a useless good morning into the fray. Charlie heads to the kitchen, already looking for dropped food, while Goofy barks at the chaos of the kids squealing and music playing, even though it’s like this every time we come over.

  I find my mother, father, and brother with the kids in the family room playing ring-around-the-rosie and have to wait for everyone to fall down before I can get my greetings in. Goofy goes berserk, running around the circle of prone bodies, yapping at being ignored until the final note of the song rings through the speaker.

  A split-second before his barks become howls, my niece Teagan pats Goofy on the head and, in stern kindergarten style, reminds him that waiting his turn is good manners. It hardly calms him down, and he barks at her and her brother Josh in turns.

  “Goofy, behave.” Teagan drills her fists into her hips and puckers her face to look menacing. This being Goofy’s third family brunch, she expects him to greet her like family and smother her in kisses. Her message is received and Goofy licks her face until she’s squealing and satisfied with his more agreeable demeanour.

  Face clean, she throws herself into my arms, wrapping her legs as far around my body as they’ll go, squeezing with all her five-year-old might.

  “Uncle Thtot?” Her eyes go wide.

  “Yes, Teagan?” I answer with equally curious enthusiasm.

  “Did you know that I made a paper mathé pig at thtool?”

  “I didn’t know that. Did you bring it home to show me?”

  “Uh huh,” she says, bouncing her legs and pointing to the shelf where her mom Sasha keeps an assortment of arts and crafts creations.

  “Let’s go check it out.” En route, I high five my nephew. “What’s up, Josh?”

  “It hardly looks like a pig.” He answers in his too cool for school voice.

  I don’t need to jump in a tell him to be kind. Teagan stands up for herself, almost wiggling her way out of my arms as she throws her vexed body in his direction.

  “That’s because I painted it to look like bacon.” No vegetarians in this house. “Uncle Thtot?”

  “Yes, Teagan?”

  “Did you know that pigs are bacon?” Her wide and even wider smile note how Josh doesn’t come close to getting under her skin like big brothers should.

  “I did. Are we having some for brunch today?” I ask. Her eyes go wide once more and she nods excitedly, although I’m sure she has no idea what’s on the menu.

  After she shows me her pig, which does look more like bacon than animal, and we have a thoughtful conversation on where our food comes from, I head into the kitchen to say hi to the other half of the family who no longer lay on the floor listening to children’s music.

  Mom kisses me on the cheek, and as always, follows it up with a swipe of her thumb, removing the lipstick she leaves behind. I hug and back slap my father and brother, then walk around the kitchen island to my sister-in-law. Sasha looks at the flowers in my hand and smiles. I know where to find a vase and help myself to filling it with water and trimming the stems. After a year of Sundays, Sasha gave up telling me that I don’t need to bring flowers every week.

  I jump into the football conversation with the men. “If you want my opinion—”

  “We don’t,” my brother cuts me off with a mocking grin.

  I offer it anyway. “Montreal’s going to win this year.”

  Both laugh and my father adds to Kyle’s salty quip. “You say that every year.”

  “And one year, it will happen.” The decade-long losing streak has to end sooner or later and I’ll be proven right. Waving my winning Sports Select ticket in their faces is going to feel so good.

  “Always rooting for the underdog.” Kyle snorts.

  Mom says there are two things I inherited from my dad: my dimples and an inclination towards helping anyone in any situation. She says that I’m incapable of saying no when people ask for my time because I grew up with a role model who always says yes.

  Kyle may scoff, but it’s not the worst trait to have.

  “The underdog is the hungriest and most willing to try something new to be successful. The consummate winner is boring to watch,” I say.

  The sports analogy is more of a comparison between the two of us. Kyle went straight from high school to university to marriage and a family. My path has taken a few more forks and has led to more than one dead end. The last wrong turn ended up with wedding rings being sold at a pawn shop.

  The doorbell rings and Goofy takes on his role as sentry once again, rushing to the entrance, nails scraping along the hardwood floo
rs. Owen MacLeod, my best friend, honorary family member, and boss, is inside before Goofy gets to his post.

  “Stop yapping and I’ll scratch you behind the ears.” Owen negotiates with Goofy as Charlie and I arrive in the foyer.

  Leaning over the barking dog, Owen and I clasp hands and slap each other on the back. Charlie waits calmly at Owen’s feet and is rewarded with attention; a trick Goofy hasn’t figured out yet.

  “I need you to talk to the neighbour.” Owen thinks about work seven days a week and forgets—or ignores—that the rest of us like taking a day off every now and then.

  He owns Black Ladder Developments, a housing development company, and he has his eye on the shack next to his current project. Owen wants to tear it down but couldn’t convince the owner to sell. Sadly, she passed away several weeks ago, and Owen figured the house would be put on the market for him to snap up. Things didn’t go as planned. And worse than someone else buying it, is that the granddaughter, who is equally stubborn as Owen, moved in.

  He’s hit a wall talking to her, trying to convince her to sell. Most likely because full sentences and asking questions aren’t his style, which has led to more arguments than necessary. As his project manager—and voice of reason—looks like I’ll be taking over.

  “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” I say.

  Owen grunts, wanting this to be solved before then. Even if I were working today, I have a feeling this feud is going to go on a lot longer than the average workday. This seems like a problem to be tackled by the entire Black Ladder team. Maybe the new neighbour’s friends too.

  Chapter 3

  Kelsey

  The Headless Horseman Pub is like most other local joints. Booths surround the perimeter of the room, hightop tables cluster in the middle, and a couple pool tables line the back wall. Random sports paraphernalia and newspaper clippings provide the décor. There’s a good selection of rotating craft beers, and Izzy and I both choose microbrews from right here in the city. Gotta support the little guy, we always say. As two business owners, we both know the struggle.