“The beauty of a fallen feather, burning in a set flame,” I declaim. Her statement compels me to realize its beauty. I used to hate this ugly feather and recalling what it looks like; it’s immaculate.
Deep-set, hazel eyes meet mine. “My son loves you, Tracey.”
“I love him.”
I feel Nathan enter the kitchen. “Who do you love?”
I smile at Natalia before turning my attention to Nathan. “Uhh?”
He matches my smile, and there’s light that slices through my darkness of this day. “What are you two talking about?”
“Burning feathers,” she states simply, getting up and leaving.
He looks me over, rubbing his thumb across my cheekbone. The feather disappears along with the vines. “Burning feathers?”
I turn my head and kiss his palm he’s left resting against my cheek. “Yes. Beautifully burning feathers.”
“Sparks, let me ask you a question, and you treat it as just a question,” Nathan says as we head upstairs.
“Okay?”
“Would you want to stay in this area, by your parents’ house, or somewhere completely different?”
Turning down the corners of my mouth, I utter, “I’m not sure.”
“Or I can choose, and you just come.”
“I don’t want that. When you look, take me with you. Don’t spring it on me a week before we move,” I chaff, trying to find a laugh inside of me somewhere.
Crossing Nathan’s bedroom floor, I push open the bathroom door, and flick the light. To the left of me, my reflection requests I meet my eyes. I flick my gaze to it, seeing Glen instead of myself. A bright smile flitters across her face and I feel my cheeks rising, returning it. I blink, film leaving my eyes, and she’s gone. I stare back at myself, smile drowning in the face of sorrow I hope didn’t look as bad as I felt while we were downstairs.
Turning on the rain showerhead, I make the water as hot as I can stand it.
Cleaning’s hard. . . Lifting my arms to wash my hair or my body isn’t as easy of a task as it was before. At that, I realize this isn’t something easy to overcome. The thought of her, of it, plows into me like a wrecking ball. And it’s a constant thought of images I’ll never un-see, feelings I’ll never un-feel.
On the other hand, I have this background eagerness—freedom. And it feels wrong to be happy for me.
The bathroom door opens. “Sparks, you’ve been in the shower going on an hour. You okay?”
“I’m trying to figure that out.”
“You want to talk?”
“I can talk.”
“Don’t turn off the water.” Nathan closes the door.
I ring my hair and step out of the shower, wrapping myself in a towel. Nathan gets in, changing the water’s patter. He likes for it to pound against his body like the rush from a fire hose. It hurts.
I sit on the floor with my back against the closed door, first thinking. It takes minutes before the words push past my lips. “It’s too much. And my feelings are fighting against each other.”
“Bittersweet,” he offers.
“Right. How do you feel?” I ask, wanting to be sure I’m not experiencing this mixture of feelings alone.
“Same. I’m angry as fuck. But I’m relieved too. I feel responsible they’re gone. I keep replaying it over and over, trying to figure out a different outcome. It doesn’t matter much, but if I could just understand it, maybe it’ll lessen the blow.”
“I’ve been trying to think of something we could’ve done differently, coming up with nothing. He was just so fast. . .” I can’t shake that. “And I feel bad being happy for us when I know I should be mad about losing my friends.”
“This may sound bad, but we’re not supposed to mourn death, but be content that our loved ones are in a better place. It sounds wrong, and because we’re earthly and made of flesh, we feel bad about things and people we lose. It’s natural, but we’ll learn to accept it and understand they’re better off. Happier there than what they were here.”
“That sounds bittersweet too.”
“It’s all vanity, Sparks. Life is.”
“Your years on Earth have installed such wisdom in you, Great Nathan.”
“Don’t call me that,” he quips unharshly. “I’ve seen death in its worse form, Sparks. Too many people have been ripped from me, and it doesn’t get easier. I always think it will, but it never does. It may even hurt worse, the more people I lose. Especially when it’s because of me. I catch myself in the same spot—trying to figure what I could’ve done to change anything—angry with myself that I couldn’t save them, or that I couldn’t take their place.”
“You’ve lost someone more important to you than Scott?”
“I’ve lost enough.” I don’t hear it in his voice, but I believe him.
“You want me to tell you a joke? I have some good ones.”
He chuckles. “That was it, right?”
I laugh at his doubt in my joking skills. “It wasn’t actually.”
“Fine. Go for it.” I can hear him smiling, and his voice has lightened, which was exactly my aim.
“Okay.” I sit up on my knees, ready to tell. “There once was a man who lived in a shoe.”
Nathan laughs.
“Wait, Nate. I haven’t made it to the punch line yet,” I say, bummed.
Cracking up, he manages, “It’s not a man, Sparks. It’s a lady. And that’s not a joke; it’s a nursery rhyme.”
“Oh yeah, right. Okay. Stop laughing. Let me try again. There was a man who walked into a bar.”
Laughing, he says, “God, I love you, Tracey Warren. Thank you.”
My head falls in a bow, and I smile to myself. Though I didn’t get to tell my joke, my mission is complete. “Thank you, Nathan.” I leave him to his shower and go to dress. Laying in the bed, I recall my fear of sleep. But, as I close my eyes, there’s no Roehl. No worry that during my slumber I’ll require another man other than my mate. I find triumph in defeating that disaster.
Soft knocks sound against the bedroom’s door.
“No! Nobody’s home,” I grump, tired of company. The door opens. “Oh. I’m sorry, Nick.” I sit up, patting the bed. “Come on.”
He climbs atop it and over to me. Wrapping little arms around my neck, he squeezes me tight, and I return it. “I’m sorry about Glen, Tracey. Although she was weird, I liked her.”
“Thank you.” I hug him tighter. Kids’ hugs are awesome.
“You’re welcome.” He pulls back, looking at Nathan coming out of the bathroom.
“Hey, Nick. Wassup?”
Nicholas runs over to him and hugs his waist. Nathan picks him up and Nicholas cries, “I am going to miss Scott so much.”
Aww. I chew on my lip, wishing there was something to take away the sorrow.
“I know.” Nathan rubs his back. “Me too,” he softly finishes.
“Can I stay in here with you two, just for tonight?”
Nathan looks at me for my answer, and I hurry my nod. “Yeah, of course,” he tells him. In rushes Curtis and Cindy with teary red eyes and in their pajamas.
I have to hold up a strong guard against my tears as they jump up on the bed, throw their arms around my neck, and pat my back, murmuring, “It’ll be okay, Tracey.” Gosh, I don’t want to cry in front of the babies, but they’re making that hard.
“And I suppose you two munchkins want to stay in here too?” Nathan asks, placing Nicholas to the floor.
The twins rush over to him, and he squats, embracing them. “Yes, please?” they chime in unison.
Nathan stands with them in his arms and drops them off on the bed as he continues to the closet. “Fine,” he agrees, closing the door.
The three of them crowd around me, getting comfortable. I can’t think of a better way to end this day. Having Nick, Curt, and Cindy around averts my mind from Glen and the sick and crazy events that have happened today.
Nathan and I lay with the kids snuggled between us, watch
ing Nick Jr. until they fall asleep.
As Curt’s eyes droop closed, I’m hitting the power button on the remote, unable to take another Bubble Guppies song. The darkness is comforted by their soft snores and little coos, and it’s surprisingly peaceful.
I stretch my hand under the pillows until it finds Nathan’s and he interlocks our fingers. “You know, some years from now, this’ll be us with our family,” he jokes.
“Yeah. . . I don’t know about that if we have to watch Wow Wow Wubbzy. How do they get into that?” I chaff. It was song after song that I’m never going to get out of my head.
He laughs. “It’s not that bad.”
“Right,” I drag.
“Goodnight, Sparks.”
“I love you, Nate.”
I WAKE UP TO a fist in my throat and a foot in my rib cage. Easing off the bed, I escape without waking anyone.
This morning’s a breath of fresh air. I inhale again, sinking into my corner chair and wrapping the throw around me. Yesterday’s no less of a memory than the last five seconds. And never being here before, experiencing something like this, I’m not sure how to deal with it. It’s nothing like a broken glass you sweep up and toss away, nor is it like a car totaled beyond repair. It’s more like a crumbled paper. Even after ironing it out, there will still be lines from when it was tarnished, tears from when it was ripped, and crinkles from where it was scored.
Someone knocks on the door.
The sun’s barely even up for Pete’s sake. . . Reluctantly, I pull myself up from the chair to answer it.
“Hi, Tracey. Did I wake you,” Ann greets with a grin that barely lightens her deep brown eyes.
“No, not at all,” I say, covering my mouth as I yawn.
“I just thought you and Nathan might be tired of the children by now.”
Pulling the door open wider, I allow her view into the room. “No, actually, they’re fine. Still sleeping.”
She takes a step forward but doesn’t enter. “I see.” Chuckling, she says, “If they would have been around us, they’d be up before the sun fully lit the sky.” She hasn’t looked outside because she is up before the sun’s fully lit the sky.
I match her titter. “I believe you.”
“Okay, well, I’ll let them sleep. Nathan looks like he’s in deep too.”
Flicking my gaze over my shoulder, I take in the relaxed look on his face. “Yeah, he does.”
“Would you like to come to the kitchen with me for coffee or tea?”
Though I’m tired, I would like to get to know Ann better. We rarely get the opportunity to chat alone. “Sure, give me a second to slide on my shoes and throw on a different shirt.”
Exiting the closet, I hear, “Sparks?” from a groggy voice.
“Yes, Nate?”
“What are you doing?”
“Going downstairs with Ann.”
He leans up on his elbow and looks over at the three children all, somehow, snuggled against him. Slightly adjusting, not to disturb them, he looks at the open door. “Good morning, Ann.”
“Good morning. I’ve invited Tracey to come down for some coffee.”
“Sparks doesn’t like coffee,” he scoffs. “Or tea,” he adds.
I push his head to lie back on the pillow and lean over to kiss his cheek.
“Why are you even awake? When did you wake up?” he asks.
“It’s okay, Nathan. Come down when you’re up.”
Grumbling, he turns over and throws my pillow on his face.
Ann juggles a tea and coffee Keurig pod, preparing their single-cup, coffee maker. She makes my tea first, and then her coffee. It smells good, like chestnut.
She comes to the table, setting my cup down in front of me. “I made a simple tea for you, with just sugar and lemon. Things are better now?”
“Things are . . . okay.” Feeling uneasy, I veer the conversation to her. “Everything is well with you all?”
“Yes. Thank you for asking. Excluding the extended family, all is well.”
I make a small shrug. “I guess family can, at times, play a part in your relationship.”
“They can often. In most, they can make or break the relationship. And living with them makes it even harder at times.”
Curious, I ask, “Do you like living with them?”
“I’m like you, Tracey, except I had two other siblings. But they were never home, so it was mostly only my mother and me. I’m used to everyone being around now, but when Roseland and I first met, I hated it. Every time I turned a corner, I was running into someone. It drove me crazy, but I adapted to the big family lifestyle. Now I’m comfortable.”
“This may sound like a crazy question but do the four of you share a room?”
She chuckles. “No, we’re on a far end of the house. Three bedrooms, a bathroom in our room and the other is in the hall between Cindy and Curtis’ rooms.”
Leaning back in my chair, I nod, feeling a bit more at ease. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was curious.”
“No, there is no problem with that. I don’t mind answering.”
The tea warms me, soothing my sore throat I didn’t realize I had until I drank it. I don’t like tea, but this is fine.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Peeking over the bridge of my ceramic cup, I drawl, “I think so. . .” The nature of her question will determine if I’ll answer it.
“You were influenced by Roehl for a while. Did you feel the difference when you killed him?” Ann’s use of the word killed reminds me of what I did. I killed someone . . . again. Death actually changes you, who you are on the inside. And every time it happens, though it eats at my soul, it gives me a small boost of assurance and confidence. I think that’s because of Nathan, though.
Uncomfortably, I say, “Yes. I felt his pull and hold on me disperse.”
Ann sets her cup down on the table but leaves it clutched between her hands. “I would like to share something with you. How good are you with blocking Nathan?”
I shake my head. “Not that good.” Not good at all, rather. Nathan often knows my thoughts before I think them.
“Closing off your mind isn’t something that can be taught. It’s like whistling; one day, you just get it. But it’s possible if you can understand how your mind works. You can use your power to guard your entire body by simply sobering yourself and rearranging your thoughts. Like I said, it’s hard to explain, but once you’re able to ease through the bond, you’ll get it. You’re a smart girl.” She eyes me, head on.
I nod, confirming I’m listening.
“I’m not telling you this so you can hide things from him.” Yes, she is. “Communication in relationships is critical. But with what you have gone through, I believe I need to share this with you. However, I would appreciate it if this stayed between only us.”
Contemplating being honest, I decide against it, eager to know what she needs to tell. “I’ll do what I can to focus away from what you tell me.”
She stares at me before she reveals, “Roehl is my brother.” My mouth drops open. “No one in this family knows. I’d like to keep it that way.”
Unable to respond, I stare, slacked-jaw. At some point, my crossed legs have uncrossed and my hair, once twisted in a bun, has fallen around my head. “Um, aba, uh,” I blabber. “Uh.” I clear my throat and take a pause. “Hmm. Okay. I guess what I can’t understand is how Nathan Sr. can sleep with two different women and your mother with two different men. I thought once you found your mate then that’s it.”
“My mother was never anyone’s mate. She was what mated Sephlem men like to call Femme Fatale. Mother was a Hybrid, and her ability was beauty and seduction. She used it for what she wanted. Mother could seduce and enchant men without them realizing it. Roehl was an accident she and Mr. Newcomb had.” Ann takes a drink from her cup. “Although he was aware of what was going on, she would take away the guilt, the shock, making it more human. Roehl was born, and there was an understanding built between both families.
I’m sure it tore Natalia apart. But understand, I know you did what you had to do to save yourself and this family. But. . .” Her voice lowers, dragging out the but in threat.
My hand heats and my eyes demand me to blink. I refuse to, deciding to warn her. But I prepare myself for her attack. If she attacks. “Before you do whatever you’re thinking about doing. I advise you to think about your children and your husband. Because with the mood I’m in, the risks I’ve taken. . . I won’t hesitate to drop you.” My voice is strong, oozing with promise over threat. “Make me send you through the wall at your back to prove it.”
“Tracey, a debt for a debt,” she swears.
“Ann, I love your kids, and it would kill me to see them hurt.” I meet her eyes, not seeing a falter in her promise. “I tell you what, do whatever you think it is you need to do.” I blink.
Baring a bright, silver sun on the side of her face and argent-colored eyes, she holds the same features as Roehl. Jumping from her seat, she lunges at me.
I blast her. A warp of fire propels from my hand and smashes into her chest, sending her crashing into the wall behind her. It wasn’t as big as I would’ve used because I honestly don’t want to harm her. However, I don’t want her to hurt me either.
The rushing footsteps coming our way are loud in my ears, sounding over the falling pieces of wall and Ann’s groaning. The kitchen crowds and Nathan’s at my side. “What happened?” he asks.
“She, she. Ann—” Well, now that I think about it, she really didn’t do anything yet. I might’ve reacted off impulse from what my eyes showed me. She probably never moved. “She told me she was Roehl’s sister and now I owed her a debt for killing him.” It sounds like a million people gasp at once.
Roseland helps Ann from the floor, urging, “Ann, tell me that’s not true.”
She looks to him, and then charges, shoving the table out of her path. “Liar!” she spits, pouncing.
I flip her, and we tumble to the floor. A hand clasped around her long neck, I warn in a raspy voice, “Don’t do it, Ann. I’m not in the mood for this crap today.”
Three Times Torn Page 36
