“Uh, yeah, but I need to do a garbage run, so let me check the fridge. And maybe I should just wash these real fast.” I know I’m stalling as I busy myself in the kitchen, shifting dirty plates and glasses and utensils around on the small counter for no good reason.
“Obvious points for being badass ball-busting chicks,” Payne quips from his position on the couch, “but can we get the hell out of here now, please?” The impatience is thick in his voice, and I know a big part of it comes from seeing the object of his affection hurt, even though he’d never admit it.
Sun comes to join me and tosses her makeshift ice pack into the sink. Grabbing the frying pan that has somehow ended up in my hand again, she waggles her eyebrows at me before turning to face the guys.
“I distinctly remember asking you to stay downstairs, but yet here you are. You two don’t listen very well, do you?” She asks the question with her eyes squinted and lips pursed, tapping the side of the pan against the palm of her free hand for emphasis. It’s ridiculous, her trying to look all big and bad, and I appreciate her attempt at using humor to ease some of the tension still lingering in the room.
Apparently not as sure of her intentions as I am, Payne stands and carefully plucks the potential weapon from her fingers as she approaches him. Unable to hold her serious expression any longer, she giggles and overly pouts her pretty mouth, a teasing glint in her eyes. “What’s the matter, Payne? Not up for a little spanking?” Her eyes go wide, and I can hear the breath she sucks in from all the way across the room as Payne pulls her against him and reaches down to boldly grab a handful of her ass cheek.
“When you’re ready for me to spank this nice round ass of yours, Easton, you just let me know.” He pauses for a beat longer than joking, letting her fully absorb his meaning before backing up with a chuckle and walking the pan back to the kitchen sink.
“If it will make you feel better, Stella, I will arrange to have a cleaning company come in and take care of everything.” Mr. Halliday offers from where he now leans against the door frame waiting for us. Nodding my agreement, I join Sunday, where she still stands by the couch, having not moved an inch since Payne’s offer.
“Sunday, you need to close your mouth now,” I say, tapping the underside of her chin lightly and grinning.
“Did he just–” she whispers.
“Yep,” I confirm.
“Huh.” She tries to brush it off with practiced nonchalance, but I can tell she’s both shocked and at least a little pleased. “Well, let’s plow, shall we?” Linking an arm in mine, she grabs both our purses and sashays us to the front door. Looking over my shoulder, I offer a silent farewell to the cramped space, somehow knowing I’ll never be back.
Sunday gently grasps my chin with her free hand, and laser focuses her eyes on mine. “This is not your home anymore. I don’t think it was ever really anything more than a stopover. We are your home: me, Payne, Poe, Cecily–all of us. Folkestone is your home. It’s time to leave this place behind.” Her sincerity hits me right in the feels. I look at Payne and Poe and see the same thing reflected on their faces.
It scares the shit out of me, but deep inside, I know she’s right; I don’t belong here anymore. So, I suck it up and utter the only words I’m confident I can get out without choking on my anxiety or bawling my face off.
“Thank you.”
My best friend unlinks her arm from mine so she can engulf me in one of her bear hugs.
“It’s like the Jeffersons babe; you’re moving on up,” she says, and the visual makes me laugh.
“Sun, how do you even know who the Jeffersons are? I thought I was the one with the penchant for old tv shows.”
“No, you’re the one with the love of weird music and scary movies. I’m the one who likes cheesy old tv shows and nineties rap.” She pauses to throw me some hilarious made-up gang signs. “At Sandringham, I watched a lot of old seventies and eighties sitcoms. They thought they were less likely to get us worked up, and we’d be more pliable.” Before I can ask her what the hell that means and exactly what a Sandringham is, Poe interrupts.
“Everybody ready?” I can hear the ‘finally’ he kindly left out of his question, and I give him a small, grateful smile.
Sunday leans her head briefly against mine before quickly straightening up and aiming a saucy wink straight at Payne. Slipping on her pink Maui Jims, she grins. “Grab the bags, boys. It’s time to go home.”
Chapter Six
We stop back at the diner on our way out of town. There is no way I can leave, especially for good this time, without saying goodbye to Sally, the woman who has become like an older sister to me. There are big, messy, snotty tears on both our parts and in the end, I think she only lets me leave because I solemnly promise I’ll come back to visit her soon. Both Sunday and I make sure she knows there’s a standing invitation, complete with a plane ticket, to the west coast. I have a sneaking suspicion she and my aunt will get along great.
There’s one last goodbye that has to be said, so Sunday and I venture out to the back alley together. We hand a note to Mr. Ambrose with mine and Sunday’s cell numbers on it, just in case he ever needs anything, though she and I both know it’s not likely he’ll call us. Sunday also manages to sneakily stuff a few folded bills that I’m pretty sure were hundreds into his coat pocket when she gives him a hug.
Sally promised me she’d keep up the tradition of making sure he gets fed every day, and I know he’ll be as well taken care of as he’ll allow himself to be. He’s been uncharacteristically silent since we came to say goodbye, but his rheumy eyes look sad to see us go, and I’ll miss the old man.
Once back at the car, I choose to sit in the back next to the window. Payne and Sunday slide in beside me, trying to pretend the little standoff between them in my apartment never happened and the sexual tension between them isn’t real. Poe makes no argument about sitting in the front with his dad. However, he does give me a thoughtful and slightly questioning look before facing forward and buckling his seat belt.
The twenty-five-minute ride to the airport in Syracuse is like being caught in a daydream somewhere between awake and asleep. Just as I feel myself start to nod off, something jars me back to reality–a bump on the road, a car horn, snippets of conversation floating around me. Resting my forehead against the dark tinted window, I watch as fall in upstate New York flies past, my mind wandering.
Everything that’s happened could finally be catching up with me, or it could be I’m feeling my exit from New York more than I expected to. Whatever it is, it’s seriously kicking my ass. My heart is aching, and my mind is clouded by melancholy and sudden uncertainty.
Goodbye, New York, this is the end of the line for us. I really hope I’m making the right decision. If you happen to see my mom somewhere, tell her I miss her more than ever.
Unshed tears make the scene that greets us upon our arrival at the airport shimmer and sway in front of me. The SUV rolls to a smooth stop on the tarmac, and I open my door, letting the chilly October breeze dry my eyes as I step out of the vehicle. Silently, I stand in a daze, my mouth agape, and what I’m sure is a look of utter shock on my face before a disbelieving half-laugh chokes its way out of me. Never in my wildest dreams would I have pictured this.
I’m about to board a private jet with my slightly crazy but entirely wonderful best friend and two of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen. Three if you count Mr. Halliday. Things like this don’t happen to girls like me in real life—this is some straight-up Hollywood shit right here.
Sunday materializes beside me and reaches for my hand.
“It’s different being on a smaller plane, Stell, I promise.” Having been privy to exactly how paralyzing my fear of flying can be on our trip out here, I know she’s trying to reassure me.
“Different like we don’t have as far to fall when we crash because we don’t fly as high? So we’ll all die quicker? Because really, it’s the anticipation on the way down that’s terrifying.” Trying to joke
my way out of my panic fails miserably, and I feel myself start to hyperventilate. “Doesn’t matter if the plane is smaller, Sun, it’s still a cigar tube with wings, and I’m still trapped. There’s no ‘hey, I want off this crazy ride’ mid-flight.” The weird way I’m breathing is starting to make me feel lightheaded and a little pukey, but I can’t get my lungs under control.
“Well, technically, you could get the plane to land mid-flight if you wanted off, but it would require some heavy threatening and gun-waving, and you’d likely spend a few nights in jail afterward.” Sunday grins as I bark out a laugh. “Just sayin’, there’s always an out. It all comes down to how far you’re willing to go.” Squeezing my hand tightly once, she lets go as Poe approaches the two of us, looking like he walked straight off the pages of some kind of hot guy magazine.
Is there such a thing as a hot guy magazine?
If there is, and really, there should be, do the hot guys sell the stuff, or does the magazine sell the hot guys?
A high-pitched squeak of a laugh escapes me.
Oh my God, I’ve gone bat-shit crazy. What the hell am I thinking? Running on pure adrenaline and shitty sleep has finally eaten my brain.
“You guys ready?” Poe interrupts my runaway train of thought.
My teeth are clenched too tightly to answer him, and my closed-lip smile feels more like a grimace, but my knees haven’t buckled, and I’m still upright, so sure, I’ll go with ‘ready’.
“Uh, Poe? Can I talk to you for a quick sec?” Sunday asks, the worried mother-hen look back on her face. She takes a few steps away and motions for him to follow, which he does after staring at me in confusion for a few seconds, his eyebrows furrowed. My cheeks light up in embarrassment as she speaks to him in tones too quiet for me to hear because I know she’s explaining my habit of coming unglued when I have to fly. Watching the two of them, I can see precisely when the look of understanding, tinged with just the barest hint of amusement, floods his handsome face.
Jogging over to the small set of stairs at the entrance to the jet, Sunday turns back to face me for just a second, shooting me an obvious, overdone wink before disappearing into the interior. Poe’s left arm curls around my waist, and his lips press against my hair as he steps up behind me, making me jump.
“Come on, Star,” he coaxes. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” Trying desperately to not look like more of an ass than strictly necessary, no matter how fucking freaked out I am, I let him guide me up the stairs in front of him and into the luxurious cabin.
The six off-white individual leather seats and single comfortable looking couch that runs along one side are not what I expected to see. A restroom and a half galley that make up the rear are pointed out to me by a pleasant, uniformed man who introduces himself as the steward. Poe gently pushes me forward, and I realize Sunday, Payne, and Mr. Halliday are all still standing, waiting for me to choose my seat before committing to theirs.
Of course she told them.
“Yep. I fly like shit,” I confirm loudly, rolling my eyes. “Thanks for letting everybody know I’m a giant goober, Sun.” She just grins and shrugs.
“Not at all, Stella,” Mr. Halliday chimes in. “The fear of flying is quite common. You decide where you think you’ll be most comfortable, and the rest of us will go from there.” He smiles indulgently at me, and for a split second, I can see what it would be like to have a dad.
Poe steers me toward the couch, and I sit down with a thud, keeping my back ramrod straight as my leg starts to shake. When he reaches for the storage compartment above my head, I’m briefly distracted from my panic by the proximity of my face to his midsection. Curbing my impulse to reach out and slide a hand up his shirt to touch the defined abs I know are beneath it, I settle instead for a slow deep breath, inhaling his scent.
God, he smells absolutely lickable.
He looks down at me between his outstretched arms and gives me a toothy grin before removing a soft, oatmeal-colored blanket from the compartment. Shaking the folds out of it with one hand, he uses the other to push me back into the seat before tucking the blanket loosely around my lower body.
Satisfied with his handiwork, he pulls his iPhone and Airpods from the front pocket of his hoodie. Squatting down in the aisle in front of me, he uses gentle fingers to place the wireless headphones into my ears and hands me the phone after disabling the lock screen. He gets up only to flop onto the couch beside me, leaning over to press a chaste kiss to my temple before settling in and stretching out his long legs.
Like this is the sort of thing he does every day, he gives me a quiet, reassuring smile and threads the fingers of his left hand through the ones on my right before leaning back and closing his eyes.
Utterly astonished by the completely silent events of the last two and a half minutes, I stare open-mouthed at his relaxed posture and serene features.
How does the sexy, bad boy, prince of Folkestone, have this caring, sweet, squishy side? And how did I get lucky enough to be the recipient of it?
Shaking my head and turning my attention to the phone in my free hand, I use my thumb to navigate his downloaded songs and set them to shuffle play. His love of music rivals mine, so there’s no shortage of music for me to listen to.
The heat from the side of the muscular thigh pressed next to mine is both comforting and unnerving. I rejigger the blanket across my lap slightly and lean my head back as the opening notes of Solence’s ‘In the Dark’ float into my ears. Offering up my usual pre-flight prayers to any deities who will listen, I plant my feet and brace myself for the long five and half hour flight ahead.
With my fingers still laced tightly through Poe’s, I squeeze my eyes shut tight as we start our taxi down the runway. Miraculously they don’t open again until I’m gently nudged awake. The pilot announces our descent into San Francisco International, and I’m shocked as shit.
No panic attack? No freakout? How did I sleep the entire flight without the aid of pharmaceuticals or a knock-out punch in the head?
As if he can read my mind, Poe waggles his eyebrows at me and lifts my hand, kissing the palm softly before releasing it and looking very pleased with himself.
Landing in California feels different this time, aside from the obvious private jet thing. My traveling companions this time are people who have, very quickly, become almost like family to me, rather than dickhead drunk man-bun guy. I’m much more relaxed since the pants-shitting anxiety wasn’t present during the flight. Most of all, though, I think it has a lot to do with the fact that this time, I’m here on my terms instead of being summoned. There are still a ton of questions I need to have answered, and the only place that’s going to happen is in Folkestone.
“Are you nervous about being back?” Poe asks as he stands and pulls me to my feet beside him.
“Uh, yeah. Who wouldn’t be? But I can’t run from the shadows—my mother chose that path and look where it got her.” My hands shake slightly, folding the blanket. Not entirely sure if I should put it back in the overhead compartment or not, I settle for placing it neatly on the couch. Slipping the handles of my purse over my shoulder, I turn and step into the aisle. “I owe it to myself to find out the truth, and if it turns out Callum Torsten really is my father, there’s a score that needs to be settled, and I will take great pleasure in making him pay.”
My back to Poe, I move toward the cabin exit when suddenly his hand snakes out and pulls me back against his firm chest, and his breath feathers the air next to my ear.
“Remember the last time we were here?” he asks softly. “We need to work on your fear of flying because I want to travel everywhere with you. Recreate our first meeting in as many airports as we can find.” His naughty chuckle and the future in his words send a shiver of anticipation racing through my body, and a small sigh escapes me. He drops a kiss on the soft skin of my bare shoulder and prods me forward.
At the cabin exit, I pause at the top of the stairs, unsure who or what will be waiting for me. My br
eath hitches, and I feel the tears well up in my eyes when I see the familiar midnight blue Cadillac parked next to what I assume is Mr. Halliday’s car. Sprinting down the stairs, I ignore everybody around me and focus on the two people standing beside the Caddy.
The waterworks start in earnest when I throw myself at both of them and they hug me back just as exuberantly, the three of us a sobbing, grinning knot of happiness. The older man pulls back first, his smile warming my heart as he pats my cheek before walking briskly across the tarmac to retrieve my bags.
“Spry, can you grab Sunday’s too, please?” I manage to call out before my aunt nearly crushes me with the force of her hug. My tears start up again, and I wipe my sleeve under my nose, laughing lightly.
“Sorry, I’m a little crazy right now. I think I might have missed you,” I say sheepishly.
“You have no idea how much I missed you, Stella.” She steps back, holding my shoulders and searching my face. “Are you okay? What happened? How do you feel?”
Spry returns with our three duffle bags and my backpack and loads them into the trunk as Sunday joins my aunt and I. Covering Cecily’s hands with my own, I take a deep breath and give her a reassuring smile.
“I promise I’ll tell you everything, but right now, I just want to go home.”
After I spend five full minutes thanking Mr. Halliday profusely for everything, he reminds me he’ll take care of setting up my paternity test. I give him my cell number so he can let me know when the appointment is, and he leaves me with his business card. Sunday and I say goodbye to him and the guys and climb into the comfort of the Caddy’s cream-colored leather interior with my aunt.
The three of us are quiet on the ride to the Easton estate, content to just sit in companionable silence. When we pull in front of the massive stone house, Cecily asks to have a private word with Sunday, so I stay in the car while they both get out and stop a short distance away. I watch the two of them talking from the side window as Spry hands one of the duffels off to a clean-cut man in an impeccable black uniform.
Fractured Things (Folkestone Sins Book 2) Page 5
