by Jo Raven
Shit. “I was a damn nuisance as a kid.”
“You were super cute. And fun. You were a good kid, Merc.”
“You always say I was a pest.”
“Yes, you were. Kids are that way.” She nods at her son. “It’s hard to tell why a kid hates something, a place, a person, a toy, a kind of food. It was annoying, sure, but you never went that way again, so we accepted it and didn’t take you with us when we went walking in that direction again. Mom tried to pry the why out of you, but you wouldn’t say. In fact… for some time, you didn’t say much.”
I blink. “Meaning?”
“You barely talked for months. We couldn’t figure out what was wrong. I remember Mom taking you to a child psychologist.”
“She did?” I ask faintly. I can’t fucking remember any of this.
“Yeah. Turns out it wasn’t anything to worry about. Just a transition period or something.”
“Transition to what? Yogi status?”
She laughs. “I have no idea. You’d have to ask her.”
“She probably doesn’t remember.”
“Of course she remembers. She’s your mom. Moms don’t forget their worry over their kids, or their love for them.”
I give her a long appraising look. “Okay, sis.”
Octavia has changed. Motherhood changed her. She was always acting like a mom to Gigi and me, but now she seems… well, harried, in fact, but also happier. More relaxed and calm. She looks like she’s right where she wants to be, in this chaos of motherhood.
And then she spoils the impression of calmness when she says, “Will you talk to Ross?”
My doorbell rings the next day in the afternoon, as I doze bent over my laptop, waking me up from uneasy dreams.
Uneasy but not terrifying, I think as I get to my feet and stagger to the front door. I think I dreamed of Cos and she was kissing me, soft, kisses, turning into butterflies as they landed on my lips.
So fucking weird.
Nice, though, for a change.
Then I open the door, and she’s right there, as if I conjured her up with my dreams, glossy dark hair caught up in a twist, dark eyes serious and uncertain.
I haul her into my arms before we say a word, relieved to feel her body against mine, smell her light scent and have her here, with me.
“Hi,” she whispers when I finally release her, a little breathlessly. “Miss me?”
“I did.”
Her smile falters, then returns. “Me too,” she confesses, and something in my chest unknots itself, a frozen spot starts to thaw.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I wasn’t sure you’d be here. I thought maybe you spend Saturdays with your family.”
“That’s what I’m doing,” I tell her simply, and slip an arm around her shoulders. “You’re family, remember? Besides, I was trying to catch up on my English lit essay.”
“Any luck?”
I grimace. “I don’t think English lit is my thing.”
“Are you getting a better feeling of what your thing might be?”
“You.” I wag my brows suggestively and she giggles. I love that damn sound. You’d think she was away for a month from the way I missed her. “Also, maybe music, and engines.”
She shrugs, smiles. “Maybe you want to be a DJ?”
“Nah. I dunno, I like to solve riddles, answer questions, put things to rights.”
“A policeman, then? Detective. You can solve crimes, help people, bring justice.”
Justice.
Destiny.
Blood.
I frown. “Maybe.” But I’m distracted by a buzzing in my ears, a strange but familiar dizziness.
“Did you want to watch a movie?” she says, and I nod automatically, lead her toward my bedroom. “How about that fantasy film you were talking to me about the other day? That old one with the puppets, what was it called… The Dark Crystal?”
I snag my laptop from my desk and sit heavily on the bed, dragging her down with me. I grip the laptop tightly, aware my hands are shaking.
“If you want to watch something else…” She trails off, giving me a worried look.
“No, this is fine.” I scoot back until I hit the pillows and stack them against the headboard. “Come here.” I pull her to my side and in degrees start to relax. “This is perfect.”
My lids feel so damn heavy. My mind stops running in circles when she’s with me, my heart stops racing, and this rare calm makes me drowsy.
But I don’t fucking wanna sleep. She’s here, and what I really want is to tear the clothes off her and bury myself inside her. But she’s probably tired from the bus ride and concerned.
Sure enough, when I glance down at her, the curve of her mouth is sad, and though I’m not sure if it’s because of the movie or her thoughts, I decide to ask.
“Is your sister all right? And her guy?”
She looks up at me and snuggles closer. “Sort of. I mean, he’s feeling better, at least.”
“And you?” I’m looking right into the velvety dark of her eyes. I curl my arm and touch the creamy softness of her cheeks. “Are you all right?”
“Now I am.” She kisses my chest over my T-shirt. “I wish you’d been there.”
“Fuck, me too.” This girl… “I wished that, too. Hey, have I ever told you that you look like Sergeant Laureline in Valerian?”
She laughs. “Aw shucks, really? Love that movie.”
“Yeah. You’re a dark-haired version of her. And you know that part when she rescues Valerian, and she wears that jellyfish on her head?”
“Yes! That was awesome.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Would you wear a jellyfish on your head for me?”
“Depends.” She pats her hair. “You’d have to be in mortal danger from an alien race, Mr. Watson, because let me tell you, jellyfish were never meant as headwear.”
“She was trying to save him.” I sober up. “You rescued me, too.”
“What do you mean?”
I falter.
So relaxed beside her, all my defenses down, I wasn’t really thinking when I said that. I can’t explain, not without giving voice to what is happening to me, and I still haven’t solved the riddle—if there is one.
Justice…
What I meant was that she rescued me from the nightmares. They’re fewer in between and not as bad these days. Or nights. I sleep better. I smile more. I look forward to every morning.
Never realized how much darker life had been before her. Nobody would believe me if I told them there are times I don’t want to get up, that I dread the day. That some days are like nights, murky and cold. That the nightmares fuck me up so bad I can’t stand to see anyone, hear a single word.
Can a person make such a difference? Make you want to really live?
“Once,” I find myself saying, not even sure what the connection with anything is, and why I am telling her this, “I made a deal with my sister Gigi. Anyway, when I was little, maybe four or five? And she was six.”
“A deal about what?”
“To keep each other’s secrets. Well, I asked her to keep my secret and promised that any secret she had it’d be safe with me.”
And I kept her secret, many years later. How she’d been hurt by some guys and was afraid of men ever since. Well, until Jarett. He cured her of that fear, and for that I owe him.
She turns in my hold to loop her arms around my neck. She smiles. “Ooh mysterious! What was your secret?”
“That’s the kicker. I can’t remember.”
And I’m not sure I ever want to, either.
I stroke her face. “Come meet my family tomorrow? I promise they’ll play nice. They want to meet you.”
“Are you sure? What if they don’t like me?”
“They’ll like you. They’ll love you.”
“I don’t have experience with family get-togethers. What if I screw up? And isn’t it too soon?”
“You’re the only girl I’ve ever asked to meet
my family,” I tell her. “Is it too soon for you?”
She shakes her head, eyes wide, and then she smiles.
Chapter Twenty
Cosima
“Ready?” Merc asks, opening the car door and giving me his hand, helping me out, like an old-time aristocrat.
Or maybe that’s what polite, well-raised guys do. I wouldn’t know. I only dated assholes, after all—until now.
Are we dating?
Why did I agree to this? To meeting his family?
Isn’t this something you do when things get serious? Meeting the folks. It’s too soon—to meet them, to tell if this thing between Merc and me will last the week, let alone the month.
Though it’s been a couple of weeks already, hasn’t it? Am I overthinking this? I didn’t use to be a negative Nancy, but after all the break-ups, I’ve lost some faith. You can’t blame a girl for being a little nervous.
Especially since said girl has no real experience with family Sunday lunches—or with families, period.
He takes my hand in his and tugs me against him. His eyes are smiling. “All right?”
“I don’t know what to say to them,” I confess. “What to do.”
“Do nothing,” he says. “Except sit with me. Be with me.”
I take a deep breath. I can do that… right? Go inside with him. Be with him. Meet his family. He makes it sound so easy, so nice and simple.
His mom lives with her boyfriend in a quaint little house in a quiet street lined with trees. Several cars are parked outside, and from inside I can hear laughter.
Okay, then. That’s… welcoming.
Though the biggest incentive is the man by my side, so frigging handsome in worn jeans and sneakers, and a light blue shirt that matches his eyes under his black jacket.
“Let’s go,” he says in that low, deep voice of his, and my body responds with a shiver and a bolt of lust that has me clenching my thighs.
Great. Ready to meet his mom with my panties getting soaked and my nipples standing to attention. I glance at him as we walk up the path to the porch, at the golden stubble on his firm jaw, the way his pale hair curls a little behind his ears. That wide mouth, those long pale lashes, that heavy set of his shoulders…
Sometimes it seems unreal that I’m standing by his side, my hand held in his, that he seems to want me, and want to spend time with me.
So unreal.
He tugs me toward the front door and I fall in step with him. “My sisters will be there, Octavia and Augusta, and their guys, Matt and Jarett. And Matt and Octavia’s kids. And Mom of course, and her boyfriend.”
“Sounds like a lot of people.” I sound doubtful even to myself. I thought I could hide my feelings better, but around Merc, that doesn’t seem to work so well. “I mean, nice.”
He chuckles, the deep, dark sound distracting me as he rings the bell and we wait for the door to open. Such a contrast to his golden looks—like that deep dark center he seems to be hiding, and won’t talk to me about.
Or am I imagining it? Could it be those dreams I had of him have influenced the way I’m looking at him?
It seems ridiculous as I stand there, in bright winter sunlight, his fingers wrapped around mine, as he winks at me and grins widely. He’s made of sunlight, strong and tall and golden all over. What am I doing, putting stock in dreams?
I mentally shake my head at myself as the door swings open and a female version of Merc says, “Sorry, we’re not buying.”
“Also beware of sibling ribbing and really bad jokes,” Merc mutters, and I grin.
“Mercky! You made it. Hi, I’m Gigi!” the girl says, grabbing my free hand and pulling me into her arms.
Which is awkward, since Merc hasn’t let go of my hand, so I’m sort of hanging between them.
“This is my sister Augusta, Gigi for friends.” Merc says. “Let go of her, Gigi. Stop terrorizing my girl.”
Gigi releases me and sticks her tongue out to him. From close up she’s not such an exact copy, but they have the same eyes and when Merc sticks his tongue out to her, too, well… the picture is complete.
Wait… rewind. Did he say, “my girl?”
“Your girl’s safe with me,” Gigi says.
He did. He said it. And she doesn’t seem surprised.
I’m still reeling when squealing kids ambush us—well, Merc—and climb all over him. He lets go of my hand to lift a blond girl up in the air and spin her around, while the little dark-haired boy keeps tugging on his pants.
Then it’s the boy’s turn, and he squeals as he flies.
So cute.
I’m distracted by the arrival of a dark-haired woman with a baby in her arms and a bearded guy with massive shoulders.
“I’m Octavia,” she says, “Merc’s older sister. This is Max,” she rocks the baby forward so that he laughs, “and my husband, Matt.”
Those blue eyes. The whole family has them. “I’m Cosima.”
“The mystery girl,” Matt rumbles, dark eyes appraising. “Merc has told us a lot about you.”
“He has?” I turn to Merc who has put the boy down and is straightening his jacket.
He opens his mouth as if to say something, but the little boy and girl are pulling on his hands.
“Uncle Merc, Grandma said to come in,” the girl says. “You’re late, and the food is getting cold.”
“Cold,” the boy repeats, nodding earnestly. “Grandma said so.”
“Cos,” Merc says, just my name, reaching for me, and I find myself reaching back without thinking, needing the contact to his skin. I think he’ll take my hand again but instead he slips his arm around me. “Come meet my mom.”
Mrs. Watson looks just like her oldest daughter, Octavia, only a bit heavier around the middle and with wrinkles around her eyes. “Hello, dear.” She takes my hand and pats it. “So nice to finally meet you.”
“Hi, Mrs. Watson.” I turn a questioning look on Merc. What did he tell them about me? “Thanks for inviting me today.”
“Oh, please call me Maggie. This is Paul.” The gray-haired guy at her left nods at me. “And we’re still waiting for Kaden and Hailey and the kids.”
I was right. So many people. I’m struggling to retain the names, and panicking a little. The kids are running in circles, the baby is wailing, everyone is talking at once.
A handsome stranger wanders into the living room, so different from Merc and Co. I bet he isn’t related.
“Hi, I’m Jarett,” he says and walks over to Gigi, wrapping an arm around her. Her eyes light up with happiness. “I’m Gigi’s.”
Aw shucks.
Matt wolf-whistles at them. Octavia snickers. Merc’s mom looks pleased.
And then Kaden and his family arrive, with cherubic little kids who start wailing like banshees, and in the hubbub, Merc pulls me aside and locks his arms around me.
“Everything okay?” he asks softly. “I know it can get a bit overwhelming. But they wanted to meet you. Gigi threatened me with bodily harm if I didn’t.”
“Gigi?” I lean sideways to take another look at his sister who has his eyes and hair and sly smile, granted, but who is a willowy girl, about my height. “Really.”
He grins, unrepentant. “She’s stronger than she looks.”
“I like them,” I tell him, honestly. “You’re so lucky.”
They’re so cute. All of them. There’s so much love in this house, I can see where he’s coming from, how he can be so open, so affectionate, so awesome. He grew up among such nice people, he has them in his life.
“But I wanted you to meet them, too, because…”
I never find out why as the kids return to drag us to the dining room and the food-laden table. It all smells delicious and by the time we’re all seated, and the platters passed around, the moment to ask what he meant is gone.
“…and then we went to a diner and talked,” Octavia is telling Merc. She’s seated at the other side of him, the baby in her lap banging his fist in her food. She seems ob
livious. “Not that he said much. Jasper treated him like shit all his life. He’s jealous of us, for having a nice mother. Having a mother at all.”
She’s telling a story about a guy who was in prison and she and Matt went to pick him up the day he was released, and he was… angry? It’s hard to focus with everyone talking.
“He said that? Shit.”
“Did you call him?” Octavia asks. “Ross.”
Merc frowns. “No. I don’t know what the hell to tell him, Tati.”
To say I’m lost at this point would be the understatement of the century.
“Why are you two talking about Ross again?” Gigi calls from across the table. “And Jasper. Good god. Tati you managed to rope Merc into your conspiracy theories?”
“Conspiracy?” Octavia looks affronted. “I’m only concerned about our family.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Gigi waves a dainty hand, though a shadow passes behind her eyes. “Ross isn’t family, Tati. Blood ties don’t mean he’s family.”
“Besides,” Octavia says, “Merc is the one who started it.”
“Was it?” Gigi stares at Merc.
I lift my hand a little because I feel as if I’m the slow student in the classroom. “Um, who’s Ross?”
“He’s our brother,” Octavia says.
Wow, really? I turn to Merc. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“Half-brother,” he mutters. “Same dad.”
Gigi says, “Our dad’s—”
“—an asshole,” Merc finishes, then clenches his jaw. “Sorry, kids.”
“That’s a bad word, and we’re not allowed to use it,” Mary, the little girl, says gravely.
“Bad word,” Cole repeats solemnly.
Fighting an uncontrollable urge to laugh, I reach for the potatoes. “And are your dad and brother around?”
“No, they live in Destiny. That’s where we used to live until a few years back.”
Ah-ha. New information is coming to light! The thing is, I never imagined that Merc didn’t grow up in anything but a perfect family, a perfect neighborhood.
“He didn’t do anything to you,” Mrs. Watson—Maggie—is saying. “Jasper. He wasn’t there as a father, but he didn’t hurt you—”
