Trouble Brewing

by Jane Tara

  “I’ve had worse.”

  “I know tonight has been tough—”

  “That’s one way to describe it.”

  “—but I’m here for you. We’re in this together.”

  Calypso looked at him with complete calm. “I appreciate the support, Taran, I really do. But I don’t want to be in this or anything else together.”

  Taran was completely blindsided. “What do you mean by that?”

  Calypso spoke as though he didn’t understand English. “I feel that … it’s best if we don’t see each other for a while.”

  “How long’s a while?”

  “Pretty long.”

  “You’re in shock, Calypso.”

  “Perhaps, but the fact is my family needs me. I need them. We have to concentrate on each other now.”

  Taran totally agreed. “And I’d never stand in the way of that.”

  “Not intentionally,” Calypso conceded. “But relationships take a lot of work, and I won’t have the time or energy.”

  “Ever?”

  “For a while.”

  Taran held out his hands like he was haggling at Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar. “I can wait. We’re in no hurry. How about we take a break, until your father is well.”

  “What if he dies?”

  “Geez, Cal—”

  “I’m in no position to make any promises.”

  “I’m not asking you to.”

  “Taran, I don’t want a relationship.”

  “But everything that happened between us at Tintagel …?”

  “It was fun.”

  Taran stared at her in disbelief. “But you’re in love with me.”

  “Define ‘love’,” Calypso stuttered. It was the first time she’d cracked.

  “Define it? To me it’s the way you looked at me when we last made love. The way you smiled at me this morning. And honestly, the way you’re looking at me now.”

  Calypso was annoyed. “Okay, so I kinda love you.”

  “Kinda? What are you, five?”

  “It’s not enough.”

  “You won’t know that unless you try.”

  “I don’t have time to try. My father has cancer.”

  “I know, I was there. Let me be here for you.”

  “Quite honestly, you seemed to annoy Dad earlier. I don’t know why, but he just wanted you to shut up.”

  “Your dad just needed some air.”

  “I’m sorry, Taran, but it’s best if you go.”

  “Just like that – it’s over? The end?”

  “In my experience endings are usually unexpected and quick.”

  “You know what, Cal? You are a goddamn pain in the ass.” Enraged, he moved forward and grabbed her. She tried to pull back but he held on. “You’re crazy if you throw this away.”

  His lips slammed down on hers. It was a kiss that exploded in every cell of her body. She wanted to fight … knew she should … but instead her arms slipped around his neck and she tore at his hair. She bit down on his lip, so angry she couldn’t say no to him. With all the force she could muster she began to push him back toward the wall. Her fingers tore at the buttons of his shirt. She could taste blood from his lip. Her whole body screamed for him as she slammed him into the wall. But the moment was shattered into a million pieces when something smashed beside them.

  It took them a moment to realize it was a framed photo that had fallen from the wall.

  Calypso gave a cry. “Scott.” She bent down and began to collect the broken pieces from the floor.

  “Calypso, you’ll cut yourself. Let me help.”

  Calypso thrust an arm out to stop him. “Don’t touch it. It’s Scott.”

  “What’s Scott?”

  “His picture.” Calypso was crying silent tears now, as she removed the photo from the broken frame.

  “It’s okay, Cal. We’ll get a new frame for it.”

  “No, it’s a sign. Please go.”

  “It’s not a sign, babe. We knocked it off the wall. You need to settle down.”

  Now there was life inside her eyes again. She stood, and in the calmest voice she could muster, said, “Don’t tell me what I need. I know what I need. I need you to go.”

  Taran paused for a moment and then he turned and left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  What butter and whiskey cannot cure, there is no cure for

  Taran made his way back to Simon’s house, wondering what the hell he would do next. Leaving Calypso clutching that broken frame had torn his heart out, but she’d given him no choice. She didn’t want him. He’d fought hard, and done a damn fine job for someone who’d never had to compete for anything before. Especially not a woman. Normally it was a piece of cake. Turn on the charm, the humor, toss in some romance. Most women were like putty. Hell, sometimes all he had to do was turn up.

  But Calypso was made of sturdier stuff and he had no idea how one competed with the ghost of genuine love. Common sense told him not to compete at all, but simply be himself. That they were meant to be together and that would win her in the end. But he hadn’t won her over. She’d declared it over.

  He let himself into the darkened apartment, made a stiff drink at Simon’s bar and, with the glass in one hand and the bottle of scotch in the other, wandered into his studio. He shuffled some of his paintings around and waited for inspiration to hit, but it felt like inspiration had just thrown him out of her family’s pub.

  He took another slug of scotch and refilled his glass. It was a cliché, but the artist intended to get roaring drunk and drown his sorrows. Not that, in his experience, sorrows ever drowned. Sorrow was the Michael Phelps of emotions and would be treading water long after he’d sunk to the bottom. But he’d have another drink anyway.

  Taran sank back into the couch and stared at the painting of Calypso. It was good. He’d captured qualities on canvas that he hadn’t even seen before tonight. There was the grief, the fear, not obvious, but definitely clouding those amazing green eyes.

  He shook his glass slightly and the ice tinkled. For a moment he thought it echoed right down the hallway and up the stairs, but then he realized it wasn’t the ice he could hear, but a woman’s laugh.

  There it was again. A woman laughing.

  He was hardly Sherlock Holmes, but there were a few things he did know. Firstly, Simon lived the life of a monk, so whoever was laughing wasn’t with Simon. Secondly, Simon had mentioned he’d be away for a couple of days, which once again pointed to the fact that whoever was laughing wasn’t with Simon.

  “Damn it!” Taran was furious. He’d had a hell day and the last thing he needed was a confrontation with a burglar. Especially a happy one. He was tempted to call the police and hide in the closet, but by the time the cops arrived the thief (or thieves, as there was obviously also a witty burglar who was making his accomplice laugh) could be long gone. Simon had a lot of expensive gear in his apartment so if he was being robbed, Taran really ought to do something about it. Immediately.

  “Damn, fuckeddy damn!”

  He noticed a set of golf clubs in the corner. He dithered between a putter and a wedge for a moment before berating himself for being such an idiot. He was using it as a weapon, not to play eighteen holes.

  He grabbed an iron – and then a wedge – and made his way up the stairs and along the corridor toward one of the guest bedrooms. Fear prickled his skin. Was he crazy? He should just call the police. And then he heard a strangled moan and realized someone was being attacked. He flung open the door and barreled into the room, only to find Simon and Megan buck naked in bed together, going at it like a pair of teenagers.

  “Holy shit … oh shit!”

  Megan and Simon grabbed for the bedcovers, but not before Taran got a full view of Simon’s bare ass.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Simon knocked a box of Durex off the dresser. Taran noticed it was nearly empty.

  “Looks like he’s playing golf.” Megan burst into giggl
es and hid further under the duvet.

  Taran shielded his eyes with his hand. “I thought you were being burgled.”

  “If this is being burgled then bring it on.” Simon laughed.

  Taran slunk toward the door. “You did say you were going away.”

  “Our flights were cancelled. Bad weather in Spain.”

  “And it’s not your room …”

  “Well, technically I own the whole apartment, but no, I don’t sleep here.”

  “We decided to give every room in the house a go,” Megan explained.

  “Right.” Taran marched out the door and slammed it behind him.

  Simon followed him out, grasping a sheet around his waist. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure.” Taran looked at his friend for a moment. “Are you?”

  “Never better. Madly in love.”

  Taran was surprised. “Oh, that’s great, Sime.” And it was. Simon deserved some happiness. And Megan was a real cracker. Taran noticed something on Simon’s arm. “Is that a tattoo?”

  Simon looked embarrassed. “Yes, ah … small one. Hurt like buggery but I’m quite pleased with the result. Makes me feel quite … foxy.” He admired the small image of a fox for a moment, and then turned back to Taran. “How’s Calypso?”

  Taran was tempted to tell his friend everything, but now wasn’t the time, especially with Megan in the other room. She was going to be devastated and would have to take on extra work at the pub. He decided to let them have the night together, trouble free. They’d find out the truth soon enough. “Calypso’s at home. Needed a rest. See you in the morning, Sime.”

  Simon headed back into the spare bedroom, but paused at the door. “By the way, thanks. I know how much of a wimp you are at heart. So charging in here with the golf club took some balls.” Simon let out a whoop as he shut the door. “Of course, you didn’t have balls. Only clubs.”

  Taran made his way into his own room. He briefly wondered if they’d given his room “a go”, but then decided he didn’t care either way and threw himself on the bed. He was restless and a bottle of scotch wasn’t the answer. He needed his twin. He reached for the phone, dialed the number and Finn answered on the third ring, with his usual greeting.

  “Hello, Taran.”

  “Hey … how’s it going?”

  “Not bad.” A pause. “You’ve called me with good news?”

  Taran knew his twin. Finn was a softie. He’d yield. “Yes, well, not quite what you initially stipulated—”

  “Then I’ve got to go, Taran.”

  Christ it was unlike his twin to be this tough.

  “I’m sorry, Finn. I understand how much I hurt you now, and I’m so sorry.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been burnt.” Finn almost sounded worried.

  “I have been – torched.”

  “That makes you more dangerous than ever,” Finn said. “Tye is the love of my life and seeing as you have a habit of hitting on women I love, I don’t want you around.”

  “Finn, you’re being unreasonable …”

  “Fuck off, Taran. I caught you with her.”

  “It takes two to tango.”

  “She thought you were me, you ass. You’re lucky I’m giving you a chance at all.”

  “I know, Finn, but I can assure you—”

  Finn cut him off. “I don’t want your assurances or your promises. I want to see you in love. Only then will it be safe to let you back in my life. Don’t call until you’re really, truly, deeply in love.”

  “But Finn … I am—” The phone went dead in Taran’s hand.

  *

  Finn placed the phone back on the receiver. It took every ounce of his strength to not immediately call Taran back. He sensed his brother’s agony and his role had always been to nurture his often frustrating twin. He’d never hurt Taran before.

  “Was he okay?”

  Finn turned and gave Tye a pained smile. “No, he’s not okay.”

  “You don’t need to go through with this, Finn.”

  “Yes, I do. It’s the right thing to do.”

  “Are you sure you’re not secretly jealous?” Tye tilted her head to one side, her perfectly shaped lips curving slightly upwards, teasing him.

  “He acted like an asshole, but I can hardly blame him for wanting you.” Finn chuckled. “And it’s not like you’re the first woman of mine he’s hit on.”

  Tye pretended to be offended. “So now I’m just one of a long list?”

  Finn pulled Tye into his arms. “Afraid so, but you’re at number one.”

  “That’s okay then.” She nuzzled his neck. “I just want you to be happy, and you’re not happy without Taran in your life.”

  “He’ll be back. For once, he’s trying to solve things between us, rather than just expecting me to forgive and forget.”

  Finn watched his girlfriend for a moment. He wanted Taran to love someone as much as he loved Tye. To experience what that meant. Finn knew, without a doubt, that happiness would come to Taran when he worked things out with Calypso Shakespeare. If he ever did. His brother could be a stubborn bastard, and Finn’s few experiences with the British redhead gave him the impression that she could be too.

  They were a perfect match.

  Tye seemed to read his mind. “You really think she’s the one for him?”

  “I do. I’ve never seen him so bowled over by a woman. But he needed a bit of a kick to look her up again.”

  “And he has, so your plan worked. Now call him back and tell him everything is okay.”

  Finn gave Tye a playful grin. “Nah … I’ll wait a little longer. If their past is anything to go on, Calypso will be giving him the run around right about now.”

  “And you don’t mind seeing your twin have his heart broken.”

  “Well, he did hit on you …”

  Tye gave Finn a playful slap. “You are shocking … come here. I think you should be punished.”

  What followed was hardly a punishment, but Finn had no intention of pointing that out.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Ingest watercress at daybreak to increase dreams the following evening

  Calypso was ecstatic. She was back in Australia … with him.

  She could see him perched on his surfboard, chatting to some of the other surfers. It was an achingly familiar and incredibly sexy sight. Over the years, she’d spent countless hours lying on the beach reading while he surfed. Every few pages she’d look up from her book and gaze out to sea … to Scott. She’d watch the waves carry him, work with him and occasionally pound him. Her stomach would twist each time he went under a wave. She’d wait endless seconds disguised as hours until he reemerged, only to pull himself back on his board and paddle back out for more. His muscular arms cut through the water at a determined pace; he was always certain the next wave he caught would be the perfect ride.

  Calypso’s memories of those times were wonderful, pure, free and magical, but being back now, she remembered that she also hated waiting in the midday sun. She enjoyed the beach in the late afternoons, but was uncomfortable during the warmer hours and counted the minutes until he returned to her side. The sand was hot and her skin burnt easily. She grabbed her sunscreen and slathered it onto her legs, which were already pink, but still the sun clawed at her. She took a sarong and threw it over her tingling shoulders and pulled her hat right down over her head. She’d forgotten how unpleasant she’d found these long hours waiting for his perfect wave. She was annoyed and realized she’d felt annoyed a lot when Scott was alive. She’d spent a great deal of time waiting for him to finish his surf, or ski, or skydive.

  “Hungry?”

  A shower of cool water drops rained over her. She could almost hear them sizzle as they hit her skin. She shielded her eyes with her hand and looked up at Scott. He always shook his hair over her, like a big old wet dog. He undid his wetsuit, yanked himself free from the top half, and left it hanging at the waist. The sun was positioned behind him and blasted down on
his lean, brown body. The bright light and relentless heat never bothered him – he seemed to thrive on it. He tilted his head to one side and smiled, and Calypso fell, positively tumbled, in love with him all over again.

  “I’m starving,” he said.

  No surprise. He was always starving.

  “You eat like a horse.”

  He held his hand out and helped her up. “I’m also hung like a horse.”

  Calypso gave him a slap. “In your dreams, buster.”

  Scott stopped smiling. “In my dreams … or yours?”

  Fear clutched Calypso’s gut. “Is this a dream?” She grabbed him, wrapped her arms around him. He was real. She could feel him. She kissed his neck, his shoulders. Her fingers clutched at his firm flesh. She could taste the salt on his skin, for God’s sake. He had to be real.

  “If this is a dream then I don’t want to wake up. I can’t lose you again.”

  He kissed her, softly, gentle kisses that started on the lips and wound their way around to her ear, where he whispered, “What are you doing, Callie?”

  Calypso woke with his voice ringing in her ear. She could still feel his kisses on her neck and smell the ocean air. Loneliness washed over her like a wave on the beach where she wished she still stood. Would she ever stop missing him?

  She threw back the covers and stared at the sheets in horror. They were, for the third night running, covered in sand. She’d experienced some major weirdness in her life (by most people’s standards anyway), but these recent dreams took the cake.

  She crawled out of bed and slipped into some jeans. The clock said midnight, which meant the pub would be closed now. She’d gone to bed early, desperate to escape the depression that was settling in her limbs. Even in the darkest days just after Scott’s death, she’d never been depressed. Distraught, yes, angry, scared and totally grief stricken, but never depressed. It was an entirely new experience and she didn’t wear it well. Depression came with its companion, lethargy, and she hated them both.

  She made her way downstairs and unlocked her bar. She shuffled around the counter looking for a hair band, found one, and scraped her hair off her face. And then she turned on the grinder, and set to work. She couldn’t bring Scott back, but she was determined to get her powers back. At least her insomnia meant she had time to work on that.