“I’m not a prince. Just Bastian Connelly.” Bastian shook her hand and returned the smile.
“Bastian will be teaching our students starting next week.” Kaylee linked her arm with Bastian’s.
“Anything else?” Rosie’s grin widened, and she placed her hands on her hips as the grandfather clock down the hall chimed 5:00.
Bastian flushed. “What do you mean? What exactly does the job require?”
The telephone rang, and Rosie stepped back around the counter to it. As she picked it up, she said to Bastian, “Ask Kaylee. She’d know best.”
“Thanks, Rosie,” she said, shaking her head. Bastian turned back to Kaylee and found a dark blush coloring her cheeks.
“Am I missing something?” Bastian asked.
“Nope.” She pulled him down the hallway. “I’ll give you a tour.” Kaylee strode down the hallway into a huge, open room.
“Why did she call me a prince?” Bastian took in Kaylee’s expression instead of the lavish studio. Grinning, he enjoyed the flush on her cheeks.
“How should I know? Maybe she’s been reading too many fairy tales.” Kaylee avoided his gaze, focusing instead on the dying sunlight ebbing through numerous windows. The white walls, devoid of pictures or paintings, only made the room appeared larger.
“Wrong. Try again.” Bastian pulled her close to him.
“It’s a long story, and we’re in the middle of a tour.” She tried to drag him to the center of the room, but his feet remained firmly planted.
“The studio will still be here, and besides--I like long stories.”
Kaylee groaned and leaned against the wall. “Whenever I worked at the soup kitchen with Rosie and the other girls, I would wait for you to come. They knew it, and they always kidded me about it, calling you my ‘Prince Charming.’”
“And what did Rosie mean by ‘anything else?’” Bastian placed his hands on the wall behind Kaylee’s shoulders. He leaned toward her, so close she could feel his breath caress her ear. His chest was firm and heavy against her breasts.
“What do you think she meant?” Kaylee closed her eyes as her heartbeat quickened. Standing so damned close to him, her breathing thinned to shallow staccato bursts, and all coherent thought fled.
“Ah.” Bastian kissed her ear and gently brushed his lips across her cheek. “Well, that is one qualification I won’t have a problem with.” He ran his fingers through her hair, brushing her bangs away from her face.
“Ahem.”
Bastian glanced to his left and found Rosie standing in the doorway, smiling. “Hello, Rosie,” he said, leaning his head against Kaylee. “We were just in the middle of ‘anything else.’”
“I can see that.” Rosie raised her left eyebrow and nodded. She folded her arms across her chest and smiled.
“Is there something I can help you with?” Blushing, Kaylee slid from beneath Bastian’s weight.
Rosie laughed and pointed. “Not unless he’s got a brother I can borrow.”
Bastian shook his head. “Sorry, just a sister, but thanks for asking.”
“Rosie, did you need to tell me something? Is that why you are here.” Kaylee rubbed at her temple, touching her cheeks, knowing a heated flush colored them.
Rosie shook her head and the beads woven into her hair tapped together. “I work here, remember? That’s why I’m here. But I guess I should warn you that your mama’s on the warpath. Said you needed to call her when you came in. She repeated herself four times, as if I were retarded.”
“I’ll call her when I’m damned well ready.” Kaylee gritted her teeth.
“Good. Why don’t you save yourself some grief and make it the twelfth of never. Now you two can get back to what you were doing. That seems more important, anyhow.” Rosie ambled from the room and waved as she left.
“So this is where you want me to teach?” For a moment, Bastian looked around the room, his boots thudding against the floor as he walked.
“Yeah. It’s a fair-sized studio.” Kaylee paced the room.
“Damn sure is a lot of wall space.” Bastian focused on the large, blank spots between the windows where pictures should have been hung. He reached out and touched one of the walls.
“You’re an artist. You should have no problem filling it.”
“Fair enough. When are you going to tell your mother?” He, too, paced the room, staring at Kaylee, who had withdrawn into her own little world once Rosie had exited. She stared at the floor and absently twirled a lock of hair around her finger.
“When I don’t have to.” Kaylee stopped walking in mid-stride. A grimace contorted her features.
Bastian gritted his teeth. “You mean when you can’t hide it anymore.”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” Kaylee said curtly.
“You talk like your illness is up for debate, Kaylee.” He paced around the room with a sudden burst of frenetic energy. “This isn’t just about you. It’s about your family, too. Have you thought about what you’re hiding from them?”
“That’s rich coming from someone who doesn’t even talk about his family. You’ve hardly said a word about what your life was like growing up, but I can tell things aren’t so hot between you and your father.” Kaylee frowned. “You can tell me what supplies you need, and I’ll have Rosie get them for you. Classes are scheduled to start a week from Thursday. Is that enough time to get ready?” Kaylee brushed past him and walked to the desk in the corner of the room.
Bastian cringed “It’s never going to be enough, Kaylee.” He lifted his hand and rubbed his temple as though a headache had begun to flower beneath the skin.
“It has to be. We all just have to do the best we can and hope something comes of it.” Kaylee lifted her hand and massaged her neck, trying to ease tension knotted there.
“You’re pretty damned good at changing the subject when you want, aren’t you?” Bastian growled. He stopped pacing and leveled his gaze at Kaylee.
“Bastian, there are a thousand details about this studio that have to be worked out. I’m trying to focus my energy.” Kaylee opened the top drawer and sifted through the contents, finding a Post-It pad, a spiral pad, two pens, and a sketchbook. Other odds and ends, such as pen lids and paper clips, were strewn about the bottom of the drawer.
He started pacing again. “You’re trying to focus, all right, anywhere but on this topic. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t talk about my family and I don’t let you in. Maybe that’s because I’ve made the mistake you’re trying so damned hard to make so I’m working double-time to prevent it.”
He walked over to the desk and slammed his fist down on it. “Damn it, Kaylee, listen to me. I’m not exactly enamored of what I’ve seen of your mother, but she deserves to know.”
“That would be a good thing, considering the short schedule I’m living on. Otherwise, I might not have time to undo my mistakes and give my mother the opportunity to Taser me like she did you.” Kaylee kept out a spiral and a pen and closed the drawer. She looked Bastian square in the eye.
“That’s not funny.” Bastian straightened, and his face flushed.
“This may be awfully important to you, but I’d rather just agree to disagree for once. Make a list of supplies.” She handed the spiral and pen to Bastian.
“This is your choice, I guess. Maybe I am the last person you need advice from.” Bastian opened the spiral. A lump filled his throat. His hands were shaking, so he made damned sure to keep them busy. He sat in a chair and started scribbling.
Chapter Eleven
Bastian curled up next to Kaylee that night, trying to sleep, but as he heard the clock chime eleven, he’d yet to clear his head. Kaylee lay still, asleep the moment her head had touched his chest, her legs wrapped around his. Her soft breath stroked his chin, and despite the turmoil of his thoughts, he knew he’d finally found what he’d sought his whole life—a place he belonged.
Kaylee stirred, coming awake. “Bastian? Can I ask you something?”
&nbs
p; “Sure--but that doesn’t mean I’ll have an answer.” Bastian’s shoulder muscles tightened.
Kaylee absently stroked his chest. “How come you don’t talk to your family?”
“Well,” he replied, carefully measuring the words and trying to ignore the foul tasted at the back of his tongue, “in order for the talking to work, somebody’s got to listen.” Bastian shifted uncomfortably, propping one arm beneath his head. For a moment, he said nothing, but when she lifted her head to peer at him with sleepy, plaintive eyes, he felt he had little choice.
More silence, but not for long.
“How long has it been?”
Bastian tilted his head and looked out the moonlit window. “Since I left fifteen years ago. I figured they’d had enough of me, and I’d certainly had enough of them—particularly my father, and my sister, too who’d spent a good bit of time defending him. What was left to say?”
“What about your mom? I’ll bet she misses you like crazy.” Kaylee stroked the planes of his chest and moved her hand to his taut abdomen.
“She died when I was young,” Bastian literally growled the words, his throat constricted, making swallowing even more difficult. Bastian could feel the foul taste behind his teeth now and tried to swallow it down.
“I’m sorry.” Kaylee sat up, the moonlight a cool waft of silver blue in her long dark hair.
“So am I. She chose it. I wanted to think she’d taken too much medicine—an accident--but later I knew the truth. She’d left me and my sister behind with our father. I guess that put things into perspective for me.”
“I’m sorry, Bastian. I’ve been complaining about my mother and all the things she isn’t while you lost yours so young. I’m sorry.” Kaylee shook her head.
Bastian tugged Kaylee’s arm, pulling her next to him. “It was a choice she made.”
“Haven’t you called your sister since you left home?”
“I figured she’d be better off forgetting about me and moving on. I knew there would be a lot less tension in that house once I’d gone. She wouldn’t have to defend my father for my benefit, and she wouldn’t have to defend me for his. It was better that way.” He drew the covers even more tightly around them.
Kaylee laid her head on his chest. “I don’t believe that. You’re not the forgettable kind. What’s your sister’s name?”
“Does it matter?” He nuzzled Kaylee’s cheek. “Aren’t there more interesting things we can do with our time?”
“It matters to me. She’s part of you, and I happen to love you, which must mean in some way I love a person I don’t know because she happens to be related.” Kaylee pecked his cheek.
“Angie,” he muttered. “Her name is Angie. She’s five years younger I am.” Bastian kissed her cheek and ran his fingers down her neck toward her breasts.
“There—” Kaylee cooed, “was that so tough? What about your dad?”
“He could be Clyde Barrow for whatever it’s worth. Why are you so stuck on this?” Bastian caught his breath and Kaylee could feel the muscles knot beneath the skin. When he spoke, she found the sleepy rasp of his voice had given way to an uncomfortable edge.
Kaylee twined her fingers with his and pointed to a scar on the inside of it. “I’ve memorized this scar. I’ve kissed it so many times now I can still feel it. I know the way the light dances on the lines and shadows of your body. But that’s not enough. I want to know more, everything I can, and you’re the only one who can tell me.”
“His name is Greg. My mother’s was Susan. We lived in Trenton, New Jersey. Happy?” Bastian lay back, one hand under his head.
“Maybe. Maybe not. What’s she like, your sister?” Kaylee rested her head on his shoulder just beneath his chin. Kaylee could hear the hammer of his heart beating at a furious pace.
“Quiet but lethal.”
Kaylee twirled her finger in a strand of his chest hair. “Meaning?”
“God help me if I ever did anything to make her mad. She never let on. No, she found other ways of getting even.” Bastian closed his eyes, and Kaylee felt a bit of the tension leave him, which made her thankful. She figured there’d been too much of that tension in him these past years, too much to be good for him.
“Like?” Kaylee smiled.
Bastian rubbed her arm. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Come on,” she jibed. “What did she do?”
“Painted my fingernails while I was asleep. Glued pom-poms in my hair. Sewed my boxer shorts closed. She was a very…imaginative little heathen. I’ll give her that.”
Kaylee propped herself up on one elbow and laughed. “Sewing your boxers closed? Now that’s classic. I think I’d like her.”
Bastian flushed and smiled. “You would.”
“Is that a hint of homesickness I hear?”
The smile abruptly vanished and Bastian looked away. “It doesn’t matter. That part of my life is over.”
“Why did you leave?”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
Kaylee ran her hand down his side. “Is avoiding it going to make it go away?”
He caught her hand. “Is talking about it going to fix it?”
Kaylee squeezed his hand. “It’s not like you have anything to worry about. I mean, I’ve only got a limited time here. Dead people don’t talk, remember? Your secret is safe with me.”
“Damn it, that’s not funny, Kaylee.”
Bastian’s arms tightened around her.
“Neither is watching you sink because you’re tired of treading water. You can say it doesn’t matter how things were left between you and your father, but I know better. That’s part of the reason you thought you needed a bullet in your brain.”
Bastian jerked up right and dangled his legs over the side of the bed. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”
“Nope.” Kaylee sat up, and threw an arm around his neck.
Bastian took a deep breath and exhaled disgustedly. “Fine, you get the Reader’s Digest version. Take it or leave it.”
Kaylee grinned. “I’ll take it.”
“My dad and I had a huge fight. He wanted to groom me to run the family company just like he had. I wanted to be me. One of us thought money and appearance were everything, and one of us left. I haven’t spoken to him since. It would only reinforce the idea that he was right.” He stood before the window framing a full moon.
“What was he right about?” Kaylee stared at his muscular back as he leaned toward the window.
Bastian ducked his head. “About me, Kaylee. I’m a zero. I can’t even support myself with my ‘artistic gift,’ at least not without charity.”
“Is that what you think I’m offering you?” Kaylee stood, ignoring the chill on her skin. “Goddamn it, Bastian, I’m offering you a chance to change people’s lives. It’s something only you can do. I don’t have your gift. I wish I did, but I don’t. That’s not charity. Who’s to say you wouldn’t have made it as an artist without me? Everything takes time, and time brings opportunity—if not me, then maybe someone else down the road. Not every chance is charity, Bastian, and charity isn’t always about pity. Sometimes, it’s about love—love for others, love for your craft, and love for yourself.”
“Yeah, I’ve plenty of aptitude, all right—especially at failing. I’ve excelled at it.” Bastian flinched as he thought of the gun and how many times he’d placed it into his mouth. He’d come so close.
“You haven’t failed. Failing is giving up, not trying at all. That’s not in your blood.” Kaylee crossed the room and gingerly reached out to him, her fingers tracing the muscles in his back between his shoulder blades. She leaned against him, wrapping both arms around his waist.
Bastian lowered his arms and held onto her hands. “You’ve changed me. You’ve made me better than I could ever have been without you.”
“No I didn’t,” she said quietly. “You just needed a little help.” She paused, uncertain, then pushed forward. “Have you thought about ca
lling your father?”
“I can’t.” Bastian shook his head. He could still his father’s angry face. The man hadn’t smiled since his mother had died—and he hadn’t smiled much, even before that.
Kaylee savored the feel of his skin. “I’d like to. I’d like to tell him what a wonderful son he has.”
“You don’t know him.” Bastian patted her hand. “He hasn’t changed since he told me to get the hell out of his house.” Bastian untangled his body from Kaylee and sat on the bed.
“He’s not the only one who doesn’t believe in second chances.” She followed and sat beside him, setting her hand on his knee.
“You don’t know how it is, so don’t tell me what I need to do like it’s some twelve-step program. It’s not like you’ve called your mother and told her the truth.”
Kaylee jerked her hand away, her back stiffening, and she looked toward the nightstand. “You would know all about that, right? You know how to tell everybody who loves you something you don’t even want to tell yourself. If that’s the case, then give me the words, Bastian, since I don’t have them.” Her body trembled, and she blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears.
Bastian sighed. “Nobody does. The words just come when the silence doesn’t fill the space anymore. The truth comes out in the cracks.” Bastian turned toward her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and gently kneaded the muscles. He could feel the tension buried beneath the skin.
“I don’t want to tell her,” she whispered, slumping forward. She could feel a coldness touch her, deep—inside, where no heat could warm.
Bastian ran his fingers down her spine. “Because it will make things final?” His voice sounded raspy, as though he could not control his emotions.
“Yes.”
“Come here.” He crawled into bed and held his arms open.
She looked at him, saw the tears brightened his eyes. A thin line edged down his cheek to his chin. She slowly turned, crawled onto the mattress, and snuggled against his shoulder, comforted in his arms. She rubbed her forehead against his chin despite the stubble.
When Angels Cry Page 12
