by Kristie Cook
The anger within me surged to rage. I was madder than I’d even been with James, who’d insulted my mother but hadn’t physically hurt an innocent child. Blood pounded in my ears, drowning the rest of the world out except for the girl’s sobs. My vision tunneled and everything around us blurred except this man’s face. With narrowed eyes and flaring nostrils, he showed no signs of surprise at his own actions or even regret. He looked like he would do it again if either his daughter or wife rose from the ground. And the only thought I had was, This human debris needs a dose of his own medicine.
Not even realizing I had moved, I was suddenly in front of him, pulling my fist back. I threw the punch straight at his jaw.
Chapter 5
His black eyes widened with shock. He wasn’t a skinny teenage boy, though, and he didn’t soar backward as James had done. But he did stagger back several steps with the force. His hand flew to his jaw, cupping it—a mirror image of his wife. Then his eyes darkened even more with his own rage.
I just stood there, frozen in shock at what I’d just done. My chest heaved with panted breaths and my arms hung at my side, my hands still balled into fists. A dull ache throbbed in my knuckles.
“You need a little lesson, young lady,” he threatened. The mother and daughter both whimpered.
Oh, crap! Crap, crap, crap! My heart raced. What the hell was I thinking?! If I’d been thinking clearly, I would have remembered Mom’s self-defense lessons and done something to incapacitate him, like kick him in the groin. But, no, I had been stupid, thinking he would have taken my punch like James had. Or, actually, I hadn’t been thinking at all. Fear replaced my anger and any extra strength I had dissipated.
He rolled his head on his neck, as fighters do when they’re warming up. Then he stepped toward me. My stomach dropped to the ground. My heart gave up its race and just stopped beating altogether. I took a few clumsy steps backward, tripped over my own feet and fell. Phil advanced again. I instinctively raised my hands. They trembled over my face. At least it’s me now and not them. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for it.
I heard a thud, but felt nothing. I peaked between my fingers. Phil was gone. He lay flat on his back on the ground ten yards away, staring up at . . . Tristan. A whoosh of air expelled from my lungs.
“I suggest you get out of here now,” Owen, now next to Tristan, said to the wife-beater. His words were polite, but his tone was menacing. I never expected Owen to be so threatening.
“You need to mind your own damn business!” the man barked as he sat up.
“Go!” Tristan bellowed, his fist in the air, his arms bulging with obvious power.
Phil winced and his face paled under his dark tan. He scrambled to his feet and moved toward his wife. Tristan stepped between them.
“NOW!” he roared.
Phil bolted for the parking lot. Tristan followed, his fists clenched. I sat there, shaking uncontrollably, wondering what he would do. I didn’t want to watch, but I couldn’t make myself turn away yet. The mom and daughter watched Tristan, too, their tear-filled eyes wide with fear.
“Tristan, let him go!” Owen called after him. Tristan took a couple more steps, then stopped. Phil jumped into an orange, older model Camaro and peeled out. Owen rushed to me first. “You okay?”
I blew out the breath I’d been holding.
“I’m fine.” I nodded at Tristan. “Is he?”
“I don’t know.” Owen walked toward Tristan as he headed back to us and they both stopped within a few feet of each other.
“Did he hurt her?” Tristan demanded.
“Alexis is fine. Are you?”
Tristan nodded. “What about the other two?”
They started back toward us. I crawled over to the little girl.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She sobbed as she held her shoulder. The mother shook her head, dark strands sticking in the tears flowing down her bruising cheek.
“We need to go home,” she whispered.
“You can’t go home!” I gasped. “Won’t he be there?”
“Not yet. He’ll come later. But the longer we’re gone, the worse it’ll be,” she explained.
“Then don’t go!”
“You don’t understand . . . .”
She was right. I had no clue why she would want to go home to the bastard.
“Is there anywhere else you can go? We can take you somewhere.”
The woman didn’t answer me, but stood up and brushed herself off. She pulled a pair of cut-off shorts and a t-shirt out of her beach bag and put them on. She held out a sundress to her daughter, who slowly rose to her feet, wincing as she put weight on her left foot. The mother then pulled keys out of her bag and shook them.
“We’ll go to my sister’s,” she said. She tried a smile. It looked forced. “I drove us here. I can get us to her house.”
“Isn’t there something we can do for you?” Tristan asked.
She bit her lip and blinked rapidly, holding back more tears. She answered quietly, “I think you’ve done enough.”
She turned and headed toward her car. Her daughter tried to follow, limping and still holding her shoulder. Tristan gently scooped her up and he and Owen followed her mom to a blue Ford coupe as I just stood there, watching. Disbelieving what just happened.
This was so not good. I’d let my rage get the better of me again. Last time, that meant an immediate move. And I wasn’t ready to move again. I liked it here.
But this time was different. I may have looked stupid, trying to take on a full-grown, stout man, but at least he hadn’t flown back from my punch. At least I hadn’t looked freakishly strong. The coward he was, Phil would never admit that a small, young woman had nearly taken him down. But his wife . . . would she tell anyone? Probably not, but only, sadly, because she feared her own husband.
So that left Owen and Tristan. What had they seen? They’d been worried about me, more than the others. Did all they see was Phil threatening me? Did they not witness what I’d done to him? Could I be so lucky?
Tristan set the little girl down in the passenger seat of her mom’s car, then he and Owen watched as they left, Tristan taking a few steps forward, as if he wanted to follow them. I thought about sneaking off, down the beach, but Owen turned to me right then and waved me over. I needed to find out exactly what they saw anyway. Because if it was anything worth mentioning—even if he just thought it stupid or brave—Owen would probably tell Mom everything.
“She’ll go back to him,” Tristan muttered as I walked up.
“Seriously?” I asked.
“Probably,” Owen said. “But we’ve done all we can.”
“No, we haven’t,” Tristan grumbled, that steely undertone in his voice.
“Tristan . . . leave it alone,” Owen warned, eyeing him carefully. “Maybe you should go. I’ll take Alexis home.”
Tristan spun around. “I’ll take her.”
Owen shook his head. “That’s not a good idea. Sophia—”
“Sophia can deal with it!” Tristan barked, apparently not over his anger. I cringed and his eyes flew to me.
It was very fast and I could have imagined it, but for half a second I thought I saw what Carlie might have been talking about. The sparkles of gold in his eyes looked different, more like sparks of fire. His eyes looked . . . frightening. Maybe everyone else had been right. I waited for the nudge to return. Or even for the alarms. But nothing happened.
He must have seen something in my own eyes, though. His face immediately softened and his body relaxed. What anger he might have had just a second earlier—whether at the wife-beater or at my mom, I wasn’t sure—didn’t show in his eyes as he studied my face.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his voice returning to its smooth and silky self. Again, he was worried about me, as if I’d been the one punched.
I forced a small smile and went with it. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little scared. Are you sure you are?”
The gold fl
ecks sparkled now as he smiled slowly. He nodded. “If you are, I am.”
I turned to Owen and wished I could read his mind, hear his thoughts. If he saw what I’d done and took me home, he might make a big deal of it with Mom. Of course, if I let Tristan take me home, Owen could always call her and I wouldn’t know until I faced her. It didn’t matter. He worked for her. If he had anything to tell her, he’d have plenty of opportunity to do it any time. And if I had to choose who to take me home . . .
“Thanks for the offer, Owen,” I said, “but Tristan can take me. I’ll handle Sophia.”
Owen narrowed his eyes as they bounced between Tristan and me.
“I’m gonna lose my job,” he said with a sigh.
“No, you won’t,” I promised. “It’s not exactly in your job description to be worried about how I get home.”
He muttered something under his breath. Tristan smiled slightly, as if he’d heard.
“You’re sure?” Owen asked me as he turned for his car.
“I’m positive. Sophia will get over it. Besides . . . it’s not like she’s my mother.” So, that wasn’t exactly true, but they didn’t know.
Owen snorted, jogged to his car and left.
I looked up at Tristan. “You really don’t mind?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “A little late to be asking, don’t you think?”
“So . . . you do mind? You need to be somewhere else? I can walk . . . .”
After all that happened, I really didn’t want to walk all the way home by myself now. But I would if I had to.
He chuckled. “I said I’d take you home.”
He put his thumb under my chin and tilted my face up toward his. That strange current pulsed through my jaw and up to my temples. He gazed into my eyes, creating a slow burn in my belly.
“There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” he murmured. The burn bloomed into a fire within. He smiled before letting go. “Ever been on a bike before?”
I followed him to the motorcycle, pleased it wasn’t the crotch-rocket he usually rode to campus. The Harley came to life with its distinctive rumble. I climbed on and looked around for something to hold onto and found chrome handholds on each side of the seat. He looked over his shoulder at me and glanced down at my hands. He probably expected me to hold onto him. Part of me wanted to, but that was a closeness I wasn’t quite ready for.
“Ready?” he asked.
I nodded.
It would have been a lot less tense if I had held onto him, because it couldn’t have been more unnerving with that small space between us. As the bike rumbled under us through the streets of the Cape, arcs of electricity jumped between us. I felt woozy by the time we pulled in front of the cottage and not from the vibration of the motorcycle.
“That was . . . different,” he muttered after shutting off the engine.
Mom’s car was already in the driveway. I hoped she would stay inside and mind her own business.
“Thank you,” I said as Tristan and I stood in the driveway. “For everything, I mean.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Did I scare you?”
“Um, no,” I lied.
“I’m sorry. I was a little pissed off.”
Yeah, me, too. I smiled to show him it was okay.
“What were you thinking anyway?” he asked.
Son of a witch. He had seen it all. And now he’d want an explanation. At least he wasn’t staring at me like some kind of mutant. At least he was even here, in my driveway—he hadn’t left me at the park, so he couldn’t be too freaked out.
“You looked like you wanted to hit him or something,” he added.
I blew out a breath, fighting the urge to whoop with relief. Okay, he didn’t see everything. He and Owen must have turned just in time to see Phil advancing on me, maybe just before I fell, when my hand was still fisted.
“I don’t know.” I cleared my throat and, again, went with it. “It made me so mad to see him hurt them. I just wanted to stop him and it worked, I guess. For now, anyway.” I sighed at the thought that I’d probably made things even worse for the woman and her daughter. I’d been so stupid. “I’m just glad you got there when you did.”
“Me, too.” He looked into my eyes and I saw something unreadable in his. Concern? It was still there when he changed the subject. “So, what was with you today? I tried to catch up with you when the team was done, but you took off like you were escaping. You seemed lost in thought all afternoon.”
The team meeting felt so long ago now, it took me a moment to realize what he meant. Of course, he’d noticed. He usually walked me to my car and I hadn’t even thought about it. “Yeah, I guess I was . . . lost in thought. Sorry if I was rude.”
When I looked up at him, he seemed to search my eyes for an explanation. I didn’t give one. I couldn’t tell him about Mom or Carlie’s opinions.
He held my eyes as he lifted his hand to my face and stroked a current across my cheek. A shudder tried to work its way down my spine, but I fought it back.
“You’ll make it up to me,” he said with a smile.
“I can do that,” I promised with my own smile.
And with perfect timing, the cottage’s front door opened.
“Alexis!” Mom said sharply.
I didn’t take my eyes off Tristan to look at her. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He held them, trapped within his gaze.
“Get in the house,” Mom demanded. “I need to talk to you.”
Of course you want to talk now.
I sighed and finally pulled my eyes away from the beautiful hazel ones.
“I better go,” I muttered.
“See you later, ma lykita,” he said quietly.
I raised an eyebrow. He smiled and shook his head. Mom cleared her throat from the door. I sighed with frustration.
I gave Tristan an apologetic smile and then marched into the house. I spun on her, ready to tell her how much her timing sucked when I noticed the suitcase by the door. My eyes stung with the reality. Owen must have called her. This was what she had to talk to me about.
“We have to move?” I said. “But I—”
Her brows furrowed and then her face softened, as did her voice. “Oh, no, honey. I’m sorry. I’m just going out of town for a couple days.”
Whew. So Owen hadn’t said anything and, unless she became aware of something, she had no reason to feel for the truth.
“I . . . have a book sellers’ convention to go to. You know, my first holiday season coming up, I need to make sure I know everything I should be doing.” She spoke a little too quickly and wouldn’t look directly at me. She was lying but I didn’t know why. “Owen said he can come in at one tomorrow and close up, if you can open the store and stay until then. Of course, we’re closed Sunday and I’ll be back Sunday night.”
“No problem,” I muttered.
She searched my face for a long moment. “Do me a favor, please? Keep your distance from Tristan at least until I get back? We can talk about it then, okay?”
I shrugged. I hadn’t really planned on seeing him anyway. I never saw him on the weekends.
“Please? Promise?” She nodded her head, part of her persuasion technique. Next, she would reach out to touch my hand or arm.
I glowered at her, refusing to let her get to me. “No, Mom, I won’t promise. It probably won’t matter, but I won’t make any promises I don’t want to keep.”
Her eyes hardened as she studied my face. She didn’t even try her next move.
“Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll see you Sunday night.”
She grabbed her suitcase and I headed for the kitchen. I heard the front door open and, almost in a whisper, she said, “I love you.”
I sighed. “I love you, too.”
I turned around, but the door was already closed. I didn’t know if she heard me.
I walked over to the front window in the living room to watch her through the blinds, guilt filling my heart because she’d left on suc
h a sour note. To my astonishment, Tristan was still there, leaning against Mom’s car as she dropped her suitcase in the trunk. Why hadn’t he left? Is he going to bust me? Perhaps Owen wasn’t the one I should have been worried about. I sat on the floor, my back to the wall next to the open window so they couldn’t see me, but it meant I couldn’t watch them. I could only listen. And my worries were way off base.
“Stay away from her, Tristan,” Mom ordered. “She’s not ready yet.”
“You mean you’re not ready yet.”
“That, too.”
“It’s out of your hands, Sophia.”
“We’ll see about that.” A second of silence.
“You’re going to see them, aren’t you?”
Mom answered with her own question. “When was the last time you saw your . . . kin?”
“I’ve never gone back and I never will.” Complete sureness in his voice.
“And you expect me to trust you?”
Tristan sighed. “You have to, don’t you?”
“Why should I? She’s my daughter, for heaven’s sake.” Oh! She just blew our cover! My breath caught and my hand flew to my mouth, afraid they’d heard.
“It’s time to let go, Sophia. I think she’ll be okay.”
“You think? I need more than that, Tristan. I need one-hundred-percent surety!”
More silence. When Tristan spoke, his voice was low and grim. “You know I can’t give you that.”
“Exactly.” Her icy tone sent a chill up my spine. Her car door slammed and the engine started. She peeled out of the driveway and a minute later the motorcycle fired up and rumbled away.
I threw myself across the couch and stared at the ceiling. What the hell just happened? I’d been so worried about the incident in the park and this was even crazier. Mom and Tristan apparently knew each other. Well enough that Tristan knew where Mom was really going and Mom believed she couldn’t trust him with me. What is going on with them?
I mentally played back the conversation several times, trying to figure it out. Then realization dawned on me. Mom had mentioned his kin—she must have dated his father or brother or other relative.
She’d had many boyfriends over the years and it always ended badly. She never explained what happened with most of them, whom she seemed to love one day and couldn’t get away from fast enough the next. We moved immediately after every break-up. I could only figure she was unable to love a man and let him love her, because they were usually good men, according to my sense. Except for Lenny . . . .
