by Alisha Rai
Jas blew out a breath. He wanted to decline immediately, but he hated to kill the hope on his grandfather’s weathered face. “I’ll think about it,” he managed. It was the best he could do.
He could tell his grandfather wanted to insist, but Tara cut him off. “That’s good enough for now. Grandpa is a reasonable man. Right, Dad?”
Andrés folded his arms over his big chest. “Of course I am.”
Katrina’s fingers stroked over his as she withdrew her hand. It ached, the loss of her touch, but he couldn’t very well grab her hand. He’d already given away too much about their relationship to his too nosy family.
His family stayed later, all of them lingering over coffee. Katrina fit right in, chatting easily with Bikram and Tara now that the most serious topics had been exhausted. Andrés was quiet, but so was Jas.
The only cloud on the horizon came after dinner. Bikram pulled him aside. “Hey, uh . . . I have to talk to you about something.”
“I do, too. I bought you a present. It’s hay. I’ll deliver it tomorrow.”
Bikram squinted at him. “We need to work on your gift-giving. Anyway, two things. Um, I don’t want to step on your toes, but Hasan’s older brother is a therapist. Do you want his number?”
A muscle in Jas’s cheek twitched. “I knew he was a therapist already. Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
Bikram beamed, then sobered. “Okay, second thing: I heard from the Smythes. About Doodle.”
He stiffened. The Smythes were neighbors. “What did they say?”
“One of their dogs ran off a couple months ago. The description sounded like Doodle. They didn’t sound too heartbroken, but they said they’ll take her back if we’d found her.”
Jas glanced at Katrina, who was chatting with his mother. Their heads were bent close together while Katrina carefully measured a portion of sourdough starter out of her jar and into another. Doodle lay on her back on the floor, tongue lolling out of her mouth, pink belly exposed.
If she went back to the Smythes, they’d treat her with benign neglect. For certain, she wouldn’t have a quarter of the affection that Katrina showered upon her and received in return from the mutt.
“Jas?”
Jas pulled his attention away from the domestic scene. “Offer them five grand.”
Bikram’s eyes bulged. “Five thousand dollars?”
“Ten thousand. Whatever they want. I’ll pay it.” He had enough money. With no lodging expenses, a lot of his salary was banked.
“Yeah, it’s clear you’re not cut out to run any kind of business.” Bikram patted Jas on the chest. “I’m going to offer them five hundred dollars on your behalf as a rehoming fee.”
“What if they don’t take it?” He’d be damned if he’d force Katrina to give her dog up.
“They’ll be delighted to have it.” Bikram rolled his eyes. “Love must have affected your eyesight, because that dog isn’t exactly a purebred, brother.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“DOODLE, SHOULD WE go into his room, or stay here?”
Doodle hopped on Katrina’s bed and lay down, making it clear what her preference was. Between the excitement of having guests in the house and her full belly from all the food Jas had snuck her, the dog was visibly pooped.
Katrina should also be pooped, but she was way too wired to go to sleep. After removing her jewelry, she washed her face. Water dripped into her eyes and she groped for her washcloth. After drying, she braced her arms on the bathroom counter and stared at her reflection.
Coming to the farm had hurt Jas, and she hadn’t known.
Katrina gripped the counter. That was only the tip of what she didn’t know.
She hadn’t known why Jas had taken the job with Hardeep. She had only a vague sense of what he’d gone through in Iraq. She didn’t know the details around the testimony the Singhs had alluded to over dinner. She hadn’t realized how deep his lack of communication with his grandfather ran.
Let’s face it. You don’t even know what his favorite breakfast food is.
Jas’s reticence to talk about himself wasn’t new. He had always been an enigmatic creature. She knew him. The important parts of him. His heart, his values.
Yet . . . phew. What a slap in the face this had been, to sit there at that dinner table, utterly clueless as to what was going on.
Katrina left the bathroom and picked up her phone from the bureau, then put it down again. She could talk to Andy or her friends, but she’d have to first navigate the fact that she had feelings for Jas, and she was too tired to explain everything right now.
There are things he doesn’t know about you.
Yeah, that was true. He didn’t know every little detail about her life, but he’d been around for so much of it. He’d seen her on the floor, stripped of all defenses. He’d protected her, knew about the threats she faced. It was literally his job to know stuff about her.
She took off her clothes and put on a camisole and yoga pants, despite the slight chill in the air. Guilt threatened to overwhelm her, but she tried to beat it back. You can’t control someone else’s actions, you can only control yourself.
She could be the best friend in the world to Jas, and she would make a more concerted effort to draw information out of him, but at the end of the day, she couldn’t force him to talk to her or anyone.
What if he’s never forthcoming? What if this is all you’ll ever know of him?
She bit her lip.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and she went to the door. She hesitated for a beat, then opened it.
He stood with his fist poised to knock. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Everything’s cleaned up downstairs.”
“Thank you for that.” She hadn’t argued when he’d sent her away after their guests had left. Cleaning up was much less fun than cooking was.
“Thank you for cooking for us.”
What a terribly formal conversation. She glanced over her shoulder at the bed. At home, her bed was big enough to accommodate them both and Doodle, but not here. “Do you . . . do you want to go to your room to talk?”
Jas’s smile was faint. “Don’t want to disturb Doodle?”
“Ha, yeah.” She stepped outside the door and closed it behind her. She brushed up against him, and he looked her up and down. She shivered. He’d never really done that before. He’d always been so careful to keep his gaze above her neck. Sleeping together had changed some things.
“Have you told Rhiannon and Jia about Doodle yet?”
She fell into step next to him as they walked down the hall. “Not yet. I didn’t want them to get attached if I had to give her up. I’ll tell them next time we talk.”
“You’re already attached.”
“Well, those are my feelings to deal with. No need to make someone else hurt if I can avoid it.” Can’t control others.
He motioned her into his room. She flushed at the sight of the bed where they’d slept last night.
She sat down on it gingerly and drew her knees up. He went into the bathroom and closed the door for a few minutes, then opened it again. He wore only a pair of those sweatpants she’d drooled over this morning.
Her misgivings and dismay flew out of her head. Had gray joggers always been the sexiest article of clothing a man could own, or had that happened recently?
He brushed his teeth and washed his face and she scooted back on the bed, fascinated. He had his own routine, only his was much more economical than her fifteen-step program. Such a mundane thing, to watch someone ready themselves for bed, yet so intimate. Especially when they were in those joggers. Those low-slung, drawstring-tied, easy to remove . . .
Katrina released the breath she was holding and fanned herself. She needed a distraction from those sweats. “What’s your favorite food?”
“What?”
“Your favorite food. Like if you could have anything in the world for breakfast tomorrow, what would it be?”
He pulle
d out his floss. His biceps flexed when he lifted it to his mouth. Who knew good dental hygiene could be such a turn-on? “I like everything you make.”
“But what’s your favorite?” she insisted.
He finished flossing, and came out of the bathroom. “I don’t have a favorite.”
“Everybody has a favorite dish. What’s the breakfast you used to eat the most as a kid, the one that makes you feel all warm and squishy inside when you think about it?”
“I was never actually much of a breakfast eater.”
She stared at him. “You eat it every day when I make it for you.”
“Because you make it for me.”
Holy shit. “So let me get this straight: you don’t even like breakfast, but for the last nine years, you’ve eaten whatever I make for you, every morning, instead of just telling me you don’t care for the meal?”
Jas leaned against the armchair facing the bed. “I appreciate you cooking it, and it is an important meal. I’m happy to eat it.”
She gave a half laugh. “Are you kidding me?”
“I don’t see what the problem is.”
“The problem—” she cut herself off when he rubbed the back of his neck. A rare show of exhaustion on his part.
Another shot of guilt. She should drop this. It wasn’t that important, right?
Except as a symptom of a deeper problem. This should be an easy question, one she didn’t have to badger him into answering. “Name one dish you actually like.”
He was silent for a moment. “I like your waffles.”
“The sourdough waffles?” She perked up. “Those are my favorites, too.”
“I know. You’re happiest when you can use that starter.”
Her smile faded. He liked the waffles, at least partially, because she enjoyed making them. It was sweet and selfless, and still he was holding himself away from her.
“Is something wrong?” He rolled his shoulders, and she shook her head, burying her misgivings. It sounded so foolish to complain that he was too nice, yes?
“No.” She scooted over on the bed. “Do you want to come sit here?”
His quickness in complying eased her worries a little.
They sat side by side for a couple moments. His hand slid over her thigh and squeezed, sending tingles of happiness through her body. “Thank you for being there tonight. I’m sorry you had to see this family drama.”
“Oh no.” Never let him think she didn’t appreciate learning stuff about him. “I’m glad I could be there. It would have been a shame for you all to have an irreparable rift between you. Grandparents like that don’t fall from trees.”
He shot her a sideways glance. “Do you know your grandparents?”
“Not on my dad’s side. My mom was born in America, but her parents returned to Thailand when she was in college. I met them twice, but I was too young to remember it. After she died, my dad blocked them from contacting me.” Her smile was bittersweet, the same mix of anger and aching tenderness she’d felt when she’d found out what her dad had done. “I found letters my grandmother had sent me. Birthday cards with money still tucked in them. By the time I realized they had tried to see me, it was too late, they were already gone. If I’d had the courage to buck my dad a few years earlier . . .” She trailed off, her inner-therapist-trained counterthinking kicking in. “Well. What’s done is done.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I considered seeing if I could track down any extended family members, but . . . I don’t know.”
“You should.”
She lifted her shoulder. She’d been raised by a father who had seen her as his meal ticket, a pretty object to be photographed and used for financial gain and tossed when she was no longer useful. Her abandonment issues were severe. What were the guarantees that this family that didn’t even know her would even like her?
She had made a family. Rhi, Jia. Everyone who worked for her. Jas.
She inhaled deeply, pulling air into her lungs to calm the prickle of tears at her eyes. She could always use more, though. “I’ll think about it.”
He nodded. “You do that.”
How had they gotten back to her so easily? It was a habit, she supposed, him looking after her. “Can we talk about dinner? About . . .”
Your PTSD.
This testimony everyone was talking about.
Your relationship with your family members.
“I’m really exhausted. Can we not, tonight?”
Her nod was automatic. “Yes. Of course.”
He leaned in close to press a kiss on her cheek. “Do you want to sleep together? I’m too tired to do more, but I’d like to sleep.”
“Absolutely.”
He turned the light off, plunging the room into darkness. They got under the covers, and she moved onto her side, in her usual sleeping position. He curved around her, spooning her.
She tried to shake the sense of something being wrong, but her eyes popped open as a thought occurred to her. “Hey, is this your side of the bed?”
“I can sleep anywhere. I don’t have a side.”
That sounded like absurd talk to Katrina, but she supposed there were some humans in the world who didn’t care what side of the bed they slept on. She craned her neck to look at him. “Are you okay with this position? Do you usually sleep on your side?”
“Are you okay with it?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m okay with it.” He tugged her close. “I’m tired, Katrina.”
The rebuke was as gentle as it could be, but she got the hint. “Okay, right. Good night.”
“Night.” In a matter of seconds, his breathing deepened and grew heavy.
She stared out into the darkness of the night, stroking her hand over his. In the history of the world, had any woman ever complained about having a partner who was too selfless?
Probably not. Despite that lingering sense of anxiety, she closed her eyes and did what she’d learned to do so well. She fell asleep with her breath matched to his, the heat of his body seeping into hers.
Chapter Twenty-Four
THERE WAS SO much noise, and the sharp taste of sweat and metallic fear in his mouth. He wanted to leave, but he was pinned, cursed to witness the same horrific sequence of events again and again.
Hands on his chest held him down. He had to get away.
He lashed out, kicking and swatting, and it was only when he heard a grunt that his eyes flew open.
He expected to see McGuire’s deceptively boyish round face over his, but that wasn’t the case. Katrina was on her knees next to him, eyes wide.
The bed. The room. He was in the little house, and Katrina was with him.
“Oh God.” Jas sat up and grasped her hands. They were cold in his, which didn’t bode well. “I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“No, not at all. I shouldn’t have tried to shake you awake. Are you okay?”
He looked around the room, his grandparents’ old master bedroom. The climate was cool here, not hot or arid. Nothing smelled like blood. “Yes.”
“Let me get you some water.”
“That’s okay.”
But she was already clambering out of bed before he could finish speaking. He rubbed his knee through the blanket, but stopped when she came back from the bathroom.
She turned the light on the nightstand on, and sat on the bed next to him. “Does your leg hurt?”
Couldn’t get much past her. “No. Thank you.” He accepted the glass of tap water.
“You were rubbing it.”
“Sometimes it aches when it’s cold out.” Or when he had this dream, where he was shoved back into that horrific night.
“Can I see?”
He didn’t want to show her, but he couldn’t deny her anything, so he shrugged. She flipped the quilt, shoved his sweatpants up, and examined his naked leg.
“It’s ugly,” he said gruffly.
She traced the scars with a feather-light touch. “No, it’s just you.�
�
He made a deep noise in his throat, and drained the rest of the water.
“Is that what you dream about? This injury?”
Jas shook his head. Then he nodded. Then shook his head again.
The door widened and Doodle came padding into the room. The animal put her paws on the bed and hopped up, shoving Katrina aside to plop on Jas’s chest. Katrina chuckled. “She seems to really be warming up to you.”
“I snuck her scraps at the table.” Jas scratched the dog’s head and let some of his fear and sadness seep into each stroke. “Most animals aren’t so receptive.”
“Why do you think they don’t like you? Are you a werewolf?”
The unexpectedly silly question made him smile. “Do animals not like werewolves?”
“So I’ve heard. I also assume werewolves are taciturn and have perfect eyebrows.”
He squinted at her. “Perfect eyebrows, eh?”
“Beyond perfect.”
He shouldn’t feel so happy over such an odd compliment, but it was still a compliment, so he’d take it. “I don’t know why animals tend to be, at best, indifferent to me.” He scratched Doodle’s neck. “It used to make me feel bad, but I learned to get over it.”
“Why did it make you feel bad?”
“Animals are excellent judges of character, aren’t they?”
She side-eyed him. “Or they’re animals, and somewhat fickle and unreasonable?”
His smile was faint. Doodle hummed and scooted closer to him. “I suppose that’s possible.”
“Can you tell me about your dream, Jas?”
He hesitated, that same warring urge rising inside of him. He wanted that euphoria of unburdening himself, but he also wanted to bury it deep. To compromise, he switched into as robotic a tone as he could manage, eager to get through this with as few emotions as possible. “I led my infantry platoon. There was a bomb, a roadside explosion that killed two of my men. We got a tip about this guy who they said was the weapons supplier for the cell that placed and detonated the IED. Our superiors questioned him for two weeks before letting him go. There was no proof he was connected at all.” Jas had looked at the Draft Intelligence Information Report later. The suspect had been a civilian, by all accounts a quiet villager who lived with his mother and daughter. There had been nothing to tie him to the crime except a rumor.
