Lost In Between: Finding Me Duet #1

by K. L. Kreig

  Swallowing down the melancholy, I croak out, “Of course. Yeah, I’m good. Good.”

  She scrutinizes me closely. Her eyes give away she knows I’m full of shit, but she’s doesn’t push. How I ever found this saint of a woman, who cares for my mother like her own blood, I will never know. I feel like my father sent her to both my momma and me from beyond the grave.

  Without Millie, I’d have no choice but to put my momma into a nursing home or long-term care facility. I can’t possibly care for her myself. I tried that for a few months after my father died. I quickly discovered caring for someone with rapidly advancing Alzheimer’s is equivalent to caring for a toddler. I couldn’t care for her and work, and I had to work to pay both her expenses and mine. So, on my meager salary, I hired a part-time home health provider but two months in found out she was stealing from my momma.

  The next person they sent was Millie. When I approached Millie about quitting her home health service and working for me full-time, she was immediately in. She said she felt a special kinship for my momma and me. She’s kind of like the mother I lost so many years ago now.

  I don’t pay her nearly as much as she’s worth. Don’t get me wrong—she’s still expensive. More than I can afford on my day job’s salary. After two years, with depleted savings and my options narrowing, the gift of La Dolce Vita fell into my lap.

  And with the money Shaw is paying me, I’ll be able to easily cover Millie’s salary for several years, along with the other expenses it takes to maintain my childhood home. By then I’ll have enough of a foothold narrating audiobooks that money will no longer be an issue for me.

  “How’s Momma?”

  “She’s napping. It’s been a good day, though. A really good day.”

  “She’s lucid?” Those times are further and further between nowadays.

  “She’s had a few of those moments today. She talked a lot about you, actually.”

  “Really?” Her conversations tend to lean toward my dead older sister.

  “Yes.” Millie smiles warmly. “She was telling me about your date for the junior prom.”

  “Oh my God, she did not,” I groan, slapping my forehead with my palm.

  Millie’s laugh is high and loud and ear scratching, but every time I hear it, it warms me. “Oh yes, she did. She told me all about how Johnny Hankins’ mother drove you both because Johnny hadn’t passed his driver’s license exam yet after three tries. And how she had to drive you to the ER when the wrist corsage made you break out in hives all the way up your arm, and how little Johnny tried to kiss you back in the exam room but ended up with stitches of his own because of a two-inch laceration on his cheek from where you slugged him with the blood pressure cuff.”

  “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the cuff that did the damage. It was the end of the counter when he fell from the force of the blow. And I didn’t tell momma this, but little Johnny actually tried feeling me up, so in my opinion, he got what he deserved.”

  That makes Millie squeal louder. For just a few minutes, we giggle and forget. It feels good, like when I’m with Shaw. Every time we’re together, I’m a little less empty. I hate that he makes me feel the way no one else can and that it will be gone in the blink of an eye.

  “Tea?” Millie asks.

  “Sure, but don’t go to any trouble for me. I know where everything is.”

  “No trouble, dear. I was just coming to make myself a cup anyway.”

  After a few minutes of bustling, Millie sets a steaming hot cup of Tazo mint tea between my hands. “Thanks,” I mutter before taking a tentative sip. “Everything else going okay around here? Nothing else that needs attention?”

  Millie frowns before answering. “No, Willow. Everything is fine. But I really wish you’d reconsider keeping this big old house. You spend unnecessary money heating and cooling it, not to mention the taxes this must cost you.”

  Millie has never come outright and asked, but I know she wonders how I get enough money to not only pay my expenses but her salary and the upkeep on this house, too. My father did well, and I had enough from his retirement funds to pay off the mortgage, credit card bills, and the like, but there wasn’t a lot left over. My parents didn’t hurt for money, but they were no millionaires either.

  “Millie—”

  “Before you tell me I don’t understand, I do. I took care of my mother as she went through the exact thing your momma’s going through. On sheer principle, I refused to sell her home, the same home she’d shared with my papa for forty-nine years, but at the end, it just didn’t matter. She didn’t know where she was anyway, and when she died, I had to take a loan just to bury her.”

  “Millie, I can’t. Momma feels comfortable here. This is her home, even if she doesn’t remember most of the time.”

  This was my home. Every inch of this place is stuffed with memories. I still see Violet and me lying on the living room floor making a collage of our ideal boyfriend from cut-up magazines or eating raw cookie dough at this very table until our stomachs hurt so much we swore we wouldn’t do it again or laying for hours in the tree house out back, her talking about the latest boy she was crushing on.

  “What’s it like to kiss a boy?” I ask her. We’re lying on our backs, watching a spider in the corner of a beam cocoon a fly caught in its web.

  “Well, it’s wet, and at first his tongue feels weird, but it’s…nice.”

  “You kiss with your tongue?” I ask, flabbergasted. “That sounds disgusting.”

  Her laugh is musical. “Oh, Willow. You have no idea. But I’ll teach you. If you want to know anything, ask me, not momma. She’ll freak.”

  I never got the chance to ask.

  My eyes drift over to the staircase that leads up to the second floor, and I see my father’s crisp blue eyes beam with pride as I tentatively descended each step at age nine for my first father-daughter dance.

  “You’re too beautiful for words, my sweet girl,” he says when he takes my hands and twirls me so fast my ivory skirt flares wide.

  “Thanks, Daddy.” I throw my arms around him and hang on to the best man I know.

  I easily envision an outline of us seated together on the third step from the bottom, talking through my troubles or my tears at every stage of my life, even in adulthood.

  “I think he’s going to ask me to marry him, Daddy.”

  He throws an arm around my shoulders. “You sound scared. Is that what you want?”

  “I think so.”

  He slides a finger under my chin and makes me look at him. “Better do more than think, sugarbug. Better know.”

  That was “our spot.” It was “our thing” that I didn’t have with anyone else. Every time I pushed myself from those stairs after one of our talks, I felt lighter. I felt renewed. I felt loved and understood.

  There’s sorrow and joy and laughter and tears and pieces of each of us in the very fabric of this place. The past hangs in the air in front of me, so real I sometimes think I can reach out and grab it.

  Tears well and a sob clogs my throat. I won’t let it go. I can’t. That feels too much like leaving everyone and everything I loved behind.

  “No. I can’t possibly sell this house,” I whisper.

  I would sell myself first.

  13

  I knock and wait, rocking back and forth on my heels. A minute later, I hear a hushed conversation on the other side. I can’t make out a thing until I hear Willow screech, “Goddammit, Sierra Linn Wiseman!”

  I’m chuckling when a flustered but breathtaking Willow appears in front of me. I barely get a chance to appreciate her curve-hugging, light blue summer dress before she says quickly, “Hi, let’s go.” She tries tugging the door closed behind her as she steps through, only her supple body is yanked backward when it’s flung open instead.

  “Sierra,” she growls.

  “So,” the tall, thin, dark-haired woman now leaning coolly against the jamb starts, ignoring Willow’s huff. “Whadya know? Seattle’s most sought
-after, unattached bachelor is really standing on moi’s doorstep. How exciting.”

  I would say this girl with narrowed eyes and a condescending tone is beautiful, but that doesn’t accurately describe her, what with her dozen piercings and bright pink undertones streaking through her dark locks. Unique would probably be a better word.

  And protective. Very fucking protective.

  “And you must be the damned Sierra Linn Wiseman,” I answer effortlessly with a slight turn of my lips. I hold out my hand not really expecting she’ll take it, but she surprises me.

  Her stunning espresso eyes lose most of their venom when they slide to Willow, whom I’ve now wrapped my arm around and tucked into my side. God, I have surprisingly missed her. This once or twice a week thing is bullshit. I want more time with her. I will make that happen. She’s under contract, after all.

  “You didn’t tell me he had such quick wit,” Sierra chides her friend, a genuine smile now making her eyes shine with approval. I suspect getting this woman’s endorsement is like rolling a one-ton boulder uphill. It can be done but not without a lot of cunning, strategy, and effort.

  “He doesn’t,” she quips brightly.

  I’m chuckling when I turn my head to whisper in her ear, “Punishments are my specialty, Goldilocks. I have a feeling I already know exactly what you’ll like.”

  She tries to laugh, but it sounds choked instead.

  “Did you come out here to ogle my date, or did you just want to send us off with a flourish?” When Willow slips her arm around my waist and grabs a handful of my gray button-down, possessiveness surges in my chest. I tighten my hold on her until she squeaks.

  With a quick, barefaced scan up and down my body, Sierra’s eyes warn when she says, “Nah, clean-cut men with wingback shoes and thousand-dollar jeans aren’t really up my alley.”

  “Sierra,” Willow scolds, but she keeps on going while I just grin, amused.

  “No, I was just going to tell Mr. Tall, Dark, and Slutty here that if he hurts my best friend who is not only like a sister to me but the best woman I know, I’ll personally hunt him down and use his entrails to decorate the corner of Sixth and Pine after I cut off his limbs and his head and stake them on each corner of the state to warn others what happens when you fucking disrespect my friend.”

  Fuck. Ouch. My dick actually shrunk. I think I believe her. “Wow…that’s very…Braveheart.”

  “Oh my God, we’re leaving.” Willow breaks for the stairs as Sierra tosses her head back, laughing.

  “I like you, Mercer. It’d be a shame to have to follow through.”

  “I concur,” I mutter trying not to shield my withering junk.

  “Here, Willow forgot these in her hurry to get you away from me.”

  I look down at the two bottles of wine she’s shoved in my hands. “Thanks, Sierra. I would say it’s nice to meet you, but…I was never a big fan of Braveheart. Mel Gibson got the adaptation all wrong.”

  A howl of laughter follows me all the way to my car, where Willow sits, shooting bloody daggers toward her friend.

  “I’m so, so sorry. She’s a total loose cannon. Absolutely no one can control her,” she stammers the second I’m inside. Her eyes are as wide as saucers, and she’s talking so fast I’m only catching about every other word. “She runs her mouth without thinking. She was probably dropped on her head as a child, but she swears she—”

  Halfway down the block, I throw the vehicle into park and shut her up…with my mouth.

  “Shaw.” Her wet lips brush mine. My erection throbs. Jesus, I wish I was taking her back to my place to spend the next eight hours relieving my ache in as many ways as humanly possible instead of taking her to my parents’ for dinner. I find myself selfishly not wanting to share her.

  “Be quiet, Willow.”

  Grabbing her by the waist, I help her over the console and onto my lap. Holding her where I want, I kiss her until I feel her muscles relax and she melts into me. Only then do I pull back. But I don’t want to. Holy fuck, I want to run my hands up the inside of her naked thighs, plunge my fingers inside her heat, and watch her writhe in ecstasy. If I had time, I would because the way she’s panting finally sounds like the sweet breath of submission.

  If I touch her now, though, if she would let me, fuck dinner with the family. I would feast on every square inch of her instead. She would be all mine all night long.

  Running my palms down her loose strands, I keep her still until her heavy lids open. Her eyes are unfocused and glassy, testing me.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers softly.

  “What are you sorry for?” My baritone voice slices through the hum of the idling engine.

  Please don’t say you’re sorry for responding to my touch like you want me as fucking much as I want you.

  “Sierra. She’s…she’s—”

  As soon as my organs and limbs were being threatened, I knew exactly what was going on. It explained a lot about this scarred creature currently sitting way too close to my dick, actually. “She’s ferocious about protecting her friend. Almost as if she’s trying to keep old wounds from reopening.” The thought that some man hurt her terribly makes my gut twist even though I’ve been that man to so many women. Even though I may be that man to her.

  Her eyes reflect I’ve hit the nail straight on. It’s there, then gone just as quickly. Jesus, I want to know this woman. I have so many questions, but I resist the urge to push, knowing I’ll drive her away.

  “We should go.” Her voice is soft. I don’t think she means it.

  “In a minute,” I reply, not ready to let her go quite yet. Edging my chin back up, I let my lips linger on her skin. I dart my tongue out so I can catch her flavor.

  “Are you nervous?” I ask against the warmth of her throat.

  I am. This is not the first time I’ve introduced a woman to my family, but this is the first time I’m nervous about it. I’m going to chalk it up to the fact that I’m paying Willow to play my girlfriend and our ruse could be found out any minute if we don’t play our cards right. That would destroy my mother and anger my father. He wanted me to settle down for a while; he didn’t ask me to run out and pay someone to do it.

  “Yes.” Her “s” stretches into a hiss when I draw down her thin dress strap and begin sucking the swell of her breast. Instead of pushing me away as I expect, her hands weave through my hair, and she holds me close as I lave and tease. Her gasps and moans encourage me, and soon both straps are hanging down her arms, and my tongue is everywhere it can reach.

  When her pelvis starts a slow roll against mine, I groan but stop, pressing every inch of her tightly against me. If I don’t, I will fuck her right here in my car on the side of the road in front of the three kids playing in their front yard not fifty feet away, scarring them for life. She deserves far more than that.

  “They’ll love you.” A shiver racks her body when my lips brush her ear.

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about.”

  She says it with such deadpan it takes a few seconds for her joke to sink in; at least I think it’s supposed to be a joke. When I feel her shoulders shake, I know she’s laughing. Pretty soon the car is filled with the echoes of her happiness. I can’t take my eyes from her. She’s exquisite.

  “I really like this side of you.” I actually really fucking love this side of her.

  “What side is that?” she asks shyly, her cheeks tingeing light pink.

  “The real one you hide under your layers of ash.”

  Before the last word leaves my mouth, I watch her close off right in front of me, as if the curtains were being drawn after the last act in a play. The happy, carefree woman is dust in the wind.

  “Don’t do that,” I demand, grabbing her face and pulling her close.

  “We’re going to be late,” is her only response. Fight or flee seems to be her regular go-to.

  “Willow.” I sigh. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Her stare pins me to the seat, bu
t her faintly spoken words drive the final nails through my lungs, rendering me speechless. “You won’t mean to.”

  She slides back into her seat and adjusts her dress before buckling her seatbelt, leaving me confused.

  Fucking women.

  I shove the car in drive and steer carefully back onto the street. We spend the rest of the way to Mercer Island in silence.

  14

  “Are you ready?” I shut the engine off, and turn toward her, but not before I note Linc and Gemma’s cars. There’s no sign of Bluebelle. My texts and calls to her today have gone unanswered. Frustratingly typical.

  It takes a few seconds, but she finally meets my eyes, smiling slightly. “I was born ready.” She is resolute, a warrior prepared for battle. I have no doubt by the way she charmed Emily Smith that she’ll have my family eating out of the palms her hands within two minutes, tops.

  My father called me inside of twenty-four hours after our dinner the other night, so I reiterated to him exactly what Willow had told Emily. I convinced him the timing was some cosmic coincidence, but I could tell he was still skeptical. We’re going to have to do one hell of an acting job tonight.

  “So…are we going in, or are we going to sit here all night staring at each other, Drive By?” Willow teases. Back to her cheeky self, I see.

  I should get out of my vehicle. I should open the door, take her hand, and escort her up to the front door. I need to do one last thing first.

  Grabbing her by the nape, I draw her forward until my eyes grip hers and she can’t look away. “I’ll never be anything less than honest with you.”

  Her forehead crinkles. “Okay.”

  My phone buzzes, but I ignore the fucker. I’m not going to let anything ruin this moment.

  Breathing deep, I inhale her floral fragrance. I’m so damn hard right now I could jackhammer concrete, and when my voice comes out, it’s low and gruff. “God, how I want you, Willow. I’m not sure I’ve wanted anyone more.”

  “The unattainable is always the most coveted,” she replies without missing a beat. It pisses me off. This is not about the rush of finally getting something just out of reach. She is different from any other woman I’ve met. There is something about her that whispers to me. It sounds suspiciously like mine.