I washed, scrubbing at the stubborn spots that wouldn’t come clean. As I did, echoes of my stepmother’s screams rang in my ears, and I felt myself sliding backward. Years of progress fell away. I shrank. My body was that of a six year old again.
I’d crawled out of bed early because I had to use the bathroom. The house was dark, so I was careful to be quiet. My father had a temper, and I hated doing anything to set him off. My visits were so much nicer when he was in a good mood.
My stepmother, Kathy, often put him in a good mood. She was magic, able to take him from furious to apology with one soft look. A year before, she’d given him a son. I’d fallen in love with Jason before he was born. The idea of having a little brother tickled my fancy like nothing else. Kathy let me help her decorate the nursery, and she often left Jason with me while she went into the kitchen to make lunch or dinner.
Noises from Jason’s room drew my attention. It was too early for him to wake up. My father would be upset. He wasn’t a morning person. I crept closer. I could soothe my brother back to sleep. I’d done it before. Kathy told me all the time what a good big sister I was, how much Jason loved me.
His door opened suddenly, and Dad’s large form stumbled into the hall. He wiped his palm on his shirt. I pressed my body to the wall, hiding in the shadow behind the potted fake ficus next to a hutch. If he didn’t see me, he wouldn’t get mad at me for waking Jason. I hadn’t meant to.
He disappeared back into his room, and I stole into Jason’s. Sometimes he fell asleep a little, and then he would start awake. If he found himself alone, he would cry. He was learning to say my name. It didn’t sound like much, but he was trying. Sometimes he’d get so excited he’d grab my lips and squeeze as he squealed. It hurt, but I didn’t mind. He didn’t do it to be mean.
I hoisted myself up to bend over the railing. I couldn’t see him clearly, so I stroked my hand down his back. It came away wet and sticky. Jason hated being wet. I knew how to change his diaper. Kathy let me help her all the time.
I climbed down and lowered the railing. When I reached for him, I realized he was soaking. I needed to see the extent of the damage. How could Dad not notice Jason was so wet? He was going to get a rash all over if I left him like that.
Jason had a nightlight, so I closed his door as quietly as I could and turned it on. In the dim light, I could see that the wetness coating him was too dark. A sense of dread wrapped its hand around my heart and squeezed. I wanted to whisper his name, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good. His pajamas—a polar bear pattern I’d picked out for him—were shredded, and he lay on his stomach, his cheek bathed in a pool of blood. My stomach roiled, threatening to get sick.
Blood was all over the place, covering his little body, his arms that had hugged me so tight last night before bed, the mattress, the wall behind the crib…and me. It was all over me. I looked down at my hands, staring at the splatters and specks with horror. Red smears marked the front of my nightgown where I’d pressed it against the crib rails.
This was my little brother’s blood. Jason was dead. He wasn’t pretending. Babies didn’t know how to pretend like this.
Screams came from down the hall. “Bill! What are you doing? No! Don’t! Please!”
Panic pushed me down, and I rolled under the crib, wedging myself in the corner farthest from the door. It went on like that for a long time, her screams punctuating the horrible stillness in the room.
Jason’s blood dripped down through gashes in the mattress, landing on me. It smelled tinny. I tried wiping them away, but it only smeared. Kathy’s screams grew weak. I clutched in the semidarkness, searching for something. I knew I should go to help her, but I was too afraid to move.
My groping hand found cold metal. Dad’s gun. Dad kept his guns underneath Jason’s crib, where he said nobody would ever look for them.
I was frightened of guns. Dad had once taken me out into the backyard when he practiced with his targets. The report was loud, and I hated the sound, but I’d pretended not to mind so much. If he found out I was afraid, he’d make me watch him every time I came over, and he’d make fun of me.
Kathy’s screams had stopped, and that terrified me more than the guns.
A door opened down the hall. “Alice? I know you’re not sleeping.”
He was in my room. I gripped the handle of the gun tightly and wished so hard to be with my mom.
The door to Jason’s room opened. Dad came in. “Alice, where are you?”
No sound came out of my mouth, not even a whimper. If I stayed where I was and didn’t make a noise, he would leave. I knew he would.
Except he didn’t. He came closer, his shadow even larger in the dimness of the nightlight.
“Alice, I know you’re hiding under the bed. Come out, sweetheart. Daddy has a surprise for you.”
I saw the light glint on the knife in his hand. It was huge, covered with Kathy’s and Jason’s blood. He was going to kill me too.
Without thinking, I hoisted the gun and pulled the trigger. The roar hurt my ears. It wasn’t like on television in those movies my father liked to watch. It was louder—much, much louder. I heard a ringing. It resonated deep in my skull. My father’s body crumpled, and I squeezed my eyes shut. Curled in that corner, I waited in silence, the tangy scent of blood and death permeating the air.
Hands pulled me from under the bed, and when I fought to get back, they tightened like iron bands, pinning my arms to my torso. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.
“Close your eyes, Lacey. Concentrate on the sound of my voice. Picture the way the stars looked over the water when I took you to the river. Take one breath. Slowly. You’re here with me. Be in this moment.”
I did as I was told. Gradually, I caught my breath. The room wavered. The sights and smells of my brother’s room faded. I was in the bathroom at the funeral home, and Dylan had wrapped his body around mine. We were on the floor.
I wondered how hard I’d fought him. “Did I hurt you?”
He exhaled hard, a whoosh of air that released the tension running through his body, but he didn’t let me go. “No, but I might have hurt you. I’m sorry. You may have some bruising. You’re quite a fighter.”
“John used to call me that.”
“A fighter?” Dylan lifted his leg from where it pinned mine. “I don’t doubt it. After what you’ve been through…only a fighter could survive.”
In my speech, I’d stuck to generalities. “You have no idea what I’ve been through.”
He relaxed his arms and sat us up, but he didn’t let me go. “You don’t remember what you were saying as you washed your hands, do you?”
I hadn’t been speaking. I’d been stuck in a memory loop, something that hadn’t happened to me for years. “I didn’t say anything.” The silence always protected me.
“Oh, Lacey.”
The pain in his voice shot straight to my core. Slowly, I turned in his arms, my body sliding until it was pressed sinfully against his. The teal in his eyes had darkened, edging more toward blue. I hated the misery I saw there, and I knew pity waited in the background.
I tasted his lips once to banish the misery. Twice to obliterate the pity. Three times because I loved him, and I was too tired to fight it.
He kissed me back, and I felt the wonder of his hands playing along my back and moving up to cup my face. When he tangled his fingers in my hair, I was lost. I wanted him with a vicious intensity—right there, right then. I loosened his tie and tore at his shirt. My Dylan wore concert T-shirts and jeans, not dress shirts and ties. He pried my hands loose, and I let him because having him bare-chested wasn’t enough. I wanted him naked and inside me.
When I felt for his cock to bring it to life, he captured my hands again and held them behind me. “Lacey, no. Not here. Not like this. Not with your boyfriend waiting in the lobby outside.”
His refusal washed over me, hitting me hard in the gut. Shame tasted bitter in my mouth.
I got to my feet and fixed my
clothes. “I’m sorry.”
That was a lie. I wasn’t sorry. I still wanted him to take me hard and fast against the bathroom wall.
He retucked his shirt and tightened his tie. “I am too. For everything.” He hesitated, his hands spread wide as if he wanted to say something more, but I think he knew words were futile just now. He escorted me from the room, and we parted ways. I found my mom sitting with John’s sister. I sat down next to her and put my head on her shoulder.
Running to Thomas wouldn’t have been fair to him, not with my emotions a morass of need and want and pain. But I saw him a lot as the hours dragged on. Once we’d transferred to the wake at my mom’s house, he stayed mostly with Luma and Jane, but he was never far from me.
Chapter Seventeen
THOMAS TOOK ME HOME after the wake and put me to bed. When I woke in the morning, I found him asleep on the sofa. I perched on the edge and touched his arm gently. He shifted, turning onto his back and stretching before opening his eyes.
“Good morning.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Morning. Did you sleep okay?”
“Yeah. You didn’t have to sleep out here. This couch isn’t nice to necks.” Plus, he had only a thin blanket. He’d slept in sweatpants and a college T-shirt, and his arm was frosty where I touched it.
He sat up, folded the blanket, and slung it over the back of my sofa. “Lacey, you and I need to talk.”
His tone left no doubt in my mind that it was a talk I didn’t want to have. “How about breakfast? I can make you cheesy eggs and toast. The coffee is already brewing.”
As if to punctuate my point, water hissed and spit on the heating elements of my coffeemaker.
“Thanks, but I’d better not. What I have to say won’t take long. I just didn’t want to say it yesterday. I feel like an ass for saying it today, but leaving it for another day will just make things uncomfortable between us.”
“Thomas…” I dreaded days like this. As many times as I’ve been dumped, you’d think I’d be used to it. I also loathed being on the other side of this equation.
“Dylan is in love with you. That fact has been blatantly clear from the start. I thought it was a one-way thing, but recent events have forced me to face the fact that it’s not. You’re in love with him.”
My chest heaved as I struggled to contain the grief. I folded my hands on my lap. “I want to be in love with you.”
He laughed, but it was potent with unhappiness. “That explains a few things.”
In the harsh morning light, my stubborn nature had returned. I wish it had brought my better sense with it. “Please give me another chance.”
“No. Lacey, I don’t want to be your second choice. I don’t doubt that you like me, and you wish you had stronger feelings for me. But you can’t force it.”
This wasn’t fair. I tried so hard to fall in love with Thomas. “Dylan doesn’t love me. He wants to use me to replace his wife.”
Thomas narrowed his eyes and stroked his beard. I loved his scruffy morning face. It made him seem less perfect and more attainable. Just now, I realized it was an illusion. He’d never been perfect. He’d never tried to be or tried to convince me he was. Dylan had been right: Thomas is from a different world, and I would never truly fit in. Every time we ate together, I concentrated on using the right silverware instead of enjoying the food and his company. He thought nothing of flying me somewhere for a night on the town, and I could count the number of non-Thomas-related trips I’d taken on one hand.
Thomas cupped my cheeks in his hands. “You’re mistaken. His songs are about you. All of them. Every time you send me a new recording, it smacks me across the face with how blatant he is.”
“Thomas, please. I don’t want to talk about him. I want to know how I can fix this. I never wanted to hurt you.”
He kissed my cheek, a brotherly peck that put us firmly back at square one. “I believe you. That’s why I didn’t sleep in your bed, and it’s why I waited until this morning to talk to you. I’m going to get dressed and head out.”
When he was ready, I walked him to the door. He had a rental car waiting in the parking lot. Along with procuring an airline ticket, it was another arrangement he’d made while I was sleeping.
I wanted to hug him, but I was afraid he’d mistake it for desperation. I was resigned now. “I hope you find someone who loves you the way you deserve to be loved.”
“Thanks.” He turned to leave, but at the last second, he pulled me to him for a tight hug. “I’m not mad at you, and I don’t blame you, so don’t punish yourself for this, okay?”
I nodded, a small lie that made him feel better. Unfortunately, it rekindled the urge to lie I’d been suppressing for months. And I no longer had the desire to fight it.
After breakfast, I called my mom to see what her plans were. It was weird how I had no problem butting into her life like this. I couldn’t remember ever calling for her daily itinerary, but then again, John had always been there.
“I’m going to lunch with some of my friends, and then John’s sisters want to come over for dinner. You’re welcome to come with me, sweetie, but you don’t have to.”
I liked my mother’s friends and John’s sisters, but I didn’t feel much like company. “Thanks, but I’m going to get some work done. I haven’t done anything since last week.”
The list of messages on my cell was enormous, and most of them had to do with the band. I got to work.
Several hours later, Dylan called. I answered, even though I knew I shouldn’t. The mood I was in…let’s just say things could get ugly. Burying myself in work was the best treatment for my problem.
“Hey. I wanted to see how you’re doing.”
My stomach gurgled. I’d skipped lunch. “I’m hungry. Can you bring me some soup?”
He chuckled, the nervous kind. “Ask Thomas to get you some soup. He’s there to take care of you.”
I waved my hand dismissively even though he couldn’t see it. “We broke up. He went home.”
“He broke up with you?” Iron fury underlined his words.
“Yes.”
Dylan swore and called Thomas some creative names. “Are you alone?”
“Yes, and Dylan? It was really a very amicable breakup. I’m not angry with him.” He hadn’t been the one making out with someone else in the bathroom at John’s funeral. I wasn’t proud of my behavior.
Dylan did not address my point. “What kind of soup?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m hungry. I’ll eat almost anything.”
The soup ended up being white bean chili. I love chili, and the weather had taken a turn toward fall. There’s nothing more fulfilling than a steaming bowl of chili in the fall.
“Audra made it two days ago. It’s vegetarian, so it should still be good.”
He sat across from me, in the spot I’d cleared for Thomas. I didn’t sit in my usual place, choosing instead to clear a third seat. One day I would have a proper office and a clear dining table.
I spooned chili into my mouth and almost fainted from sheer pleasure. Once I swallowed, the heat crept up on me. My eyes watered, and I coughed. Dylan got me a glass of milk. When the smoke cleared, he sat once again in the same chair, his hands folded on the table as he watched me eat.
He looked delicious in his plain black cotton T-shirt and jeans. The chain connecting his wallet to his belt was back in place. He hadn’t worn it in a while. The dark hair falling over his forehead made him look boyish, though the intense expression on his face negated that effect.
“You’re not having any?” There was plenty. He’d shoved a plastic dish full of it into my refrigerator.
“I already ate.”
I felt the need to spin a tale. To stave off that urge, I grasped at anything. “Dylan, I want to hear your side of the story. Why did you call me Nadia when you were kissing me?”
He looked away from me for the longest time. The tips of his ears turned pink, so I wasn’t going to force the issue.
If he’d changed his mind and our ship had sailed, at least I’d know exactly where I stood with him. Deep down, I harbored hope he wasn’t going to pretend I hadn’t asked the question. As I waited, I tried to ignore the urge to wash my hands.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “Habit, mostly. And guilt. There I was, about to make love to an incredible woman, and…” He trailed off, biting his lip as he thought. “I met Nadia when I was nineteen, and she was twenty. She was exciting and smart, always on the go. We were married three months later. She’s the only woman I’ve ever been with.”
It took a minute for his point to penetrate. “You were a virgin when you met her?”
The idea of Dylan keeping his virginity intact beyond the age of fifteen or sixteen seemed far-fetched to me.
“Yeah. I was fourteen when Daisy got pregnant. I’ve played the role of really involved uncle since before I turned fifteen. It was just the three of us for a long time, and I truly did not want to take the chance I’d have a kid before I was ready. I saw firsthand how hard it’s been for Daisy. So, I waited.”
I knew if I told him I thought it was sweet that he’d waited, he’d never finish his story.
“The morning before she went out backcountry skiing, we fought in our room at the lodge. I told her I wanted a divorce. She called me names, stormed out, and that’s the last time I saw her alive. I didn’t want to be married to her anymore, but I didn’t want her to die.”
I read the guilt in every line of his body. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know, but that doesn’t make me feel less responsible. I keep thinking if she hadn’t been so pissed at me, she would’ve been more aware of her surroundings. Or maybe if we hadn’t fought, we would’ve spent the morning snuggled under the covers, and she never would have gone backcountry skiing. I wasn’t as good as her; I never would’ve attempted a trek like that. Then part of me thinks she only went to piss me off.”
Using a piece of bread, I sopped up the last bits of chili. This helped me avoid looking too closely at Dylan and making him feel more self-conscious. “Why would you think she wanted to piss you off?”
Kiss Me Goodnight Page 17
