by Beth Yarnall
I don’t remember the last time I met someone’s mom.
We move into the kitchen area, where a woman lifts the lid on a pot and gives the contents a stir. Now I know where Leo got his good looks. He’s the young male version of his mother. A young woman sits at the counter bar, doing homework. The radio is on, tuned to something classical.
“Hey, Mom. This is Cora.”
Both sets of feminine eyes turn in my direction. Mrs. Nash smiles and puts the lid back on the pot.
“Cora, this is my mom, Laura. And that’s my youngest and most annoying sister, Anne.”
“Leo,” Mrs. Nash admonishes. “Don’t talk about your sister like that. Nice to meet you, Cora. Will you join us for dinner?”
Anne takes her time looking me over. “Hey,” she finally says.
“I don’t know,” I answer Mrs. Nash, because I really don’t know. I don’t know how to act or what to say or how to get Anne to stop looking at me like she’s memorizing me for a police sketch artist.
Another chick comes into the room, this one a little older than Anne. She skids to a stop when she spots me. “Oooo, Leo brought home a girrrrl.” She strings out the last word, making it sound like Leo brought home a giant cockroach or something.
“Cut it out, Mary,” Leo growls. “That’s my other sister. Feel free to ignore her.”
Mary walks right up me. “I love your hair. It totally matches your eyes. How did you get it that color?”
I touch my hair, more than a little self-conscious. “It took me a while to get the color just right. Lots of trial and error.”
“You do it yourself? Will you do mine?” Mary separates a section of her hair that falls to one side of her face. “I want a pinkish-red streak right here. I know the exact color I want. Hang on, I’ll get it and show you.” Off she goes before I can answer her.
“Mary, Cora isn’t going to do your hair,” Leo calls after her. “I’m sorry,” he says to me. “Just ignore her.”
“No, it’s okay.”
He leans in so only I can hear. “Do you mind staying for dinner? I don’t know when I’ll be back home. Family dinners are kind of a thing with my mom.”
“All right.”
Mary slides across the wood floor again like an ice skater, coming to a stop inches away from me. “Here.” She thrusts an opened lipstick in my face. “This is the color I want my hair. Think you can do it?”
“Leave her alone, Mary.”
“Easy,” I answer.
“You don’t have to do it,” Leo says.
“I want to.”
Anne’s suddenly interested in me. “You’re a hairstylist?”
“Not really.”
Mrs. Nash pats Anne’s hand. “Go tell your father dinner’s ready. You two are staying?” she asks Leo and me.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Set another place at the table, Leo. Mary, help me put the food on the table.”
We all sit down to eat. I’m between Leo and Mrs. Nash. Across from me are the two sisters, who don’t stop asking me questions about hair and beauty. Leo tries to shut them down, but I tell him it’s okay. I don’t have a sister, so I kind of like the back and forth. Plus, they don’t know anything about my life or me. They’ve probably never heard about Beau’s case. The Nash family is so normal. I forgot what normal feels like.
Mrs. Nash turns to me. “Ed tells me you and Leo are making good headway on your brother’s case.”
I glance over at Mr. Nash, who is busy talking to Leo. The girls are arguing about Anne ruining Mary’s sweater. It’s just Leo’s mom and me.
“It’s going okay,” I answer.
“I remember hearing about the murder on the news. Terrible. How is your brother doing?”
I know she’s trying to be polite and making an effort to connect with me over the only thing she knows about me, but damn. I hate it. I hate that there is nothing else to talk about.
“He’s okay.”
I’m totally aware that I’m not holding up my side of the conversation. There’s no way to end her line of questioning without being rude. I don’t want to talk about Beau. Not because I’m ashamed. It’s because he’s not here. It feels like a betrayal to chat about him and his life with a stranger like you’d talk about traffic or the weather.
“It must be rough on your parents. I can’t imagine what they’re going through.”
She means well, I remind myself, even as she drifts past empathy and straight into sympathy.
“And you too,” she adds.
I’m an afterthought, a pitiful afterthought. She feels sorry for my family and me. Of all the emotions people have about what happened to Beau, pity is the one I can’t stomach.
I slide back in my chair. “Where’s the restroom?”
She blinks at me, then points. “Down the hall. Third door on the right.”
“Thank you.”
I’m out of my chair and halfway down the hall before the tears start. Once closed inside and alone, blessedly alone, I take big gulps of air, trying to calm myself. This is why I don’t do social situations. I don’t know how to field the inevitable questions and the myriad emotions people want to throw at me as though I’m a universal catchall for whatever opinion they have about the case. They don’t care about me. Their only concern is having their viewpoint heard. I’ll take a nosy reporter asking questions over people telling me what they think any day.
I stay in the bathroom as long as I dare without drawing attention. When I return to the table, the conversation seems to have turned to something Anne learned in school that day. I resume my seat at the table and paste on a smile, pretending that I’m as normal as everyone else here.
Leo leans toward me. “You okay?”
I nod. His gaze lingers on me as I somehow manage to show the proper response to the story Anne is telling. He takes my hand under the table. I squeeze it hard enough to earn a startled glance. The rest of the meal goes by without incident and I’m starting to relax again when Mrs. Nash asks me another question.
“Do you get to see your brother often?”
The whole table waits for my answer. The girls’ faces reflect identical curiosity. I don’t know if it’s because of the question or my potential answer.
“As often as I can,” I answer.
“It’s getting late,” Leo says, pushing his chair away from the table. “I should pack so we can get going.” He still has ahold of my hand.
I do as he did and stand with him. Everyone’s eyes go to our clasped hands. I don’t care. It was this tie to Leo that helped me get through what should’ve been an easy task. Mr. Nash looks like he wants to say something. The girls glance back and forth at each other. Mrs. Nash’s smile looks strained, as though she’s been holding it too long.
“Thank you for dinner,” I tell Mrs. Nash, even though I mostly just picked at it.
“You’re welcome.” Then, to her husband, “Ed.” As though he should do something.
Mr. Nash lays his napkin on the table, saying nothing as we head to Leo’s bedroom. This isn’t the first time I’ve encountered someone who can’t separate me from Beau’s case. I’m a curiosity up to the point where they realize I’m a person who could possibly invade and influence their child’s life.
Leo closes the door and puts his arms around me. “I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s…what it is.” I push out of his arms and wander around the room.
There are trophies on shelves—baseball trophies. Clothes are scattered across the floor as though they were dropped where he stood. A big TV hangs on the wall with wires coming out of it. Video-game controllers are stacked on top of the dresser under the TV. In the corner is a desk with more trophies and ribbons. It looks and smells like Beau’s room used to.
“It’ll just take me a sec to pack,” Leo says.
I sit on the corner of his unmade bed and watch as he stuffs a gym bag with clean clothes from the dresser and dirty clothes from the floor. He’s such a guy. H
e goes to get more stuff from the bathroom, leaving the door open slightly. Mrs. Nash says something to him, her voice hushed. I don’t hear Leo’s answer. Mr. Nash replies, his tone soothing, but Mrs. Nash is having none of it. She doesn’t like me or who she thinks I am. That’s fine. I don’t need to be liked. I also don’t have to sit here and listen to them argue about Leo staying at my place.
I peek down the hall, but I don’t see them. Their voices are louder now. Leo is madder than I’ve ever heard him. He’s defending me. I get a quick rush of happiness over that, but it’s instantly doused by what Mr. Nash says. He doesn’t want Leo to get involved with me. I’ve got issues. Issues he doesn’t want in his son’s life. That’s fine too, because involved is more than I want or need right now.
I head out to the front of the house. I’ve heard enough. The girls are watching TV, so they don’t notice me walking out the front door. I’m in my car and backing out of the driveway when Leo comes outside. He runs up to my car and bangs on the window.
“Open the door.” He’s got his bag over his shoulder.
I roll the window down. “Running away from home?”
He reaches in and unlocks the door. Before I can say or do anything else, he’s climbing in. “You were going to leave without me.”
I can tell this shocks him. What did he expect?
He closes the door, but I don’t drive away. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Going with you.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“You heard.”
“Don’t tell me to ignore them, because I can’t. I won’t.”
“I don’t care what they say.” He puts his hand on my cheek and leans across the console. “I only care that you’re okay.”
When he’s close like this I forget why things could never work out between us. His scent wraps around me in the small space. I breathe him in and it’s like he’s a part of me. The stroke of his thumb across my cheek echoes in other parts of my body and I feel myself leaning in to him like a flower seeking the sun. I don’t want any of this and yet it’s all I want. I want him in and around and on top of me. I want to not be able to tell where he begins and I end. It’s a winding, twisting sort of sensation that blankets my senses. I become a solid mass of need. My body wants something that I don’t quite understand.
“What do you want from me?” I ask, because I have to know if he understands this any more than I do.
He watches me in the dying summer light. His expression is as serious as I’ve ever seen it. “Don’t you know?”
“No.” How in the hell should I know?
“God, Cora.” His voice is a sigh that arrows straight through me, fanning out into tiny prickles of pleasure and pain.
His mouth is unexpectedly urgent and hot on mine. He pours every intangible thing between us into this kiss. I grab at him, holding on, a willing receptor for everything he has to show me. The more I know of him the more I want to know. His hands roam free over my body. It’s like he’s suddenly let loose, pushing past whatever barriers were there before. He grabs my ass and pulls me tight against him. The console digs into my side, but still I try to get closer, needing something only he can give.
He breaks the kiss as abruptly as he started it. “Get us out of here.”
I shift into gear and hit the gas as he collapses back into his seat. I’m alive everywhere. My nipples are hard, poking against the lace cups of my bra. I can still feel the brand of his big hand on the right one. The throbbing between my legs makes it difficult to drive. Every movement of my feet on the pedals creates friction and it’s all I can do not to shove my hand down my pants and finish what he started. He showed me more than I wanted to know and yet not enough.
He rolls the window down and sticks his head out. He mumbles something that sounds like “I can smell you,” but I’m not totally sure what that means or if I heard him right.
I look over at him. He faces away, his hair blowing back in the breeze. His mouth is a flat, grim line. In another glance I can clearly see his erection pressing against his zipper. I want to reach over and touch it. What would it feel like? What would he do if I did?
Chapter 18
Leo
I want her so badly it scares the shit out of me. If I hadn’t stopped, we might be fucking right now, right in front of my parents’ house for the whole neighborhood to see. My balls ache and my dick feels like it’s going to explode. I don’t even know how long I’d last with her. Seconds, maybe. If I was lucky. Just thinking about the sound she made when I touched her breast—like she’d been waiting forever for me to do it—makes it hard to think about anything except being inside her. Right now.
Her ass is firm and lush, making me think of bending her over a bed, a chair, a table, just about any-fucking-where, and driving into her from behind. I force myself to sing “Take Me out to the Ballgame” in my head. It’s just about the least sexy thing I can think of at the moment. I’m on the third round and I’ve got things pretty much under control when she pulls up in front of her garage apartment.
And then my brain leaps ahead to being alone with her in a place with a bed and a chair and a table…
“What’s going to happen when we go inside?” She sounds expectant yet nervous.
I have to remind myself that she’s not that experienced. I don’t know how inexperienced she is or if that’s what’s holding me back. She’s so damn beautiful I want to touch her to make sure she’s really real. I’m unsure with her in a way I’ve never been before. My brain is telling me to take things slow while everything else inside me screams to hit it full-throttle.
“What do you want to happen?” My voice comes out calmer and cooler than I feel.
Her gaze drops to my lap. “I want to touch you.”
I suck in some spit and start coughing. I’m not fucking calm or cool.
She pounds on my back as I try to wheeze in enough air to breathe again. She catches me off guard at every turn. She can touch any part of me she wants any way she wants. I tell her this and her eyes widen. She gets out of the car without another word and strides up the path to her door. I grab my bag and catch up to her.
She puts out an arm, blocking me from moving past her. With a finger she pushes on her front door. It swings open freely. Son of a bitch. The place is a mess.
“Who would do this? Oliver!”
I grab her arm. “Don’t go in. They still might be in there.”
“Oliver!”
I pull her away from the door and punch 911 into my cell. “Let’s go back to the car.”
“The cat. Where’s Oliver?”
“We’ll find him.” My chest is pounding for a whole different reason now. Cora could’ve been home alone when that asshole broke in.
I give Cora’s address to the dispatcher. While we wait for the police, I help her look for the cat. She’s frantic to find him and at times I worry she’s close to tears. I spot a flash of orange under a bush and creep toward it. “Here, cat.” Crouching down, I see that it is the cat. He lets me pick him up.
“Oh, my God. Thank you.” She scoops the cat out of my arms and hugs him.
An unmarked cop car comes to a halt behind Cora’s.
“You should put him in your car,” I tell her. “So he doesn’t run off again.”
While she takes care of the cat, I go to talk to the officer.
“Someone broke into her apartment,” I tell him.
“Did you go in?”
“No.”
A patrol cruiser pulls up. The two cops confer and then they head for Cora’s apartment, their hands on the butts of their guns. I join Cora at her car and put an arm around her. We watch as the police go in. A few moments later they come back out and head for us.
The big one with black hair speaks first. “Looks like someone was looking for something. Can’t tell if anything was stolen or not. You want to come inside and have a look?”
Cora nods and we follow them into the apartment.
It’s a god-awful mess. Worse than my bedroom. If someone was looking for something, it’s likely they found it. Cora takes in the destruction in silence. I put a hand on her shoulder and give it a little squeeze.
“The TV’s still here,” the shorter cop says. “Is anything missing?”
She takes a slow tour of the apartment, picking her way over the debris at her feet. Every drawer, closet, and shelf was cleared and everything is on the floor. Most of it’s broken, either on purpose or when it hit the tile. She’s doing a good job of keeping it together. I wonder how long that will last.
“It’s hard to tell one hundred percent,” she says. “But I don’t think anything’s missing.”
“Do you have an idea who would do this? An ex-boyfriend?” Big Cop glances at me. “A disgruntled coworker or ex-friend?”
“No.”
“We can have a crime-scene crew come over and dust for prints, but if nothing’s been stolen there’s not much of a case here.” Big Cop shrugs. “Just vandalism.”
“We’ll write a report if you want it for your insurance,” Small Cop says.
“No. That’s okay,” Cora answers.
“You have a place to stay until that lock gets fixed?” Big Cop asks.
“I…I don’t know. My landlord is out of town.”
I put my arm across her shoulders. “She’ll be fine. I’ll take care of it.”
“Here’s my card.” Small Cop scribbles something on it and hands it to Cora. “That’s the case number. The report will be available in a few days. Call us again if you have any more trouble.”
“Will do,” I say.
Big Cop’s gaze roams the room for a moment, then he follows the other officer out.
“I can see if I can rig the door to stay closed.” I examine the frame. It’s trashed. Someone kicked the door in. Hard.
“There’s a shed on the back of the new garage. There’ll be some tools in there.” She pulls her key ring from her pocket and selects a key. “Here’s the key.”
She’s eerily calm. Neither of us have to say it to know who did this and why.
“Are you okay?”
She nods.
“Why don’t you come with me to find those tools?”
