Heading East (Part 2 of 2) (The True North Series)

by Gray, June

  She shrugged. “What can I say? You’re a popular man.”

  “Any word from Astral Records?”

  She shook her head. “Give it some time. It’s only been a month.”

  I nodded, then frowned. “It was good though, right? Sometimes I’m too emotionally invested in something that I no longer see it from an objective point of view.”

  She gave me an incredulous look. “It was fantastic and you know it. Your best stuff to date.”

  I exhaled through my nose and sat back. “Thanks, Lise.”

  “Now if you’re done fishing for compliments, I have some work to do.”

  Before she could exit the office I said, “Hold on.”

  “What do you need?” Lisa asked, putting a hand on her hip. “Coffee run?”

  “No.” I sat up and threaded my fingers together on top of the desk. “Well, yes, that too. But I need a favor.”

  “Oh boy, here we go.”

  “I’d like for you to purchase some curtains and a Taser.”

  “Curtains and a Taser?” she asked, biting down on her lips to keep from smiling. “Interesting Monday night you have planned for yourself there, boss. But I don’t judge. Hell, add a can of whipped cream and it’s my house every night.”

  “Okay, smartass, just get the stuff please?”

  “What color and length for the curtains?”

  “I don’t know, floor-length and neutral color? I haven’t been inside the apartment in question so I don’t know exactly.”

  “So these are surprise curtains?”

  “And a surprise Taser.”

  “My, my, my. Your romancing skills are definitely not what they used to be.”

  “My romancing skills are just fine, thanks,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Whatever you say, Romeo,” she called over her shoulder as she sauntered out of my office.

  I tried to keep my mind off Kat while I was at work, but my thoughts kept wandering back to yesterday’s events when she’d blown back into my life like a stubborn, beautiful blizzard. And to have her agree to dinner meant that I was not beyond forgiveness. There was definitely hope for me yet.

  But my hands were tied when it came to her current accommodations. As much as I wanted to throw her over my shoulder and take her to my cave, I knew it wasn’t a feasible solution. Kat would likely beat me with my own club and feed me to the wolves.

  No. I’d said I’d be her friend and that’s what I intended to do so, fifteen minutes before noon, this friend left work with a paper sack in hand and headed downtown to the Fashion Institute of New York, texting her on the way to ask where she’d be.

  I’m at home. About to eat lunch before going back at 2 p.m.

  You want some company?

  Can you stomach it? I hear the air isn’t as fresh on this side of the bridge.

  I grinned to myself. Okay, smartass. I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.

  A few train transfers later I exited the subway station and headed towards the Chinese restaurant, studying the streets around me. There was a reason Bed-Stuy had a seedy reputation and it was plain to see in the metal gates and bars over windows of each of the homes and businesses. As much as I knew Kat was more than capable of taking care of herself, the instinct to protect her was still strong. I would do anything to keep her from getting hurt again, partly to atone for my sins but also because, deep down, I still considered her mine.

  As I approached the restaurant Kat emerged from the side door, looking like the quintessential college student with her comfortable clothes and hair up in a loose, messy bun. “I see you bought curtains,” I said, glancing up at the white covering in her window.

  She leaned out of reach when I tried to bend down and kiss her cheek. “It’s just a flat sheet I tacked to the wall.”

  “I’m glad you listened to me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Please. Not everything’s about you.”

  Before she could recover from her eyeball exercise, I bent down and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. “No, it’s about you.”

  She jerked back. I simply flashed her an unapologetic smile.

  I followed her inside the restaurant and, seeing it was apparently a seat-yourself type of place, we went to the nearest round table covered in red vinyl tablecloth. I held out a seat for Kat and she took the one beside it. Knowing it would incense her, I took the seat closest to her even though there were several other seats available at the table.

  “If you move, I’ll just move with you,” I told her, enjoying this little war we were waging.

  “You’re obnoxious, you know that?”

  I shrugged. “Yes.”

  She just shook her head and turned her attention to the menu, though she wasn’t nearly fast enough to hide the hint of a smile on her lips.

  After we ordered, I turned my full attention back to her. “So how was your first day of school?”

  Her shoulders slumped just the slightest. “Fucking awful. I was five minutes late to my first class because I went to the wrong building. I didn’t understand a lot of the terminology the professor kept throwing out, so I had to keep looking for the definition at the back of the book. Oh, and this asshole asked me if I was homeless or if I was just a hipster,” she said, her skin flushing.

  “Tell me his name and I’ll take care of him,” I said, deadpan.

  “It’s okay. He’s a kiss-ass with awful designs. I think life will take care of him.”

  “Oh hey, I have something for you,” I said, handing over the paper sack, which she eyed dubiously.

  “What is it?”

  “A flaming sack of poo,” I teased. “Just take it.”

  She accepted the bag and looked inside. “Purple curtains and a stun gun?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “You New Yorkers sure know how to welcome someone to the neighborhood.”

  I chuckled. “You’ll need both if you want to live here.”

  She eyed me for a long time, measuring my sincerity. “So you’re done lecturing me about the dangers of living in Brooklyn?” she asked through narrowed eyes.

  “Not even close, but at least this way I know you’ll be protected.” I picked up the stun gun. “I know it’s no Glock, but at least it’s something.”

  She grinned. “Something tells me you won’t be as eager to stand in front of this gun and taunt me to shoot you.”

  “Probably not. So are you going to invite me upstairs?” I asked, moving my leg so that my thigh was against hers.

  She stiffened but didn’t move her leg. “No.” She jumped when my phone began to vibrate in my pocket. “What the hell…”

  I grinned, retrieving the gadget. “Just my phone. Though I am happy to see you.” I meant to turn the phone off but changed my mind when I recognized the number. “Hold on. I have to take this,” I said, getting to my feet and going outside.

  “May I speak to Luke Harrington?” a male voice said on the other line.

  “Yes, this is he.”

  “Hi. My name is Gil Menten and I am the assistant to Mr. Cuccio, CEO of Cuccio Records.”

  My entire body froze. Cuccio Records was one of the oldest and most prestigious companies in the music business. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Cuccio sends his apologies. He was impressed with your demo but we are currently looking for a different kind of talent…”

  I forced my body to remain rigid and casual for the benefit of the woman watching me through the glass, even as my muscles wanted to sag in disappointment while Gil gave me backhanded compliments that amounted to nothing. In the end, he simply said, “Sorry,” and said goodbye.

  Kat eyed me when I rejoined her, being unusually quiet as we ate. “You alright?” she finally asked.

  I gave a short nod, pride getting in the way of honesty. To be rejected by a recording company was one thing, but to see the pitying expression on Kat’s face was something else entirely.

  5

  KAT

  I stomped to the train station, stewing on what s
omeone had just said to me in class. A guy wearing tight jeans and a fedora hat had leaned his elbows on my work table and asked, “So what’s your story?”

  I’d looked around, making sure he was talking to me. “My story?”

  He’d made a sweeping circular motion over my body. “This whole situation,” he said. “You look like one of those weedheads in high school who play hacky sack on the lawn.”

  Just when I was rearing back to let loose some insults of my own, he’d said, “It’s so retro. Like, add some plaid and you’re totally channeling the early nineties Nirvana look.”

  I still couldn’t decide on the meaning behind his words, so I’d just shut my mouth and shrugged like I was too cool to care.

  I’d thought about the exchange all the way home and, about two stations before my stop, I finally decided he’d been giving me a backhanded compliment and got off. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and stared at my reflection in a window. My old Chucks, my baggy jeans that was frayed at the hems, the oversized sweatshirt—they were what I’d always worn, what I’d always felt comfortable in. They spoke of who I was as a person who gave no fucks and felt no need to apologize for it.

  Still a voice needled in my head, telling me that I was a walking advertisement for my skills as a designer. If I dressed like a stoner with a decades-old fashion sense would anyone in the fashion world take me seriously?

  No, you dumbass. They’d think you were some delusional homeless person who’d wandered into one of the most prestigious fashion schools in the country.

  All around me people were walking by with purpose, their clothes indicative of their current station in life. There were tourists in their comfortable shoes and tee shirts; the professionals in their starched shirts and tailored suits; the fashionistas with their tall heels and pretty dresses. They all had one thing in common: they all looked appropriate. Maybe it was time I did the same.

  Two hours later I headed back home with several shopping bags in hand, my savings account a little battered. My head ached and my stomach rumbled, physical reminders of why I hated shopping.

  I heard the sirens three blocks away. By the next block I saw the fire truck come screaming around the corner and heading towards the restaurant. And then I finally saw it, the dark smoke billowing out from a building in the distance.

  My feet sped up as the feeling of dread crawled down my throat and lodged itself in my gut. I ran across the street, still refusing to process what I was seeing even though I was standing a few houses down, watching flames swirling out of the yellow brick building’s lower windows.

  People stood around in the smoke-filled street, watching as firefighters tried to battle the blaze.

  “Katherine, there you are!”

  I turned to find Mrs. Chen, the restaurant owner, heading towards me with her husband right behind. I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came out.

  “We were worried you were up there,” she said.

  Seeing the black soot on her face and neck finally snapped me out of my trance. “What happened?”

  “A fire started in the kitchen and got out of control.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes away from the second story window, where smoke came swelling out of the broken windows. “How long?” I asked, trying to control my shaking voice.

  Mr. Chen looked at his watch. “They’ve been trying to battle the flames for about an hour and a half.”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  “No. Everyone got out.”

  I let out a breath and felt my stomach begin to shake as it all started to really sink in. My garments, my sketchbooks, almost everything I’d brought to New York was probably going to burn. “My clothes are up there,” I said in a near whisper.

  Mrs. Chen’s head whipped around, her black bob swishing, and she fixed me with a hateful glare. “Your clothes? My home and my entire livelihood is gone and you’re worried about your clothes?”

  The lump in my throat kept me from yelling, from telling her that my clothes—my designs—were my livelihood. Without them I was nobody in this city.

  Before the tears could fall I turned on a heel and stalked off down the way I came, walking aimlessly for blocks as I tried to take stock of what I was currently in the middle of losing in that apartment.

  I don’t know how long I walked, but I finally slumped onto a bench and called the only friend I had. “Luke?”

  He immediately picked up on the tone of my voice. “Kat? Hey, what’s wrong?”

  “I’m… uh…” I looked around, at a complete loss. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

  There was no hesitation in his voice. “Of course. Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

  “I’ll just come over, okay?”

  “Of course.”

  I pushed off the bench and took a deep breath. “Thanks.”

  Luke was already home from work when I walked up, waiting in front of his building with his hands in his pockets and a frown on his face.

  “What happened?” he asked, taking the bags from my hands. “Why do you smell like smoke?”

  I straightened my spine and tried to act like the brave woman he knew. “My apartment caught fire,” I said without emotion.

  “What? Are you okay?” he asked, peering into my face.

  I shook my head. “I’m fine. I wasn’t there when it happened.”

  He looked in the bags. “Your clothes… were you able to…” He stopped when he saw the heartbreak on my face. “Come on, Kat. Let’s get you upstairs,” he said, pressing a hand on my back and guiding me into the building.

  I kept my cool on the way up, keeping my face impassive during the elevator ride but, once inside the apartment, I set my bag down on the floor and let my shoulders sag with it.

  From a faraway place I felt Luke take my hand and lead me towards the couch.

  “It’s not time to panic yet,” he said, sitting down and attempting to tug me down next to him. I remained on my feet, still staring into space. “Did you see flames coming from your apartment?”

  “No. Just smoke.”

  “Then they might have been able to contain the fire before it spread,” he said. “Best case scenario is that your stuff only suffers some smoke damage, but that’s fixable. I know a few really good dry-cleaners who can clean those things for you.”

  I nodded and finally sat down, needing to believe him even if deep down I knew it to be a false hope. I felt like such a mess but, more than that, I was weary straight down to the bone. I sank into the couch and closed my eyes, wishing I could fall asleep and wake up to find the entire day had all been a dream.

  My stomach chose that moment to grumble that I hadn’t eaten anything since eleven that morning.

  Luke got up from the couch. “I brought home some Chinese takeout.”

  “I want to just sit here and pretend that everything is going perfectly.”

  “You can do that while chewing,” he said, depositing two large paper sacks on the coffee table. He pulled out a white box and a pair of chopsticks and held them out.

  The delicious smell wafted up my nose and my hunger won. I reached for the food and opened the box, finding Chow Mein inside. “Do you have a fork?”

  He stopped what he was doing, his chopsticks midway to his mouth. He got up and came back a few seconds later with a fork. “I find it hard to believe that you don’t know how to use chopsticks.”

  I shrugged and dug into the food, closing my eyes in ecstasy when the flavors burst on my tongue. Somehow nothing else had tasted so good.

  We ate in silence for a few minutes but even the food wasn’t enough to make me forget about what had taken place in Bed-Stuy. “It’s like New York is trying to kick me out,” I said softly.

  “No she’s not. She can be cold and impersonal at times, but she accepts everybody and anybody who wants to give it a shot.” He held up the chopsticks with a smile. “But to survive in this city, you must learn how to use chopsticks.”

  I
sighed but accepted his annoying form of diversion anyway.

  Later, after we’d eaten and cleaned up, he grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the other apartment. “So you’ll stay in the guest room,” he said, opening the bedroom door to reveal a queen-sized bed complete with dark grey bedding. The room itself was fairly sparse with white walls and only a lamp on a nightstand as furnishing. “And it already comes with curtains,” he added, motioning to the grey metallic window coverings.

  He led me to the door on the left. “There are towels and all sorts of shampoos and soaps in there. If you need anything else, let me know.”

  “I guess you have a fully-stocked bathroom in case a lady friend or two pays you a visit.”

  He gave me a hard stare. “Actually, I went by the store on the way home to make sure you had what you needed.”

  God, I felt like such an ungrateful twat.

  “You and my mother are the only two women I’ve ever invited into this apartment.” He turned for the door, his spine rigid. “I’ll leave you to get settled.”

  “Luke?”

  “Yes?”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m… um… thanks.”

  He gave a nod and left.

  I took a hot shower to wash away the smell of smoke and guilt and for once I was able to stay in there longer than five minutes as the hot water actually held out. It was glorious and left me soaked in even more guilt.

  With a white towel wrapped around my body I crept to the other apartment to get my bags. It looked as though the coast was clear when all of a sudden Luke came out of his bedroom.

  I gripped the towel, making sure it stayed put. “I forgot my stuff here.”

  He grinned, taking no effort to conceal the way his eyes traveled down my body. “I see that.”

  “You remembered what shampoo and conditioner I use,” I said to distract him.

  “I did. I remember every detail about my time in Ayashe.”

  I tried to ignore the tightness in my chest because I too remembered everything about my time with the man I’d named West, especially the hurt that came after. “I’m going to go get dressed.”