by Grimm, Sarah
Wondering how no one else felt the spark of electricity in the air, Isabeau wetted another napkin and pressed it against the back of her neck. She shifted her gaze off Noah and swept it around the bar. The sudden trill of a mobile phone brought it right back to him.
Noah pulled his phone out of his pocket and pressed the screen. “Yeah?” His smile faded, his shoulders stiffened. “I will,” he replied tersely. “Thanks.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Noah?” She reached out, placed a hand on his arm. “Is something wrong?”
“I need to…” His voice trailed off as he stood. “Can I use your telephone, the land line?”
“Of course. Go into the kitchen, where you can have some privacy.”
He nodded slowly, then circled the bar and slipped into the kitchen.
“I wonder what that’s about?” Nick asked as the door swung closed behind Noah.
“Whatever it is, it’s not good,” Dom replied.
Isabeau stared at the door, her thoughts running the same path as Dominic’s. Something was wrong. Noah’s face was unnaturally pale as he’d slipped from the room, his body taut as a bow.
More than fifteen minutes passed before he reappeared, his already pale face bloodless now. Her stomach rolled over.
Noah stopped just outside of the kitchen, his gaze locked on Dominic. “We need to talk,” he said, his voice even, detached. Without waiting to see if anyone followed, he turned and started for the door.
Isabeau flicked her gaze to Dominic, caught his worried frown. He motioned toward the bottles in front of them as he, Alex and Nick all stood. “We’ll settle up—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Halfway between the bar and the door, Noah stopped and turned back. Unlike his voice, his eyes swirled with emotion as his gaze returned to her. The tension in the room thickened.
“I could use a ride to the airport. Would you—”
“Of course.” He was leaving. The knot that had settled in her stomach earlier tightened. Her fingers flexed against her thighs. “I’ll take you to the airport.”
Without another word, he turned and walked out the door.
Chapter Ten
Isabeau ran in the mornings. She logged five miles a day, up and down the streets within a four block radius of her bar, her running shoes slapping against the pavement, ponytail bobbing. She enjoyed the exercise. It calmed her mind, and kept her in shape.
Today she’d left her mp3 player at home, preferring to lose herself in thought rather than drown her thoughts in music. She had enough music in her head without any external source. Enough that she’d already burned through more than ten sheets of composition paper in a desperate attempt to preserve her sanity. So far, so good. In a matter of days the throbbing in her skull had abated. The lingering ache she could deal with, and in reality could have as much to do with sleep deprivation and poor eating habits as with the music itself.
Nearly two days had passed since she’d seen or spoken with Noah. Not since he’d received word that his grandfather suffered a stroke. She’d delivered him first to his hotel room to shower and pack, then to the airport to catch a flight to London. Before he’d left, she’d made a point to program her numbers into his mobile phone in the hope that he would call.
He hadn’t. Not for two days.
Forty-eight long hours.
Perhaps if she’d slept it wouldn’t eat at her. Yeah, right. She missed him. More than she imagined she could. More than made sense. She might have dwelled on that, but she was too worried about him.
How was he doing? Had his flight been a safe one? Was his grandfather conscious and aware that Noah was with him?
She asked herself these questions at least five times a day when her mind would drift away from work and lock onto Noah. They weren’t the only things she wondered when she thought of him. If she were to be honest with herself, she also wondered if she’d crossed his mind since she’d dropped him off at the airport. Or if he’d forgotten about her as soon as she was no longer just down the road from him?
“Idiot,” she muttered as she checked over her shoulder for cars, then started across the street at an angle. She wasn’t the only one left in the dark. Noah hadn’t called Dominic, either.
That was the part that kept her up at night.
The squeal of tires echoed in the still air, followed by the smooth acceleration of a car coming up the road. Isabeau glanced behind her, only to squint as the sun reflected off a mid-sized sedan that seemed to bear down on her with increasing speed. Panic bubbled up the back of her throat.
She shifted to the right, as close to the line of parked cars as she could run. There was time for the driver to correct, room for the sedan to go around her. But as she checked over her shoulder again, she found the car heading directly for her.
Oh, God. Terror brought a surge of adrenaline. Up ahead, about twenty feet, sat an empty parking space—a buffer zone—a way to get off the road and onto the sidewalk where she would be safe. Her tired muscles screamed as she increased her speed. Self-preservation kept her eyes locked ahead when she was desperate to look behind. Her heart beat furiously in her chest. Her side stitched. She continued to run.
Finally she was there. Desperate, she dove for the empty spot. She landed on her forearms, her hands automatically going out in front of her to brace her fall. The skin on her palms tore. Pain lanced up from her left elbow.
Her cry of alarm was drowned out by the growl of the engine as the car zoomed past her, and accelerated down the road.
****
Isabeau sat in water hot enough to turn her skin red and shook. She was in her claw-foot tub, in her apartment, her air conditioning off, her blinds pulled. It had to be close to eighty degrees in here, but at least she was warm.
Okay, almost warm.
The only sound in the room was that of her ragged breathing and the gentle plop of blood dripping off her elbow and into the water. Her abrasions scrubbed and cleaned, arm resting on the lip of the tub, she worked at the final piece of gravel embedded in her left elbow. Her stomach turned when she pushed the fine-tipped tweezers further into her torn skin. Her teeth gritted against the pain.
Another drop of blood trailed down to her elbow, following the same path as the one before it. Nausea surged. Acid crawled up the back of her throat. She closed her eyes, only to snap them open as the pain spiked. Her mind screamed. She increased the pressure on the tweezers, twisting them to get a better hold on the tiny stone, but she made no sound. Not even as the last chunk slipped free.
Isabeau dropped the bloody tweezers on the towel next to the tub and leaned back. She sucked in a quick gasp as her skin made contact with the cool porcelain. Her body shivered. Staring without focus at the ceiling above her, she pressed a cloth against her elbow to stop the bleeding.
Now that her mind was no longer centered on the task of cleaning her wounds, the panic she’d felt during those few minutes on the street returned to grab her by the throat. No matter how many times she told herself the event was unintentional, that the driver had rounded the corner at too high a speed and didn’t see her until it was too late, a niggling voice of doubt sounded. How could she believe it was a terrifying accident when the driver steered toward her, not away? When they then sped off and left her lying on the ground, seemingly unconcerned with whether or not she’d been injured.
No, as badly as she needed to believe it was an accident, she couldn’t. And that frightened her more than anything else.
She blinked. A strangled sound worked up the back of her throat, but she managed to swallow it down before it could break loose. Her body ached. Her head felt clogged with too many thoughts and more than a little fear. She pressed her palm against her forehead and closed her eyes.
From the outer room came the sound of her mobile phone ringing—responsibility, rearing its ugly head. She had a business to open, a job to do. With a sigh she sat up and removed the cloth from her elbow, checking to
make sure the flow of blood had ebbed. Assured that it had, she tossed the soiled cloth on the floor next to the tweezers. She fought a short, fierce battle to pull herself together.
Her mind clear, she stood slowly, pulled the plug to drain the water, and reached for a towel.
****
Two hours later, Isabeau was setting up the cash drawer when the door opened. One look at Dominic, his usual broad smile absent from his face, and she knew his news was not pleasant. She waited while he settled onto the stool nearest her.
“I just spoke with Noah,” he stated quietly.
“His grandfather…he didn’t make it, did he?”
“No. He died two days ago.”
Two days ago. “Did Noah get to see him before he passed?”
Dominic shook his head. “He was still on the plane.”
She pressed her hand into the place in her stomach where pain for Noah and what he was going through settled like a knot. She knew how much Henry had meant to him. Knew from her own life experience, how difficult it was going to be for him to accept that he hadn’t made it to his grandfather’s side before his death.
“How did he sound, did he…” Her words trailed off as the absurdity of the question struck. She closed her eyes, opened them again. “Will there be a funeral?”
“In a few days. Noah’s family is scattered, they’ll need time to arrive.” His brow furrowed. “Isabeau?”
“Yeah?”
“Your elbow is bleeding.”
“Again?” She snatched up a napkin and pressed it to her elbow. “I guess I’ll have to bandage it.”
“Do you have a first aid kit?”
“Yes. There, under the bar.”
Dominic slipped through to her side of the bar. He bent down to look where she had indicated, shoved aside a stack of papers and pulled out the white kit with bright red letters. Placing it atop the bar next to her, he flipped back the lid. “Let me see.”
He didn’t give her a chance to argue as he cradled her elbow in one hand and used the other to peel the napkin away and expose the injury. His hands were warm, his touch gentle. “It looks painful. What happened?”
She looked into his very blue eyes, and hid her unease behind a smile. “A little mishap this morning while jogging.”
“A mishap,” he repeated. His gaze moved over her from head to toe before shifting to the first aid kit. He reached for a sealed alcohol swab. “How would you define mishap?”
“I fell.” His hold on her elbow tightened minutely when she shifted away from the swab. “Don’t you dare try and use that on me, Dominic Price. It’s clean enough. I made sure to wash it good when I got home.”
He looked doubtful. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He dropped the alcohol pad and picked up a single use packet of triple antibiotic ointment. She used her free hand to tear the top off the packet when he held it out to her.
“You never answered my question.”
“What question?”
Dom sent her a narrow-eyed glance before returning his focus to her elbow. He squeezed the packet, applying a strip of ointment along the worst of her scrapes. “Define mishap.”
“I told you, I fell. A car…got a little too close to me. I panicked and fell down.”
“You fell down?”
“Yes.”
“You?” he questioned, while he taped the edges of the gauze pad in place. “The one who only days ago was sure-footed enough to outmaneuver five seasoned soccer players?”
“Pete, seasoned?” It made her laugh.
He grinned. “Four, then. How did a car get too close?”
She turned her arm to get a better look at his handiwork as he tossed the garbage and washed his hands. She was stalling, she knew it and so did he. But she didn’t want to talk about her morning. “I guess they didn’t see me.”
He studied her, his eyes narrowed in thought while he dried his hands on the towel she kept near the sink. A few minutes passed before either spoke again.
“I don’t like this. The other day your car is vandalized and now someone nearly runs you down? Did you ring the police?”
Nope. And she wasn’t going to. They’d failed her too many times in life for her to turn to them the way others did. Besides, she hadn’t gotten a good look at the driver or the car’s license plate.
He took in her expression. “Well?”
“I’m fine, just a few scrapes.”
“Isabeau.”
“When is your flight?” she asked, bringing the conversation back full circle. “When do you leave for London?” The look he gave her in place of a response made the knot inside of her grow. “Dom, you’re his closest friend, you have to go. You, Nick, and Alex—you all need to be there.”
He sighed, stacking both hands atop his head. “It’s not possible.”
“It has to be. Noah loved Henry. He needs someone to be there for him.” Grief swelled. Unable to face the thought of Noah dealing with his loss alone, without the support of his friends and band mates, she turned back to the cash drawer. She began sorting bills into their proper slots.
“You could go,” Dominic said quietly.
“Yeah, right.” When he remained silent, she turned back to face him. His eyes caught and held hers. “You’re serious.”
“Very.”
“I couldn’t.” But it was tempting. So very tempting. “You’ll have to find a way around the record company. I’m sure they’d make allowances for something like this.”
“Isabeau” His expressive face changed, became almost somber. “We’re under the wire here. We meet with the record company in a matter of weeks to show them what we can do. If we aren’t ready by then—”
“You’ll be ready.”
“This record is our last hurrah, our last chance to show we still have what it takes. If we muck this up—”
“The death of a loved one, they couldn’t possibly—”
“They can. They will. Noah won’t accept that, you know he won’t. Getting this right means everything to him. All of us.”
She did know. Noah would stand alone, before he’d risk the record. He’d probably told Dom as much—to remain behind and continue working on the demo.
“You could go,” he repeated.
A war of emotions waged within her. “Just hop on a plane? Then what, knock on his door?”
“You could.”
Of course, she couldn’t. “And say what?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too, sweetheart, but we’re not talking about us.”
“Funny.” His eyes narrowed as he focused on her so intently that she felt like she stood spotlighted onstage. “You’re scared.”
“Of course I am,” she admitted softly. Searching for a plausible explanation, she grabbed at the first one that came to her. “I hate to fly.”
His eyes softened but he did not comment.
She couldn’t believe she was actually considering his suggestion. But the lure of seeing Noah, of being there for him during his grief was strong. “What if I get there, and I’m the last person he wants to see?”
“Not going to happen, luv.”
“You don’t know that.”
Arching a brow, he leaned back against the cooler.
“I can’t believe I’m considering this. I don’t even know where to find him. What am I supposed to do, stop someone on the street and ask directions?”
He gave her a smile that was all charm and confidence. Reaching out, he snagged a napkin from the stack near her elbow, and the pen that lay next to the cash register. “I’ll give you the address.”
Her eyes were intent on his hands as he began to write. “And if he sends me packing?”
“He won’t.”
“He could.” She rubbed her raw palm over the knotted muscles in the back of her neck. “This is different from jogging across town to the funeral home to show my support. This is…” Her words trailed off as he handed her the na
pkin. She focused on his chicken scrawl. “This has crazed stalker written all over it.”
“What about Noah, spending all that time sitting in the back corner? All those nights he spent watching you, that didn’t?” He rested his hand on the bar and leaned closer. “You do realize that was about you and not alcohol, don’t you?”
“Wanting someone in your bed and wanting them at your side for a funeral are not at all alike.”
Perfect. She’d just said that out loud.
“Go to him, Isabeau. He won’t turn you away, I know he won’t.”
She hesitated, torn by conflicting emotions.
“Aren’t you the one who told me ‘love is worth the risk’?”
“I did. And I see you took my advice to heart. You haven’t even called her have you? Dom, Becca deserves to know you love her. What she does with that knowledge is up to her.”
“Noah deserves—”
“Noah knows how I feel about him.”
He frowned. His frown deepened when she pushed the napkin back across the bar in his direction.
Regret filled her. She ruthlessly pushed it aside in the same way she pushed her hands into her front pockets. “This insanity is over. If Noah wanted me with him, he would call and ask me to come.”
“You’re right,” he replied, straightening.
A small clutch of pain tightened her stomach.
“You are, because dropping everything, closing your business for a few days so you can jump on a plane and hop the Atlantic, that’s not too much to ask.” He pushed the napkin back in her direction. “Is it, Isabeau?”
She winced. “He won’t call me, will he?”
“Noah has fears, the same as you and me. No one’s immune to them.”
“He must know I would…” That’s when it hit her. Hard. Right between the eyes.
How could Noah know the impact he’d made on her life if she’d only just realized it herself? Right that moment—when she made the decision to face crushing rejection by settling into a little metal box that could fall out of the sky and plummet into the ocean, so that she could be with him.
Dominic gave the napkin one final shove in her direction. “Ring me when you get to London, let me know your flight went well.”
