by Lexi Ryan
She turns away and studies her reflection in the mirror that hangs in my foyer. “I heard Mom on the phone with you, and I thought you might need help. I would have come sooner, but I couldn’t get away. You were asking about Patrick?”
I nod. “Do you know where he is?”
“He’s not a good man, Phoenix,” she says softly.
“I know that.”
“Then why do you want to find him?” She drops her voice lower, and I can barely hear. “If you choose to be with him, they’ll never let you come back.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, because my baby sister somehow still believes that the worst thing that could happen to me is to not be allowed back to the commune. “You’re the only one who wants me back there, Amy. Even if I did want to go back, I wouldn’t be welcome.”
“They don’t know you were planning to run away,” she says. “Vicar Jeremiah thinks you left because of what Patrick did. He blames Patrick for all of it.”
“Someone started a fire in my yard,” I say. “It was in the shape of Thurisaz. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
She frowns, and the skin between her brows puckers just like Mom’s always did when I was proving to be a difficult child. “Phee Phee,” she says, and it’s been so many years since I heard that nickname that it tugs painfully at my heart. “Why didn’t you tell me right away?”
Once, after Kent proposed, I tracked down Amy in Camelot. My full heart made me foolishly optimistic. I wanted my sister to know that I was happy—and I wanted her to be happy too. On the outside. With me. I promised her a college education, a home, anything she needed or wanted if she would leave Camelot and live with me. She declined.
She looks out my window, taking in the charred grass in my front yard. “It’s not safe out here.”
“Safer than it is inside.”
“That’s what they want you to believe. Can’t you see that?”
You’ve been brainwashed—the ironic anthem of the brainwashed. “Tell me you’re here because you’ve reconsidered my offer.”
“No.” The word is a knife plunged into my chest. “Camelot is my home. God is good to keep me there.”
Plunge the knife. Twist the blade. My lungs don’t want to work, but I force them to take enough air so I can speak. “Then you need to leave my house. Now.”
“I know you still care. You wouldn’t have decided to live so close to Camelot if you didn’t.”
“I’m here to be close if you needed me, not because I plan to come back. I want nothing to do with that place.” I open the front door and point toward the street. “Get out now, or I’ll call the cops.”
She studies me for a beat, and it takes almost more will than I have to stand strong.
Once, Amy and I were as close as could be. The late-night whispers, the comfort of someone who sees your soul as it is and believes it’s perfect. There were nights in my first months away that I thought it might be worth going back just so I could be with my sister.
Once, she was the one I trusted with all my secrets. Now she’s simply the one who knows them.
“Okay then,” she says. She steps onto the porch, and I start to shut the door, but she stops it with her hand before I can close it all the way. “I wish you’d come home.”
“I am home.”
“Is that so?” She scans me again, then the empty rooms behind me, and this time she doesn’t bother keeping the disdain from her face. “Then where’s your family?”
* * *
Thirteen years ago . . .
The birds are singing and the air thick with morning dew. I sit on the porch of our cabin and try to lose myself in an Anne Rice novel.
The porch steps creak and I see Patrick approaching in my peripheral vision, but I keep my nose buried in my book. I’m too embarrassed to look at him. Embarrassed and hurt and pissed. I may be inexperienced, but I know I didn’t deserve to be treated like that, and I may be living here with these people and their twisted ideas of right and wrong, but I know that sex isn’t dirty. Yet he made me feel like it was. Like I was.
I spent half my evening in the shower house, the spray never hot enough, only coming out when one of the girls threatened to tell Vicar Jeremiah that I was doing “something filthy” inside.
But the only thing I’d been doing was trying to wash off my heartbreak and scrub away the grime Patrick’s words had left on my soul.
“I’m here to apologize. I’m so sorry,” he whispers. I look up, despite myself, and he’s standing next to my chair, his eyes on the ground, his shoulders slumped. Even beaten down and dejected, he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “Do you hate me?”
“I should.” I look around me, worried someone might overhear our conversation, but we’re alone.
“I never meant . . .” He lifts his gaze to my face, and his eyes are brimming with agony. “I shouldn’t have taken you out there. That was my fault. I know what my weaknesses are.” He drops his gaze again. “I know who they are.”
“I don’t want to have this conversation.” I close my book and stand, but he grabs my wrist before I can get away.
“Please listen to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I need your forgiveness. I need you. But you don’t understand this world. It’s not like the outside. What I did . . . what we did . . . I could get exiled.”
I close my mouth to trap the words I know he won’t want to hear. Exile would be the best thing that ever happened to Patrick. Maybe then he could have a normal life. But I can’t expect him to understand that. I’m new here, and even I’m struggling with that truth. Because following it to its logical end would mean leaving my mother and sister.
“I didn’t have the right.” His voice has dropped from a whisper to something even softer, and I step closer just so I don’t miss his words. “I’ll be the next vicar, but I’m nothing until I am.”
“You aren’t nothing.”
“I’m a kid who lives in a community that has rules. You weren’t mine to take.”
“What is that supposed to mean? No one is going to ‘take’ me, Patrick. I don’t care what the traditions are here. I’m only here to make sure my mom and sister are okay. I’m not going to allow someone to take me. I’m never going to become one of you!”
I’ve thought it before. It was the silent promise I made myself when I moved here. We’d come because my mom wanted to. We’d come for the security. But I wouldn’t ever be one of them. I promised this to myself, but it’s the first time I’ve said it out loud, and his face pales.
“You didn’t take me,” I say. “I gave myself to you. And maybe it was pretty shitty and didn’t go as I planned, but at least it was my choice. That’s how I plan to live my life. My life. My choices.”
“Lower your voice,” he whispers. Then he turns on his heel and rushes away from me.
I wrap my arms around myself and wish hard that I could believe my own speech. It’s all a lie. What happened was a violation I wouldn’t have allowed if given the choice. But pain is easier to bear when repackaged into lies that make us sound strong. And nothing about yesterday makes me feel strong.
Twelve
Nix
“Looks like it’s just us single girls tonight,” Krystal says as she slides into the booth across from me at Brady’s. She tilts her neck from side to side, stretching it. “Liz thought she was going to be able to join us, but their wedding DJ canceled, so she’s spending her Sunday evening interviewing a potential replacement.”
I take a sip from my beer and frown. “Why do you look so sad?”
Krystal’s eyes go distant. “All my little sisters are getting married, and I don’t even have any prospects.” She shakes her head. “It’s stupid. I know. It’s not that I’m not happy for them. I am. I want the best for them. But shit, Nix, I’m jealous. I thought I’d have a minivan and a baby or two by now.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I understand that.”
“I was engaged and w
as so close to having that life, but it wasn’t quite mine. You know what I mean?” She drags a fingertip through the condensation on her glass. “What about you? Have you ever had anything serious?”
“I was engaged once too,” I admit. I don’t typically share that, but for some reason, sharing seems to be my new drug of choice. It makes me feel connected to my friends. Less soul-shakingly alone.
“Really? When? Tell me about him. What happened?”
“Med school,” I begin. “His name was Kent.”
“Hi, ladies!” Krystal and I turn to see Janelle standing at the end of our booth. “I feel pathetic asking, but can I join you?”
Krystal and I exchange a look. Awkward.
“Sure,” I say before Krystal can come up with some excuse to blow her off. “The more, the merrier.”
“Thank you!” She grins. “You don’t know how much I need this. Hanna’s my only real friend around here, and she can’t drink with me, since she’s knocked up again. What are you girls talking about?”
“Breakups,” Krystal says, eyes shifting to me, then back to Janelle. “You have any good ones?”
Janelle sinks into her seat. “Plenty, but right now I’m kind of mourning the loss of my fling with Max Hallowell.”
Krystal arches a brow. “It didn’t work out? I’m sorry to hear that.” Her words are at odds with the glee she can hardly keep off her face.
“I’ve never ever dated a guy who’s both sweet and sexy,” Janelle says. “My ex-husband? Hot as hell, but definitely not sweet. My ex-boyfriend? Also not sweet and not all that hot once you get to know him. And my . . .” She frowns. “You know, before Max, I don’t think I ever dated a sweet guy. Or at least not one who’s sweet once he gets me into bed.”
“Max got you into bed?” Krystal asks.
Janelle sighs dramatically. “No. He didn’t even get me to second base. What a waste!”
“I thought you told Max you felt sisterly toward him?” Krystal says. When I gape at her, she says, “What? Max told Sam, who told Liz, who told me. These things get around.”
Janelle slumps. “I just said that so he wouldn’t feel guilty. I didn’t want him to feel bad. I think . . .” She looks around the bar then leans over the table. “I think he’s seeing someone else.”
Krystal chokes on her beer, and I scowl at her. Her eyes are watering and she’s barely biting back her smile. “That’s interesting. Do you have any idea who it might be?”
Janelle looks to me. “You’re friends with him, aren’t you? Do you have any idea?”
Krystal coughs to cover her laugh.
“Maybe there isn’t anyone else,” I say. “He’s a good dad. Maybe he just wants to focus on Claire.”
“But she’s about to leave for three weeks. What better time to have a fling?” Janelle leans back in the booth and squeezes her eyes shut. “I suck at men, you guys.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” I say. “You’re beautiful and smart and talented. Max is an idiot if he doesn’t want you.” Krystal’s heel connects with my shin, and I yelp and shift my gaze to her. “It’s true.”
“Maybe it’s not because Janelle isn’t awesome,” Krystal says, “but because he has feelings for this other woman.”
“That doesn’t mean he wouldn't be better off with Janelle,” I say between my teeth.
“You’re sweet,” Janelle says, “but Krystal’s right. He’s hung up on somebody else. He said I deserved someone who’d sweep me off my feet, not a guy who only had half his heart. At the time I thought he was saying that he still hasn’t gotten over Hanna, but I’ve been thinking about it, and I don’t think he was talking about Hanna. I’ve seen them together. He’s moved on. He’s not in love with her anymore. I wouldn’t have made my move if I thought he was still hung up on her. Trust me. I’ve been interested for a long time.”
“So what you’re saying,” Krystal says, “is that some other woman has half of Max’s heart.”
Janelle shrugs. “Apparently. The lucky bitch.”
Krystal snort-laughs at that, but I ignore her because my eyes are glued to the group of men who just walked in the door. Sam, Will, Cade, and Max make their way into the bar.
My eyes want to stay on Max, but it’s Cade who’s locked his eyes on me, Cade who’s making his way to our booth.
“Hello,” Janelle says. “Krystal, let’s get out of here. I think Nix has company. Oh, look! Liz made it.”
Then, before I can protest, the girls hop out of the booth and hustle toward the pool tables, where Liz is wrapping her arms around Sam and probably whispering something dirty in his ear.
Krystal winks at me from across the bar as Cade slides into the booth across from me.
He tilts his head to one side. “So why didn’t you tell me that you and Hallowell aren’t an item?”
“Um . . .” What?
His gaze flicks to the bar, where Max is sipping on a beer, still completely oblivious or ambivalent to my presence. The girls, however, have edged their way back toward the booth.
“I would have asked you out last night, but I was under the impression you were taken.”
“I’m . . . not taken.”
He grins. “Neither am I.”
A few months ago, I would have killed for a fling with a guy like Cade. But now I’m all screwed up. “I’m not taken but not sure I’m looking either,” I say. “But I think Janelle Crane is.”
“The actress?” He shakes his head and shudders. “I’m sure she’s sweet, but I can’t fucking stand Hollywood types.” The side of his mouth hitches up into a grin. “I prefer insanely intelligent, down-to-earth women.”
My cheeks are blazing because he’s totally flirting with me, and I don’t flirt. It’s not a skill I ever mastered. Hell, it’s hardly a skill I ever attempted. So I do what any socially awkward woman would do when confronted with a sexy man coming on to her—I take the beer I’ve been nursing all night and down half of it.
He leans his back in the booth, watching me, and his shirt stretches across his chest, outlining his pecs.
Though I usually consider myself a strong woman, I have a bit of a weakness when it comes to man-muscle. I have to give him credit: Cade has quite a bit. Add to that the midnight-black hair and intense brown eyes, and he’s really quite a package.
When I realize I’m staring and jerk my eyes back up to his, he’s grinning. He totally caught me looking. How flipping embarrassing.
“Can I take you out some time, Nix?” His voice is all rumbly and low so no one else can hear. “I’d like a chance to get to know you without all the curious eyes on us.” He cuts his eyes to our friends around the nearest pool tables, and I follow his gaze to see Sam and Liz watching us with unabashed interest.
I clear my throat. “I think . . . maybe . . .” Now Max is looking my way. Max, who likes me of all people and could do so much better. Maybe if I went out with Cade, Max would give Janelle the chance she deserves—the chance he deserves with someone like her. Maybe if I went out with Cade, I’d stop wanting something I’ve already decided I can’t have. “That’d be nice, Cade.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m off-duty on Wednesday. Does that work for you? I’ll pick you up at your place at, say, six?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” He grins, straightens, and climbs out of the booth. He takes a couple of steps, then reverses and dips his head to my ear. “Just so you know, you totally made my fucking night.”
I watch him go, my cheeks burning with embarrassment, and when I tear my eyes off him I find that Liz and Sam are still staring at me. Sam’s brows are lifted in surprise, but Liz looks almost disappointed.
Living in New Hope is like that. On the one hand, it’s a tight-knit community, and there’s always someone looking out for you. On the other hand, it’s a tight-knit community, and there’s always someone in your business. Can’t have one without the other, I suppose. Privacy is pretty much a memory,
and that would scare the shit out of me if I didn’t already feel this town rooted into my soul.
So if getting Liz as a friend means I also have to suffer her disapproval when I don’t pursue something with Max, so be it. I’ve suffered worse. I’m going out with Cade whether she likes it or not. I have my reasons.
* * *
Max
“Are you going to get over there and make your move?” Sam asks. “Or are you just gonna sit back and watch Cade steal your woman?”
When I turn toward the booth where Nix is sitting, Cade’s already headed our way, the grin on his face making it clear that he’s planning on making his move on Nix. Or that he already made it. “Today is shit,” I mutter.
Will claps me on the back. “If you want to drink faster, I can get you another beer. You’ve earned it.”
I shake my head. I spent my morning with my little girl and then sent Claire with her mom. It’s tempting to drown my sorrows, but I have no intention of getting drunk—not if there’s any chance I might get to spend my night with Nix again. Taking a breath, I put down my beer and head over to my best chance of salvaging my day from hell. “Could you come outside with me for a minute? I need to show you something.”
“Sure.” She hops out of the booth, and I’m almost disappointed to see she’s not wearing the Daisy Dukes she seems to favor in this miserable late summer heat.
When the parking lot gravel is crunching under our feet and we have nothing but the streetlamps for company, I pull the spare key from my pocket and put it in her hand.
“What’s this?” she asks.
“It’s the key to my front door. There’s no reason you need to stay alone. Any time you’re scared, I want you to know you’re welcome.”
She studies it for a beat before lifting her eyes to mine. “You don’t have to do this.”
I shrug. “I have the room. And I’m glad to have you. You’re welcome, even if you don’t know until you go home that you don’t want to stay there, and even if you want the bed to yourself this time. There’s no reason for you to stay alone when you’re scared.” And you can tell me what has you so freaked out so I can deal with it. But I leave the last unspoken.
