by Lori Drake
“I’ve gotta get back to work,” Emma said, breaking Chris from his reverie. “You coming to dinner tonight, Joey? Sara and I have quite the menu planned.”
“Should be,” Joey said, closing the refrigerator door. “Six o’clock?”
“Six o’clock. See you both later,” Emma said, and let herself out through the swinging door with lunch in hand.
“Looks like it’s just the two of us,” Chris said once their friend had gone, lips quirking in a broad grin. “Whatever shall we do?”
Joey snorted softly, eyeing him over the island counter. “Lunch. That’s what we’re going to do.”
“I can think of a few things for after lunch, if you’re interested.” He waggled his brows.
“No time. Detective Harding is coming over.”
That certainly threw a wet blanket over his amorous thoughts. “Already? What am I even supposed to tell him?” He set his sandwich down and wiped his fingers on a paper towel.
Joey looked up from her sandwich preparation. “Mom didn’t talk to you?”
“No, but I haven’t been up for long. I was up kind of late.” He grinned again, but the expression wavered when she cleared her throat and looked away.
“Right. I, uh, hope you slept well.”
His brows drew together. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer right away, but her silence and the way she avoided meeting his eyes spoke volumes. His heart sank and his stomach twisted into knots.
“Joey? Talk to me. Please.”
She drew a deep breath and looked up. The resolve on her face only heightened his anxiety. “About last night… I think we can both agree that things got out of hand and leave it at that.”
Chris stared at her for a long moment, mouth agape. “Out of hand?”
“Yeah. I mean, it was late and we were both pretty out of it—“
“Are you kidding me?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Couldn’t believe what she was saying. Surely there had to be some mistake.
Joey’s eyes didn’t leave his, though she flinched. “No, I’m not. I’m serious. I—I’m sorry I let things escalate.”
“Let things…” Chris began, but trailed off and rubbed his face. “This is ridiculous.” He stood and walked around the island, closing the distance between them in a few long strides.
Joey remained facing the counter, but held her ground. Her jaw had a stubborn set to it.
“Look at me,” he said, pulling at her shoulder. She turned her head and lifted her chin, eyes meeting his once more. “You can’t expect me to believe that last night meant nothing to you. It sure as hell meant something to me, and you knew it would. You wouldn’t do that to me. Tell me what’s really going on.”
“It was a mistake.” Her eyes bored into his so intensely that he almost believed her. “That’s what’s really going on. I know it’s hard for you to accept, but we’ll get past it.”
“You don’t mean that. You can lie to yourself if you want, but you can’t lie to me. I was there. I saw the truth in your eyes when we made love…” He moved closer and lifted a hand to cup her cheek, but his fingers scarcely brushed her skin before she jerked her head away as if they’d scalded her.
“Stop it,” she said, moving away from him. “Don’t make me say something I can’t take back.”
He stared at her, jaw clenching and unclenching. “As if what you’ve already said isn’t bad enough?”
She looked away but nodded. “That’s fair. I’m going to make myself scarce for a while, but I’ve got my phone if you need me. Go talk to Mom. Harding’ll be here at two.” Her eyes met his once more, briefly, before she turned and walked away. There might have been an apology in them, or maybe it was pity. He didn’t know anymore.
What he did know was that anger boiled within him; he barely kept the lid on it until she was gone. With an outraged growl, he swept his arm across the counter, sending plates and food flying. Glass shattered noisily, but Joey didn’t return. He gripped the edges of the counter until his knuckles turned white. Gradually, the rage began to subside.
It couldn’t be true. He couldn’t fathom why she was so determined to push him away, much less why she’d risk everything they’d ever been to each other to do it. Did she think things would just go back to the way they’d been before?
He didn’t know what she was playing at, but he’d be damned if he’d be her pawn.
4
By the time Joey got to the Grants’ home gym, her short fingernails had dug stinging half-moon cuts into her palms. It’d taken every ounce of control she possessed to lie to Chris, and every scrap of acting ability she had to do it with a straight face. She wasn’t sure if his reaction made it harder or not.
You didn’t expect him to take it lying down, did you?
She knew he was angry. Even normal human ears would have heard his reaction after she left the room. It was almost enough to make her turn back. Almost. He probably hated her, for what she’d done. She’d earned it. For that matter, she hated herself. For her moment of weakness that had set them on this path, for giving in to her fear even though it felt like the only option. For hurting him. It wasn’t like her to back down from a challenge or run away from a problem, but that was exactly what she’d done.
The gym was blissfully empty when she stepped inside. The scent of old sweat, disinfectant, and canvas tickled her nostrils as she walked over to the supply cabinet and retrieved the hand wraps. Her mind replayed the conversation with Chris over and over, for all that she tried to focus on the task before her. It had been years since Sam taught her how to wrap her hands. Her fingers fumbled with the wraps until she gave up and flung the strips of white fabric on the floor. She didn’t really need the padding, did she? She’d heal. Besides, what was a little physical discomfort compared to the ache in her chest?
Joey approached the punching bag and brought her fists up. The smack of her knuckles against the bag was satisfying, but it barely moved. This was a special bag, reinforced to handle the heavy blows of supernaturally strong arms. She punched it again and again, even kicked it a few times, venting some of her overwhelming emotions. A few tears slid down her cheeks, unbidden and barely noticed. Her knuckles started to ache, but she pushed the pain aside. Each punch was both punishment and salvation.
“Wow, whoever’s face is on that bag is in a world of hurt.”
Joey whirled to find Ben standing nearby in workout attire, his toned arms folded across his chest. She hadn’t even heard him come in, wasn’t even sure how long she’d been going at it.
“You don’t know the half of it,” she said, flexing her aching hands. Her knuckles were bruised, scraped, and bloody, but the skin was already tingling as it healed.
Her brother’s eyes lowered. He walked toward her for a closer look and whistled low. “Damn, girl. Anything you want to talk about?”
“No.” Joey’s answer was swift and firm. “Did you want some time with the bag?”
“Ha! No. I’m not getting in between you and… whatever this is. But if you want someone to hold the bag, I’m here.”
Joey considered it, then shrugged. “How about a few pointers?”
He smiled and nodded, but the concern didn’t leave his eyes. Of all her brothers, Ben was the most empathetic. Normally, he was also the easiest to talk to, but she didn’t want to talk to him about Chris. She didn’t want to talk to anyone about Chris. Just thinking about him made her chest tight.
“Let’s get you cleaned up and wrapped first,” Ben said.
Joey ducked into the bathroom to wash her hands, then let Ben wrap them for her before they approached the bag once more. Ben gave it a quick wipe down, then draped the bloodstained towel over one shoulder.
“Okay, slugger. Fists up, elbows down. Dominant hand in back. There you go, perfect. Your stance is great. Have you done this before?”
“Sam gave me a few lessons before I moved out,” Joey said. She remembered the body positioning better than anything
else—she was a dancer, after all.
“That explains it.” He moved behind the bag and leaned one shoulder into it. “Okay, remember to start from a relaxed position. Exhale as you punch, and tighten your fist and body when it hits the bag.”
Joey did as instructed, wincing as her battered hand impacted with the weighted bag. The cushion of the wraps did help, at least. She tried a few more jabs, correcting her arms or feet movements according to Ben’s advice. The lesson proved a better distraction than her frustrated amateur poundings. It gave her something to focus her mind on as well as her body. She knew that the pain, the frustration, and self-loathing would return when she stopped, but by narrowing her focus, she was able to keep it at bay for a time. Minutes ticked by, and before she knew it, a whole hour had flown past.
Time. That was what she needed. What they both needed. If only she hadn’t learned the hard way just how precious that time was—and how unexpectedly it could run out.
By the time Chris finished cleaning up the mess and ate his remade sandwich, he didn’t have any time to waste before seeking out his mother. Cleaning up had helped to clear his head and given him time to process what Joey had done. Or at least start processing it. He still didn’t understand why she’d done what she’d done, but he knew that no amount of confrontation was going to pry it out of her. The woman was stubborn as a mule and would just in dig her heels more. Another tactic was in order. He didn’t know what that was, but… he’d figure it out.
Regardless, it was a Future Chris problem. The more immediate concern was the impending visit from Detective Harding, the veteran gumshoe that’d been assigned to his murder case.
Chris caught up with his mother in her office upstairs, where she spent much of her time. Her study downstairs was more for formal meetings, particularly ones with visitors. This room was her sanctuary, full of books, art, and her collection of priceless antiquities from around the world. The last time he’d visited the room had been as a spirit, unintentionally spying on her in a vulnerable moment of grief. The memory flashed behind his eyes as he rapped his knuckles on the open door to announce his presence.
“Hey, Mom, Joey said you wanted to talk to me before the detective gets here.”
Adelaide looked up from her laptop and smiled warmly. “Come in, my dear.”
“Open or closed?” He pointed at the door.
“Open is fine,” she said, rising to walk around the desk. She received him with a hug. “I can’t possibly express how wonderful it is to have you back, son.”
“It’s good to be back,” he replied, giving her a squeeze and lifting her off the ground in the process.
She laughed and swatted his shoulder. “Put me down.” He did, but rather than returning to the other side of her desk, she sat in one of the chairs arrayed in front of it. Chris took the other one.
“I’ve given a lot of thought to what we should tell the detective,” he began.
“Oh?”
“Is that surprising? I mean, you didn’t exactly give me anything else to do…” He tried to keep the annoyance from his voice, but failed. He’d spent the last two days sitting on his hands, unable to leave for fear someone might recognize him, and unable to contribute to the cover-up effort because he couldn’t leave. If he hadn’t slipped out the back after dark each evening to let his wolf run, he might’ve gone completely stir crazy.
Adelaide quirked a brow, one corner of her mouth turning up just a fraction higher than the other. She didn’t apologize, but she did sit back in her chair, arms draped along the arms. Her green eyes regarded him expectantly. Everything about her posture screamed, “Impress me.”
He swallowed, appropriately intimidated. “Well, given that the police found my keys, wallet, and phone with my—the—body, the simplest explanation is that they were stolen. But since I didn’t report the theft, I can say I didn’t know they had been. I left my jacket at a club by mistake, and planned to go back for it later. Someone must’ve swiped it, or gone through the pockets before I did. As for where I’ve been, that’s a little trickier. Kidnapping would spark a whole other investigation.”
“Mmmhmm. Obviously not ideal.”
“So I thought, how else can I explain dropping off the face of the earth? I went on a week-long bender with strangers? I shacked up with some random chick for a while? No one who knows me would believe either of those.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his legs. “Then I remembered the boat. Jon’s boat.”
Adelaide arched a brow. “Go on.”
“The marina isn’t far from the Gaslamp Quarter. Maybe I decided to crash there for the night when I realized I didn’t have my keys, wallet, or phone. I was drunk, wasn’t sure where I’d left my coat, and decided to sort it out in the morning. The next day, I decided to take the boat out instead. It’s always stocked with essentials, so there’d be food and water. I know where the spare keys are hidden. I could just tell him I felt a need to escape for a while. Some sort of personal crisis.”
“Hmm. I suppose Samuel could grease a few palms at the marina so their records would back up your claim.” Adelaide gave him a considering look and smiled. “You have your mother’s sharp mind. Jeanette’s, I mean. You may be the spitting image of Henry, but there is a lot of Jeanette in you.”
Chris blinked, more because the compliment was unexpected than because of the reference to his birth parents. “Thanks,” he said, smiling gently. Adelaide had never made him feel any less her son, but she’d always made sure that he knew where he came from over the years. It was one reason he remained a Martin, even after his legal adoption as a child. “I like to think they’d be proud of me. Maybe not for boosting Jon’s boat and dropping off the grid for a week, but…”
Adelaide chuckled. “They would be very proud of the man you’ve become, Christopher. I know I am.”
Twice praised, Chris’s face heated and he sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks. So, you think it’ll work?”
“If we sell it properly, it’ll work.”
“We?”
Adelaide smiled and stood. “You didn’t think I’d make you meet with the detective on your own, did you? Unless he insists upon a private interview, I’ll be there.”
Chris blew out a relieved sigh. “Thanks, Mom. I didn’t realize quite how much I’d been dreading it until now.”
“You might want to hold off on thanking me until it’s over. Remember what I said about selling it?”
Chris looked up at her, still seated. “Yeah?”
“How do you think I’d react if you hared off for a week in your brother’s boat without a word to us, and as a result we ended up thinking you were dead?” A hint of steel had crept into her voice, and her eyes suddenly pinned him to his chair.
Chris’s eyes widened. He swallowed and rubbed his palms against his thighs. “Uh. Not great.” Why did he have the sudden urge to apologize, even though he hadn’t actually done anything wrong?
Adelaide’s expression softened, and she smiled again. “Good, exactly like that. Sell it.”
Chris stood with a chuckle he didn’t quite feel and embraced his mother again. “Should we head downstairs?”
She gave him a squeeze, then stepped back. “Not just yet. There’s something else I need to talk to you about.”
Chris watched her walk back around behind her desk. She settled in her office chair, and he resumed his seat, this time across the desk from her.
“The time has come for us to move on.”
“Move on? What do you mean?”
“It’s time that we make our home somewhere else, somewhere new, before we draw unwanted attention.”
Chris frowned. “Unwanted attention, like your son returning from the dead?”
“I won’t deny that the attention we’re about to receive from the police is a factor. I pray we don’t attract the media’s attention as well. That could be very bad for us.”
“So, everyone’s being uprooted and it’s all my fault.”
Adelaide shook her head. “Consider the bigger picture, Christopher. You know we can only remain in one place for so long before humans begin to notice we aren’t aging at the expected pace. We’ve been in San Diego for almost thirty years. It’s time—past time, really—for a fresh start.”
Chris still didn’t like it, but her reasoning was solid. He and Joey were young. They could probably make it in San Diego another ten or fifteen years before people started wondering why they didn’t quite look their age. But the rest of the family… She was right; it was about that time. There was a time not long ago that he would have happily remained behind with Joey for a few more years. She’d probably enjoy the independence, and he would’ve been content wherever she was. Now, like it or not, the landscape had changed.
“Where?” he asked, rather than protesting further.
“Washington state. Seattle, specifically.”
Seattle. He didn’t doubt she’d picked the city of his birth on purpose. This move really was all about him, no matter how she dressed it up. Chris pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “When?”
“I need to finish out the semester here, so that puts us at December at the earliest.”
“What about Emma? Her trial is in January. Jon needs to be here for that, and I’m not going to abandon her. I’m going to testify, if that’ll help her case.”
Adelaide’s lips pressed together at that last bit, but she didn’t challenge it. “We’ll make sure Emma is taken care of. Josephine has already made it clear that keeping her safe is a priority, and if you wish to hold off until after the trial, I’m sure that can be arranged.”
Some of the tension flowed out of Chris’s shoulders, and he nodded, grateful for that. “Thank you.”
“In the meantime, I’d like you and Josephine to fly out there and get the lay of the land.”
“No,” Chris said, meeting her eyes.
Adelaide’s brows lifted, a glimmer of surprise cracking her austere features. “Why not?”
