Was Dr. Murray trying to unbalance Nora? Did he want to push her over the edge with tests and interviews?
In a second, Matisse’s decision was made. He would hack into Murray’s study, get every piece of information he could find, and only then would he tell Nora what he did. If it turned out to be nothing, then he’d bury it in the deepest hole he could find.
But if Cai was right, and it was something, then he’d make sure the man was exposed for the devil he was.
7
Seok
“Something’s up.” Nora stormed into Seok’s workshop, hair flying around her head like a hurricane. He dropped the rag he’d been using to stain the bookends he was making her. He still owed her an apology gift for being the worst kind of idiot and forcing her to leave them all.
It had taken him weeks, even though the bookends were small. But he’d carefully carved two spheres and affixed them to bases to weigh them down.
With his back to the project, he leaned against his workbench. Hopefully, she hadn’t seen what he was up to.
“What do you mean?” he asked. “And how was work?”
She waved away his second question with a quick, “Work was awesome. But Matisse. I approached him about the street racing—”
“The what?” What the hell was the guy up to now? “What street racing?”
“Ryan didn’t tell you?”
“No,” he answered quickly. “Ryan didn’t.” He hadn’t meant to snap at her, but her face blanched. “Sorry, Nora. I’m just surprised. And disturbed.”
“I shouldn’t be talking about this with you. I figured you knew. I told Ryan I was going to talk to him and figured Ryan told you. But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t.” Pacing back and forth while cracking her knuckles, she glanced at him nervously. “And now I’m tattling.” Her hands dropped to her sides. “Can you forget I said anything? Go back to not knowing. I didn’t mean to do this.”
With her fingers pressed into her stomach, her face entreated him to forget, but he wasn’t built that way. Once he knew a thing, he knew it. Now he knew about Matisse, and the only thing left to do was move forward.
“Come here.” He caught her elbow and dragged her into his arms, rubbing his chin back and forth against her fuzzy hair. “Matisse is racing. His motorcycle?” Her body tensed, and rather than push her to answer, he rubbed her back in circles. “I know he races motorcycles, Nora. And cars. He does it all summer and anytime the weather cooperates in the fall. He has a bunch of tracks he’ll travel to. Loves it. I’ve even seen him race a time or two.”
Slowly, she relaxed, her head coming to rest on his chest. “Yeah?”
“Mmhm,” he answered. “He’s fast. Good. I prefer the stock car to the motorcycle races. Seems safer, you know? Even though he knows what he’s doing.”
“Oh.” Her chest expanded with each breath, pressing against his abdomen. Forcing himself not to think about how good her body felt, how soft and yielding, he focused on her problem.
“If I was to ask Matisse about the racing, he would tell me. He might yell at me, but he’d tell me,” Seok told her.
“But you wouldn’t have known about it if I hadn’t ratted him out.”
He shrugged. Things had a way of coming to light; all of them were guilty of snitching one time or another. Poor Nora. She had none of the history they did to make this any easier on her. Before she took a step, she labored over it, beating herself up if she thought she made a mistake.
“Since you’ve already told me a little of what’s worrying you, why don’t you tell me the whole story?”
Reluctantly, he let her go when she pulled away from him. “I can’t. I’m sorry. This is my mistake. I can’t run to you when I’m worried about another person.”
Wrong. “That’s exactly what you can do. What you should do.”
Her mouth turned up on one side, disbelief written all over her face.
“You don’t think we talk about you?” he asked. She needed to understand that she wasn’t alone in this—even if she was the sun around which all of them revolved. When she needed them, they were there for her.
What she was talking about wasn’t relationship problems; it didn’t have to do with his friend flirting with a girl, or their sex life. It had to do with a worry about Matisse’s life choices—something that affected all of them.
Matisse was his family. If he was putting himself in danger and taking wild risks uncaring about the consequences, Seok wanted to know. He’d have found out eventually. Of that he had no doubt.
Between the five of them, they did talk about her. Again, they didn’t delve into the personal details of each of his friends’ relationship with Nora, but she was often a topic of conversation. It had happened today. Ryan had asked how she seemed when Seok had left her at her job, and he had told him. He wasn’t “tattling” by telling Ryan how nervous and excited she seemed. Later on, Nora would share with Ryan, and it wouldn’t take anything away from that conversation for Ryan to have heard a little bit about it beforehand.
“You talk about me?” Nora interrupted his train of thought.
“Of course we do. How do you think we decided where to bring you for your birthday dinner? How do you think we coordinate meeting you after your interviews with Dr. Murray? We care about you, and we talk about you.”
Her face cleared, but then a little wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. His Nora’s mind was sharp, and she was obviously taking what he said to a more awkward place.
“We don’t talk about relationship things. Those are between us. You and me. Or you and Matisse. But if you have a sniffle? Expect one of us to talk to Apollo, and you’ll be drinking kale and strawberry shakes with a boost of vitamin C.”
She laughed the way he’d intended her to before letting out a breath that seemed to come all the way from her toes. “Thank you.”
“Do you understand?” He was unwilling for her to leave his workshop with a half-formed notion of what he meant. “We’re all in this together. If one of us is struggling, we fix it. If Matisse needs us, we help him. You don’t carry the weight of Matisse alone.”
“I understand.” She suddenly dove toward him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Her shoulders lifted and relaxed with her smooth exhalation.
“Matisse.” He brought them back around to her concern. “I’ll make us some tea, and you can tell me what you know and what you’re worried about. Then we’ll go from there.” Without thinking, he peeled the kerchief out of his hair to toss it behind him, and winced. Hopefully, it didn’t land on the bookend and smudge the stain. He spun Nora to the stairs and gestured for her to lead the way. “Come on.”
8
Matisse
Something was up. Matisse knew it as soon as he closed the door behind him. For one thing, the lights were on in the kitchen. He’d given his roommates and Nora ample time to believe he wouldn’t be returning until late. Used to being up all night, he wasn’t ready for sleep, even though he’d only slept a few hours during the day. A nearly-midnight entrance should have guaranteed him solitude. Instead he’d been out maneuvered.
Expecting a full-on intervention, he was surprised when only Apollo was in the kitchen. “Hey,” the larger man greeted when Matisse came through the door.
“Hi,” he replied warily. Any second, he expected to hear his friends’ feet pounding down the stairs so they could surround him and demand answers.
“Don’t look so nervous. No one else is here. Nora’s sleeping, but she wants me to wake her up when you get in. Seok’s reading, and Ryan, overachiever, is doing homework. It’s just you and me.”
“Emissary?” Matisse asked and flung his body into a chair, affecting nonchalance.
“Sort of,” Apollo answered. “I wanted to talk to you because we’re in the same boat.”
“How is that?” Impossible. Apollo—perfect, generous, kind Apollo—and him? The king of the illegal? The go-to guy for all things sneaky?
“Because there are things we do on the shady
side of legal, and Nora needs to learn about them. Will, or has, in your case. Why didn’t you tell me, man?” Matisse studied Apollo’s features. His mouth turned down, and his eyebrows drew together—he’d hurt Apollo’s feelings.
“What would you have said?”
“Don’t do it,” Apollo answered quickly. “Be smart. And I’d have had no right to say it, either, considering I’m training to pound some guy into the ground of a warehouse on the outskirts of town.”
“You still would have said it.”
Apollo chuckled at Matisse’s words. “Yeah. I would have. It’s my job as your friend.”
Resting his elbows on the table, he linked his fingers around the back of his head and shook it from side to side. What a mess he’d gotten himself into. And for nothing. Literally nothing. Unless. “We’re talking about the bike races, right?”
Apollo leaned forward, his arms flexing as he folded his hands. “Should we be talking about something else?”
Matisse sprawled back in the chair and shook his head. “No.”
“Everyone wants to talk to you.”
“I’m sure they do, but it’s really none of their business.”
Apollo unfurled, standing and stretching. It wasn’t an attempt to intimidate him, but a sign of his agitation. “You’re our business, Matisse. You guys are the only family I fucking have. Don’t brush it off like it’s nothing.”
“I know.” Deflating under Apollo’s effective guilt trip, he grabbed handfuls of his hair and tugged. “I’ll wake Nora. You want to get the guys? We can play whack-a-Matisse-mole.”
Without waiting to hear his friend’s response, he trudged through the dining room back to the stairs. The closer he got to Nora’s door, the more nervous he became. He felt like a little boy about to be disciplined, and it wasn’t an emotion he enjoyed. All of today, his anxiety had been out of control. For a moment, he considered the near-empty prescription he hadn’t needed since meeting Nora.
Carefully, he opened the door to her bedroom. The light in her closet was on, muted but illuminating her sleeping form. She curled beneath the covers, arms wrapped around her pillow. Mouth open, she coughed suddenly, and sniffled.
Gently, he smoothed his hand down her back. “Cher.” She stirred, breath hitching before her armed waved him away. Despite his worry about how she’d respond to his story, he chuckled. “Nora.”
One eye opened. Then another. “Hey,” she whispered and pushed herself up. Coughing again, she lifted her elbow to her mouth to catch it. “Sorry. What time is it?”
“No idea,” he answered. “You’re sick?”
Her eyes widened, and he could see her doing a frantic inventory of her body. She sniffed and sniffed again. “Crap. Seok jinxed me.”
“Do you want to come downstairs? Apollo told me you all wanted to talk to me.”
She scrubbed her hands across her face and took the ever-present elastic from around her wrist to tie her hair on top of her head. “Yes.” The covers flew back, and she reached for a sweatshirt at the end of her bed. “Ready.”
“I’m not,” he muttered, unable to help himself.
“Tisse.” The light pressure of her hand on his arm stopped him. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I mean—the other option is telling the same story five times. In which case, I call dibs.”
He laughed, anxiety melting away in the face of her clear attempt at disarming him. It worked. Once she was in his arms, he hugged her tightly. He laid a gentle kiss next to her mouth. “You’re definitely getting sick. You have sick breath.”
“Matisse!” Horrified, she covered her mouth and pushed him out of the way to run down the hall and into the bathroom.
“Smooth.” Ryan appeared at the door. Leaning against the casing, he yawned into his shoulder. “Real smooth.”
“What? I wasn’t being mean. I was just letting her know.”
Shaking his head, Ryan pushed off the molding and went downstairs. Seok’s workshop door opened and shut, and then the kitchen was filled with voices. The door to the bathroom opened, and Nora came out, cheeks red.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he apologized. It was the truth. Sometimes he spouted his observations without thinking. He’d gotten much better, but every once in a while, something slipped out.
“I’m glad you told me,” she explained, linking her arm through his. “But I am embarrassed. Only because you had to smell it.”
They stood together, arm and arm. “I’ve smelled worse. When Seok was re-doing my bedroom, I shared a room with Apollo. Let me tell you, kale farts stick to clothes.”
“Matisse!” Apollo yelled. “What the fuck?!”
“Whoops.” Matisse winked at her. He may have spoken a little louder than necessary. “Apollo isn’t the only one who stinks. Once, Ry—”
“E-fucking-nough, Tisse.” Apollo stormed across the kitchen. “Hey, baby.” He kissed Nora’s cheek and turned his glare on Matisse. “Shut up, for the love of God.”
With one more wink at Nora, he settled at the table. Seok’s back was turned as he heated a kettle on the stove for tea. Ryan was digging in the refrigerator for something caffeinated.
“Nora’s getting sick,” he announced, seating himself in the same chair he’d vacated earlier. “She had”—he saw Nora widen her eyes and shake her head jerkily—“a cough.”
With Nora seated across from Matisse, Apollo jumped into action. Like expected, out came the blender, followed by a series of what Apollo called super foods from the fridge. Then came vitamins and, finally, the dreaded fish oil. None of them said a word until Apollo had finished and placed a glass in front of Nora.
“I’m not drinking that.” Her nose wrinkled. “I saw what you put in.”
“Yes, you are.” Apollo crossed his massive arms over his chest. “You want to get strep? You have work this weekend.”
She tightened her lips, but picked up the glass. Matisse watched the exchange with glee, laughter bubbling inside him. Usually it was him on the receiving end of Apollo’s health lectures.
“But—” she whined. “It’s not even mostly pink. Apollo, look at all the green bits.”
Apollo strode to her and spun her chair so she faced him. His hands grasped the sides as he leaned over her until they were nose-to-nose. “Have I ever given you something disgusting?”
“No,” she hedged.
“Do you think I will now?”
Her face said she wasn’t sure, but her words… “Not on purpose.”
“You don’t want to have to call in sick on your second day of work.” Apollo rubbed his nose along hers. Matisse observed, suddenly wishing he knew how to mix an immune system boosting shake.
“Low, Apollo.” Lifting it to her lips, she sniffed before she sipped. A drip stuck on the rim, and she licked it. Now she had Matisse’s complete attention. Her nose wrinkled again. “It’s not awful, but it’s not good.”
“Drink it up, baby. Let’s kick that cold’s ass before it can get you.”
With a deep breath, Nora drank. Matisse watched her throat lift and lower with each swallow. He wanted to trace the smooth column with his finger and capture the dollop of shake from her lips with his.
Finished, Nora placed the glass on the table with a firm thump. “There. Can we focus up now?”
Matisse didn’t care he was about to be raked over the coals. The past minute, watching Nora drink that shake, made the whole thing totally worth it.
9
Nora
Nora wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste of Apollo’s shake. “Blech.” Her tongue wanted to escape her mouth. “There’s a bite to it. It doesn’t come right away.” She smacked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “But it’s definitely there now.”
“Probably the oregano oil.”
Tipping her head, Nora considered the flavor. “I guess it could be. A distant cousin to spaghetti sauce maybe. Very distant.”
“It’s good
for you. Stop complaining.” Apollo kissed her temple and sat across from her.
The shake really wasn’t as bad as Nora made out, but her awkwardness and dread of the upcoming conversation had her playing it up. How did she start a conversation meant to change Matisse’s behavior?
Bound to feel attacked—him against the five of them who shared the same opinion—this was a discussion that could head south fast.
“I don’t know what to say,” Matisse began. “I know what you’re all upset about, and I understand.”
With her elbows on the table, Nora propped her chin in her hands. “So you won’t race anymore?” Was it that easy?
“I—” He paused. “I can’t make you that promise.”
“Why not?” Seok asked. “No more racing in the city. Only on the tracks. It seems reasonable.”
Matisse nodded then shook his head. “We’re careful.”
“Not everyone else is careful, though, Tisse,” Ryan added. “Not to mention the legal ramifications if you’re arrested.” Catching his green eyes narrow, Nora wondered if there was more to what Ryan was suggesting than a ticket.
“I know there are.” Matisse sighed. “I don’t want to go to jail or hurt anyone. The group is small, less than twenty. And we all know what we’re doing. We have a plan and a system, and the only people who get hurt are us.”
“Being the most skilled racer in the world doesn’t guarantee your safety. Especially not when you add the wider public to the mix,” Nora dropped her hands to the table, scooting forward to stare at him when he seemed intent on avoiding her. “Please. It’s going to be winter soon anyway. Maybe we can look into races that are more complicated than the around the track ones. We could save up and go to one of those European towns where they have the Formula One races all along the cobblestones streets. We could do that. I bet there are places in the US like that. They must have”—twisting her hand like a snake she indicated curvy roads—“these sorts of races here.”
Finding Truth (The Searchers Book 3) Page 5
