Rebel North

by JB Salsbury

  First Coleman and now Gabriella? My stomach muscles tense. “And you’ve got me all figured out now, huh?”

  She whips her head around. “No, I never said that—”

  “You think I’m stupid?”

  “Not at all!”

  “I don’t believe you.” My complex comes into view, and thank God for that. Rather than pull into the underground parking garage, I stop at the front of my building. “I’ll let you out here.”

  “Why? Where are you going?”

  “Out.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  I turn toward her. The hurt in her eyes is second to the pity I see when she looks at me. “You’re not invited.” My words deliver a direct hit. “I have plans.” Another slam. “With someone else.”

  She crumbles.

  Game over.

  Her expression goes blank. She squares her shoulders. “Fine.” She opens the door and steps out of the car. “Goodnight, Kingston.”

  “Later.” I speed off the moment the door closes, and I don’t look back.

  Nineteen

  Gabriella

  One week since putting my foot in my mouth with Kingston and there has been no communication between us. In the beginning, I felt he owed me an apology for blowing up the way he did, but as every day passes, I realize it may be me that needs to offer amends. After all, is calling out his deficiency any different from someone asking me about my scar?

  I should have been more sensitive. Given him the chance to tell me himself. Or really, why should he tell me at all? He doesn’t owe me. I’m not his lover. I’m his friend—if I can even call him that after the way I acted.

  “Do you want some ice chips, Mr. Levine?” The poor man was checked in days ago and has gone downhill fast.

  I slip a few ice chips between his parted lips and pull up a chair beside him.

  “How about some music?” I hit play on the CD player by his bed that his relatives set up. I watch for some response that the music makes him uncomfortable, but he has no reaction and looks peaceful. “I wonder if I could get some advice, Mr. Levine. What’s the best way to apologize to someone you’ve offended?”

  He doesn’t respond, but I knew he wouldn’t.

  “Should I send a text? That way, he has time to read it and process before he responds? Or is it better to apologize in person so that I can see his reaction firsthand?” I chew my bottom lip, thinking it over. “You’re probably thinking I should do it in person. Text is so informal. No, I can’t call him. People don’t actually call each other anymore. It’s creepy.” I pick at the hem of my scrubs. “Maybe I should ask him to meet me out somewhere. I could buy him dinner or make some kind of grand gesture. Then he’ll have to forgive me.” I watch Mr. Levine’s chest rise and fall slowly. “What if he doesn’t? What if he tells me he never wants to see me again?”

  The door behind me clicks open, and a woman with a vase of flowers comes into the room. A visitor for Mr. Levine.

  “Hi there.” I get to my feet and push the chair back from the bed. “I’ll leave you two for a visit—”

  “Gabby?”

  I stare at the gorgeous blonde and swallow a surge of panic. “Ainsley.”

  She steps cautiously toward me. “My God, I haven’t seen you since…” Her eyes flicker to my scar, and she bites down hard.

  “It’s been a long time.” I turn the scarred side of my face away from her and toward Mr. Levine. “Are you family?”

  “Yes, this is my Uncle Charleston.”

  I rearrange the items on his bedside table with purpose. “I’m so sorry.”

  Her footsteps get closer. “You…”

  I grip the cup of ice chips, fearing her next words.

  “You work here?”

  I muster up all my strength and turn to face her. Her eyes widen slightly at the sight of my face close up. “I do.”

  “When I heard you dropped out of the company, I thought it was temporary. I thought you’d be back.”

  “Are you still dancing?” The words feel like razor blades as they leave my mouth.

  “I am.”

  “That’s wonderful.” My throat tightens.

  She takes a step closer. “I tried calling you, stopped by a bunch… ya know, after… but your parents—”

  “That was a long time ago. Anyway,” I step around her and head for the door. “You should really spend some time with Mr. Levine.”

  “Will you be around? I’d love to catch up, talk about old times.”

  “No,” I snap. I turn to face her from the doorway. “I’m sorry, but I have somewhere I have to be.” I turn around again to make my escape.

  “Another time then?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I say while walking away. “Another time.”

  “Hey,” Annette says when she walks into the storage closet I’ve been sitting in for the last hour.

  “Hey.”

  She flips over a bucket to sit on and places it next to mine. “How’s it going?”

  “Pretty good.” I flip my phone over in my hand a few times and stare at the laminate floor under my feet. “You?”

  “I’m good, thanks.” She taps her toes a couple of times. “Are we just going to sit here and act like you hiding out in a closet is normal, or do you want to tell me what’s going on?

  “The air conditioning is better in here.” Another flip of my phone. “And it’s quiet. Great place to think.”

  “Ah… so this wouldn’t have anything to do with the woman in the lobby asking for you?”

  “Huh? No.” I refuse to look at her. “Not at all.”

  “Great,” she says and stands. “I’ll send her in—”

  “No!” I grip her arm. “Please.”

  She nods and reclaims her bucket. “You want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Old friend?”

  I nod.

  “From before?” She’s picked up on my uses of the words before and after, meaning the bookends of time around when my life changed completely.

  “Before and…” I swallow back the rush of emotions. “During.”

  “Shit,” she whispers. “She was there?”

  I nod again.

  She lays her hand on my knee and squeezes. “I’ll tell her you’ve gone home for the night.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Take as much time as you need.” She closes the storage room door behind her, and I flip my phone again and unlock the screen.

  I pull up Kingston’s number and punch out a text.

  Can you meet me at Revson Fountain at eight o’clock?

  Within seconds the response comes in.

  I’ll be there.

  I see Kingston standing at the fountain before I even walk up the steps. His tall, lean body in clothes perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders and narrow hips is an unmistakable silhouette against the lighted water display. He stands casually with his hands in his pockets while he watches the water dance. Strangers amble by, mostly couples, hand-in-hand.

  My pulse jumps, and with every step closer, the urge to run away grows. I tell myself he deserves my apology first and force myself forward.

  I stop a few feet behind him and ball my hands together, gathering the courage to speak.

  He lifts his chin as if scenting the air, then turns his head a fraction, giving me a partial view of his face. “Why here, Gabriella?” he says softly.

  As if this place carries some significance, and maybe it does in a way. “I don’t know.” And that’s the truth.

  I close the distance to stand beside him, and although I can feel his eyes on me, I keep mine on the fountain. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

  “For you?” I hear a smirk in his voice. “How could I not?”

  Whether his innuendo was intended or a figment of my imagination, his words make me blush.

  “You like it here?” He leans forward as if to see more of my face. “Lincoln Center?”

  “I don’t know. I think I
used to at one time.”

  “Hm.” He goes back to watching the fountain.

  I shove my hands behind my back and interlace my fingers, squeezing hard. “I wanted to apologize.” I turn to face him just as he turns to me, and his tortured expression cuts through me. “I had no business saying what I said to you that night in the car.”

  He looks tired, as if he hasn’t slept in days. Still beautiful, but in a tortured artist kind of way. “Why not? You’re in my life. Why should you have to tiptoe around me?”

  “We hardly know each other. You don’t owe me anything.”

  He looks away, over my head, and down the steps. Everywhere but at me.

  “Anyway, I wanted to apologize in person—”

  “I’ve never been officially diagnosed.” His eyes come back to me. “In school, it was easy to find people to do my work for me, and you’d be surprised what kind of allowances can be made for the kid of a wealthy donor. I never got good grades, but I managed to get through high school.”

  I have so many questions, so many things I want to say, but I keep my mouth closed, content with however much he’s willing to share.

  “No one in my family has given a shit enough to ask. My brothers think I’m lazy, my dad thinks I’m a fuck up, but none of them know, and if I tried to tell them, they’d probably accuse me of making excuses to not have to work.”

  From what I know of his family, I believe him. Although Jordan and Alexander would be different. Alexander seems atypical himself. I’m sure he’d understand what it means to have quirks, a little something that makes a person different.

  He blows out a breath and rocks back on his feet. “I’m probably going to get fired this week.” He squints into the darkness. “I can’t do what I’m being asked to do. I think August set me up to fail.”

  “Is there anyone who knows that you can talk to?”

  He looks at me as if I told him there’s a sale on Gucci at Walmart. “Yeah, there is. You.”

  “You want advice from me? The hospice worker with next to no life experience?”

  The corner of his mouth tips up on one side. “I want advice from you because, as of now, you know more about me than anyone.”

  Little explosions go off in my chest, and my cheeks hurt from grinning. “Well, my advice is life is too short to do something that makes you miserable.”

  He nods thoughtfully.

  “I’m hungry. Do you want to grab a hot dog?”

  “I don’t eat processed meat products.”

  “Such a snob.” I motion for him to follow with a jerk of my chin. “Come on.”

  We find a hot dog cart nearby. I refuse to accept his offer to pay, and we walk while we eat.

  Kingston’s first bite is hesitant, but his second and third are not.

  “Did I change your mind about processed meat products?” I pop my last bite in my mouth and crumple up the paper for the trash.

  “Not hardly,” he says while chewing. “If you tell me what part of the animal I just ate, I’ll never speak to you again.”

  I cross my heart. “You’ll never hear it from me.”

  “Good.” He tosses his trash in a garbage can.

  “Just hope you like pig genitals,” I say, smiling into my straw before taking a big pull of soda.

  “You’re lying,” he says, clearly horrified. “Please tell me you’re lying.”

  “I’m lying.”

  “Phew, I was going to—”

  “But I only said I was lying because you asked me to.”

  He makes a hurling noise in his throat and covers his mouth like he might vomit. “Oh, God, fucking gross.” He sucks back a healthy portion of his soda, then flashes me a wobbly smile.

  My shoulders jump in silent laughter. “I don’t mean to laugh,” I say through body-crushing spasms as I try to hold back a full-blown howl.

  “Don’t think there won’t be payback for this.”

  “Payback? How?”

  “I could use a wingman for a dinner I have to attend tomorrow night.”

  I stop walking and look up at him.

  He stops with me. “It’s a work thing, and I don’t want to go alone.” He lifts a brow. “You made me eat pig genitals. It’s the least you can do.”

  I make a show of being put out by his invitation even though inside, I’m flattered he’d want me there. Hopeful that he’s really forgiven my thoughtless comments and wants to continue being friends. “All right, fine. I guess I deserve it. Now, tell me what we’ll be walking into?

  “You want the truth?”

  “Of course!”

  “A train wreck.” He continues walking, and I join him. “My new boss, Ms. Coleman, is insisting on a dinner meeting.” He uses air quotes, and I wonder if his boss has ulterior motives.

  “Sounds intimate.”

  He sucks air through his teeth. “I have a pretty good idea of what she wants to talk about, and I know she won’t breach the topic in front of strangers.”

  “What topic?” A surge of something sickening rolls through my gut, and it has nothing to do with the processed pig genitals.

  “Nothing I can’t handle, but it does lead me to the second favor I have to ask.” He rubs at the back of his neck.

  In the time it takes me to blink, I see him doing the same thing, but in a different place, at a different time. Déjà vu. A testament to how often I’ve been thinking about him.

  The feeling like I’ve been in this situation with him before dissolves when he shoves a hand through his hair. “If it’s not too much to ask, I’d like to bring you to the dinner as my girlfriend.”

  An explosion of warmth expands in my chest. Relief that he’s forgiven me, sure. But being his girlfriend, even if only his fake girlfriend, makes my stupid heart flutter.

  I slip my hand into the crook of his arm. “Hell yes. I got your back.”

  Twenty

  Kingston

  Because of Gabriella’s work schedule, she had to meet me at the restaurant.

  I pace the sidewalk out front waiting for her to arrive. Unfortunately, Medusa’s car pulls up first, and she steps out, dressed to impress. In the past, I might have complimented her Armani wide-legged jumpsuit, but not anymore. Now, I see the whole picture for what it really is. Contrived.

  “Kingston,” she says with hope in her voice. “You’re early. I hope that means you bring me good news.”

  “You didn’t give me a choice when you threatened to expose me.”

  Her smile falls a little. “Well,” she says and pinches her gold clutch under her arm. “I do love a man who does what he’s told.” She nods toward the front door. “Shall we?”

  “I’m waiting for my date.” I get way too much satisfaction watching her expression melt like makeup on a hot day.

  “Your date.”

  I lean in, grinning. “My girlfriend.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “That’s okay, isn’t it? You never said I had to come alone.”

  Her smile is wobbly, not because she’s fighting tears, more because she’s fighting fury. “Are you out of your mind?” she says through clenched teeth.

  A flash of auburn waves catches my eye. I look up just in time to see Gabriella step out of her Uber. She smiles at the driver, her look so warm and authentic that I’m jealous the grin isn’t for me.

  Then she turns, and her smile brightens. My heart nearly stops beating as I take in the feeling of having all that beauty aimed at me.

  It’s because of my appreciation of her contagious happiness that I don’t notice right away, but she’s wearing the Balenciaga dress. My breath catches, my heart pounds, and my palms itch to touch her.

  “Don’t you look handsome,” she says as she approaches, the sound of her heels clicking against the pavement getting louder as she comes closer.

  Coleman hasn’t moved an inch, the perfect spectator as she sizzles in her anger.

  “Hello, gorgeous.” I slip my hand around Gabriella’s lower back and pull her f
lush against me. “I missed you.”

  She gasps when my lips come down on hers, the sound so fucking sexy it goes straight through my bloodstream to my dick. She tilts her head, welcoming my lips against hers. Her lips part, and a feral growl rumbles deep in my chest as she lets me in and accepts my tongue eagerly as it slides against hers. Her hands grip my biceps, and it’s only then that I realize I’ve bent her back, her body nearly limp in my arms. I straighten, and only when she’s regained her footing, I reluctantly break the kiss.

  “Wow,” she breathes.

  I stare into her eyes, picking apart all the different flecks of gray and navy, believing for the first time that there must be a God because nothing but the divine could explain her incredible pull.

  Coleman clears her throat. Gabriella blinks, and her cheeks flush. I keep my hold on her lower back and turn us toward our unwelcome observer.

  “This must be the girlfriend,” Coleman says, holding her expression tightly. Until her gaze lands solidly on Gabriella’s scar. A flicker of confidence, maybe even superiority, flashes in her eyes.

  “Gabriella,” my date says, introducing herself to the dragon lady. “Sorry to crash in on your dinner. I hope it’s all right.” She leans in toward the snake lady. I want to warn her not to look directly into her eyes for fear of turning to stone and all that. “Kingston gets crabby if I’m not around to give him a little sugar.” She winks. “If you know what I mean.”

  I roll my lips between my teeth and watch Coleman’s gaze tighten into a glare. “We’re late.”

  We follow her inside to the hostess stand, where we’re directed to our table, an intimate table for four with a view of the water.

  We claim our seats, order drinks, and I throw my arm over the back of Gabriella’s chair so I can lean in and smell her neck. “You look amazing.” And it has nothing to do with the dress, although the skin-tight micro mini isn’t hurting her look, that’s for sure.

  “Thank you,” she says and giggles while I nuzzle her neck.

  I press a kiss to a spot below her ear, and she shivers.

  “You’re really selling it,” she says quietly while our third wheel is hidden behind her menu. “Keep this up, and the whole state of New York will be convinced we’re lovers.”