by LJ Evans
Carson’s eyebrows seemed thicker than when I’d seen him last, and they were sprinkled with white as if he’d just come out of the snow. His dark hair, which had always been so like my own, had a similar scattering of white along the temples. I’d been gone three years, but it looked like he’d aged ten times that. His eyes, a dark ember, almost black from this distance, took me in as I joined him.
He didn’t get up to hug me or shake my hand. He didn’t greet me with a warm hello. In fact, neither of us could greet each other in the way my teammates and I did. The hugs I gave my brothers in arms were an acknowledgment that we may never be able to do so again, whereas I’d always been certain Carson would be there. And suddenly, it hit me that he would not.
“You’re home early,” I said instead of hello.
He examined me, taking in all of my changes just as I’d noticed his.
“I’ve been turning more and more of the business over to Henry,” he responded to my unasked question.
Henry was only a few years younger than Carson himself, but he’d been the chief operating officer for Wellsley Place, Inc. since my childhood. While it was not a surprise to see Carson passing the mantle to him, it was still change in a place that seemed to defy it.
“Maribelle says you brought a woman here,” he continued. “Someone you’re protecting. Should I worry about troops storming the doors?”
“No.”
“What kind of trouble is she in?”
“Not trouble, per se. She’s being targeted by a stalker. The person behind it doesn’t know me. Doesn’t know you. There’s nothing to tie her to here.”
He gave me a nod so like my own curt ones that it hit me in my core. I’d turned out to be like him, even when I’d strived to do just the opposite.
My phone rang, and I glanced down to see Mac’s smiling face. I’d known I’d be the second call he made. I turned toward the door. “Excuse me.”
I left him there, waiting to play chess. A game I’d refused to play with him since he’d sent me away. It had been a childish sort of revenge that had become an obstinate man’s habit.
“She’s safe,” I said instead of hello as I hit the button and headed outside.
“Damnit, Nash. She was poisoned!” Mac said harshly.
“She was, but she’s okay. I suggested she give up the job―”
“Oh great, that would just make her dig her heels in harder. Do you even know my sister at all?”
No, I wanted to answer, and yet, I did. I’d known she wasn’t going to just walk away from the job she’d barely been hired to do. She wasn’t one to cower in fear. She faced her fears. Her shaking hand in mine in the elevator the night before was a good example. The fact that she insisted on using it at a time when she was already worn out and raw took courage.
“Dani gave me some line about splitting everyone up,” Mac said. “What the hell is your logic for keeping her down there?”
I repeated the logic I’d just given my uncle. Fiona didn’t know me or this place. Brady was in more danger than Dani now. But I didn’t have it in me to care about him the same way I cared about Dani.
“How bad was it?” Mac asked.
“Bad enough I debated an ambulance.”
“Shit,” Mac sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried, but she ripped the phone out of my hand and threatened body parts I prefer to keep in place.”
Mac chuckled. “She’d be able to do it, too.”
I smirked at the truth. Dani was strong enough to back up any threat she made.
“Keeping her safe does not mean putting her in your bed,” Mac said, turning serious.
It was a good thing he didn’t know I’d already done so, and since joining her here, I’d seen every inch of her, kissed her, and still ached for her. But I also knew there were too many obstacles in my life to let her become a permanent fixture. My lack of response had Mac growling into the phone.
Before he could say anything, I cut him off. “If you really think Dani would succumb to my dumbass charm, you know her even less than I do.”
I said nothing about me succumbing to her charm.
Mac grunted. “You’re right. She’s too smart for that.” Another pause. “Keep her safe for me, Nash.”
“I will.”
It was a promise I intended to keep, even when I’d barely been able to do it since arriving in Florida. Guilt weighed on my shoulders. But the fact was, when things went wrong on an operation, it was almost always due to bad intel. The problem was, I still didn’t have all the information I needed. Mac and I said goodbye as my brain continued to pick at everything that had happened in the last three days.
I went into the kitchen, knowing Maribelle would be there just as I’d known Carson would be in the library. Growing up, the kitchen had always been her domain. When I found her, she was making chicken and dumplings, an old favorite of mine.
I watched her steady hands as they moved. The veins were raised on the wrinkled skin, and it felt wrong to see her working so hard. She should have people taking care of her like she’d taken care of us for decades.
“You should have someone helping you,” I barked out.
She smiled. “Carson’s offered. But what would I do? Sit around knitting and watching TV? That’s the quickest way to get old. I like keeping busy. All the hardest work has been passed off to people with more energy and strength than me.”
I was surprised Carson even noticed she needed help.
“We’ve missed you,” she said.
The fact that I’d missed her, too, hit me in the chest. The handful of texts I sent her sporadically was much less than she deserved after taking care of me my whole life. Feeding me, soothing my cuts, and holding me while I cried. My only defense was that seeing her meant seeing him, and I’d run out of patience for him years ago.
“Why’s Carson handing things off?” I asked. He was only in his sixties. Hardly old.
Maribelle sighed. “I think he’s ready to be more than the man who runs Wellsley Place.”
I wanted to snort. Carson and Wellsley Place were synonymous.
Maribelle had never once made me feel guilty for staying away, for not wanting to step into his shoes. But she’d also never taken my side in any of the arguments Carson and I had. While neither of us had ever asked her to pick a side, I’d once asked her why she didn’t. She’d replied, “Sometimes we choose the straightforward path, and it isn’t ‘til we’re on it that we see how astray it led us. Sometimes, choosing the path strewn with rocks and canyons is the only way to ensure we can never be lost again.” At the time, I’d bit back, sarcastically, that she’d really cleared things up for me, and she’d laughed, patted me on my shoulder, and said someday I’d figure it out.
Ever since then, I’d thought I’d been on the road with the rocks and canyons, ensuring I wouldn’t be lost, but lately, it almost felt like I’d been on the straight one. As if somehow my direction had diverged from my original intent. If my naval career ended, I’d certainly be dog-paddling in the ocean, trying to find land.
I heard Dani before she even entered the kitchen, the ancient stairs creaking on the third step followed by her sandals flapping on the wooden floors. She emerged through the arch, and I was hit all over again with how beautiful she looked in her white sundress.
Her stomach let out a loud rumble, and both Maribelle and I chuckled.
She smiled wryly.
“Whatever you’re cooking smells heavenly, and I think my stomach just might allow me to put something in it.” She stood by the island, watching as Maribelle finished off the meal.
The grandfather clock chimed, and shortly after, Carson appeared in the kitchen. When I’d arrived at military school, I’d never had difficulty adjusting to the rigid routines like some of the other boys, because there’d always been a routine at Wellsley Place. Dinner at six o’clock sharp was one of the many.
To my surprise, Carso
n sat down at the small table in the kitchen alcove. Growing up, we’d always eaten at the formal table in the dining room, even when it was just the three of us curled around one end of it. Maribelle dished him up a bowl, bringing it to him. I scooped up a bowl for Dani, our hands touching and sparking as I passed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, heading for the small table and scooting around the window seat. I joined her, leaving the other chair for Maribelle who poured sweet tea for everyone without asking.
“I’m Carson,” my uncle said, sticking out his hand.
She shook it. “Dani.”
“Dani?” My uncle had no care for nicknames and shortcuts. He’d objected to my name from the moment I’d entered the world, according to Maribelle.
“Daniella, but no one calls me that at the moment,” she answered.
“What do you do for a living, Daniella?”
I wanted to roll my eyes at both his calling her the unfamiliar name and his third degree. “I’m a public relations manager,” she answered. “For Brady O’Neil, the country singer.”
“Oh, I adore him!” Maribelle said. “He is my favorite coach on Fighting for the Stars!” She turned to me. “Why didn’t you bring him with you?”
I couldn’t help the curl of my lips at her drooling over someone young enough to be her grandson.
“He would have already flirted his way into your heart,” Dani told her.
Maribelle smiled, but Carson was studying her.
“There’s something familiar about you. Have we met before?” Carson asked.
“No, and stop,” I grunted at him.
Dani squinted, unhappy that I was speaking for her, but she didn’t understand Carson’s off-handed questions like I did. She didn’t understand the scrutiny that was beneath it. He was trying to pick her apart as he picked everyone apart whom I’d ever brought home.
“I used to work for Senator Matherton before Brady,” Dani replied as if I’d said nothing. “Sometimes that had me in the press.”
I didn’t want her thinking about the time she’d been the center of a media shitstorm because of Fenway. I didn’t want Carson associating her with it or making her talk about it. The tension which had been building in me since we’d arrived coursed through me. Dani seemed to sense it and laid a hand on my thigh, squeezing as if to tell me it was all fine. It did nothing but add a different kind of tension to my already tight body.
“I’m having a hard time imagining Nash ever being a child at all, but growing up here seems even more impossible,” Dani said, turning the topic with ease.
“He was quite the rascal,” Maribelle responded, her eyes twinkling at the memories. “He spent his days out in the fields, shooting anything that dared to nibble at the crops and bringing them home like a cat brings home mice. He’d come home smelling like dirt and lemon, and Baker would smell even worse.”
“Who’s Baker?” Dani asked.
“He was a Great Dane,” I responded.
My heart twisted at the thought of our old dog. He’d been my sole companion during my childhood summers. None of my friends lived out this far. They’d all lived in town, and while we’d done our fair share of harassing the inhabitants by skateboarding and bicycling past them like the little devils we were during the school year, during the summer, I’d been on my own more often than not.
Baker had been the first wedge to come between Carson and me. He’d refused to pay for the dog’s hip surgery even when I’d cried and said I’d pay him back. Instead, he’d carted him off to the western fields, shot him, and buried him. He’d said it was the most humane and economical way to handle it. But it hadn’t been humane to me or my heart to lose my best friend. It had only been economical, and it had been the first tear in the veil of adoration I’d worn with Carson’s name on it.
Silence settled again over the table, Dani easily reading the additional strain the dog’s name had brought to all of us. Another forbidden topic. Not unlike Darren being a forbidden topic to Tristan and me.
Dani finished her bowl, and I watched to see if she’d need to make a mad dash for the bathroom, but the food seemed to settle in with no ill side effects.
“That was really good,” she said.
“Do you need more?” I asked, eyeing her smile with a sense of relief.
“Yes, please.”
I got up, filled the bowl, and grinned when she dug into it with gusto.
“I see you’ve met your match,” Maribelle laughed, and the thought of Dani being my match curled through my chest happily when it shouldn’t. Couldn’t.
“My mom has always said I eat as much as my brother,” Dani said, not offended in the least. “I haven’t eaten in a day. I’m ready to have my appetite back.”
“Why have you been starving the poor girl?” Maribelle asked.
“Rude, right? How dare you not tend to my needs,” Dani said with a wink in my direction.
I choked on a spoonful of food.
“Just teasing. He tried, but I’d been poisoned, so food didn’t agree with me.”
“Poisoned!” Maribelle set her spoon down with a clatter.
The chicken and dumplings turned to ash in my mouth, and my spoon followed hers.
“You truly are here to protect her!” Maribelle added.
I wanted to roll my eyes in the way Dani was so good at doing, but I didn’t.
Dani didn’t let the topic rest there. Instead, she turned it back to Brady, and soon, she and Maribelle were chatting away about Fighting for the Stars, music, and other shows I didn’t know. Carson and I just listened. Both quiet. Both unable to bring ourselves to fill the air with simple joys of movies and songs and actors.
When we were done, I took everyone’s bowls to the sink and began washing up. An old habit. Even when we’d had live-in help, it had been my chore. Earning my keep, my mother and father had insisted. Chores kept you busy and out of trouble, had been Carson’s opinion.
“Do you play chess, Daniella?” Carson asked.
“Don’t,” I spoke a warning again over the sound of the water and the dishes.
They both ignored me.
“I do not,” she answered.
“Shame. It’s a delightful game.” Carson’s tone was charming, reeling her in. He waved a hand in my direction. “Nash refuses to play anymore.”
Her eyes journeyed to me. I could feel them burning into the back of my head with more unasked questions, but I ignored the urge to meet her look just as I refused to let Carson guilt me into playing.
“Why don’t you teach me?” Dani said. “I’ll only be here a few days, but you’d at least have someone to play with you.”
She was scolding me, and I would have laughed at the reprimand if I hadn’t understood more than she did about Carson’s mind and exactly what he was doing.
“You two go on into the library. I’ll bring the peach cobbler there in a few minutes,” Maribelle said.
“Peach cobbler,” Dani replied with a dreamy expression. “I haven’t had that in ages.”
“Maribelle’s will ruin you for any other.” I found my words coming out of my chest before I could help it, but when I looked over, it had brought a smile to Maribelle’s face that was worth it.
My uncle rose from the table, and Dani followed him. I met her at the arched entrance to the kitchen. “You’re playing right into his hands. You don’t have to do this.”
She searched my face, but I was unable to give her the answers she sought.
“Maybe I want to learn,” she said.
“You won’t win.”
She stared at me for a long time before breathing out, “Not everything is about winning, Nash.”
But she didn’t understand at all, because it was always about winning with Carson. It had been bled into me, and I was good at it. It was failing I didn’t know how to do well.
Dani
GRAVEYARD
“I keep running when
both my feet hurt
I won't stop 'til I get where you are
Oh, when you go down all your darkest roads
I would've followed all the way to the graveyard.”
Performed by Halsey
Written by Allen / Frangipane / Bellion / Johnson / Bell / Williams / Johnson
I followed Nash’s uncle into the library and stood for a moment, just absorbing it. A beautiful room that, instead of being done in masculine mahogany as I’d envisioned for a Georgian home, was done in white with metal tones running through it. Gold, silver, brass, and copper were all twisted together into the lamps, shelves, and even the fabrics. The room was filled from floor to ceiling, on three walls, with books. The entrance itself a break in a sea of pages and spines.
Behind a huge whitewashed desk was yet another set of French doors that opened onto the veranda. The stone and marble circled partway around the house and could easily grace any of the royal houses in England. It was perfectly made for ladies in hooped skirts and men in pantaloons.
Carson found a seat in front of an unlit fireplace. This one was filled with flowers, the scents of the lemon from outdoors echoing inside. The fluffy festoons from the myrtle trees were a central part of the arrangement with yellow, orange, and magenta flowers surrounding them. I’d found there were flowers everywhere in the mansion. With the acres of greenhouses Nash had shown me, it wasn’t necessarily a surprise.
Carson’s chair and the vacant wingback next to him were a tapestry of needlework, scenes embroidered together, reminding me of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I sat down in the seat and eyed the chess set on the table between us. It was beautiful and old. Likely made out of ivory before it had been banned. I picked up the horse which I knew was a knight. I knew enough to know the names of the pieces, the directions they went, and that was it.
“It’s a gorgeous set,” I said.
