Текст книги "Whisper to Me"

Автор книги: Christina Lee

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter Nine Kai

My mother, who had been raised in the Netherlands, stayed out of my dad and uncle’s argument as well. But she supported my father fully. I could see the admiration in her eyes. Privately, she told Dakota and me that every culture had examples of failures and successes—the Dutch Eighty Years’ War, for example.

Before I moved overseas, she gave me a quick lesson in her homeland’s history—about the pinnacle of her culture, called the Dutch Golden Age—which I appreciated. Amsterdam had its share of culturally tolerant and liberal thinkers, and I’d felt comfortable there—even though my heart had been someplace else—despite the fact that I was referred to as an allochtoon, the Dutch word for foreigner, everywhere I went. I snickered to myself at the memory.

My father’s booming voice brought me out of my reverie. “Today I’m putting you out on the floor under Stuart.”

“Got it.” Stuart was one of Dad’s oldest and most trusted employees.

“And you’ll get a regular paycheck,” Mom said. “Depending on how many hours you work.” Mom handled the books in the casino with a team of accountants under her. Dakota was learning the ropes from my very intelligent mother. Apparently she’d gotten all the smart genes.

According to my late grandfather, I took after some distant relative who loved smoking his peace pipe, dispensing advice to the tribe, and beating the poplar drum every morning. Cool by me. At least he’d been accepted by his people.

“I want you to take out those piercings you love so much,” Dad said.

“Honey, he’s fine,” Mom said, squeezing my shoulders. But had she known all the places where I was pierced, she’d have fainted right on the spot.

She leaned close to my ear. “Ik houd van jou.”

I love you. It’d been the phrase Dakota and I had heard our entire lives. One that was a quick reminder of our Dutch ancestry. Thanks to Mom, I’d been able to pick up basic phrases in Amsterdam like please and thank you. But I had certainly never used the words she’d just uttered with anyone besides my family.

My mother still retained a slight Dutch accent, but it really rose to the surface when she was upset or angry. That was her tell, and right now, I knew she was frustrated with my father. Probably thought he was being too rigid. But I deserved it. I’d never compare to Dakota, who had blind ambition and worked hard to please my parents and make them proud.

I’d just always preferred flying under the radar and doing my own thing. Except that plan wasn’t quite working out for me. I should’ve protested more to my manager in Amsterdam. Honestly, girls came on to me all the time. How in the hell was I supposed to know that Johan would walk in right at that moment?

Sure, I needed to cut back on the weed. It slowed my reaction time and made me care even less about the things happening around me. Even Rachel had noticed. Which was so not cool.

Last night probably needed to be my last hurrah with pot. The phone call with my father this morning was only the beginning. Mom apparently had a nice little chat with her cousin in Amsterdam about the stash of dope I’d left in a drawer. Dad said if I didn’t shape up, he’d make me submit to the company drug policy. He probably would anyway. So I’d better not come in looking like I’d smoked.

I may have stopped lighting up whether or not Rachel had asked me to. But old habits die hard, so I needed to be more determined than before. If only she’d allow me to believe that she was soley thinking of me when we’d been together last night.

I tightened my fists at the same self-loathing thoughts that had filled my head the last couple of years. When would I finally get my shit together?

My problem was that I never stood up for what I believed in. Everything I did was half-assed. I didn’t fight for Rachel, for my education, or go after the jobs I wanted. I deserved a swift kick in the balls from my parents.

I was good at making people feel things—lust, happiness, anger. But never admiration. The thought of that hit me so squarely that I was thankful to be sitting down.

“You’re not saying you’re a fan of his piercings,” my father said disapprovingly to my mother.

“No. I’m not a fan,” she said, and then stifled a grin. “Well, maybe a little.”

My father huffed, and my mother strode over, laying her hand on his arm in an intimate gesture I’d seen hundreds of time. Still, I looked away. I felt an ache—a longing, deep inside my bones.

“Have you forgotten what it was like to be young already?” she mumbled to my father. His eyes softened. “Let’s not be the type of parents who stifle their children. We never have, and I don’t want to start now.”

Mom was one of the coolest women on the planet, and I loved that she and my father were equals. She was confident and feisty and reminded me of a certain someone who wasn’t related to me. Even Dakota was practically her twin. Too bad I hadn’t inherited the confidence gene, either. Other than in the bedroom.

“Maybe that’s where we’ve gone wrong with Kai,” my father muttered, but I got the message. Typically my parents didn’t speak openly about rearing their children, but I could feel my father’s stinging disappointment from across the room. And lately it was really starting to affect me.

“It’s a good thing you’ve got Dakota to be proud of,” I said, and my father cringed. His eyes reflected regret, and I immediately felt awful.

“Son . . .” he began.

“It’s okay, Dad. I get it,” I said. “Whether you believe it or not, I actually do think that I have rocking parents.”

“And we have a rocking son,” Mom countered, but I wished it had come from my father’s lips instead. “Your father is understandably upset. I hope one day you’ll tell us what the bloody hell really happened in Amsterdam.”

“What always happens,” my father’s voice roared through the small space. “He screwed around and didn’t think about the consequences.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad!” I said, my own anger finally unleashing. “There’s no way in hell I screwed around with her. Do you think I have a death sentence or something? It was a total misunderstanding.”

“Then why didn’t you stand up for yourself?” Mom asked, her gaze searing into mine. “Fight for what’s right?”

My shoulders sagged. I was pretty sure my father didn’t believe me. And he had no reason to in the past. But this time had been different. “I . . . I don’t know.”

The truth was I didn’t care at the time. I was ready to come home. I hadn’t been happy for a long while. And I’d figured that since people had preconceived notions about me, why try to change them?

“When are you going to finally settle down, son?” my father said, quieter this time. As if the fight had gone out of him. “Figure out a way to make a decent living. Make some girl proud.”

“He’ll find himself a nice girl when he’s ready,” Mom said. “We had our own rough start, you know that.” Mom and Dad were initially friends in college but were in love for a long time. My paternal grandparents didn’t exactly approve. They’d been nervous about the Native American culture dying out. But you can’t stop love from happening, Mom had said. Didn’t I know it. Instead, Mom agreed to honor Dad’s culture and our native traditions.

“But I have to agree with your father about the job part.”

“I hear you loud and clear.” I stood up because I no longer wanted this conversation to continue. “So, where can I find Stu?”

Dad walked around his desk to open the closet at the back corner of the room. He handed me some kind of itchy polyester suit jacket. It was the color of cranberries and had the name of the casino emblazoned across the front pocket.

I opened my mouth to protest, but my father gave me a warning look. “You have to wear this. Company policy.”

“I’m just not a suit kind of guy.” Especially not a goddamn polyester suit. “What about the T-shirts I see the bar backs wearing?”

“Ask Stu to order a few in your size. In the meantime, put this on.”

I bit my tongue and grabbed it from him. It was too snug, but I pushed up the sleeves and was on my way.

Chapter Ten Rachel

I pulled alongside the curb in the artsy part of town known as the Commons. I spotted Mom inside the new shop, looking tired and flustered. Immediately, I knew I’d made the right decision to come home to help her this summer.

She’d been there for me on so many occasions. When I’d woken up in the ICU and seen the confusion and torment on her face—the pain and sorrow—it had killed me. Daddy’s face hadn’t been much better.

I had tried hard for them, especially at the beginning of my recovery. And I had definitely been trying for me, too. My days were spent wallowing between despair, anger, and hope.

And whether I admitted it or not, many of those hopeful days were due to Kai, who had always showed up with a huge, cocky grin on his face. “You ready, Turtle?”

And that would piss me off and spur me on. But he’d get this tenderness in his eyes, and I couldn’t stay mad for long. That nickname had stuck through high school, and to this day, you couldn’t pay me to run. Even though I would’ve loved to show my classmates up after surgery.

Little did Kai realize how appropriate a moniker it would become for someone who was so weak she needed a cane to help her walk just a few feet or a wheelchair to move her around.

The first time Kai let that nickname slip after a particularly grueling physical therapy session, I’d felt an initial stab of humiliation, which I was positive had been reflected in my eyes. “Damn, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what that might sound like now.”

“Don’t you dare stop calling me that. I’ll be pissed if you do,” I’d said. “You’re one of the only people in my life who treats me the same as you did before.”

We shared a meaningful look that made me feel connected to him in a way few others had. “Okay, Shelly. I won’t.”

I banged on the door to Pure, startling Mom in the process. She rushed to unlock it and then helped prop it open as I carried in a box of color samples from the paint store and some other decorations I had spotted while at Walmart.

I looked around the shop, which was a smaller space than her last one but a fitting size for her business. Plus, there were two back rooms where Mom could work her lotion, candle, and soap-making magic. Hand-poured and paraben-free, of course.

“It’s looking halfway decent, Mom. I like how you arranged the shelves,” I said. “I still think you should paint that back wall a warm dramatic color, like a taupe or chocolate brown, to make the whole room pop.”

When she gave me a skeptical look, I continued. “I brought samples. Let me dab some on the wall first before you veto my decision.”

“Okay,” she said. “You’re better at the decorating stuff than I am.”

I placed my boxes near the cash register and then pulled out a light-colored T-shirt from one of the bags I’d brought along. “Maybe you’d also consider carrying other locally-made things. Like these shirts. They’re crafted out of one hundred percent organic cotton and have these cute Zen sayings on them.”

I handed her the top. “This one says, Leap and a net will appear.”

She rolled the material between her fingers and then held it up. “I never would have thought to include other local products along with mine.”

“It’ll create more of a community feel. Plus, you can cross-promote,” I said, removing a couple of the bracelets I’d purchased from an online neighborhood shop. “It might even help boost the local economy.”

“Huh, when did you get so darn smart?” she said, trying on the bracelet for size.

“I am getting my business degree for a reason,” I said, prying the lid off one of the paint cans.

“You sure are.” She gave me a one-armed hug and kissed the top of my head. “Why do you think I begged you to help me?”

I smiled and dabbed a small brush into the chocolate-brown paint before slashing across the wall.

“What do you think?” I said, taking a step backward so she could see the effect.

“I definitely like the color. Dramatic, like you pointed out,” she said. “But it’s hard to tell from that little segment.”

“Let me paint a larger section of the wall and then we’ll decide.” I dipped the brush again and this time drew longer strokes across the pale wall. Mom got busy unloading a box of her beeswax candles.

“When’s the last time you talked to your father?” I could hear the tightness in her voice.

For a while, I’d secretly been afraid that I’d caused my parents’ divorce. That what they’d gone through after my accident had placed an inordinate amount of strain on their marriage. But Mom had reminded me that they hadn’t been getting along for a long time, and that revelation had forced me to recognize the truth.

What my recovery had done was exacerbate how much my parents didn’t see eye to eye. And that’s another reason why I hadn’t put much stake in relationships in the years after. If one traumatic event had sent three guys out of my life, I figured I wouldn’t be very good at making the other parts of relationships work, either.

“I talked to Daddy yesterday,” I said, still making even brushstrokes. “We’re going to meet for lunch tomorrow.”

“Good,” she said, now arranging the Shea butter soaps on the corner display.

I wanted to ask her if she had any regrets about divorcing my father. If she truly was happy now with her new husband, John. But I’d work up to it slowly. I could always talk straight to my mom, but some subjects were touchier than others.

“So how does it feel being home?” she asked. I could hear the caution in her voice. She knew that being back in town brought on a mixed bag of feelings.

“It feels strange, to be honest,” I said, pulling out another small brush to test the other color sample.

“I understand, honey,” she said, getting to her feet and admiring her handiwork. “But time has passed, and you’ve grown into a gorgeous young lady. Nobody remembers you as that girl. Heck, I’m your mom and even I don’t recognize you anymore.”

I laughed louder than I’d intended and shook my head.

“What’s so funny?” She turned toward me and squeezed my shoulder.

“Kai said practically the same thing to me this morning,” I offered, while dabbing the new color onto the far side of the wall.

She raised her eyebrows. “He certainly knows you pretty well. What do you think he meant by it?”

There was no way in hell I was going to tell her that Kai said it after indicating he knew what I’d been doing in my free time at the university. “I think he meant that I was tougher than the last time he saw me.”

“Well, I’d certainly agree with that,” she said, and now I wondered what changes she’d noticed about me—outside of shortened visits home and phone calls that consisted only of talking about classes and news about friends.

“So it’s going okay living with your two childhood friends?” she asked. “I’ll admit I was surprised to hear that Kai was back and crashing at her place, too.”

I wasn’t about to tell her why Kai had returned so suddenly. She’d find out eventually, anyway. Somehow I felt protective over him, maybe the same way he’d been over me.

“It’s great,” I said. “Who wouldn’t want an apartment with that view?”

“True,” Mom said. “They’ve always been good kids. And hopefully Kai has matured over the past few years as well?”

Oh, he’s matured all right, I’d wanted to say, but I held my tongue.

“I think so,” I said.

I thought about my childhood with Kai and felt that fear in the pit of my stomach again about ruining things with him.

“Oh, the trouble the three of you would get into, especially when Kai was around.”

I would always egg Kai on. Or dare him to do something silly or crazy, and he’d always take me up on it. Little did my mom know that I had been the instigator, and Kai had had a hard time backing down from a challenge. Dakota always ratted us out. She had always been a total tattletale and daddy’s girl.

“Well, your daughter only pretended to be an angel,” I said, with a smirk on my face. “Kai just took up for me most of the time.”

She looked up from her box of lotions, her eyebrows bunched together. “No way.”

I nodded. “Way.”

“Sheesh, the things parents find out after the fact.” She got this wistful glint in her eye. “That explains why he was so great with you in the hospital. He’s a caretaker, that one.”

I had never thought of Kai in that way. But when she put it like that, it made sense. He was definitely great at music, and he was also a loyal and compassionate friend.

“I always thought he’d make a great husband someday,” she said, lost in thought. “After he was done sowing his wild oats. Kids probably don’t even use that phrase nowadays.”

Old-fashioned saying or not, my skin heated at her words. The way his fingers felt against mine. His mouth.

“I’m pretty sure he’s the same old Kai with the girls. Doesn’t seem to want to be with one person. He’s still kind of a lost soul.” A beautiful and sexy lost soul. “He’s going to work at the casino this summer and figure out what he wants to do.”

“He’ll settle down one day,” Mom said. “And so will you.”

I looked away and considered whether or not to be truthful. “I’m not sure I want to, Mom.”

“Oh, honey,” she said, striding over to me. “Is that because of what happened between your father and me?”

“Things don’t ever stay the same,” I said, stepping back and admiring my paint job. “Things change. People change. I’ve learned that lesson, at least.”

“But some people do get it right the first time,” she said, her voice quiet. Filled with regret. She grabbed for my hand and squeezed. “It’s just that your father and I didn’t. And even still, we did get one thing right. You.”

I clasped her fingers in mine, but I didn’t want this turning into a tear fest, so I changed the subject. “So, which color do you like best, Mom?”

Chapter Eleven Kai

I pulled out the Raisin Bran and mumbled a good morning to Dakota and Rachel, who were at the table in their pajamas drinking coffee and eating toast. It was easy to act natural in front of Rachel, given our friendship. But altogether another struggle to keep my gaze from wandering over her bare legs, given our intimacy the other night.

This was what Rachel had been afraid of—this awkwardness—so I needed to make it work. I wanted to keep her in my life in whatever capacity she wanted me. I’d play the part and do it well. Because even doing all the normal, everyday things with her felt too perfect, too seamless, too right.

She filled up all the quiet places inside of me. Even if I could have only this pure and unconditional part without the other—her heart-stopping kisses and sexy noises—I’d take it. Because if she walked away, severed our ties completely, I might never recover.

I sat down across from Rachel, and as my long legs searched for space beneath the square table I accidentally brushed my calf against hers. I saw her shoulders give a little shiver before she moved her feet away without looking at me.

“Sorry,” I mumbled into my bowl, and the room fell into a comfortable silence. We were used to being around one another, so thankfully Dakota had no clue that anything had gone down between Rachel and me.

“What time do you head in today?” Dakota asked.

“In about an hour,” I said around a mouthful of cereal.

“Dad might not admit it, but he likes having you at the casino,” Dakota said. “Mom, too.”

Rachel peeked at me over the top of her coffee cup, her green eyes clear, like a cellophane wrapper.

I nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

Dakota pointed her buttered toast across the table. “So don’t fuck it up.”

As a flash of heat stretched across my neck, I noticed how Rachel’s eyes widened. She never got involved in our sibling arguments, so I knew she’d keep her mouth shut this time, too. But I was not in the mood for Dakota’s bullshit this morning and especially not in front of Rachel.

More than anything, I didn’t want Rachel to see me as a fuckup anymore.

“Damn, sis,” I said, raising my coffee cup in a salute. “Thanks for your support.”

“C’mon, Kai,” she said. “You’ve already got the entire female staff panting after you.”

“And somehow that’s my fault?” I refused to look at Rachel, but I caught her frown in my peripheral vision. Great, she was already siding with my sister. “I’m not trying to hook up with anybody from work.”

“Yeah, right. The only rule at the casino is that you can’t gamble,” she said. “The tribal nation doesn’t specify dating co-workers.”

“And?”

“I saw you chatting up Meadow the other night.”

“What the hell, Dakota?” As I stood up in a huff, my chair toppled on two legs and almost crashed to the floor. “So I can’t be friends with co-workers? I’m supposed to keep to myself and talk to nobody?”

She scrunched up her face at my display. “You know what I mean.”

I rinsed my bowl in the sink, suddenly losing my appetite.

“Not sure I know at all what you mean,” I mumbled.

“Since when do you know the company policy for dating co-workers?” Rachel asked, her eyebrows wiggling playfully at Dakota.

Dakota gave her a warning look. I strode to the kitchen island to refill my coffee cup.

“See what a hypocrite you’re being? Besides, you haven’t been around me in three years,” I said, throwing her earlier comment back in her face. “Maybe I actually had a serious girlfriend in Amsterdam who you know nothing about.”

Both Dakota’s and Rachel’s jaws fell open at that revelation. God, I was just digging myself a deeper grave.

“Seriously?” I ran a hand through my hair. “Is that really a breaking news story?”

“What’s her name?” Dakota asked, her eyes narrowed in a challenge.

I noisily placed my mug on the table and reached for the sugar bowl. “What?”

“Name the girl you dated,” she said. “Off the top of your head . . . and go.”

Suddenly my brain was a blank canvas. I had dated two girls for about a month each until I realized the relationships just weren’t working for me. One of them agreed to the mutual split. But the other was furious with me, spewing all kinds of obscenities in Dutch. It was actually kind of sexy. I’d been attracted to her, but I didn’t think we had anything in common besides good sex.

But under Dakota’s and Rachel’s scrutiny—two of the most important women in my life—I just couldn’t remember the names of the girls I’d shared my bed with for more than one night.

“Told you so,” Dakota said.

Rachel dug back into her toast, her expression unreadable.

What did she think of me now? Maybe what she always had. That I was a guy nobody could pin down. And that no longer sat well with me.

“Screw you,” I said, and headed out of the room. “Going to shower.”

Thirty minutes later I emerged from my room dressed in black jeans and a red Golden Arrow T-shirt that Stuart had scored for me to replace that itchy polyester jacket.

Dakota was sprinting around the apartment trying to get her last-minute work things in order. She resembled Mom, with her elegance and professionalism in her gray skirt and black heels, despite having dark hair and olive skin.

“See you later,” she said to me. Just as Dakota pulled open the door to breeze into the hallway, Rachel’s voice rang out.

“Are we out of shower gel, Dakota? I couldn’t find any under the sink or in the linen closet.”

“Shoot,” Dakota said, training her eyes on me. “I thought I bought more.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, edging the door shut. “She can use regular old soap from my shower.”

“Boys.” Dakota rolled her eyes and then turned for the bank of elevators. “Tell Rachel she needs to bring home the good stuff from her mom’s shop.”

There were three bedrooms and one utility area in my sister’s condo, and compared to my tiny rented bedroom in Amsterdam, it seemed like a warehouse instead of a closet. Dakota’s master suite was on the east end of the living room along with Rachel’s bedroom and the bathroom they shared. My bed and bath were located on the other end.

That was cool by me because a lot of chicks always had their makeup and lotions and perfumes spread all over the counter, and it drove me nuts. Dudes like me are low maintenance because we don’t need much—just deodorant, soap, shampoo, and a toothbrush.

Don’t get me wrong, all of those products help girls look and smell damn good, but if I could avoid having to share a space with a woman, I would at all costs. Though I might make an exception for one girl in particular.

As I headed down the hallway toward Rachel, I suddenly realized how something as normal as discussing toiletries with a roommate now felt too intimate.

“Dakota had to leave for work,” I said from outside the bathroom door. “She said you should bring some shower stuff home from your mom’s shop today.”

I heard her muffled voice. “Yeah, I could do that.”

“I’ll let you borrow my old-fashioned bar of soap, though. It’s coming your way. Sound good?”

She giggled as she pulled open the door, and then her mouth drew into a straight line when her gaze clashed with mine. She had on a fuzzy pink bathrobe and my eyes darted to the area above her breasts, where the terrycloth parted, and then down to the tightly drawn sash. Was she naked beneath that wrap? I couldn’t help imagining what she’d do if I suddenly leaned forward and untied that knot.

“Thanks,” she said. I saw her swallow roughly at my inspection. “I’ll also bring home a thing or two for your bathroom.”

“Will it smell like you?” The words tumbled from my mouth before I could stop them.

Her nostrils flared briefly as her eyes zoned in on my lips and then flitted away. “Wou . . . would that be a good thing?”

“You always smell good, Turtle.” I turned and headed back down the hallway before I confessed something even more damaging. “Be right back.”

Rachel’s hair had been up in a messy bun, and I wondered what kind of shampoo she used, because her hair had smelled amazing the other night. I needed to rein in my thoughts before Rachel realized that I was focusing way too much on our one-time encounter.

I grabbed the Ivory soap from my shower, all the while cursing myself for not acting more normal around her. When I returned to her bathroom, the door had been left open and Rachel was leaning over the sink, cleaning her face with a washcloth.

I figured I needed to say something to redeem myself. “I think the stuff from Pure smells pretty good. You always wear that lotion.” A memory of her mother massaging hand cream into Rachel’s weak and trembling fingers at the hospital came to mind. That scent would linger in the room for hours afterward.

“You told me the name of it once. Something with rice or maybe wheat?” I knew damn well what the actual name was but no way would I let her know that.

Her head snapped up and her reflection met mine. “You remember what it’s called?”

“Pretty sure anyone would remember that it’s named after some kind of food.” I shrugged. “But it smells like flowers.”

A pretty rose hue stretched across her cheeks. “It’s rice flower.”

“That’s it,” I said, avoiding her gaze. I slipped behind her to place the new bar of soap on the tray in the shower. I tried not to rub against her, but damn, I so wanted to.

“I’ll get you some oatmeal soap,” she said. “It’ll make your skin nice and so . . .”

I turned just as she was taking a step back from the vanity. Our bodies aligned and we were practically on top of each other, in the same position as the previous night.

“So . . . soft,” she mumbled, finishing her sentence.

Our eyes met in the mirror, and for a split second I saw her pupils flash hot with desire. My hip bumped again hers on its own volition, pinning her against the vanity.

“Kai,” she whispered, as a tremble rushed through her. My lips came dangerously close to the skin on the back of her neck as I watched her reflection in the vanity.

I took a whiff of her scent, and then closed my eyes to revel in it. When my lids reopened, her breaths were labored, her chest moving up and down from the effort. Her robe had parted even farther from the exertion. In a subtle move, she pressed her bottom against my front, but there was nothing reserved about my hard-on growing steadily against her back.

“I probably shouldn’t be late for work,” I whispered against her ear. I wanted so badly to reach around and grab hold of her breasts, pinch her nipples, and make her come from my touch again.

Her lips parted in the mirror almost like she could read my thoughts. “I . . . yeah . . . I have to . . . shower.”

“Better get in there, then.” I dragged my nose along her hairline to her other ear as she whimpered. “Have a good one.”