Текст книги "Ten Tiny Breaths"
Автор книги: K. A. Tucker
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
Chapter Ten
Serve drinks.
Smile.
Take money.
I repeat that mantra all night at Penny’s. The place is as packed and sordid as ever and yet it feels empty and boring without Trent there.
It isn’t until I’m back home at three a.m. that my phone vibrates in my pocket, sending a thrill through my body. There’re only two people who could be calling and one of them is unconscious next door.
Trent: In New York. Surrounded by sky scrapers. Miss you. How was your night?
My heart surges with joy as I type back.
Me: Full of bare flesh and indecent propositions.
I can’t bring myself to add that last little piece. That I miss him like crazy. That I can’t believe I’ve wasted weeks keeping him away.
A full minute later.
Trent: Was any of that bare flesh yours?
Me: Not yet.
I crawl into bed and rest my phone on my chest, waiting for his response. It’s a while before I get one.
Trent: A cold shower is calling. Sweet dreams. Good night. xox
I cover my mouth as I laugh out loud, afraid I’ll wake Livie or Mia up, who’s staying at our place with Livie tonight. Setting my phone onto my nightstand, it’s a while before I fall asleep.
***
Three days without Trent is unpredictably tough. We exchange a few messages in the late evenings. Whatever work and family stuff he’s doing during the day must keep him busy because the texts don’t start coming until after midnight. When they do, when I feel the vibration in my pocket, it’s like Christmas has come.
They’re all fairly innocuous, “Hi, how are you?” and “I miss you,” and “Bagged any guys at the gym, lately?” messages. Several times, I catch myself typing something a little more provocative only to delete it before hitting ‘send.’ Something tells me it’s too soon for sexts, especially given we haven’t gotten past first base.
God, I can’t wait until we get past first base.
***
Trent comes back today. That’s the first thought that comes to my mind when I wake up on Friday. Not carnage, not blood, not the miserable scraps left of my life. For once, the first thought that comes to my mind is the future and what it may bring.
For such a perfect wake up, the day sure ends like shit.
I have no idea what time Trent’s arriving into Miami. I’ve sent a few messages to him to find out, but I haven’t heard back. It’s making me incredibly anxious. Awful visuals of planes crashing plague my thoughts all day and into my shift at Penny’s.
So when Nate tugs me from the bar and into the back office where Cain holds a phone up for me, my stomach plummets to the ground. “It’s urgent,” is all he says, his brows pulled together tightly. I stand and stare at Cain and the black receiver for a long moment, unable to bring myself to face it. It isn't until I hear a child’s cry on the other end that I snap out of my daze and grab it from his hands. “Hello?” My voice wobbles.
“Kacey! I tried your cell but you didn’t answer!” I can barely understand Livie between her sobs and Mia’s wails. “Please come home! Some crazy man is trying to break down the door! He’s screaming Mia’s name! I think he’s on drugs. I called the police!” That’s all I get out of her. That’s all I need. “Lock yourselves in the bathroom. I’m coming Livie. Stay there!” I hang up the phone. My words tumble out in short, clipped fragments and they don’t sound like me. To Cain I say, “There’s an emergency. It’s Mia. Storm’s Mia. And my sister.”
Cain is already grabbing his car keys and a jacket. “Nate—get Storm off the stage. Now. And have Georgia and Lily cover the bar.” He hooks his arm around me, pulling me gently. “Let’s get to the bottom of this, okay, Kacey?”
I feel like someone’s kicked me in the gut. My head bobs up and down, all the while an internal torrent of screams and wails assault my senses. Storm and I are in Cain’s Navigator and on the freeway in under thirty seconds. Nate’s hulking body fills up the passenger seat. Storm, in nothing but her silver bikini from her acrobat act, drills me with the same questions over and over again and all I can do is shake my head. Breathe, I hear my mother’s voice say. Ten tiny breaths. Over and over again. It doesn’t help. It never fucking helps, dammit! I’m shaking all over as I sink further and further into the dark abyss where I go when people I care about die. I can’t seem to get out of it. I’m drowning under the weight of it.
I can’t bear to lose Livie. Or Mia.
Finally Storm stops asking me questions. She instead grabs hold of my hand and holds it to her chest. And I let her, finding solace in her racing heart beat. It tells me that I’m not alone in this.
A circus of police and ambulance lights greet us when we arrive at the apartment. The four of us run past the opened gate, past an anxious Tanner who’s talking to a police officer, past the wrangle of curious neighbors, all the way to Storm’s apartment to find the door half-hanging off its hinges, split in two by someone’s fist or head or both. Three police officers hover over a hunched male form. I can’t see his face. All I see are tattoos and hand cuffs.
“I live here,” Storm announces as she breezes past them and through the door, not batting an eye at the guy. I follow her steps to find a puffy-eyed Livie sitting on the couch with a form curled up on her lap, sucking her thumb and choking on ragged sobs, well past the point of hysterical crying. An officer stands over them, reviewing notes. The table lamp that sits next to the door is in pieces and Storm’s giant stainless steel frying pan rests on the ground beside Livie.
Storm is on her knees in front of Mia in a second. “Oh, baby girl!”
“Mama!” Two scrawny arms fly out to wrap around Storm’s neck. Storm scoops Mia up and into her arms and begins to sway. Tears run down her cheeks as she hums a song.
“She’s unharmed,” the police officer assures us, his words releasing the lungs worth of air I’ve been holding. I rush to Livie, throwing my arms around her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to panic you. It was so scary!” she cries.
Her words hardly register. I’m too busy fumbling with her arms and legs, grabbing her chin, rotating her head this way and that, checking for wounds.
Livie laughs, grabbing hold of my hands and holding them together in hers. “I’m fine. I got him good.”
“What …. what do you mean, ‘you got him good?’” I give my head a shake.
Livie shrugs. “He got his head through the door so I slammed Storm’s gargantuan frying pan over it. That slowed him down.”
What? I look at the pan lying on the floor. I look at my dainty fifteen year old sister. I look at the pan again. And then, whether in relief, in fear, in madness—likely all three—I burst out laughing. Suddenly we’re both doubled over, falling against each other as we laugh and snort hysterically. I clutch my middle in pain, the muscles tested in a way they haven’t been for too long.
“Who’s the crazy in handcuffs?” I whisper between fits.
Livie’s laughter cuts short, her eyes widening expressively. “Mia’s dad.”
I gasp as I glance back at the busted door and then over at Mia and Storm, my imagination running wild. He wanted to get to his daughter. “What was he doing here?” I can’t keep the horror from my voice, all urge to laugh evaporating. Dread ripples through me like an aftershock, permanently detaching the unstable plates I’ve balanced myself on all these years. Just the thought of something bad happening to Mia sends me reeling. Or Storm, for that matter.
Because I love them.
Mia’s not just that gap-toothed kid who Livie babysits. Storm’s not just my stripper neighbor who got me a job. As hard as I’ve tried to keep everyone at arm’s length, just like Trent, those two have found a way in. A different way, but one that has inevitably led to a place in a heart I thought long since frozen and incapable of feeling.
Livie wraps her arms around her body as she watches Mia and Storm and I see fear envelop her thoughts. “I’m just so glad Trent came when he did.”
Another gasp. “Trent?” I jump to my feet and spin around, my heart leaping into my throat as I scan the apartment. “Where? Where is he?”
“Here.” I turn to find him passing through the entry way. I’m on my feet and colliding into him in seconds. His arms tighten around me instantly, protecting me with their strength. He buries his face into my hair and we stay like that for a long time before he pulls back to rest his forehead against mine. My hands slip around his sides to his back, my fingers crawling up to dig into his shoulder blades and yank him back close to me. His muscles tense beneath me. All the fear and nerves and terror of the day is suddenly morphing into some animalistic need. I need to hold him. I need Trent. We stay like that, as I press my nose against his chest, inhaling the wonderful mix of woodsy and ocean scents.
“I missed you,” I hear myself whisper, surprising even me. Kacey Cleary doesn’t admit to missing people out loud. But Trent feels like something valuable misplaced and then found again and I’m overwhelmed with relief.
Trent leans in and kisses my jaw line, near my earlobe. “Missed you too, babe,” he whispers into my ear, sending shivers through my core.
“Excuse me, sir. Are you sure you don’t want to press charges?” A voice asks.
“I’m sure. It’s just a bruise,” Trent answers, not releasing me from his grip, like he’s as in need of me as I am of him.
“What bruise?” I pull away and look up to see Trent’s bottom lip swollen. My hand flies to it, but he grabs it and holds it away. “I’m fine. Really. It’s nothing. Completely worth it.”
“I’ll need to ask this young lady a few questions. Are you her guardian?” I hear the cop ask and I assume he’s talking to Storm so I continue staring up at Trent’s face, unable to peel away. He’s equally unwavering in his gaze.
“Miss?”
“Yes, she is,” I hear Livie say and I snap out of it. He’s talking to me. “Yes, yes …” Turning, I find Officer Stares-A-Lot standing behind me. My frown tells him that I recognize him.
He shrugs noncommittally. “You ladies sure are keeping us busy these days.” His gaze drifts over to Storm, ever so quickly taking in her body before averting his eyes to the ground as he pushes a hand through his short blonde hair. He’s a decent-looking guy in a Ken doll, mama’s boy sort of way. And he’s got the hots for Storm. That much is obvious. Then again, who doesn’t?
“No one can accuse us of being boring.” I smile to myself. “I’m Kacey. That’s Storm, but it looks like you remember her, Officer …?” I watch with morbid fascination as blood rushes right to his hair line.
He clears his throat. “Officer Ryder. Dan.”
Storm is oblivious, still holding her daughter tightly as she sways her hips, her eyes half-closed and dreamy.
Another throat clears. We turn to find a second officer poking his head into the doorway. “If there’s nothing else, we should get this guy to the station for booking.” His attention coasts to Storm and lingers.
“Then get him to the car. Now!” The officer catches Officer Dan’s lethal glare and growl and ducks out. To Storm, Officer Dan says in a soft voice, “I’d find another place to stay for the night until you can get this door fixed. My shift will be over in a few hours. I can come back and watch over the place until morning if you want?”
Storm breaks free of her spell then and turns to look at Officer Dan like she’s seeing him for the first time, her irises twinkling. “Oh, thank you. I don’t have much, but I’d feel safer if someone were watching over it.”
Officer Dan flushes for the third time and I have to say I’m impressed with him, his eyes locked on her face the entire time when even Gandhi would have a hard time not wandering over her barely clad frame.
“I’ll watch over the place until you get here,” Trent offers.
Officer Dan sizes Trent up, looks at me in his arms, and likely decides Trent isn’t competition. He nods. “I’d appreciate it.”
“You have somewhere to stay for the night, Angel?” Cain asks, stepping through the doorway. Nate looms behind him.
“She can stay with us,” I answer before Storm has a chance to say a word. She nods silently, her hand still cradling Mia’s head whose lids are drooping closed now.
“Okay, then. I’ve got to get back to the club to close up. I’ll put your earnings from tonight in my safe. You can pick them up tomorrow.” Cain offers with a sincere smile, adding, “Take tomorrow night off.”
“Thanks, Cain,” I hear myself say. Storm’s right. They really are nice guys. “Thanks, Nate.” I get a grunt in return. But then Nate takes three mammoth steps to close the distance between himself and Storm. Like watching a bear paw at a newborn’s head, I cringe as Nate’s hand reaches out to cover Mia’s head. He’s gentle though, giving her a soft pat. “Sweet dreams, Mia,” he rumbles. Sleepy blue eyes look up at him. I’m sure she’s two seconds away from screaming. I know I would be. But I watch her little hand lift up to squeeze his one finger, the gesture yanking on my heart strings. With that, Cain and Nate leave.
“Come on, let’s get Mia to bed,” Livie puts her hand around Storm and gently ushers her toward the door, just as Tanner steps in. “Not now, Tanner,” Livie murmurs, leading them out and next door.
He scratches his head in that ‘Tanner way’ but nods, stepping aside. I bury my mouth in Trent’s chest again, this time to keep from laughing. I never noticed coming in, so zoned in to getting to Livie and Mia, but Tanner’s wearing Batman pajamas.
Tanner runs his hand up and down the doorway and I know what he’s thinking. “This wasn’t Storm’s fault, Tanner,” I start to say, afraid he’s going to throw down his one coveted rule. This would definitely be classified as disturbing thy peace. But he waves my words away, mumbling, “never seen people with such bad door luck.”
Trent peels himself away from me and steps forward, pulling out his wallet and another wad of cash. “This should cover it. Can you get your guy in first thing in the morning?”
“You don’t have to do that, Trent,” I say as Tanner’s meaty paw wraps around the money.
He comes back to grab hold of me again, shaking his head dismissively. “We’ll sort it out tomorrow.”
Tanner lifts his hand to wave the money in thanks and moves for the doorway.
Officer Dan stops him. “Sir, I suggest you speak to the building owner about replacing those entrance gates immediately and with a better system, given how easily these can be forced open, as demonstrated tonight.”
Tanner appraises the cop with shrewd eyes. “I agree, Officer, but the owner of this building is a scrooge whose purse strings are tighter than a—” he glances at me and ducks his head. “He’s cheap, that’s all.”
“Would it help if he received a formal order from the Miami Police Department and the City of Miami indicating he’s liable for a multi-million dollar lawsuit if he doesn’t provide adequate security for his residents?”
Tanner’s brow arches in surprise. “You can do that? I mean …” He clears his throat and that wry smile stretches over his face. “I do believe that would influence him, Officer.”
Dan nods curtly, a thinly concealed smile touching his lips. “Great. I’ll come up with something and have it to you first thing tomorrow.” Turning to Trent, he says, “I can cut out from my shift early. Can you make it until four?”
“I’ll be here.”
With that, Dan exits, stooping slightly to pass through the doorway. Tanner and his Batman pajamas follow closely, leaving Trent and I alone.
I peer up at Trent’s looming form to admire that gorgeous face. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in months,” I murmur, lifting to my tip toes to lay a gentle kiss on the uninjured side of his mouth.
His hand lifts to brush my cheek as he smiles down at me. “You’ve got to be tired. Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll stay and watch over things.”
I fight to hide the disappointment from my face. Being near him feels so good, so right, so comforting. Adrenaline and attraction rush through my limbs. The last thing I am right now is tired. But I also don’t want to appear needy. I give him my best suspicious once-over. “And who’s going to watch over you to make sure you don’t steal anything?”
“Me? The guy who keeps buying strange girls front doors?”
“Strange girls!” I gasp, my hands flying to cross my chest in mock horror. “I take offense to that. Besides, how do I know you’re not some batshit crazy stiletto-wearing kleptomaniac who’ll steal Storm’s underwear and drink all the mustard?”
He rolls his eyes. “It was ketchup and that was only once. It did nothing for me, I swear it.” I giggle as Trent’s arms lift to settle on my shoulders. He looks down the length of my body before settling on my face. “I do have an appreciation for women’s underwear. Just, not on me.”
I struggle to swallow as my heart leaps into my throat, the blood pulsing against my ear drum as this electric pulse channels between us, rousing every nerve in my body. But then he breaks off, taking three large steps back and exhaling deeply. I smile to myself. At least I’ m not the only one who feels it.
“We should do something about this door. The police tape doesn’t exactly keep prying eyes out.”
Another wave of heat roils through me. What would prying eyes see? Trent rifles through the closets until he pulls out an old blanket. “I hope she doesn’t mind.”
I help Trent secure the blanket against the opening with an array of tape, tacks, and other adhesive things I find in the kitchen drawers. It’s after one o’clock in the morning when we finally finish and my adrenaline rush is crashing, leaving me exhausted. I flop down on the sectional. “I haven’t been off my feet for more than ten minutes tonight.” Trent takes a seat at the end of the couch. Gently lifting my feet, he slides first one heel off and then another.
“Oh.” I moan. “You can stay.” He grins, but says nothing as his skilled hands rub the bottom of my feet in smooth, circular motions. Around and around, slowly, deftly. I groan and lie my head back, enjoying his strength, his undivided attention. “Okay, you’ve earned at least one underwear strut. Go,” I fling my arm lazily toward Storm’s room. “Pick your weapon. Storm has quite the collection.”
Trent chuckles. “Depends on who’s strutting.”
I open one eye to find heat in his light blue eyes as they gaze at me. Again, I see this mercurial switch from the cautious, responsible Trent to the one who seems willing to have me on my back, and I don’t know what to think of it except that I know I want the latter version right now. His hand begins moving a little faster, a little more ardently, his breathing heavier. And then his hands are sliding to my calves and with a grip, pulling me toward him. As I slide, my dress slips higher up, revealing more leg. Luckily it stops at the height of my thighs, just as my butt reaches the side of his thigh. My bare legs are now stretched over his lap. One of his hands rests on the inside of my thigh, shooting lightning bolts through my entire body. The index finger on his other hand traces along my right outer thigh—up, up, further …
It stops on my tattoo, on the edge of my scar and strokes back and forth along the ridge. “Did you get the tat to cover this scar?”
“If I did that, my entire right side would be one big tattoo,” I lie.
“Why five ravens?” He asks as his fingers trail along the tails.
“Why not?” I pray he’ll leave it at that.
But he doesn’t. “What does it mean?”
When I don’t answer, he says, “Please talk to me, Kacey.”
“You said I didn’t have to.” My voice turns bitter. Trent has effectively tossed a bucket of ice water over my body, dousing the heat from a moment ago.
His hand leaves my leg to rub his forehead. “I know. I know I did say that. I’m sorry. I just want you to trust me, Kace.”
“It has nothing to do with trust.”
“What does it have to do with then?”
I stare up at the ceiling. “The past. Stuff I don’t want to talk about. Stuff you promised me we wouldn’t have to talk about.”
His hand finds its way back to my thigh, his eyes focused on it as he gently squeezes. “I know I said that, but I need to know you’re okay, Kacey.” There’s a twinge of something in his voice that I can’t quite identify. Worry? Fear? What is it?
“What, are you afraid you’ll wake up duct taped to your mattress?”
“No.” I catch a hint of anger in Trent’s voice. The first, ever. It vanishes with the softness in his next words. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.” The air in the room grows somber as Trent lifts his eyes to my face and I see they’re full of grief. He leans over enough that he can reach my cheek, brushing a thumb against it.
His words—or more his tone and the pain in his eyes—stirs a need to ease whatever is upsetting him.
I want to make Trent happy.
And I realize that I want him to know me. All of me.
I swallow, my mouth suddenly going bone dry. “I was in a bad car accident a few years ago. A drunk driver hit my dad’s car. The right side of my body was crushed. I have dozens of steal pins and rods through my body, holding me together.” Physically. Nothing but ten tiny breaths holds the rest of me together.
Trent exhales loudly, falling back into the couch. “Did anyone die?”
“Yeah,” I manage to say. A sudden explosion of panic inside curls my tongue, preventing me from saying more. My hands start trembling uncontrollably. Too much, too soon, my psyche is saying.
“Wow, Kacey. That’s … that’s …” His hand smooths over the length of my leg again however it’s lost that intimate feel. Now, it’s comforting. I don’t want comforting. Nothing he can do will comfort me.
“Kiss me,” I demand, glaring at him.
Disbelief widens his eyes. “What?”
“I gave you what you wanted. Now give me what I want.” He doesn’t move. He just stares at me like I’ve set myself on fire. I seize his bicep and squeeze tightly, using it as leverage to pull my body up and onto his, shifting one leg over a stunned Trent’s lap to straddle him. “Kiss me. Now,” I growl. His jaw clenches and I know my persistence is wearing on him. It’s only more obvious a second later when he squeezes his lids shut. “Trent—”
He hunches forward, his head slumping into my shoulder. “You know it’s taking every ounce of me to keep in control, right?”
“Don’t. Forget control. You don’t need it,” I whisper into his ear.
He groans, flopping back. “You’re making this so hard, Kacey,” he murmurs, a pained look on his face.
With my hands on the back of Trent’s broad shoulders, I shimmy forward until I’m right on him, feeling his need for me so acutely. I lean in and let my lips brush over Trent’s neck. “What exactly am I making hard, Trent?” My voice is breathless, an intentional move to entice him.
It works.
Trent’s hands grab me from behind as he pulls my body flush against his, his mouth devouring mine with a new level of hunger. He forces my mouth open and his tongue slides in, entwining with mine. Gripping the back of my head with one hand, he pushes my mouth closer against his.
I’m no less forceful, my hands fisting piles of his shirt, fumbling with the buttons, sliding them through eyelets to expose a smooth hard chest as I edge myself closer. His hands push at the bottom of my dress and find their way underneath to clutch my bare hips. I release a small gasp as his fingers skate up and around my thighs to my pelvic bone, fitting under the elastic of my thong and sliding forward and down.
I’m sure this entire ‘going slow’ plan of his is effectively quashed, but then his finger grazes the ridge of another scar and his hand freezes. His lips break free of mine and he pushes my body to the edge of his lap.
“I can’t.”
“You already are,” I mumble, grappling with hands so I can resume my position against him.
But it’s too late. He’s already ducking his head, looping his arms around my legs to lift and reposition me, pulling me to him in a protective embrace. We stay silent for a long moment, his forehead pressed against my shoulder. “I’d fix it all for you if I could. You know that, right?” He whispers. I wonder if he’s talking about my scars or the last four years of my life.
“Yes,” is all I say. Yes to all of it.
