Finding Fate: An Intense, Fast-Paced Romantic Suspense Novel Page 17

  When he was hours from dying.

  Because of me.

  With a sigh of regret, I turn back to the stairs. No reason to keep torturing myself staring at the beautiful man I can't have. He's too much. All of this is too much. It makes me sad, really. Before Africa, I wasn't normal, and now even more so with my new emotional baggage. A normal life with him and me and a white picket fence is only a dream.

  Before my foot can hit the first step, a cheery voice calls out, stopping my ascent.

  "Hey, good morning, Pops." The optimism in his voice makes my stomach turn and tremor. Great, all it takes is his deep, all-male voice to make me quiver. These next three days will be torture for my hormones. "I'm making breakfast, so sit your tiny ass on the couch and relax. It'll be ready in a few."

  My teeth sink into my lower lip to bite back my growing smile. Taking his suggestion, I head for the couch but pause once the coffee table comes into view. Dropping to my knees, I extend a trembling hand over the stacks of brand-new hardback books. Reading each spine, tears build and fall at the titles.

  "You remembered," I whisper to the looming presence now behind me. "But... why?" Tears continue to roll down my cheeks as I turn to face him.

  "I guess I thought that somehow, the more I bought... they would bring you home. Somehow you'd know they were waiting for you."

  "I have—"

  "Yeah, I know, but another bookworm I know told me the hardbacks were the best, so...." His gaze darts anxiously around the room and runs a hand over his hair. "Now you can catch up on your friends. Your paperback copies are in the closet." He points a spatula down a back hall. "If you don't like them—"

  "They’re perfect," I breathe. “Beyond perfect.”

  His shoulders rise and fall as he stares down at me with an emotion I can't read. "These are the ones you talked the most about. And I’ll admit, you were right."

  I draw my brows together. "About?"

  "They are a great escape." With that tidbit, he turns and heads back toward the kitchen.

  Examining the spines of the books in front of me, I turn back to the kitchen and stand. "These haven't been read though."

  "No, those are for you." A smile pulls at his lips as he rotates the eggs. "I was told the best part of a new book is being the first to read it. And smell it, whatever the hell that means."

  I already like this friend of his, unless it's his girlfriend. "She's right." When he doesn't correct my assumption, regretful tears build, but I hold them back. Clearing my throat of the unshed tears, I ask, "Then how did you read them?"

  Deft fingers flick the knobs, extinguishing the gas burners. Placing his hands on either side of the stove, he leans forward and stares at the wall. "I read yours. They smelled like you. Well"—he smirks at the wall in front of him—"how I imagined you would normally smell. Africa wasn't the best for either of us."

  Why is he this... familiar, this insightful? Doesn’t he know he’s shredding my heart with each kind word and action?

  My next words are out before I can stop them. "You have a girlfriend."

  Those brown eyes flick to me. "I did."

  "Did?"

  "Did."

  "What happened?"

  "Later, Pops. Now come eat."

  Not yet. Flipping to the middle of one of the gifted books, I press my nose into the pages and inhale. Again and again I breathe in the new book smell until the shaking of my hands causes it to slip from my grip and thud to the floor. Covering my face with my hands, I sob so hard, but not a single sound escapes. My shoulders tremble with each deep breath in.

  I barely register being lifted and set on the couch. Warm hands pull mine from my face to engulf them in his own.

  "I know," he whispers across from me, the grip on my hands nearly cutting off the circulation to my fingers. "Believe me when I say I know. Dammit, I know, and I'm sorry you have to go through it. But you have to come back to us, Fate. You're home. You're safe. I know it's difficult, but you have to try. Talk to me."

  My shoulders shake again with a loud sob. "I'm not safe. You don’t get it. And you're not either. I'll never be safe again."

  "I'd die before letting anything happen to you."

  "Don't you see." I sniffle, looking up to meet his intense stare. "You already died once," I whisper, then wipe my nose with the sleeve of my hoodie. "I don't want you to do it again."

  "Good thing it's not your choice. Can I... yesterday... I want to hold you."

  No. Even without a girlfriend, I still can't have him, and his touch will shatter the resolve I have to not get involved. Instead of saying yes—hell yes—like I want, my gaze drops to our hands and I shake my head. To his credit, the only sign he gives of disappointment is the tightening of his hands around mine.

  "The first few days are the hardest. The acclimating to being back. It’ll take time, so don't rush it. But don't be scared of it either." With a pat on my clasped hands, he stands but doesn't move. "Why are you scared of me?" The hurt in his voice creates a crack the size of the Grand Canyon in my heart.

  "Later," I say with a smile, which he returns, as forced as it is.

  Leaving the books behind, I sit on the stool in front of the full plate of eggs, pancakes, and bacon. My eyes shutter closed at the first bite, and I savor each forkful. It's the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. And oh, the bacon. I don't hide the tears of joy that build at the crispy bites of heaven on earth.

  Silence settles as we eat until I can't take it anymore.

  "This is delicious. Thank you," I say between bites.

  A shy smile pulls at his lips. "Thanks."

  "Is this your place?"

  "Nope. My boss is letting me stay here for a bit. My place is about an hour away."

  I can't help but ask, because why else would a guy like him have pancake mix lying around? "I'm surprised at the pancakes," I say, looking up from my plate to meet his questioning stare. "Did you really have the mix, or am I not the first morning guest you've had here?"

  Those soft brown eyes flick to the living room while he finishes chewing, too slowly not to be obvious. "Two-part answer to that one. Yes, I already had pancake mix. Breakfast is my favorite meal, and it's really the only thing I can cook. And the second part, well, you're the first morning guest who I don't want to leave."

  When his eyes flick back to me, I look down to my plate and move pieces of leftover eggs around. "None of my business, I guess," I mutter and shove a piece of bacon into my mouth, which now tastes less fantastic and a little dry. I gulp down the orange juice to get the last bits down my dry throat.

  "Listen—"

  "You don't need to explain. I shouldn't—"

  "Everyone who's been through this house has been here to keep me from losing my fucking mind." Peering up through my lashes, I find him staring at his own plate, shoulders rounded. "Your buddy Mac being one of them. I didn't want them here seeing me like that, especially my sister. So every day, I begged them to leave, but they didn't. They stayed. Are you mad? Is that why you won't let me touch you?"

  "Mad?" I repeat, truly shocked. "Why would I be mad?"

  "Because I was here living in this house, safe and with people who helped me get through it all, while you were... wherever you were that you won't tell me. It's okay if you are. I get it. I was so damn angry with the guys when I came to, angry that they waited so long. Angry that they didn't get you too. Just so damn angry. Still am. Well, until yesterday."

  The rattling of the glass as I set it down draws his attention to my shaking hands. Reaching across the table, I rest my hand halfway between us. Not touching him, but reaching for him just the same. "I'm not angry. Or mad. I-I'm... I'm hollow. Which is worse?" I ask him, and myself. "And there's something you need to know—"

  An alarm dings from the other room, sending me flying off the chair. The plates and silverware rattle as my knees slam the underside of the table.

  "Whoa. It’s okay. I know who it is. This place is safer than a damn bank vault. I
t's why Mac and the boys were okay leaving you here with only me to protect you."

  "Who is it?" Not really that excited about another stranger. Who knows who that dipshit Jace will send to do his dirty work.

  "Right, that." His hand comes up and smooths over the top of his hair. "I thought you'd like being you again, so I invited someone over. Not just someone, my sister. My youngest sister. I told her to play nice, but she's blunt as hell. Don't take offense to anything she says. Hell, this might be a bad idea. I'll tell her to turn around—"

  "You ramble, you know that?" I say with a small smile, loving this piece of him. "When you're nervous."

  His hand slides from his hair and grips the back of his neck. "Yeah I know." Two car doors slam shut outside, making us both turn. "Do. Not. Run." He points to my previous escape route with a hard stare. "I'll puke egg on you if you make me chase you down again this soon after eating."

  A loud female voice says something, making him laugh when he opens the door and steps out to the porch. Everything tells me to run, but the growing curiosity of meeting his sister, one of the women I've heard so much about, has me staying put. Why in the world would he invite her over?

  Before I can run through the various possibilities, the door swings open and a young girl in florescent pink leggings with purple socks pulled up her shins and a black T-shirt tied in a knot at her waist walks through.

  Her smile falls the second she sees me. Self-consciously, I stuff my hands into my pockets and look anywhere other than the tiny force of nature who just entered the room.

  "You don't look like Princess Poppy," she states.

  What the...?

  Chapter 22

  Nash

  Today

  Well hell. Didn't expect I'd need to give the 'keep your trap shut' speech to Mya too. I redirect my approach to Liza to whirl around and face the smallest, fiercest force known to man.

  "Mya," I groan and wrap my hands around her shoulders, pulling her back against my stomach. She tilts her head back to look up with a smile, which tells me she knows exactly what she's doing, but I can't be frustrated at her. "You and that mom of yours need to learn something called tact."

  "Where's the fun in that?" Liza asks, stepping beside me and draping an arm over my shoulders. "And who are you to talk about tact? You say whatever pops into that mind of yours."

  Pops is just staring, wide-eyed. "Not everything. The good stuff I keep to myself."

  Liza squeezes my shoulder, directing my attention down to her. "You look good. Better." Her nose comes to my chest and she takes a deep, exaggerated sniff. "Smell better too." A quick look to Fate and she turns, putting her back to the living room, and leans in. "Sorry, I couldn't find anyone to watch Mya. Hope it's okay I brought her."

  I shrug. "Honestly, I don't know. We’ll see, won't we." I turn my attention back to Fate, who now looks to be searching for a place to hide from these two. Damn, I love this part of her. The shy, nonsocial side. The innocent, naïve side. "This is my sister Liza and my favorite niece of all time—"

  "I'm your only niece, Uncle Nash," she retorts with a hand on her popped hip.

  "Right, still my favorite. My niece, Mya."

  Mya's wild blonde hair swings back and forth from her high ponytail as she walks across the room and falls on the couch. "Uncle Nash, can I read one of those?" She points to the books laid out on the table.

  I start to respond but Pops speaks up first.

  "Sure." She slides off her stool and moves toward the couch. Liza moves closer, but I grip her hand, holding her back and allowing this scene to play out on its own. "Have you read any of them?" Hands still tucked into the pockets of her hoodie, Pops points to the stack of books with her elbow.

  Mya scans the spines and shakes her head. "No, but I've wanted to read Harry Potter. It's just always checked out at the library when I go by, and Mom says we can't afford to buy them, so I keep waiting."

  Liza leans into me and clears her throat. Fuck, what have I missed being so damn self-absorbed lately?

  "You know," Fate says as she rounds the couch, "it was the same way for me growing up. Do you read a lot?"

  Mya nods enthusiastically. "Not as much as Mom, but more than my friends."

  "She reads constantly," Liza says from beside me with a smile. "Between that and movies, I swear she's always in another world in that head of hers."

  "Me too," Fate whispers with a half-smile. "How about this." She sits forward to shuffle through the stack of books. "Here's book one. Read it, and maybe next time we can talk about it. You know, like a private book club."

  Liza's arm snakes around my waist and pulls me to her. "How's she doing?" she whispers as the two on the couch talk about the exclusive book club they've just created. "She looks okay. Way better than you did when you first came home." Her eyes drift to my leg. "I'm not kidding, Nash. You look good. ‘Happy’ might be the right word. Better than I've seen you, maybe since even before you left for Africa. Have you two talked? Does she know about everything?"

  I lean against the doorframe with a sigh. "No, I haven't really had time, and I have no idea how to bring it all up. I'm fucking terrified it’ll scare her away." With a quick glance to the living room, I pull Liza to the front porch. "Where do I start? ‘Oh, glad you're back, and F-fucking-Y-I, I somehow fell in love with you while I was beat to shit every day, and your voice at night was the only thing that kept me sane. I went insane while you were missing from the fear of what was happening to you and I wasn't there to stop it. Even now, the second you walk into the room, it's like all the air gets sucked out and I'm left having no damn idea what to do or say.’" With a groan, I cover my face with my hands and fall onto a porch chair. "She has enough shit to process. I'm not going to add to it."

  "You're not shit."

  "I wasn't—"

  "Yeah you were. Now stop being a damn pansy and just tell her. Girls like that, you know. Damn, did we not teach you anything growing up?" She leans against a post and smiles. "She deserves to know, and honestly, you deserve to know her response or it’ll drive you crazy. I know you. The not knowing will fester until you explode. You never know, Nash, maybe she feels the same way."

  Right. If she did, she wouldn't be pulling away every time I try to touch her.

  "Did you bring the stuff?" I ask, shifting the conversation from the current topic. Liza means well, but she doesn't know what all Pops is going through in acclimating to being stateside. I won’t add to her burden. Plus, if I never tell her, then I'll never have to hear her rejection or see her walk away fully knowing what she's leaving behind.

  Me.

  "Of course. You ask and I deliver."

  "What stuff?" Fate asks as she and Mya join us on the porch.

  Popping up from the chair, I turn to her. "I thought, you know, with you being back, that maybe you'd want to be more like you. The old you, or the normal you. The person you were before all this sh-stuff. So, Liza, I called her because—"

  "OMG, Uncle Nash, stop." Mya turns to Fate and points to her mom. "My mom's a stylist, and Uncle Nash here thought you'd want to look like the old you. We stopped by soooooo many stores looking for the right pink hair dye, but Mom said Uncle Nash was specific on the color."

  As she talks, Pops’s eyes shift to me. "You asked her to come over and dye my hair. Pink."

  Grabbing the back of my neck, I squeeze it hard to help ease the rising tension there. "Yeah, I guess I thought... you loved it," I say with a huff and drop my hand. "It held such deep meaning, and I thought you'd want it back."

  In two steps she's in front of me, wrapping those too-thin arms around my neck and pressing her face against my chest. Not knowing how to respond based on her earlier revulsion, I keep my arms limp at my sides, fighting the urge to pull her closer.

  "Thank you." Her warm breath brushes against my bare chest, sending a bolt straight to my cock. What's coming next, I can't hide in sweatpants, and no way in hell I'll let these women know that just Pops’s warm b
reath against my skin can give me a hard-on. Wiggling out of her hold, I start toward the door and say over my shoulder, "You guys get started. I've got some stuff to do."

  It’s not a lie. A long cold shower is exactly the stuff I need to do.

  By the time I come back into the living room over an hour later, Liza and Pops are talking around the small kitchen table while Mya reads on the couch, feet hanging over the leather armrest. Pops has something that looks like a shower cap over her hair, and there's enough chemicals floating around that my nose hairs burn the deeper I walk into the kitchen.

  "That's a good look for you there, Pops," I say as I move past the two for the couch. "How long will that take, anyway?"

  "Don't rush it," Liza scolds, then goes back to talking to Fate.

  I fall to the couch and nudge Mya, but she doesn't look up.

  "Tell him about school," Liza chirps from the table. I look over the back of the couch and narrow my eyes. "Rough day yesterday."

  Turning back to Mya, I slide the book from her hands and toss it to the table. "What happened?"

  "Mom's making a big deal out of it. It was nothing."

  "You came home crying," Liza chirps again.

  "What happened?" I poke her tiny ribs.

  "Ouch, fine! It's just stupid girl stuff, okay."

  "Girls suck," Pops chimes in. When I turn to look at her, she just shrugs. "It's true. Some never grow out of it, either."

  "Most," Liza says in response.

  "Uncle Nash, do you think I'm weird?" Mya asks.

  Even after spending most of my life being trained by women to understand what women are saying, I have no damn clue what's going on right now. "Huh?" is all I'm able to get out.

  "The girls, one of them said I was weird and smelled like a Goodwill store."

  Never have I had the urge to hit a girl. An eleven-year-old at that. "Mya." I yank on her arm until she's at my side so I can wrap an arm around her shoulders and hold her close. "You're not weird. You're you, and that's perfect. I'd rather have one awesome, unique niece than ten of those snobby bitches."