All Fixed Up (10 page)

“All right, sweetie. What kind of omelet do you want? Plain, cheese, or Western?”

Gah. If I stayed to eat, they'd notice if I didn't drink my usual half a pot of coffee. But if I did drink it, and it turned out I was—
don't go there. Leave. Leave now.

“No omelet for me. I have to get going. I'm meeting James at the gym for an early workout.” It wasn't a complete untruth. He went most mornings, and just because he didn't know I was coming didn't mean I wouldn't meet him there.

Supremely skeptical looks were lobbed at me from everyone except my sister-in-law. She didn't know me well enough yet to realize how out of character my excuse was.

“Hey, it's Laura's fault. I have to keep in shape for her lessons,” I said.

She smiled encouragingly at me (not one bit green around the gills, in spite of her confirmed pregnancy—how was that fair?) and said, “You're doing great, Ciel. All your hard work is really paying off.”

“You have time to eat,” Mom said. “I'll make your omelet first.”

“Sorry, but I'm already late. I'll take some coffee in a travel mug.” They'd be all over me with questions if I didn't have coffee. Mom would probably drag me to the doctor, thinking I had the plague or something.

“That's not enough to start your day.”

I sniffed the air again. “Maybe I can eat a piece of sugar cake on the way.” That had better be okay. If it turned out I had to give up sweets on top of booze and coffee, I might as well shoot myself and be done with it. It would be easier.

“Well, all right,” Mom said. Reluctantly. “It's done. I'll cut you a piece while you pour your coffee. But you better promise me you'll eat a healthy breakfast after your workout.” She bustled as she spoke. Her culinary creations might not always turn out, but she was a champion kitchen bustler.

“I'll make James take me out for breakfast before he goes to work.” Again, not necessarily a lie. If I happened to run into James at the gym, I
would
wheedle him into taking me to breakfast. He'd expect it. And he, at least, was absentminded enough not to notice if I didn't drink coffee.

I snapped the lid on and pretended to take a sip.
Gah.
One tiny taste and I had to fight my impulse to drain it dry.

What the hell are you doing, Ciel? This is stupid. You can't possibly be
 …

I lifted the mug again, determined to take a real sip. Because, now that I considered it in the light of day, there was no way I was pregnant.

Yeah, but what if?
the troublemaking little fearmonger in my head said.
And think of all the coffee you've had in the past few months. The Big Guy Upstairs can't hold you responsible for what you drank before you knew, but …

I tore the mug away from my mouth. Coughed to cover the jerky motion. Big mistake to cough around Mom. Her hand was on my forehead before I could inhale.

“Are you coming down with something? Should you go back to bed? You do look kind of peaky—have you been getting enough rest? Maybe I should call the doctor.”

“No! Mom, I'm fine. I, um, swallowed wrong. Relax, okay?”

“Open your mouth. I want to look at your tonsils.” She stood eye to eye with me (she's short, like me), pinched my chin, and tugged my mouth open.

I dutifully stuck my tongue out at her. I'd learned from long experience it was faster to let her examine me and get it over with. Besides, it was the only time I could get away with sticking my tongue out at her without her calling down the wrath of God on me. Not seeing anything to alarm her in my mouth, she double-checked for fever on both sides of my neck. Finally, she seemed satisfied.

“Okay, then. Remember, sweetie, breathe first, then swallow. It never works well when you try to do it at the same time”—she raised one eyebrow at me—“no matter how big a hurry you're in.”

“Yeah, yeah. Got it.” I
was
in a hurry, so I didn't take time to give her an exaggerated eye roll. “See you guys later,” I called over my shoulder.

“You be careful! Do you need money for a taxi?” Mom hollered after me.

I waited until the door was safely closed behind me to roll my eyes.

*   *   *

As it happened, I had plenty of money for a taxi. Sure, only because Billy had pulled me aside and slipped a roll of twenties into my pocket before he'd left the evening before, but whatever. When I'd told him I didn't need it, he'd asked me how much cash I had on me. Checking, I'd been forced to admit I was down to seventy-three cents and a fuzzy Life Saver.

“But I
have
plenty,” I'd told him. “Really. As soon as I get to an ATM.”

“Ciel, I don't want you going anyplace without ready cab money in your pocket. You never know when you might need to get somewhere—or
away
from somewhere—fast.”

“Cabs take plastic nowadays, you know. And I almost never forget my credit card anymore,” I'd pointed out.

“Very good, sweetheart. I'm proud of you”—I'd stepped on his toes; he'd only grinned, because he was wearing heavy hiking boots—“but it's easier to bribe them with cash. You know, in case you want to go somewhere they don't want to take you.”

Before I could argue further, he'd kissed me goodnight, and then I hadn't felt like arguing anymore. His kisses tended to have that effect on me, which might have annoyed me more if I couldn't tell they had the same effect on him.

Within a block, I was awfully glad for the extra cash in my pocket, because I
had
forgotten my wallet (sue me, I had a lot on my mind), and I was starting to get the creepy feeling someone might be following me.

An SUV I didn't recognize, parked across the street from my parents' house, had started up right as I reached the sidewalk, and had made a U-turn, so it was heading the same direction I was. Could be a coincidence—maybe somebody happened to be leaving at the same moment I was—but it was traveling pretty slowly.

I picked up my pace. When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw the driver was looking at his phone. Probably checking directions, or maybe texting. If Mom saw him, she'd give him holy hell for not keeping his eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel.

I was even more reassured when the glow of a streetlight caught his face and I saw it wasn't Loughlin. Hadn't even realized I'd been holding my breath until then. Still, I hurried to the cross street—a major road where you could always find a taxi this time of morning. It didn't take long for one to stop for me. The driver wasn't thrilled with the address I gave him—he would have preferred a longer fare—but jollied up fast enough when I assured him I was a good tipper.

Once we were moving, I peeked out the back window. The SUV was two cars behind us. It was a common model, but I recognized the driver's haircut, so it had to be him.

Calm down, Ciel. Stop being so twitchy. Lots of cars go this way. Just because someone is behind you doesn't mean he's following you.

Unless, of course, he stayed behind you all the way to the relatively obscure gym you were going to, and held up traffic in his lane while he watched you leave your taxi and walk into the building, staring at you the whole time he was talking to someone on his cell phone. Then, I hazarded a guess, he was probably following you.

 

Chapter 8

Okay, I thought later, while I was beating the shit out of a heavy bag. The guy definitely hadn't been Loughlin. Might be connected somehow, might not. For all I knew, he was some pervert who got his jollies following women, seeing if he could get them to react. Kind of like catcalling, only without words.

Creepy? For sure. Dangerous? Hard to say. I'd mention it to Billy or Mark later, and see what they thought. There was no point in bothering them this early, not when I was now safely in a gym surrounded by well-muscled witnesses.

I hit the bag with a rapid-fire barrage of punches. My form no doubt sucked—it was my first time wearing boxing gloves—but it was a great release all the same. The nice old man with the battered face at the desk up front had been unpacking some new youth gloves when I'd arrived. I admired their bright green color, and jokingly said something about how they must make you feel as powerful as the Hulk when you wore them. He'd laughed, and told me I should try them and see.

He didn't know it yet, but he'd made a sale. I did feel rather Hulk-like when I lit into the bag. Like I said,
great
release. Plus, as I'd suspected, a hell of lot more fun than wondering if I was pregnant. Time to figure that out later.

I felt a warm hand on my bicep and reacted without thinking, twisting my torso and aiming up by instinct, connecting with the face before I could stop myself. He fell backward, landing on his butt, cradling his jaw with one hand.

I'd never seen Mark look quite so surprised.

I sank down beside him, reaching for his face with both hands. He flinched away from the gloves, understandably leery.

“Crap.” I untied my right glove using my teeth, wedged it under my arm, and yanked my hand out. “I didn't know it was you. I am so sorry!” I pulled the glove off my other hand.

He pushed himself up to a steadier position. “My fault, Howdy. I shouldn't have tried to adjust your form without telling you first. Good reflexes, by the way.”

I blushed at his praise, as usual. “Thanks. What are you doing here, anyway? James never told me you came to his gym.”

“I don't. One of my guys told me you were here.”

“How did he—wait, did you have somebody watching Mom and Dad's house? Was that who was following me?”

“Yeah. Obviously, he didn't do a great job of it if you spotted him. My fault. I told him to watch out for anything odd around the house, but not to be stealthy about it. When you left so early, he decided he better see where you were going. Once he reported to me, he went back to watching the house.”

“But why?”

“Billy insisted. Said he wouldn't leave you there unless I put men on the house.”

That made me feel all warm inside, and kind of pissed off at the same time. “You think it might have been nice to tell me? You know, so I don't get the freaking shit scared out of me when a strange man follows me around?”

Mark smiled. It was sort of lopsided, because the left side of his face was getting puffy. “I told your dad while you were saying good-bye to Billy. I guess you didn't hear.” There was a rueful look in Mark's eyes, which made me remember every second of Billy's good-bye kiss. Yeah, it was safe to say I hadn't heard anything. “The guy made you a little jumpy, I take it?”

No wonder Mom and Dad hadn't made more of a fuss when I left the house on my own. I huffed a wry laugh. “Tiny bit.”

“Think it might have been a good idea to call Billy or me if you were worried?” he said, sounding a tad perturbed.

“I was here by then. Presumably safe. Didn't want to disturb your beauty sleep.”

He looked around the training room. All the gym rats had paused their various workout activities to stare at us, probably trying to decide which of us required assistance. Mark waved them off, indicating he was fine.

“So, why are you here, Howdy? Isn't this a little out of your usual New York routine?”

I sat back, wrapping my arms loosely around my knees. “Had to get out of the house. You know how crazy Mom gets around the holidays. This year she's positively manic. I needed some breathing space.”

His eyes sharpened, delving beneath the words, as usual. “You're happy about the baby, aren't you? I know Thomas is thrilled, and so is Laura.”

My breath caught when he said the word “baby.” Stupid, I know. “Sure I am,” I said breezily. “I'm as thrilled as they are. Hey, I'm gonna be an aunt”—please, God,
only
an aunt—“to what will no doubt be the most gifted child ever born. According to Thomas, anyway. What's not to be thrilled about?”

Mark cocked his head, still absently rubbing his jaw, looking like he wanted to ask more but wasn't sure he should. Ultimately, he stood and reached down to give me a hand up. “So, are you meeting James here?”

I grinned, happy to get off the baby topic. “Damn, I sure hope so. Otherwise I lied to Mom, and you know that never works out well—never mind, here comes reprieve.”

James joined us, looking fit and trim in his stylish workout clothes. His boyfriend, Devon the Gorgeous, must have bought them for him, because James normally didn't care what he wore, as long as it was functional, comfortable, and reasonably appropriate to the occasion. He steadfastly claimed not all gay men were fashionistas.

“Fancy meeting the two of you here. Thinking of switching teams, Mark?” he said, teasing.

Mark laughed, a pleasant rumble no one heard often enough. “Afraid not. I'm trying to keep tabs on your sister.”

I looked around, for the first time noticing the predominance of supremely—one might go as far as to say scrupulously—fit men. “Geez, my gaydar sucks,” I muttered.

James caught it, and whispered, “Don't worry, sis. I don't think you need it.” And was that a wink? My normally staid brother was loosening up. Go, Devon!

“So,” James continued, “Mom called to make sure I didn't ‘forget' about our date. She seems to be under the impression I am the proverbial absentminded professor.”

“Well, if the proverbial shoe fits…” I said.

He lifted an eyebrow very similar to the one our mother had lifted at me earlier. “Be that as it may, I'm fairly certain we did
not
, in fact, have a date to meet here this morning.”

“You didn't tell Mom, did you?”

“I did not.”

I hugged him, throwing my arms around his neck, and kissing his cheek for good measure. “Did I ever tell you you're my favorite brother?”