Lost Wishes (8 page)

“I don’t know. It could’ve been anything. She forgot to eat, didn’t take her insulin, got stressed about something. Who knows with that kid.”

Her face pales. “Stress can cause it?”

“Yeah,” I say, watching her curl the hem of my shirt around her finger. “Why?”

“We were…ah…” her eyes lower to the floor “…talking about Hope.”

I stare at her bowed head. I get it now—she thinks it upset Twigs, caused the attack, and it just might have. I should respond, ease her conscience, but the words just won’t come out.

“Do I…” She clears her throat, lifts her head, and those beautiful blue eyes hook me. “Do I look like her?”

I rub the middle of my forehead and close my eyes. Damn that kid for doing this shit to me. “No.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that Twigs thought I was—”

I drop my hand, take a deep breath, and open my eyes but keep them fixed to the ceiling. “When her sugar gets too low, she gets delirious, confused, and sees shit. That’s all.”

“This has happened before?”

“Yeah, a few times.” I lower my head but keep looking straight ahead at the wall. “She’s a brittle diabetic, and you and her talking about…” I rush my fingers through my hair. Fuck, I haven’t spoken Hope’s name in years. “Well, like I said, it just happens.” I walk over to the sofa, pick up the monitor, and put it away in the kitchen.

In what world could I compare any woman to Hope? Hope with her dark hair, near black eyes, and soft pink smile. A people pleaser with a huge heart. Katie, the total opposite, fairer in appearance, and her kindness derived from some sort of admirable determination. Fuck! What am I doing? A simple no, Katie doesn’t look like Hope would’ve sufficed, asshole.

The walls start closing in on me, and all I want to do is walk out of the damn door. But when I hit the living room and my eyes land on Katie, I stop. She’s sitting in the chair, rubbing her hands over her face. Serves her right, she should’ve kept her nose out of my business and not discussed Hope with Twigs. I shouldn’t care if she blames herself for what happened to Twigs. I should just leave. But, motherfucker, I can’t.

I crouch down in front of her and place my palm on her thigh. Her hands still. She peers at me from just above the tips of her fingers. Again, my tongue forgets how to work. It’s those fucking eyes, I lose all sense of time, situation, and, hell, I even forget to breathe when I look at them.

She pushes the long blond strands of fallen hair back from her face, sets her hands on her lap, and looks at the hand I rest on her thigh. A strand falls from behind her ear. It cascades across her cheek. I reach up and slowly push it back. My fingers remain on her warm flesh. They glide down her neck, trace her necklace, and I pinch the small pendant.

“Did you lose her young?”

“She died giving birth to me,” she says in barely a whisper, eyes still trained on my hand.

“Your father raised you then?”

“My father fed me, clothed me, and he gave me shelter.”

I release the necklace, and with my knuckle, I lift her chin until our eyes meet. “He blamed you?”

She nods. “Early on in the pregnancy, my mother was warned of the risks if she carried me full-term. While she was giving birth to me, he begged the doctor to save her and not me. But from the beginning, my mother made her wishes clear to her doctor. If it came down to it, they were to save me.”

My jaw clenches. “She loved you.”

“I guess, but she must’ve loved him, too. She married him. I’m not sure why. He was a cold, heartless man. The second I graduated high school, I got out of his life.” She touches the pendant. “Before I left, he gave me this necklace. He told me that I took everything else from him, and I might as well take this, too.”

My thumb strokes her cheek. “Love does fucked-up things to people.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she smirks.

“You’ve never been in love?”

She shakes her head. And I’m not about to question her. With no mother around, a bastard for a father, who was there to show her how to love?

“My father was a drunk, and it got him killed when I was in my teens. My mother, cancer had got her a year before I lost…” Fuck, I don’t want to go to my dark place with this woman. Why am I telling her this shit anyway? I pull my hand from her cheek, stand up, and take a step back to clear the air between us.

“Twigs told me about the accident.” Her eyes follow me. “I’m sorry, Fallon.”

I gaze down at her. “You’re not to blame for what happened to Twigs today, what happened to your mother, or for what happened to my wife. So, you don’t get to apologize for any of it. The man who killed Hope…”  I waver as Hope’s name tumbles from my mouth. My hand balls into a fist, and I hold back the pain stabbing me in the chest. “That fucker’s been in jail for the past three years, and if he wasn’t, I’d be the one in jail doing twenty-to-life.”

Katie rises to her feet and steps toward me. My fist tightens. “He was drunk when he hit her?” Her hand lands on my arm, and I want to fall into her touch. Drop everything inside of me and let her catch it.

“Fuck.” I cram my fist into my wet jean pocket. “I gotta get out of here.” I shrug away from her and start for the door.

“Fallon, don’t go!” I hear her say just as the screen door slams shut behind me. And I’m almost free from Katie Rustle, her tender touch, and those I-wanna-save-you eyes until I spot Jenn’s headlights. Fuck! I forgot she was coming. She parks the car and gets out. I’m not about to leave Katie to deal with her. Twigs, that little thorn in my ass, is my problem. I gotta deal with it.

“Hey, Jenna,” I say with a flat smile.

She pulls her purse up over her shoulder, rushes over to me, her long black ponytail bouncing back and forth. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s sleeping. Come on in.” I turn around and tread back into the house with her. I close the door and tilt my head at the stowaway. “This is Katie. Katie, Jenna.”

“Hi, Jenna,” Katie says, and Jenna returns with a quick smile.

“She’s in my room, I’ll—”

“That’s all right.” Jenna holds up a hand. “I can get her. Just point me in the direction.”

“Down the hall, first door on the left.”

“Thanks.” She takes off after Twigs, leaving me alone with Katie.

But to my relief, Katie remains silent until Jenna comes back out with Twigs.

Swimming in one of my sweatshirts, Twigs rubs her eye and yawns as she shuffles over. “I’ll get your clothes back to you tomorrow,” she says to me then gives Katie a weary look. “Sorry, Katie.” She hangs her head low. “I didn’t mean to do that to ya.”

“Hey, I’m just glad you’re okay,” Katie says, and Twigs looks up and returns Katie’s smile. 

“Thanks again, Fallon.” Jenna ruffles Twigs’ hair. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

I nod to Jenna and wink at Twigs. “See ya, kid.”

“C-ya, Boatman.” She waves to me then Katie, just before Jenna and her take their leave.

The low creak of the screen door as it closes jolts me back to my fucked-up situation. How in the hell am I going to get out of here now? Katie tried to stop me before. She’s going to do it again. I stare at the door and watch the rain as it falls from the dark sky. I want to run through it and burrow myself into its darkness. Hell, it’s gotta be safer than staying here.

“Why don’t you go change into some dry clothes,” Katie says.

I don’t dare turn around to look at the obstacle standing behind me. Yeah, she’s behind me, but somehow she’s blocking me from my dark haven.

“I can’t stay.” I set my palm on the screen but don’t push. A part of me doesn’t want to go.

“Why? Because of what happened last night in the alley?” I hear her sigh. “Listen, it’s crazy, we hardly know each other, but I know you felt it, Fallon. Something’s going on here.”

She’s right; shit’s getting weird and uncomfortable. “Even if there is, you don’t get it.” I glance at her from over my shoulder. Fuck, she steals my breath. “I don’t want it. I have nothing to give you. The only thing I have to offer, all I can do is take you into my bedroom, tear those clothes off you, and fuck you. If you want that then babe, I’m all yours.”

“No!” Her lips thin and she shakes her head. “If you’d just talk to me, open up a little…”

“Open up,” I chuckle. This woman doesn’t get it. I turn around, tackle the two long strides it takes to get to her, and stop. “Believe me, if I was to
open up
, you’d find that there’s nothin’.” I hit my chest hard with a closed fist. “Absolutely fuckin’ nothin’,” I pound my chest again, “In. Here.”

“You’re wrong.” She grabs my fist and brings it back to my chest, just over my heart. “There’s a very small piece of me in here.” She covers my white knuckles with her small hand. “And I’m not gonna let you take me into that bedroom so you can fuck me out of your system.” Her eyes drift to my mouth. “And tomorrow,” she looks up and those blue irises mark me, “I’m going to leave here, and when I do, I’m leaving that piece of me with you. You can stay on this forsaken island with it, or you can come find me, open up, and together we can see if there’s any more room inside of you for me.”

Chapter Ten

Katie

Fallon peers down at me from heavy lids. Stomach tight, I stand and wait. I said too much. I played the feelings card, but I’m not picking up the deck, not yet. As he told Twigs, this is the hand life dealt us, and now we both have to deal with it.

Taking a deep breath, I search for strength but find none down at the floor. I want him to sweep me off my feet and carry me into his bedroom. I want him to fuck me. God, how I want that, but I don’t want it to end there. I want more. If I surrender and have sex with him, game over. Sex comes easily to him. But I don’t want him satisfied. I want to touch him in another way, one that’ll leave him wanting more, too.

“Now,” I swallow hard, ready to confront the damaged man before me, “let’s get you out of this wet thing.” I grab the bottom of his shirt with trembling fingers and start to tug it up. Jaw clenched, his cryptic eyes hold mine. But his arms lift and he allows me to pull the damp material from his body. “There,” I commend my effort, ball his shirt up, and toss it on the table. My eyes land on his tight abdomen. They edge up along every muscle rippling to his naked chest. It’s not as if I haven’t seen him without a shirt before because I have.

The difference now is that he’s exposed. I understand his ominous behavior, his coping mechanism, his need to push everyone away. His fear of feeling, of letting anyone in, or getting too close; it’s all a shield. He’s protecting himself from any further damage. The pain of losing Hope and their baby was obviously too much for him to bear. So, he’s built a fortress around the life he can’t leave behind.

Well, if I have anything to do with it, those walls are coming down, and when they do, whatever happens to us, happens. Right now, I just want to reach him, and show him that life is still going on around him.

Fallon’s heart might be tainted, but unlike my father, there’s still hope for him. Twigs is proof of that—he cares about her, and if he can open himself up for her then maybe he’s not a lost cause.

“All right.” He nods his head. “I get it, stowaway,” he says, voice low and full of presumption.  “You need to be in control. For the time being, I’m going to allow it.”

“You’ll allow it?” I snap from his chest to the ambush of his waiting eyes.

“Yes.” The word drifts with a sensual drawl from his mouth. He’s back to masking his emotions through sexual designs. “But I won’t give you what you really want,” one of his lips curls, “not until you ask for it. And I know you’re not the kind of woman who resigns to begging. So, when you are ready, you’re gonna demand that I take you. But let me warn you, when that time does come, I’ll have some demands of my own, and, babe, begging will be involved...” His chest rises then falls as he lightly brushes his knuckles across my shoulder. “But until then,” his fingers slide down my arm, “it’s okay,
Katie.” 
He takes my hand and presses my palm against his naked chest, the reddened flesh that he hit moments ago with his fist. “
You can touch me.”

I gaze up at him, our flesh existing as one. That need to help him, to save him from himself, shifts to the back of my mind. I’ve never wanted a man all for myself, to be mine, claimed for only me. It’s foolish and irrational. I scarcely know him, but in every way, I want him like that.

The corner of his mouth tilts upward. “And I’m not gonna act on those looks you keep tossing my way, either.” He bends down and places a single kiss on my forehead, and whispers, “For as long as you desire, I promise to behave.”

My lungs trap my next breath, and I can’t twang a word as he walks away and heads to his bedroom. He’s staying! There’s a victory dance definitely warranted here, but me, I stand immobilized by his declaration. He’s going to behave? A guy like Fallon O’Conner doesn’t know how to behave. And when he comes back into the living room a few minutes later in a clean tee and jeans, carrying a pillow and blanket, his declaration is about to be tested.

“What are you doing,” I ask.

“Getting my bed ready.” He throws the pillow and blanket on the sofa.

“You can’t sleep on that. It’s too small. You’ll wake up with a stiff neck.”

“I got a feeling that’s not the only thing that’s gonna be stiff,” he chuckles, unfolding the blanket.

“I thought you were gonna behave?”

He gives me a sideways glance. “Ah, I thought this was behaving. I’m sleeping on the fucking sofa, aren’t I?”

“You can sleep in the bed.”

“Sorry, stowaway.” He turns his back to me. “I can’t have you sleeping on this thing. My mother taught me some manners.” He fluffs the pillow.

“Oh, I wasn’t suggesting that I sleep out here,” I say, and the fluffing of the pillow stops. “You can sleep with me,” I swallow hard, knowing I’m going to regret it, “in the bed.” There, I said it.

His head tilts to me, followed by the slow survey of his dark eyes upon every inch of my body. “No fuckin’ way.”