Never Been Kissed (10 page)

“More than twelve hours ago.”

Oh. Days were slipping right by her. For some reason that made her nervous.

“Kate?”

“After.”

Grimly she bit into the toast, it was dry in her throat but her stomach loosened and growled its approval.

“You want more?” he asked, his eyebrow lifted.

“No. You going to sit there and watch me eat?”

“I am.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall.

“So who were Ed and Linda?”

“The couple who adopted me.”

That … that was actually personal information.

“You were adopted?”

“Lots of people are.”

“Was your brother adopted, too?”

“Nope.” He took the plate from her, the empty triangles of her crusts sitting among crumbs.

“Were you—”

“Ashley,” he interrupted, and held out his other hand, the Percocet in it.

“You would rather drug me than talk about your family?”

“I would rather you not be in pain.”

Reaching for it, she winced. The ache in her ribs was deep.

“Your ribs?”

She nodded.

“Let me look,” he asked.

“You’ve looked enough. Let me have the phone.”

Those dark eyes were unreadable, the color of a muddy river iced over.

Despite the sting in her arm, she held out her hand and he pulled the phone from his back pocket, but didn’t give it to her.

“You’re pissing me off, Brody.”

That made his lip lift for just a moment, not enough to cause laugh lines or melt the icy river in his eyes, but it was an emotion.

“It would be better for you if she didn’t mention your
name at the press conference. You want to lie low. If she mentions your name, everyone—not just your mom—will be looking for you.”

“Give me the phone,” she said, not wanting to have to make a deal with Kate. She just wanted to hear her friend’s voice. Know she was okay, close the door on the awful nightmare they had been through.

Brody pressed call on his phone and handed it to her.

She grabbed it and, unable to thank him, unable to do so many things at once, just turned away, listening to the ring of the phone.

Brody made his way around the bed and out the door, which he left cracked. She wished she had the strength and mobility to use her foot to kick it shut, but she didn’t.

“Hullo?” The sound of her friend’s voice, the South London accent, was like getting punched in the gut. Breathtaking and painful. Tears flooded Ashley’s eyes. “Hullo? Who is this?”

“Kate,” she breathed and then pushed her fingers to her mouth to stop herself from sobbing.

“Ashley? Oh my God, Ashley, is that you? Is that—”

“It’s me,” she whispered and the pain in her body was all such a distant echo compared to the relief that flooded her. It was cataclysmic and she felt herself losing control. Crying, laughing, grief and happiness—it was all a mess inside of her.

“When did you get out?” Ashley asked.

“Five … I think five days ago.”

“Same …”

“I saw … I saw him hit you with the rifle. I saw you fall and … there was blood. He was kicking you, Ashley. I swear, I thought he was going to kill you.” Kate stopped and Ashley could hear her breathing. Not crying. Kate wasn’t a crier, even when kidnapped by Somali pirates. But she did this thing, this deep panicky breathing thing, and Ashley just couldn’t stand to listen to her distress.

“I’m fine. I am. I have a concussion and some bruises. But I’m fine. My brother got me out.”

There was movement out of the corner of her eye and she saw Brody in the kitchen, putting the futon back. Cleaning up the small mess. He could hear her, she was sure of it, but he pretended like he couldn’t. And she had to look away, her body too full of everything to cram in any more gratitude.

“Where are you?” she asked Kate.

“London. With my parents. They … they were able to pay the ransom.”

Ashley knew she shouldn’t ask, that Kate with her pride, her tough background, she wouldn’t want to be asked. But for three weeks, three torturous weeks Kate had been sure there was no way her parents would get the money.

And there had been no way for Ashley to tell her own family to ransom Kate with her. Ashley had thought she’d have to first get free herself and then turn around and ransom Kate, leaving her in that camp for who knows how long.

“How did they get the money?” she asked and there was a long pause.

“They sold the house. The car. Mom’s parents’ land up in Scotland.”

“I’ll pay them back,” Ashley said in a rush, ashamed and grateful for her wealth all at the same time. “Just tell me how much and I will—”

“It’s … it’s okay, Ashley. We’ve got it sorted. I’m being paid a lot of money to do … to do this press conference and there’s talk of a book.”

“Kate,” she sighed, trying not to sound like she was judging her friend when her back was against the wall, but she was. And it was awful.

“I don’t have a choice, Ash,” she snapped. “They sold everything, the house, furniture, all Mum’s jewelry. They
emptied their pensions, asked Aunt Norma for money. They … we … have nothing. Those pirates—”

“I get it,” Ashley rushed in to say, to relieve her friend of the extra guilt she’d just saddled her with. “You need to take care of your family. It’s the right thing to do.”

“I’m sorry. I am.”

“Can you …” Ashley stared over at the corner, at the heart of cracks, knowing the answer before she even asked the question. “Can you not mention me?”

Kate exhaled on a loud sigh and then Ashley heard a hitch. And then another one.

Kate was crying.

“Shhh,” Ashley whispered as tears ran down her cheeks and over her lips. “Shhh, Kate, it’s okay. You do what you have to, honey. You do what you have to.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Ashley, but the money, it’s more than you can pay me. And my parents … they’re so proud. My aunt—I have to take care of them all now.”

“I know. I get it. Go ahead.” Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, she thought. Or, more likely, her mother would handle the fallout, make it all disappear in that way she had. Ashley chose to believe that instead of the other options. “When is the press conference?”

“Monday morning. Nine-thirty.”

Monday morning. That would mean it would be on at three-thirty local time.

Ashley was suddenly drained. Exhausted, and the pain medication made the world wobble. “I … I’m hanging up now, but I’ll call you again. After.”

“Don’t watch, Ashley. Please don’t watch. Don’t relive it. Yeri. All of it. Don’t watch.”

“And not see your face?” she asked, and a sob tore up from her throat. “I need to see your face, Kate. I need to see you.”

“Okay. Okay.” And again, Kate was calming her down.

Ashley whispered goodbye, feeling herself falling sideways, or at least imagining it, and suddenly there was Brody. Easing her into bed. Touching her so carefully she barely felt it.

“Press conference,” she told him.

“I know.”

“I want to watch.”

His face was grim, all that darkness in his eyes, in his expression, and she imagined, floating away on this cloud of pain medication that the darkness was in him, trapped. Always looking for a way out.

“Okay.” He straightened as if to leave and she grabbed his arm, missed but caught the edge of his T-shirt.

“Why did you do that?” she whispered. “Get Kate’s number?”

“Because you need to care about something,” he told her. He pulled her hand from his shirt and gave it a little squeeze before setting it down on the bed.

So do you,
she thought, watching him leave.

Friday afternoon, a few hours after talking to his brother on the roof, Sean found himself back in Cora’s and trying, like he always did, not to be impressed. But Cora’s Café was designed to impress. It managed to be both retro and modern. Cool and friendly. The cherry-red vinyl benches and stools were surrounded by gleaming chrome. The chrome was so shiny, he imagined Cora there nightly, toothbrush in hand, scrubbing away anything that might make her restaurant less perfect.

White tiles on the floors, a rotating pie case displaying Cora’s best work, and a red rug in front of the old wooden cash register, that with her magic she managed to make work.

Three o’clock in the afternoon and it was busy. He’d never been in Cora’s when there weren’t at least a few booths full.

Cora herself stood at the cash register, smiling and pouring coffee and looking like she didn’t stay up all night polishing her chrome or plotting how to make every other business in town look average and ordinary by comparison.

Her brown skin was clear and flushed, her smile wide and bright. She didn’t look stressed about vendors, or paying taxes or employee insurance. Probably because every time she turned around there was some kind of review in a big deal magazine saying she was the second coming of southern cuisine.

He was really fucking jealous.

Like nearly out of control with it.

It made his teeth hurt.

If his mom were alive she’d say he was being ugly. And he was.

He was totally aware that he was a hypocrite and an asshole, but every time he walked in the door and that damn bell rang, his stomach curdled.

You’re a dick,
he told himself, getting in line at the cash register.
She works hard, she’s got crazy talent, and she’s good for this town.

“Well, well,” she said when it was his turn at the counter. “Back already?”

But then she talked like
that
to him.

When he was a kid, half the fights he started and Brody had to finish were because someone was being condescending. And Cora was the reigning queen of condescension.

I’m not stupid,
he wanted to tell her.
I’m just running a mediocre business.

“What can I say, Cora, you’ve ruined me for other women.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but backed off with the tone. She didn’t like flirting, at least not with him, and he didn’t see her do it with anyone else, so of course he flirted like crazy with her.

“You want coffee?” she asked, pulling down one of her bio-organic made-out-of-fairy-tears paper to-go cups that cost probably seven bucks a pop.

She was wearing one of her head scarves today, some green wild thing that covered her short natural curls and made her light brown eyes look nice. Well, for everyone else in town she had nice eyes. For him, daggers.

She wore dangly hoop earrings and a pink T-shirt that said Life Is Short, Have Pie for Breakfast.

“No, actually.” He leaned closer so he didn’t broadcast
to the whole place that he needed food for his brother. But when he moved toward her she leaned away.

“Christ, Cora, I’m not going to bite you.”

“I don’t know that. You’re an unnatural man, Sean Baxter.”

He blew out a long breath. “You know, if you weren’t the only decent restaurant in town I wouldn’t step foot in here,” he told her.

“Which is just one more reason we need a few more good restaurants in town.” She crossed her arms over her chest and arched an imperial eyebrow at him. God, he longed to open his BBQ place and blow her out of the water. It was honestly one of his favorite daydreams.

Until then, he needed her.

“I need some takeout. Some meals.”

“Why are you whispering?” she asked, not whispering at all.

Fuck it. “Do you have a bunch of chili or something I can take?”

“Oh no, I heard about your chili night and you are not taking my chili and trying to pass it off as something you made.”

“It’s not for the bar.”

She blinked. “Your dad?”

“Sure, my dad,” he lied, because that was sure to just shut her up.

Cora never pulled his family into their fight. It’s like she had this boundary that she wouldn’t cross. Family wasn’t to be touched. When he came in with Ed, she treated the old man like a king, even managed to keep her attitude toward Sean under control.

The fact that he knew nothing about her family made things lopsided, but he was glad for the rules of engagement.

Otherwise they might be screaming at each other in her café every morning.

“Okay, how many servings you want?”

“Four and cornbread?”

“I can give you half a pan.”

“Salad?”

“Salad!” She laughed. “When have you or your father ever eaten salad?”

“I’m all kinds of surprising, Cora.”

She huffed and hit some buttons on her cash register. “Twenty-five should cover it.”

“That doesn’t even cover the chili,” he said, getting angry. If this was charity, then she could screw those unsaid boundaries between them—

“Tell your brother I said hello,” she whispered, her voice so low no one but Sean could hear her.

“What?” he asked, playing dumb for a second.

“The salad gave you away.”

Silent, he handed her the money. It knocked him off balance when she changed the rules and was
nice.

I can do this,
Ashley told herself, sitting on the side of her bed. She was done with the depression. The little pity-party. It was time to pull herself out of the hole the pirates had put her in and get on with her life.

“Ashley,” Brody said from the door. “The water is running. You ready?”

“Yes.” It was two o’clock on Monday morning and she was going to take a bath before watching the news conference. She was ready for that bath. Excited about it.

But somehow she didn’t get off the bed. She couldn’t.

“Why is this so hard?” she asked.

“It’s the concussion,” he said.

Outside the small window, it was dark. The room was covered in shadows so it took a moment to find him, there beside the door in a gray T-shirt.

“You speak from experience?”

“I’ve had my bell rung a few times.”

Bell rung. The words didn’t come close to describing her condition. She felt like she’d been dipped in cement. Her head weighed a thousand pounds.

“You know, I once stood down armed rebels who had taken over a Red Cross food distribution center.”

“I believe you did.” His mouth wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were.