Pas de Deux: Part Two (A Cross and Pointe Novel Book 2) (9 page)

“I wanna show you my steps,” Jenny said, tugging on Sammi's hand.

“Jenny, sweetie, Sammi just got here,” Melody said gently to her daughter. “Why don't we let her get comfortable first?”

“I wanna show her my shoes.” Jenny looked at her mother. “Please?”

Melody sighed. “Fine. Go get your shoes.” The little girl ran into the house.

“Sorry about that.” Melody chuckled and shook her head. “She can be a little pushy.”

“She's adorable.” Sammi smiled. “I have a couple of nieces that are getting into dance a little, too. I love seeing new dancers.”

“Killy says you teach ballet,” Esther said.

“At the Community Rec Center,” Sammi replied with a nod. “Hoping to open my own studio one day.”

“Well, when you do, let me know. I think I have someone who would love to be your first pupil,” Melody said.

“Boys,” Esther called to her son and grandson. “Come on, let's eat.”

Any nervousness Sammi felt about meeting his family evaporated as Esther took her arm. “So glad you're here, hon.” She patted Sammi's hand. “It's been a long time since Killy brought a girl home. I know you must be special.”

Sammi's heart soared as she watched Cillian stride across the lawn, carrying his nephew in a fireman's hold. “He's pretty special to me, too.”

She smiled as she watched him flip Christopher around in his arms, but the grin he aimed at his nephew didn't reach his eyes, and his face was pale, his brows drawn together. For the first time that day, she noticed dark circles beneath his eyes.

Special...and hurt.

There was a large round patio table with an attached umbrella and enough chairs for everyone to sit comfortably beneath it. Max settled under the table, panting but eyes alert, waiting for a sneaky, kind hand to drop a piece of chicken or steak.

Sammi glanced around, taking in the idyllic, beautiful day, the spacious backyard of a beautiful home in a nice suburb, the two spunky young children, the playful dog. For an instant, she missed her loud, brash family crammed into a too-small apartment, overwhelming a dining table that was meant for eight but used for a dozen, and felt a tiny pang. She didn't belong here. These people were foreign. Strangers.

But then she caught Cillian's eye across the lawn, where he stood next to his father at the grill, holding a platter onto which Murphy piled chicken, steak, and hot dogs. His pewter eyes gleamed at her with understanding. The corner of his mouth lifted into his familiar one-sided smile, and relief instantly washed over her, the way cool water soothed an oven burn during those first precarious seconds.

I'm safe here. Safe with him.

A gentle hand on her back startled her from Cillian's gaze. Esther offered her a smile, her eyes—identical to Cillian's—reflecting the same look of kind understanding.

Does she know? Did he tell her about me?

“Hungry, dear?” Esther handed her a plate, and not a paper one, like her family would have used for a cookout. She gestured toward the grill and the table next to it that had been laden with sides. “Guests first. Go ahead.”

Sammi filled her plate with grilled chicken, potato salad, macaroni salad, baked beans, and a fluffy roll and sat down in a seat that allowed the sun to warm her back. Cillian sat down next to her, carelessly brushing his lips against her temple before diving into his plate.

Esther, Murphy, and Melody asked her a few questions, interested in the café, her dance background, her family. They didn't ask much else.

Because they already know about me? Because they're not pushy and nosy like my family?

Murphy regaled her with funny stories from his Army days, and stories from when Cillian and Melody were children.

“...so I come home, and this old oak bookshelf that'd been in my family for, I dunno, a thousand years, is on the floor. Everything breakable on it is broke, and these two are nowhere to be found.” Murphy held up his hands and looked around in bewilderment. “I'm thinkin' someone broke into the house, so I get my revolver and I go room to room, just knowin' I'm gonna find this bastard.”

“Language,” Esther said gently.

Sammi suppressed a giggle.
Maybe our families aren't that different after all.

“Sorry, sweetness. So, by this point, I've turned the house over twice, can't find the kids, but nothin' else seems to be missing. I'm about to call the cops when I hear this loud noise on the roof.” Murphy pointed his finger straight up. “The bast—the thief is on the roof! So I run outside, grab my ladder.”

“Still got the revolver?” Sammi asked, chuckling.

“You bet. Still got the revolver, and climbin' up a ladder one-handed is not real easy. I get up there, and who do I see? These two.” He waved a finger between Cillian and Melody. “I'm thinkin' whoever broke in put 'em on the roof, for some reason. But then Mel bursts into tears and says, 'Daddy, Killy made me do it!'“

“He
did
,” Melody insisted, reaching for her glass of lemonade.

Cillian only rolled his eyes and grinned.

“Apparently, Cillian decided he wanted to be the next Batman and that the Ronan house needed saving. But before he could jump from the bookshelf, he needed to make sure it was safe, so he sent Robin in first.”

Sammi stared at Cillian, and he shrugged, still grinning. “I wasn't a
stupid
ten-year-old.”

She tilted her head back and laughed. “You guys were bad.”

“All his fault,” Melody said. “He was the ringleader.”

“I was the smart one. I made you jump first, didn't I?”

Everyone laughed and Melody stuck her tongue out, as if they were kids again.

They stayed for another hour, until the sun sank below the horizon and the sky turned velvety dark blue. At the front door, Esther looped her arm through Sammi's.

“You come back and see us again soon.”

Sammi smiled. “I'd love to. Thank you so much for having me.”

“You're very welcome. And thank you and your mother for the delicious cookies. It was so lovely to meet you.” She winked at Cillian. “I think I like her better than you, son.”

Cillian smirked at Sammi as he leaned in to peck Esther on the cheek. “Don't blame you, Ma.”

When they were in the truck and heading back toward the North End, Cillian reached over and took her hand.

“Hope they weren't too crazy.”

Sammi laughed. “Compared to my family? No. They're great, Cillian.”

The wide grin she got in return took her by surprise because she rarely saw a full-mouthed smile from him, and for a minute she was lost in how beautiful it was.

“Good.” He squeezed her hand, his voice soft and low. “Because I'm pretty sure they love you now.”

What about you?

The thought burst into her mind, unbidden.
Don't know where the hell that came from.
The idea of love made her so uncomfortable, she shoved it out of her mind and changed the subject.

“Are you feeling better?”

“What do you mean?”

“Earlier this afternoon, when you picked me up. You seemed sad.”

“Oh.” He shifted his weight and the grip on her hand slackened a little. “Uh. Yeah. I'm cool.”

Sammi leaned her head back, staring at his profile. “Do you trust me?”

He glanced over at her, startled. “Of course I do.”

“Then why aren't you telling me the truth?”

Cillian sighed. He was silent for a long time, his eyes fixed on the road. Sammi had all but given up when he finally spoke. “Today's...kinda hard for me. Me and the guys.”

“Your Army buddies?”

He nodded. “A year ago today...Lee killed himself.”

Suddenly Sammi remembered the night at the gym at the end of April, when Cillian had been featured on ESPN. The announcers had shown Lee's picture and mentioned that it had been almost a year since his suicide.

“Oh. Cillian—I'm so sorry.”

“I'm all right.”

“Are you?” She watched his jaw tense and clench, hoping she wasn't pushing it.

After another long beat of silence, he shook his head. “No. I guess...I'm not.”

“You don't have to be all right.”

Cillian shrugged. “Gotta move on at some point. Can't live in that day forever, when we found...the truck.”

“No, you can't live there forever, but you have to give yourself some time. It's been a year to the day—it hasn't been that long.” Sammi chewed her lip. “Have you talked to his family? How are they doing?”

Again, Cillian was silent for a long time before he slowly shook his head. “No. I haven't talked to them since the funeral.”

Sammi drew her head back. “Why? I thought you were all really close—”

“We are. We were. I just—I can't face them. It's too hard...” He broke off and cleared his throat. “Too hard to look them in the eye when it's...it's my fault he's gone.”

“Cillian...”

“Sammi, uh, don't take this the wrong way, but can we change the subject?” His voice sounded heavy, thick, as though his throat was tight. “Sorry. I don't mean to be rude, but I can't—”

“It's okay,” she hurried to say. “I didn't mean to pry. I just—you can talk to me. Okay?”

“I know.”

“Can I say just one more thing about it?”

“Of course you can.”

“It might help to be around his family again,” she said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “It might help to know that they don't blame you for anything. And, you never know. They might really need you guys—his closest friends, the guys that were there for...everything.” She watched him closely. “That's—that's all.”

He bobbed his head. “I'll keep that in mind.”

They lapsed into silence for the rest of the drive, but his hand stayed in hers.

When they pulled up in front of her apartment, Sammi wondered if she ought to say goodnight here. But he gently extracted his hand from hers and unlatched his seatbelt.

“Walk you to your door. C'mon.”

She hopped out after him. The happy, comfortable glow in her chest from the afternoon spent with his family dissipated; the weight of his heavy sadness bore down on her like cement.

Sammi trailed behind him, wrapping her arms around herself as she stared at his back. His shoulders were hunched and his head drooped as though he were staring down at his feet. Her heart ached for him.

At her door, he stood back with his hands in his pockets as she dug out her keys. She glanced up at him and reached out to put a hand on his arm.

“Come inside?”

He lifted his eyes from the floor to her. “If you want me to. I'm not really great company right now.”

“I don't mind,” she whispered. She tugged gently on his hand.

Inside, she led him down the hall to her bedroom. Rocky mewled at them from his spot near the foot of her bed, and as if sensing their need for privacy, jumped off and scampered out of the room.

Sammi pulled Cillian onto the bed with her. He lay on his side facing her, and she lifted his arm to scoot beneath it, nestling against his chest. She slipped her arm around him and stroked the length of his back with her fingertips. Every time he did that to her, it was immensely relaxing and calming, and she hoped it would have the same effect on him.

She had no idea how long she kept it up, but she could feel the tension leaving his body. “Sleeping?” she whispered as quietly as possible, in case he actually was.

“No. Just enjoying your touch.”

Sammi slid her fingers up his back, over his shoulder, to his face. “You always relax me when you do this.” She traced her fingertips over his cheekbones, the slope of his nose, across his forehead. His lips.

When the pad of her thumb slipped across his bottom lip with the lightest touch possible, he took her hand to hold it there, his lips pursing against it.

“You're relaxing me. Thanks.”

He tilted his head down to kiss her forehead, and then it was his turn to stroke her back, her arms, her face. He leaned forward and pulled her against him at the same time until she could feel his breath tickle her lips.

“Sam...”

“Yeah?”

“I need you.”

She barely had time to react when his lips brushed hers, urgency making his movements a little less gentle than he normally was with her, but she wrapped her arm around his shoulders and her leg around his waist, holding him as close as possible, and kissed him back with as much fervor as she could muster.

“I'm right here,” she whispered raggedly. “I'm not going anywhere.”

He slipped his tongue into against hers as his hand went into her hair, and she gripped his T-shirt tightly as she tried to keep up with his hungry kisses. His lips were quick and hot, not slow and deliberate the way they usually were. The change in him frightened her a little, exhilarated her a lot.

And she knew, no matter how different this was right now, he wouldn't hurt her.

Cillian's fingers untangled from her hair and slid down her side and over the front of her hips. He pulled away from her long enough to brush his fingers over the button and zipper of her shorts. Then he stopped.

“Am I goin' too fast?” he asked, his breath heavy, voice gruff. “I'm—I should back off.”

“No. Y-you don't have to.”