The Other Brother (Snow and Ash Book 3) (23 page)

“You have to leave this house sometime.”

My stomach flutters. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Or not.

“Bianca!”

I tighten. My legs, my arms, my shoulders, everywhere. “I’m sorry. I just…”

She sighs. “Well, at least you’re talking. Some.”

Mom’s been allotted two full hours with me. I want nothing to do with the checkerboard, so she picks out a book, sits on the bed, and leans back against the wall. She reads to me. Not romance, nothing violent, just cheerful shorts from some Chicken Soup book. I lean against her. Her warmth is more important than any words. I don’t remember Mom ever letting me this close into her personal space. I must be really fucked up if she’s letting me droop all over her. But I need the contact. Without it, I become wh…

There’s a knock on the door, and then one of the soldiers that brought Mom pokes his head in. “Mrs. Mason, it’s time.”

Mom sighs, closes the book with a snap, and kisses the top of my head. I try not to wince. You’d think it’d be my scars, but it’s my hair that holds my shame. I never have to look at my back, but I see my face in the mirror every day. I don’t need to see the word carved into my flesh to know what I am.

I follow her into the living room. Mom’s just putting on her coat when the door knocker sounds.

It’s a neighbor. It’s a package delivery. It’s the lady across the street looking for her dog, if anyone still has a dog. I don’t dare hope it’s him, but my heart thrums and behind my back I squeeze my hands into fists. If it’s not him, the drop will come, and with Mom leaving, I’ll land hard.

Janice opens the door.

My lips part, and the sun ignites inside me. He’s here. He’s looking straight at me, and if I don’t do something now, I’ll give myself away. I turn slightly, try to hide the sick eagerness that poisons my judgment.

“Bianca.” Mom’s expression is serene. It’s her state face. She uses it, I know, to hide a lot. “Remember what we talked about.”

I fake lift the corners of my lips, and I nod. She kisses my cheek, and it’s a real kiss.

“Colonel.” She gives him a hard look.

In return he snaps a polite nod.

Mom leaves.

His eyes search out mine, and he takes in a deep breath. I’m mesmerized. My stomach drops and I feel like I could puke. Everything Mother said to me, all the things my head tells me are true crumble to ash. If he wanted me right now, I’d drop everything and go to him. I love him, have always loved him, and just as lead will always be lead, and gold will always be gold, my heart will always thrum for him. His scent will stroke my heart, and for the rest of my life I’ll feel the echo of his hand as it caressed the small of my back that final, beautiful night, just before I fell into darkness.

This is my sentence. This is my crazy.

He blinks several times and turns to Janice. “May I use your bathroom?”

Some sort of silent exchange passes between them, and she averts her eyes and frowns. “Sure. Be my guest.”

He brushes past me into the hall. I don’t move. I don’t look back. I count to seventy-eight before a subtle change in the air pressure tells me he’s returned.

He slides his hand across the small of my back, across the whore, and I tense.

He straightens and drops his hand. “Have you eaten?”

I look to the wall and shake my head.

“It’s okay.” He turns to Janice. “Is there anything for her?”

Janice winces. “She has trouble swallowing. I made oatmeal, but—”

“That’s not enough.”

She throws her hands wide. “I don’t know what else to do.”

He nods curtly as Janice disappears into the kitchen.

I’m dying. She can’t swallow. She needs to eat. She is pathetic. I’m so ashamed. God, what is wrong with me? What isn’t wrong with me?

Kent takes my hand, and my breath flutters. He tilts his head, at the same time slightly shrugging his shoulder. He tucks a stump of hair behind my ear and leads me to the bathroom. He stands behind me, his arms around mine, wrapping my body in his. Flutters of sweetness caress my core. For a moment I lean back and allow myself to feel him, all of him. My eyelids flicker shut, and my lips part as I bank this moment away. I don’t resist at all when he brings our hands together under the water. I watch as he lathers his own hands and then caresses the soap into mine. I’d close my eyes and let the sensation roll over me, but I can’t take my eyes off our bodies joined in the only way that’s left to me. His heart beats against my back, his breath warms my neck, and his hands make love to mine. When he steps back to dry us off, the mood shifts, and I feel as though I’ve fallen into a maze of concrete block.

Wordlessly he draws me toward the kitchen where Janice is just taking the kettle off the wood stove. “I wish I had some milk,” she says. “It’s hard to come by, but it would make it go down so much easier.”

Kent pulls out a chair and steps away, his hand resting on its back. I sit. I read a prompt in his eyes, and when I place my hands onto the table, his expression softens.

Janice ladles the oats into a bowl, drops in a spoon, and sets it in front of me.

“If you don’t mind, I need to get started on the washing. Will you be all right for an hour or so?”

Kent nods.

A thrill curls my toes. An hour.

He pulls a chair beside me and takes a seat, his legs spread wide as only a guy would do. His knees almost touch me, and I know if I move even a little bit, I’ll feel him. After a moment’s hesitation he draws the bowl in front of him, spoons up a dab of the sticky-looking mess, and holds it to my lips.

“Will you do this for me?” His voice is soft.

I open my mouth. The porridge is just as tacky as it looks, and although it’s not nearly as difficult as last night’s stew, I choke.

He strokes the side of my face. “You can do it, Bianca. Try.”

My eyes water with the effort, but I get it down. I’m breathing hard, and I palm my eyes. I’m so fucked up. How can he stand to look at me?

“No.” He captures my fingers and gently pulls them away. “Did I say you could lift your hands?”

His words free something inside me, and the magnetic exchange begins to flow. He spoons the tiniest nibbles into my mouth, and slowly I learn to let the stuff slide down my throat. Each time, he rewards me with reverence. I do this because he asks me to. I do it because it pleases him.

He mutters soft things at me like good girl and see, you’re doing it and it’s not so bad, is it? If he asked, I would walk to the moon and back.

“Look. You finished it.” He squeezes my hand. “I’m proud of you.”

He gets up from his chair, and the magic falls away. It’s all over, and my chest tightens. I can’t bear it.

“Bianca.”

He recaptures my hand and draws me to my feet.

“There are a couple things I’d like you to do for me.” He caresses my shoulders.

Anything. I’d do anything for him. I tell him so without a single word.

He smiles, but it’s sad, and the scars seem more pronounced than usual. I want to touch him, to heal him, but it’s not my place. That belongs to Ayden.

I blink. I retreat a step.

He seizes my chin. “Don’t look away.”

He’s gone military, and my training kicks in. My eyes snap to his, and his stern frown holds me hostage.

“I noticed your bed wasn’t made.”

I frown. “How…”

“When we were washing our hands. Your door was open.”

Oh.

“After I’m gone, I want you to go in there and make your bed. Hospital corners and crisp sheets. I don’t want Janice to see a single wrinkle. Can you do that?”

Make my bed? What for?

“Bianca?”

“Okay.” I blink like I’m returning from a fog. Only there is no fog, just tangled ropes of confusion.

“Will you stay away from knives? For me?”

I suck in my breath.

“Just until tomorrow, when I return.”

I bite my lip against a powerful surge of hope. He’s coming back. I nod.

He moves closer. He brushes his thumb over my lower lip. His pupils expand, and the sensuality in his expression rivets me. I think he’s going to say something, but then he looks away and when he comes back, kindness has replaced the intensity. I do my best to accept this, to be grateful. I know anything more is impossible. I’m crazy as fuck. I’m broken. He’s beaten me dead, and the ghost of it all will always stand between us. He needs a Letitia. He needs an Ayden. He doesn’t need…

The small of my back tingles with the ghost memory of his hand. It grows into a sting at the reminder of what I am.

He moves away. His smile is fond, no more. “It would please me if you were here for me tomorrow.”

In other words, don’t kill myself. He needn’t ask. There’s no possible way I can end it if I know he’ll come to me. Touch me. Give me crumbs to lick from the floor that I can hold against my heart and cherish. It’s embarrassing. No, mortifying. I’m a weak, tangled, fucked-up girl who belongs in a dog kennel. I don’t look at him. I choke on my own self-disgust. But I nod.

“You’ll be here for me?”

“I’ll be here.” Always.

I watch him get into the waiting car. I watch the door slam shut and the car back out the drive. Not until the car disappears around the corner does the drop come.

And it’s brutal.

I’m whore again. I’m nothing.

I nearly sag down onto the couch. I want to force myself into a long, hopefully dreamless sleep, but then my hands tingle and I remember how he folded me against him, intertwined my hands in his under the lukewarm water.

I promised.

I trudge back to my bedroom. The pillow at the head of the bed is all bunched up; another lies on the floor. The covers hang over the side.

But at the foot, folded crisply and dear, is a cherry-red cotton tank trimmed with matching lace, and a soft pair of plaid flannel bottoms.

I pick them up, careful not to disturb the folds, and gently place them on the dresser. I make hospital corners with the sheets and smooth them flat. I right the covers. I whip them straight and neat without a single wrinkle, and the dust ruffle peeks out precisely eight inches from the floor—no more, no less. I plump the pillows. When that’s done, and only when it’s perfect, I put his gift back where he left it.

It’ll be there tonight, waiting for me.

Tomorrow I’ll be waiting for him.

~ ~ ~

Janice pokes her head through the bathroom door. “Doing okay?”

I blush with my entire body and draw my knees to my chest. “Fine.”

“Okay.” Mercifully other than that one quick glance, she doesn’t look at me. “I’ll be just out here cleaning the baseboards if you need anything.”

I sit naked in three inches of lukewarm water. The tub is smaller than the one we had at the Mason house, so the water ration ordinarily would sit higher. Just not for me. The door remains open, and every few minutes Janice pokes her head in. I haven’t tried to kill myself recently, and it would be kind of hard to drown myself in what little water there is, but she’s still careful. Unlike at the Biltmore, there are no scents available to me, but homemade soap is fine. In fact it’s special. It’s the same piece that Kent used to lather his hands. He’s not due for another hour, if not more, and I lean back in the water. I run the bar under my arms, and I think about asking Janice to shave away the hair that’s accumulated. It’s embarrassingly long—well over two month’s growth. She’s nervous about sharp instruments, especially near me. So instead, I give myself a scrub and then run the soap over my breasts. I’ve lost my C’s. I’d be surprised if they’re even B’s. I’m thin, very thin, and no man would look at the ribs outlined through my skin with anything but disgust. Even if I gain a few pounds, fill out the way Kent liked me, I’ll never make any man proud again.

I lather my hands and scrub my crotch with no thought to anything but getting clean. I’m just setting the soap onto its holder when there’s a crash at the front door.

I let out a yelp and grip the sides of the tub. Wood splinters and angry male voices send my pulse racing.

Not again. Not again…I hyperventilate as I try to make sense of what I hear.

The front door crashes back against the wall.

“What are you doing?” Fear salts Janice’s voice. “Get out of my house!”

Old carpet muffles the thunk of heavy boots, but there’s no mistaking the crisp, authoritative sound of a soldier’s voice. “Where’s the girl?”

My chest heaves as I search the room for a place to hide. I fix on the cabinet under the sink. Is it big enough? Will they hear me if I move?

“You stay away from her!” Janice sounds like a frightened bird.

“Where is she? In there?”

“What’s wrong with you?” Janice demands. “She’s a little girl!”

Only seconds later the bathroom door smacks off the wall, and I shrink to the back of the tub.

“Get her,” one of them says, and three Barry uniforms converge on me. I scream, I swear to God, I scream, but I could call loud enough for General Balenchuk to hear me and it wouldn’t do me any good.

Janice hops onto the back of the one nearest to her. With a curse he peels her off and sends her flying.

One grabs my leg, another my arm, and together they drag me from the tub, naked and dripping, spewing a string of useless mews. The one with sergeant’s stripes on his sleeve seizes me by the neck and slams me against the wall. My head bounces off the plaster, and my feet don’t even reach the ground. I choke.

“You ugly cunt.” He’s so close that bits of his spit land on my cheek. “You just couldn’t listen.”

Nico. Oh God. Or was it Ayden? Lord, please, not Kent. Despair swallows me, and I try to find the trees, but the only one I find is one buried deep in snow with a big fat trunk and a bit of root sticking up through the snow. It smells like blood.

“God-fucking-damn it!”

Abruptly the pressure against my throat falls away, and I drop to the floor. I land on my side just as the sergeant is smashed, face-first, into the ceramic tile. I lie nearby gasping for breath as he’s smashed over and over until his nose is misshapen, his forehead looks funny, and his eyes go sightless.

I huddle, knees to chest, ankles crossed to hide my privates, and I shiver. I squeeze my eyes shut. There’s a chipmunk. He holds an acorn between his spiky little fingers. There are lots of acorns on the forest floor and he’s fat. It’s not enough. I’m in a room. Lots of windows. Nothing can touch me anymore. I’m warm and the air is clean and there is no dust. It’s quiet, and I’m almost safe, and then they close the lid and I see nothing.