Things Remembered (Accidentally On Purpose Companion Novel #3) (26 page)

She was, however,
Taylor’s
mother. Taylor, who didn’t seem surprised at all by the woman who beamed at Alex’s mashed potato and corn structure he’d built on his plate. Taylor wasn’t shocked when Natalie spilled grape juice on the white linen table cover and the woman she called Mom just chuckled and cleaned it up as if it were nothing.

Whenever her eyes met mine, however, she reverted back to
my
mom, the woman I knew so well. Her face would change, her smile dying on her face, her laughter swallowed back down into her cold, cavernous chest. Only when she looked at me did the light die in her eyes, but when she turned her attention to one of the children or Grant, or even Taylor and Aaron, she became that
other
Jasmine again, the one I was unfamiliar with. Eventually, she stopped looking at me so much, but I didn’t stop looking at her. After four months, I still watched her face with a sick kind of captivation.

I stood at the threshold of the dance studio that my mother had installed so many years ago for me. Alex sat on the floor with his back against the mirrored wall. He was playing a video game and pretending he wasn’t watching the girls—Taylor in particular—as she and Natalie danced around the room. Taylor was teaching the younger girl some very basic ballet steps, as she had been after every dinner we’d had there.

I refused to go all the way into the room—I hadn’t been inside of it since I was sixteen years old. I kept an eye on Taylor and Nat, but mostly, my eyes were drawn to my mom, who stood only a few feet away from me watching the girls. Her posture was relaxed. Her face had a constant, amused and content smile, and there was that light…that light that seemed to burst from inside her.

She obviously didn’t see what I saw when I looked at the mirrored jail cell; she didn’t see the past. She did not see me as a child, begging to go outside to play with the other children. She didn’t see my tears of exhaustion, or the blood my raw toes left behind from hours of torturous dancing. She didn’t see the place on the floor where my father had lain, taking his last breaths, his heart beating its last struggling beats.

It was as if none of it ever happened. It was as if it were gone from her mind.

“Okay, it’s time to go,” I announced when I’d had enough of staring at the woman who was and was not my mom.

“But I’m still dancing,” Natalie whined.

“Badly,” Alex muttered from his spot on the floor.

“You think you can dance any better?” Taylor challenged, poking him with her toe.

“Was that dancing?” Alex deadpanned.

If no one knew any better, they’d probably think the little smartass was my kid by birth. I just lucked out finding a kid who had mastered sarcasm before puberty.

“It’s time to go,” I said again, with a little less patience. “You have school tomorrow.”

“Oh,” my mother said. “I almost forgot…”

She hurried past me. I didn’t know what she’d forgotten, or where she was going. I didn’t care.

“Get your shoes on, Nat.” I checked my phone for the millionth time.

I hadn’t heard from Grant since the early afternoon. It wasn’t unusual for him to go hours without any contact because he had to focus, but I still felt uneasy about the silence.

My mom returned a few moments later, carrying a pink gift bag that had a ballerina on it.

“What is that?” I asked as she passed the bag to Natalie.

She didn’t take her eyes off Nat. She watched her with an excitement that irritated me. “A surprise for Natalie.”

“But you alweady gave me a Chwistmas pwesent,” Nat said, peering down at the bag with confusion.

“This is a just-because present,” my mother said, smiling.

Without any further delay, Natalie reached into the bag, pushing pink tissue paper out of the way.

“My own balway shoes!” she squealed, producing a pair of pink ballet slippers.

“And there’s more,” Mom said, taking the slippers.

Nat reached into the bag once more and produced a pink tutu. She squealed again before leaping into my mother’s arms and hugging her. I watched with a sickening feeling in my gut as my mom hugged her back.

“She’s going to put that stuff on, and never take it off,” Alex muttered.

I was a little startled to find him standing at my side. I hadn’t noticed him get up and walk over.

“It’s time to go,” I repeated, my voice harsh.

It took several minutes to break up the happy little ballet party and to get to the front door.

“Are you upset, Mayson?” Mom asked me, just before I could step outside. Alex and Nat were already getting into the car, with Taylor supervising.

I looked at her, at her neutral face.

“You should have told me before you bought her that stuff. Now she’s going to beg Grant for dance lessons.”

She looked surprised, but only for a microsecond before she fixed her face and it was neutral again.

“I apologize,” she said simply. “I thought she would enjoy wearing them while she is here or even around the house.”

“She’s not another little girl for you to use to make up for what you missed out on when you were a kid,” I snapped. “You can’t live vicariously through her like you tried to do with me, and like what you do with Taylor. You’re not going to bloody her fucking toes.”

She didn’t hide her shock; she let it show on her beautiful face, but I didn’t care. I walked away without another word.

By the time Grant’s phone call came, both kids had been sleeping for at least an hour. I had been pacing through the ware-home, anxiously waiting for his call and thinking about the night at my mother’s.

“It’s about time,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief when I answered.

He sounded like he was bone-deep tired. “I’m sorry. Are the kids asleep?”

“Yes, of course they are. Where are you? When will you be home?”

There was a hesitation that instantly made my anxiety return.

“There was an incident,” he said carefully. I said nothing and waited for him to continue. “I didn’t call you earlier because I didn’t want the kids to know, and if I told you, you wouldn’t have been able to keep it from them.”

“What happened?” I asked, feeling panic slice into me.

“I’m okay,” he said quickly, not answering my question.

I closed my eyes and placed the palm of my hand over my forehead.

“Grant Alexander,” I said his name slowly as I tried to hold on to what little sanity I had left. “What the hell happened?”

There was another hesitation, and finally, he told me.

“Mayson, the big bad wolf got me. I got hit with a bullet today.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“I was very specific,” I growled, yanking the blankets down on the bed. “I told you not to come back home shot, stabbed, beaten, or otherwise maimed.”

“Maybe we can print that on a shirt,” Grant said, kicking off his sneakers. “I’ll bet the bad guys will think twice before shooting at me, stabbing at me, beating me, or otherwise maiming me.”

I glared daggers at him. “Do you think this is
funny
?”

“I believe that I, of all people, know how
not
funny this is.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, shaking my head.

“I don’t know, Grant. You seem very unconcerned with the fact that a bullet went through your arm.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes wearily.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” he said with a small smile.

I stared incredulously, mouth open and eyes wide. Grant popped one eye open and peered at me.

“
Monty Python
. No?”

My voice was soft and deadly. “You’re making jokes about
Monty Python
? You’re sitting there, with a bullet hole in your arm making jokes about
Monty Python
? There is a bullet hole. In your
arm
. And you’re quoting
Monty Python
.”

He sighed my name. “Mayson.”

I shook my head and held up my hands. “Don’t Mayson me. Don’t say my name like that, like I can’t take a joke. This isn’t funny, Grant, but you know what? Make all the jokes you want. I don’t have to stay here to listen to them.”

I walked out of the bedroom. Grant caught up with me in the nook, where I had left my bag after returning from my mother’s.

“Mayson, stop,” he said tiredly when I tried to walk around him.

“I will poke you in your bullet arm,” I warned. “I will poke the shit out of that arm if you don’t get out of my way.”

“I thought we were finished with the running away.”

“I’m not running away,” I snapped. “I am just going home where life kind of makes sense, because
this
doesn’t make sense, Grant. I want to go somewhere where getting shot isn’t funny.”

“I told you. I don’t think it’s funny.”

“Then why were you smiling and cracking jokes, Grant? I don’t understand. I don’t get it. My heart is still in my throat. You’re standing right in front of me, still breathing and alive, but I’m still terrified. You came home this time, but you might not come home next time. Then what? What am I supposed to tell Alex and Nat then? That they’ve lost another parent, that they’re orphans?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, taking my hand and pulling me to him. “I’m sorry.”

He held me with his uninjured arm. My fingers twisted in his shirt as I pressed my ear to his heart. Even though he was clearly alive, I had to reassure myself that he was okay and hear the strong thumping of his heart.

“You asshole,” I whispered, unable to hold back my tears. “You asshole.”

“So, what will you do now?” I asked Grant sometime later, as we changed into our bed clothes.

He grimaced and moved stiffly as he pulled off his shirt, revealing the bandages around his bicep, but he didn’t utter any complaints.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean are you going to find another line of work and stop going on these suicide missions?”

He looked surprised by the question.

“No,” he said slowly. “Mayson, I’m not giving up my job.”

I stared at him for several seconds, before patiently asking, “Do I need to remind you that someone aimed a gun at you and shot you?”

Grant, who was usually so patient with me, even when I was nonsensical, snapped at me.

“I don’t need you to remind me that I got shot, Mayson. Stop talking to me as if I were a little kid that got in trouble at school today. I know what happened. I didn’t get shot in the damn head.”

“Well, you could have gotten shot in the damn head,” I snapped back. “That’s what you don’t seem to understand.”

“I understand it!” he shouted, making me take an astonished step backward. “What the hell do you think was going through my head when he started shooting? Do you think I was thinking about the grocery list or what I was going to eat for dinner? I thought I was going to die out there and never see my kids or you again. I don’t need
you
to tell me what I don’t understand about it.”

My heartbeat was like thunder in my ears. Hearing his fears scared me, but it also riled me up.

“If you know the risks, then why do you insist on doing this?” I demanded to know. “Why not go find a job that isn’t going to risk your life?”

His gaze dropped to the floor. For a minute, I thought I had him. I thought I had proven my point and that he was going to see it my way, but when he finally looked at me again, I realized that he wasn’t going to see it my way.

“There are hundreds of fugitive recovery agents in the Philadelphia area alone. Many of them mean well, but I’ve met many more that are only out there for the money. They’re careless, senseless, reckless, and dangerous, and people are more likely to get hurt or killed with them. I’m not in it for the money, Mayson. It’s not just a ‘job’ to have. Do you know what the man who shot me ‘allegedly’ did?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Grant’s eyes and face hardened. “He is accused of raping seven women. I took his case rather personally, as you can imagine,” he said bitingly.

I sucked in a sharp, painful breath.

“Last year, we captured over two hundred fugitives,” he continued. “Seventy-three of them were charged with some sort of sexual offense, and many of those were sex crimes on children. Forty fugitives were accused of committing violent crimes, including armed robbery, manslaughter, and murder. Most of the rest were drug related, with the remainder having committed some kind of petty crime.

“You ask me why I risk my life because I suppose you are the one who doesn’t understand, Mayson. Maybe some of the other hundreds of agents out there would have caught some or most of the fugitives that we got, but maybe not. Maybe all those people would still be out there, dodging the police—whose hands are often too tied to nab them anyway. Maybe all those ‘alleged’ criminals would still be out there committing all their ‘alleged’ crimes. Maybe, Mayson, I have saved another young woman from getting brutally raped. Maybe because we captured a drug dealer, I’ve prevented someone else’s sister or best friend from overdosing and dying too young. Maybe I’ve prevented more children from getting hurt—maybe even my own children, and maybe I’ve saved countless lives just by taking a few people off the street.”

With a sigh, all the tension and stress he must have been harboring seemed to melt away. His shoulders relaxed, his posture fell, and his face softened.

“I know that I can leave home one day and never return,” he spoke softly. “I know that I am not a police officer or a member of the military and that what I do doesn’t have as much honor in it as what they do. But I hope that if anything ever did happen to me, my kids will understand why I do this job. I hope that they will still see some honor in what I do.”

What he didn’t say was that he hoped
I
would see the honor in his work as well.

“I’m sorry.” I took a step toward him. “I don’t know how I am supposed to react in this situation. I don’t know how to push my fears away and pretend that everything is okay when I am terrified for your life. I have found this unmeasured happiness with you that I never thought I’d ever have and I am terrified of having it ripped away. I am even more terrified that Alex and Natalie will lose you. I can’t promise that if you get hurt again, I will behave rationally, because I probably won’t.” I struggled for a tiny smile and shrugged one shoulder. “You know I’m a nut job.”

He nodded once, conceding to that fact. I wasn’t offended, especially considering that he had a tiny smile, too.

“As for honor…” I took a few more steps until I was only an arm’s length away. “I have always,
always
thought you were an honorable man, Grant Alexander. I thought so as a child and I still think so now. It’s your honor that often makes me feel like a wretch like me doesn’t deserve a man like you.”

He touched my cheek as he moved close to me, leaving a little bit of space between us for his arm that was in a sling.

My beautiful butterfly,” he murmured, gazing intently into my eyes.

“What color are my wings now?” I asked, holding onto his waist.

“I don’t fucking know. I can’t take my eyes off your face.”

My soft laughter broke the ice, and then his blazing kiss upon my lips melted it away.