Reese took a breath, and strove – probably not with success – to put some inflection into his voice. He tried to make it sound like an invitation, instead of one of his usual flat statements. “Mercy invited me to dinner at his house. It’s a potluck.”
Tenny shrugged and took another long swig from his soda.
“He said I could bring you, if you wanted to come.”
His brows went from Annoyed, to Stunned, and then to Cranky. He swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Bring me? Like I’m your date?”
“He didn’t say ‘date.’ He just said you could come.”
“With you. What the hell is he implying?”
“Probably that we spend a lot of time together.” Reese heard the snap in his voice.
“Bollocks,” Tenny muttered. “Fuck that.” His gaze shifted to the door, and he started toward it.
Reese caught him by the arm, a tight grip on his bicep, one that pulled him up short, slopped soda out of the can, and had Tenny’s head whipping toward him.
Their faces were suddenly, surprisingly close; close enough to feel the heat of Tenny’s breath, to smell the sugar and lime on it.
“What do you want?” Tenny hissed.
Reese’s first instinct was to shrink back – an old instinct, from his days with Badger, and with his first handler. Don’t question authority. Shut up and do your job. You don’t count.
But he wasn’t a tool anymore, to point and shoot. Not even an attack dog. He was a person, and this other boy – still clawing his way to personhood, too – was one that he had named. He’d given that to him. And he wouldn’t accept what now felt like hatred from him.
Especially because he didn’t think that it was actually hatred at all.
“I want you to tell me what’s wrong with you,” Reese said, as level and calm as he could. “Because I want to help you.”
Tenny stared at him, mouth slack with shock a moment. Then he sneered – one of those ugly, false, biting sneers he’d doled out at the very beginning. “You’re what’s wrong, and I want you to leave me the fuck alone.”
Reese’s whole body went numb with a sudden, sweeping shock. His grip slackened, and Tenny ripped out of it, storming from the room.
Reese stood staring at his empty hand. Slowly, sensation returned, a painful prickling, like he’d been burned.
Why? He found, as in so many cases, he didn’t have the answers he wanted.
Twenty
Leah didn’t consider herself a great cook by any stretch – there had always been more interesting things to occupy her time, and she lacked her mom’s deft hand in the kitchen – but she could throw something decent together, and that was just what she did for Ava’s impromptu potluck. She considered picking up something premade, but settled instead, on her early morning grocery run before work, on the ingredients for a quick, cold corn salad. She stowed all of it in the kitchenette at work, mixed it at lunch, put it in the fridge, and then collected it on her way out.
“Have fun!” Rochelle called to her as she headed for the elevators.
“Thanks!”
As she waited for the cab to arrive, she found that she was tapping her toes inside her shoes – that she was nervous. Not the usual emotion that accompanied dinners with Ava. She was glad that she’d said something on the phone last night about Carter; he was a sad puppy these days, and he needed a boost from the people who cared about him.
But she couldn’t help thinking about her father’s teasing last night, calling Carter her boyfriend.
And she couldn’t stop remembering Carter’s wide, white, frankly breathtaking smile, his blue eyes denim-colored in the soft lamplight of the coffeeshop.
She shivered, unbidden, and scolded herself internally.
The elevator arrived with a polite ding, and the doors slid open – to reveal her new boss. And a hulking, thick-necked man standing just behind him who screamed Hired Security with his stony expression and ironed shirt collar.
Mr. Shaman – Ian, according to Ava, and Maggie, and Carter – wore a bespoke blue suit with a champagne silk shirt beneath, without a tie and open at the throat, like the day of her interview. His hair gleamed beneath the lights – and no one ever looked good under elevator lighting. He was scrolling through something on his phone, and glanced up. “Miss Cook.” His tone was polite, if not warm, his smile charming, if not friendly. “Going down?”
She almost said no. That was her first, kneejerk reaction – one that surprised her. She wasn’t afraid of him. He was just…a lot.
But she’d never fancied herself a coward, so she said, “Yes, sir,” and stepped inside.
When the doors closed, he pocketed his phone, inclined his head toward her, and said, “How is your first week going so far?”
“Really well.” When she returned his gaze, because that felt like the polite thing to do, she had the sense he could see right through her skull and into her brain. “My coworkers are great, and the work is all stuff that I’m used to and comfortable with. The office is so nice.”
The corners of his mouth twitched in an almost-smile. “Lovely to hear.” His gaze shifted to the covered bowl in her arms. “Lunch leftovers?” he asked, a single brow lifting to a sardonic angle.
“Oh, no. I’m on my way to a potluck.”
“Ah. Potluck.” He said the word as if he was tasting it, and the tilt of his mouth afterward suggested he’d found it unappetizing. She figured men who wore shoes as expensive as his, with personal bodyguards, didn’t do casserole get-togethers.
The elevator arrived, and he motioned her to go first with one elegant sweep of his arm. “Give my regards to Mrs. Lécuyer, then.”
“Thanks…” She hadn’t told him she was going to Ava’s.
She pushed that disconcerting thought aside, though, as she walked out to her car and headed out. She debated going by her place to change into something more casual, but she was already running a bit late. She headed straight to Mercy and Ava’s place, then, and found the driveway already full of bikes and an unfamiliar car.
She parked on the street, killed the engine…and sat a moment, hands still on the wheel. Nervousness flared to life again, a tickling in the pit of her belly. It wasn’t just about Carter this time.
She’d seen Aidan, and Tango, and Carter, and of course Mercy since returning home. But she hadn’t been to any sort of sanctioned club event. She’d never met Aidan or Tango’s wives. She wasn’t Ava’s sole friend anymore. Would things feel different? Would their dynamic shift in the presence of a sister-in-law, and another girl who might as well be?
She felt acutely single, suddenly, and that wasn’t anything she’d ever felt before. She’d never felt like she might be lacking, just because she was alone, and not part of a pair.
An ugly feeling, honestly, and she berated herself for it as she unbuckled her belt and climbed out of the car.
Ava had said to come to the back door, and she could hear the low murmur of many overlapping voices as she reached it. She was shifting the bowl to one arm so she could knock when the door opened on its own, letting out warm air, and savory cooking smells, and revealed a tall, pretty blonde with glasses who Leah had never met before.
“Hi.” She had a warm, shy smile, instantly disarming. “Leah? I’m Sam.” Aidan’s wife.
“Yeah, hi, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”
“Likewise. I know Ava’s so glad you’re back in town to stay.” Oh. She pushed the door wide and stepped back. “Come on in, we just opened the wine.”
Nerves greatly settled, Leah followed her through the mudroom into the kitchen, where covered dishes were heaped on the table, and several pots steamed and hissed on the stovetop. It was a small room, and overwarm with all the cooking and the volume of bodies, but there was something so overwhelmingly homey about it: from Cal’s crayon drawings on the fridge, to the cuts hooked on the backs of the chairs.
Ava and a slight brunette stood at the stove, peering down into the
pots and pans.
“What do you think, another minute?” Ava asked, stirring what looked like carrots in an iron skillet.
“Probably,” the other girl said. That must be Whitney Estes, Leah figured.
Ava glanced up, and smiled; set her spoon down and came to give Leah a hug, bowl of salad and all.
Leah was laughing by the time they pulled apart, and her stomach wasn’t fluttering anymore. “Look at you: barefoot in the kitchen at last.”
“Oh my God, I’m a cliché!” Ava groaned with mock despair, and took the bowl from her. “This smells like corn salad.”
“It is.”
“Excellent.”
“Leah, this is Whitney,” Sam said, touching the brunette on the shoulder.
Whitney was young – younger than Leah had anticipated, with big doe eyes, and a sweet smile. She offered a firm handshake, though. “It’s so nice to meet you!”
“Dude, when are we eating?” Aidan asked, entering the kitchen to root around in the cooler set up at the end of the peninsula.
Sam rolled her eyes. “When we feel like feeding you.”
“So probably never,” Ava said, firing a wine cork off the counter at him.
He caught it, pocketed it, and reached to lift the lid off one the dishes on the table.
“No!” Sam shooed him away. “We gave you guys chips and salsa.”
“Mercy ate it all.” Aidan dodged his wife, skirted around the table, and opened another dish, plucking out a green bean between two fingers and cramming it in his mouth before she could get to him.
Sam propped her hands on her hips and fired him a look across the table.
He grinned, and winked at her.
Sam’s face colored.
“Aw, they’re cute,” Leah said.
Beside her, Ava said, “Kinda nauseating, to be honest.”
“Oh, definitely.”
Aidan licked his greasy fingers and then aimed one at Leah, not able to keep the smirk off his face. “There’s two of you again, and I’m not digging that.”
“Too bad,” Leah and Ava said in unison, and then traded a look, grinning.
She had no idea why she’d been nervous.
~*~
Carter turned up at Ava and Mercy’s place toting a bottle of white wine under one arm, and a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red for Mercy under the other. He hadn’t even attempted to make any sort of food – that would only lead to food poisoning. He went up the back sidewalk thinking that he’d put on too much cologne, and mulling over Jasmine’s refusal to come. She did have class. But it would let out in about ten minutes, and she definitely could have come late; no one would have minded.
He tried not to examine his own relief too closely. Lately it felt like they were on neighboring rafts, drifting, drifting farther apart as the current carried them downstream. It wasn’t too late to reach out for her; for them to join hands, and draw their lives back together. But he didn’t feel the urge to do so, and he wasn’t sure if he would.
Wasn’t sure if she would, either.
He didn’t bother to knock when he got to the back door; juggled his bottles around, and let himself in. Walked into the kitchen…
And promptly forgot all about the strange evolution of his relationship with Jazz.
The old ladies were in the kitchen. Ava, of course, and Sam, and Whitney.
And Leah.
Who wasn’t an old lady, and who arrested Carter’s immediate attention in a way he hadn’t expected, and couldn’t explain.
Belatedly, he realized he’d come to a halt, clutching his bottles, staring like an idiot.
“Oh, hey,” Ava said, turning toward him. She was nibbling a chip and reached for the wine with her other hand. “Thanks, you didn’t have to.”
“Oh, uh.” He handed it over. “Gotta bring a hostess gift, right? This is for Mercy.” He lifted the Scotch bottle.
Ava smiled. “I figured.”
Behind her, arranging slices of cheese on a platter, Leah looked like she’d come straight from work: her shiny black hair twisted up into a clip, her cream blouse tucked into a high-waisted black skirt printed with loud florals. Her high heels, open-toed and glittery black. Her earrings were black, too, gleaming hoops that bounced softly against the sharp edge of her jaw as she moved.
“Carter.” Ava was still standing in front of him. He snatched his gaze from Leah – wondered what sort of expression he’d been making – and saw her give him a careful once-over, her face settling into lines that held nothing of Maggie’s gentle concern; lines that belonged to her father. Ghost’s unflinching, unforgiving assessment. “Are you okay?”
He must have been blushing before, because he felt the blood drain out of his face. “Yeah. Fine.” His pulse fluttered, high and rapid like it did when the guys started drawing guns and gathering themselves for dangerous moments. “Jazz couldn’t come.”
“That’s too bad,” Ava said, her gaze never wavering. Then she gave a little nod and mercifully looked away. Turned to pluck another chip from the bowl and dunk it in the guacamole on the counter. “The guys are in the living room with the kids. And, look, I talked Leah into coming.”
I noticed, he thought, needing to swallow, suddenly, his throat tight.
Leah’s head lifted, and she glanced toward him, already smiling. “And he comes bearing wine. Nice.”
He smiled, feeling how sideways and awkward it was. What the hell was wrong with him? “I aim to please.”
It was probably his imagination, but he thought her smile widened, that her dark eyes glittered.
She looked pretty tonight. She looked…better than that. Pretty, and put together, and cheerful, and rosy-cheeked from the heat in the kitchen. She didn’t look anything like Jasmine: no come-hither glance, no “baby boy,” no unsubtle tilt of her hips. None of the things he’d come to think of as normal.
He gave himself a mental shake, because he knew all too well the dangers of that word: normal.
“I’m just gonna…” He pointed toward the living room with the neck of the Scotch bottle, and then headed that way. He told himself he wasn’t fleeing, but that was exactly what it felt like.
~*~
Knocking was polite, so when Reese got to Mercy’s house, he knocked. Ava opened the door, and she wasn’t quite fast enough to cover her surprise at finding him standing on the mat. He’d never sensed that she was afraid of him – truly, never – and she had a way of saying only what was most important that he appreciated. But she hadn’t expected him to turn up tonight, and he felt a momentary twinge of disappointment to realized that he still had a long way to go in his quest to become human. Tenny’s reaction, and his own reading of it, had proved that this afternoon; Ava’s reaction now drove the point home.
“Reese, hey.” She opened the door without hesitation. She’d never been hesitant about letting him into her home, with her children.
He still marveled over the fact, sometimes. “Mercy invited me,” he said, still rooted outside. “He said I could bring Tenny, but–” Too much. She hadn’t asked, she didn’t care. He wasn’t sure why he’d blurted that.
Her brows drew together, and she opened the door a little farther. “Well, you’re welcome to come in. We’re just about to eat.”
He nodded his thanks, wiped his boots, and entered.
Every available surface in the kitchen seemed to be heaped with food, including the table, where the women sat, wine glasses in front of them, an array of cheeses, crackers, chips, and bowls of dip interspersed amongst covered dishes. He recognized Aidan and Tango’s wives. But there was a newcomer he hadn’t seen before: small, black hair, brown, almond-shaped eyes.
No, not new, exactly. He’d glimpsed her once before, in the main office at Dartmoor the day he and Tenny took an injured Carter to see Maggie. She’d been sitting in a chair across from Ghost’s wife, and she’d looked over at the tableau they’d made with undisguised interest.
She looked at him that way now, too. He could see t
he spark of recognition, and open curiosity. She was probably wondering why he was here – just like he was, a little.
But it was different from the looks Samantha and Whitney gave him. Whitney’s carefully composed; Samantha’s edged with a fear that she couldn’t quite control.
A familiar look, in his presence. It had never bothered him, and still didn’t, but he noticed it now, in a way he never used to.
No one looked at Tenny that way, because Tenny had perfected his mask. He was good at making faces, unlike Reese, and maintaining them.
Usually.
He’d replayed the moment in the kitchen over and over again on his ride here. Turning it over, trying to look at it from different angles. It still didn’t make sense. Tenny was the one who kept initiating Reese’s sexual education. Who inserted himself and in turn pulled Reese into his own couplings. The touching, and the kissing lessons, and the praise – all Tenny, from the start. So why play offended now? If play it had been – it had seemed like genuine affront. Reese didn’t understand, and he didn’t begin to know how to ask anyone for advice.
“The guys are in the living room,” Ava informed him, snatching him from his spiraling thoughts. “Do you want a beer?”
That was social protocol, right? “Yes. Please.”
~*~
Mercy and Ava’s dining room was too small for the amount of people they were currently trying to cram into it, but no one seemed to mind. An extra folding table had been snugged up to the regular table, both draped with a big, black cloth, and mismatched china and silverware squeezed in for everybody.
Leah offered to sit on one of the tight corners, all but straddling the table leg, since she was the smallest, and, somehow, she ended up sitting next to Carter.
He hesitated a moment, before he set his plate down. “Oh. Hey.” Then he settled in his chair like nothing was the matter. But she’d noticed the pause, just like she’d noticed it in the kitchen when he’d first come in.
Homecoming (Dartmoor Book 8) Page 17