by Emilia Finn
My thief’s heart demands I swipe the whole screen and run away to play with it in private, but after a moment, the logo is replaced with a beautiful face. A smile. A waving hand.
“Cam?” Isabelle Kincaid’s face fills the screen and forces me back with a yelp. Her voice is tinny. “You okay out there?”
“Uh…” I shuffle forward. Slowly. Hesitantly. “How did you know I was out here?”
“The entire estate is wired up with sensors to know when anyone steps onto our property. Here, lemme buzz you in. It must be freezing out there.”
“Oh, no, you don’t have to—”
But the gates begin opening anyway. They’re almost silent, almost flawless in their design and functionality.
“Oh… okay. Thanks.”
“Come on in,” she calls out. “We’re on the left.”
“Uh, actually, I was looking for Jamie, so…”
She smiles for me. Kind. Caring. “I know you’re looking for him. Come on in.”
“Is he… uh… home?”
“He sure is. He got back from a run just a few minutes ago. I’m surprised you didn’t run into each other on the road.”
When the gates open all of the way and stop with a beep, Isabelle’s face disappears from the screen, but just a moment later, a door opens at the house between the halfpipe house and the house with the slime-covered window.
A second later, Isabelle steps onto her front porch in yoga pants, a thick hoodie, and with a jumbo-sized travel coffee mug clasped in her hands. “Hey there.” She stops at the top of her porch and smiles as I hesitantly walk along the narrow road and the gates close behind me. “You look freezing.”
She skips down the front steps and wraps her arm in mine the second we’re close enough to touch. Her body quivers from the cold, but her smile is beautiful, contagious, and not at all sneaky or mean like a girl might expect from the mom of the guy she likes. “Come into the heat, warm up, and I’ll get you a coffee.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean–”
“Hot chocolate?” She looks to me with eyes that match her son’s exactly.
I always kind of thought Jamie’s eyes were his father’s. The color, the shape, the kindness. But now that I get to look into Isabelle’s, I see where they come from. I see who he takes after, even if it’s subtle.
“I mean…” I clear the nerves from my throat. “Hot chocolate could be nice.”
“Marshmallows?”
“Damn.” I bring a hand up to my chest and sigh. “You got me.”
“Coming right up.” She leads us inside, and locks the winter cold out with a snap. “Jamie’s having a shower. He was sweating from his run, but his lips were blue.”
She leads me through a living room and into a large kitchen. Jamie’s countertop is bigger than the entire hotel room I share with my brother one week a year.
Izzy turns to me with a shake of her head. “Sweating, because he pushes himself hard when he thinks no one is paying attention, but blue lips because he’s too stupid or too stubborn to wear more clothes like I suggested.”
“He’s a stubborn man.”
I sit at the kitchen counter when she pulls a stool out. But I don’t take my coat off yet. It’s like a sauna in here compared to outside, but until my fingers and toes thaw out, the coat remains on.
“Are you…” I frown and try to work through my words as she goes to her double-door fridge and takes out a carton of milk. “Do you think he’s ready for the tournament, Mrs. Kincaid? He seems so blasé about it, ya know?”
“You can call me Iz. And yes and no. If that makes sense.” She pours the milk into a large mug and begins stirring cocoa in. “I think he’s capable and ready to fight. But I don’t think he cares about the outcome. Not the way his sister and cousins care. So I think he’ll put up a good fight, he’ll put on a show, but I doubt he’ll bleed in the cage. He doesn’t care enough to bleed for the cause.”
“What does he care about?” I lean onto my elbows and try to still my shivering lips. “Why all the hard work if he cares about something else?”
“I think he’s fighting because he respects his cousin too much not to lend his weight to her tournament. But if he taps in the first round before he gets bruised up, I wouldn’t be surprised. He’s more interested in teaching classes in the gym. Training the kids, sparring with his friends.” She stirs the cocoa until it stops lumping in the milk, and instead mixes. “I think if he got the belt and the cash, he’d probably dance around about it for a while, he’d boast and act a fool, and annoy us all until we wanted to shut him up… with a bat.”
She smiles when I laugh.
“But he gets his pleasure out of training others. He’s been working with this kid for the past year. They’re the same division, same weight, same age, so in the tournament this year, they’ll eventually meet up and fight each other.” When the milk is steaming hot, Iz turns back to the counter and drops in a couple marshmallows and watches as they swell up and absorb the cocoa. “He’s been working with the guy – his name is Guy – most days. They sweat together, they celebrate together, they get frustrated together.”
A large black Labrador slowly wanders into the room as Iz slides the mug across to me. She smiles when I use one hand to pat the dog’s ears, and the other to wrap around the hot mug. “I think he’d be a hell of a lot more excited if Guy won, than if he did.” She snorts. “It’d mean more to him to hold his fighter’s hand in the air than it would to raise his own.”
I sit for a moment in quiet contemplation as the sound of water racing through pipes above indicate exactly where Jamie is. “If he’s not all that keen to compete, then why is he doing it?”
Iz’s eyes shadow. They darken with sadness. “Because I think we’ve accidentally made our children think our wants are more important than theirs.” She sighs. “We didn’t mean to, and we would never be mad or sad if our children chose something else. But a lifetime in a fight gym means we inadvertently nudged our babies in a certain direction.”
“Bean?” I ask quietly. “Do you mean your daughter?”
She clears her throat – and what I’m certain are tears – from her eyes, and turns to the fridge. “I mean both of my children. But one seems to be taking a little more of the brunt than the other. And for that, I’m truly sorry.”
She turns back with a box of chocolate covered cookies, slides the open package across the counter, and forces a smile when they hit my elbow. “I have a lot of work to do to fix what is broken. I didn’t mean for this mess, but now I’m going to make sure it’s cleaned up with as little trauma done to my daughter’s heart as possible. Unfortunately for us, I’m married to a man that feels deeply. Normally that’s a wonderful thing; he’s always so passionate and kind, loving and selfless, but right now, while he’s feeling this, it makes it difficult to help him see reason.”
“Mr. Kincaid doesn’t like that she danced at the club?”
She draws in a deep breath, until her chest fills and her diaphragm expands. Then she lets it out again and grunts. “He’s angry at himself. Not at her. He has a broken heart, and he’s had one too many of those in his lifetime. It’s like a festering sore, and he’s unable to stop feeling the pain. And because of that, he hurts her.”
“I saw her yesterday,” I admit on a murmur. “Lucy.”
“Yeah?” Iz reaches across the counter and takes a cookie for herself. “Jamie take you to hang out with her? They were always close. Friends. Much like you and your brother.”
“He took me to Sophia’s dance school. He knew I like to dance, so he took me there, tricked me into a pair of tights, then almost beat Soph up when she shouted at my poor form.”
She snorts. “Sophia is a good teacher. He should know better than to interfere.”
“He knows now.” I look down into my cocoa and push the gooey marshmallow under the surface. “I danced with Lucy. I got to dance her routine, I even got to give my input on a certain lift she was working on. I mean,” I avoi
d Iz’s eyes. “I doubt she’ll incorporate what I said, because who the hell am I to say anything…” I look up into her eyes. “Ya know? But she was polite enough to listen, to try it out. She wasn’t openly offended that I might offer a suggestion. She was gracious and kind, and so freakin’ graceful while she danced. I thought Sophia was my ultimate dance idol…”
“She’s not? She’s amazing.”
“Maybe someday, if Lucy ever decides to show her routine to the world, you’ll know why Sophia is my number two now.”
“That’s…” Iz sets her coffee down and sighs. “Kind of you. Bean would tell you you’re wrong, but inside, she’d be so pleased you said that.”
“She’s really nice. I didn’t know what to expect, what, with you being Jamie’s mom, Lucy being his sister. Where I come from, most people aren’t all that nice, but you guys have been kind. If it means something to you, she smiled a little yesterday while we danced. It’s easy to see she has a lot on her mind, but she smiled too.”
“That does mean something to me,” Iz murmurs. “Truly. It means a lot.”
“I asked her about what’s going on.”
Iz’s eyes widen. “You did?”
“Yeah.” I laugh. “Some people say I have a big mouth and too much curiosity for my own good. Most would shut their traps and mind their business.”
“But that’s not you?”
“No. I asked her what the big deal was.” I meet Iz’s eyes. “She’s not mad at you or at Mr. Kincaid. That bit you said about your husband, how he’s mad at himself?”
She nods.
“She’s mad at herself for hurting him. I think, once they speak to each other again, they’ll realize how much they love each other, how sorry they both are, and everything will be okay.”
Iz’s eyes sparkle with unshed tears. Her breath comes out on a soft pant. But she’s the kid from the wild, as Jamie says. She’s the poor street kid who knows hunger. So she straightens her spine, smiles, and pats my hand.
“I think so too. I think everything will be better soon. Because love wins every time. They just have to listen to each other.”
“Mom?”
I turn away from Iz and scare the large dog when I gasp at the sight of a beautiful man standing in the doorway.
Jamie wears jeans that hug his thighs, boots that cover his feet, but his chest is bare, his wet hair pointing in a million directions.
He’s not scrawny when you take the too-big shirts away. He’s not skinny or gangly. He’s perfect. His chest is broad, muscular, defined. His abdominal muscles stand out in stark contrast, the shadows on his olive skin show off the angles and dips to perfection. His shoulders are broad, heavy, rounded at the ball.
His eyes stop on mine, and I’m too weak to look away from his. I only stare, and barely manage to breathe – perhaps pant – as he stands in the doorway and stares back.
“Um…”
“Well…” Iz snatches up her coffee mug and steals another cookie. “This might literally be the most awkward moment I’ve ever been caught in. My daughter did the walk of shame earlier this week, but this right here, with my shirtless son, and a girl staring at him with her tongue hanging out…” She walks around the counter, steps between me and him, and though I see her waving her hand, although I know what she’s saying and doing, I can’t look away.
“Yep,” she continues. “I’ve become obsolete, and that’s both gross and a little heartbreaking. I’m out.” She walks to Jamie and taps his chest. “This is me tapping out, honey. Because I feel a little weird with this tension sizzling in the air.”
“Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too, honey.”
“But I’m gonna need you to leave this room.”
“Yup! On it.” She darts around her son – he’s taller than her, broader, more muscular – and escapes somewhere else, anywhere else, and calls the dog until it skids out of the room after her.
“Cam…” Jamie swallows and sends his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You’re inside my house?”
“Um…” I look to my hot chocolate. To the cookies. Then the obvious smacks me in the forehead, and I jump to my feet. “Yeah, I am. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to impose or be that weird stalker chick. I’ll just…” I steal a cookie from the package and drop it into my pocket. “I’ll leave.”
“No, wait.” He dashes forward when I turn to escape, grabs my wrist when I try to bolt away, then spinning me back, he doesn’t stop pulling until our chests clash and my hands automatically grab onto his hips for stability. “I didn’t say that was a bad thing,” he murmurs. He drops his head lower. Lower. And smiles. “I was just surprised is all. You were having coffee with my mom?”
“Hot chocolate,” I whisper. My hands are on his bare hips! “Um… with marshmallows.”
“Was my mom nice? Did she beat you up? Are you traumatized and ready to quit on us?”
“No… she…” I shake my head. “She made hot chocolate and said really nice things to me. She was welcoming. More than I expected, really.”
“Oh, well…” He lowers a little more, until our breath mingles and the tip of his nose touches mine. “Good. I’m glad. You look pretty today.”
“I’m wearing a beanie,” I murmur. “And my brother’s coat. I look like a puppet. Like a Gumby puppet.”
“You look good enough to eat,” he grumbles.
“Nope. I’m sorry.” Iz’s shoes slap against tile. “I was trying to give you guys space. But, ya know, work or whatever.”
The front door opens.
“More space!” she shouts. “We need more space.”
The door slams, and Jamie’s lips quirk up when heat floods my face.
“Oh my god,” I groan. “Your mom.”
“She’s a good sport.” He brings a hand between us, lifts my chin, and smiles when our eyes meet. “I swear, every single time I have to leave you for the night, I wake up wondering if you’re real. You can’t possibly be this pretty, this funny, this witty…” His hands slide to my hips, then down to cup my thighs. “This sexy, all in one package. It can’t be true.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to the corner of my lips. “The super beautiful chicks are usually stuck-up snobs. They know they look good, so they figure they can be snobbish about it.”
“You sound a little bitter.”
He throws his head back and laughs, then he comes back to meet my eyes. “Not really. Just making an observation to support my theory on beautiful women.”
“What theory?”
“It seems almost too good to be true that you’re awesome and beautiful.”
“Well…” Warmth fills my cheeks as I look down. His chest is bare! “I mean, we can agree that I’m awesome. I won’t argue.”
“Awesome, beautiful, and you came here to visit me?” He drags my face up again, and presses a kiss to the opposite corner of my lips. “Color me surprised.”
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” I murmur. “I swear. I didn’t actually intend to come inside.”
“You’re welcome in my home. Always.” He lowers a little more, and pulls my bottom lip between his. “Wanna come upstairs and see my Tamagotchi collection?”
Jamie
Guess Not
“I can’t believe you said no to the Tamagotchis! That was a smooth line.”
“It was a stupid line,” Cam insists as we walk through my family’s estate.
I was raised in a gated community, behind fences, under the watchful eye of champion fighters and expensive security systems.
But when a bunch of kids set on blowing shit up want to get out, they find a way.
I lead Cam along the small road we call our own, and across the lawn of my uncle’s yard. Heading in the direction of the gate, I hold Cam’s hand and smile as she makes our arms swing.
“You seem to be extra chipper today. Eat popping candy for breakfast?”
“Nope.” She looks back, since she’s walking ahead of me, and grins. “I’m just… like… ya know? Happy.�
��
I frown and follow her across the lawn. “You make it sound so foreign.”
“I guess it kinda is,” she shrugs. She slows her steps when I head toward my uncle’s private yard gate, and not the massive iron gates at the top of the estate. “Whose house is this?”
“Uncle Jack.” I lead her to the fence at the side of the house, unlatch it with a fast flick of my fingers, then lead her through to the backyard. “Um… The Jackhammer, I guess you might know him as. Weird-ass name, by the way. No one with self-respect uses that name.”
She snickers in the back of her throat. “He’s married to the schoolteacher?”
“Uh huh. I had the biggest crush on my aunt when I was ten. If you tell anybody about that, I’ll bury you in the forest.”
“Why are we walking through your crush’s yard? And also, I have a crush on her too. She’s cool.”
“Because we’re walking out this way.” I lead her along the wooden perimeter fence, count the slats until I find the few my cousins and I unscrewed, then pushing a couple aside, I stand over the newly made gap and smile. “Ladies first.”
“We could have just used the gate, you know?”
“I know.”
I reach down when she lowers into a crouch, keep her hand in mine while she duck-walks through the gap, then I follow her through and close the space up again.
It’s not like the whole family doesn’t know about our escape route at this point, but my uncle’s kids are still young. There’s no need to lead them toward exploding factories just yet.
Standing again and pulling Cam in against my side, I smother her in a hug and don’t let go until she laughs and smacks me in the ribs. “What?”
“Get off me!” Her words say one thing, but her arms go around my waist and pull me in close. “Whose house has the skate ramp?”
I snort. “Also my Uncle Jack.”
Cam’s eyes flare as she looks up to me. “Nuh uh.”