First Come Twins
Page 6
“Go away.” Although the voice coming from inside the house was muffled, there was no doubt it was Noah.
“Open the door!”
He wasn’t moving around in there.
If memory served, Grandma Bennett had always kept an extra key under a rock by the garden hose in the back. Sophie ran around the corner of the house, found the old key nearly buried under years of decaying leaves and debris, and let herself in through the kitchen.
Despite being sunny and seventy-five degrees outside, the house was dark and had a dank feel. “Noah?”
“Dammit, Sophie. Go away.”
She found him in the living room, lying on the couch, looking as if he hadn’t shaved in a month. He was wearing shorts, making the fact that he wasn’t wearing his prosthetic immediately apparent. The vision of his leg cut off just below his knee made her throat close with emotion, but then she noticed the empty bottle of tequila on the floor by the coffee table. “Are you drunk?”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t.”
He put his hands on either side of his head as if holding it together. “Go away. I don’t want you here.” He was pale, thin and obviously waking up from a long and drawn-out binge.
“You’ve got a hangover.”
“Yeah. So?”
“Well, this is great. Perfect.” Disgusted, she shook her head. “This is how you go about getting better, huh?”
He didn’t answer.
“I don’t know how you lost your leg and, honestly, I don’t care. But you’re alive. Get off your ass and quit feeling sorry for yourself.”
His angry gaze settled on her face. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
Good. His antagonism was good. She could deal with him just fine when he was like this. “Apparently, the only person on this island who gives a damn whether you live or die.”
He rolled away. Wouldn’t look at her.
“Poor Noah,” Sophie said. “Got his foot blown off and now his life is over.”
“Screw you.”
“Wouldn’t you like to try.”
“Maybe I would.” For a moment, he glared at her, looking for all the world as if he might be furious enough to make good on the threat. “Go away, Sophie.”
Ignoring him, she glanced around expecting to find dirty dishes and opened bags of food scattered around the house. Instead, there was only the clutter of newspapers, magazines and, of all things, a handgun lying on the coffee table. His prosthetic lay on the floor below a nice big hole in the wall. It certainly looked as if what he’d said the other night at the lighthouse was true. He wasn’t eating, and he wasn’t sleeping. He was angry and frustrated and taking it out on his grandmother’s house and himself.
She had to admit, though, the gun bothered her more than anything. “What’s the gun for?”
“Nothing. It’s what happens when you hang with the military as much as I have.”
“That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”
“It’s none of your damned business.”
Anger, red-hot and piercing, surged inside her. “Well, why don’t you just pick it up then, and put yourself out of your misery.”
“Trust me. I’ve thought about it.”
This was not the Noah she’d known most of her life. Where was the young boy with the mischievous smirk? The young man who could beat anyone around the island in a kayak? The man whose passion for life had come through in every one of his articles and books? Yes, she’d read them. Every single one. This was not the man who, over the years, had exposed political issues and brought to light famine and genocide all over the world.
If he kept on like this, he would end up being on Mirabelle for months, years even. There was no way she was living with that, not if she had anything to say about it. She picked up the phone and dialed.
CHAPTER SIX
“MIRABELLE ISLAND INN,” Jan said, her voice clear and pleasant as she answered Sophie’s phone call.
“Jan, it’s Sophie. If anyone’s looking for me,” she said, walking into the kitchen and loading the few dirty dishes into the dishwasher, “I’m going to be gone for a little while, okay?”
“Oh, no, you’re not!” Noah yelled, sitting up.
Sophie ignored him and started the cleaning cycle.
“Sure. Everything’s under control,” Jan said. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She rummaged through the groceries, still sitting in bags on the kitchen counter and took out a can of soup. “Can you check in with the kids and have them call my cell if they need me?”
“Go away, Sophie!” Noah was putting on his leg.
“No problem,” Jan said, hesitant. “Where are you? Who’s yelling in the background?”
Sophie dumped the soup into a pan and set it to warming on the stove top. “If there’s an emergency, I’ll be at Grandma Bennett’s.”
“No, you won’t,” Noah muttered.
A short pause hung over the phone line before Jan said, “Sophie, you may have forgotten, but I remember very clearly what you went through after Noah left. I don’t think I had a dry shoulder for months—”
“Trust me, Jan, I remember. This is no big deal.”
“Listen to her, Soph,” he mumbled, standing and heading toward the kitchen. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Another pause on the phone line. “When will you be home?”
“In a couple hours,” Sophie said.
“All right. I’ll take care of everything.”
Sophie hung up, sidestepped past a very angry Noah and ran upstairs, stripped the sheets off the bed he’d obviously been tossing and turning in and snapped up a towel from the bathroom floor. She went back downstairs and threw the linens in the washing machine. When she turned around, Noah was standing in the laundry room doorway, blocking her exit.
The young Noah she remembered was gone and in his place was a man. An angry, sullen, brooding man. Broad shouldered and built. Though his hospital stay had likely set him back a bit, he was still an intimidating presence. Physical awareness zapped her hard and fast. This laundry room was much too small for the two of them.
“I don’t want you here,” he snapped.
“Too bad.” She pushed past him, went into the kitchen and checked the soup. It’d do. She dumped the contents of the pan into a bowl, smacked the bowl onto the table and stepped back, setting her hands on her hips. Who knew when he’d last taken any food. “Sit,” she said. “Eat.”
He didn’t budge. Then he grimaced as if in pain and his shoulders sagged. “Just go, Sophie. Please.” He leaned against the doorway, taking his weight off his left leg.
“No,” she said. “Not until you eat something.”
“If it makes you feel any better,” he muttered, looking away, “I still can’t hold anything down.”
“If you want me gone, you’ll have to try.”
Without a word, he dropped onto the chair and shoved three spoonfuls of soup into his mouth.
“More,” she said.
“You want me to throw up? Are you getting some kind of sick pleasure out of this?”
“Maybe I am.” She opened a package of saltine crackers and tossed it onto the table next to him. “These should settle your stomach.”
She glanced into his eyes, saw the flash of heat there and felt an instantaneous response. Traitor.
But then what did she expect? For most of their childhood, Noah had been like a brother to Sophie and then almost overnight, her hormones had kicked in and changed everything between them. She hadn’t been able to stop watching his lips, had been obsessed with wanting to find out what it would be like to kiss, not just any boy, but Noah. Only Noah.
It had taken him a while to catch up to her hormone-laden train of thoughts. When he finally did, they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other. By the time they were in tenth grade they were secretly necking during recess, after school and every other chance they got to be alone. Sophie and Noah. Noah and Sophie
. Hand in hand. Arm in arm. Until they’d gotten caught sneaking off to a janitorial closet during a school-wide assembly and the principal had been forced to call their parents.
From then on, their freedom had been gone, but the separation, the constant monitoring, only made the times they’d managed to be alone together all the more special. They’d been forced to get sneaky. By the time they were seniors in high school, they had their routines down pat. They’d planned times when they were sure they could be alone, like when their parents were neck-deep in tourists. With blankets, lanterns and food and drinks in coolers, they’d snuck away on kayaks or sailboats to the other uninhabited islands. Where no one could find them. Where no one could interrupt. Where exploring sex had turned into making love.
Oh, no. You are not going there. Get done what you need to and get the hell out of here.
She stalked into the living room, drew back the curtains and opened the blinds, letting the afternoon sun blaze inside. By the time she’d propped open the front door and gone back to the kitchen, Noah was taking the last spoonful of soup.
“Now.” She leveled her gaze on him, ready for an argument. “When’s the last time you got any exercise or at least some fresh air?”
His answering chuckle held absolutely no humor. “Sophie, I’m not a child.”
“Then quit acting like one.”
“I understand what you’re trying to do, and there’s no point.”
“You came here to get better, right? Well, it’s not going to happen all on its own.”
“Why?” He slammed his spoon onto the table and stared at her. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t!” she yelled back.
“Then why are you doing this?”
“Because as long as you’re sitting around feeling sorry for yourself you won’t be getting better.” He’d be disrupting her thoughts, her life. She couldn’t let him disrupt Kurt’s and Lauren’s lives. She put her hands on her hips and met his gaze. “I want you the hell off my island! The sooner, the better.”
GET HIM BETTER SO HE COULD leave Mirabelle. Now that made sense to Noah, but there was no way he was spending any more time around Sophie than absolutely necessary. God help them both if either one of them started caring for the other again.
“You need to leave.” He pushed himself up from the table and hobbled back to the sofa in the living room. He’d no sooner sat down than pain ripped through his body. He stiffened and closed his eyes, letting short bursts of air puff out from between his lips.
“Noah,” she said, “what’s happening?”
“Phantom pains,” he grunted. “Feels like an electrical shock zapping my leg.”
“Can I do anything?”
“No,” he bit out. “It’ll pass.”
“There’s no medication for that?” she asked.
“Painkillers don’t do a thing.” He waved a hand at the prescription bottles sitting on the coffee table. “Believe me, I’ve tried every pill under the sun.”
“Physical therapy?”
The worst of the pain subsided and he ran his hands over his face. “They’ve been trying something new with mirrors that they say makes a difference.” He motioned toward a full-length mirror leaning against the wall. “But it sounds like a bunch of hooey to me.”
“You should be trying anything and everything to get better.”
“I should, huh? What do you know?” Who the hell did she think she was? Florence Freaking Nightingale? “You have no clue what I’m going through.”
“You need—”
“What I need is for you to leave!”
“I’m not—”
“Get the fuck out of here, Sophie! Now!”
She stepped back as if he’d hit her. “What happened to the Noah I knew?”
“Long gone, Sophie, and he won’t ever be coming back.”
“You’re pathetic. You know that?” Rousing, she charged into the kitchen and came back carrying an unopened bottle of whiskey. Slamming the bottle down on the coffee table, she said, “There you go, Noah. Knock yourself out.” Then she left.
The door slammed and Noah cringed as the noise reverberated in his head. Thank God she was gone. Blissful silence settled over his grandmother’s house as he stared at the whiskey. Why the hell not? Reaching for the bottle, he barely managed to crack it open. Pathetic? Hell, yes. Sophie had always known him better than anyone else.
THE NEXT DAY, SOPHIE POUNDED on Grandma Bennett’s front door sometime in the late afternoon. When Noah, all but passed out on the living room sofa, didn’t answer, she let herself in, apparently having kept his grandmother’s spare house key. Without a word, she made him more soup, carried it into the living room along with a banana and announced, “I’m not leaving until that food is gone.”
Noah glared at her for a few minutes, but then caved, his stomach feeling like an empty pit. The moment he finished his last bite, she took off out the front door without another word.
They went through the same charade the next day and the next. Each time, she added more food items and meatier portions, but never said anything. On the fifth day, she brought a meal from the inn. The moment she opened the take-out container, the smells of Josie’s beef Stroganoff hit his senses and his stomach growled with hunger.
Like it or not, her tactic was working. He hadn’t swallowed a drop of liquor in two days. He was sleeping marginally better and his metabolism was giving it a good go, forcing him to have to supplement the meals she’d been bringing him.
She held out the food. “So are you up for a walk today?”
“I don’t need your help. I can do this on my own.”
“What you need is some fresh air.”
“When did you get to be such a know-it-all busybody?”
“When haven’t I been?”
Sick of playing her game, he took the container out of her hand and ate.
When he’d finished, she asked, “How’s the food settling in your stomach?”
“So far, so good.”
“Then let’s go for a walk.”
“You mean go for a limp? Not interested, Nurse Ratched.”
“Are you sleeping at night?”
“No.”
“Lack of exercise isn’t helping.” She crossed her arms. “Noah, come on. Let’s go.”
Get him better so he could leave Mirabelle.
He did need to leave this island, for his dad, for himself. For Sophie. He needed to get off his ass and put the pieces of his life back together. “Okay, I give.” Too tired to fight anymore, he followed her out onto the porch.
They set off down the hill, and for a long while he and Sophie walked side by side in complete silence. Anger hung heavy in the air between them. What did you say to a woman who’d been your best friend and most passionate lover all rolled into one? A woman who’d married your own brother, for God’s sake. Nothing, that’s what.
After a time, he realized they’d struck out on the same roads, in the same direction they used to walk. How could she have stood it all these years? “Don’t you ever get sick of it? The same paths over and over and over.”
She glanced sideways at him, looking as if she might not answer him. “Every once in a while,” she finally said. “But there’s a…comfort in it, too. In the stability.”
“In the boredom.”
“You say tomato,” she said. “Bright lights and big cities don’t necessarily lead to a more fulfilling life. If you ask me, those always hunting for the latest war zones are the ones with issues.”
“Touché.”
“Does your leg hurt?” she asked.
“A little.” As weak as he’d gotten from lying in bed during his extended hospital stay, he felt every bit an invalid walking next to Sophie.
“Maybe you need a new leg.”
“I’ve got one up at the house. The new foot’s supposed to be good for all kinds of activity. Walking, running. Hell, even skating.”
“Then why do you wear this one?”
“But you’re limping. Don’t you think the new leg will fit better?”
He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to explain his jumbled-up emotions.
“What are you worried about, Noah?”
“Worried?” He stopped. “You don’t know me anymore, Sophie. Don’t presume to know what I’d be worried about.”
They walked along in virtual silence for close to an hour, making a big circle around the island. He had to admit it felt good to be outside, sunshine hitting his face, fresh air in his lungs, the sounds of robins and chickadees chirping nearby. When they came to the Rousseau woods, they both turned onto the path they’d always taken as kids, leading right by an old gnarly oak that had been great for climbing and hiding behind for stolen kisses.
“You still running?” he asked, redirecting his thoughts.
“Most mornings.”
“You can run all you want,” he mused. “You still can’t run yourself off this island.”
She glared at him.
“I know, I know. I say tomato.” He tried to shake his thoughts clear. “Same route?”
“That we used to run? No.” She shook her head. “These days, I take the road up, come back through the state forest and finish through here.” She pointed toward a path running along the shore, but Noah didn’t bother looking in that direction.
He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Sophie’s face. Her skin was dappled with sunlight streaming through the forest canopy. It was amazing how little she’d aged. She seemed more petite somehow, but that probably had more to do with him having grown than anything. Surrounded as she was by leaves, grasses and brush the green in her eyes was more pronounced. She looked like a wood nymph, one of the fairies some of the old people swore inhabited the quietest parts of Mirabelle.
She caught his gaze and the moment became awkward. He turned away too quickly, hit the trunk of the tree with his bad knee and pain zinged up his side. “Shit!” He grimaced, leaned back against the tree and rubbed his leg.