“And photos,” Suzette said. “Like I said, I’ve been wanting to tell this story a long time. Longer even than Ian.”
Mother. Lode.
“I’ll call you in a day.” Jennifer then said goodbye, her blood humming through her veins. She buzzed with excitement. If she looked in a mirror, she wouldn’t be surprised to see she glowed.
“Jennifer?” Ian poked his head back in. “You done?”
His smile was charming. His manner gracious and that dark thought began its march through her excitement, laying waste to it.
Control him? She could barely control herself when she was around him.
And now this story, her career and Kerry Waldo’s career seemed to depend on her controlling everything.
“Jennifer?”
She held out the phone. “Thanks,” she said.
Carefully, as if he were aware of her doubts, he took the phone from her. “Everything okay?”
“Good,” she said, eager to get him out. Eager to come up with a plan, a way of dealing with him that would get her the story without jeopardizing anything. “Everything’s fine.”
He pursed his lips, obviously not believing her. Still, he left.
Left her alone with all her doubts.
11
Ian managed to put away the clean plates from the breakfast catastrophe without breaking a single one. He managed to stop himself from smashing every single plate and cup against the wall to vent this sudden wild nervousness that flooded him.
He wanted to toss the coffeepot against the office door to make Jennifer come out and talk to him. Tell him what was going on behind those sharp, impenetrable whiskey eyes of hers.
Andille and the kids who followed him like snakes out of Ireland came barreling in the back door.
“Hungry!” the littlest girl howled, jumping up and down in front of Deb, who, Ian noticed, was looking slightly less uptight than she had before. In fact, now that Deb’s face wasn’t pinched with disapproval, Ian was stunned to see how young she was.
And beautiful.
One day with Dille and the woman practically glowed.
Which wasn’t good. At all.
Ian was going to need to have a chat with Andille about flirting with the locals. He cringed slightly knowing that he could have used the same chat, oh, about twelve hours ago.
“I’ll get some snacks together and we can head out to the pond,” Deb said and the kids flocked to their spots at the table.
It would be best for the women, he thought, watching Deb watching Andille from the corner of her eye, if he and Andille left now.
Not that he was worried about Jennifer after her speech this morning. But he didn’t want Deb in danger of getting hurt when they left. And they would leave.
“You did the dishes,” Andille said.
“I did.” He threw a clean frying pan in the cupboard with other pan-type things. “Don’t look so surprised.”
“You’ll have to forgive me,” Andille said, leaning against the counter nibbling on, of all things, some string cheese. “I’ve just never seen you do that.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve never seen me do lots of things,” he snapped, feeling snarly since Jennifer had been locked in the office for hours and he didn’t know what was going on.
He leaned closer to Andille so they wouldn’t be heard, even though the kids were keeping up a steady stream of chatter.
“What the hell are you doing?” Ian asked in a whisper.
“What are you talking about?” Andille asked, mocking his whisper.
“Deb,” he said and Andille stopped mocking him. His face turned thunderous.
“Watch what you say, Ian.”
“Have you forgotten that we don’t live here? That we live in New York? That we have jobs and—”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Andille said through his teeth.
“Then what are you doing?”
“I could ask you the same question,” Andille answered, his voice getting silky.
“I told you,” Ian said. “I’m telling my story. Jennifer is helping me.”
“Right. Which explains what you two were doing last night and why—”
“Jennifer knows the score,” Ian said, not wanting to think about how he’d misread her last night. How he’d missed the moment enthusiasm turned to doubt. “Does Deb?”
Andille’s eyelids flinched and Ian knew the truth. “This place,” Ian said, feeling bad for his best friend, even though he didn’t quite understand it, “women like these women, they’re not for us.”
“Not for you,” Andille said, his eyes flashing. “They’re not for you. This could be for me. She could—”
Ian waited for Andille to finish but he looked down at his feet, his throat working hard. Ian cursed under his breath, knowing what Andille was butting up against. It’s what Ian himself always butted up against and it was beginning to make him nuts watching Andille fight this.
“You don’t owe me anything anymore, Andille,” Ian said. “We’re paid up and if you want—”
Andille’s eyes burned right through Ian and he shut up. This was a seriously, painfully old argument. One that Ian never ever won.
“Fine,” he said, curving his hand over Andille’s thick shoulder. “You stubborn son of a bitch.”
Andille’s face cracked in a thin smile and the tension in him, the tension Ian knew was getting thicker and deeper and heavier every day, dissipated just slightly.
“So,” Andille asked, “how goes it with the story?”
Ian blew out a big breath and stared at the closed door of the office. She was behind that door working on things without him. He’d noticed the change in her demeanor when she returned his cell phone. Suzette had said something, planted some doubt in her mind, and it was sticking.
This was his story, damn it. His mother. His overbearing nightmare of an abusive father. Without Ian, she didn’t have a story. She didn’t have anything. He turned slightly, hoping the door might open and she’d appear, radiating that icy all-business attitude that was such a ridiculous and sexy challenge it almost wasn’t fair.
To him or her.
Really. The poor woman had no idea the red flag she’d waved in front of him with that whole “let’s keep this professional” thing. He agreed totally, and nothing would happen. But he knew, just as she did, that if he so much as crooked a finger at her, she’d be right back in his arms, trying to crawl into his skin like she had been last night.
And her sitting in that office, working on his story and pretending she wasn’t interested in him was all combining to piss him off.
“It’s going great,” he lied, not wanting Andille to know the truth. But his friend laughed.
“Right,” Andille said.
The office door stayed shut and Ian thought his head would explode from the pressure of trying to will it open.
“Why don’t you come outside with us?” Andille asked. “Take an afternoon off from being Ian Greer and kick around a soccer ball.”
“Yeah!” Spencer, Jennifer’s son, piped up from the table where he was assembling peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
“There’s no paparazzi out there, Ian,” Andille said. “No Jackson, nothing but sunshine and kids.”
An afternoon off? Playing soccer instead of turning himself inside out for revenge?
He glanced at the door to the office.
“I can’t,” he said. This was hardly the time for fun. His life was on the line and if it required him sitting here all day staring at that door, then he’d do it.
His revenge demanded that.
“Sorry,” he told Andille, whose old, wise eyes said way too much.
“It’s not me who’s sorry,” he said.
“I get it, Andille, but I can’t pretend that my life’s not on the line right now.”
Andille shook his head. “It doesn’t have to be your life,” he said.
Ian rolled his eyes. “Well, right now it is.”
Right now what was happening
behind that office door was all he had.
Weird day, Spencer thought. Really weird. Probably one of the weirdest days in his life. And it wasn’t because he’d watched Andille bounce a ball off his head, like, thirty-five times. What made everything off-the-charts weird was Madison.
First of all, he didn’t like her anymore. And he definitely didn’t love her. He could cross that stuff out in his book.
She was mean. Supermean when people weren’t looking and then she’d turn around and be nice whenever adults were around.
She actually pinched him at the swimming hole when he wouldn’t let her go ahead of him. Pinched him!
He looked at the red spot on his arm under the table.
Yeah, they weren’t in love anymore. For sure.
“What are you doing?” Madison asked. She sat beside him at the dinner table because everyone thought they were such good buddies.
“Nothing,” he said, real fast because he was a little scared of her.
“Here we go, guys,” Deb said, putting down plates with pasta and peas and apples on them. “Careful, the pasta is hot.” Then she turned away back to the stove.
Andille poured milk and set glasses down in front of all of them and then he looked away, too.
Spence rubbed his arm and glanced toward the closed office door. He really wished his mom would come out now. Then, like she’d heard him, the door opened and his mom walked out with a big smile on her face.
“Mom!” he cried. “Come sit by me.”
“Sure, let me help Deb get stuff on the table.” Mom leaned over and gave him a big kiss on the cheek and he almost grabbed her hand to keep her right beside him. “Hey,” she said, “looks like you hurt your arm. You have to be careful doing those flips off the rope swing.”
She brushed his hair off his face and turned to help Deb. And there was Madison, leaning toward him.
“Don’t you dare say a word,” she said, looking mean and ugly.
“Leave me alone, Mad—”
Madison grabbed his arm—the arm she’d already pinched—and she dug her fingers into his skin and squeezed and pinched and twisted her hands so his skin burned and ached and he gasped with the pain and shock of it.
“Don’t say a word, or I’ll—”
“Madison?” It was Ian standing right above them and Spence was so glad he nearly started crying. “Madison, what are you doing?” Ian knocked Madison’s hands loose and Spence pulled himself away so fast he fell off his chair. He just laid there, holding his arm and wondering why he didn’t run like he’d said he would.
Ian wasn’t the only one motionless. The kitchen was frozen. Everyone was paralyzed with surprise. Daisy stood between Spence and Madison, whining, her canine loyalties divided. Ian couldn’t even be sure of what he’d been interrupting between Madison and Spencer, but it had looked wrong. And now Spence wasn’t getting up and the sound of his soft sob sent everyone into motion.
Madison wrestled her arm out of Ian’s loose grip and charged Spence where he lay on the floor and she managed to stomp hard on his foot before Ian grabbed the girl around the waist, lifting her off the ground so she couldn’t kick anyone else.
“He’s lying,” she cried, pushing and flailing against him. “He’s totally lying. I never hurt him.”
Jennifer was on her knees next to Spence and the boy curled into his mother, cradling his arm and trying to rub his foot at the same time.
“Whoa, whoa,” Ian said, feeling the waters come up right over his head. His flight instinct was in full effect, but he knew he couldn’t just walk away. He couldn’t even let the girl go. “What is going on here?”
Angelina had gone into a sort of catatonic state that had Deb’s hands full and Andille was holding on to Shonny.
That left him with the young abuser.
“Let me go!” Madison screamed, moving from pushing to scratching and biting him.
“Ouch, no.” He tried to switch positions and the girl got loose and was heading for Spence, who cringed in sudden terror, again.
“Ian,” Andille growled. “Take her out of here.”
Right. Out. Ian snagged her around the waist and hauled her into the office. Ignoring her screams, he plunked her down in the chair, then turned around and left, slamming the door shut behind him.
Andille looked up at him, appalled.
“I should stay with her?” Ian guessed and Andille nodded, so he ducked back into the office.
Madison stood and tried to make a break for it, but he pushed her gently back into the chair. That game went on for a while. It felt like Ping-Pong, but a bad version of it. Man. He’d give about a million dollars to have Andille or Jennifer in here.
Jennifer wouldn’t be bouncing this girl around like a ball.
“I can do this all night,” he said when she snarled at him. She kept coming, and he kept putting her back in her spot, until finally she seemed exhausted.
The little girl sagged slightly in the chair, her hair shielding her face.
Ian didn’t often have much empathy. Sympathy he could do. Anonymous sympathy from a very long way away was actually his favorite. Handing out money and legal aid was preferable to talking to people and trying to walk a mile in their shoes.
But looking at that little girl, he felt her shame and confusion right in his gut. Like a thousand-pound weight suddenly sewn into his stomach, he felt as if he were fourteen years old again at boarding school for the first time. Ashamed that he’d done something so bad to be sent away and unsure of exactly what it was. And angry with everyone.
The anger in her eyes was painfully familiar.
All worked up with nowhere to put all those feelings.
God, it was his childhood all over again.
Nausea spun through him and he took a deep breath, battling the memories.
“What are you doing?” he asked softly.
She shrugged. The veil of hair didn’t reveal so much as an eyeball or the corner of her mouth. But he could feel her glaring at him like a cold wind blowing through the office.
“I thought Spence was your friend,” he said.
She shrugged again and Ian felt his own temper rising. The temper that terrified him. The temper that reminded him he was his father’s son after all.
“You don’t treat friends that way,” he told her, carefully.
“I can treat him however I want.” She sneered. “He’s my friend.”
Man, oh, man, if Madison’s mother could see the lesson she’d given her little girl. It was the same lesson his father had taught him.
“He won’t be if you keep hurting him.”
Madison didn’t respond.
“I know you’re really scared and worried about your dad—”
“I don’t care about my dad!” she said, shaking back her hair, so he could see her snapping eyes.
“You don’t?”
“No!”
“But—” Ian was at a loss “—you saw him get hurt.”
“I told him we should leave,” she said, bristling and furious. “I told him we should leave a million times but he didn’t listen. He didn’t care.”
“Oh,” he said stupidly, his tongue and mind in knots. He sat hard in the chair by the desk. He’d done the same thing with his mother. Begged her to leave. Begged her to choose him over Dad. Begged her to keep herself—and him—safe.
And so she sent him away.
Christ, where was this grief coming from? He’d put this behind him. Way behind him. But here it was coming down on him like a landslide.
“I’m sure he—”
“Shut up!” she yelled, leaping to her feet and pushing him so hard he nearly fell off the chair. “You don’t know anything! You don’t know what it’s like! You don’t—”
Ian crouched and grabbed her shoulder. Going on some kind of adrenaline-fueled instinct, he gave her a little shake, and another, until she stopped screaming, and was staring at him wide-eyed.
He saw himself reflected in her eyes and i
t pushed him over some edge he didn’t realize he was so close to.
“I know more than you think. I know you have to do everything in your power to not be like your mother,” he whispered right into her face and she stilled. He could actually see her listening. “I know you’re angry and you don’t know what to do with it. I know you’re hurt and you don’t know what to do with that, either. But acting the way your mother did is shameful. It’s mean and it’s wrong. And you have got to spend your entire life—every single day—trying to be better than that. You have to put all that anger and that hurt away.”
She blinked at him and he worried in some distant place that he was scaring her. Perhaps his personal motto was too much for an eleven-year-old.
After a moment, she nodded and he stroked her shoulders with his thumbs, terrified that his anger and fear had gotten the better of him.
“I’m scared,” she said and her voice broke. Tears filled her eyes and his heart just about shattered.
“What are you scared of?” he whispered, afraid it was him.
“I’m scared I’m just like her,” she wailed and threw herself into his arms.
For a second he just crouched there, feeling her hot tears on his neck, feeling the strength and desperation in her stranglehold on his neck.
He wanted to run, to leave. But he knew that was the coward’s way out. And suddenly, somehow, he was tired of being a coward.
Awkwardly stroking her hair he thought of his father, of every decision Ian had made and the fears that woke him in the night. He thought of all that and was suddenly brave enough to whisper, “Me, too.”
12
“What do you think he’s doing in there?” Deb asked the quiet room. Jennifer lifted her head and glanced at the closed office door.
“I have no idea,” she whispered. Spence shuffled around and looked up at her with damp, blue-grey eyes. “You hungry?” she asked and he nodded.
She helped him into his chair and picked up the glass of milk that had spilled, trading it for a full one.
“You okay?” she asked while he drank.
He nodded. “I don’t know why she did that,” he finally said, so baffled.
And Then There Was You (Serenity House Book 2) Page 12