by S. E. Dosher
Paul stands and motions his head for me to come to him. I nod in agreement and practically run before my heart has a chance to grasp what I’m doing and stop me.
My chest is heaving with quick breaths when I finally come to a speedy halt. My head turns to look back where Niko had been, but he’s gone, no trace of him.
“Well, well, about time you came back,” Stephen says with a smile when I reach them. “Wow, what’s going on?” he asks then looks to where my eyes are focused. Thankfully, I know he doesn’t see anything.
“Nothing,” I manage to force out. “Just been dancing.” I lie and look toward Paul who, bless his heart, is nodding.
“I told you, the girl wanted to dance, but I refused.” He flips his hand dismissively, a gesture that means change the subject; I actually see it often.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived, we had a small disruption I had to help take care of earlier.” Stephen tells me without lingering too long on my frenzied entrance.
“Don’t worry about it, we’re fine,” I reassure him and pick up my half melted Shirley Temple, taking a huge gulp, hoping that having something to fiddle with will settle my nerves.
“Yes, but I could have taken you up on that dance,” Stephen says and does a little shake with his shoulders.
Paul and I both burst out in laughter. An ice cube shoots from my mouth and bounces off the table then falls to the floor.
“Good one,” Paul says.
“What? I’m an okay dancer,” Stephen feigns, but we both shake our heads. “Okay, maybe not, but that wouldn’t have stopped me from trying.”
His humor helps to settle my jittery insides. He shifts over and without thinking I climb into the booth next to him. Our bodies aren’t touching, but still I’m acutely aware of our closeness and can almost feel eyes burning into my flesh from behind us.
“So Stephen here was just catching me up on Hawaii, and how he’s been working on getting Surf up and running for about a year.”
I look at Paul then turn to look at Stephen, my mouth agape. “A year? You’ve been back in LA for a whole year?” I ask, and for some reason the knowledge of this makes me feel empty inside.
“Yes, I got back about eleven months ago. I didn’t get a chance to tell you that last night before you left.”
“You didn’t think to call?” I ask, feeling too hurt to hear how absurd my question sounds.
“I wasn’t actually sure you’d want to hear from me,” Stephen admits softly to me, not realizing he shouldn’t bother to whisper. I’ll tell Paul everything the minute we’re away from him.
“I did,” I tell him, because it’s the truth, but wanting to hear from him and still being in love with him are not necessarily one in the same. “But I understand, it’s a little shocking to hear, but I do get it.”
“Umm, yeah. My bad,” Paul throws out when we both pause and just stare at each other.
The cocktail waitress has impeccable timing and appears. “Good evening, Mr. Ami. Can I get your table anything additional before last call?”
“Wow, is it already that late…er, early?” I ask.
“It is,” Stephen answers then looks at both of us, and we shake our heads as an answer. “No, Christine, I think we are all set for tonight.”
She nods, smiles, and then makes her way to the next table.
“Can I give you two a ride home?” Stephen asks us.
“Not me,” says Paul. “I have plans, but I would be happy if someone makes sure Miss Shirley Temple gets home safely.” He wags his eyebrows at me, and I spit the cherry off the top of my Shirley Temple at him.
“Shirley Temples tonight?” Stephen asks.
“Those apparently come after you’ve had too many dirty martinis,” I explain, and he groans in a shared knowledge of drunk Brook.
***
Paul left the club after he not-so-covertly pimped me off on Stephen. I decided to pay him back by pimping him off to Stephen as well, just in a little different fashion.
“So don’t suppose Surf has a management position open?” I ask as we weave through the hills on our way to my house.
“Job hunting?” He asks and I see his eyebrows rise.
“Nope, not me. Paul is in the market for a new job.”
“Oh really, he didn’t mention that.”
“I didn’t expect he would; he thinks he’s above such things. I, on the other hand, am not.”
“You’re a good friend, Brook,” he says for the second time in as many days. “You always have been.”
His words shock me. I’ve never handled compliments well; especially from someone like Stephen, who was once one of the best friends anyone could ask for.
“Why did you leave?” I ask him bluntly.
A sharp intake of breath fills the car as he mules over my question.
“I’ve been waiting for you to ask, but still…I don’t know that I was prepared for it.”
“It’s a simple question. No matter what we were, we were always friends first,” I reassure him. “I know your parents can be hard to deny, but you were old enough to make up your own mind and tell them to go fuck themselves.”
“I know. I think that’s what made it so difficult to come back. I missed you every day, missed all my friends. I just wasn’t ready to grow up, wasn’t ready for the responsibility my parents were expecting of me.”
I reach out and lightly squeeze his arm in a show of support. He turns and smiles at me.
“They gave me an ultimatum. Either I take on more responsibility and drop some of my friends, or I leave.” He shakes his head at the memory. “I never was good with demands, so I left and tried to survive on my own. Obviously, that didn’t work out too well for me.” He lets out a bitter laugh.
“But things are good now.” I remind him.
“Yes, things are good now,” he agrees and lifts his hand to fold it around mine.
It’s a simple gesture, but in that moment it changes everything. After Stephen told me he still cared for me, a part of me assumed I’d end up with him. It’s the smart move, the logical one, but I wasn’t sure it was what my heart wanted. My life had been broken since Stephen left, but not once had I thought his absence was a contributing factor to the brokenness.
“Brook, I know this all has to be a huge shock to you. I honestly didn’t know what I’d say when I finally saw you again, and then to see you with Nikolas Gallo…well, that was definitely not part of my plan.” He exhales slowly before continuing, “I’m not asking for you to make any declarations tonight, I just want to know you’ll think about it, and we can talk.”
“No matter what else comes, we’ll always been friends. I don’t have many, so don’t you think I’ll let you run off again.”
He smiles and I smile in return, a genuine smile, but lacking the same emotions behind it as his.
He pulls his sleek foreign sports car down the driveway and to the arched trestle that leads to my door.
“Do you want me to walk you in?” he asks with a cocky edge to his voice.
I laugh and shake my head. “That won’t be necessary,” I tell him. Mostly because I think our night needs to end before I embarrass myself again, but also because after last night I don’t know who might be waiting for me inside my house.
He nods then leans across the console to kiss my forehead.
“Call you tomorrow?” he asks.
“Of course.”
I climb from his car and cautiously walk to my front door. It is exactly like I left it, closed. Stephen hasn’t pulled away yet, so once I unlock the door and flip on a light switch, I turn back and give him a small wave. He honks his horn and drives away.
“I was starting to wonder when you were going to come home,” a male voice says and I jump, releasing a strangled gasp.
“Brock!” I shout, “You scared the shit out of me.”
He laughs at having frightened me, and I punch him in the shoulder.
“I wondered when you were going to f
inally get home. Your channels suck by the way.”
“How long have you been sitting in my house?” I ask, and even though it comes out sounding mad, I’m far from it. He looks happy. This is the first time in weeks he’s made an attempt to speak to me and had a smile on his face in my presence.
“For a while actually, but I wanted to catch you before you went to bed,” he says, and a deep crease appears on his brow, causing my stomach to drop.
“Oh,” I say softly.
“Look, you know I love you; you’re my fucking sister, after all. I’m sorry I get so ticked off at you for things; I don’t think I would if I didn’t love you and expect so much from you. You just know how to piss me off better than anyone else.” He pauses and runs his hands up and down his face.
“Umm, okay,” I say, dragging the words out. Even though I know he’s trying to apologize, his silence is hanging in the air and making me nervous.
“No, I mean that as a compliment. You couldn’t piss me off so badly if I didn’t love you so much.” He moves his neck from side to side. “I don’t want you move; I like having you here and knowing you’re safe. So please stay.”
“Are you sure?” I ask timidly. “Because if you’re trying to say you’re sorry, it’s kind of a sucky apology.” I say bluntly and watch as his eyes widen.
“I am sorry, truly I am. And I’m positive I want you to stay. If you try to move, I won’t let you. So…” His words trail off as his eyebrows arch to emphasize his seriousness.
“Okay, I really don’t want to move anyway,” I shrug. “But I might force you to make it up to me, can’t let you easily get away with being an ass.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he says and his eyes soften.
“Good,” I say, a smile stretched wide.
“So how are things going in court? Do you need a lawyer?” He asks, somewhat tentatively.
“No. A friend hired a lawyer for me, and things are actually looking up. Especially now,” I tell him.
“Good,” he says and stands. “Now I have to go to bed, I don’t know how you stay up this late.”
“Helps when you sleep in late as well and don’t work yourself ragged every day.”
He nods at me but doesn’t breach that topic, “If you need anything, please let me know. Obviously, I haven’t been here for you recently, but I want that to change. No more secrets between us, okay?”
“Okay,” I agree.
He kisses the top of my head then pulls me into a big, brotherly hug, and instantly all the pieces of my broken life seem to align. Even if so many things are still unresolved, knowing Paul and Brock are by my side make them seem less daunting.
He turns to leave but stops briefly, “By the way, I saw Niko sneaking out down the driveway this morning. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t think you should be around him while you’re currently in court because of him.”
I nod. “I know.”
He nods back, “Brunch tomorrow when we finally pull ourselves out of bed?” He asks with a smirk, and his offer makes another huge smile bloom on my face.
“Of course.”
Chapter 8
I toss and turn all night while Niko haunts my dreams. The lack of emotion on his face when he followed me back to the table, where Paul and Stephen were waiting, has been glued to the back of my eyelids. Every time they close, he appears in the darkness.
The clock on my nightstand reads ten o’clock, but the bags under my eyes don’t feel like it should be morning. I’ve been staring at my ceiling since before six, refusing to move from my bed. Finally I check my voicemail, hoping I have a message from my lawyer extraordinaire, Ronald, but no such luck. Now that the idea of Niko dropping the charges against me has been planted in my mind, I’m ready to know my fate instead of hide from it.
My phone buzzes with a text from Brock.
Have an urgent meeting. Lunch instead? 1:00?
I sigh at my brother’s constant hectic work schedule and wonder if we’ll ever get to a place where I feel like I can trust him again. Trust him not to judge my every decision and abandon me for those he doesn’t agree with. Obviously, my most recent fuck up was a big one; hell, anytime the police get involved is a pretty big deal, but most family members would have at least asked the details before they wrote me off completely. I also know that’s just who he is, and if I want him to accept me for who I am then I owe him the same courtesy. I’ve missed him the past few weeks and want the easiness I once felt whenever I thought about him back. He seemed so open to repairing things last night, I don’t plan to let him change his mind because of some deep seeded need he has to win everyone’s approval.
Sure, see you then.
I text back, but I’m not going to sit around and do nothing all morning, waiting on another man in my life. I’m going to surprise him. There aren’t many things I can cook well, but the one thing I make that comes out deliciously every time, without fail, my brother happens to love—lasagna. Essentially it’s just throwing a bunch of things in one dish and letting them melt into each other – the easiest kind of cooking. I’m going to surprise him with a home cooked lunch, just in case his mind still has any doubts about me.
I don’t know if his meeting is at his office or his house, since he spends his working hours shuffling between the two. After I shower and dress, I sneak into his kitchen by way of the side entrance to dig through his pantry to see what I need to buy from the grocery store. The first thing I see is lasagna noodles, a garlic bulb, onion, and all the canned tomato products I’ll need for the sauce. I move to the spice rack and take down all the ones I’ll need – basil, fennel, Italian seasoning, salt and pepper. Opening the fridge I immediately see parmesan cheese but no ricotta, mozzarella, ground beef, or Italian sausage. I turn to write them on my list, but before the pen even touches the paper, I see Niko sitting at the breakfast table, drinking a cup of coffee.
“Brook.” I hear him say nonchalantly as he lifts his mug in greeting then takes a slow drink, enjoying his steaming joe.
My world tilts.
“What are you doing here?” I snap and look around to double-check this is actually my brother’s kitchen—of course it is.
“Brock called and asked me to meet with him,” he says knowingly, his face unreadable to what his tone means.
“About what?” I probe as he stands from the table and stalks toward me.
“I’m not sure yet.” His eyes are trained on me like a predator that’s caught scent of his prey.
My heart thuds in my chest, and with every step he takes, the pace increases.
He finally stops directly across the kitchen island from me, thankfully leaving me out of arm’s reach. Otherwise I’d be in trouble of being dragged in by his gravitational pull.
“Where’s Brock?” I ask, my voice shaky.
I feel the need to duck my head and break his gaze, but I’m frozen solid, my body refusing to retreat. The corners of his mouth turn up as he begins to saunter around the side of the island aimed directly for me.
The closer he gets, the more I’m able to focus on his face. It is the first time I’ve seen him in the light of the day since he discovered my secrets and lies. He looks tired and overwrought. Dark circles rim his eyes, and just like I had felt against my skin, his face is smooth and clean-shaven. The scar, caused by the knife my hand wielded a few weeks ago, is healing and appears as nothing more than a thin, white line. Still, he looks just as handsome as he ever did; maybe just in need of a long vacation and sleep.
He’s finally near enough for me to feel the heat from his skin. He squeezes his body between me and the island I’ve been leaning on. He rests his hands on either side of my waist and directs my body backwards until our momentum is stopped when my back hits the cabinets.
His thumb comes up and slowly caresses my cheek. “Did you know I was going to be here? Is that why you showed up?” he asks, and immediately my blood runs cold at his assumption.
“No!” I gri
t out. “How in the hell would I know you’d be here?”
He shrugs, “Maybe you had your brother call me.” His voice is full of arrogance and mistrust.
My stomach knots in dread; after what I did, I can’t blame him for believing the worst in me. All the anger I had been holding toward him after our last two encounters sloughs off effortlessly.
I shake my head earnestly, “No, I didn’t.” My gaze falls to the side, focusing past him to the floor. “I’m not stalking you…not anymore.” My words come out in a fast jumble.
“Why?” he asks with that same edge of condescension.
A shock courses through my body at his question, and my head swiftly tilts up to meet his gaze.
“What?”
“You didn’t want to see me?” he asks, changing the meaning of his question, but his original intent still lingers.
“What are you doing? Why are you here? Why do you keep showing up everywhere I am?” My words flow from my lips swiftly as my mind races to make sense of his actions.
“I don’t know,” he says, and I see the façade he’s been wearing falter. “No matter where I go, I end up following you.”
“Following me? What do you mean following me?” I hear his words, but don’t understand their meaning…can’t possibly understand what I think he said.
He doesn’t answer.
“Tell me what’s going on? Are you following me?” I demand and try to squirm away from his touch, but he holds me steady, refusing to let me move.
Suddenly, his entire act of concealment slips away, and he nods his answer to me.
I gasp at his revelation, but slowly the feeling of being followed the past few days starts to make sense.
“What do you want? You made your feelings clear when…” I pause, every inch of my body screaming for me not to mention when the police invaded my house, but I know I can’t avoid bringing it up. I’ve already admitted I was stalking him; it’s not like he doesn’t know. “You saw what I saw…what…you…what the police had. You know what I did,” I stammer.