“Exactly. Because you can’t be happy with her.”
The two men gazed at each other.
“If I don’t tell her, I can’t know,” Noah said slowly. “But if I tell her, maybe I’m sad.”
“Yep. That’s the eternal conundrum.”
Noah looked puzzled.
“I mean, that’s the risk you have to decide if you want to take,” King said. “You need to decide if you like her enough to maybe be sad when she says no.”
“And maybe happy when she says yes.”
“Right.” King smiled. “She might say yes.”
“If I’m honest, maybe she’ll say yes.”
"Yep. Maybe."
Come on, man. She might say yes if you’re honest. The answer may be yes.
Am I talking to Noah or to myself?
**
Naomi hesitated when she saw her mother’s number come up on her cell phone. Her first instinct – as always – was to avoid the call. But one thing she’d learned over the past eight months was to face things head-on… most especially the things that she most wanted to duck away from. Her Mom topped that list, no doubt about it.
She grabbed her new eight-month sobriety coin from her purse and squeezed it, drawing strength. This one was red and she thought that in some ways, it was the most hard-earned one yet. Seeing Matt three or four times a week when he dropped Callie and Noah off was wreaking havoc on her head and her heart.
He never stopped surprising her – in good ways. Despite what Reena and Mitch had told her about his man-whoring ways, she still longed to drop her guard with him, to flirt back just a little bit. Because dear God, the man flirted. He flirted like it was an Olympic event and he was going for the damn gold.
Amazingly, it was nothing sleazy or offensive. Instead he was engaged in a pretty unrelenting campaign of the good, old-fashioned approach of being sexy and charming as hell. He talked to her, he complimented her. He asked about the plans for expansion on the center, he offered some ideas. He made her laugh, he made her feel beautiful. And he confused her the whole fucking time that he did so, since she knew it all meant less than nothing to Matt Kingston. She was just one more woman to pass the time with.
Pushing aside thoughts of Matt, Naomi picked up her phone. “Hi, Mom.”
“Naomi.” Yep, her Mom was slurring at nine o’clock in the morning and Naomi gripped the chip tighter. “He cheated on me.”
She closed her eyes. “Bruce?”
“Yeah. The bastard fucking cheated on me… I found out last night.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mom. You doing OK?”
A loud bark of laughter made her move the phone away from her ear. “Are you fucking serious? Of course I’m not OK! Didn’t you hear what I said? He cheated on me!”
“I know.”
“Yeah, the fuckers are all the same, baby girl… you remember that, OK? All men are the same – all cheaters. Your father, and every single guy I’ve known since then. Liars, cheaters, assholes.”
Naomi stayed silent in the face of this all-too-familiar diatribe. She could recite it by heart and word-for-word, God knows. She’d been listening to it since she was six years old.
“Your father.” Her mother’s voice was a hiss now, and Naomi braced herself for what was coming. “That fucking piece of shit. Stuck his pathetic little dick in anything that moved, then up and abandoned me.”
Abandoned us, Mom.
“Cleaned out the bank account, took my mama’s jewelry, took my rings. Left me high-and-dry with nothing but a mouth to feed.”
You mean me, Mom.
“Not a word since… and God knows, no money. Why do I keep trusting these bastards, baby girl? Why?”
“Are you at home?” Naomi asked, trying to refocus her.
“Nope.”
“You’re still at the bar?”
“Yep. Can you come and get me?”
Naomi dug deep for the courage to have the next phase of this conversation. Sure, there had been a time when she’d have rushed out of there like a bat out of hell, rescued her mother from whatever mess she’d landed herself in, paid her bar tab and offered apologies all around.
She’d have driven Mom home, fed her, plied her with aspirin and water, coaxed her in to a shower and then in to bed. She’d have spent hours listening to her mother rail against whatever the issue of the moment was – and whatever it was, it always ended with a rant about Naomi’s father – and she’d have emerged from it all shattered and stressed. Then she’d have gone to the bar herself, all ready to explode like a pressure cooker, and convinced herself that she deserved just one drink. It was never just one drink.
Boundaries… you need to set them, you need to make sure you enforce them. It’s Mom’s choice to be drunk at nine a.m. – just like it’s your choice not to be. Not anymore. You can’t save her, and you can’t force her to see. All you can do is protect yourself and your sobriety.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m at work and I can’t come get you.”
“What – you’re gonna just leave me here?”
“You got yourself there, you’ll get yourself home.”
“You goddamned ungrateful little whore. After everything I put up with from you, you’re really gonna do this to me?”
Naomi flinched. After twenty-five years of it, she should be used to this part by now, but she wasn’t. The worst of it was that Mom would have no memory of the insults she had hurled; they would be Naomi’s alone to have to work through on the nights that sleep was elusive.
“I’m going now, Mom. Be safe. I love you.”
“You fucking –”
Naomi disconnected, shaking and teary. It just never got better, never got easier.
This is one of the reasons that you drank, remember. To make these feelings go away, to hide from feeling so alone and unloved. But feeling those things isn’t going to kill you. It hurts like hell, but you can hurt badly and still draw breath. You’re strong enough to hurt and not medicate it away. Just let yourself hurt.
Naomi heard a knock at her office door and she looked up in horror. She quickly wiped her cheeks, slid her coin under a stack of papers, and sat up straight in her chair.
“Come in!” she called, trying to sound normal.
The door opened and there stood Matt. She almost crumpled at the sight of him, so large and solid and gorgeous in the morning sun. She wanted to have him hold her, right now, to make her feel something other than unwanted and small. She was sure he’d take her in those arms if she asked him to.
OK. Time to put on the game face, girl. Hide it all from him.
King took one look at her and quickly shut the door behind him. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, of course.” She tried to smile. “What’s up?”
Not buying it for even a nanosecond, he came closer. “What happened, Naomi? Tell me.”
No sense in lying, she saw. She sighed. “I – I just got an upsetting phone call.”
“Upsetting how?”
“My mother. She’s not well.”
He stood right next to her now, his massive frame making her feel even smaller in her chair. She stood up, then wished that she hadn’t. That broad chest was smack in front of her, and all she saw was his strength and warmth – the two things that she craved the most right now.
“Not well?” That rough voice was concerned, caring. “She’s in the hospital?”
“No.” Naomi bit her lip. “She’s not well mentally and emotionally. She’s – she’s a troubled person. She has – problems.”
“Ah.” King studied her. “Is she OK? Do you want me to take you to her?”
“Oh, no. No, thank you. That would actually be the worst thing for me to do right now. She needs to take some responsibility for her own care, and having me rush over there and save her from her most re
cent tailspin would only result in her not doing exactly that.” She paused, wondering how honest to be with him, then decided what the hell. “I spent years riding to the rescue and it accomplished exactly nothing, believe me. In fact, it probably made her worse. I have to let her ask for help when she’s ready. I have to wait.”
King thought about Janine, and how hard it was for him to just stand there and watch her self-destruct. Every single time he saw her, he felt helpless and angry at her for not taking care of herself the way she knew she should. He knew she was ill and his frustration was tempered with compassion, but still, he was upset by her. And if he felt this way about a woman he’d casually dated for all of six weeks, how must Naomi feel about her mother?
“I’m sorry, honey. That’s tough.”
Tears sprang to her eyes again at the endearment, and she wondered why she didn’t mind it this time. She quite liked it, if truth be told.
“Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “It is.”
King stared down at her, saw her trembling and her tears. Every inch of his body longed to soothe and comfort Naomi, but he still had no clue where the boundaries and borders were with her.
For the past few weeks, he’d been bringing Callie and Noah to the Heart Center three or four times a week, and he had made a point of talking to Naomi every chance he got. If she wasn’t out in the open area, he’d come to her office on some pretext. He’d been relaxed and warm, desperate to get her to see him as non-threatening. King knew that he was a scary son-of-a-bitch, and he knew that because he’d worked damn hard to be one.
In his business – both of them – his size and demeanor were basic job requirements. But when dealing with a woman like Naomi, these things were very unhelpful in getting her to trust him, to see him as safe. And what King had come to want, more than just about anything, was for Naomi to see him as a man she could be with. A man who wanted to make her happy, because she made him happy.
She made him laugh like nobody ever had, not in the whole of his life. He was a surly, scowling bastard most of the time, but around her, he just lightened up. He liked her gentle teasing, her smart humor. And God knows, he loved her generous heart: the way she worked for her artists was nothing short of astonishing. Naomi gave and gave and then gave some more, and the thought of anyone hurting her or taking advantage of her made him insane. She deserved better.
Their eyes met now, and in the face of her wordless pain, King gave up the struggle to not touch her. Gently, he wrapped her in his arms, not holding her anywhere as tight as he fantasized about in the shower every morning and every night. The last thing he wanted to do was intimidate her, or make her feel like she had no say in the situation. He wanted her to want to be exactly where she was; maybe even welcome it.
She was so small, so soft. He cradled her, mindful of his immense strength, knowing that he could break her without a second of thought. Not that he ever would – he’d never hurt this woman. Hell, no…he wanted to keep her safe and close, away from ugly and dark things. He hoped very much that over the past few weeks, she’d come to see him as not one of those kinds of things, despite how he earned a living.
Naomi was stunned to find herself pressed up on Matt’s chest. Weeks and weeks of staring at it, of imagining what it would be like to touch it, and she’d gotten it totally wrong. In reality, it felt better than she’d thought it would: he was stronger, larger, harder.
He smelled of something earthy and spicy and her whole body absorbed it. Matt was all man; all dangerous, tender man. A man that she’d do anything to have on her, in her, just once. A man that was exactly what she had to stay away from at this point in her life – but she couldn’t. Not in this moment. In this moment, she needed him.
Just one minute here. It doesn’t mean anything much to a man like him, I know, and it can’t mean anything much to you. But you need it right now. So take it.
Her eyes fluttered shut and she fell in to him. Her whole body shook, and she didn’t know now if it was from fighting back her tears or her desire. Matt’s hands were on her back, stroking and soothing, and he just stood silent. He let her take what strength and warmth she needed, and he waited for her to be OK again. Seconds passed, then a minute, and Naomi calmed.
She pulled back now, her beautiful eyes averted, her cheeks flushed. She was embarrassed, he saw, and he rushed to reassure her.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You OK?”
“Yeah.” She stepped back, her body unhappy that she’d broken contact. “I’m sorry about that.”
“No.” He shook his dark head. “Don’t be… I liked it.”
Her eyes widened. “You did?”
“Yep.” He smiled, glad to be honest and finally tell her how he felt. “Quite a bit, actually.”
“Oh. Oh, God.” She stepped back even farther. And this is what happened when she let her guard down and when she didn’t maintain her boundaries: she sent out an invitation to the one goddamn man on the planet that she needed to stay the hell away from.
Her distancing made him pause. “Naomi?”
“I’m sorry, Matt… I didn’t mean to – to lead you on, or tease you. I swear I didn’t.”
“You didn’t.” He stared at her, taking in her distress fully. Any plans he had of asking her to dinner again were immediately scrapped, and he played it cool. “You just needed a hug, right?”
“Right.”
“Naomi –”
Her work phone rang now and she lunged at it, deliriously grateful to not have to talk to him anymore. She answered, hoping to God that she sounded semi-normal.
“Naomi Abbott.”
“Hi, Naomi. This is Caitlin Endridge.”
“Oh, hi, Caitlin.” She took a deep breath. “Are we still on to finalize details for the auction this afternoon?”
“We are. Three o’clock?”
“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”
She hung up and was relieved to see that Matt had backed off completely. He was on the other side of her desk again.
“Sorry about that,” she said.
“Sure,” he said, trying to stop himself from reaching for her again, but it was hard.
Christ, she’d just fit so perfectly up against him, and she’d felt so good. He knew now – as sure as he knew the sun was going to rise tomorrow – that Naomi was meant for him. She was his and he was exactly the kind of man who claimed what was his – no apologies and no hesitation.
The problem was, of course, that she didn’t seem to feel the same way about him. She seemed to have no desire whatsoever to claim King as her own, as the man who’d do and be and give fucking anything for her. Maybe she’d never get past what he did for a living, the kinds of people he dealt with. Maybe he’d always be dirty and dangerous, no matter how careful and caring he was with her.
As she stared at his gorgeous face, Naomi entertained a brief and wildly ridiculous fantasy of telling Matt the whole, unvarnished truth. Just setting it all down in front of him: her alcoholism, her mother, Patrick. Just being honest, honest to the point of being completely open and vulnerable and out of control of the situation. Trusting Matt with her ugliest, darkest secrets; letting him see her as she really was, showing him her most hidden self.
Then she imagined his reaction to all of the things she’d done to get a drink, all the things she’d done while drunk, and that got her head on straight. If she had to bet, she’d say that he’d be horrified and disgusted at her, and he’d never look at her the same way again. The thought of him going all polite and impersonal on her hurt, and she stiffened her resolve to hold him at arm’s length.
Arm’s length… even though being in his arms was the closest thing to heaven I have ever, ever known.
“OK, well. Have to get going.” King stood up again, eager to get away from Naomi before he fell to his knees and fucking begged her to be his. “Busy day at the office.”
/>
She was hurt at his obvious desperation to flee her presence, but she forced a smile. “Here too. The auction is in a week, you know.”
“Yeah, I remember. How’s it going?”
“Oh, not bad. Under control.”
“Good.”
“Yeah, it is good.”
They looked at each other again, a million things unsaid between them. After a few seconds, King turned and left, and Naomi retrieved her coin. She held it to her lips for a long time, just breathing and letting herself feel the waves of pain and loss yet again. Then she called Mirrie.
**
“No,” Sarah said, her voice pure steel. “Noah will not testify to what he saw the night of my attack. That’s non-negotiable.”
“Sarah,” Felicia Mendez said, trying to be patient with her client. “He’s our only witness.”
“And he’s autistic. You really think the defense isn’t going to torture him on the stand? Question him until he cracks, gets hysterical? Maybe even hurts himself?” She shook her head. “No way. This is my decision and my answer is no.”
“So what are you saying?” Felicia asked. “You don’t want to take this to trial?”
“Can we even take it to trial?” Sarah said. “Noah isn’t going to be seen as a strong witness and I have almost no memory of what happened. What do we even have to show in the way of evidence, besides the physical?”
“Your memory of that night hasn’t come back at all?”
“I remember Dave kicking in the front door and telling me that I was a biker’s dirty slut,” Sarah said. “I remember him choking me and punching me to the floor, and beyond that, it’s all a blank.”
Jax tensed, took her hand. He hated to think about what she’d gone through that night; he still had nightmares about the way he’d found her, broken and bleeding on her living room floor. He knew it was wrong, but a big part of him was glad that she had no memory of what Dave had done to her. Some days, he hoped that she’d never remember.
“OK, well.” Felicia looked down at her papers. “We do have the DNA under your nails and his blood and hair at the scene. And a neighbor did say she saw a man of Dave’s description leaving your house in a hurry. But that’s all we’ve got.”
Hard Curves (Dangerous Curves Book 2) Page 7