MISTAKEN - The Complete First Season

by Peak, Renna

  I looked down at the table, no longer wanting him to look me in the eye. “That’s what you do?” My voice sounded meek, afraid, even to me in that moment.

  His jaw clenched. “No, that’s not what I do.” He lowered his voice and leaned in. “Is that what you think?”

  My shoulders shrugged, almost a reflex. I didn’t know what to think.

  “What is it you think I do, Jen?”

  I finally looked up at him, my voice hushed. “I don’t know now. I guess I thought you were a fixer.”

  He drummed his fingers on the table and looked into my eyes. “Not quite.”

  I shook my head and took a long drink from my straw, looking back down at the table. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to know the answer now.

  “Ask me. Whatever it is you want to know.” He reached across the table and touched my chin, tilting my head up to meet his gaze. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  I pressed my lips into a line. “What did Daniel do? Why did he have to fake his death?”

  He released my chin and grabbed hold of his beer. He took a drink and shook his head at me. “I don’t know the answer to that one. My guess is he knows something he shouldn’t. If I knew what he knew, I wouldn’t be here talking to you about it right now.”

  I nodded. “And why would he keep something he knew quiet in Japan? Why did they let him live if he knew something so important that he had to die for it?”

  He looked directly in my eyes, not letting me look away this time. “I don’t know. I have my suspicions.” He shrugged again. “But I don’t know the answer for sure.”

  I picked up my straw and stirred it around my drink, never looking away from him. “I guess I can’t ask you ‘anything’ then, can I?”

  He looked down at the table and gave a little chuckle. “I guess not.”

  My lips pressed together again. “What can you tell me?”

  He lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. “What do you want to know?”

  I tilted my head up and looked at the ceiling in frustration before looking back across at him. “I don’t know. Start at the beginning.”

  He let out a long sigh. “Well, I hear it was a sunny, November day in Miami, thirty years ago…”

  “Not that far back, smart ass.”

  His eyes twinkled and he grinned at me, giving another hearty chuckle. “Sorry. Where do you want me to start?”

  It was hard to keep from smiling; he was clearly having fun with this. I gave my eyes a small roll. “Tell me how we got here. Here, now. And don’t say you walked through the glass doors at the entrance, or I’ll have to punch you in the face.”

  He let out a full-on belly laugh before taking another swig of his beer. He set the bottle back on the table, his eyes still twinkling. “Okay. The story of you and me. I think I can do this.”

  “Make it good.”

  “Geez, no pressure or anything, Jen.”

  I shook my head and took a sip of my drink. I waggled my eyebrows at him, letting him know I wasn’t serious. “Sorry.”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners when he grinned this time. “Okay, let’s see. Where to begin…” His voice drifted off and he looked at the wall behind me. He licked his lips before continuing. “Okay. I think I told you I met Daniel in prep school. We weren’t close or anything, but I sort of knew him. He was a year younger, I think.”

  I nodded. He had already told me this part of the story.

  “Yeah. That’s how we first met. Daniel and I, I mean.” He tapped at the beer bottle. “Yeah. So you said you thought I was a fixer. That’s sort of true, I guess. It started out that way.”

  “Okay.” That wasn’t really a surprise.

  “It’s more than that, though. It’s hard to explain. I guess I do things when other people can’t get them done. People call me when they’re out of options.” His eyes went over my shoulder to the wall again. “I suppose I provide a premium service. A very expensive service.”

  My heart jumped into my throat while my stomach hit the floor. My voice lowered to almost a whisper again. “You’re a…” I couldn’t say it. “…a hit man?”

  His eyes darted from the wall to meet mine in an instant. “No!” He winced. “God, no.” That stung look, like I had slapped him, returned to his face.

  I let out the breath that I hadn’t realized I was holding. I nodded at him, encouraging him to continue.

  He closed his eyes for a moment before looking back over my shoulder at the wall. “I suppose that is a service I could provide access to, though, if needed.” He looked back at me. “Not myself, though. I don’t do that, Jen.”

  I honestly wasn’t sure if there was a difference. Didn’t it still mean there was blood on his hands if he had ever hired someone like that? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the rest, but I gave a little nod to him anyway, telling him to continue with the story.

  “I don’t even know how I got into this business. I tried to go legit; I’ve tried many times.” His voice hushed, even though there was no one else around. “That night, the night I got the call to pick up Daniel. That was it. I swore I was out.” His gaze met mine again. “I’d purchased a controlling share in Tomojii. I was on the board of directors there. I was going legit with my life. No more living in the shadows.” He laid his hands in front of him. “Professional. No more clean up jobs.”

  I licked at my lips again and watched his hands. Hands that were capable of so many things. Many more things than I had known.

  “And I did it for a while. I went to the office, made a difference.” His eyes met mine again. “I got bored pretty quickly. I took one job, telling myself it would be the very last one. Then another.” He looked back down at his hands. “It’s a hard business to just retire from.”

  “I see.” I reached for my glass again, stirring the ice around before taking another sip. “So, San Francisco? You were there on a job. Me, right?”

  He shook his head. “No, not on a job.” He grabbed his beer and took another swig, never looking away from the spot on the table where his hand rested. His face fell, dejected. “I got a call. They said my grandmother had three months to live and I knew I had to get my ass back there. I had to be there when she died.” He shook his head like he had disappointed himself. “I hadn’t seen her in a long time, you know?” He looked up at me and our eyes locked. “She raised me from the time my mom died. I was four.”

  I could see how hurt he was, how saddened by her death. I reached my hand out and covered his with mine. I gave him a slight nod, never breaking our eye contact.

  “She did everything for me, and I hadn’t seen her in ten years. Ten years.” He shook his head. “I knew I had to go.” He looked up at the ceiling. “I got to San Francisco, and she was already moving into that hospice house. They told me she had three months.”

  The pain in his eyes was breaking my heart. I squeezed his hand, acknowledged his heartache.

  He let out a little laugh. “The day we met.” A little twinkle returned to his eyes. “You and I. The day we met, she told me I was going to meet the love of my life that day. She knew. I don’t know how she knew, but she knew.”

  I pressed my lips into a small smile and held onto his hand.

  “She told me I had to go out that night. It was a Saturday night, and the thought of going to a bar…” He shuddered. “I hate picking up women at bars.”

  I nodded. I knew the feeling.

  “I’d been with her all day, that whole week, actually. She told me I had to go out that night, that I was going to meet you.” He looked up at me. “Well, ‘the one.’ You know.”

  I tilted my head at him, feeling the heat rising into my cheeks.

  He continued looking into my eyes. “So I did what she told me to do. I headed to a bar I knew and I saw that stupid co-op across the street. It seemed like a way better option than a bar, but I still thought she was wrong. I figured I’d go in, take the most pitiful class that was open that night and I’d go back to the hosp
ice in the morning. I’d tell her I hadn’t met anyone, but I’d made her a painting or a piece of pottery instead. It seemed like the right thing to do, the best thing. The last thing I wanted was to pick someone up that night. I didn’t think I could handle it, not even just sleeping with someone.”

  I just nodded in response.

  He continued. “So I had to choose between a cooking class or pottery or a watercolor class. I figured the average age of any woman taking a watercolor class on a Saturday night would have to be around eighty, so I went for it.” He lifted his hand to his face and rubbed at his chin. “And I wasn’t wrong about the average age, either.”

  My serious look turned into more of a grin than was probably appropriate. I remembered that night well, like it had happened only yesterday.

  “And then you walked in. And Jesus Christ, you walked in.” He shook his head and pulled the beer bottle to his lips again, finishing what was left in the bottle. His gaze darkened, and I could feel him looking into my soul with those blazing blue eyes. “You walked in, you lit up that room, and damn it, I knew you were the woman she was talking about.”

  3

  To say that my heart melted would have been an understatement. I was a freaking puddle on the floor. I pressed my lips together and tried not to cry. His were the most beautiful words I had ever heard spoken in my direction.

  “She would have loved you.” He gave a small, sad smile. “She would have loved Jen, not just Jenna Davis.” He turned the hand that I had been holding over so that his palm faced mine and tangled our fingers together. “She would have loved you almost as much as I love you, Jen.”

  My breath caught in my throat. It wasn’t what I had been expecting from him that night, and I wasn’t sure I was prepared to profess my love for him, even though I knew I felt it.

  He squeezed my hand and continued with his story, not pausing long enough for me to respond, whether I wanted to or not. “I didn’t want to sleep with you that night. I mean, of course I did, but…” His voice lowered to almost a growl. “God, Jen, what you do to me.”

  He took my hand into his possession, pulling it as close as he could to his heart without pulling me across the table. “I don’t think you understand what you do to me.”

  I chewed my bottom lip and searched his eyes.

  “If I could go back, I’d do it differently. I would. I don’t know what I’d do, but I’d make you understand that there was no mistake about our meeting that night. It was meant to happen.”

  “You asked me once if I knew who you were, and it’s the honest to God truth that I didn’t. It didn’t matter, though. Even if I had known, you still would have been the one.” He searched my soul with his eyes. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  I felt my head barely bob in response.

  His dark gaze never left mine. “You want the rest of the story?”

  My barely perceptible nod made him continue.

  “The week after that, right? When you were playing the piano there.”

  My head gave another one of those reflexive nods.

  “It was like I was drawn out there. We could hear you from her room. She was getting bad then.” He gulped. “With the pain.”

  My heart broke for him. I could see how much he was hurting.

  “You played that Chopin. She loved that piece. It calmed her; it was the first thing that did anything for her. The morphine wasn’t helping, nothing. Then she heard that music and she fell asleep. And when I saw it was you…”

  I could hear the whoosh of my heart beating in my ears. All the things he’d said, everything about being meant to be, about serendipity, it all made sense in that moment.

  “…I knew. I already knew, but that moment, I really knew.”

  Goosebumps covered my skin and my breath quickened. Things like this didn’t happen in real life. Not to me.

  “She hung on for six more days after that. Six days.” His eyes closed and he hung his head.

  I squeezed the hand that still held mine. I rubbed my index finger against the back of his hand.

  “I didn’t know how to contact you. The hospice nurses wouldn’t tell me. I didn’t know your last name. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” He looked down at the table, shaking his head.

  I only nodded in response. I remembered how much I had wanted to do something for him. I remembered the pain in his eyes the day I had seen him there. It had never occurred to me that what he needed was me.

  He chewed again at his bottom lip. “I got her house cleaned up, then I getting out of there, out of San Fran.” He looked up at me with such despair, it made my breath catch in my chest. “Then Daniel called me.”

  I pressed my lips into a line and urged him on with my eyes.

  “I promised my grandmother that I wasn’t going to take any more jobs. But this one was so easy. Make a few calls, tell a couple of lies to get a girl back with the desperate man that was still in love with her. It was supposed to be an easy, fat wad of cash.”

  I chewed my bottom lip and wouldn’t let his gaze leave mine.

  “And I’m such a sucker for a happy ending.”

  The little laugh I let out almost released the tears I’d been holding back. I felt like I was standing on the precipice of losing it. This man was baring his heart and soul to me, and the last thing I wanted to do was to turn into a blubbering mess in front of him.

  He lifted an eyebrow only slightly. “Well, it’s true.” His lips turned up into the first smile that I’d seen on his face since he’d started his story. “We deserve our own happily ever after, Jen.”

  I felt the first tear streak down my cheek and I was sunk. I pulled in a jagged breath and tried desperately to stop myself.

  His thumb brushed the tear from my cheek. “I don’t blame him. Daniel, I mean. If our roles were reversed, I’d want him dead, too.” He cupped the bottom of my chin and tilted my head up so that I’d have to look him in the eye.

  My bottom lip quivered with the sobs that were about to erupt from me. It took every ounce of energy I had to remain stoic, at least for the moment.

  “I’d want him to suffer, too.” His eyes searched mine; for what, I wasn’t sure.

  I knew if I spoke, I’d be a sobbing mess. I could only give a brief nod to respond. I didn’t really want Daniel to suffer. I knew somewhere in my heart that he had suffered enough. We all had.

  “What do you want, Jen?” His blue eyes blazed into mine. “What do you want, Jenna Davis?”

  No one asked me that. Never. I gulped down the sob that was in the back of my throat and managed to croak out my answer. “Dance with me.”

  He dropped his hand to mine and closed his eyes, a thin-lipped smile coming to his face. “Christ, I thought you’d never ask.” He drew me up by my hand to the floor next to our table and pulled me into a tight embrace.

  I closed my eyes and rested my cheek against his chest, listening to the comforting sound of his heart beating under his shirt. I loved being close enough to smell him, the scent of pine and clean man filling my senses. We stood there, swaying to music only the two of us could hear for what seemed like forever.

  His hands caressed my back, tracing up and down to the silent music between us. I let my tears go, silently crying into his chest. He rested his cheek against the top of my head and just held me. It was the closeness I needed from him. I needed him to hold me forever.

  I thought we would stay that way for the rest of my life, swaying and rocking to the music we shared from our souls. It was the most intimate moment I had ever shared with anyone.

  Nothing else mattered. There was nothing else, no one else in the room but the two of us in that moment.

  Nothing until Krystal’s voice shattered the moment.

  “Damn it, we had an agreement, little brother.”

  4

  “Sit.” Her voice thundered around the two of us.

  Brandon released me from his embrace and turned to face her. “I’m not your dog, Krystal
. Not anymore.”

  She walked around so that she could see both of us. Her jaw clenched and her eyes moved back and forth between the two of us. “Sit down. Now. Both of you.” Her face softened the tiniest bit. “Please.” Her eyes darted between the two of us.

  I was frozen in place, unable to move a muscle.

  I wasn’t sure what she was so upset about, but she scared the crap out of me. Her voice and her height were enough to fear, but knowing I’d done something to piss her off made the fear feel a lot more like terror.

  Brandon’s eyes narrowed to slits, and he nudged me toward the leather bench seat where I had been sitting before our dance.

  I edged across the seat and Brandon followed, sliding his arm around me, his leg pressed against mine. He pulled me toward him, his eyes never leaving Krystal’s.

  She sat down across from us in the seat Brandon had been in earlier. She pulled my still half-full drink, now a sorry watered down mess, in front of her. She pulled the straw out and drank what liquid was left in the glass in a single, long swig. She raised her glass above her head and turned to motion to the waitress for another. She turned back to face us, her eyes shooting venom in Brandon’s direction. She said nothing, just glowered over him until her drink arrived at the table a few moments later.

  She took a long drink, from the straw this time, and sat back in her chair. She folded her arms across her chest and glared at Brandon, saying nothing.

  They both sat there like that for what seemed like forever, both daring the other to be the first to speak.

  I’d finally sat there long enough. “Is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

  I felt the arm around my waist tighten. Brandon leaned into my ear and lowered his voice to a hush. “You should probably go back to your room.”

  Krystal slammed her fist against the table. “Bullshit. She stays. She’s dying to know what’s going on. Why don’t you fill her in, Brandon?”

  He rubbed his lips together. His chin dipped down and he cleared his throat. “I don’t think we need to do this tonight.”