Opening the back door of his car, he gestured to Nora. Her attention was on the doors leading back to the hospital. Lightly grasping her hand, he pushed her to the seat. Her eyes met his, and he nodded. It wasn’t helping anyone—certainly not Cai and probably not their own healths since they’d all been exposed to strep at this point—if they let themselves get rundown.
It took no time to get home. As he pulled into the driveway, he remembered the reporter who’d cornered him yesterday. Glancing around quickly, nothing seemed out of place.
Tiredly, they trekked into the house, feet shuffling through the dead leaves on the walkway, leaning against the posts and stairs as they waited for him to unlock the door.
The house had the same cold and empty feel it had yesterday as well. Immediately, Matisse went into the kitchen, turning on the coffee pot, while Apollo flipped on the TV.
“I’m going to shower and crash for a bit,” she informed them. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, she gripped the bannister with hands turning white. He didn’t miss the way she looked back at the door.
“It’s okay.”
Her honey-brown eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot.
“Go crash; sooner you sleep, sooner we can go back.”
The side of her mouth lifted in a half-smile. “Got me.”
Stepping closer, he wrapped his hand around her nape to draw her closer. Her lips were dry but warm as she returned his kiss. “Love you,” he whispered.
Her hands fisted in his shirt, jerking him back when he tried to step away. “Come up?”
His stomach tightened in anticipation, but what she needed was sleep, not what he had in mind. What she was asking for was company.
“Of course. Go get ready. I’ll be up in a moment.”
She nodded, turning without another word and trudging upstairs.
“She okay?” Apollo asked. His eyes followed her receding form.
“She wants company,” he answered without thinking.
Brown eyes flicked to his before Apollo leaned back into the sofa. “Oh,” he replied so softly Ryan barely made it out except for the shape of his lips.
“Her bed is big enough for all of us.”
Eyebrows shooting to his hair, Apollo whipped off his glasses.
“To sleep, Apollo. She wants company while she sleeps.”
Maybe it was exhaustion or maybe it was the stress, but Ryan started to lose it. A chuckle began in his throat, but rather than emerge, it shook his body, hissing through his teeth and nose. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes as he teared up, sucking in breaths which shot out of him in a stream of laughter.
A rumble filled the living room as his friend joined in. Apollo’s laugh was as big as the man himself. It shook the furniture, hitting him like a concussive wave.
“What’s going on?” Matisse stood in the demolished dining room, a confused smirk on his face.
Catching Apollo’s eye, Ryan doubled over again.
“What?” Matisse whined. “Don’t leave me out.”
It set them off again.
“Don’t worry,” Apollo answered. “Ryan wouldn’t dream of it. He’ll invite you to anything.” A roll of edging tape sailed toward Apollo’s face. Smacking it aside, he glared at Matisse.
“Come on,” Matisse whined, wanting in on the joke.
“Ryan—” It started Apollo again. His laugh reached a higher pitch, vibrating through his teeth.
“Come on…”
Poor Matisse. Ryan took pity on him. “I told Apollo…” His face flushed but he soldiered on. “I told Apollo how Nora asked me to sleep with her, and then I told him…”
Matisse’s eyebrows rose higher and higher, his eyes and mouth widening. Slowly, he shook his head from side to side. “No.” His wide eyes began to crinkle as Ryan’s words sunk in. “Ha,” he began. “Ha!” He let loose a stream of French, each word punctuated with a honking laugh. “Poor Apollo!” Then he clapped the larger man on the shoulder. “Shocked you, eh?”
“I misunderstood.” Apollo put his glasses back on, then he covered his mouth with his hands, still laughing.
“Ryan?”
They turned to the stairs as Nora came into view.
“I’m going to bed.”
“I’m coming, too.” Apollo stood, passing her and heading upstairs.
“Well, I don’t want to be left out,” Matisse muttered.
“Apollo’s bed is the biggest. If we’re all taking a nap together, I suggest we use his room,” she said matter-of-factly, though her pink cheeks gave away a little of her discomfort.
“Great!” Matisse slapped his hand on Ryan’s back then went upstairs, kissing Nora loudly on his way by.
Ryan trailed behind the group, eyes glued to hers as he walked slowly upstairs. “Hope you don’t mind.”
Shaking her head, she yawned. “I don’t care. But I can only spoon one of you.” She smiled bemused. “So whoever’s left will have to hug each other.”
Ahead of them someone, Apollo maybe, bellowed a laugh, and in response, she giggled. She walked past her room and right into Apollo’s. No one else was in there, but Ryan could hear the water running. A shower was a great idea, but sleep tempted him more. His sleep in the chair was fitful, and his body ached from the hard, too-small seat.
Pulling back the blankets, Nora slid into bed, curling up on her side and watching him with slow blinking eyes. Keeping his eyes on her, Ryan stripped out of his pants, leaving on his boxers and t-shirt, and crawled into bed after her.
He pushed her toward the middle. “I can’t hog you.”
“No, definitely not.” Apollo came inside, a t-shirt clinging damply to his chest in places. “Matisse is the little monkey.”
“Huh?” she asked, as he jumped into bed and scooted to the middle.
“You know? So, the monkeys rolled over and one fell out; there were four in the bed, and the little one said, ‘Roll over. I’m crowded.’ He’s the little monkey.”
“Ah.” She turned on her side, sliding her hands beneath her face and yawning again.
The door closed behind them, and Matisse closed the curtains, darkening the room. The bed shook as he got inside and turned, trying to find a comfortable position. “God, Apollo could you roll over? I’m crowded.”
THIRTY
Shifts
THEY SLEPT MUCH of the day, and when Nora awoke, she was in a completely different spot than when she’d fallen asleep. Matisse cuddled her, one leg draped over her thighs and an arm over her head so her face was in his armpit. Luckily, he smelled really good.
Reaching behind her, she patted the mattress. Only the two of them were left, but her movements roused him, and he shifted and sighed before finally opening his eyes.
“Morning,” he said, smiling and closing his eyes again. He pushed his face into her hair and breathed in. “You smell good.”
Turning in his arms, she tucked her head beneath his chin. “You smell good, too.”
His hand began to drift over her arm, moving under the blankets and hitching behind her knee. His lips tracked over her hair, down her temple to the curve of her jaw. “Nora,” he groaned, flexing his hips into her.
Heat pooled between her legs, and she couldn’t help herself from shifting her legs, squeezing his leg between hers.
Holding her leg, Matisse lifted it, pushing outward. His fingers left her leg and moved toward her center. Nora took a deep breath in anticipation when Apollo’s scent, fixed to his sheets, filled her nose. They couldn’t do this here. Not in his bed. Not to Apollo; it wasn’t right.
Matisse’s fingers pushed aside her panties and dipped inside her, but she grabbed his wrist. “Stop,” she told him, her voice breathy. “We can’t.”
A strange stillness came over him, and he quickly pulled away from her. In one smooth movement, he’d turned away and leapt out of bed.
“Matisse—” She sat, reaching for him, but he jerked away. “Matisse.”
“No, Nora. It’s fine. You d
on’t want to be intimate with me like this. It’s fine.”
Why was he acting like this? “Will you come back here? Let me explain.”
Angrily he buttoned his pants and thrust his arms into the sleeves of his button down. “It’s fine, Nora.”
Jumping out of bed after him, she reached for his arm but he shook her off. “Just leave it, Nora. Okay?”
“No. Matisse. Listen, please. I mean, we just can’t—”
“Jesus!” Raking his fingers through his hair, he tugged at the strands. “Fine. You can fuck Ryan but not me? What do I have to do to be worthy? Damnit! Feel better now? Happy I listened?”
Frozen with shock, she stared at him. Features hard, he stared back until she had to look away. “We’re tired and stressed.”
“Fine,” he scoffed. “Drag it out of me and then ignore me.”
“Ignore you?” Her hands fisted. “I’m trying to give you the benefit of the doubt.” She stepped closer. “I don’t want to fuck you, as you so charmingly put it, in Apollo’s bed.” Whipping around, she stalked to the door.
“Nora.”
“Don’t, Matisse. Give me some time to cool off.” She wrenched the door open, closing it behind her when what she really wanted to do was slam it. Shoulders heaving, she stood in the dark bathroom. That little shit.
With jerky movements, she turned on the light and shower. As steam filled up the bathroom, her tears started. Ugly ones. The kind she knew would leave her skin blotchy and her nose swollen.
Sometimes though, she needed to let it all out. Tired, pissed, scared—she’d reached maximum capacity, and she hoped the water and bathroom fan would drown out any sounds she made.
Sleeping with Ryan had complicated things, and the last thing their situation needed was another issue. She wouldn't regret being with him. What they’d shared was special and it was theirs, and to have it thrown in her face like—
Did Matisse expect, since she’d slept with Ryan, that she’d automatically sleep with him?
I mean, I always planned on it. His attitude was fucked up, she decided, and she was going to clarify things for him.
Her skin and hair suffered her wrath since she couldn’t get to Matisse right away. Scrubbing angrily, she ground her fingertips into her scalp and rubbed vigorously at her face. When she stepped out of the shower and looked at herself in the mirror, her face was red, both from the sloughing of skin cells and from her tears.
Hiking her towel around her chest, she opened the door, unsurprised to see the source of her ire waiting in the hall.
“Cher.”
“Don’t.” She held up a hand. “I am dripping all over the floor, and I have words for you I haven’t formulated into sentences yet.”
“I’m sorry, Nora.” He followed her down the hall, ignoring her warning.
Stopping at her door, she turned to face him. “Matisse.” His pale face was white, and he bit his lip. He seemed to have passed worried and gone straight to terrified. Sighing and cursing herself for being a sucker, she reached for him and squeezed his arm. “I love you, but I’m mad. Let me get dressed. I want to get back to the hospital, and when this is over, when Cai is home, we can talk.”
Shaking his head, he stepped into her space backing her against the door. “If you love me, Nora, don’t make me wait. I can’t handle this hanging over my head.”
Communicate. Remembering what the results from Dr. Murray’s test had shown, she decided reverting to her old “wait and decide how I feel” method wasn’t going to work. “Come in,” she sighed, opening the door and waiting for him to pass by her. “Ugh!” she said as he gave her the saddest stare ever. “Stop being sad! You’re pissing me off worse!”
“I’m not trying to,” Matisse answered.
Stalking past him, she went straight into her closet, pulling clothes off the hangers and dressing quickly. She forewent the underwear and bra in favor of speed.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized as soon as she emerged.
“I’m sure you are, but I don’t know what to think of you right now.”
“What do you mean?”
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered one of the guys saying Matisse was a genius. Clearly, it didn’t extend to relationships.
“Matisse, even if we hadn’t been in Apollo’s bed—” He winced at the reminder. “If I put the brakes on something physical, you need to respect that.”
“How long are we going to wait, Nora?” As the words left his mouth, he seemed to want to retract them. Too late.
“Get out.” She pointed to the door. “I’m too tired to deal with this in a constructive way.”
“I didn’t mean it like it sounded,” he backtracked.
“Maybe I’m not the only one who needs to communicate better. Figure out what you mean, and get back to me.”
Reluctantly, he turned to the door, shooting glances over his shoulder that tested her resolve. When it closed behind him, she crawled onto the bed. What was his issue? Was he mad she wouldn’t have sex with him? Mad she wanted to wait? In the beginning, she hadn’t. It wasn’t until she’d thought of how hurt Apollo would be if he were to ever learn of such a thing happening—in his bed!—that she’d slowed them down. Before, she’d been on board with Matisse’s idea.
The thought burned inside her, making her even angrier. Flipping onto her back, the springs on her bed squeaked.
Wow. She’d need to grease those if she ever planned on doing something in this bed, too. Arching high, she lifted her legs and slammed them back down on the mattress. The whole thing jumped.
Thinking about how much she weighed, she got on her knees, circling her arms to give her momentum and lifted herself off the bed, bouncing up and down on her knees. Squeak, thump, squeak, thump. Yeah, this wasn’t going to work.
“What the hell are you doing?” Ryan asked.
Her rhythm stuttered, and she fell to her side, breathing heavily. “I was just testing the mattress,” she panted.
A gleam came into his eyes as he stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him.
“Nu-uh.” She shook her head. “Not what I meant.”
“No?” he smiled, leaning his hands on her mattress and dipping his head down to hers.
Lifting herself, she kissed him quickly. “It’s really loud.”
“It is; it shook the whole house.” The mischief left his face as he understood the implications of her experiment. “Oh.” His face flushed. “Yeah.”
“What’s the plan?” she asked, changing the subject.
“I’m not sure.” His voice trailed off, his eyes flicking over her shoulder. “What the hell is that?”
Turning, she saw a light outside her window. “I don’t know.”
Together they walked to the glass and slid it up.
“Ouch,” Ryan said when his face met the screen standing between him and the outside.
“Turn off the lights,” she directed. “I can’t see anything.”
He shuffled away from her, flipping off the lights. Peering out the window, she jumped when the light came on again. “Ah!”
“Cher.”
“Matisse! What are you doing?” How was he face-to-face with her? She pushed at the screen until it popped off and clattered to the ground below them, bouncing off the grass and into the driveway. “Are you crazy?”
“Cher, forgive me.” Matisse clung to a thick tree limb sticking out over the lawn. He was close enough she could see his expression but far enough away he wouldn’t be able to come into her room.
“I do. Now get down from there!” Worriedly, she calculated the fall from their height. “You’ll kill yourself! Ryan!”
“What?” He stuck his head out. “Son of a bitch. Really, Tisse?”
“Shut up, Valore. Nora. It doesn’t matter what happens to me if you don’t forgive me. I can’t live with you being angry with me.”
“Are you serious right now?” Her voice came out shrill. “You’re being crazy!”
; “Nora.” Reaching behind him, he pulled out his phone and, one-handed, thumbed across the screen. His face was bathed in blue light, but all she saw was how he wobbled from side to side and held himself on the branch with one hand.
“Matisse, I swear to God…”
“I found this song.” Something in French played from his phone. “It made me think of you.”
“Matisse,” Ryan groaned.
“I said, shut up. Listen to the words, Nora.”
Dropping her head to the frame, her forehead pounded against the wood. All she could hear was her blood whooshing in her ears. Fear for Matisse overshadowing everything else.
“Apollo!” Pushing away from the window, Ryan left the room. “Get the ladder!” he yelled when he got to the hall.
“Matisse…” Raising her head, she pinned him with her eyes. “What are you doing?”
Moonlight struck his face; his pale skin was white and his dark eyes black. His lips trembled, and she saw how his hand shook. This wasn’t some adolescent gesture he believed he had to make in order to impress her. His upset was real.
So real, he’d decided the only way to make her listen was to climb the tree outside her window.
“You could have played the song from the hallway,” she whispered, more to herself than him. He heard her anyway.
“I could have, but I wasn’t sure you’d listen.”
“I’m listening, Matisse.”
“Are you?”
“I’m listening to my heart pound because I’m so scared you’re going to break your fucking neck!”
“What about the song?”
The song?! Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she tried to focus on the song. It took her a moment to filter out the sounds of traffic and then the banging from the carriage house that must be Ryan and Apollo searching for a ladder to hear the song he played from his phone.
The quality was scratchy, and the vocals wobbled. “Matisse,” she whispered, barely resisting banging her head against the wood again.
“Yes, cher?”
She listened closer just to be sure. “Matisse. The song is in French.”
His mouth opened, head canting to one side as he listened. “Shit. Yes. Shit.” The phone fell from his hand, and he pressed his head to the tree with a soft thump. “Shit.”
Finding Valor (The Searchers Book 2) Page 20