The Broken Sister (Sister #6)

by Leanne Davis

  “Why are you here? I just, I don’t see it.” She suddenly past around him. She could not fall for this. His easy charm. His smiles. His understanding. His niceness. Their connection, even if it was so new, should not be like this. What, her own rich, successful, interesting lover? It didn’t fit. Not at all.

  “See what?”

  “Us. This.” Her hand flopped as it waved between them.

  He sighed and walked past her to sit on the bed. “Don’t you think I agree? I don’t get why it feels like I’ve known you for months or years, not mere days? Don’t you feel that?’

  She wrapped her arms around her middle. “I might feel something close to that. You’re easy to be around. But I’m completely intimidated and nervous, so that doesn’t totally make sense, either.”

  “You make me feel… somehow better. When I’m with you, no matter what we’re doing or talking about, I feel better. I had a really shitty day. I failed my boss, didn’t do what he wanted. I later missed something on the presentation I told you about. I don’t do that very often.” He sighed, staring down at the watch on his wrist. “I think… I think I missed it because I was thinking about you.”

  “You expect me to buy that?” Even as she scoffed and rolled her eyes, trying to take sanctuary in her usual total apathy about herself and not believe him, something shot through her like an electric jolt. She tried to tell her suddenly fast-beating heart that he was merely playing her. But still… something thrilled and also trembled inside her.

  “No more than I do. I wanted to see you. I thought about it all day. You think I often, think about a freaking date like an eager school boy anymore? But I did.” His tone was quiet and his gaze was still down. Contemplative. She almost bought what he was saying, because he seemed as confused as she.

  “You can’t talk like that,” she finally whispered.

  His gaze landed on hers. She dropped hers. “Why not?”

  “It scares me.”

  There was a long, taunt moment of silence when he said back, “It makes me feel weird too. You can bet I wasn’t planning on anything like this that night I went to dinner.” She didn’t have a clue what the hell he meant. It made an almost panicked feeling scurry up her back. What did he mean?

  But she didn’t voice her doubts or confusion. Instead she sat down next to him and let her hand creep towards his own until she covered the hand he had casually set on his black trousers. His knuckles were big and she rubbed at them as she clasped his hand. “I’m sorry you had such a bad day at work.”

  He turned and smiled as his hand clasped hers fully. They both stared at their clasped hands. They were different. There were fingers and knuckles, palms and thumbs, but they were shaped so differently, there was something oddly sensual, oddly compelling and something that oddly fit so perfectly about their entwined hands. “Did you get done with your work?”

  “Never. But enough to show up tomorrow. How about you?”

  “Enough to show up tomorrow.” She smiled, mimicking him.

  He smiled too. “You wanna watch a movie?”

  “Sure.”

  She put on a movie and there they sat on her bed. He didn’t do more than pull her against him. She sat against him for two hours and finally, an hour into it, her muscles relaxed and she finally lounged more fully against him and felt… comfort. Comfortable. Comforted. It wasn’t a feeling she’d had with a man before. She fell asleep and the TV was the only thing disturbing the dark. She woke up later and he was still there. She lifted her head up, shocked to find Tristan was sound asleep in her bed. Fully dressed, as was she, and yet they’d slept together. It made her bite her lip in concentration. This didn’t seem right. It was odd. And funny. And kind of wonderful.

  She clicked the TV off and touched his shoulder. “Tristan?”

  “Hmm?” he barely mumbled.

  “What time do you need to get up?”

  He was quiet. Had he fallen back to sleep? Then his head popped up. “What time is it?”

  “Three thirty.”

  “I fell asleep?”

  “We both did. I can set my alarm.”

  He nodded and let his head fall back down. She laid down, feeling totally awkward. The shades were shut but just enough of the streetlights highlighted the contours of his face. He reached out and touched her cheek. “First time in a while I’ve had such an innocent sleepover.”

  She smiled and turned her head toward his touch. It was magnetic. Warm. Caring. Or was that her perceived view of it? Her hope? “Me too.”

  They stared into each other’s eyes for a long while. He didn’t make any further moves. Finally he whispered, “The eating thing? Is it a problem? Like anorexia kind of a problem?”

  “I—” She hesitated. What to say? The truth? Lie? Yet her body pretty much spoke for itself, right? But then… she wasn’t always sure. She so often was asked, mocked, ridiculed for it. She was questioned and re-questioned and always she denied it. Even if no one believed her. They took her body type as certain proof. But the darkness. His calm. His acceptance felt more real than any other conversation she’d had about it. “Do you know much about it?”

  “More than you’d think. My sister was.”

  “Was?” Her heart stalled. Shit, did he have some kind of complex to save her? Was he attracted to her out of a sick need to make her eat? Maybe save her from it where he hadn’t saved his sister? Did his sister die of it and now he sought out other anorexics to try and make some kind of weird atonement?

  “She doesn’t speak to the family anymore. I haven’t heard from her in eight years. She was anorexic last I knew her.”

  “That’s very sad.”

  “It is.”

  “What’s her name?”

  He was silent for almost a full minute before he said, “Tara. Her name is Tara. Tara Aderly. I have no idea where she is.”

  She reached out and touched his jaw. “Why doesn’t she talk to you?”

  “More the whole family. Not just me specifically.” He sighed and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, the gloom of the room hiding his features. “I haven’t talked about her to anyone, even my parents, in a long time.” He turned his head to the side. “Why do you suppose I mentioned it to you?”

  Kylie wasn’t sure if he actually wanted her to answer. She could just faintly see the scowl on his face. He seemed to be questioning himself out loud, rather than actually speaking to her. She didn’t answer and he sighed. “Anyway, she didn’t like how certain things were handled. I used to think she was wrong. Now, I wonder if she wasn’t just really mixed up. Or maybe we are. Hell, it just doesn’t seem as easy anymore.”

  “So you don’t know how she is?”

  “I know she’s alive. Or was as of a year ago. My grandfather hired a private investigator, who keeps tabs on her. But he lost her. She had trouble with drugs and alcohol. Not a pretty story. But unfortunately so typical.”

  “And she was anorexic?”

  “Yes, since she was a teen. Grandfather had her in treatment for it when she was a junior in high school. She ran away not too long after she got out.”

  “That’s really tragic.”

  He nodded his head. “Yes, it is. She is.”

  Kylie licked her lips. “Is that why you’re here?”

  He turned his head quickly, his gaze sharp on her. “What do you mean?”

  “You see something in me that reminds you of her? You think… I don’t know, maybe you can save me. Where you lost her.”

  His gaze was piercing, and she was sure his scowl was even darker. “That’s pretty twisted if that’s what I’m doing here.”

  “Yes, it would be. And it won’t exactly end well.”

  “What if it’s not why I’m here?”

  “I don’t know. But what if it is?” she countered, insisting again. Too scared to wonder what if it wasn’t. It made more sense to her that his interest in her stemmed from some similarity or resemblance she had to his sister. A sister he felt a huge am
ount of guilt about failing—or at least, that’s what she was picking up on. That was easier to believe than this guy, who seemed so much older and together and handsome and successful… and, well, most of all so normal, would be so compelled to seek her out. It just didn’t add up. Not at all.

  “No. I don’t think that’s it at all. It’s not something I’ve ever done before, so I just don’t think I’d do it now. Besides you don’t look anything like her.”

  “But I remind you of her?”

  He sighed. “Well, not until you just said it now.”

  “So I do remind you of her? Your long-lost, broken sister?”

  “She was. She was always so broken. I never really knew why. My family… Well, there are issues, sure. Like all families. You know? But something like this? To make her so screwed up she didn’t eat? She drank and did drugs, slept around, and then finally ran away. I just don’t get it.”

  “Yet you think I can’t figure out why you felt compelled to come here? Come on, Tristan. You pretty much described me. Just maybe not so extreme.”

  “I don’t think that’s it, Kylie. I don’t think that’s why I wanted to come here. Besides, I just don’t think you’re all that broken inside, not like I believe you think you are.”

  “I don’t know what else it would be.”

  He shifted to his side, and tugged one of her pillows down so it was under his head more. He reached out and put his hand on her waist and pulled her forward. His confidence, his power, was back in his gaze and the strength of his touch. He’d lost the confused look that talking about his sister had evoked. “You really believe that of yourself, don’t you? That there would be no legitimate or positive reason I could be here. That it has to be tied up with some long-lost sister of mine? You’re funny. You’re shy. You’re cute. You’re easy to be around. I think, perhaps that’s the reason I most feel compelled to be around you. I find you refreshing to spend time with.”

  “I don’t know why you would.” She swallowed, totally conscious of his hand on her, feeling the bone of her spine now poking into his fingertips.

  “So you didn’t answer the original question. Are you anorexic?”

  “I don’t think so. Most everyone else thinks I am. It’s almost like they try to convince me I must be.” She almost bit down on her tongue. Why? Why would she bring this up with a guy she was trying to date? There was nothing less sexy than thinking about wasting away from self-induced hunger now, was there?

  “How do they try to convince you?”

  “I’ve never really cared if I ate. I don’t get a lot of joy from thinking about eating a certain type of food. They comment on how skinny I am as if there must be a catastrophic reason I look this way. Instead of even considering it’s just how I am. Anyway, I don’t seem to ever really fit into any box.”

  His hand rubbed back and forth over her hip bone as she talked. “What do you mean? Any box?”

  She shut her eyes and pushed her hair off her face. “When my father… well, after he was gone, I was only ten years old, but I didn’t cry. Ally cried and screamed and acted out and did all the typical things you’d expect. But I never did. Mom tried so hard to help me, to reach me, but I just didn’t react. I think it scared her. She put me with different counselors over the years. I tried to talk to them, figure out why I never cried, but it just didn’t help. I was diagnosed with depression, anxiety, fear of abandonment; on it went. Anorexia was thrown out there too. Mom kept a sharp watch on me while I lived at home. But since coming here, she can’t. I don’t know. I just don’t really fit anywhere. I’m kind of screwed-up, but not as screwed-up as everyone thinks I should be. Does that make sense? They always feared I flirted with suicide or I acted out because of what happened, but honestly? I was never suicidal. I was never so depressed I couldn’t function. When I got to college I just wanted to have fun. Relax. Enjoy. You know? Total freedom? It was heady. After being watched like a bug for signs of what was wrong with me for a decade, getting here was like I’d been released from a cage. And I liked to have sex. But they all said I was acting out. Something must be wrong with me to act like this. Maybe I was searching for validation in all the wrong places. The thing is, I just don’t know if that’s totally true. So you see, I don’t know. I never seem to know what I am.”

  “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met. Of that I’m certain.” Tristan spoke it softly. She swallowed and wondered what he had to think of her strange, convoluted confessional.

  What she didn’t add was that after being raped, she didn’t behave the typical way either. She didn’t cry. She didn’t stop having sex. She just never seemed to know the right way to deal with stuff.

  “Whatever I am. You can’t be here to save me. Or pressure me to eat. Or talk. Or cry. Or…”

  “What about sex? I’d be happy to pressure you to do that.”

  A laugh escaped her lips. She hadn’t expected his tone, his teasing, his flirting after the conversation they’d just had.

  “No one would be that happy to have sex with me.”

  He leaned closer, his lips hovered just over hers. He hung there, staring her in the eyes, his breath warm over her face. It worked in drawing out her anticipation, her strung-out feelings. Her stomach fluttered and something warm percolated in her blood from his sudden attention and nearness. “I would be happy to,” he whispered.

  She pushed at his shoulder, flustered by the intensity of his gaze and voice. “You just want to get laid.”

  “I wish it was that. That would be a whole lot simpler,” he whispered, and then dropped a kiss to her forehead. “I don’t think that’s it.” He then silenced her when his lips sealed over hers. When he withdrew he laid back next to her. Without another word they fell silent, lying there together, and she could make no sense out of it. Why? Why didn’t he kiss her more? Cop a feel? Have sex? She would have let him, gladly. She glanced his way, but he just turned his head and stared back at her, silent. Intense. Serious. But he didn’t say anything and she was hesitant to dispel whatever spell seemed to have enveloped the room. Until eventually the peace of it, the quiet of it, had her eyes fluttering in sleep.

  She woke up just barely when she felt him kiss her forehead the next morning, at an early hour with light just leaking in. “I’m busy the next few days. I’ll call you though, before the weekend. Okay?”

  Ha. As if. She didn’t think she’d ever hear from him again. She barely lifted her eyelid and studied him as he shrugged his coat on. She had revealed too much. So had he. In the light of day he’d get freaked out by his own admissions… and hers. She wouldn’t hear from him this weekend. Bullshit. She almost sat up and called him on it, but decided he didn’t really owe her anything. The classic “too busy” excuse. Well, so was she. She rolled over, squeezing her eyes shut, determined not to be the typical whiny, broken girl.

  ****

  Tristan shut the door to the small studio and leaned back onto it. He let his head fall back and breathe release. What the hell had that been? The intimate sleepover, without sex to even justify it? The late night confessional. Why had he even asked about Kylie? He shouldn’t know her. He didn’t want to get to know her. He was playing a stupid, dangerous game. She was a confused, messed-up, broken girl. Hadn’t she all but told him that? She was also accusing his little brother of rape. She could ruin Tommy’s life. It wasn’t just a corporate image, even if that was his grandfather’s main motivation. It wasn’t Tristan’s. He might not believe she was the evil, vindictive shrew he first believed was coming after the family name and money, but neither could he deny she was screwed-up and lost, and maybe even believed her own lies.

  All he needed to do to dispel her ability to hurt them was have sex with her, take a few photos for insurance, and voilà, damage control complete.

  Why hadn’t he?

  Instead he’d told her about Tara. Even used Tara’s real name. The name she went by, last he knew anyhow. What the hell kind of game was he playing here, and why did he keep pla
ying it?

  She just was so fucking easy to talk to.

  He pushed off her door and quickly left to go home and shower before work. Maybe Morgan would be there. He could touch base, find his damn brain and ambitions again. Find his balls to do what needed doing again. Not cuddling up to some screwed-up little college girl, who held in her hands the power to destroy his family.

  He could not forget that again.

  But maybe, she was in fact correct about some of his motives. Maybe it was something in Kylie that reminded him of Tara that made him hesitate to do what needed doing. Maybe he was too sentimental about this, because he saw similarities between the sister he had lost and the girl he was trying to neutralize. And yes, maybe, he worried a little bit about what she’d do to herself once he succeeded.

  But it wasn’t his problem. She shouldn’t be spreading lies about his brother. She should own up to liking to sleep around instead of burying it like it was shameful. He started towards his car, ready to harden his heart. All Kylie had to do was fully embrace who and what she was, and what she liked to do. She needed to admit first to herself, and then to others, that she liked having sex. She could then just do it, without having to find some tragic reason for why she did it.

  He fisted his hand. That was what this was. She was young and troubled, but more, she was unwilling to admit the simple fact the girl liked to have sex. A positive thing, really. He didn’t get the whole name-calling thing she did with herself over it.

  He was sure he could find some reason to explain what happened between her and Tommy.

  He hadn’t protected Tara, and look what happened to her. She’d nearly overdosed once, almost died and had to be brought back to life. She’d lived. But barely. She was gone now, and he’d be damned if he’d let anything happen to Tommy. Not if he could help it. And this time? He really could help it.

  When he was in his office later, his grandfather knocked as he entered. “Have you got the girl to sleep with you yet? Have you got the proof?”

  “No. She’s proving more selective than I figured. I think I might have to pretend to date her a little bit before she’ll do it.”