The Navigator (Mountains Series Book 5)

by Phoebe Alexander

  Who the fuck am I kidding? she chided herself. I’d need about a month solid of yoga and meditation to deal with this.

  And then her inner sarcastic bitch fired back: No problem. You’ve got nine months.

  Shaking off both voices, she finished her shower, dressed, then left her private sanctuary to face the situation before her. She noticed Mishti’s bedroom door was ajar, and she couldn’t stop herself from taking a peek inside.

  Her room was purple. Very purple. Anjuli hadn’t gone in there many times since Mishti left for college because she cried every time. Every single time. It was a monument to her daughter’s youth, and knowing that youth was over, and her daughter would never again be that bright-eyed little girl with the thick black ponytail bouncing behind her just wrecked her. That ache was even more intense today as Anjuli considered the baby growing inside her daughter’s womb. Nothing stripped away even the tiniest traces of childhood more effectively than motherhood.

  Her daughter was entwined in Jensen’s arms, her long, dark hair spilling over his shoulder like an ebony waterfall. She looked so peaceful, a contrast to the turmoil on her face the night before. Anjuli stood there long enough that the pair began to stir. Her heart jolted her feet into action, and she hustled into the kitchen to start brewing coffee. She felt as though she would need multiple cups to deal with the conversation she needed to have with her daughter.

  She was stirring creamer into her steaming mug when she heard footsteps down the hall. Mishti appeared in the entranceway, her dark hair twisted up on top of her head in a messy bun and the telltale streaks of sleep across her face. “Hey, Mom,” she said. “I’m gonna grab some coffee.”

  “Oh no, you’re not,” Anjuli fired back, shaking her head. “Caffeine isn’t good for the baby.”

  Her daughter rolled her eyes. Anjuli pursed her lips, feeling like she was looking in the mirror. Despite Mishti’s father being white, she was a carbon copy of her mother. Right down to her classic eyeroll. The only differences were that she had slightly paler skin and her father’s thinner frame.

  “I have read up on this, and it’s okay for me to have one cup a day,” she explained. “So I have one in the morning, and that’s it.”

  So this is why parents want to retain control of their adult children, Anjuli sighed internally. Because they do their own “research” and think they know what’s best. She bit her tongue to keep herself from scoffing as Mishti poured a generous cup.

  “Look, I know you’re disappointed,” she said as she stirred in sugar and creamer. “I know I said I wouldn’t let this happen.” She glanced up from the mug and locked eyes with her mother. “But you’d be pretty hypocritical to be angry or not support me. Isn’t that what your parents did to you?”

  “I didn’t even tell them I was pregnant,” Anjuli replied, “because I knew it would be pointless. You were a few months old when they came for their annual visit. I will never forget the look of shock on my mother’s face. It was like I’d committed a heinous crime or something. She was completely devastated.”

  Mishti was silent as she sipped her coffee. “Jensen asked me to marry him,” she said.

  Anjuli took a deep breath, then gulped down the rest of the hot liquid before she replied. The memories and old feelings she’d buried so long ago were rising to the surface, swirling around her stomach along with the coffee—not a pleasant sensation.

  “Sweetheart...,” her voice trailed off. How could this be happening? “No matter what, you know I love you and will support you.”

  Those were the words.

  The words she wanted so badly to hear from her parents all those years ago.

  The words she never heard.

  Jensen was a nice kid. It didn’t make him any older or more mature or more capable of providing her daughter and grandchild with safety and security, but hey, nice is at least a good starting place. And smart. I do think he’s smart, she decided. And such a redhead. She wondered if those genes would fight off the dark-hair, dark-eyes genes that had won out over her father’s in creating Mishti’s appearance.

  Speaking of redheads. She felt her phone buzz in her purse, which was situated on her lap as she awaited the waitress’s return with her receipt for their brunch. It had turned out to be a nice morning. The two college students were appreciative, and what was more—they were in love. Anjuli couldn’t deny that.

  “So, I think I’m due in late May,” Mishti said. This was the first time she’d talked about the baby or the pregnancy since the night before. They had mostly been talking about their future plans, way in the future...like marriage and five years down the road. They both wanted to stay in school. We can make it work, Mishti promised. You did, Mom, and you’re my hero. I know I can do it too.

  “Right, so we can both finish up the spring semester before the baby comes, and in the fall we should be able to start up again. There’s a daycare on campus,” Jensen added.

  They had done their homework. They had figured this out together.

  Anjuli smiled. It was challenging not to swoop in with advice and direction, but she was managing to keep her mouth closed. She pulled out her phone at the same time the waitress put the black bill holder on the table next to her. A text from Garrett awaited her: I have news. Can you come by?

  “Everything okay, Mom?” Mishti asked from across the table. Relief had washed over her features. She seemed much lighter than she had the night before when her secret was still tucked away.

  “Yes, sorry, that was Garrett,” she answered.

  “Oh, the guy from the show?” Jensen questioned. “Is he feeling better?”

  “Yes, he asked if I can stop by. I think we need to figure out what to do about the show, if it is still on tonight or what.”

  “I can’t imagine him being able to do the show tonight if he was hospitalized yesterday,” Jensen pointed out.

  “Spoken like a true pre-med student,” Mishti teased him. “He’s going to make a great doctor, don’t you think, Mom?”

  She was distracted, wondering what Garrett’s news could be, but she mumbled and nodded. “If you two don’t mind, I’m going to drop you off back at home and go see him.”

  Mishti’s eyebrows arched as she glanced at Jensen and then back to her mother again, as if she’d read between the lines of her mother’s statement. “That’s fine. So, you didn’t answer my question about the wedding, Mom.”

  “What was that?” She still felt queasy by this idea of a wedding. Her daughter was going to be married before she was? She didn’t know how to feel about it exactly, but while she decided, it was persistently eating away at her.

  “Do you think we can pull a wedding together by spring? I’d love to get married when the cherry blossoms are in bloom.” She reached for Jensen’s hand on top of the table, and he grinned at her adoringly.

  “I’m sure you can do anything you put your mind to,” she answered and ushered them toward the door.

  The door was unlocked, so Anjuli let herself in. Inside was a quiet haven, no sound at all except for the ticking clock in the living room. The mid-day sun filtered through the window, leaving dark bands of shadows on the beige carpeting as she padded softly down the hall toward Garrett’s room. No sign of Chase, and his car was gone, so she assumed he had left for work already.

  “Garrett?” she called out, not wanting to startle him. Her phone began to buzz, and she looked down to see it was Nigel calling. And she had apparently missed three texts from him as well.

  She pushed the door to his bedroom open and found it empty. The shower turned on at the same moment, so she realized he must be in the bathroom. She knocked lightly on the door. “Hey, I’m here—I’ll wait in the living room. I didn’t want to scare you.”

  His voice was muffled by the water, but he called out, “Okay.”

  She returned to the living room and stretched out on the shabby leather sofa, the bands of sunlight crossing her legs and chest, warming her. Her insides twisted up like a giant k
notted ball of twine between what was going on with her daughter, Garrett, and the show. She read the texts from Nigel.

  He hasn’t answered my phone calls. Do you know what’s going on with him?

  Seriously, I need to know what the fuck to do about tonight.

  Pick up your phone, Juli, please?!

  While reading through the texts and trying to decide how to reply, her phone began to ring, startling her so badly she nearly hurled the whole thing across the room. It was Scott.

  “Hey you,” she answered. “Sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk to you last night.”

  “Are you okay? Is everything okay?” he questioned, but before giving her a chance to answer, he continued, “I’m so sorry I am just now calling. My wife was on my case last night, and then we had a sick kid up all night. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t care.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. She’d have to tell Scott about the situation with Mishti, but that would have to wait. She could only imagine all the jokes he would come up with to tease her about becoming a grandmother. “Yeah, I’m over at Garrett’s place now to check on him.”

  “What happened exactly?” he pressed. “I thought that gunshot was real, holy fuck; we were all pretty freaked out!”

  “No, I didn’t realize there were blanks in the gun. Our prop manager is in huge trouble. Apparently there’s some sort of rule at the theatre against real weapons being used, and Nigel didn’t know that’s what it was. He says he is totally clueless when it comes to guns.”

  “So many people are,” Scott answered with a laugh. “So is the show shut down or what?”

  “I don’t know yet,” she answered. “I need to talk to Nigel, but I’m trying to see what Garrett’s deal is. The gunshot was supposed to be a sound effect, but when it didn’t go off, I panicked. So I’m blaming the sound guy.” She meant for it to come out as a joke, but she wasn’t sure she succeeded.

  “And how is he? The gunshot scared him or what?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’m going to try to find out,” she assured him. “He also texted to say he has news.”

  “Yeah, there is some news, and it’s weird.” All the humor his voice had held moments before vanished into thin air.

  “What do you mean by weird?” She rubbed her temple as the beginnings of a headache rumbled through her skull like a train. “I don’t need any more weird in my life.”

  “Talk to Garrett first and see what he says. But I think we may have found his brother.”

  Her brows furrowed, wondering what could be weird about that. That was the outcome they’d all been aiming for. She heard the bathroom door pop open. “Hey, he’s out of the shower. I’ll text you later, okay?”

  “Yeah, hey, Anjuli—” He never used her full name.

  “What?”

  “Just be careful with him, alright? I have a weird feeling about him.”

  Fuck. First Nigel tells me to stay away from him, and now Scott? And he doesn’t even know the guy.

  “I gotta go, Scott. I’ll talk to you later.” She pressed the button to end the call at the same time Garrett appeared with a towel wrapped around his waist and a few stray droplets of water streaking down his red-hot skin. Steam lifted off him as his eyes met hers, and his lips curled into a smile.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said as he approached her. He lifted her up and enclosed her in his hot, damp arms, pressing her against his wet chest as he nuzzled his dripping beard into her scalp. She could feel the water seeping into her hairline and his heart thumping against her.

  No matter what Nigel said—or Scott for that matter, and she hated to discount his opinion because he was an excellent judge of character—she couldn’t deny that having his arms around her felt amazing. Right.

  “Do you want to put some clothes on so we can talk?” she asked, pulling back from his damp skin. She never thought she’d be asking him to cover up, but she wasn’t sure she could have a serious conversation with him if he was wearing nothing but a towel.

  “If that’s what you want.” His green eyes flashed down to the bulge growing under the towel, then back up to her. “You sure?” The look in his eyes seemed to say he hoped she’d have a change of heart.

  She nodded. As much as she’d love to feel his rock-hard cock sink into her, there were so many other things they needed to discuss. She followed him back into his room where he slid on a pair of athletic pants and nothing else. He collapsed on the bed as if the hot shower had drained all his energy, then patted the spot beside him.

  She wasn’t sure lying next to him in bed was the safest spot, so she sat on the edge toward his feet, curling her legs underneath her so she was balanced on one hip. “We need to talk about what happened last night,” she told him. She’d already had a difficult conversation with her daughter this morning, what was one more difficult conversation? She felt like she should be collecting a paycheck for all the psychological jargon she was spouting off. It felt exactly like being at work.

  He pierced into her with his green eyes; they looked like the deepest darkest jungles on another continent. Perhaps the jungles she knew from her youth. Indian ones. But then he scrubbed his hand through his still-saturated hair and beard, and she was brought right back to this man, this mystery wrapped in such a delectable package, who was scrubbing his hand through his beard again and looking for a way to dodge her question.

  “Look, I’m over what happened last night, okay? I’m planning to call Nigel and tell him I’m good for the show tonight. I’m sure he’s freaking out.” He cracked a little smile. “I’m supposed to be the hero of the show, after all. Not just for getting your character off—but for saving the whole damn show in the first place.”

  She couldn’t help but smirk at the innuendo of defending Roxie’s murder charges and her being acquitted. And as much as she wanted to believe he was fine, she had seen this “hero” attitude one too many times. So many of her clients returned and didn’t want to address their issues. They wanted to leave all those thoughts and feelings on the battlefield and return to the roles of husband or wife, son or daughter, and father or mother—the men and women their families knew before the war. They wanted to be the heroes everyone thought they were.

  They thought depression was a weakness. PTSD was a weakness. They weren’t weak. They were strong. The best of the best. They didn’t have time for any weaknesses, any wounds. They needed to keep fighting. To keep being brave. To keep being heroes.

  She’d seen and heard it a million times.

  “Garrett, you need to come clean with me. I know there’s something in your past, and I need you to tell me what it is. I’m not asking you to do that as a psychologist, okay? I’m asking you as a friend—because I hate seeing you like this.”

  He let her words hang there in a cloud around him, but he was wearing a gas mask. He was impenetrable. His expression didn’t even falter. He simply picked up his phone, pressed a couple buttons and held it to his ear, waiting.

  “Hey, it’s Nav,” he said.

  She heard a muffled voice on the other end and knew right away it was Nigel.

  “Yeah, man, I’m so sorry about last night... No...I didn’t really get any answers. They gave me something that made me feel like total shit, but I slept it off... Yeah, man, I’m fine... Yeah, of course... She’s here with me right now. Of course, I’ll tell her... Yeah, we’ll see you tonight. Oh—wait a sec...Our shows next week start on Thursday, right? Right. Yeah, I am going to have to make a trip out of town, but I’ll be back before the Thursday show... Yeah, I promise. No problem. I’ll be there by six.”

  He hung up and placed his phone on the bed beside him. “So, that’s settled.” He looked victorious.

  She shook her head, wishing there was a way to break through to him. “Where are you going next week?” she questioned.

  “To meet my brother,” he fired back. “They’ve found him.”

  Twenty

  Neither Chase nor Anjuli wanted him to go
alone. He thought they were both nuts and over-protective. Chase couldn’t get out of work at the liquor store and had another modeling shoot scheduled for Wednesday. Anjuli, however, insisted she was going with him.

  She said she didn’t want any strings, yet she wants to go with me to confront my brother. I don’t know what the hell that is about.

  But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t glad she was going. He looked over at her, her head back against the seat, her eyes closed with her long lashes resting against her cheeks. He couldn’t get over how beautiful she was, how peaceful she looked.

  The two shows they had done Saturday night and Sunday afternoon had wiped them both out, sapping up every available ounce of energy either had. She’d succumbed to his invitation to stay at his place Sunday night so they could fly out in the morning. She’d said goodbye to her daughter and her boyfriend on Sunday right after the show so they could drive back to college, and she was one hundred percent emotionally drained. Too tired even for sex, he was disappointed to learn.

  He thought of the word “succumbed” because it seemed she didn’t have the strength to protest. She simply went home, packed a bag and was on his doorstep less than an hour later, looking as though she might keel over from exhaustion at any moment.

  She’d slept all night on her side, and even though he’d spooned up against her, his erection poking into her fleshy backside, she didn’t stir. She slept like the dead. And now here they were on the second leg of their journey, and she was fast asleep again.

  She only pressed him the one time about what had happened backstage during the opening night performance. She appealed to him not as a professional, but as a friend. He’d somehow found the strength to refuse those eyes.

  How many times did he sit in a shrink’s office after it happened and refuse to speak? Dozens, at least. He couldn’t see the point of it. He couldn’t understand how it would help him.