by Naomi West
I shrug, not really wanting to talk. I feel like if I do, I’ll lose it. If I say anything, I’ll have to say everything. I’ll have to talk about what happened. My fears for my brothers. My shock over my father’s arrest. I’ll have to tell Dare that I’m so mad at him and so sad that he thinks I’d do any of the things he accused me of and I’ll have to tell him I love him.
So I say nothing. And just watch out the window as the ground comes up to meet our plane.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alessia
We’re in Scotland. The flight attendant announced our arrival as we landed and I guess it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Dare’s family is Scottish. He says he used to spend his summers here and that after he enlisted in the army, his parents returned to their homeland.
But it did surprise me. I don’t know why, but it felt weird to be someplace so beautiful after going through something so ugly.
I’d planned to sleep on the car ride to wherever we were going, but I found I couldn’t. The landscape was just too beautiful. Dare paid a man at the airport in cash for the tiny little car he used to drive us north. We pass rolling green hills and dark green forests but the further north we go, snow covers the ground. The landscape blending in with the puffy white clouds in the sky.
I’m blown away by the beauty of it. It lulls me into the closest I could get to relaxation at a moment like this. The car ride is long. Almost six hours and by the time we pull up to a small house on the ocean, I’m starved, exhausted and utterly stretched to my limit.
“Alessia,” Dare says, coming around to my side of the car and pulling open the door. I look up at him, but not into his eyes. I can’t handle his eyes right now. He doesn’t say anything more. He just takes me by the hand and leads me toward the house.
The house is small and tidy, covered in peeling white paint and ivy. There’s a periwinkle door with a small Christmas wreath pinned to it. There’s patches of snow outside but it must have been a warm day because pools of the green-gray grass show through in the yard. I can smell a woodsy, burning scent and I look up to see smoke curling out of the chimney of the two-story house. I can see the steely gray ocean out beyond. It looks cold, impenetrable, constant.
Dare walks into the house without knocking and I hesitate at the threshold. Who is in here? But I don’t have the words or the energy to ask. I just keep following him. He leads me through the dated but tidy house, past the lumpy couch with its crocheted afghan, past the rosebud wallpaper and the crooked pictures on the wall I don’t even have time to look at. He leads me straight into the kitchen.
Two people sit around the small, wooden kitchen table. Dinner cooks away in a pot on the stove. A woman jumps up from the table, her salt and pepper hair in a neat braid down her back and an oversized sweater and men’s jeans covering her soft frame.
“Little one!” she yelps. “We didn’t even hear you pull up!” Her Scottish brogue is musical but subtle, as if there is an American accent mixed in there as well.
She rushes around the table and directly into Dare’s arms, pulling his kiss down for a cheek and tossing her arms around him. Little one? She was referring to Dare? The man is easily twice her size.
The man at the table is up almost as fast as the woman, coming around to greet us as well. He’s just a few inches shy of Dare’s tremendous height and his hair is a steely white, standing up off his head in just the way that Dare’s does. He wears almost the exact same outfit as his wife, an oversized sweater and men’s jeans. And when he gets close enough, I realize that he wears the exact same eyes as Dare.
Dark, hypnotic. Eyes that see right through you.
I immediately avert my gaze. If I’m not ready to get caught in that stare from Dare, then I’m certainly not ready for it from a stranger.
“Adair,” the man says, grinning and holding out his arms. His accent is much stronger than the woman’s. Dare and the man embrace as well, a manly hug filled with back slapping and affection. Before he pulls away, the man kisses Dare heartily on the cheek.
When the two strangers step away from him, all eyes turn to me. Dare immediately comes to me and puts his arm around my shoulder, fortifying me.
“Alessia, this is my mother Annabel and my father Alistair. We’re going to be staying with them for a few days while I get our place fixed up.” I blink up at him completely uncomprehending.
What the hell was this? He could barely stand to look at me twenty-four hours ago. Now the man had brought me home to his parents? What was I supposed to do with that? How was I supposed to act right now?
My clothes were dirty and slept in. I’d been traveling for almost an entire day. My father was in jail, my brothers were hurt and missing, my best friend had disappeared. I’d been abducted, socked in the face, shot a man in the leg, and flown across the ocean. And now I was meeting Dare’s parents. With a baseball cap and black eye.
I can think of absolutely nothing to say as his parents blink at me but then his mom is moving toward me. Her arms are opening and her face is lovely and sweet.
“Oh, honey,” she says. “Come here.” Her arms fold around me and my head instantly curls into her shoulder. She smells like baked bread and wool and shampoo. I bury my face in her sweater and hug her back. The hug is strong and soft and motherly. Something I haven’t felt since I was a little girl. Something I didn’t even know I would remember. Her hand moves up and down my back and it absolutely breaks me. Everything washes over me in one big wave.
I can’t hold it in anymore. I don’t want to. I hold her tight to me and I sob.
I wake up a few hours later in a room that’s lit only by the small, cheery fire in the fireplace. I feel so much better and I’m not sure if it’s because I finally feel safe again, or if it’s because I finally cried my brains out.
Dare’s mother had been beyond kind, holding me while I cried and then had dragging me upstairs to the guest bedroom. “Away from the men,” she had said.
She’d drawn a bath, force fed me tea, and washed my hair as I hiccupped and cried. I wasn’t even shy about having a stranger see me completely naked. Although now, the only two people on earth who had were both in the Guinne family. After I was all washed up, she shoved me into some flannel pajamas and turned back the covers on the bed. I’d been so grateful, I fell asleep instantly.
I roll over and stretch and look at an old clock on the wall. It’s past eight at night. I get out of bed and walk to the tiny adjoining bathroom. There is an actual clawfoot tub. I find a spare toothbrush and toothpaste and brush up.
My stomach is grumbling and I remember the smell of whatever it was that was cooking on the stove when we arrived. I hope there’s left overs.
I tread quietly down the stairs and pause outside the doorway of the kitchen, where I can hear the three of them talking. Dare’s father asks a question I can’t hear and I creep a little closer.
“I’m not sure,” Dare’s voice replies, “it’s all so messed up now. Everything is so intense for her. I don’t know if she can.”
“She will,” his mother says gently. “Give her time.”
I know they’re talking about me and suddenly I feel guilty for eavesdropping. I feel like I’m infringing on something private. I don’t completely understand healthy parent-kid relationships, having never really had one before, but it sounds like Dare has pretty supportive people for parents.
I step into the doorway and they all turn to me. Dare and his mother both jump right up from the table. His mother rushes to the stove to serve me some food and Dare is rushing to my side. He takes my hand and squeezes it.
I squeeze his hand back and a look of immense relief washes over his face.
“How are ye feelin’, darlin’?” his father asks me as I sit down at the table and I can’t help but smile at the older, accented version of Dare.
“Much better, thank you. And hungry.” I smile at his mother as she sets a bowl of stew down in front of me, complete with a chunk of crusty brown bread a
nd glass of dark beer.
“You don’t have to drink the beer,” Dare mutters, seeming slightly embarrassed for some reason.
I take an experimental sip and my eyes widen in delight. “It’s delicious!” I exclaim. “Sort of tastes like chocolate milk.”
Dare throws his hands up in the air as his father crows happily. “See! I told ya! You’re just ornery that’s all.”
I look back and forth between them, unsure of what’s going on but Annabel fills me in. “The two were having an argument about that beer earlier. You see, Alistair here brews that beer himself and he was trying to make a chocolate stout. Adaire says he failed, but you my dear, say he succeeded.”
I grin, now that I understand. “You definitely succeeded.”
Dare huffs, but he’s smiling too. There’s a warmth in the kitchen and it has nothing to do with the fire in the hearth. It has to do with family. It’s something I’ve only ever felt with my brothers.
It makes me sad to think of my own father in comparison with these good, kind people. Why couldn’t he have been a real estate agent or a shop owner? Why did he have to be mobster? I push the thoughts away and concentrate on eating my meal, letting their voices ebb and flow around me as they chatter and bicker.
When I’m done eating, I join in their conversation and a few hours pass as if they were minutes. These are seriously the most welcoming people I’ve ever met but I’m exhausted again. I stifle a yawn behind my hand but Dare catches it immediately.
“Time for bed,” he says authoritatively and I don’t argue. I don’t really care if his parents know that I let him boss me around. “At least you’re already dressed for it.”
I look down at the flannel pajamas that I still wear and I smile. His mom bustles away the dishes and leans down to give me a kiss and a hug. I really think I’m in danger of loving this woman. Would that be so bad?
I stand up, and on impulse, I hug Alistair as well, and after a moment his arms come around me firmly. I pull away and see a charmed little smile on his face as he makes eye contact with Dare.
Dare bids his parents goodnight and follows me up the stairs. Suddenly I feel stressed again. Is he going to sleep with me tonight? Half of me is terrified of sleeping alone and half of me wants some space. He pauses in the doorway and looks around the room.
“This used to be my room. Looks like they’ve changed it a bit.”
I look around the small room and can barely imagine him staying in here. There’s a small double bed with a rosebud quilt where I slept earlier that day. A little fireplace where the fire has burned down to coals and a dresser in the corner. A collection of framed doilies dot the walls. Someone has put a vase filled with holly on the end table.
Dare enters the room and closes the door behind him. I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth again and when I come back out I see that he’s stoking the fire, throwing a log on and building it back up.
“It’s already nice and warm in here,” I say.
He turns and looks at me in the firelight. “Yeah, but if you make it hot with the fire then you can do this.”
Crossing the room, he pulls open the window a smidge and I feel a cool, salty breeze mix in with the warm air of the room. The soothing sound of the ocean rises over us. It’s delightful. I smile and cross to the bed.
“That’s nice. Is that the way you slept when you used to spend your summers here?”
Dare is staring out the window at the ocean and he doesn’t turn around or answer my question. “I want to sleep with you, Alessia.” I open my mouth. Whether it’s to accept or to argue, I have no idea. “I watched you get abducted yesterday. I heard a gun go off. I didn’t know if you were hurt. You have a black eye. You-,” his voice breaks off and he rips a hand through his hair. “I’m holding you tonight. I’m not going to try anything. I just… I need to hold you tonight.”
I can’t say whether I’m disappointed or relieved that he’s not going to try anything tonight, but I only pause for a second. I throw back the covers for him. Something softens in his gaze.
Immediately, he yanks the shirt over his head and shucks off his pants and shoes. He crosses the room in just his briefs and it feels good to be turned on by the sight of his body. It feels familiar and safe. As much as everything else has changed, at least that is still the same. He slides into bed next to me and his arms instantly come around me. He’s spooning me tightly and as the cool ocean breeze dances over my face and the ocean lulls outside, I drift away.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dare
I wake up the next morning alone in the bed. I’m on my feet in a snap, instantly feeling the rising panic of Alessia’s absence. I check the bathroom, find that she’s not there and take the stairs down to the main level in two bounds.
Alessia stands at the sink next to my mother. They’re hip to hip, up to their arms in the potatoes they're scrubbing. Alessia wears one my mother’s oversized sweaters and a pair of her baggy jeans. Heavy wool socks are scrunched onto her feet and her hair is piled on top of her head in a girlish bun. I run the heel of my hand over my heart.
I’ve seen her dressed to the nines for a date. I’ve seen her dressed nice and neatly for class. I’ve seen her in lingerie. But, outside of her being butt ass naked, this is my favorite look by leaps and bounds. How does she look this good all disheveled and casual?
There’s so much love for her in my rib cage that there's barely any room for my lungs. Words bubble into my mouth and I want to tell her but I know she needs time. My folks both insisted on that when I talked to them last night. I didn’t give them all the information about our situation, but enough for them to know that things were strained between Alessia and me.
So I’m giving her time before I tell her, I guess. I tried to tell her in the way I held her last night. I hope on some level she got the message. I hope it comforted her.
The women turn to look at me as I enter the room and Alessia’s eyes widen. I realize that in my haste to figure out where she was, I didn't put any pants on. I stand in my mother's kitchen in my tight black boxer briefs.
My mother saunters over to me and stares at my chest for a second, her eyes narrowing. “You got another one,” she says matter-of-factly.
I follow her gaze to the Scottish rose on my chest. It's one of many tattoos there, almost hidden amongst the other ink. I’m almost surprised that she spotted it, but I know my mother and her eagle eyes.
I shrug. “Just something to make me think of home. Of you, Ma,” I say to make her smile. It works.
“Too many tattoos,” she shakes her head at me and goes back to stand beside Alessia and continues scrubbing potatoes. “He was such a beautiful boy before those tattoos. How do you stand them?”
I find myself embarrassingly eager to hear Alessia’s answer. I lower myself to the kitchen table and pour a cup of coffee from the same old thermos my parents have been using for thirty years.
Alessia shrugs. “He's still a beautiful boy.”
My mother grins and I, weirdly, feel like blushing and pounding my chest at the same time.
She keeps going and that’s almost as good. “I don't mind the tattoos. I like them, actually. Well, all except for one.”
“Which one?” I ask immediately. I’ve never heard her talk about my tattoos before and I find myself deadly curious.
She turns around from the sink and crosses her arms. She raises an eyebrow. “The one with another’s woman name written on it.”
My brow draws in confusion. Another woman's name? I don't have a tattoo with another woman’s name, but my mother gets it before I do and she bursts out laughing, clapping her hands and jumping up and down like a kid on Christmas. Her obvious glee jogs my memory.
“Oh my God,” I say, dropping my head into my hands. “Don't tell her, Ma.”
I look up at Alessia and see her looking back and forth between the two of us, waiting to be let in on the joke. My mother disregards my request and plunges right into the story, holding
her side that is, apparently, splitting with laughter.
“I made him get that tattoo,” she tells Alessia, “when he was sixteen.”
“You made him get a tattoo?” Alessia asks, her eyes wide. “Why?”
“I walked in on him losing his virginity.”
Alessia’s mouth drops open as my head drops back into my hands.
“I see we’re not sparing any details, are we, Ma?” Feeling a need to defend myself I speak up again. “Technically, it was right after I lost my virginity.”
My mother bursts out laughing again and I feel myself chuckling along with her.
“You're blushing,” Alessia says, amazement in her voice as she crosses the kitchen to me, one of her hands reaching up to touch my cheek. Her hand is warm on my face and I want to curl into her touch like a cat. I would hear this humiliating story a thousand more times if it gets her to look at me like this. I can't help myself, I reach out and pull her onto my lap.