The Hearts Series

by L.H. Cosway

  Everything this man had been through flashed in my mind’s eye. The fear of his mother’s stalker. Thinking he’d killed him and then having his father come onto the scene, making it seem like he could fix everything, when really he was only going to make it worse. Bruce trying to force his way of life on King when he wanted no part in it. Making him bear witness to violence and crimes he could never wash from his memories. Blackmailing him for years. And then, the last straw when King finally snapped and almost killed his father. Running away and leaving behind everything he worked so hard to achieve because he thought he was a murderer.

  The music continued, and before I knew it, the concerto had come to an end. When the audience rose in a standing ovation, King jumped up from his seat, hurriedly making his way out of the hall.

  “Where’s he going?” Lille asked, but I could only give her a blank stare. I had no clue, but I knew I needed to follow him. I pushed my way out, spotting him a couple of yards ahead of me. It was hard to keep up with his long strides, especially since I was wearing heels and had considerably shorter legs.

  “King,” I called out. “Where are you going?”

  I didn’t expect him to answer, but then he responded loudly over his shoulder, “I have to…I have to go somewhere.”

  I couldn’t seem to catch up with him, so I pulled out the ballet flats I always kept in my handbag (I was practical like that) and quickly swapped them out with my heels. Finally catching up, I grabbed his elbow.

  “King, will you wait a second?”

  He didn’t stop. “I just need to walk, okay? You don’t have to come.”

  I steeled my resolve. There was no way I was leaving him alone right then. “I’m coming.” Little did I know I’d come to regret that decision when we’d walked for over an hour, and my feet felt like they wanted to crawl away from my body and die. King didn’t seem to be walking in any random direction, though; I sensed he had a destination in mind. It became apparent that was the case when I recognised his old apartment building in the distance.

  “Your old place,” I said, winded. Yeah, I definitely needed to work out more and, I don’t know, eat more carrots or something. I was in worse shape than King, who was overcoming an addiction and some serious illnesses to boot. It was kind of ridiculous. Damn you, cake! I inwardly groaned.

  We’d just reached the entrance to the lobby when King turned back to me, his eyes fierce as he took me in. “Are you all right?”

  I waved away his concern sheepishly as I tried to catch my breath. “Yep, that walk was just a little more, uh, vigorous than I’m used to.”

  The fierceness quickly fled his expression as his lips shaped into something akin to amusement. He didn’t comment on it, though, and his expression sobered soon after. He turned back around, walking toward the door and holding it open for me. We stepped inside, and the night doorman pulled out his earphones, eyeing us curiously.

  “I’ve lost my keys,” King announced with authority, and the doorman frowned.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t recognise you. What number is your apartment?”

  “Twenty-two. The top floor. My name is Oliver King.” The way he said it gave me a little shiver of awareness. This was the first time since I’d found him that he’d so confidently stated his name, like he had regained a sense of his identity. It felt monumental, made my heart thump hard.

  The doorman’s eyes widened. “Oh, you mean the penthouse? Do you have any identification?”

  King’s expression darkened in annoyance, and I suddenly remembered that I had keys. Elaine had asked if I’d drop by and check on things a few weeks ago, and had given me her spare set. I’d completely forgotten to drop by, of course, and the keys were still sitting safely in the inside pocket of my bag. I quickly began to dig for them before pulling them out triumphantly.

  “Ah! Crisis averted. I found the keys,” I declared, jingling them in the air. King shot me a perplexed look, and the young doorman appeared relieved to be able to avoid further disturbance. Whatever he’d been listening to on those headphones, he seemed eager to get back to it. I faked a confident tone.

  “Come on, honey,” I said, holding my hand out to King. “Let’s get going. I’m exhausted.”

  He stepped forward and took my hand as I led him toward the lift. Once we were safely on board, King turned to face me. “Honey?”

  I shrugged. “I was aiming for casual.”

  His lips twitched in amusement again. “You have the keys for my apartment?”

  “Your mum gave them to me. She wanted me to stop by and check on things. Make sure the plants got watered.”

  “I never had any plants.”

  I made a weird sound in the back of my throat. “Oh, you know what I mean.”

  The doors to the lift pinged open, and there was a beat of silence where King just stared at me. I both loved and hated his stares in equal measure. I loved them because they made me want him. And I hated them because they made me want him.

  He made his way out of the lift, and I followed. When he reached the door, he stood and waited for me to open it. I did so quietly and he hurried inside, going straight to a drawer and pulling out a pad of paper and a pencil. I found it fascinating that he remembered exactly where he’d left things. Then he went to his piano, which sat by the large panelled window that looked out onto the river. I watched as he sat down and opened the lid, revealing the keys. He ran his fingers over them, feather light, as though saying hello to an old friend.

  I watched him with rapt attention. His face rose, and I noticed he was staring at something. Following his gaze, I saw it was fixed on the drinks cabinet on the other side of the room. Elaine hadn’t known about King’s alcohol abuse, so obviously she’d never thought to clear out the cabinet. King was still staring at it when he spoke, his voice strained. “Can you empty all those bottles down the sink, please?”

  “Sure,” I said, slightly flustered, and hurried over. As quick as I could, I removed the bottles and carried them to the kitchen, where I promptly poured their contents down the sink. I was a mixture of nervous and triumphant, because the way in which King stared at the bottles was nerve-wracking, but the fact that he’d told me to empty them meant his strength had won out. Once it was all done, I turned back around and gave him a firm nod. King’s body sagged in relief, and he shot me a stoic look in return before his attention was back on the piano.

  I suddenly became aware of my sore feet, and I just knew I had a bunch of blisters from the long walk. Why the hell hadn’t I suggested getting a taxi? Or even catching a tube? I’d been so anxious, so worried about how the concert had affected him, that my brain didn’t seem to be working like usual.

  Seeing that the door to the bathroom was slightly ajar, I left King to his own devices as I stepped inside and slipped off my shoes. Just as I thought, my feet were red and raw from the walk, the edge of the flats having dug into the backs of my ankles and the sides of my toes.

  The place was spic and span, courtesy of Elaine’s upkeep. In fact, there wasn’t a hint of dust or mildew in sight. Perhaps she’d always known her son would come back here one day. I made my way over to the large corner tub and filled it with a couple inches of water, just enough to soak my feet in. I ran the tap for a while, waiting for the water to heat up, and heard King press down on a couple of keys, testing. The piano must not have been in tune, because I heard him fiddling around with it for a while.

  With the tub filled, I sank my feet into the warm water and practically groaned in relief. King started to play something, a melody I didn’t recognise, and I closed my eyes, savouring the sound.

  He was playing.

  I couldn’t believe he was playing. The song was sweet, and somehow reminded me of springtime. I wanted to go inside and watch him, drink in the skilled movements of his body as he created something close to true perfection. But I didn’t move, just listened, afraid if I went inside, I’d break the spell.

  The music stopped, and I heard him muttering
something absently to himself. Then it started up again, stopped, started once more. I got the sense that he was either trying to remember something old or compose something new. Whichever it was, I had no intentions of interrupting. I laid my head back against the tiles, enjoying the relief of the water at my feet and the sound of the music in my ears.

  I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the door to the bathroom creaked and King stepped in. I opened my eyes, glanced up, and saw him studying me. His eyebrow quirked upward.

  “What are you….”

  “My feet were sore,” I explained quickly.

  “Oh,” he said. “I forgot you might not be used to walking.”

  “And you are?”

  Self-consciously, he scratched his head. “Sometimes, when the circus is on a break, I wander.”

  His answer intrigued me. “You wander? Where?”

  “Anywhere. I never really care where I’m going, so long as it’s somewhere different than before. Somehow, though, I always manage to find my way back.”

  Something painful hit me right in the chest, as I comprehended what he was saying. “And when you wander,” I whispered, “where do you sleep?”

  “On the streets.”

  “Oliver,” I said, my voice wavering.

  “You’re upset,” he stated.

  “Of course I’m upset. You’ve been sleeping on the streets, and yet you’ve had this place here all along.”

  “I told you, I stopped thinking of it as mine.”

  “Well, you need to start again. Because this is your home.”

  His face grew strained. “Alexis, I haven’t had a proper home, my own bed, in a really long time.” He paused, looked around, and gestured with his hands. “All of this is going to take a lot of getting used to.”

  On one level, what he said irritated me. This place was his, for crying out loud. But on another level, I completely understood where he was coming from. The apartment was practically palatial, and everything in it was expensive and luxury. My own house was positively quaint compared to this penthouse.

  My voice was quiet as I offered, “You can come and stay with me, if you like. My house is seriously tiny. It could be a way of phasing you in.” I shot him a smile, for a moment forgetting that he couldn’t come and stay with me until I told him about Oliver. I had to tell him about Oliver; I was just waiting for the right moment, which never seemed to arrive.

  “I couldn’t impose on you,” he said, and walked to the rack to pull off a towel. He neared me, towel in hand, then knelt in front of the tub. I watched with rapt attention as he reached in and lifted out one foot and then the other, drying both with care. His thumb rubbed down the arch of my foot, applying just the right amount of pressure. I had to bite my lip not to groan, because it felt so good.

  “You don’t have to do that,” I said, while at the same time not wanting him to stop. His eyes came to mine, and the towel fell away as he looked back down and started to examine my feet. Sucking in a harsh breath, he said, “You need to bandage these cuts.”

  “They’ll be fine.”

  He shot me a look of reprimand, and I shut my mouth.

  “I think I used to keep a first aid kit in here somewhere,” he said, and looked in the cupboard over the sink. Sure enough, there was a white box inside. He pulled it out and began looking for antiseptic cream and Band-Aids.

  “The song you were playing inside, it was lovely,” I said as he worked.

  “Yeah, I was watching the woman play tonight, and I realised something.” He frowned, hands stilling on my foot.

  “What was that?”

  His gaze met mine. “That I was jealous.”

  I didn’t know what to say, but then he continued talking. “I wanted what she had so badly, it was almost a physical type of pain. I’ve been away from real music for so long that I didn’t realise how much I needed it. It used to be my favourite thing, something I did to decompress. But now it feels like I can’t breathe if I don’t get it back.”

  My lips grew dry, still not knowing what to say. “Well, I’m just glad you enjoyed the concert.”

  “I did. Thank you for taking me there. I know it took a lot of courage.”

  He held my foot in his hand, fingers deliciously warm on my skin. I stared, transfixed, as he began to feel his way up my shin. My lips grew drier. In fact, I was dying of thirst right then, and it wasn’t for water. King’s mouth hung open a little as he admired my bare legs, his eyes wandering as far as my thighs before they came to my face. We communicated silently, and seconds later he was pulling me to him, water splashing as he caught me. His hands gripped either side of my neck, and he lowered his mouth to mine.

  The kiss was soft at first, maybe even a little hesitant, but then his tongue slid ever so slightly against my own, and I moaned deep in my throat. The sound caused King to let out a quiet grunt as his fingers dug into my skin and the kiss deepened. Every fibre of my being came alive as our tongues tangled, our lips biting, nibbling, seeking, and I felt the spot between my thighs grow wet and needful.

  I might have come from the kiss alone, it was that intense. We kissed like our lives depended on it, like we were dying of thirst in the desert, and I would have been embarrassed by my obvious need if he hadn’t matched it with his own. Long minutes passed, but his fingers never wandered from my neck and mine never left the front of his shirt, the material bunched in my fists. The fact that we were barely touching made it so much more feverish. It was only when I moaned a second time, much louder than before, and King gave a deep, masculine growl, that I knew I had to break the kiss. If we didn’t end this, he was going to be inside me soon, and I knew I wouldn’t have the willpower to stop him.

  My chest was heaving as I broke away, seeing stars, all of them gold like his hair. We locked gazes, and it was at that very moment that I blurted out, “There’s someone I need you to meet.”

  Twenty-One

  King didn’t want to stay in his apartment that night, and no matter how much I tried to convince him to give it a try, he was determined to return to the circus. He wanted what was familiar, and his old apartment was foreign to him now.

  We shared a cab, and I made him promise to meet me the following day at two, because I wanted to go see the show and introduce him to a friend. What he didn’t know was that the friend wasn’t a friend, but our son. I’d decided that there wasn’t ever going to be a perfect time to tell him, and that showing him would explain things far better than any words.

  Elaine had come over for breakfast, and we were currently sitting at the table, drinking coffee and eating pancakes. You always knew I was overcompensating when I made pancakes. Oliver was in the living room, eating a bowl of Cheerios and watching television. He didn’t want the pancakes for some reason and was determined to have cereal. Oh, the whims of a five-year-old.

  “I have to tell you something,” I said nervously, and Elaine glanced up from the magazine she’d been browsing. Her naturally pale eyebrows arched in concern as she sensed my apprehension.

  “Yes, darling?” she said, giving me a warm, open smile. Did I mention how much I loved that she called me darling? She had this well-bred, upper-class fanciness about her. Sometimes I felt like maybe I could gain some of it by osmosis.

  Okay, in for a penny, in for a pound. I didn’t want to beat around the bush, and Elaine wasn’t so vulnerable these days that she couldn’t handle a bit of a shocker.

  “I found Oliver.”

  She blinked at me in disbelief, her eyes darting to the doorway that led to the living room. “You mean, my Oliver?”

  I nodded.

  She got up from the table and began fanning herself with her hands as she paced back and forth. I watched tensely, worried that she might have a meltdown. Thankfully, that didn’t happen. Her voice was breathy with emotion and excitement when she finally spoke. “How did you find him? I mean, where is he?”

  I told her to sit down and that I’d explain everything. And I did. All about
Lille’s letter and how King had a half-sister who owned a circus, how he’d been living with her for years. How sick he’d become and how he was slowly trying to get better. She was wide-eyed and speechless by the time I’d finished recounting it all.

  “Do you think he’ll want to see me?” she asked timidly.

  “I know he does. He just wants to get better first, make himself presentable.”

  She nodded, her eyes watery as she stared over my shoulder, and I knew her mind was elsewhere.

  “I’m bringing Oliver to the circus today to introduce them. I can’t hide the fact that we have a son any longer.”

  Elaine’s face grew concerned. “Is he ready for that?”

  “Yes,” I said, “I think he is.”

  “Where are we going, Mummy?” Oliver asked from the back seat of the car. I’d dressed him in his Sunday best, a little navy blue shirt and grey corduroy pants. His hair was neatly brushed to the side, and as I glanced at him through my overhead mirror, I felt my chest constrict. He looked so fucking adorable. There was just something about little people dressed like big people that got me every time. But more than that, he looked so much like his dad.

  “We’re going to the circus,” I answered before concentrating back on the road.

  “The circus!” he screeched with sheer excitement. This was the reason I’d held back on telling him. I knew he’d get all hyper and would be impossible to control. He bounced up and down in his seat, a gigantic smile on his face. “Mummy, you sneak! You kept this under wraps.” I burst out laughing at his turn of phrase.

  “That I did.” I grinned at him.

  “Will there be elephants?”

  “Yup.”

  “Oh, my God!” he exclaimed, putting his hands to his cheeks like he simply couldn’t contain himself. He bounced with more vigour now, his giddiness amping itself up to eleven. Jesus, I loved him. I parked along the street leading up to the circus and felt my heart begin to thrum. My entire body was full to the brim with nervous tension, and I felt a bit like I was walking on air. Or about to vomit.