The Sister (The Boss Book 6)

by Abigail Barnette

  I read it, again. Over and over. My eyes kept finding “survived by”.

  “I forgot my phone,” Neil called, startling me. I hadn’t heard the car come back or the door open. Now, every step he took sounded like an avalanche approaching. I held still, like maybe he wouldn’t notice me. I didn’t want to be noticed by anyone. I didn’t want to be seen. Not existing at all would have been ideal.

  “Happily, I evaded the roving gangs of moose,” Neil joked, scooping his phone off the coffee table. He turned to leave, and I willed him to go. But he paused and asked, “Is everything all right?”

  I raised my eyes guiltily. I didn’t know why I felt guilty. Maybe because I was intruding on a life that I clearly had no business trying to be a part of? It was like I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t have.

  “Sophie?” Neil prompted, again, appearing more alarmed. He looked down at the laptop in my hands and gently took it from me, frowning as he read the screen. He lifted his eyes to meet mine and said, “Oh, Sophie. Oh, I am so terribly sorry.”

  “They didn’t…” I couldn’t breathe. “They didn’t even put me in the obituary.”

  Pressure built in my chest so hard and tight, the only way to keep from bursting was to let all of the pain out, and it wouldn’t come without sound. My wail hurt. It hurt my throat, and my eyes, and my chest. It hurt my heart; twenty-eight years of agony balled up into one long, aching sound. I bolted to my feet and slapped the laptop out of his hands; it hit the corner of the coffee table on the way down.

  Another painful cry welled up in me. I looked to Neil, helpless to stop the hyperventilating sobs that collapsed and expanded my chest. My tears burned my eyes, and my shoulders shook. My everything shook; I couldn’t stop shivering.

  Neil stood paralyzed beside me. “Sophie, what do you need?” He searched my face. “What do I do?”

  That only made me cry harder, because usually, Neil knew exactly what to do.

  “I think I’m having a heart attack!” I gasped, my palm pressed to the center of my chest. I grabbed both of his hands, squeezing them way too hard. I couldn’t let go, though. If I did, I’d start slapping myself or pulling out my hair. I was completely out of control, screaming and sobbing.

  That’s when he knew what to do. “You’re not having a heart attack. You’re having a panic attack.”

  He guided me to the bathroom, holding my wrists. So, he knew exactly what my impulses were demanding I do. That made me feel ashamed, and I cried harder. I tried to twist away from him, actively fought against him, and he pulled me in closer to hold me with one arm as he turned on the tap and filled the sink with cold water.

  “No, no,” he admonished softly. “Calm down.”

  “How can I calm down? Don’t tell me to calm down!” I pushed at his chest, but he was stronger than I was.

  “Sophie.” His voice cut through the wild, frantic pounding in my brain. There was a sternness to it that wasn’t exactly my Sir’s voice, but the edge that was there snapped me into obedience, or as much as I could muster. He flipped the tap off and eased me to bend over the sink. “There, get your face in. That’s a good girl.”

  He held my hair and lowered me in. For a split second, I was terrified that my erratic breathing would suck in water and I would drown, but the moment it hit my skin, I couldn’t breathe, anyway. I came up gasping, and Neil gently urged me down once more with a hand on my back. I dunked myself and came up dripping.

  And he was right; it helped. It didn’t make everything better, not by a long shot. But I could breathe, and I didn’t feel like smashing anything or harming myself, anymore.

  He handed me a towel and rubbed my back as I bent over the sink to blot my face dry. “I got snot on the towel,” I said, and that made me cry, again.

  “There’s a washing machine,” he reassured me. “I’m sure I can figure out how it works.”

  I laughed. How the hell could this man make me laugh when all I wanted to do was curl up into a ball and die?

  “I didn’t even rate a mention in his obituary,” I said, but this time, my heart didn’t pound like it would burst. Instead, I just felt a debilitating, crushing sadness. “They knew I existed. But they didn’t bother to contact me to tell me. They didn’t even acknowledge me.”

  “I’m not saying that it was excusable or that it wasn’t in poor taste,” he began cautiously. “But perhaps things are more complicated than a simple rejection of your existence? We have no idea if they even knew about you at the time. Secrets often emerge en masse after someone’s death.”

  I hadn’t considered that. It wasn’t until after my grandfather had died that we’d found out that one of my uncles had a secret child in Indiana. But it didn’t comfort me to know that my father might have kept me a secret in the same way.

  “I don’t understand.” I reached for some toilet paper and blew my nose. “Was I not good enough? Was I weird or troubled or unlovable?”

  “As the father of a very weird, very naughty daughter, I can say unequivocally that whatever prompted your father to abandon you, it was not a defect in your character.” Neil’s voice went very soft. “And I must admit, I am quite furious at the notion that anyone would reject their own child.”

  When mine was taken from me, I mentally added for him, because I knew that would naturally follow in his mind. Neil had been an extraordinarily loving, if wildly overprotective, father to Emma. The fact that he’d outlived her was the most unfair thing I could imagine.

  He held me close, but now that the worst, most emotionally and physically draining part of my reaction was over, I felt oddly stable.

  That probably wouldn’t last.

  “You know, I’m feeling all right, now.” I sniffed against his chest.

  His voice rumbled beneath my ear. “That’s how they happen. I think they simply wear you down until you’re not able to be hysterical, anymore. And then, you sleep for hours.”

  My stomach roiled with nausea at the casual authority in his tone. He’d been hospitalized for months at a mental health facility after Emma had died, but he didn’t talk a lot about what had happened there. “Did you get these a lot?”

  “Quite often,” he admitted uncomfortably. “And would still, I imagine, if not for my medication.”

  “Thank god for pills.” I hated that Neil had ever felt the way I felt at the moment, and I hated knowing that he’d felt worse.

  “Seconded.” After a moment, his hold loosened. “Would you like to come with me to pick up Olivia? Or would you like me to see if your mother would keep her overnight?”

  I leaned back, frowning. “There is no way you’d be able to handle leaving her with someone for an overnight.”

  “Of course I would,” he said, and I reached up to check him for a fever. He dodged my hand. “It’s fine, really. She goes off for a bloody week with bloody Valerie—”

  “Wow, that’s a lot of blood.” I whistled, impressed. “You’re really looking forward to that, aren’t you?”

  He didn’t address that. “I trust your mother. And Olivia knows her. It isn’t as though we’d be leaving her with a stranger.”

  Neil was so cool with the idea that he couldn’t be faking it. He wasn’t a great liar. And I didn’t really want to be alone, but I didn’t want to see my family. “Only if you’re absolutely positive. I’m sure my grandma won’t mind.”

  “I’ll call. I’ll tell them you’re not feeling well.” He kissed the top of my head and stepped away. “They’ll just think you’re tragically intoxicated.”

  Which would be far better than the alternative. I didn’t know how I would face my family, now, or if I should even tell them. But whatever happened, it didn’t have to happen tonight.

  Chapter Four

  Since Olivia had stayed the night with her, Mom had insisted on taking her to mass to “show her off”. She was as close to a grandchild as Mom would ever get, so Neil and I had both been fine with it. It also gave us the opportunity to sleep in and wake up
together, which we rarely had the chance to do, anymore.

  I woke to Neil nuzzling his stubbly face into my neck, and an erection pressing pointedly against my backside.

  “Good morning,” I said with a sleepy laugh. “You know, I could have slept longer.”

  “I couldn’t. I’m programmed to wake at sunrise,” he muttered against my skin.

  “You don’t have to do that.” This was an argument we’d had many a time since Olivia had learned that the baby monitor was a direct line to our bedroom. “She has a nanny.”

  His response was the same as always. “But it’s my responsibility.”

  I moved to turn over, and he used the opportunity to roll on top of me, settling between my legs to lean down and kiss me. I couldn’t believe I used to freak out about morning breath. When we’d first started doing the sleepover thing, he’d kept disposable toothbrushes on the nightstand for me, just so I wouldn’t bolt out of bed the moment my eyes opened. Now, I couldn’t have cared less about it. I guessed when all was said and done, when I’d faced the possibility of never having another wakeup kiss from him ever again, bad breath wasn’t so big a deal.

  “What time is it?” I asked with a yawn as his mouth moved up my jaw, toward my ear.

  “Early enough for a quickie.” His teeth found my earlobe, and I gave him a firm push.

  “What time is it?” I repeated, sterner this time.

  With a sigh, Neil rolled off me and reached for his phone. He disconnected the charger and blinked at the screen. “Ten.”

  “Then, it’s not early enough for a quickie.” I sat up and tried to run a hand through my hair, but thought better of it when my fingers tangled in the hairspray-bound strands. The last thing I needed on top of everything else was split ends. “Church gets over at noon, and they’ll be expecting to see us at the house when they get back.”

  He groaned and reached for me as I pushed back the covers, but I evaded him.

  “We could be having wake-up sex,” he protested. “We never have wake-up sex, anymore.”

  “I promise there will be other opportunities.” I reached for my bathrobe; even in June, the mornings could be chilly. “You’re going to have to be happy with wake-up masturbation.”

  While I would usually stay and watch, I headed to the shower, instead. It wasn’t just that I needed time to get ready. My head was still spinning from the night before. We were about to go to my grandmother’s house for Sunday dinner. Extended family would be there for our visit. And everyone would ask me how the reunion was. Sure, I had the “I got sick” excuse I could use, but it wasn’t the answer I was dreading. It was the question.

  Sleep had done nothing to solve my problem. Rather than using my unconscious time to sort through my complex feelings, my stupid brain had opted instead to make me dream about having a birthday sleepover with Shaggy from Scooby-Doo. I had no more insight now than when I’d cried myself to sleep last night.

  The water was nice and hot, though the pressure wasn’t what I was used to. Once I’d become accustomed to a multi-head shower blasting me with water from every conceivable direction, I’d been ruined for all other shower experiences. But I could get clean and lose myself in the sound of the water hitting the plastic tub surround. I probably wouldn’t get a chance to be this mindless for the rest of the day.

  Maybe I should have had quickie morning sex, after all. It would have given me a few minutes without anything on my mind.

  I was shampooing my hair when the bathroom door opened and Neil stepped inside. Over the sound of the shower, I heard him say, “I needed that.”

  I smiled to myself as I rinsed my hair. “Well, I’m glad one of us is relaxed.”

  “I didn’t say I was relaxed. How many people are going to be there this afternoon?”

  “No telling. But not as many as Christmas. I’m assuming it’ll be Aunt Marie and her kids, at least. Maybe Uncle Doug, if he’s back from Arizona.” My great-uncle and great-aunt did the snowbird thing, way out in the desert. They said it was good for their arthritis, but Mom said they were actually staying winters in a nudist colony. I couldn’t even look them in the eye after that revelation.

  “I don’t remember anyone’s names,” Neil complained. “Usually, I’m so good with names.”

  “No one will care. We know we’re overwhelming,” I promised him. “I’m just not looking forward to telling Mom about the whole—”

  “Right,” Neil cut me off, so I wouldn’t have to say it. “Have you made any decisions on that?”

  “Yeah, actually. I have.” I took a deep breath. “I’m not going to mention it to Mom until we’re back in New York. We’re not here for much longer, and I don’t want to spoil the rest of her visit. And I don’t want to have to explain things over and over to the whole family and get everyone’s input. I need extra time to think about all of this.”

  “That is completely fair,” Neil agreed. “And have you spoken with your mother about the trip to Las Vegas?”

  Oh, shoot. “I can’t believe I forgot.”

  “So, the plan is to wake her up, throw a black bag over her head, wrestle her into a van, and drive her to the airport?” he teased. “It’s a gift, Sophie, not a prison sentence. But she’s going to need to know about it, soon.”

  In a few weeks, our lover, El-Mudad, would be coming for an extended visit. We’d timed everything out perfectly; Olivia would be with Valerie as per the shared custody arrangement we’d set up together. The only wildcard was my mother and her boyfriend living in our guesthouse.

  Tony already knew that Neil and I were unconventional people. He’d been our driver in New York before he’d started dating Mom, and I cringed whenever I remembered the number of times Neil and I had gotten dirty in the backseat. But to my knowledge, Tony had never told my mom any of that stuff, thank god.

  I wasn’t ashamed of the fact that Neil and I weren’t monogamous, and I definitely wasn’t ashamed of El-Mudad. We’d landed a hottie, and he was a great person on top of his dazzling good looks. But I would never be able to explain our relationship to my mother. So, the plan was to send her on a trip to Las Vegas to get her out of our hair. We were going to send Tony, too.

  The trick would be getting them to accept the gift.

  “I’ll figure something out, I swear,” I promised Neil.

  “Are you finished in there?” he asked, pulling the shower curtain back. “I have quite a mess to clean up here.”

  I squealed and backed away from him as he stepped into the shower with me. “I swear to god, if you get cum on me—”

  “I was teasing. But there is a very limited supply of hot water, and it appears I have to crowd you out to get any of it.” He slowly encroached on my personal space until I gave in.

  “Fine! Just let me condition my hair, and then, it’s all yours.”

  One of the nice things about being around family was not feeling like I had to wear a face full of makeup. I loved makeup—don’t get me wrong. But sometimes, it was nice to just run a comb through my hair, put on some comfy clothes, and go. I slipped on a long-sleeved tee with horizontal navy and cream stripes, my favorite skinny jeans, and my pineapple-print Toms. Neil, on the other hand, agonized about his appearance. He’d done the same thing when we’d packed for the trip. He hadn’t wanted to wear anything “too fancy”, but he’d worried he wouldn’t be able to “blend in”. When I’d pointed out that he usually wore sleep pants and T-shirts all day since he retired, my help had not been appreciated.

  The sweatpants thing was a sore point, as my mom brought it up so often.

  After a few changes, he decided on a heather gray Henley and blue jeans. The shirt made his eyes even greener than usual, and I caught myself sighing dreamily over him on the drive to my grandmother’s house.

  “Is there something on your mind?” he asked, glancing briefly from the road to me in concern.

  “Well, yeah, a lot of things. But right now, I was just admiring how cute you are.” I gestured ahead of us.
“Don’t miss the turn.”

  We pulled into the driveway just behind Mom and Tony.

  “How was she?” Neil asked when we got out.

  “Good morning to you, too, Neil.” Mom quipped. But I knew she understood his anxiousness. “She was fine. Slept through the night.”

  “She got up at four in the morning, though.” Tony groaned, extracting Olivia from the backseat.

  The moment her feet touched the ground, she shouted, “Afi!” and ran at Neil, who stooped down to catch her.

  “There’s my girl.” He picked her up and rose, planting a kiss on her cheek that she promptly wiped away. To my mother, he said, “I’m sorry, Rebecca. If I had anticipated that she would be going to church, I would have sent more appropriate clothing.”

  She didn’t look as inappropriately dressed as Neil thought. I knew he and his family had always gotten spiffed up to impress at the C of E services they’d attended, but his mother had viewed church as more of a social occasion than a spiritual one. In Calumet, bringing a toddler to mass in overalls and hoodie wasn’t something that would turn people’s heads.

  “Oh, she looked fine,” Mom reassured him.

  “No church,” Olivia interjected.

  “She wasn’t impressed,” Mom said with a fond smile. “Sophie was always that way, too. How are you feeling this morning, Soph?”

  “Better,” I lied. “It was just a bad headache.”

  “I done,” Olivia announced. She pushed against Neil’s chest and wriggled until he had no choice but to set her down, again. She toddled to me and reached for my hand. “You come see.”

  I silently thanked her for the change of subject.

  “She wants to take you to the wind chimes,” Mom explained, nodding to the porch. Olivia already dragged me in that direction, and I knew where the wind chimes were—various sets had lived on the same corner of the porch since I was an infant—but Mom still followed us and said, “They’re over here.”

  “Up!” Olivia demanded when we reached the porch, and I acquiesced, holding her so she could reach the weathered copper chimes. Tony and Neil went into the house, but Mom hung back.