“Ironically enough, Nathan has issues with honesty,” Sheila said.
Laurel frowned. Ironically enough? What did that mean?
“It’s rare for someone to sneak past Nathan’s well-honed defenses, Laurel. In fact, you’re the first woman I can remember capturing his attention this completely. Your past is a part of you. Everyone does what they need to survive. If you’re in trouble, you can trust him. Even if you don’t trust the rest of us, you can trust Nathan.”
Aside from Poppy, Laurel couldn’t remember the last person she’d trusted. It seemed strange someone with Sheila’s advantages and privileges should understand survival. Then again, the Tremaynes had faced more than their fair share of reality. Laurel had needed reminding of that, it seemed.
“He’s protective, that brother of mine. And whether he tells you this or not,” Sheila continued, “it’s not what you did in the past that matters. It’s what you do from here on out.” Sheila’s phone buzzed and Laurel watched as Sheila licked her lips before she picked it up. “Hey, Morgan. What’s the word?” Laurel tried to look away, but she couldn’t pull her gaze from the emotions crossing Sheila’s face as she listened. “Okay. We’ll, um.” Sheila looked up and pressed her lips tight, blinked her eyes. “You want me to move the party up to this Sunday? Will she—Yeah. Yeah, no, I’m fine. We’ll be fine. Give Lydia a hug from me, okay? Tell her I’ll stop by after work. Love you, too.” She clicked off, pressed fingers against her lips and this time, Laurel couldn’t stop herself. She reached over and gripped Sheila’s free hand in hers. “Sorry,” Sheila tried to laugh again as tears spilled free. “They’re sending Lydia home.” She pressed two fingers against her temple.
“That’s good news, isn’t it?”
“Not really. It means they’re out of options. I hate when history repeats itself.”
Laurel didn’t want to pry, but given what she did know about the Tremayne’s past, she could only imagine what Sheila was referring to. Nathan’s sister’s pain was obvious, making Laurel feel . . . useless. What was Alastair thinking, heaping even more pain on this family? How evil did a man have to be to want to add to their suffering? What had Jackson done to him to elicit such vengeance? “I’m so sorry.”
“So am I.” She squeezed Laurel’s fingers tight. “God, so am I. I’m glad I ran into you.” She laughed and pulled a smile out of Laurel.
“I didn’t do anything.” Laurel attempted to pull away, as Sheila’s misplaced gratitude hit her like a physical blow.
“You listened,” Sheila said. “You were here. Trust me, that’s a lot.” She gave Laurel’s hand a last squeeze before using a napkin to blot her eyes. “Whew. Okay. Enough tears for today. I have a party to finish planning.” She got to her feet, gathered her purse, but before she moved away, she stopped. Seemed to consider. “In case you’re interested, on Friday mornings Nathan teaches boxing down at Fielding’s Gym. Teens, mostly, throwing in some self-defense for the girls. It’s also where he goes when he’s angry at the world. Given the last couple of days, I’d bet he won’t be coming into the office before Monday.”
“I wouldn’t want to bother him.” Laurel frowned. Another two days? Could she let things simmer between them that long?
“Fielding’s is a good place for a workout if you aren’t into yoga or Pilates. I took a wild guess.” She chuckled at Laurel’s blink of surprise. “You don’t look the type.”
“I’d sooner throw myself off the Golden Gate Bridge,” Laurel admitted. Was this what friendship felt like?
“Nathan’s the same.” Sheila shot her a knowing look Laurel chose to ignore. “He’s also the type to punch out his anger and frustration on inanimate objects. In case that helps you plan the rest of your morning.”
“Thanks.” Laurel couldn’t figure out Sheila’s angle. It didn’t make sense to her that if Nathan’s sister had read her background file that she should be so accommodating. Or nice. Nice, in her experience, came with a price. Then again, she was overdue for a workout.
***
“Take twenty on the treadmill,” Nathan told Drew Palmer, his pseudo nephew, who looked more than a little relieved to be able to step out of the ring and away from Nathan’s over-attentiveness. Wiping the sweat and hair out of his dark eyes, Drew gave a sharp, short nod—enthusiastic thanks for the teen of few words, and ducked under the ropes while Nathan focused his attention on the sand bag at the far corner of the room.
His meeting a few hours ago with Kyle had been more productive than he’d anticipated. Somehow the time he’d spent in L.A. with Gage and Morgan had erased any doubts he had about buying the gym. But that would have to wait, he’d told Kyle, who had set up Fielding’s Gym with his father over twenty years prior.
It would take time to do everything Nathan wanted to do with the space, which would include buying the vacant buildings on either side so he could do some major expansion. It was time to step up and give back at least as much as his sisters—as well as his parents—had. But it meant changes. Big changes. Too many changes.
Despite the open space, the walls closed in on him. There weren’t enough hours in the day to push through everything that needed doing, but he wasn’t going to let his volunteer work at the gym slide. Drew—and the handful of other teens who counted on him for a vigorous workout and a few hours of attention—needed the release and the relief as much as he did. They also needed to have someone to count on. Besides, the gym had been Nathan’s idea when Drew had asked Morgan and Gage about wanting to learn how to box. As a Type 1 diabetic, Drew was on an insulin pump, and while physical activity was encouraged, it didn’t usually include being pummeled by another human being. Nathan had offered the compromise and, after the last few months, found he enjoyed the downtime, which led him full circle to what he’d originally wanted to do with his life.
Before he’d felt obligated to accept the job his father had offered him. Before he’d all but lost himself in Nemesis. Nemesis. The crown. Laurel. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the life he knew was about to be obliterated.
Nathan’s desire to pummel the crap out of the sandbag today was driving him ten times harder than normal. He barely gave himself time for a quick drink of water before he stepped in and slammed his fist into the heavy bag.
He felt the impact reverberate up his arm and down his spine. He punched again, again, pushing all his anger, all his frustration out through his fists. Sweat trickled down his face, trailed down his spine.
The smell of dank and hard work mingled in the half-filled second-story loft located above Spangle’s Sporting Goods, a good quarter-mile from his two-story town house. The home gym he’d set up in the basement might give him the privacy he preferred, but solitude today would only darken his already black mood.
Shoes squeaked against the polished, worn wooden floor. The life-sized black-and-white photographs lining the walls attempted to inspire with their displays of Muhammad Ali and George Foreman in their prime. The NASA-inspired treadmills were lined up to give their occupants a view of downtown Lantano; on them, feet pounded on the road to nowhere. Nathan watched as Drew plugged in his earphones and set an easy but inclined pace.
The clang of weights and grunts of exertion felt dull against his ears, unable to penetrate the furious roar that had settled in his head as he’d watched the doctors speak to his sister, Gage, and the Fiorellis about Lydia’s condition. The “we’ve done all we can” expressions and softened tones ate through him like a voracious parasite.
The light brown face of Lydia Cervantes framed with thin wafting curls and displaying the biggest, brightest brown eyes Nathan could ever remember seeing floated in front of him, shoving him off focus. He pulled his next punch and forced the air in and out of his chest with all the force he could muster.
He leaned forward, planted numb hands on his thighs as he took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried not to imagine what was to come
. He’d been to so many funerals, so many gravesites of those who had died young. The thought of burying another child, a child who had brought nothing but light into his family. Grief and rage battled within him, neither one strong enough to overtake the other; both too overwhelming to let him escape. How many more losses could he take?
The thought pierced through him like an arrow and his breath hitched. There was nothing he could do about Lydia, about the fact they were on borrowed time with her. But he could damn well make sure his family was put back on even ground, even if it meant Nemesis was put to bed once and for all.
“Looks like you could use a spotter.”
Nathan angled his head up and found Laurel holding the back of the sandbag, her long hair tied up in a ponytail, face devoid of makeup. The model-pristine outfits were gone; she was wearing curve-hugging black spandex and a snug matching tank. Her skin shimmered under the fluorescent lights of the gym as she watched him with that same challenging gaze he’d seen the first day they’d met.
“What?” She asked, hitching her chin and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t want to work out with a girl?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.” The zing of her accusation brought him up to full height. He rotated his shoulders, the fabric of his own tank loose around his torso. He punched out. The chain holding the bag gave a pathetic creak as the bag swayed.
“That doesn’t even qualify as a tap.” Laurel stepped forward shaking her head and planted her hands more firmly against the sandbag. “Get your body into it.”
He punched again, felt the renewed tingling as his body found its rhythm. Right punch. Left. Right. Double left. Round about. A few times he heard her grunt, saw out of the corner of his eye as she adjusted her stance and started to push back.
“Stop babying me.” She glared at him in a way that made him want to kill and kiss her. “Stop babying yourself and let it out. Now punch!”
Embracing her challenge, emptying his mind, finally, of the memories of beeping machines and over-disinfected floors, the sound of too rough sheets over squeaky mattresses and the promises of nothing other than another life lost.
With every strike, every impact, he let loose, wanting nothing more than to pummel sickness, all illnesses, into the ground where he could stomp it out of existence. Cancer had taken his brother, had taken Brandon, was threatening his best friend. AIDS had been slowly stealing the life out of Lydia, leaving her a shell of what she’d been only weeks ago. It wasn’t fair. Punch. How much more . . . Punch. Was his family . . . Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam! Supposed to take?
He reared back. This time when his fist landed, Laurel was shoved back and the bag swung between them like a giant pendulum, nearly knocking him in the face before he caught it. He slid to the ground and rested his burning arms on his drawn-up knees, scrubbing the sweat out of his eyes with a duck of his head and a brush of his shoulder.
Laurel dropped down in front of him and he was grateful not to see a trace of sympathy or concern on her pretty face. In fact, she looked like she was ready to go another ten rounds with him. “Feel better?”
He had to think about it, had to settle the electric buzzing in his head before he could answer. “Not really.” He unwrapped the tape from around his hands.
Their gazes met and locked. For the longest moment he watched her struggle, search, as if wanting to say something but unable to find the right words. Only then did he begin to understand.
He’d been so caught up in his anger—that she’d lied to him from the moment they’d met—but he hadn’t called himself every kind of hypocrite as he’d done the same. Nor had he taken the time before the hours he’d had to kill waiting at the hospital with Gage and Morgan to consider Laurel’s past beyond the words on the page. The number of foster homes, the juvenile charges, the admissions into emergency rooms for what he suspected, but couldn’t confirm, was abuse. Only now did he see the woman in relation to the history. He glanced back at Drew, who had experienced a number of the same issues growing up. Except he’d been lucky. Morgan had found him in time and his family had been working to get his feet on the right path.
Maybe if someone had done that for Laurel, her life would have been different. Maybe she’d have been willing to trust him. Then again, if her life had been different, he might never have met her. And that, he found himself thinking, would have been a shame.
In that moment, because of her pushing him, all his anger and resentment gave way to gratitude. He let out a long breath. “Thank you.”
“Happy to be a target for your frustrations.” She sat on the floor, stretched out her legs and leaned back to look at him, jerking her chin at his clenching hands. “You’ll probably bruise.”
“Bruises fade.” At least the exterior ones. “How did you find me?”
“I saw Sheila outside your office this morning.”
“Shit.” Nathan squeezed his eyes shut and let out a long hiss of breath. How could he have forgotten his ultimatum after what he’d found in her hotel room? It hadn’t taken long to realize she was one revelation away from discovering their secret—that the Tremaynes and Nemesis were one and the same—and yet here he was, punching the hell out of a heavy bag instead of finding a way to distract her. He needed to get his mind under control. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” She tilted her head, frowned. “You were perfectly clear the other night that your family is your primary concern, and it should be. Your sister told me about Lydia. She also said there wasn’t much hope.”
“There’s no hope.” Nathan felt the grief surge, but he pushed it back down. He needed to get ahold of himself; he needed to get his family out from under what felt like a specter of death that kept creeping closer. “Except for the end to be as painless as possible. Sheila sent you to look after me, didn’t she?”
“She suggested I might find you here. And that we might have similar ways of coping with difficult situations.” She glanced around. “I like it here. It’s all business. Speaking of business.”
Ah. Here it comes.
“I’ll help you. But I’m going to want a little negotiating room for what I get in exchange.”
Nathan frowned.
“Don’t worry. It won’t be too painful. In the meantime, it’s your turn to spot me. Unless I wore you out?”
Oh, he could definitely wear her out. “You feeling secure enough to taunt me?”
She grinned and for an instant, all he could think about was pulling her to him and kissing her full, curving lips. “Okay, Supergirl, show me what you’ve got.”
“Supergirl?” Laurel seemed offended until she clicked her tongue and nodded, shoving herself up off the floor. “Right. Wonder Woman’s already taken. But challenge accepted. Hop to, Iron Man. I’ve got my own anger to burn off.”
***
“Confession time,” Nathan said two hours later as they ate lunch at the Front Street Deli. Laurel looked at him over the second half of her corned beef on rye, grateful she hadn’t taken another bite as her mouth went dry. “You have a second stomach, don’t you?” He gestured to the half-finished pile of fries as she set her sandwich down and leaned over to sip her soda. “Or a dog. Did you bring a dog in here and I didn’t notice?” He leaned over to look under the table, his hair brushing against the shoulder of his T-shirt. Funny. She couldn’t quite figure out which Nathan she was dealing with today. It was as if the man who had been lurking in the dark of her hotel room had vanished. She certainly hadn’t expected to end up on his good side after a battle of the punching bags at the gym. Maybe this was a new angle he was taking; one to keep her on her toes, force her into making a mistake or an admission she couldn’t bear to make. Yet.
“No dog. I learned early on to eat fast before everything was gone. Or someone took my plate from me.” She sat back and forced herself to slow down. “Guess it’s one of those things that stuck with me.”
“No wonder y
ou work out like a demon.” Nathan turned his attention to his classic club and coleslaw, but not before she caught the flash of sympathy on his face. The idea of anyone—especially Nathan—feeling sorry for her, kicked her temper into gear, but she swallowed around it. She might have been dealt some hard knocks, but she fought her way through them. She always had. She always would.
“Why else would anyone work out?” She popped off the top of her sandwich and squirted more spicy mustard on the perfectly pink beef, moving past the need to shove his pity back in his face. “I hate every second of every workout, but when I do it, I don’t have to worry about what I eat. I took it easy on you, by the way.” She grinned at his skeptical expression. “Seriously. We can give it another go if you don’t believe me.” At his sheepish grin, she felt her face go hot. A “workout” with Nathan Tremayne, while ill-advised, was definitely on the tempting side of the menu.
“Challenge accepted, Supergirl.” He snagged a fry off her plate.
His teasing kept her on edge, the use of a nickname setting off unfamiliar pangs of emotion she didn’t quite know how to process. Getting personal, getting close like this, his attempts to put her at ease, all led somewhere she couldn’t afford to go. This had to be business. This had to be about the crown. And Alastair Manville. “So, about this deal you offered—”
“Which one?”
“Both.”
“You want the cash and you want to disappear?” Nathan leaned his arms on the table and pinned her with that look. “Just what kind of trouble are you in?”
“The kind I’d rather you not ask me about. I will admit the offer to double my finder’s fee is tempting.”
“I would hope so,” Nathan muttered.
“But if we find the crown and I claim the fee, you’d be off the hook for that amount. So I’m going to counter offer. I’ll help you find the crown if you pay me half over the finder’s fee and make Laurel Scott vanish.”
Trouble with Nathan Page 13