Fire Heart (Broken Bottle Series Book 2)

by Taeuffer, Pamela

  “Yeah, I’m sure it surprised you.” Ryan's sarcasm was obvious.

  “Let’s not go there,” Chris snapped back.

  “You went there first, older brother."

  Silence.

  "Are you going home after Seattle, Chris?” I tried to break the heavy air.

  "No, this is only the beginning." As he shared his schedule with us, I found out he was a musician and in a band. They were about to tour the western United States for most of the next two months. While he explained their tour, Frances came out of the bathroom. She was a striking woman with well-defined cheekbones, a thin, straight figure, black hair, and magnificent violet eyes.

  “Nice to see you, Ryan.” She gave him a hug.

  “You too, Frances.” He returned the embrace and kissed her cheek.

  “Nicky, it’s so nice to meet you.” Instead of shaking my hand, she hugged me. She seemed to be an exuberant woman.

  “Nice to meet you, too, Frances. My God, you have beautiful eyes,” I said aloud. “I’ve never seen purple eyes.”

  “Thank you,” she said graciously. "They're violet, actually."

  "Violet," I repeated. "Beautiful."

  “To family.” Chris offered a glass of cider to each of us and then raised his. "May we be together more often."

  “To family,” we all repeated in unison and took a drink.

  Our early evening began pleasantly enough, but I knew something was off. Everyone seemed to be going through robotic motions and the typical notes of excitement and the drama of family were missing from their voices.

  No arms or hands waved in the air to express joy.

  The lack of passion was uncomfortable.

  As we talked, I felt the rift between the two brothers.

  I was no stranger to buried family secrets. I could have run entire seminars on how to hide them.

  It was half past five when the two brothers stood up.

  “Excuse us for a minute,” Chris announced. He held open the hotel room door for his brother and then followed him into the hallway. The door closed automatically behind them. Frances continued talking even as their voices escalated outside.

  “Brothers.” She shook her head. “They’re always arguing. Do you have any siblings?”

  “One sister.”

  “Do you battle like this?"

  “No, but we’ve had our rough spots. We've become close again after our troubles. How about you? Any brothers or sisters?”

  “I’m an only child." She took a sip of the cider and then put the wine glass on the table. “I like your earrings.”

  “Thanks, they’re my sister’s. She’s the fashionista in our house. She's got a closet full of clothes and all this jewelry. I'm not much for any of that, really. In fact, my grandmother gave me—”

  The brothers came back into the room.

  I was distracted, trying to understand Ryan’s expression. He wasn't smiling and his eyes were unfocused.

  “Sorry about that,” Chris interrupted. “What did we miss?” He bent over and kissed Frances on the side of her head.

  “Nicky was saying . . .” She waited for me to complete my sentence. When I didn't, she coached, "Your grandmother . . ."

  “I’ve forgotten.” I struggled to remember but the moment was lost. My only concern was how Ryan was feeling.

  “Where is Romeo taking you for dinner?” Chris chided.

  “I don’t know.” Annoyed at the nickname he used for his brother, I bit my lip and held back the things I wanted to say about his lack of etiquette. “Where are we going, honey?”

  “Robin’s.” Ryan’s answer was short. The way his mouth curved in a smile made it obvious he enjoyed that I'd used a pet name for him in front of his brother.

  “Ooh, Robin's is delicious,” Frances added. “Remember, Chris? We all went there last time we visited.”

  Something was—or wasn't—happening between the two men. I didn’t understand how everyone could keep talking around it.

  I felt the dangerous air, charged with something uneasy.

  I was sorry I was in the room.

  Their bodies wouldn’t let them hide the awkwardness.

  As Frances began talking to me once again, the two men moved to the lanai and closed the sliding glass door behind them. They tried keeping their conversation private, but their frustrations carried into the room with the obvious sounds of anger. When Ryan put his head down, I could see he was still just a boy and he was hurting. I wanted to hear what they were saying and reassure him it would all be okay.

  “Where did you and Ryan meet?” Frances asked.

  “What?” My head jerked hard. I was back in the moment.

  “You and Ryan—where did you meet?” she repeated.

  “The ballpark.”

  “How?”

  What do I say? I cheer for the Goliaths? That sounds ridiculous.

  “I presented a business marketing plan. He introduced himself.” I proceeded cautiously.

  “What kind of business marketing?”

  “An entertainment idea I had.”

  “Like what?” she shrugged both shoulders and raised both hands, turning her palms up so they faced the ceiling.

  I explained my business plan the same way I’d done with Ryan in Yountville, leaving out the part about me being on a cheer team.

  “How did you catch Ryan’s eye? We’ve never seen him so enamored with a woman. His feelings are so obvious for you.”

  “You’ll have to ask Ryan, I guess."

  “Well then, what caught your eye?” I felt as if she had grabbed a fireplace poker and used it with every question.

  "His eyes, the way he uses his voice . . . his voice is like a melody to me."

  "Tell me more," she giggled.

  "Well his eyes tell everything about him; I feel as if I can see into his soul when he talks to me.” I was into it, proud to brag about the man I knew. “He hides nothing when he's talking to me. They’re so expressive and reveal the gentle the man behind them. And his voice, you know, he's got the gift of—”

  Ryan seemed to burst through the sliding glass doors as he returned to the room. “Nicky, you ready?”

  I nodded. Yes! Take me out of here!

  “I hope we're able to do something together before we leave town.” She stood, smoothing her dress.

  “Me, too.” I followed her lead.

  Not sure if I want that, but maybe if she stops questioning how I met her brother-in-law . . . On the other hand, I've just met part of Ryan's family and that's pretty great. I'd love to get to know that side of him.

  We all stood in a circle.

  The last few words of unimportant chitchat filled the room. As they talked about events from their past of which I hadn't been a part, I thought about the people I'd met since cheering for the Goliaths. High on my priority list was getting over my resistance when it came to making new relationships and meeting people. I considered how I’d already met more than I’d ever dreamed of so soon in my life. These people were successful. They didn’t sleep on the beach next to a bonfire. They had money, could afford to stay at five-star hotels and some were in government and international business.

  “Nicky met the lieutenant governor last week,” Ryan boasted.

  “Really,” Frances said with wide eyes. “How wonderful.”

  “It was!” I shared my enthusiasm. “He gave me his card and told me I could look him up when I graduate college."

  "What college?" she asked.

  "Stanford."

  "Really? How wonderful!" Chris exclaimed. "You're major?"

  "Business marketing," I said. Please don't ask me what year I'm in. I'll die if I say I'm a freshman.

  "Tell us about the lieutenant governor," Frances interjected.

  "Well, I was in LA with my friend, Alex. She's a model and she travels all over. She planned a day for me and he was part of it. I was helping her agency with some errands. But before that, what was so ironic is that I volunteered with Ryan at Ve
terans’ Hospital. I’ve learned a lot about brain trauma there, and that's why I could talk with him so intelligently when I interviewed him. I really owe how well things went at my meetings to your brother." I slipped my arm around Ryan's waist, partially to claim him in front of Chris and also to try and take a breath. "It was everything I learned from being with Ryan that gave me the opportunity in LA.”

  "Thank you," Ryan said, kissing me on my cheek.

  "Oh, you two are so cute!" Frances clasped her hands together while Chris snorted.

  I hoped I'd given Ryan enough credit to quash any more sarcasm from his brother. Maybe it hadn't been enough. He'd been condescending with a few of his comments toward his younger brother, and while I understood fault generally fell on both sides, I was defensive of the man I knew . . . I knew . . . I loved.

  “Seems like you’ll have your hands full trying to keep up with this one, brother,” Chris said flippantly.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about his remark. This one? Maybe my lengthy speech made me his target. Did he mean I was one of dozens Ryan had introduced to them?

  “Nicky, so nice to meet you.” Chris shook my hand. “I hope we'll see each other again soon and continued success with college. See you tomorrow, brother.”

  We all hugged briefly and wished each other good night.

  As we waited for the elevator, Ryan’s eyes seemed caught in a rising storm.

  He held onto my hand, keeping my arm tight around his waist and stared straight ahead.

  The color in his face had drained away.

  When the doors opened, I stepped forward, but he squeezed my hand and didn’t move.

  The doors closed.

  "Can you let my hand go?" I whispered. When he released me, I stood on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek and took his hands in mine. “Are you sure you still want to go out? I don’t mind if you’d rather drop me at home. You don’t seem—”

  I couldn’t finish before his arms wrapped around me. His embrace tightened as if he tried to squeeze us into one being. When he pressed my body to the stucco-covered walls at the elevator, my breasts felt the weight of his chest. I realized he was sobbing. My cheek became wet with his tears. Returning his embrace as hard as I could, I did the things I'd always done when comforting a friend: I patted his back, offered words of comfort, and did my best to reassure him it would be all right.

  He's my man.

  Sliding my hands through his golden brown hair, all I wanted was to find a way to make him feel better. I cradled his gentle spirit as softly as I could.

  Take away what happened in the hotel room with his brother—that's what I longed to do, but how could I protect Ryan from his hurtful memories? Stroke by stroke, I visualized how I might caress his entire body and wash away the hurt.

  He's exposed his deep emotion . . . maybe if I did the same, taking a risk like he had just done with me, I could make him understand how he was helping to bring my hidden and protected emotions to life.

  If both of our bare bodies could soothe each other as we lay together in an innocent embrace, perhaps he would understand, without me having to claim it out loud, that I loved him.

  Through our deep conversations, most recently in the lounge of the Embarcadero Hotel, I felt a kind of strength gather around me. It was as if held a golden lasso and rode the power of the four seasons with the goddesses of fire, water, wind and air.

  That late afternoon, I was ready to roar like a lioness for the man in my arms and my growl had begun.

  Chapter 20

  Half Moon Bay

  The feelings Ryan had revealed in the hotel lounge caught me off guard. His passion, desire, vulnerability and sweetness had a hold on me as if he'd gripped my body. Now, as I held him in my arms, I’d discovered his grip on my heart was just as strong.

  “I need to be loved." His voice cracked and was uneven. "I need to be loved by you.”

  I wondered if the words had been bottled up ever since his father had died when he was fourteen. Before me, was Walter the only person who’d witnessed the pleas Ryan made for love?

  “I’m here." I caressed his hair.

  He made desperate sounds while kissing me, sometimes moaning and covering my mouth with his own, pushing his hands through my hair, keeping me in place, pressing hard, as if exchanging his spiritual energy with mine.

  In the middle of a kiss, he unexpectedly gasped with grief. For a few seconds, I couldn’t breathe. His sadness was devastating. As if we were frozen in his past and also in these moments of “letting go,” it seemed like an eternity before the rush that had initially overcome him, faded. He rested his head on my shoulder. I caressed his back with every breath, moving up his spine as he inhaled and down his sides as he let go in deep sighs.

  He began to settle.

  His shoulders relaxed.

  The rigid tightness of his muscles eased.

  Who knew how long we’d be together—or if we’d last?

  Maybe we wouldn’t like each other once we were intimate.

  Could he even be faithful to me?

  Could I be faithful to him?

  What I did know was that night Ryan had called me to be with him and I wanted to comfort the frightened boy in my arms.

  I knew it was time to dive more deeply into a life I hadn't dared to dream I could be a part of. That night, I took a baby step toward a promise of brilliance.

  “Okay, Ryan.” I squeezed his biceps. “It's okay. You're okay.”

  “I understand your dreams—believe me, I do,” Ryan said, gathering his strength.

  “I believe you." I pulled back so he could see the conviction in my eyes. "I believe you."

  We continued to hug each other, still buried in our past, trying to embrace our present, afraid of our future.

  “I’m sorry.” He straightened. “This isn’t your problem. I had no right.” He wiped his eyes and pressed the button for the elevator.

  “Don’t apologize because you showed your emotions.” I gripped his wrist as if putting my hands around his demon—maybe it was my demon, too—this thing that kept us bound and chained in our past—and our fears. “There’s nothing wrong with what you just did. I still have trouble sorting through my childhood. What happened to you back there? I'm honored you shared it with me. You certainly don't need to apologize. Do you believe me?"

  "Yes." He smiled, but I knew it was forced.

  "You know what?"

  "Hmm?"

  "I have an idea. How about we skip dinner and go out to Half Moon Bay?” I took a chance that I'd read the moment correctly.

  A sudden change washed over his face. It replaced the knotted expression he'd worn a few minutes earlier, to one that begged for the comfort and calm I’d just suggested.

  “We can stop at Sammy’s and order those oysters you like.” I licked my lips. “I’ll get some chowder and bread, we can sit on the beach and just talk. Or we don’t have to talk. You’d probably like me to be quiet for a while, huh?”

  “No, keep talking,” he said quietly. "I need you to keep talking."

  “When I want to empty out, I love to spend time at the ocean.” I briefly drifted back to all the times Jerry and I went there to escape our family's rage. "I stare out at the water and try to let my mind unravel as much as I can. I have a hard time letting go so I like to go there often. I think that’s why I talk so much. I’m trying to get everything out to the person I’m talking with, like I'm doing with you now, even though sometimes I’m not sure what it is I’m getting out. Anyway . . .”

  I was already lost in the way he looked at me. When the elevator doors opened, we stepped in, ready to make our escape. My poetic side always came to life when I talked about the ocean. Dreams and images circled through my mind and burst into visions I could only hope to capture with words.

  “Don’t you just love listening to the waves roll onshore? They sound like a big wall of wind coming toward you. It’s so powerful.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Ryan’s natural smile returne
d.

  “When the water crests and then folds over on itself? Ooh, it's so . . . the force of the wave unravels and when it breaks—the way it pops and sizzles—it's like a string of firecrackers." I raised my hands and opened all of my fingers at once, demonstrating the explosion. "When the full force of it tumbles on itself—splashing, pounding, pulling on everything beneath as it rushes back out to sea—it’s so symbolic. Have you ever watched it? I mean really took the time to watch?”

  He shook his head. As thoughtful as he was, I suspected he'd watched the ocean more than once, but in this moment, wanted to stay quiet a little longer and listen to my voice.

  “I love when the water rolls over the sand and leaves ripples in it. All the little bits of shells and pebbles, little crabs and creatures . . . it feels life affirming. It's biological—like the rhythms and pull of life. Come on, Ryan; let’s go there. Do you want to?” I grabbed his hand. “It’s only an hour from here. I have such sweet memories being on the beach with you from when we first talked, don't you? What do you think?”

  He kissed my temple and sighed heavily.

  “I shouldn’t have brought you to meet Chris. I’ve been talking to him about you and . . . I’m sorry if you were uncomfortable. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I should’ve gone by myself.”

  “Don't worry. I know how hard family stuff is. It shouldn't be so hard, but it is.”

  He nodded.

  “I hope we’re always here for each other." I declared boldly. "If we’re careful with our friendship and keep it honest, I have faith that we’ll be okay.”

  “You have faith in me?” His knotted eyebrows seemed lost in the possibility.

  “Yes.” I was embarrassed and nervous that I’d been so forthcoming with my feelings.

  Careful, Nicky.

  After I made the suggestion of going to the ocean, I focused only on what he needed. I wanted to get all the insight I could about this big, gentle man. If I had a clearer picture of his dreams, perhaps I'd understand more about his fears and the pain he carried with him.

  We stepped out from the elevator, walked through the lobby, and exited the hotel. Ryan gave his ticket to the valet. While we waited for his car, we stood in a tender embrace. For a few precious minutes, even those who recognized him didn’t interrupt.