She gave Jax a pleading look as she mouthed coffee. He grinned and pulled on his boxers, headed out to the kitchen. Sarah now gave her full attention to her brother.
“OK, hon.” She adjusted the pillow behind her, and leaned against the bed headboard. “Tell me what’s happening.”
“I want to live by myself.”
Sarah almost fell out of bed. Jesus take the wheel! She was not at all prepared for this conversation, least of all at goddamn 6:17 in the morning. But she knew that Noah wouldn’t be put off: he needed to talk about things when he needed to talk about them, so she shut her eyes, dug deep. She’d spent years with Noah, taking care of him almost on her own, and she slid back in to that role of patient caregiver effortlessly.
“Where did you get this idea, Noah?” Her voice came out calm and measured, thank Christ.
“From Naomi.”
Making a mental note to kick Naomi’s ass the next time she clapped eyes on the woman for failing to give her any heads-up on this, Sarah took a deep breath.
“Naomi told you to live alone?” she said.
“No. Naomi was talking about Carly’s Place.”
Sarah paused, her mind whirring. She’d heard about Carly’s Place, but she couldn’t claim to know much. She’d bet that Noah was a fountain of information, though, so she decided to let her brother go ahead and talk.
“You mean the supervised living centre for adults with autism?” she said slowly.
“Yes. Naomi says there are two apartments for rent.”
“And she said that you should apply for consideration?”
“No.” Noah hesitated. “She was talking to someone else and I heard her.”
“So she wasn’t actually talking to you? You just overheard a conversation with someone else?”
“Yes. But I still want to try. I want to live by myself.”
“OK, I see.” Sarah pushed her red curls off her face. “You think it’s time, sweetie?”
“Time for what?” Noah, asked, perplexed.
“To live by yourself. You feel ready?”
“Yes.”
Sarah fell silent, really thinking about this. If anyone had told her even eighteen months ago that Noah would want to leave home, and live on his own, she’d have thought they were insane. Then again, if someone had told her eighteen months ago that Noah would be earning a good living as an artist, or that he’d have a girlfriend, or that he’d be able to handle changes to his routine without panicking, she’d have scoffed at all of that, too.
But here he was, her brother. Doing all of those things, and doing them well. His growth had been tremendous, and inspiring, and Sarah was so proud of him, she wanted to burst.
Living alone, though… she bit her lip as she considered all the things that could go wrong with that. A fire, or an intruder, or Noah hurting himself, or getting thrown off his routine and getting upset and starting to hit himself around the head. No, he hadn’t had a meltdown like that in a long, long time, but still. He did struggle with being flexible, despite having gotten better at it, but he handled it with help and support from others. How would he do if he were all alone?
Then again, this was Noah’s life. He was twenty-seven years old, after all, and he’d spent his entire time on earth being cared for like he was a child. Having decisions made for him, routines set for him, timetables laid out for him. Why not let him take some more control over his own life? What was wrong with treating him like the man that he was?
“OK, Noah,” Sarah said. “Let’s do this: I’ll call Carly’s Place this morning, and set up a visit for us.”
“You and me?”
“Yeah.”
“And Brother Jax?”
Sarah grinned at that, marveling yet again at just how much her brother adored her fiancé. Jax and Noah had a relationship that was totally incomprehensible – nothing about it made any sense at all, at least on its surface – but it was deep and solid. The two men talked, like really talked, and Sarah loved Jax even more for how he treated her brother.
“Yeah,” she said. “Jax will come too, I’m sure.” She looked up as Jax wandered back in to the bedroom, carrying two steaming cups of coffee. “You want to ask him yourself?”
“Yes.”
“OK. Hang on.” She held out the phone to Jax. “Noah has something to ask you.”
“Sure thing.” He handed her the coffee, took the phone. “Hey, man. What’s going on? Everything OK?”
Sarah sipped her coffee, and watched Jax listen to Noah. His rugged face showed surprise, then interest, then pride. He looked at Sarah, caught her eye, smiled.
“Yeah, of course I’ll be there,” Jax said now. “Whatever you need, man. You know that.”
He disconnected the call, and stared at Sarah. “Well. Holy shit.”
“No kidding, right?” she said. “Mom’s going to freak when she hears this.”
“You think?”
“For sure.” Sarah rubbed her eyes. “She’s barely coping with me moving out, you know. If Noah does too, she may well lose her ever-loving mind.”
Jax thought about Sarah and Noah’s Mom. Annie Matthews was a tough woman, a woman who had just buckled down and taken care of two kids on her own after her husband had fucked off when Sarah and Noah were eighteen. It would have been OK, probably, if Noah hadn’t been autistic. If he hadn’t been, Annie’s adult kids could have found work, moved out, moved on. As it was, though, both Annie and Sarah had made sacrifice after sacrifice for Noah, and never once had they resented or regretted it.
Life was way different now, for all of them. Sarah was with Jax, Noah was earning his own money, and Annie had cut back on her crazy hours at the diner. She still waitressed, of course, but she’d been able to ease up a bit, thanks to Jax’s financial help, and Noah’s contribution to the household expenses. If Noah actually moved out, Annie would be a single woman… and not a bad-looking one, in Jax’s opinion. Maybe she’d even find the time to date a decent guy.
“Well,” Jax said. “Let’s worry about Annie later. Right now, we need to see if this place will even take Noah. What are the criteria?”
“I have no idea,” Sarah said. “I’m assuming that the residents have to be able to handle a minimum level of organization and responsibility to even be considered. From what I know, it’s supervised living, but the residents have a lot of independence.”
“Organization?” Jax shook his head. “I’d be hard-pressed to think of anybody more organized than your brother, Red. Noah makes black-ops man King look scatty.”
She giggled. “True.”
“I mean, we’d definitely have to introduce new routines in to his life, yeah? He’d have to figure out the bus schedule for getting to and from the art centre, and paying bills, and so on. But he’d learn.”
“Wait.” She stared at him, a bit panicked. “The bus?”
“Yeah.” Jax looked startled. “Didn’t he tell you?”
“No. Tell me what?”
“He said that the bus stop is right outside Carly’s Place, and one bus stops just two blocks from the Art With Heart Centre. So me and you and King wouldn’t have to drive him to work anymore. He was pretty excited about it, actually.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, I don’t like that.”
“Why?”
“Because what if he gets lost? What if the bus has to take a different route around an accident or construction? What if someone starts to bully him?”
“Well,” Jax said gently. “We’d need to prepare him for all those things, yeah? Teach him to ask the driver for help. Buy him a smartphone with GPS.”
“Yeah.” Sarah turned her coffee around in her hands, considered that. “I guess you’re right.”
“I am right, doll. I mean, come on… we’re not just going to throw him in to all of this, are we? Baby steps. One thing at a time. Noah’s sm
art as hell, and he learns fast. If he gets in to this place, I’m sure they have helpers who get the residents in to their new routines. No way he’d just be abandoned and left to his fate.”
“You’re right.” Sarah sighed. “I know you are. I just – I worry.”
“I know you do.” Jax set down his coffee, and pulled her to him. He kissed her tumbled curls. “I do, too, you know.”
“I know.” She smiled up at him. “You worry as much as I do.”
“Damn close, I think,” he agreed. “But you’re the undisputed holder of the title ‘Queen of Worrying About Noah’, baby.”
Sarah laughed. “Guilty as charged.”
“So.” He slid his large hand under the bed sheets, trailed his fingers up Sarah’s leg. “You feel like not worrying for a bit?”
“Maybe.” She tensed as his hand found her curvy upper thigh, stroked her smooth skin. “What did you have in mind?”
“Hmmmm.” God, that sexy grunt was almost her undoing, and the man had barely touched her. He moved his other hand up her body now, traced her generous hip. “A distraction or two.”
“Distraction?” she somehow managed. “What kind of distraction?”
“Many kinds,” he murmured. “Many, many.”
“Show me?”
“With pleasure, doll.” He took her mouth now, lazily stroking her soft lips with his tongue before starting to move down her amazing, gorgeous body. “Let me show you.”
Chapter Twelve
Two days later
Tessa was unabashedly thrilled to be back in her own bathroom again. Yeah, sleeping at Curtis’ place was very damn good, and yeah, she very, very much enjoyed the time that she spent in his shower – especially when he’s there with me – but sometimes, a girl just needed her own shampoo.
She rinsed her hair, made a mental note of a few things to pack to take back to Curtis’ apartment. They’d be staying at his place again tonight, spend the day there tomorrow, and from there, head to work at Curves together the next night.
It would be Tessa’s first shift back since her complete mental and physical breakdown, and she was happy that Curtis would be holding her hand as she walked in. She knew that she’d be welcomed back with open arms, that all was forgiven, but still. She’d draw strength from Curtis, and from showing up as an actual, acclaimed, acknowledged couple.
She grinned to herself as she pictured Gabi’s face when she saw Tessa and Curtis together. According to Curtis, Gabi had been lobbying for this relationship for a while, and Curtis reported that the other woman was beside herself with delight that Curtis had finally made his move.
Humming a bit, Tessa climbed out of the shower, wrapped herself in a large towel, reached for her hair dryer. That was when she saw her scale peeping out from under the toiletries shelf, and she froze up.
For years, the routine had been to get out of the shower, and then get on the scale naked. Before she’d properly toweled off, before she’d dried her hair, before she’d started her makeup. First – always and without any fucking exception – Tessa had weighed herself. She’d forgotten for the past three days because Curtis didn’t own a scale… and she’d been OK with that when she’d been at his home.
But here and now? Back in her space, in her bathroom? With that scale staring up at her, almost taunting her? The temptation to step on up, to just check and see, was overwhelming. She hesitated, uncertain that she really wanted to know. The last time she’d weighed in at the clinic with Rianna, she’d been one hundred and nineteen pounds… how much more could she be now? Was she more?
What can it hurt, right? Just a quick look… just one second.
Her mind made up now, she set her towel on the counter, dragged the scale out. She looked at herself in the mirror above the sink, trying to see if there were any visible or obvious signs of weight gain. Hmmm. Maybe a bit on her hips; they weren’t quite so bony or angular. And her breasts were definitely fuller, rounder. She twisted, trying to see her butt, and yeah. It also looked bigger.
Not totally happy with some of these things, she got on the scale gingerly, as if it was a bomb that she might set off by accident. She took a deep breath, looked down at the number displayed. And almost fell off the goddamn thing.
126. One hundred and twenty-six fucking pounds. I’ve gained… oh, Christ. I’ve gained seven pounds in three days.
Her eyes flew back to the mirror. Again, she looked at her hips, her ass, her breasts; again, she noticed how rounded they were. But this time, she also noticed her thighs. They were softer, bigger.
Flabbier.
Horror-struck at how rapidly her body was changing on her, Tessa stepped backwards. She held the towel to her body, hiding it from her own view, and sat on the edge of the bathtub, shaking. Panic was rising now, and she tried to calm herself down.
OK, this was the goal, after all. Gaining weight, getting healthy, getting strong. And it’s not like she’d chowed down on kebabs or Big Macs, right? She’d eaten well at Curtis’, eaten normally and healthily. She’d been happy to eat, actually, and after that highly-instructive and -illustrative lesson on the kitchen floor, she’d even enjoyed it.
Seven pounds, though! Shit…
What was freaking her out, she realized, was the ‘two’. The ‘twenty’-something. When she’d been seven pounds lighter, she’d still been in the ‘one’ digit zone, which had made her closer to ‘zero’, which was closer to a flat and even one hundred. The ‘two’ meant that she was, officially and undeniably, twenty pounds past one hundred. She was also inching ever-closer to the terrifying number ‘three’.
Twenty-six goddamned pounds above one hundred… that’s so, so much.
And that was when the urge to vomit started to come over her. She struggled against it, she fought hard, but all she could think about was what she’d had for breakfast at Curtis’ that day. Homemade pancakes with butter and maple syrup, orange slices, yogurt, coffee with 2% milk and real sugar, and even though she knew it was counter-productive and self-destructive, she started to add up the calories.
Pancakes with butter and syrup: in the neighborhood of 550 calories. Orange slices: maybe 59 calories. The yogurt had been strawberry and full-fat: about 95 calories. Coffee was mercifully calorie-free, of course, but she’d added milk and sugar, which kicked it up to about 80 calories per cup – and she’d had two cups.
Oh, my Christ. 864 calories… and my daily range is 1,200 to 1,400. Fucking, fucking pancakes.
She was surprised when she started to cry, but she knew it was sheer panic that was causing the tears. She sat on the tub, rocking back and forth, trying to keep herself from sticking her fingers down her throat.
It wouldn’t help anything, she knew, it would only make everything worse, but in this moment, it was the only solution she saw. It was the only way to feel back in control of what was happening. Her life as changing so dramatically, and at lightning-speed, and she was spiraling and spinning. She was going down, and it was happening fast.
Curtis was in Tessa’s sunny kitchen, looking for sugar for his coffee. She’d said that it was on the blue shelf, but he didn’t see it there. He opened and closed a few cabinet doors, checked all the shelves. Nope, no sugar.
He wandered down the hall to the bathroom now, listening for the water. It wasn’t running, so he assumed Tessa was done her shower. He raised his hand to tap on the door, and that’s when he heard Tessa making choking, coughing noises. Worry and fear washed over him.
“Tessa?”
The sounds were suddenly quieter, as if she’d muffled them. He tried the door, but it was locked.
“Tessa?” He put his hands on either side of the doorframe, moved his ear to the door to hear better. “Baby, you alright?”
No answer.
“Tessa? Answer me.”
Her voice came now, wavering and weak.
“I’m
OK, Curtis. You can – you can go.”
Yeah, as if. She was clearly lying, and his worry and fear doubled, tripled. What was she doing in there?
“Open the door,” he ground out. “Now.”
“No, it’s fine –”
“Open the door, Tessa, or I’m kicking it the fuck down. You hear me? I need to get eyes on you, and I mean right the hell this minute.”
Silence.
“Tessa, I’m not asking you again. Open this damn door.”
More silence. Curtis strained to hear what was happening, but the blood roaring in his ears made it challenging. He didn’t want to think that she was in there throwing up, but it was a possibility.
“OK, that’s it.” Curtis took a step back. “I’m coming in, so you’d better get the hell out of the way.”
“No!” There was a sound of scrambling, of hurried footsteps. “No, don’t!”
“Then open. The. Fucking. Door.”
The lock clicked. Curtis forced his way in, using his shoulders to open the door hard enough that it rebounded off the wall. His eyes went right to Tessa, who was wrapped in a towel, her face pale and streaked with tears. He grabbed her, held her close.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
She shook her head.
He stroked her wet hair. “Talk to me, Tessa. Don’t just close up like this, don’t pull back. Open up to me.”
“I – I –” The tears started again. “I gained seven pounds in just three days. I – I’m losing control, Curtis… my whole life is going to get out of control again. I’m going to – to just lose it.”
“OK,” he said, soothing her. “It’s OK.”
“It’s not!” Her voice rose, and he saw that she was almost hysterical. “It’s not OK!”
“Shhhhh. I got you. Just come here, yeah? Just breathe.”
The last thing that Tessa wanted was to stand there and cry like an idiot, but that’s pretty much exactly what she did. She stood there in his arms, and she just bawled. And Curtis was Curtis, Curtis at his sweet, tender best: he held her, whispered that everything was fine, and she was safe. When she sucked in a deep breath and tried to move away, he cupped her face in his hands, made her meet his gaze.
Secret Curves (Dangerous Curves Book 5) Page 14