My stomach knots and the color drains from my face. “Ian and his sister? Were they home at the time?”
T leans back in his chair and nods his response.
I swallow hard. If T believes telling me this horrible history will make me run from Ian, he doesn’t know me very well. My need to fix, my co-dependent side, starts to engage. I wave my hand, urging T to continue. “So you don’t think Ian’s good enough for me, is that it?”
T shakes his head and flips his lighter end over end. “Look, I know Callahan can’t help how he was raised. If it wasn’t for the money his father had stashed away for him and his sister, or if his grandfather hadn’t stepped in to raise him with an iron fist, Callahan would likely as not be a broken-down, drunken bum right now. Maybe even in prison somewhere.”
“He’s seems to have done okay for himself,” I say.
“Maybe, maybe not.” T shrugs. “One last thing and then I’ll shut up.”
“Okay.”
“Ian’s daughter, what is she about seven now?” he pauses to glance at me. I nod my response and he continues, “It doesn’t take a math major to figure out that Ian was just a kid when he got Aubrey O’Meara pregnant. Audrey was a pretty girl but just as wild as she was pretty, always right on the border between normal and bat shit crazy.”
My mouth suddenly becomes too dry and I grab a bottle of water from the fridge while T continues talking.
“Aubrey was older than Callahan. She was a senior when she got pregnant. Her parents had had big plans for her, plans that included college in California. Speculation is that she didn’t care who did the deed, she was on a mission to get pregnant before graduation just to piss her mom and dad off. So, in an even bolder move, she decided to scrape the bottom of the social class barrel.”
His words leave a bitter taste in my mouth. “Oh the irony. You sound just like my mother. Really, T. I would have expected better of you.”
He holds up his hands, palms toward me. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, I’m only telling you what I know.”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes. “So, where is she now? Aubrey?” I ask, curious why Ian is raising his daughter singlehandedly.
“I don’t know,” he says quietly. His eyes dart away from me and I get the sick feeling that he’s lying.
“Don’t know or won’t tell?” I ask.
“Both.” He reaches over to tweak my chin before pushing to his feet. “Besides, I think I hear his truck coming, and I need to get back to town.”
My heart begins to pound hard and fast, and a bead of sweat trickles down the back of my neck. I make a mad dash down the hallway toward the bathroom, nearly knocking Gwen off her feet. Inviting Ian to bring Emmy out here sounded like such a good idea yesterday. Right now, all I can think about is how incredibly unprepared I am to meet Ian’s daughter. Gwen shouts over her shoulder, “You’ll be fine. Relax. She’s going to love you.”
Her words twist my insides into pretzels. But what if I don’t like her? What if she’s some horrid, little brat, all whiney and needy, and oh my God, what the hell was I thinking? I face myself in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed. My breathing is erratic, and let’s not even talk about the staccato beat of my heart.
My hands rest against the cool porcelain of the sink. Inhale, one, two, three. Hold, one, two, three. Exhale, one, two, three. Repeat.
Chapter 29
As soon as I’m able to breathe somewhat normally, I edge open the bathroom door and ease down the hallway toward the kitchen. Gwen is talking to Ian about the approaching holidays. Wild horses thunder through my stomach when I hear her invite him for Thanksgiving dinner and to watch football next week.
Before he’s able to answer, I pop into the room. A big, icy chunk of my heart melts into a warm, little puddle as soon as Emmy’s big, green eyes meet mine. Butterflies swarm in my stomach and my hands start to sweat. With much more confidence than I actually feel, I take a step closer to her. I wipe my damp hands on my jeans and extend my fingers toward the beautiful, strawberry blonde girl.
If possible, her eyes grow even rounder and she ignores my outstretched hand. She turns away from me, shyly hiding her face against Ian’s leg. He stands quietly, his hands resting protectively on her shoulders. He crouches down meeting her face to face, tilting her chin up so she’s looking at him. “Emmy, this is my friend, Rhane, I told you about,” he says softly. “Do you want to say hi?”
Her long, thick tresses have been woven into a braid that reaches down the middle of her back. I watch as it slowly moves up and down when she nods her head. Emmy cautiously peeks out at me with one eye.
I inch closer and drop down to sit on my knees, hoping to be less of a giant to the petite seven-year-old. I rest my hands on my thighs and wait patiently for her to get brave enough to come to me first.
Ian smiles reassuringly down at me, and another big piece of my heart melts under his warm gaze. Emmy hesitates, turning to Ian for reassurance, he tells her, “It’s okay. Say hi.” She gives me a slight smile, her tiny dimple mirroring his. She tentatively steps away from Ian and does something with her hand resembling a salute. My eyes dart to Ian for interpretation. “She’s saying hello,” he grins.
Awkwardly, I return the gesture and mouth the word hello. She smiles, and it strikes me how much she resembles Ian. Though her eyes are more green than gray, and her hair is lighter, closer to blonde. But she has the same crooked smile and the same left cheek dimple.
Emmy’s big eyes drift up to Ian. He watches patiently as her hands fly through so many motions that it makes my head spin a little. He laughs, and it’s a musical sound that warms me to the core. The two of them turn their attention fully on me.
My eyebrows shoot up. “What?”
He smiles that smile I love and signs with his hand, speaking at the same time so that both Emmy and I understand what he’s saying. “Emmy wants to see your piano.”
I press my palms to my thighs and stand up. I reach out to Emmy. No longer shy or hesitant, she wraps her thin hand around my fingers and beams up at me. Her long-fingered hands are decidedly made for playing the piano. Plop. That last little piece of my heart melts, trickling warmly down into my stomach. I swallow emotions I hadn’t expected to feel.
Emmy does one last, over-the-shoulder peek at her dad. He holds up his hand and waves. Satisfied, she turns her attention back to me and squeezes my fingers tightly. I smile at Ian through lowered lashes.
“I’ll be in the garage, if you need me.” The corner of his mouth curves up, that gorgeous dimple appearing easily. “Oh. She likes Enya.”
I nod, “Okay.”
Gwen follows him to the kitchen door, and says, “I’ll fix up some sandwiches for lunch. Peanut butter and jelly?”
Ian slaps the palm of his hand over his heart and gives her a devilish grin. “Dang. A woman after my own heart,” he teases. I swear Gwen’s cheeks turn a little pink, and she shoos him out of the kitchen. He chuckles and winks at me before strolling out the door.
Did he really just wink at me? Oh hell. I didn’t want to like him. But I think I might.
Emmy follows me to the piano room. I sit on the bench and pat the cushion beside me, inviting her to sit. She tucks a stray strand of her wavy hair behind her ear and scoots close. I inhale deeply and close my eyes, trying to recall an Enya song. Soon, the first few notes from “Orinoco Flow” pour from my fingertips and the song comes back to me easily.
Emmy’s eyes are filled with wonder as she places her palms flat against the smooth black wood above the keyboard. She closes her eyes and begins to nod her head slowly in time to the music while I play. I watch from the corner of my eye as her tiny mouth curves into a smile. My breath hitches and I swallow hard. I’m filled with complete wonder at this tiny little girl, small for her age, as she sits beside me.
She is completely enraptured by the vibrations coming from the music, which I’d mistakenly assumed only I would be able to hear. I wonder if her perception of the musical vibration
s is as real to her as the non-silent equivalent is to me. I’m overcome with emotion and I swallow several times, trying to dislodge the lump at the back of my throat.
As soon as the song is over, Emmy looks up at me with the wonder of innocence and does something that causes me to nearly come unglued. She reaches up and rubs her thumb across my tear dampened cheek. Her forehead wrinkles and she tilts her head sideways studying me. She mouths the words are you sad?
I smile softly and shake my head.
This seems to appease her for now and she points to the keyboard. More?
There are several Enya songs I could play. I decide on “Only Time.” I’m rewarded with a big grin. When the song is finished, a soft whistle startles me, and I turn. My cheeks burn when I lock on Ian as he stares across the room. Though his expression is dark and unreadable, his eyes reveal more than his words ever have. I begin to imagine that maybe he likes me just a little bit, too.
Chapter 30
Thanksgiving morning is ushered in by a strong band of thunderstorms. The thermometer hovers above freezing in the mid-thirties. Without sun, the house feels as though it has no heart or soul. I pull one of Grandma’s old afghans across my lap in the piano room. The flames from the fire Gwen built earlier dance and leap. The dry wood crackles and snaps, occasionally sending a spray of sparks into the screen, causing me to jump.
Ian has brought Emmy with him every morning since our first meeting, and though I’ve never thought of myself as being overly fond of kids, she has managed to weave her way into the tapestry of my days. Like a silent shadow, she follows me around the house. As an audience of one, she’s my most faithful, and most likely only, fan. With my patient coaching, she’s learned to play the beginning notes of Beethoven’s “F��r Elise.” She insists on practicing every day. My Grandma would have loved such an enthusiastic pupil.
I was a little saddened to hear that she would be spending Thanksgiving with her Grammy and Grampy O’Meara — Aubrey’s parents — instead of joining us today.
I sip hot chocolate and string together some words in my journal, which has officially, and unwittingly, become a place where I jot snippets of song lyrics as they pop into my head.
“You look like you’re a million miles away, Sunshine.” Ian’s voice is seductively smooth, as sweet and tempting as warm caramel. My eyes drift toward him and I smile. He’s carrying his own mug of cocoa, and I stifle a giggle when I notice a hole in one of his socks. He cocks his head. “Why are you laughing at me?”
I chew on my lower lip and point at his big toe poking through the thin fabric.
He puts down his mug and plops beside me on the sofa. He covertly reaches for the blanket and yanks it from my lap onto his. “Damn, I’m freezing.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and before I’m able to react, his ice-like hands are at the back of my neck. I gasp and scrunch my shoulders in protest. Laughter pours from between his full lips, and I can’t help but stare at that mouth and wonder what he tastes like. Would his tongue taste of the cinnamon his breath hints of?
He stills, and I realize his hand is still resting casually at the base of my neck. His touch has gone from sub-freezing to smoldering in the few breaths that have passed between us. Ian’s eyes darken, and I close mine, trying to stop my thoughts from wandering to places they shouldn’t. I’m unable to deny how much I want him to kiss me, but I’m quite certain that if he does, I’ll lose the me I’ve been fighting so hard to find again.
A throat clears from behind us and I jump up from the couch, guilty only of wanting Ian to kiss me and being unsure if I can let him do that. Yet.
“Broncos or Chiefs?” T asks.
Ian’s eyes bore into mine, and his tongue slides across his lower lip, the dampness glistening in the firelight. His voice is husky when he responds, “I can’t believe you even need to ask that.” Ian stands and points to the number seven Elway jersey he’s wearing and I snicker at the look of disgust written all over T’s face.
“Are you kidding me right now?” T huffs and raises his hands toward the ceiling. “Two against one. Doesn’t seem fair to me.”
“Make that three,” Gwen chimes in from the doorway.
T scowls and we all laugh. Thankfully, it helps dissipate the remaining tension lingering in the room.
Gwen announces that it’s time to eat and we make our way to the kitchen with T leading the way. I stiffen momentarily when Ian’s fingertips rest gently against my lower back but soon relax beneath his reassuring touch as he guides me forward.
Several times during dinner, I sense Ian’s eyes on me, and I glance up. The first couple of times, I quickly avert my gaze to the plate in front of me. But now, a glass and a half of wine later, it’s getting harder to shift my attention elsewhere. He watches me through hooded eyes, and I refuse to look away. I reach for my wine and swirl the liquid slowly around in the goblet. I take a long swallow and slowly run my tongue around the perimeter of my tingling lips, teasing him. His eyes darken and the corner of his mouth tips into a half smirk.
After we eat, I stand, offering to help Gwen clear the table. Shockwaves of electricity jolt down the center of my back when Ian steps behind me and whispers into my ear. “Thank God you weren’t eating a banana or I might have had to excuse myself from the dinner table for a few minutes.” I draw my lips between my teeth to keep a mad case of giggles from erupting.
“I’ll go bring in some wood for the fire,” Ian offers. Under his breath he mutters low enough only for me to hear, “It’ll be the closest thing to a cold shower I can get away with right now.”
“Do you want me to help?” I whisper playfully.
“No. You���ve done more than enough already,” he shakes his head. Gwen arches an eyebrow at his remark. I understand the meaning behind his words and grin. He shrugs and walks outside with a huge smile on his face.
T’s on one end of the sofa in front of the TV, and I curl up in the opposite corner, joining him to watch the game. Ian carries in an armload of firewood and Gwen takes a seat in the recliner. Ian puts another log on the fire and the room is toasty warm. I’m guessing that the color in my cheeks has little to do with the actual room temperature and is more likely caused by the mixture of the wine I’ve been sipping while silently undressing Ian in my mind.
My heart skips three beats when he plops down on the couch as close to me as he can. I think he’s trying to get even with me for teasing him at the dinner table earlier. He squeezes my knee and grins mischievously. My eyes dart quickly between T and Gwen who, thankfully, are completely oblivious to everything but the football game.
It’s the fourth quarter, with about two minutes left on the clock. Denver’s up by one field goal and Kansas City has possession of the ball. It’s a real nail-biter. The lights flicker once, twice, before finally blinking out for good the third time. I guess maybe the area closures scrolling along the bottom of the TV screen should have alerted us that the temperature had dipped below freezing, but we were so caught up in the game we hadn’t been paying attention.
T jumps to his feet, letting loose a string of obscenities before storming through the kitchen and outside to smoke a cigarette. A few minutes later he returns with a pissed off look on his face, rubbing his backside. He tosses his cell phone onto the end table and mutters some more choice words under his breath.
“KC choke in the final seconds?” Ian guesses.
T glowers at Ian. “Whatever. Smartass,” he grunts. “Oh, and in case you thought about driving home tonight? Not happening. Ice is a half inch thick, or better, covering everything. My tailbone just became intimately acquainted with the sidewalk.”
Gwen sighs. “Looks like we’ll all be camping out in here tonight.” She stands and makes her way to the hallway. “I’ll go grab some blankets and pillows from the closet. That sofa converts into a bed.”
“I’ll sleep in my own bed.” I insist, avoiding eye contact with Ian.
“You’ll do no such thing. If the electricity doesn’t come on
, we’ll be without heat.” Gwen fists her hands on her hips. “You and I will share the sofa bed. Thomas and Ian can draw straws as to who gets the recliner and who’s stuck with the sleeping bag and air mattress.”
“Oh, hell no,” T protests. He walks gingerly over to the recliner, easing down. He points at Ian. “I’m wounded. You take the floor.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek and wonder how the hell I’m supposed to get any sleep with Ian lying on the floor less than four feet away.
Chapter 31
As I had predicted, I had a hard time falling asleep. Something about having Ian barely an arm’s length away from me kept me on edge. Finally when his slow and steady breathing indicated he’d drifted off, I became relaxed enough to doze. Since taking the meds Dr. Stephens prescribed, I’ve not had any nightmares. So, I don’t know if it was the wine I drank or not taking my meds that caused the dream.
“God dammit, Rhane, I’m going to wreck this car if you don’t fucking back off!” Dalton shouted.
That’s the last thing I remembered before bolting upright in a cold sweat.
I slide silently from the sofa bed and step carefully over Ian’s sleeping form, easing my way toward the door. I edge along the darkened hallway and head upstairs. The power is still off and the rest of the house is both silent and freezing.
In my room, I grab the comforter from my bed and wrap it around me. A wine-induced drum beats a blinding rhythm behind my eyes. I sink to the floor and press my palms against my eyes. Sitting on the cold ceramic tiles of the bathroom floor I try to recall the dream that woke me. If someone ever invents a way to create videos from dreams while they’re happening, they would be beyond rich.
After a few moments, I start to remember fragments of the dream.
It was the night of the accident. There had been a party after the concert and we were celebrating our upcoming tour with Rock Steady. I got pissed at Dalton. We always fought. That was nothing new or remarkable where we were concerned. I made him leave the party.
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