“I’ll do my best.”
He lets go of my hand, and the music inside my head instantly falls silent. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” When he reaches the door, Winston Sinclair turns and faces me before twisting the knob. “You probably wouldn’t have wanted to be with Adam for much longer anyway. He’s going to be a very different man as soon as he manages to grow up. One that doesn’t give a damn about happiness.”
“A man like his father?”
He smiles at me one last time before walking out the door.
JARROD IS on his way to work when he answers the phone.
“Hey, Kace.”
“Hey.”
“What’s up?” I hear skepticism in his voice. He’s clearly wondering why I called. There’s no real reason; I just needed someone to calm my nerves until I hear from Adam.
“Great gig last night, wasn’t it?”
“Yep.” He pauses for a second before he asks, “Is everything all right? You never call me from work.” He knows Sundays are a busy day at Pine Manor because we’ve talked about it on many occasions.
“I got suspended.”
“From work? Why?” His surprise is front and center. Unmistakable.
“Adam’s father didn’t like something I said so he filed a complaint.”
“Are you kidding me? The dude had you suspended because of something you said? Who does that kind of shit?”
“Guys like Winston Sinclair. I told you he was not a nice man.”
“Wow. What the hell did you say that pissed him off so much?”
“He was being a jerk to his mother, so I reminded him that she has Alzheimer’s. And then I told him he should probably go back to Seattle sooner rather than later.”
“Aww, man!” He chuckles under his breath, as if he finds it funny. “That’s awesome!”
“No, it’s not. I must’ve really made him angry because the guy lied and said that not only did I talk disrespectfully to him, but I also mistreated his mother.”
“That’s a hell of a thing to lie about.”
“Yep. And now I’ve been suspended until the investigation is complete.” A lump of sadness rises into my throat, causing my voice to choke with emotion, even though I know for a fact all of this will be over by the week’s end.
Jarrod must hear my sadness because he abruptly changes from playfulness to sincerity and understanding. “They know you there, Kace. They know you would never hurt anyone. I bet you’ll be back to work by the end of the week.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Do you want me to call off work and come over to your place? We can drink beer and plot your revenge all day long.”
It doesn’t sound like a half-bad idea.
“You know I’d love to, but Adam is already on his way. He went over to his dad’s this morning to try to talk some sense into the man. I doubt he had any success, but it was sweet of him to try.” In reality, I hope Adam was completely unsuccessful. Because I hope he was long gone by the time his father even got back to the hotel room.
I don’t tell Jarrod about Mr. Sinclair’s visit, of course. He doesn’t need to know about what else Mr. Sinclair has done. He doesn’t need to know about the man’s ultimatum. Because it doesn’t matter anyway.
“Well, I hope Adam manages to fix this for you.” We’re both quiet for a few seconds before he thoughtfully adds, “Be safe, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks, Jar.”
“You bet. Talk to you soon.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
I wait for two full hours, folding laundry and nervously organizing my apartment, before I finally hear from Adam. He calls to ask me if he can come over because he doesn’t want to tell me what happened over the phone. My gut sinks low when I realize he did, in fact, talk to his father today. I listen for hints in his words and his voice, but I get no indication of what transpired.
Adam rings my doorbell a little after three o’clock. He’s borderline chipper when he kisses me on the head and says hello. He looks energized and content. Both bode well for the outcome of the story he’s about to tell.
The first thing he does after greeting me is apologize for taking so long. Apparently he stopped back in to see his grandmother for a quick visit before he came to see me. He says he felt badly about leaving her in such a hurry this morning. She was fine, though. In fact, he doesn’t think she even realized he was gone.
As Adam talks, he walks across the room and sits down on my couch. When he gets there, he motions for me to sit down next to him. The moment my bottom hits the cushion, his arm is around me, pulling me in close. I rest my head on Adam’s shoulder, wondering what he’s going to say.
“You’ll be happy to know my father has changed his mind. He’s going to drop the complaint tomorrow.”
I sit bolt upright, as if I’ve just heard the biggest surprise of my life.
“Really?” I pour as much enthusiasm into my voice as possible. I hate lying to him, but for now at least, it’s my only option.
“Yes, really.” Adam leans back against the couch, props his feet up on the coffee table, and puts his hands behind his head.
He’s obviously quite proud of his perceived victory. I might as well stroke his ego while I have the chance. He’s a pretty modest guy, so who knows when I’ll get another opportunity. “My hero,” I say as I lay my head on his chest, on top of his heart, and listen to it beat. It’s strong and reassuring.
“I sat on the floor outside his hotel room for an hour and a half before he showed up. And when he finally got there, I just started talking and I didn’t stop until I got what I wanted. I can’t believe the man actually listened to reason, but he did. I told him either he accepts you, or he loses me. I told him the ball was in his court because you aren’t going anywhere.”
I’m proud of him for standing up to his father, even if the outcome was predetermined. “That’s amazing. Really. I can’t thank you enough.” I snuggle in closer, enjoying his happiness. And mine.
“You’ll be back with Gram, and everyone else, in no time at all.” He pulls one of his hands out from behind his head and starts playing with my hair. His silence tells me he’s thinking hard about something. After inhaling a deep breath he adds, “I’m sorry, K’acy.”
“For what?”
“I’m sorry my father is the kind of asshole who would do something like this. And I’m sorry you got hurt.”
“The things that hurt the most are always the things that make you stronger.” Words I hope he remembers himself in a few days, when it’s his turn to hurt.
He twists his fingers through my hair. They work their way to the base of my neck and then gently tilt my head upward until my gaze meets his.
“You’re incredible, you know that?”
I smile at his words. “Copy that, and send it back.”
His mouth covers mine, and for a moment, I forget about what the next few days will bring. I forget about his father and his grandmother and all the complications of life. It’s just his mouth kissing mine, devouring me with thoughtfulness and love. Each time his tongue meets mine, a chorus of notes flits between us, inciting my body and rousing my senses. As his hands wander across my skin, they conjure Miriam Hansen’s promise and remind me of the importance of us.
Adam lifts my shirt up over my head and lays me down on the sofa, covering my lips and neck with kisses. He tugs my bra straps down off my shoulders and reaches around my back to unhook the clasp. His hands are smooth and sure as they pull my jeans and panties down over my hips and drop them onto the floor. He’s hovering over me, caressing me with his eyes and his fingers, tempting me with his light. Adam kneels on the floor and takes off his shirt, using his mouth to tease my breasts as his hand glides down my stomach and between my legs. I lift my hips to meet his hand, relishing every stroke of his fingers, wishing they could go deeper into me. Light sliding into dark. Yang disappearing into yin.
An orchestra of sound weaves its wa
y through my body, every note echoing through my nerve endings and lifting me higher. I am vibrating with want, wrapped in Adam’s song—his symphony—and silently asking him to never stop.
I reach down and unfasten his jeans, taking him into my hand and feeling his stiff warmth in my palm. His hips push forward against my hand as I sit up on the sofa. He rises to his feet and cups my head in his hands, guiding himself into my mouth and filling it with his hard flesh. My mouth latches onto him, sucking and teasing until I know he’s aching for release.
But before release comes, Adam steps back and drops out of my mouth. He pulls me up off the couch, grabs my hips, and lifts me until my legs are wrapped around his waist. He turns and puts my back against the wall, entering me and taking what is his to take, what’s always been his to take.
Our souls dance together as our bodies fall into a vibrant and chaotic syncopation. Eventually, release spreads through us, one in chorus with the other, our minds littered with euphoria and ecstasy. Love.
Adam carries me to the bedroom and we lie there together, each of us lost in our own mind. But after the endorphins fade, my thoughts only bring questions, doubts.
For a brief moment, I wonder what will happen if I’m wrong. What if what I saw in Winston Sinclair’s eyes isn’t the truth? What if Adam somehow finds out about our deal before it happens? He won’t understand how things are. He won’t understand my choice. Or my gift. Everything will change if he finds out.
But then I remember I’ve never been wrong before. I’ve always seen the truth.
Why would this time be any different?
CHAPTER 27
When my father first told Charlie about his cancer, she said she didn’t believe him. She accused him of trying to get out of paying her beauty school tuition. She said he was making it up because he didn’t want her to be happy. Daddy broke down in tears and fell to the floor right in front of us, swearing to God all he ever wanted was for his girls to be happy. For Charlie to be happy. It was the second time I’d ever seen him cry. The first was on his fortieth birthday, when I gave him the refurbished wedding ring I just pawned for Charlie. The third was on the day he died.
As my daddy wept at our feet, my sister stood there, staring at me in disbelief. When I nodded at her to let her know he wasn’t making the cancer up, her eyes fluttered closed and she knelt on the floor next to him, wrapping her arms around him and telling him again and again how sorry she was for being so selfish.
Right before I moved to Philadelphia, Charlie told me she’d never forgive herself for that moment. She said his death would be her motivation to make something of herself. She said she wouldn’t let him down. I suppose that’s why I keep giving her so many second chances. Because I want to believe she’s still capable of making him proud.
Truth be told, I feel a little like Charlie right now, having just done something so opposite of everything my father ever taught us about living an honest life. I’ve essentially brokered a deal with the devil; it’s one that, if I’m right, won’t come to full fruition, but it’s still one worth being ashamed of. If my father was alive, and he found out about my agreement with Winston Sinclair, he’d probably knock me over the head with a sack of crawdads until I came to my senses. I always thought that’s what he should’ve done with Charlie, but now I realize he always knew better. He knew Charlie was, and is, too fragile to handle those kinds of hits.
But then again, maybe he wouldn’t sack me. Maybe my father would be proud of me for taking Winston Sinclair to the table on this one. Maybe he’d say good for you when I said I wanted the twenty thousand dollars. Maybe he’d tell me I should’ve asked for fifty.
Regardless, I’m sure he’d have plenty to say about what I’m going to do with the money.
As I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about my father, I hear Adam making coffee in my pint-sized kitchen. A cabinet door clunks closed as he searches for the filters. A few minutes later, when the smell of freshly brewed coffee finally wafts under the bedroom door, I drag myself out of bed and pull on my clothes. The alarm clock tells me it’s 10:15 already. My work suspension is a nightmare, but sleeping in certainly is not. I can’t remember the last time I slept this late, even on a day off.
I walk out into the kitchen, where I’m greeted by a freshly showered Adam and a full pot of coffee. He’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday, but I can smell the soapiness of his skin. His wet hair is combed to perfect, bed-headed attention. Adam hugs me, and I hug him back, sinking my face into his chest and inhaling his fresh, clean scent. He pours us both a cup of coffee, and as we’re making plans for him to pick me up for an early dinner after he visits with his grandmother, my phone rings.
It’s Susan Campbell. But this time she’s not the bearer of bad news, and she doesn’t feel the need to apologize. Instead, she tells me the complaint was withdrawn. She doesn’t tell me the name of the person who filed the complaint of course, but she does say that “he” informed her via telephone first thing this morning that the whole thing was a big misunderstanding. At her request, he’s heading in to Pine Manor as we speak to fill out the appropriate paperwork. Susan says management needs a few days to clear things up on their end, but it looks like I’ll be back to work by the end of the week.
As Adam listens to my half of the conversation, his face grows lighter and lighter. It’s as if I’m watching a gigantic burden being slowly lifted from his shoulders with every word I say. I’m guessing that, until this very moment, he doubted his father would actually do what he said he would. By the time I hang up, he’s wearing an enthusiastic grin and beaming with pride.
I fill Adam in on all the details of the conversation, and soon after, I manage to convince him to stick around and hang out with me a little longer. I remind him rushing off to Pine Manor right now means a definite run-in with his father, but if he waits here for a bit, their paths are less likely to cross. He doesn’t like to leave his father alone with Ms. Sinclair, so I know he considers staying here with me to be a substantial gamble, but his newfound confidence kicks in and he agrees to stay for a little while longer.
I’m keenly aware that I’m walking a fine line, wanting them to avoid each other, but needing Adam to be gone by the time Mr. Sinclair’s driver comes at noon. I offer to make us omelets. It seems to do the trick.
Soon after the breakfast dishes are washed, Adam’s out the door, planting another not-such-a-nice-boy kiss on my mouth just before he goes. It makes my blood—now infused with a fevered rush of notes—pound through my ears. I ask him to give my best to his grandmother and tell her I’ll be seeing her in a few days. I don’t know if she’ll understand or not, or even if she’s noticed I’m gone, but it somehow makes me feel better.
So does the knowledge that after all of this is over, after everything is over, there will only be us. Me and Adam. And there will be love and compassion and music filling us both, holding us up and keeping us connected.
MY DOORBELL RINGS at precisely 12:00. When I open it, I find a huge, smartly dressed black man standing in the hallway. He introduces himself as Perry Devine, Mr. Sinclair’s driver, and asks if he can come in. He’s holding a thick envelope in his right hand and in his left earlobe is one of the biggest diamonds I’ve ever seen. Under any other circumstances, I’d give him a big, fat no for an answer, but our transaction is one I’d rather keep private. The neighbors already consider my bass practicing annoying; I can only imagine what they’d think if they overheard the conversation I’m about to have with this massive man in a suit and aviator sunglasses. I open the door and step aside.
Perry Devine walks into my apartment and turns to face me as I close the door. I have a sharp and sudden memory of Winston Sinclair standing in the exact same place just yesterday. This guy, though…this guy is different. He’s more physically intimidating than Mr. Sinclair, but there’s something softer about him. He takes off his aviators with his free hand and tosses the envelope onto the coffee table behind him, watching it f
all onto the wooden surface. When he faces me again, I see a pair of deep brown eyes, long-lashed and fierce, yet full of something warm and familiar. There’s no longer a lens of shaded glass between his eyes and mine, but I don’t see his death. I don’t see anything.
Perry Devine will not be there when it happens.
“If I might be so bold, I’d like to give you some advice, Miss McGee.” He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head to the side. Just by a hair.
“Please do.”
“I’ve been Mr. Sinclair’s driver for seventeen years. I’ve driven him to the State Legislature Building and the senate offices more times than I can count. I’ve taken his wife to tea at the Governor’s Mansion the first Tuesday of every month for the past ten years. I’ve watched his son stumble through puberty—hell, I drove the boy to the prom for God’s sake—and I shook his hand after every graduation, from grade school to grad school.” He stops talking for a second, as if to let his words sink in. I keep quiet but don’t take my eyes off of his. “This family is my business, Miss McGee, and I take serving them very seriously. Loyalty is not something I take lightly, so I suggest you take that ten grand and sever yourself from the Sinclairs immediately. You wait too long, and it’ll be too late. Mr. Sinclair is a man of his word. Has been since my first day on the job.”
“He gave me until the end of the week.”
Perry Devine’s eyebrows rise, as if he can’t believe I’ve said something other than Yes, sir. Right away, sir.
“I’m aware of that. But, I’m trying to be nice. I’m telling you, the sooner, the better. For everyone. Just make my job easier, Miss McGee. Following people like you around is not what I was hired for.”
And there you have it. Confirmation that my Latham Street visits had nothing to do with the black car. I’m both relieved and mortified by the knowledge that this is who’s been watching me so closely.
The Sound of Light Page 17