by Anne Malcom
Hers was just a lot more vibrant than mine.
“Thank you!” she said, throwing her arms around me and almost spilling her wine. “I promise it won’t be for long, I’ve got some friends around here who have a loft in Eagle Rock, where they might have a room available because of their current roommate not agreeing with their protest against palm oil.” She waved her hand dismissively. “And I’ve got an interview for a job at a vegan café in the same area as the loft tomorrow,” she added with a grin.
I regarded her. “So, you’ve made plans. Thought this through,” I stated. Surprise saturated my tone. Polly didn’t make plans. Or think anything through.
Yet here she was. Doing it in invariably in a Polly way but doing it still.
My little sister was growing up.
My fond thoughts were polluted with something else.
“And this guy, who may or may not have contributed to this,” I began evenly, sipping my wine. “He got a name? An address? Social security number?”
I remembered Wire’s offer of hacking into bank accounts; maybe he could commit fraud in this asshole’s name.
I practically grinned at the thought.
Polly narrowed her eyes. “Lucy,” she warned. “Not this time. Just leave it, okay?”
I was about to lie and say okay, then find an excuse to ring Laura Maye to give me the skinny on this prick. She knew everything about everything in Amber. And would be more than happy to assist me in plans to bankrupt the man who put sadness in my carefree sister’s eyes.
Rosie would have been way ahead of me. She’d have his social security number by now.
But Rosie wasn’t here.
I had to keep reminding myself that.
And figure out how to step around the broken pieces her absence created.
Because it wasn’t just men who could break things inside of you. In fact, those women, those sisters of your soul who knew you better than any man ever could—losing them was like losing a part of yourself.
I knew that. That part of me was buried with Laurie and always would be.
My thoughts and response to Polly were lost with a forceful knock on the door.
Polly jumped up quickly, grateful for the distraction. “I’ll get it,” she said sweetly.
And before I could move or stop her, she was across the room and opening the door. It was a small apartment, and she was fast when she wanted to be.
Her gasp of surprise was audible when she opened the door. “Holy shit,” she exclaimed.
“Hey, Polly,” a deep voice greeted. One that sent shivers up and down my spine. Good ones. One that wrapped around the words “delightfully rough” and “gentle” at the same time.
“Holy shit,” Polly repeated.
I stood, not ready to abandon my glass of wine for this situation so I took it with me for the short journey from the sofa to the door.
The door that Polly was standing in the middle of, still clutching her wine, staring at Keltan. Then at me. Then back at Keltan, who was now staring back at me, his eyes twinkling with amusement, looking more attractive than I remembered. And considering I’d seen him only a handful of hours before, I thought the memory should have done him justice.
It did not.
“That memory ain’t good enough for a second longer. And for the rest of the foreseeable future, I’m making sure that I get a fuck of a lot more than a memory.”
The space between my legs tingled with that memory, with the remaining effects of the morning.
The twinkle disappeared from his eyes, and they darkened, as if he could read my mind.
“This is a thing?” Polly asked excitedly, breaking the silence and the erotic stare-down.
Thankfully. It was all kinds of wrong to be having those thoughts in front of my baby sister. She might have been far from a virgin, but still.
Not appropriate.
She waved her hands between us. “You two, you’re together?” She narrowed her eyes at me, then Keltan. “Finally?”
I frowned at her. She’d asked a barrage of questions about Keltan after we’d kicked her out on the Tiffany’s night, and then we’d had a fight. Far from our first. But something so much more serious than my penchant for a steak, or leather handbags, or terrorizing the men who fucked her over.
That was all surface, scratches that healed quickly and were forgotten quicker.
This one wasn’t. And I still felt the sting now, one year on.
“You’re making a mistake, breaking this up,” she said.
I glared at her. “No, Polly, I’m not. Plus, there’s nothing to break up. We were nothing,” I lied, to her and myself. I gave her a look. “You don’t understand.”
She glared back. “Why?”
“Because I live in the real world,” I clipped harshly. “And there’s no fairy tales in the real world.”
She regarded me, too sharply for someone so young. So unPollylike.
“I believe in happy endings and miracles and soul mates and love at first sight,” she said, brows furrowed but smiling. Somehow embodying both frustration with her sister who wasn’t getting the memo of her happiness communicated down below the nose. “What’s so wrong with that?” she folded her arms.
I regarded the sister who had always had her head in the clouds and her spirit running fair ahead of logic or reason.
“Because this is the real world, Polly,” I said as gently as I could yet still trying to communicate the harshness of the sentiment. “That stuff, it has no place there. You have to think a little more. Of the future. Of these decisions that will affect your real life while you’re too busy living in a fairy tale.”
Her grin left and her eyes sparked with anger that was rare but legendary in our family. “And what’s wrong with that?” she accused. “Who says that real life and a fairy tale aren’t the same thing?”
I narrowed my own eyes. “Logic. Reason,” I said calmly.
She rolled hers, pacing the room, the sleeves of her dress flowing with the movement. “Oh, and what have those things done for anyone? For you? You tell me that I live in a fairy-tale world because I believe in magic and love and soul mates. Well I’ll tell you about life in your own.” She whirled. “You guard your heart so fiercely that you become a victim not to the heartbreak you’re so adamant to protect yourself from but from yourself. From that logic and reason and from the nothingness that comes from that. So, you think I’m living my life wrong because I jump too much? Well I think you’re living yours wrong because you don’t jump at all. Yeah, my ocean may be wild and full of troubled waters, but the stillness of yours isn’t natural, Luce. Not at all. I’d rather get my heart broken a thousand times because it means I get to love a thousand times. My biggest fear would be living my life without even trying. Without even tasting what it could be.”
She stepped forward, her face cold and empty. “It would be being you,” she finished, the lance of the words spearing me deeper than I ever thought they could. “You’ve got a man who is ready to give you a life on a platter. Who is ready to give you glorious waves, but you don’t let him in because you would rather drown in your own stillness. And that is what I think is stupid. Not the decisions I make.”
On that, she turned on her fringed boot and left.
And I stood in the middle of the room, bleeding from the wound of harsh truth that came from the sister I thought lived in fantasy and saw the world through rose-colored glasses.
We reconciled but it always hung between us, that fight. The truth to it. It floated away, or seemed to, with Keltan’s presence and Polly’s smile.
“Yeah, we’re together,” Keltan answered for me when I was silent. He skirted through the door and brought me into his embrace, kissing my head easily. Effortlessly. Like it was a gesture he’d been doing for years. “Finally,” he murmured against my head, eyes on me.
Polly was still gaping when I managed to bring myself out of Keltan’s arm and focus on her. One hand was still on her wine glass, the ot
her on the wood of the doorframe.
“Holy shit,” she repeated.
“Well, it’s a good thing you dropped out of college since you seem to repeat the same two words far too often. I couldn’t imagine that would work well for papers,” I said dryly.
Keltan’s eyes, which had still been on me, focused on Polly.
“You dropped out of college?” he asked her.
She nodded, looking at the hallway in confusion before realizing the visitor was inside and therefore she could close the door. She did so, then focused on Keltan.
“Yeah. It just wasn’t me, you know? I don’t need a bunch of professors telling me who to be.”
Keltan nodded once. “Yeah, that’s something you need to figure out for yourself,” he agreed.
I slapped his bicep. The gesture hurt my hand more than it did the hard muscle, I was sure, but it communicated what I needed it to.
“You’re not supposed to encourage that,” I told him. “You’re meant to tell her the value of college for creating a well-rounded and responsible adult.”
He grinned down at me. “Babe, I’m not meant to tell her anything. Especially when I didn’t go, and my own sister dropped out of uni two years into a fashion degree. Now she lives in Paris, works for some swanky designer. Can’t see the value in it myself. Not when life has more to offer.” He gave me a meaningful glance. “And you graduated college, right?”
I nodded.
“And you’re a well-rounded, responsible adult?” he asked, his eyes sparkling, the rest of his expression blank.
I yanked myself out of his arms.
Or rather, tried to. They flexed slightly and I stayed in place. “I resent that. I’m responsible. I have a job. And an apartment. And I ate fruit….” I squinted, trying to think about when my last meal was, let alone something of nutritional value. I glanced down at the glass that was still in my hand. “Not two minutes ago,” I finished triumphantly.
Keltan raised his brow. “We’re callin’ that fruit? And a meal?”
I narrowed my eyes. “We are. You have a problem with that?”
My tone told him that he did not indeed have a problem with that. Ever.
He grinned, kissing my head again. “Of course not. Just means I can take you to dinner.” He glanced at Polly. “And you, of course, our little college dropout. I hear they exist on noodles and beer at college, and while I approve, I think you deserve more sustenance than that.”
I stared at him and his easy words to include my sister in his plans. It made me feel nice and soft for a second.
Only a second.
Because he was making plans.
Without consulting me.
“Dinner?” I probed.
He looked down at me. “Yeah, the thing some people consume with wine. I’m taking you to get some.” His hand ran down the side of my body, and his jaw hardened. “Looks like you haven’t had it in a long while. Not enough, anyway. That’ll be changing. I’ll make sure you eat at all three mealtimes of the day. And coffee doesn’t count,” he added, giving me a pointed look.
I frowned at him. “You can’t follow me around all day reminding me to eat. That’s ridiculous.”
He lifted his brow. “I can. And when I can’t, Heath can. He’s already following you around all day. I’ll make sure he feeds and waters you.”
“I’m not a hamster,” I snapped.
“Wait, who is Heath and why is he following Lucy around?” Polly interjected. “Have you got a Big Love type thing going on?” She grinned at Keltan. “Is he your brother husband?”
I glared at Keltan for bringing up Heath. Polly was a dog with a bone; she wouldn’t let this go now.
And no way did I want Polly knowing anything about the whole “I’m investigating a murder” thing. She tended to react badly to that kind of drama. Hence why she didn’t involve herself heavily in the Sons of Templar. She got on with them all, sure, but it just wasn’t her scene.
And the violence that invariably came with it?
No, my peace-loving sister did not like that. She was strong in some ways, but in others she was so delicate that I was afraid even the edges of the tragedies involved with the club brushing against her might bruise and batter her gentleness. Even though she was the one who brought me out of my hysteria the day of Laurie’s funeral, I knew that ugliness had settled somewhere in her beautiful soul, even if she didn’t.
Keltan didn’t blink. “Just a buddy of mine. Been introduced to Lucy. Keeping an eye on her when I can’t. You know, to make sure she doesn’t set any more fires.” He gave Polly a wink.
Polly gave me a look that was usually one Dad and I reserved for her and Mom. “You’ve been setting more fires, Lucy?” she chastised.
That time I was successful at getting out of Keltan’s arms. I pretended it was because of my superior strength and not because he let it be so.
“No,” I shot at her before wandering back to the kitchen to refill my wine.
I regretfully snatched a beer and thrust it at Keltan. “Do not consider this an olive branch. I’m mad at you. I was just raised right and she—” I nodded to Polly, who was wandering back to her spot on the sofa. “—would totally tell Mom on me if I didn’t do such a pivotal thing as offer refreshment to a visitor.”
He took the bottle but didn’t let the distance remain between us. He lightly grasped my hip, his eyes engulfing me. Literally pulling me into him. Deeper. If that was possible.
“Not a visitor, baby,” he murmured, low enough so Polly, who was frowning at her phone, couldn’t hear. “Planning on making my presence permanent, so you don’t have to treat me like one. But by all means, if you want to keep offerin’ me beer, I won’t say no.” He glanced down at the bottle, breaking the eye contact but not the moment. The moment stayed. “Even if it’s nothing on New Zealand beer.”
He unscrewed the cap, throwing it in the waste bin before grabbing the wine from my hand and managing to unscrew that while still holding his beer, and fill my glass.
I watched the glass fill, then him.
He screwed the top back on. “I was raised right too, Snow. Dad made sure to show me how to treat a woman right. Did it by treatin’ my mum right. Then when he died, Mum made sure I continued doin’ that. Filled in the rest of the blanks,” he murmured.
I stared at his back as he put the bottle back in the fridge. How could he just drop emotional grenades like that and then wander away, not even fearing the explosion?
Then again, the explosion wasn’t entirely bad.
Polly stood up abruptly, bless her, forging through the smoking remains. “Okay, so my friend just texted me and said there’s this gig downtown at this bar. The band only just got let out of prison.” She hefted her small patchwork bag—vegan leather, of course—onto her shoulder. She eyed me. “Protesting the oil line that would desecrate national parks. Chained themselves to the bulldozers. So fucking passionate. And I heard they’re single.”
“Polly,” I began to warn, although I didn’t know why. Polly did what Polly wanted to do.
She waved her hand. “I’m going for the music, chill. And third-wheeling it is so not my style, no matter how hot your boyfriend is.” She winked at Keltan before leaning in to kiss my cheek. “I’ll crash at the loft. Text you to pick up a key from your office or something tomorrow?”
I nodded, giving up. “Sure. We’ll grab lunch. This is L.A. You can’t throw a bunch of kale without hitting a plant-based raw café,” I deadpanned.
She grinned, blew me another kiss and was gone.
I made a mental note to call my mother and father the next day.
The silence without Polly was both deafening and comforting.
I turned to Keltan. This was the first proper alone time we’d had, in an apartment or office, that didn’t have other people around it.
Yet so much had happened.
And not enough.
“So… dinner?” he asked, glancing to me, as if unaware of the emotional detonati
on he’d set in motion.
I settled amongst it. “We need to talk about that,” I said sternly.
“Dinner?” he asked, sipping his beer and leaning against the counter, crossing his boot over his ankle. “Yeah. We do. You not eating enough of it.” He gave me a once-over. It wasn’t exactly the same as the one filled with erotic promise, though that was still there. But the overriding emotion was concern.
I felt uncomfortable under that gaze; it was too much like a mirror for my liking. Telling me my frame, that had always been slim but curvy, had lost most of its curves. And the bags under my eyes were accentuated by my pale skin. Even the best concealer in the world—I’d done the research—couldn’t hide them.
“I’ve been busy,” I told him.
He frowned. “Busy people find time to sleep and eat too, Snow. That’s not a fuckin’ excuse.”
I rolled my eyes. “I find a time to sleep. It’s called caffeine.”
My joke did not have its intended effect.
Instead of grinning like he was easy to do, usually at least, this new Keltan who I hadn’t seen in six months wasn’t exactly giving out those dimpled smiles. He glowered at me.
“How many coffees have you had today alone? And how many hours of sleep are they replacing?”
I frowned at him. “I don’t like your tone.”
He put down his beer and crossed his arms. “Answer the question, Snow.”
I crossed my own, adding a brow raise because of course I had to one-up him. “No.”
He gave me a look. “Answer the fucking question,” he demanded. Though his voice was rough, his eyes glittered with something that took the edge off it all. Not that I minded the edge. In fact, the edge delighted my over-caffeinated mind far too much.
“I’m not answering the fucking question because I feel very threatened by your agitation to my hours of sleep and caffeine consumed. What does it matter? Coffee, sleep, same thing.”
He stepped forward, uncrossing his arms, uncaring that mine remained crossed as he grabbed my hips to yank my body to his. But not before he snatched the wine glass, thrusting it down beside his beer bottle.