Turkish Delights 0.50 - 4.00 Series Bundle

by Liz Crowe

  They both looked up when Lale came in, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Caleb smiled at her and stood.

  “Sleeping beauty. Sure that ring isn’t making your bicep bulge hauling it around?”

  “Fuck off, homo. What’s the news?” She sat, tucked her bare feet up under her, and stared at them both. Emre swallowed. He’d kept a lot from her. But the green-tinged hue of her face lately made him wonder how much she could take.

  Caleb filled her in. She put a hand over her lips, and ran out, barely making it to the toilet. Emre sighed. “Something tells me that a little Greek addition to the family is imminent.”

  Caleb sat back. “Yeah, why the fuck not? It’ll just add to the madness.” They waited until Lale came back, wiping her lips with a washcloth.

  “Oh God. I feel like day-old shit. With a hangover. And I haven’t even had a single drop of…urp….” She ran out again.

  “So what now?” Emre focused on Caleb once more. “I mean, does the guy know anything more? Where he went? Why?”

  “Yes, he does. Bulent is doing a great job keeping this quiet.” Caleb glanced up at the doorway.

  Emre hated keeping so much of this from the rest of the family but honestly thought he was doing the right thing. “Go on.”

  Caleb took a breath and continued. “Tarkan stayed there, ate, worked, rested, and became physically intimate with the owner. But he had to leave. Told the man he had to get to Istanbul. To see.” He gulped. “To find.” Caleb stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. Emre waited. “He kept saying my name. He had to find me. To tell me something. This man was convinced Tarkan was going to kill himself. He was hysterical about it apparently. Bulent had to bribe him to keep him from following them here.”

  “Emre!” His wife’s voice echoed up the steps. “I need you. Now!”

  He made for the door. Glanced back once. “Okay. So he’s here, or almost here. Now we can alert a bigger group of people. I’ll get on it right away.” Caleb nodded, looking out the window onto the seemingly happy group of people below.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lale sat on the bathroom floor in her parents’ upstairs suite. It was a familiar place. But now, even throwing up didn’t help. If anything she felt nine hundred times worse afterwards. She was on her hands and knees, the glint of her engagement ring catching the sun streaming in through the window. It blinded her, nauseated her. Fuck. Everything made her gag lately. Jesus. It must be the rich food. She wasn’t used to it anymore. She groaned.

  “Emre!” Elle called out. “I need you. Now!” Her brother clattered down the steps. Lale tried to rise but gave up. Her body felt so heavy, weighted down, slow. She looked up at the sound of a knock on the door.

  “What?” She croaked.

  The door swung open to reveal Caleb’s face. He was smiling but not like he used to. She gave him a weak thumbs-up in return from the floor. He hunkered down and sat next to her. They leaned against the cast iron tub together, not speaking, just soaking up each other’s strength. He picked up her left hand, threaded his fingers through hers.

  “So how do your parents feel about this?” He shielded his eyes, pretended to be blinded by the sparkling rock on her finger.

  “Who knows? This whole thing is so fucking surreal. I have managed not to bring up the fact of his heritage. Seems like overkill at the moment.” She sighed and clutched her stomach. “Christ, I feel so awful. Is anyone else sick? Could there have been some bad mutton or something?”

  She frowned when Caleb laughed so hard he snorted. “What? Stop it!” She let go of his hand and smacked his jean-clad thigh.

  “Oh God, you are so blessedly naïve. I love that about you.” He kissed her lips and pulled her to her feet.

  “Fuck you and your new boyfriend. What the hell are you talking about?” She groaned as the room spun once again. A sudden surge of longing for Andreas overwhelmed her. She sank to the side of the tub. “Shit.”

  “C’mon, let’s get you some tea and toast. That makes everything right, remember? Brush your teeth. Change your clothes. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  “Fine. Go.” She waved him off before she started crying.

  “Caleb!” Adem’s voice rang up the stairs. “Is Lale up there with you?”

  Lale watched him poke his head out the door. “Yeah. Why?” A sudden surge of nausea made her lean over the toilet again, waiting to lose whatever might be left in her stomach. It wasn’t much. Caleb leaned back into the bathroom. “Um honey, I’ll help you. Let’s get downstairs.”

  “What? What’s up? Is it Tarkan?”

  “Ah, no. C’mon, I’ll help you.”

  By the time he’d poured her into jeans that were loose on her after nearly three weeks of throwing up non-stop and guided her downstairs, the whole family was gathered around the huge flat screen in the living room. The CNN International crew used words that forced a chill down her spine—“UNLV” and “sports scandal.” Her mother took her hand, drew her down to the couch. She took deep gulps of air. Buyuk Anne handed her a cup of scalding hot water with a hunk of lemon at the bottom—pretty much the only thing she could keep down since getting the stomach flu from hell.

  She sat, took the mug of water, and leaned back on the soft leather. Nothing surprised her anymore. But the sight of Andreas, his handsome face surrounded by flashing cameras and microphones forced her to sit up so fast the hot water tumbled to the floor at her feet. The words “UNLV Athletic Director resigns two days ago amid basketball coaching scandal,” seared into her brain.

  Buyuk Anne peered closely at the enormous screen. “Who is this Greek?” She spit on the floor. “Why are we watching him? Levent? Vivian? Emre? What is this?” She pointed to the screen, her lined face red with fury. “Someone speak to me!” Lale stood, held both hands out to her grandmother. “Darling, Lale. Tell me what is this Greek?”

  Vivian positioned herself between her daughter and mother-in-law. “Hang on, Buyuk Anne. Just let her listen, okay? Then Lale will explain everything.”

  Lale sat. And watched as her fiancé, her savior, spoke calmly to the crowd and said that he would no longer be affiliated with a program that condoned cheating. As long as the basketball coach remained, they would have to hire another AD. He was done.

  Turns out the coach had let players pay other students to take tests for them nearly six years ago and the former AD had covered it up. The minute the allegations emerged that the man had done it again about a month ago, Andreas fired him. And was attacked by alumni and regents. They had a “winning season.” The coach must have been the victim of a smear campaign. Lale put her hand to her lips at the sight of her beloved—then lurched to her feet.

  “Sorry. I’m…oh shit….” She ran out, straight for the downstairs guest bath. Tears poured from her eyes as her stomached clenched and tried to empty its already empty contents. Her hands shook as she tried to stand. Oh Christ. She needed Andreas. She couldn’t take it another minute without him.

  The sound of her grandmother’s terrified scream made her wrench the door open. What the hell? Emre stood at the door, holding the small woman back with one arm. Vivian stood on his other side, staring at whatever had made her mother-in-law screech and claw the air like a banshee. Lale wiped her lips and stepped out into the chaos. The sight of Andreas at the door, suitcase in hand, eyes seeking something in the room until they locked onto her made her knees give way once more.

  Sidestepping the crazy Turkish crone Emre had in one hand, Andreas’s jaw released the tension he’d held for a solid month at the sight of Lale. The tears pouring down her face infuriated and frustrated him, but the sheer relief at seeing her again overrode all of that. He lifted her into his arms, felt her wrap herself around him, and buried his nose in her neck. He knew, that instant, she was pregnant with his child.

  He could hear the soothing noises Emre and all the others around him were making to the old lady, but did not give two shits about that. What he needed now was Lale, to make her understand he wo
uld never leave her to face any of this alone again. The whole bullshit media circus back home convinced him of that. He packed his shit up, gave the dog to his next door neighbor, who took care of him more than half the time anyway, and got the first connecting flight he could find to Istanbul.

  “Andreas.” She sighed into his chest. “Oh God, I am so glad to see you. I….”

  “Shh, my love. I know. I’m here.” He kissed her lips, nose, cheeks, as his body tingled and hardened, before he turned away from her family. He found an open door to the patio. Sat in a chair and held her close in the brief moment of quiet before all hell broke loose.

  Something wrapped around his calf. Lale kept a death grip on his neck as he leaned over to see Ayla clutching his leg like a barnacle. “Giant.” She sighed. “We missed you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The sunlight streamed in through the open window. Tarkan leaned back on one arm as it covered him. Let the sounds of the Flower Passage fill his ears, soothing, all the busy-ness below. It centered him. He took a deep breath, felt the air pass through his lungs as his body accepted the oxygen, processed the food he’d eaten. Like a normal human being. One not worried that any moment he’d be snatched from his bed, dragged down a cold hallway and tortured. Then dumped, starved, and ignored.

  “Flower boy!” His boss of the past couple of weeks yelled up to his open window. “Get your ass down here. I’ve got a big group.”

  Tarkan rolled over and sat at the edge of his meager bed. The small room suited him perfectly. A bed, a chair, a table, a small refrigerator—all he needed to restore his equilibrium, regain control over his emotions and mental health. The shared toilet and shower down the hall was clean, the other tenants quiet, leaving him alone. His days were spent stalking his parents’ building. Watching the comings and goings there. Afternoons and evenings he worked, hawking flowers, flirting with girls and boys alike, smiling and regaining control of his life. Slowly but surely.

  The first time he’d glimpsed Caleb standing on his parents’ patio he’d nearly screamed out his name, revealed his position a mere fifty yards north. But the sight of a tall, handsome man with long black hair and compelling green eyes who’d wrapped Caleb in an embrace had forced all the air from Tarkan’s chest. When the man had brought his lips to Caleb’s, Tarkan’s stomach had clenched, made him lean over to catch his breath, take deep gulps of air to keep from throwing up. Then he watched, fascinated, as the man pulled his blond lover of six years over to the large tree line separating the Deniz family building from its neighbor. He had a perfectly clear view in the twilight as the man held Caleb’s face in his hands. Spoke words Tarkan could not hear then kissed him again, so fiercely his entire body had hardened as he gripped the balcony, whimpering with memory. And watched his man fist his hands in the long dark hair of the man on knees in front of him. Tarkan watched in sick fascination as his beloved lived his life. Went on and was happy, without him.

  “Caleb,” he said simply, and the tears he’d kept inside since he’d escaped flowed down his face as if released by the act of watching him, seeing Caleb happy, in the arms of another.

  Tarkan rose to his feet. His body was strong again, but still very thin. His mind could process what had happened. What he had done. The woman. His child. But his heart—it would never, ever be the same.

  He made his way down the steps, happy to just be alive, breathing air, knowing Caleb was happy, even without him. He wanted to talk to him, to make sure everyone knew he was okay. But not yet. He wasn’t ready.

  He froze at the sound of a familiar voice. His hand curled around the rough wooden banister of the stair. Lale.

  “No, Anne, no. I don’t like those. Ayla, let go a minute.”

  Tarkan closed his eyes. Ayla, his niece. Oh. Fuck. Emre’s voice was next.

  “What about these?”

  Tarkan sank to the last step and gripped his knees. He wasn’t ready. The air exited his lungs in a whoosh.

  “Hold up.” Tarkan whimpered at the sound of his beloved’s voice, so near at last, after all this time. After all the longing, the crying, the dreams and the hard reality. Caleb kept talking. “No. Those are fugly. Here, these.” The group was obviously discussing the many floral options on display. Since when did his entire family come to the Flower Passage? He made his slow way back up the steps. His heart pounded so loud he sensed its beat in the top of his mouth. He bit his lip, held back the need to yell out.

  “Anne,” Lale’s voice was so close. Dear God, he’d give anything to hug her right now. “I love these. Andreas!” Tarkan frowned. Who the hell was Andreas?

  A deep voice called out, the sing-song cadence of his accented English a dead giveaway. “What, my love? Those? Fine. No? Those. Those are perfect. You realize I could care less, right?”

  “Stop it, you Greek pig.” His sister’s breathy giggle made the air freeze in his throat. “Haven’t you done enough already?”

  “Hmmm… nope. Not yet.” The distinct sounds of kissing, of shuffling clothing, heavy breathing and…. Tarkan slapped his hands over his ears and left the building from the opposite side.

  They had all made their way. They needed nothing more from him. Tears flooded his eyes. Now, he was ready.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “What? Are you kidding me?” Caleb paced the floor of the hotel room that had become his home for the past weeks. He pulled at his hair, rubbed the soft beard that he couldn’t bring himself to shave. “Okay. I’ll pass it on. What do we do?” He downed the rest of his coffee. “I see. So it’s in our hands now then?”

  He watched Adem pounding the keyboard of his laptop. He knew the man was chomping at the bit to leave, to get back to his restaurants. The one in Cannes was about three weeks from being ready. He needed to be there. Bulent kept talking into his ear. “He’s there, Caleb. We know it. But we think you should approach him first.”

  He hit the end button and fell into the chair. Tarkan was here. He had an actual address. Caleb could share it with the man’s family, or not. Could go right to the Cicek Pasaj in about ten minutes and pluck him from his small room and restore everyone’s lives back to normal. But would it be—ever again?

  Just a few weeks ago he would not have hesitated to rush out, grab him, drag him back to the family. Now, he knew it required a softer hand. Tarkan had been through more physically and emotionally than any of them could ever understand. Caleb walked out to the penthouse balcony and looked to the south, towards the old city where his beloved was holed up. He felt Adem’s hands on his shoulders.

  “What’s the word?”

  “Apparently he is just over there, in the Flower Passage, living, working, hiding, waiting. For something.” Caleb sighed as Adem’s hands slid down his chest and the man’s lips touched his neck. “Holy hell. I can’t believe it.”

  “My love.” Adem breathed into his skin. “The poor man just needs time. I’m guessing he’s seen us. God knows we haven’t been that subtle even at his parent’s house.”

  Caleb’s breath caught in his throat. Tarkan. How could he just sit here? Let him be, right on the other side of that hill? “My God. It’s a miracle. He’s alive.”

  Adem pulled him down into a chair, sat in front of him, grabbed his hands. “Caleb. I have to go. My life, my restaurants, they need me. You need to be here. To see him—without me confusing the issue.”

  Caleb lurched up panic suffusing his brain. “No!” He stood, tugging Adem to his feet. “Please. Not yet. I….”

  Adem smiled and pressed his lips to Caleb’s. “I’ll be back for the wedding. In two weeks. I promise. Spend some time just being there, near him. Let him get used to you again. Then you can decide.” Caleb heard the catch in Adem’s voice.

  He tilted the man’s face up to his. “I have decided.” He kissed Adem, long, hard, and felt both of their bodies react. But Adem broke the kiss, held him at arm’s length.

  “You think you have. But you owe it to Tarkan to let him choose, too. He earned it.�
� Adem’s eyes shone. Caleb held his breath. “My flight is in two hours. The taxi is waiting.”

  Caleb put his hands in his pockets. His body softened and heart broke for the millionth time as he watched his love walk out of his hotel room.

  ***

  Adem climbed into the waiting taxi, brushing at his eyes. He was not a crier. Was not about to start now either. No matter how intense this whole fucking scene was. The taxi deposited him at the airport. He checked his bag, grabbed his boarding pass and a stiff drink, and flopped onto a seat.

  Taking his phone from his pocket, he observed the number Bulent had sent him that morning. Tarkan had opened a mobile phone account a couple of days ago. Bulent had asked him not to give the number to Caleb. They both believed the two men needed to be face-to-face, but Adem knew Caleb would be tempted to call first, possibly scaring Tarkan into bolting. He swallowed hard and accepted a few home truths: Caleb was going to stand at his sister’s wedding then go back to California. He had a life, a job, had moved on. He, Adem, may well be shut out forever. But he had meant it when he said he loved Caleb and wanted nothing but his happiness. His chest constricted as he typed out a text.

  This is Adem Broussard. I am Caleb’s lover. But please know he never stopped loving you. Not once. He’ll be hanging around the Flower Passage the next day or 2. Watching and waiting. I truly wish you well. You should know that your father is gravely ill. Your sister will be married in two weeks on the lawn of the Consulate General’s Office. Her first child is due in seven months. Your brother…needs you back.

  He hit send. Then threw the phone to the floor and stepped on it, hard.

  Chapter Fifteen

  That afternoon Caleb sat at the small table and sipped his fourth, or maybe his fifth, espresso. The bitter acidity biting into his stomach. He’d kept an eye on the flower booth for hours, with no sign of him. He left, determined to return tomorrow until Tarkan showed his face.