And, reflecting on the pictures, he guessed that in some way he had been pining—for her, for his old life, for something.
He couldn’t let her know that; he had too many weaknesses already. And so he left her standing in the middle of the bar and walked outside into the inclement weather, because anywhere was better than staying in there with her.
A few minutes later, Mace came outside and leaned against the cold wall next to him. They were under the metal overhang, but the sleet was still beating at them, the cold numbing Caleb, just the way he wanted it to. “She’s staying,” he called above the storm.
“What, payback for keeping Paige here?” Caleb asked.
“If a woman drove all that way to make sure I was okay …”
“A woman did,” Caleb pointed out.
Mace shook his head, muttered as he stared out into the snow. And then, “I saw the pictures you drew of Vivi.”
“Yeah, I drew her. But I don’t remember anything beyond her face. She’s hot, Mace. And I’m supposed to remember loving her … I don’t even know myself. How am I supposed to deal with this?”
“Try.”
Cael turned to him. “You’re suspicious as shit—didn’t want Gray’s sister here, and yet, you let Vivi in easily.”
“I have no reason to be suspicious of her anymore. She proved herself before we left for that mission.”
She must have for Noah to give her the address. “Now what?”
“Now it’s up to you to prove something to yourself. We’re not opening tonight,” he said. “County’s called for a state of emergency.”
So the four of them were staying here, together. Like a giant slumber party. “I shouldn’t have done that to Paige earlier—forcing her hands on me. I have no fucking impulse control.”
“Get some.”
Cael grunted at Mace’s words.
“Maybe she can help you remember more,” Mace continued.
“What if I remember something you won’t like?” Caleb asked.
“It’s a chance we have to take, man. What else is there if we don’t have the fucking truth?”
When Paige heard one of the doors slam, she looked out the window to see Caleb storming across the parking lot, despite the wicked weather. Horizontal sleet mixed with freezing temperatures and a sky that looked like night made her shiver, despite the fact that she was warmly dressed.
Mace was following right after him. They would have to make up a guest room for Vivi, because Paige doubted anyone could drive out of here tonight.
She headed down the stairs to find a pretty woman sitting at a table with her head in her hands.
Not wanting to intrude, but knowing she needed to intervene, somehow, Paige cleared her throat and Vivi picked her head up.
“Do you want something to drink?”
“Need is more like it.” Vivi managed a smile but unmistakable pain was etched into her face. Vivi had blue tips dyed on her blond hair. Paige noticed it only when the woman turned her head—her hair was gathered into a low ponytail.
When she’d heard Caleb’s footsteps, Paige noted that Vivi had pulled the band out of her hair, shaking it loose as he walked into the room. It was pulled back again now, like she’d given in to defeat.
Paige went behind the bar and poured a strong coffee and a shot of whiskey. Both would warm Vivi, and the whiskey would calm her without making her fuzzy.
Vivi did the shot fast, coughed a little and then took a sip of the coffee. “Thanks.”
“We’re all a little on edge.” Paige explained about the murder. How Harvey had threatened her. She left out the part about Caleb freaking.
“And I came right in the middle of it. Great timing, Vivi,” the woman muttered, more to herself than to Paige.
“I’m not sure when the timing would’ve been good—not until Caleb gets his memory back. But he did have a breakthrough today.”
“I guess that’s supposed to be a good thing,” Vivi said, and yes, she knew about what had happened on that mission. Paige could see it in her eyes, etched there with a pain Paige understood all too well now.
She didn’t know what else to say on the subject, so she didn’t. “Mace told me that you can stay here tonight. The storm’s getting worse and it’s too far to a motel.”
Vivi nodded. “That’s nice of him. I don’t know this part of the state very well.”
“I’m new to the area myself.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Coming on forty-eight whole hours now,” Paige said, and Vivi laughed softly.
“I’m sure they love this—two women busting in on their man house.”
She wanted to say Mace hadn’t minded, but he had. He still did, even though he’d let her in. “I came here for answers too.”
“Did you get them?”
“Yes.”
“Did you like them?”
She couldn’t do anything but shake her head no. The two women sat silently for a few moments, both their burdens weighing on them heavily. Finally, Paige asked, “Were you and Caleb together for a long time?”
“No. It seemed like it, but it was less than a week. That’s all it took.” She met Paige’s gaze. “He saved my life. And now he’s in bad shape. I can see it in his eyes.” Vivi paused. “Do you know about the mission?”
“Yes.”
For a long moment, the two women remained silent. Vivi didn’t try to defend Caleb to Paige at all, which she appreciated.
She wondered if she should tell Vivi about the sketches Caleb drew of her, let the woman in front of her know that Caleb did remember something about their time together. But that would be an even bigger violation of privacy, and she of all people understood that, so she kept her mouth shut.
“I knew this would be difficult, but I didn’t think … he’s been with other women. Lots of them, it sounds like.” Vivi wiped her eyes and took another sip of the coffee, then wrapped her hands around the mug as the wind rattled the front window.
What could Paige say to that? Even one was one woman too many, but she hadn’t actually seen Caleb doing anything but dancing in her short time here.
Vivi continued, “Even if they don’t mean anything to him, the problem is, I don’t either.”
“But you said … he fell in love with you once before.”
Vivi gave another soft grin. “Yeah, he did. I guess I have to hope that lightning can strike twice.”
Mace left Caleb outside to freeze to death, and found the women talking in the bar.
He headed straight into the back room, not wanting to deal with them either. Took his time restocking shelves, until Keagen walked in a couple of hours later.
Mace had heard his truck’s rumble from half a mile away.
Sneaking up on people is not your forte, Mace had once told him.
“I don’t need to sneak—it’s way more effective when they know I’m coming,” Keagen had shot back, and Mace didn’t question any further.
“What have you heard?” Mace asked now as the man stomped inside.
Keagen shrugged. “It’s not good. I’ll have to pay a call to Harvey’s old charter.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Keagen held up a hand. “Better I go alone. I’m going to owe them a favor anyway for doing it—better only one of us carry that burden.”
Keagen had long ago gone rogue from the gang. It meant he could travel where he wanted to, but when a local gang called him for help, he needed to respond.
No, he’d never be truly free of them, but it was the closest he could come.
“I’ll represent the bar, man. I’ll make sure trouble doesn’t come this way,” Keagen assured him. “It’s getting ugly out there. Stay safe, man.”
Staying safe wasn’t something Mace counted on all that often.
He realized that he and Paige were pretty damned alike in that regard. Both had to deal with danger on a regular basis, and both had to live with what they’d seen and done.
Sh
e was so vulnerable, using long sleeves, and tattooed symbols on her wrists, as though they could protect her.
What must it be like, not being able to touch another person without fear of repurcussions—both to her and the other party involved.
He felt like a complete prick for not allowing her hands on him, but he couldn’t. Not yet.
When she touched him—if she touched him—she would see everything. She’d said she couldn’t turn it off. He couldn’t bear the thought of burdening her with memories she didn’t choose.
But how am I supposed to pick it all apart? How am I supposed to tell the difference between the men he’s been ordered to kill in the line of duty and the men he’s not?
Gray told him how bad it got sometimes. If she’d had a rough day in the ER, had touched someone without gloves, she’d be exhausted for days. Takes a toll, Gray had said. And Mace had always wondered how Paige could ever be in any long-term relationship without reading that person all the time. She would always have to be on guard, always closing her hands into tight fists …
His mind flashed to the way she’d looked, clothing half off, wrists tied to the shelves, her body swaying with his touch.
She hadn’t seemed to mind being forced to keep her hands off him—offered it easily and had seemed to expect it.
What else did she expect?
He sat wearily on the stool, the events of the past days crashing around him like an angry ocean, threatening to pull him under.
He wanted his friends back. Was tired of all the secrets that never seemed to end. Nothing good had come from them and he was pretty sure nothing ever would.
All he knew was that with Cael remembering, it was time to call the team in.
CHAPTER
8
There was no way in hell Harvey—or anyone here was no way in hell Harvey—or anyone else—got upstairs without his knowledge. Mace refused to believe he’d been that sloppy, but he went over the bar and the apartments with a fine-toothed comb that afternoon while Paige napped.
The memories of this place were slowly getting under his skin. Staying for months, instead of his usual week here and there, was dangerous. Having Paige here was equally so.
He shook off the doom and gloom and tried all the windows and doors—Caleb was outside checking the gutters to see if anyone had tried to climb them. And then Mace stopped in front of one of the two doors leading to the unfinished attic.
The attic—his refuge, his hiding place, his escape, all rolled into one. His grandparents had sealed it off long ago, or so they’d thought, as the door in front of him was plastered over. Somehow, they’d missed—or forgotten about—the entrance through the crawl space in his old room.
He could still fit through it, even now. His grandparents didn’t believe in collecting things, so they hadn’t needed the storage, and Mace always knew he could stay up there, undisturbed.
Now his breathing harshened as he climbed the steps into what used to be freedom. And still he kept going, because that’s what he did these days. What he’d always done. He kept moving until his feet were on the dusty wooden floorboards, his body ducked until he passed the slanted part and was able to stand up straight.
He hadn’t been up here in years. In forever. And it felt like he was still twelve and thirteen and fourteen and so fucking miserable he wanted to be anyone but himself. Anywhere but here.
In the corner were the books he’d brought up here. Bottles of water. An old candy bar. Lots of damned dust and he could blame the lump in his throat on that and not the memories.
Would the photo album still be here? Did he really want to look at it?
He decided no, didn’t want to see his own sad face staring back at him, didn’t want to see his mother, who’d been younger than he was now the last time he’d seen her. But he checked for it anyway.
Hidden behind a panel was one of the free sleeves the photo stores gave out. It had room for ten pictures but there were only three there—he’d taken the book from his mother’s drawer when Child Protective Services had let him go back to her apartment to get his clothes and personal items.
He’d come out with a small bag full of clothes and this photo sleeve. All of it was his past. How close to the edge he’d really been as a young man.
He didn’t like to think about the family he’d come from.
He knew he came across as more disciplined these days, but when he was younger … well, there’d been no stopping him. His impulse control left a hell of a lot to be desired and the only thing that kept him on the semi–straight and narrow was wanting to prove he was nothing like his biological dad, or his mother, for that matter. No, he hadn’t wanted to be like any of them, wondered most days if he’d been dropped into the wrong family.
When he’d arrived here, he’d run, but mainly to the old cabin on the bar’s property, sometimes to Doc’s house, because the man seemed to understand without ever asking any questions.
Doc had served in the Army for a long time, had been Special Forces as well, and had been Mace’s deciding factor in enlisting. Now Dylan and Cam—men he respected and had served with—wanted him out, working with them, without controls or limits beyond the ones they set for themselves.
He wondered if he could do it. If he wanted to. The thought of being his own boss was intriguing. He could leave this place for good, start over.
He would have before if Gray and Cael and Reid hadn’t insisted he keep it.
He shoved the photo sleeve back where it belonged when he heard Paige rustling around in the bedroom, but stayed in the attic, not ready to face her yet.
If she touched him, she’d know all about him. More than he ever cared to reveal to anyone, so why the hell did he want so badly for her to know? Why did it hurt so damned much that she didn’t try harder to touch him?
More questions than answers—there were always more questions than answers these damned days.
Paige wasn’t sure where she was supposed to go after last night’s disaster and today’s string of events. But the only logical place for Vivi to sleep tonight was the room Paige herself had first slept in rather than the couch, where she had no privacy, as the upstairs only boasted three bedrooms and the two baths, and so she went upstairs while Vivi went to her car to grab her things.
As Paige did so, Caleb followed her—quietly, for such a big man, and he kept a large distance between them, for her comfort, stayed in the doorway but somehow managed not to block her exit.
“I have no excuse for what I did,” he started, looked so contrite during his second apology that she wanted to cry for him.
“You were upset. Not yourself.”
He gave a sharp laugh. “I don’t know who I am. But I freaked you out. I don’t know what else to do but say I’m sorry, and I know that’s not good enough.”
“It is.”
“But you don’t believe I didn’t kill Gray.”
He said it so bluntly that she winced. “I don’t know the truth, Caleb. I wish I could give both of us the clear-cut answer we’re looking for.”
He nodded and she wondered if it was possible for her to use her gift for good. Letting Caleb know he wasn’t responsible for the tragedies of that mission was something she desperately wanted to do for him.
But she was too afraid to try. “You’ve remembered so much—there’s every reason to believe you’ll remember everything.”
“Whether I want to or not,” he added with a deep resignation that made her ache. He turned away before she could tell him that secrets were never good, but decided that would sound trite anyway, even if she knew it to be true.
She pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail and pushed the sleeves of the flannel shirt up. There really wasn’t much choice about where to move her things and so she packed quickly, with the intention of bringing them into Mace’s room. Found herself drawn inexplicably to the window—the storm was showing its power now, had its teeth fully embedded, like a dog shaking a toy. She shivered as cold a
ir leaked through the old wood. She touched the frame, pushing down to make sure the window was firmly closed and the flash took over.
Escape.
She pulled her hand away, and then put it back. Felt the need for escape again and opened the window. Felt someone … Mace, maybe … Yes, Mace for sure, a much younger version actually going out the window.
She ran her hand over the scarred wood. Again, there was fear there. Anger too. And danger.
Growing up here hadn’t been fun for him.
She yanked her hand away. Didn’t want to learn more about him like that, didn’t want to get more attached to this extended family of Gray’s, but she knew it was too late. With Mace especially—she’d connected with him on a level beyond that of any other man she’d been intimate with, and that scared her.
Staying here would only prolong the inevitable. She had her answers—most of them. Soon, she would leave, find a job in a hospital in another city and hope her past stayed hidden this time.
She’d leave Mace behind because she couldn’t move forward with him, maybe not with any man.
Maybe things could be different here, with him.
But she already felt guilty about the knowledge she had of him. He hadn’t wanted her to touch him last night because he was afraid of what she’d learn about Caleb, but based on what she now knew, he was also afraid she’d find other things out about him too.
She was afraid of that as well, and Caleb’s memories were still too fresh in her mind. How these men lived with that …
The same way you do.
She walked away from the window, dragged her suitcase into Mace’s room, heard his shower running and saw the bed, still rumpled, the way she’d left it that morning.
Slowly, she smoothed the sheets out, pulled the covers back.
She didn’t want to talk or think—and she needed to make sure Mace knew that. She needed his touch, needed an escape from everything and everyone, and he was the only one who could give her that.
By the time he walked out of the bathroom after showering, she knew without a doubt they needed to finish what they’d started last night.
In the Air Tonight Page 12