Black Roses (A Mitchell Sisters Novel)

by Samantha Christy

  My feet quicken, feeling the panic rising up through my tense body. I can’t wait to get on the treadmill and lose myself in a run.

  ~ ~ ~

  Hours later, my mind calm and my legs like jelly, I pick up my bag and leave the locker room, fresh from a shower. Trick gives me a thumbs-up as I exit the front door of the gym. She must have known what I needed today. We sparred in the ring and I was on fire. She worked me hard, but I’d say I gave her a run for her money. I find myself smiling despite the beating my body took today.

  The smile quickly dissolves, along with most of the blood in my face, when I absentmindedly run into a man outside the gym doors.

  “Oh, sorry, young lady,” he says, not recognizing me as I do him, because he’s busy picking up the book he dropped when we collided.

  I try to step away, but my feet won’t move. My blood boils as I stare down at him. Despite the fact that my fists have already had a workout today, I ball them tightly and contemplate pummeling the old bastard. The only thing keeping me from jumping him is the thought of where I’m standing—right in front of the gym my brothers-in-law own. Bad press could hurt their business. Bad press could also bring attention to me, something I can’t afford.

  Before I fully come to my senses and walk away, the man stands. The blood drains from his face as well, but we both know it’s not for the same reason. I feel rage while all he feels is shame. “Piper?”

  I turn my back on him and will my legs to move.

  “Piper Mitchell, is that you?”

  My legs propel me slowly away from him.

  “Piper, I know it’s you. Please, stop and talk to me.”

  I don’t stop walking, but I turn my head so he will hear me loud and clear. “I don’t have anything to say to you, Mr. Tate.”

  He grabs my arm and I stiffen, being pulled into one of my nightmares. “Piper, I just want to know if she’s okay. Please, if you won’t tell me where she is, at least let me know if she’s alive and well.”

  Boldly, and nothing like what I do in the majority of my dreams, I rip my arm away from him. “Are you kidding me? You really have the balls to ask me if she’s okay? Maybe if you would have cared enough to find that out ten years ago, she would be okay.”

  He gasps, tears welling up in his eyes. Tears that have no right falling onto his bastardly cheeks. I shake my head at him and try to walk away again. He forcefully grabs my shoulders, restraining me. “Is she dead? Oh, my God, what did I do?”

  Large hands rip Mr. Tate’s arms off me, shoving him back against the brick wall of a building which I’m sure will result in a bruise down the bastard’s back. “Is there a problem here?” Mason asks me, his raging eyes burning into Tate’s.

  I blow out a relieved breath. “No, no problem. He was just leaving.” I walk in the opposite direction, back towards the gym where I feel safe. Then I stop, letting Tate’s words of regret get to me. I curse myself for what I’m about to do. I’m about to put his mind at ease. Something he’s not entitled to, but I do it anyway. I turn briefly. “The answer is no, she’s not dead.”

  I slip into the gym before I can hear another word of his pleading. I’m quite sure Mason won’t let him follow me in here. Even Tate isn’t stupid enough to take on a professional football player. Plus, he’s twice his age. He looks old. Very old. As if the burden of what he did has aged him beyond his years. Good, he deserves that. He deserves that and more.

  My bag slides off my shoulder as I hunch over, my hands meeting my knees as if I’d just been kicked in the gut. “What is it about men that make them think they can either abandon you or hurt you?” I ask no one.

  “Did that asshole hurt you? Who was he?”

  I close my eyes at Mason’s voice. In my panic, I didn’t realize he was standing next to me.

  My silence fuels his anger. “He did. Fuck, I’m going to kill him,” he says, walking back towards the door.

  “No!” I shout, stopping him. “It’s not like that, leave him be.”

  He walks back over and his massive hand cups my chin, gently raising my head until our eyes meet. “Piper, are you okay?”

  I bob my head in an awkward nod and take some deep, calming breaths. Then I pick up my bag with trembling hands and sling it over my shoulder. “I need to go.”

  He takes my bag from me with little effort. “You’re not in any condition to go anywhere, Princess.” He takes my elbow and leads me towards the café in the gym. “And I’m not convinced you’ll be okay if you do. What you need is to sit down and get a cup of coffee and a bite to eat.”

  “Would you quit calling me Princess? Why the hell do you even do that anyway? And what makes you think you know what I need?” I pout at him, stopping our progress.

  “I know exactly what you need because I’m well aware that you just had a grueling workout and you’re weak and exhausted because of it. I’m aware that you followed said workout with what looked like a very stressful encounter with that asshole. I’m aware that you’re stubborn as hell and won’t listen to a goddamn word anyone says to you despite the truthfulness of it. And I call you Princess because that’s exactly what you are, traveling around the world on Daddy’s dime without a fucking care of how it affects others.”

  I realize that while he was talking, he guided me into the café and we are standing next to a booth in the back. He shoves me down into it. “Now what the hell can I get to feed you, Piper?”

  “Ugh!” I try to leave but he has me cornered in the booth. I’m acutely aware, however, that I’m not panicking. On the contrary, I’m confused by just how safe I feel with him towering over me. “I do not travel around the world on Daddy’s dime,” I lie. “I have a college fund and this is the way I choose to spend it.”

  “Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe,” he says, while simultaneously texting on his phone. “It all comes from the same place. I hear about where you’ve been traveling. I know what things cost. Your college fund ran out long ago, Princess. Unless, of course, your parents were expecting you to go to Harvard Med.”

  My jaw drops at his temerity. I’m in no mood to fight with him, especially since he’s right. So I cross my arms and rest my head back against the booth. It does feel good to sit down. But I’m not about to tell him that.

  Two minutes later, someone arrives with coffees and a couple sandwiches. I smirk at them sitting on the table when I realize he must have texted the order. “You holding me captive?” I wince at the words after they come out of my mouth.

  “No.” He slides in next to me, leaving a respectable distance between our thighs. “I’m simply insisting you eat to get your strength back so you can fight off predators on the street.”

  I concede, reaching out for what looks like a turkey sub. “He’s not a predator.”

  “Then who is he? I can’t let you leave if I think you’re in danger.” He sips his coffee and reaches for his sandwich. He looks at me hesitantly, warring with himself. Then his eyes change and a warm comforting wave washes over his face. I’ve seen this look before in my parents and my sisters. Concern. “I know something has happened to you. This man, does he have anything to do with it?”

  I freeze upon hearing his words. He knows? How could he possibly? I contemplate my choices here. I just met Mason and I feel no obligation to tell him anything. I stare at him. He has this welcoming look about him. He’s a huge guy, but he seems like a gentle giant. His icy-blue eyes beg me for answers.

  “You’re not leaving until you tell me, Piper.”

  Well, at least he didn’t call me Princess. He holds my untouched coffee out to me. As I reach for it, my hand forcefully collides with his, sending the cup toppling over to the other side of the booth, the hot liquid narrowly missing both our hands.

  “Damn. Sorry about that,” he says, thinking it’s his fault. “You didn’t get burned, did you?” He runs his hand up and down my arm looking for damage. My instinct is to pull away. Every fiber in my body is screaming at me to retract my arm. Yet I let him check me out,
my heart thundering in my chest while he does. I let him turn my arm over, inspecting it from fingertip to elbow, because something about his touch is different. Different than anything I’ve ever felt.

  He finishes his examination and motions for someone to come clean the spill. “I’ll get you another.”

  “No, it’s okay,” I say, with a shaky voice I pray he doesn’t discern. I pull a bottle of water from my bag. “I have a drink.”

  I’m not sure what persuades me, but in a split second, I decide to confide in him. Maybe it was his gentle touch. Maybe it’s the way he makes me feel protected. Maybe it’ll appease him and get him off my back. But am I throwing Charlie under the bus by telling him?

  “Nobody knows about this,” I say, silently apologizing to Charlie. She’ll understand. I know she will. “Nobody except me, my best friend, and my mother.”

  He tentatively picks at his sandwich as if what I’m about to tell him will hurt him. “Okay. Tell me.”

  I look around the café to make sure we’re alone. “That man was Charlie’s father.”

  “Charlie’s dad?” His brow furrows in anger. “Did he do anything to you? To her?”

  “Yes and no. I mean to her, not to me,” I say, fumbling over my words. “Well, he didn’t do anything to her. It’s more like what he didn’t do.”

  Mason’s confused eyes question me.

  “It’s a long story,” I say.

  He drops his sandwich and leans back into the booth. “I’m not going anywhere. I have all the time in the world.”

  I can’t believe I’m about to divulge such information to a virtual stranger. What do I really know about Mason Lawrence? Other than what my sisters have told me and the stuff I’ve Googled about him in the last few weeks—I roll my eyes at myself—I barely know him at all. But all the articles, all the stories I’ve heard from friends and family, they all say the same thing. He can be trusted. He’s an honorable and genuine guy, if one can truly exist. And deep down in my gut, I know I agree.

  “He left Charlie and her mom when Charlie was twelve years old.” I dare to look up at him. He doesn’t comment. His eyes encourage me to continue. “Her mom was famous. A runway model and actress. But after Charlie was born, she lost her modeling contract and the roles stopped coming in. She turned to drugs and alcohol. And she, uh . . . blamed Charlie for her lack of work.”

  “What do you mean blamed?” he asks.

  “Exactly what it sounds like. She hit her. She hit Charlie.” My heart races as I reveal her secret, hoping I’m not damned to hell for doing it.

  Mason contemplates my words as he looks at me over the rim of his coffee cup. “And he knew about it?”

  I nod my head. “Yeah, we’re pretty sure. Charlie heard them arguing about it once. Her mom threatened him. Told him if he ever breathed a word of it, she’d end his career. He was a fairly new screenwriter trying to sell his screenplays, and she had enough clout to keep that from happening.”

  “So he chose his career over his daughter?” Mason balls his hand into a fist and hits the table, causing everything on it to jump. “Fucker.”

  I realize in this moment what I had forgotten. Mason has a daughter. I’ve never seen him with her, so it never occurred to me until this minute that he’s a dad. He’s probably envisioning someone hurting his daughter. I push the thought out of my head, not wanting to even contemplate it.

  “And that’s why she wanted to leave the country after high school?” He shakes his head, confused. “But she’s a grown woman now. Her mother can’t hurt her anymore.” He slams his coffee on the table, causing it to spill out the top. “Wait . . . your mom knew about this?”

  Unmindfully, I put my hand on his arm to calm him. I instantly pull it back when I feel the spark that ignites between his flesh and mine. I ignore the unfamiliar feeling in my belly and proceed to explain. “Only after it had ended and we were getting ready to leave the country. Anyway, there wasn’t anything my mom could do about it. Charlie asked her to keep quiet, saying she’d deny all of it if my mom went to the authorities. It would be Charlie’s word against hers.”

  “But why stay away all this time? Why not just move out of the house when she turned eighteen?”

  “Because that’s not the end of the story,” I say flatly, clamping down my emotions.

  “Shit,” he says, shifting in his seat, putting his large arm on the bench behind my head, but not quite touching me. He doesn’t even know Charlie. Doesn’t barely even know me, yet his eyes are filled with concern and trepidation. He nods at my water bottle. “Do you want something a little stronger than that?”

  A quiet laugh escapes my nose and I shake my head. “I’m in training, remember? No alcohol.”

  “Right. You’re saving it for our date,” he deadpans.

  I tense. He must realize he’s hit a nerve. He quickly adds, “I was joking, Piper. So, you were saying there’s more to the story?”

  I blow out a breath and rub the tension from my neck. I can sense his hand behind me, moving towards me then dubiously pulling away, as if he’s having to keep himself from touching me. My pulse quickens and another sigh escapes me, leaving me wondering if it’s because he almost touched me. Or because he didn’t.

  I push my sandwich away, feeling sick over what I’m going to tell him. “Charlie’s mom was a drunk. She hung out with other drunks. Sometimes the guys she had over to the house would . . . do inappropriate things to Charlie.”

  “Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath. “I’m so sorry.”

  I nod. “Yeah, me, too. But it happened more than a few times. It’s why she won’t come back. Some of the guys were famous. She didn’t ever want to risk seeing them or her mom, even on television. It’s easy enough to avoid American T.V. over there.”

  “So you went with Charlie and have been traveling with her ever since?” he asks.

  “She’s my best friend,” I respond, twisting my bracelet as my fingers often do when I’m nervous. “It’s what we do for each other.”

  “You’re one hell of a friend, Piper.” He relaxes a bit, seemingly mollified that I’m not in any danger. His eyes shift to the anxious activity of my hands. “Is that who gave you the bracelet?”

  “Mmm hmm.” I move my left hand, putting it down on the booth next to me and away from his prying eyes. “Hey, if you’re done with the interrogation, can I go now? I have a shift at the restaurant.”

  He stands up, but doesn’t move out of the way. “Which restaurant?” he asks, waiting for me to answer before letting me out of the booth.

  “Skylar’s. It’s where they need the most help.”

  Mason purses his lips. He looks pissed. Then he lets me by. I start to walk away, but his voice pulls me back. “Speaking of Skylar. She was supposed to accompany me to a Giants charity function next weekend, but she bailed on me. Griffin has some epic photo shoot he wants her to tag along on. Can you help a guy out and go with me?”

  I look at him like he’s grown another head. “I don’t date, Mason. And last I heard, neither do you.”

  “That’s exactly why I need someone with me, you know, to keep the airheads away. Come on, Princess, it’ll be very low key.”

  I sneer at him. “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to call me that anymore.”

  He laughs. “I remember no such agreement. But I tell you what, if you go with me, I promise to use only your proper given name.”

  I can’t believe I’m actually considering this. A date with Mason.

  No, not a date. If Skylar was going with him first, it’s definitely not a date.

  Because he doesn’t date.

  And I don’t date.

  Ever.

  “What’s the charity?” I ask, trying to prolong my need to answer.

  “I believe the proceeds will help fund adoptions for couples who can’t afford it.”

  My heart pounds in my chest. I close my eyes and expand my lungs with a needed breath.

  “Fine,” I say, walking o
ut through the front doors of the gym, wondering what I’ve just gotten myself into.

  chapter eight

  mason

  I pull up to the curb, double parking for a minute while I exit the car to go get her. When I close my door I have to hold onto the car for balance. There she is, waiting at the top of the porch stairs at Griffin’s townhouse. I stare at her while she fumbles with something in her purse. It’s not warm outside on this April evening, yet my palms instantly become sweaty and my breathing ragged.

  On my two hands, I can count the times I’ve seen her. She’s always been pretty in her workout gear or bold shirts with belled sleeves paired with jeans. But this Piper—she takes my fucking breath away.

  Her dress is pale blue, not a color I’d ever predict she’d wear. If I had to guess, I’d say the dress was borrowed—picked by one of her sisters, perhaps specifically to match the color of my eyes. It doesn’t cling to her every curve. No, this dress is much worse than that. This dress keeps you guessing at what’s underneath. The hem falls slightly above her knees, showing off her shapely calves, and the bust is just snug enough to reveal her modest cleavage. It’s enticing without being solicitous. It’s not her at all and I try to stifle a laugh as I watch the way she shifts around uncomfortably in the high heels she’s wearing.

  I know for a fact she’ll be talked about at the benefit. She’ll stand out like a sore thumb. Not for the obvious reasons one might think, but because she’s so unlike most of the narcissistic women who will be there. It’s like she has a timeless beauty, young yet sophisticated and worldly at the same time, much as I might classify someone like Audrey Hepburn or Jackie Onassis.

  I hope my attempt at getting to spend time with her doesn’t backfire on me. For a moment, I consider not attending; begging her to let me sweep her away to a secluded restaurant where I can get to know her better. Someplace where I know she might be more comfortable than a place fans or paparazzi might prey on our every move. If I know anything about Piper Mitchell, I know this—she doesn’t like attention. I’m not sure what I was thinking inviting her to this. I told her it was no big deal. But the truth is, it’s a Giants benefit and even as low-profile as this one is, it’ll still garner some press and unwanted attention.