Black Roses (A Mitchell Sisters Novel)

by Samantha Christy

  I, on the other hand, am not listening to music today. I’ll admit, it’s therapeutic, and it does get me through grueling runs on the treadmill. But I know I will thrive on the incessant crowd noise. Just like when I’m playing in a game, the noise is encouraging. Motivating. It’s what will get me across that finish line. Well, that and the impending date with the woman who manages to both infuriate me and get me hard in the same goddamn breath.

  It doesn’t take me long to advance my position, weaving in and out, passing the slower runners and leaving them in my wake. Occasionally, I’ll hear a pointed shout from someone in the crowd who recognizes me. I’ll tip my chin or wave at them, but after a few miles, I find my stride and get consumed with thoughts of the past weekend.

  I lost a lot of sleep Friday night, worrying about Piper. I know she was drunk, and she does seem to have her issues with men, but what could have driven her to hit the poor valet who was just trying to help me with her? It’s like she was lost in a dream—or living a nightmare.

  When I called Skylar the next day to check on her, I was invited to dinner at the townhouse. A dinner Piper would not be attending because she was scheduled to work. Griffin and Skylar often have me over, taking pity on the bachelor who can’t even boil pasta correctly. I lose myself in my punishing pace and the memory of that night.

  “I can’t believe she hit him!” Skylar said. “She said nothing to me about it this morning. She left early for a run and then went to her shift at the restaurant.”

  “I don’t know what happened. One minute I was carrying a drunken Piper with sore feet, limp in my arms, and the next she was flailing around, batting blindly at us when he helped me with her.” I put my fork down and stared meaningfully at Skylar. I wasn’t sure if she knew about Charlie and I didn’t intend to betray Piper’s trust, but I wanted to figure out what was going on with her. “Has anything happened to Piper? You know, to make her the way she is around men?”

  “As in, has anyone hurt her?” Skylar studied me, pondering her own question. “Um . . . I don’t think so. She’s just never been much into guys before. In fact, Baylor and I thought she was gay until we saw the way she was with you.”

  “The way she was with me?” I asked, innocently.

  Griffin laughed, joining the conversation as he put a juicy hamburger on my plate. “Oh, come on, Dix, the girl is smitten. Even if she won’t admit it to herself, it’s pretty obvious to the rest of us.”

  I smiled at the affirmation. I’d suspected as much, but hearing it from them, it made me want to pound my chest like a goddamn gorilla.

  “Still, not being into men doesn’t exactly explain what happened the other night,” I said.

  “I don’t know.” Skylar got up to refill my water glass. “She changed a lot when she did that semester abroad her junior year. I suppose something could’ve happened then, but you think she’d have told us. We were really close. She came back a different person, but we just thought it was the experience that changed her.”

  “Different how?” I asked.

  “When she came back, all she wanted to do was work in the restaurant to make money for traveling. She stopped helping with Maddox and spent all her time with Charlie or at Mitchell’s. She even quit studying theater. She was all about acting before that, wanting to earn a scholarship to a school of the arts. But after she came back, she didn’t audition for a single production. She was obsessed with her plans to travel after graduation.”

  “She used to act?” I recalled Piper saying Charlie’s mom used to be an actress. Did that have anything to do with her turning her back on it?

  Skylar’s face lit up with pride. “Yes. She was good, too. Even from the time we were little, she was always dressing up and performing monologues for us. I remember she got the lead role as Anne Frank when she was only a sophomore. She was really talented. Baylor and I kept telling her she was wasting all that talent following a pipe-dream to travel the world. We knew she would go incredible places, but we always figured acting would be what would take her there. I mean, she was only making slightly more than minimum wage at the restaurant, so how could she afford to go? We were shocked when Mom and Dad said they were going to let her use her college fund for traveling. They had always been adamant about their kids getting a college education, yet they gave her carte blanche with the money they’d saved for years.”

  “Skylar, having a passion for travel is one thing,” I said. “But doesn’t it strike you as odd that she came back a completely different person than she was before she went away?”

  “You said it yourself, Mason. When we talked about her before, you said life is different overseas. People are different. I think she just found the place where she thought she fit in more than she did here. She was always a wanderer, a gypsy, but we assumed it was all part of her creative process.” Skylar took a drink from the beer I rejected, being only two days before the race. She blew out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know. Maybe it was partly my fault. By that time, I was in college myself, commuting into the city to get my degree in restaurant management. It consumed me, and when I wasn’t studying, I was partying. I suppose I kind of hung her out to dry.”

  Griffin grabbed her hand. “It wasn’t your fault, Sky. People grow up and change, and there isn’t a darn thing you can do about it.”

  As the miles go by, I think about Griffin’s words. People do change. I changed. In college, I used to be that cocky football player Piper thinks I still am, sleeping with any woman who would lift her skirt for me. It took something huge, something monumental, something completely unthinkable and life-altering to get me to change my ways. It took Hailey. And although I agree with Skylar that Piper’s semester abroad could have changed her, I feel there’s more to it than that. I wonder if there is more to the Charlie story than what she’s telling me. What if Piper was abused by the mother’s drunken friends, too?

  My stomach turns over thinking about another man’s hands violating her. I run faster, trying to catch up to her. With every step, I vow to protect her. With every labored breath, I promise to keep her safe. With every drip of sweat, I swear to become the reason she remains in New York.

  Around the three hour mark, I spot her. Even among the many clusters of runners and the endless sea of competitors, I find her. I should know what she looks like from behind, I’ve watched her enough at the gym this past month, much more than I’ve led her to believe. I would know her backside anywhere.

  In a very Piper-like manner, she’s running alone, away from the pack and off to one side. I slow my pace so I don’t catch up, watching her from behind as I admire the fluid grace she exhibits with every pounding stride. Her tight running pants hug every demure curve of her hips and ass. Her light-green tank top reveals a line of sweat between her shoulder blades that have gotten more defined thanks to Trick’s punishing workouts. Her bi-colored ponytail bobs up and down, the stray wisps of hair being held back by a headband that matches her shirt. She’s gorgeous. Statues should be made from her alluring mold. If my body wasn’t almost at its breaking point, I’m sure I would be tenting my running shorts by the mere sight of her.

  It’s now when I realize the race is almost finished. Barely more than a mile to go, according to my running watch that I’ve completely ignored. While competitors have been falling behind, dropping out and cramping up, time has flown by for me, thoughts of Piper fueling my every step. If I can run a marathon at the simple thought of her, I can only imagine what I could do with her by my side.

  I come up next to her and pace her for a second, eyeing her in my periphery. Finally, she seems to notice I’m here. A devious smile curves her sweat-laden face. She pulls an earbud from her ear. “It’s about time,” she says.

  I laugh as much as one can after running almost twenty-six miles. “About time? I’m gonna win the bet, you know.” My lungs burn trying to keep up with my words and still take in the oxygen I require.

  “Game on, Dix.” She breaks away, pulling ahead of me
.

  “Oh, I don’t think so, Princess.” I muster all of my energy and sprint past her, putting a sizeable gap between us before I settle back into my marathon pace, hoping I don’t pass out from the exertion of trying to impress her.

  Every fifty or so strides, I peek over my shoulder to make sure she’s not gaining on me. So far, she’s not closing the gap too much. But I wonder if I’ve just cut off my own legs, deploying my last energy reserves too soon which would allow her to make a fool of me, sprinting ahead of me at the finish line.

  I concentrate on my breathing, reminding myself there is just one more mile to go. One mile to get my name in the history books for something other than football. One mile to secure a date with the only woman I’d ever run a marathon for.

  One. More. Mile.

  I turn again to exact Piper’s position, but she’s not there. I look over my other shoulder to see if she’s passing on that side, but she’s not there either. I slow my pace so I can turn my body around more efficiently. That’s when I see her. And after more than twenty-five grueling miles, I stop running. One mile from victory, I concede the race to thousands of others who will cross the line before me.

  I stop, because a hundred yards back, Piper is sitting on the ground, blood staining her lower legs as race officials hurry to her side. I sprint towards her, ignoring my screaming muscles and oxygen-deprived lungs. My instinct to protect this girl overtakes my physiological need to breathe. When I stop in front of her, I eye the cuts on her knees and the gravel-scraped abrasions on her hands. I gasp at the blood trickling down to discolor her white running shoes.

  But when I find her eyes, I’m surprised to see she’s not worried about her injuries. Her eyes are darting around at the crowd, scanning it frantically as her body begins to shake. I’ve seen this look before. She’s having a panic attack. It’s the same look she had the other night. I search my brain to find a way to help her.

  “Are you okay, Miss?” I hear from paramedics and bystanders hoarding around her to help.

  She panics even more at the onslaught of people surrounding her.

  I hold my hands out to my side, attempting to clear people away from her. “Please, back away. She’s claustrophobic.” I grab a bottle of water someone is holding out and retrieve a roll of gauze from the paramedics I pushed aside. They attempt to reach her, but I block them. “I said back off if you want to help.”

  “Piper.” I get down on my knees, gravel grinding into them as I talk softly to her. “Piper, it’s okay. I’ll help you.” I assess her injuries while pouring water over her cuts to clean them. It doesn’t look that bad, a couple of scrapes that have all but stopped bleeding. She continues her distraught survey of the crowd and I follow her gaze to try and figure out what she’s so afraid of. Is he out there? Charlie’s dad? Or worse—some asshole who hurt her?

  I need to get her out of here. Away from these people. And I quickly realize what I need to do to snap her out of it is get her back up and running. If I’ve learned anything about Piper this past month, it’s that she runs to shut things out. To clear her mind. To escape from her demons.

  I have to work hard to keep the bystanders at a distance, warning the paramedics with my eyes and even lying to them about having EMT training. They finally believe me and retreat even further. Apparently they don’t watch much football, a circumstance I wouldn’t have been grateful for until this very second.

  Something on the pavement next to her reflects the sun’s harsh rays, catching my eye. I reach out and pick up Piper’s leather bracelet, running my finger over the intricate curves of the black rose. I quickly shove it into the tiny zippered pocket of my running shorts, grateful I even saw it. I don’t know what it means, but I know it’s important to her. It may even be her most prized possession, something that occurred to me the other night when she wore it to the benefit. I momentarily wonder if it has ever been removed from her wrist before this very second. Visions of Piper naked, wearing only the leather bracelet, hinder my quest to help her through this. I berate my wayward thoughts, trying to focus solely on the task at hand—fixing this beautiful, broken girl.

  “Piper, look at me.” I cup her face with my hands and force her to make eye contact. “It’s me. It’s just you and me, sweetheart. We can do this. We only have one mile to go and we’ll go down in the books. You’ve worked so hard for this. Come on. You can do this.”

  I get to my feet, making sure her eyes stay on mine, putting myself between her and the crowd. I hold out my hands to her, offering them to help her up. “Look at me,” I tell her. “Only me.”

  She blows out a long, deep breath and then puts her hands in mine, allowing me to help her up. She winces, but I know it’s not necessarily from her scrapes. I’m in pain, too. Our muscles have begun to stiffen and I wonder if we are even capable of finishing the race after stopping for a few minutes.

  “One more mile, Piper. Piece of cake.” She lets me take her elbow so I can make sure she’s steady on her feet. “We’ll go as slow as you need.”

  She studies me, warring with herself over the decision she’s about to make. She nods her head. “Okay.” It’s the first word I’ve heard her say since she fell. And I know right now, that no matter how long it takes for us to finish, it will be a victory.

  I let her set the pace. She walks faster than I expected and I hear the cheers from the crowd, applauding her for continuing the race. Not two minutes later, she’s increased our speed to a steady jog. When we come around a corner and spy the finish line off in the distance, I hear Piper gasp. I look over worried that she’s panicking again, but instead, I have the pleasure of witnessing a slow, triumphant smile creep up her face. It’s not something I thought I’d see today—if ever again.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  She points to the race clock that shows the time for the third wave. “Trick was right,” she says, her smile not faltering. “She did it. She shaved ten minutes off my time, even with my fall.”

  Then she turns to face me, still keeping our pace while saying something truly amazing. “Thank you, Mason.”

  I almost trip over my exhausted feet, absorbing the words of gratitude I never thought would cross her lips. I shake my head. “You’re welcome, Princess. And you’re wrong, it wasn’t Trick, it’s you. You did it.”

  I see tears well up in her eyes. Tears of joy. Tears of gratitude. Tears of happiness. But she never lets them fall. She holds her chin high, nodding at me before she turns back to watch our approach of the finish line. I make a split second decision.

  She doesn’t even notice when I fall back and let her cross first.

  chapter eleven

  piper

  I’ve never before felt such exhilaration crossing a finish line. Was it Mason? Was it not letting my fears consume me?

  When I saw that face in the crowd, every horrible nightmare I’ve ever had came flooding back to me. Until that moment I could almost pretend the faces in my dreams weren’t real. That they were figments of my imagination. But now I know for sure—those faces belong to actual people. Those monsters do exist. And every fear I’ve had over returning home has just been validated. Even in Boston, camouflaged by thousands of runners, I can’t hide from them.

  But as panic pulled me under, to depths I’d never experienced before, Mason appeared before me, possibly giving up his one shot at finishing the Boston Marathon, doing the one thing he’s proven to be good at time and time again. He protected me.

  He protected me from one of the guys in my nightmares. Protected me from the unwanted attention from the paramedics. Protected me from certain self-destruction. Only one other person has ever been able to comfort me the way he does and she is thousands of miles away. It’s one of the reasons I don’t like leaving her side.

  It’s one of the reasons I’m starting to like being by his.

  I’m reeling when Mason comes up next to me, walking alongside me as we cool down from the grueling race. “Nicely done,” he says, a smile c
racking his sweaty, captivating face.

  Still bathing in excitement and adrenaline, I jump at him, wrapping my arms around his neck in an uncharacteristic hug. “We did, it!” I squeal, breathlessly.

  “You bet your ass we did.”

  We’re both dripping with sweat, breathing heavily and we really should be walking around to keep loose. But this embrace is like no other, knocking whatever wind I had left right out of me, rendering me incapable of voluntary movement. His large hands grip me, one spanning my lower back, the other between my shoulder blades. I don’t know if it’s the excitement of the race or the unadulterated fear from seeing the face of one of my assailants in the crowd, but in this moment, I don’t ever want him to let me go.

  I’ve never felt so safe before. An absurd realization considering we’re standing among thousands of strangers. The way his arms envelop me, gluing me to his much taller, broader body, makes me feel both protected and wanted at the same time. No, not wanted—needed. Because the way he’s holding me right now, it’s like he needs me as much as I need him, making me wonder what he could possibly need that he doesn’t already have, or couldn’t get at the drop of a hat.

  As I peek around him and watch more people cross the finish line, it dawns on me that he came up from behind me after the race. I pull away and draw my brows at him. “You didn’t have to let me win, you know. You helped me enough. I don’t need your pity, too.”

  He laughs, mumbling something about ‘Mr. Hyde.’ Then, shaking his head at me, he says, “I didn’t let you win, Princess, I got a cramp. It still hurts like a bitch.” He leans over to massage his calf. Then he grabs my elbow, pulling me along. “Come on, let’s keep walking or we’ll wind up stiff as a board.”

  We walk around, being herded off of Copley Square with the other finishers, off to massive tents with EMTs, massage stations, ice baths and endless tables of electrolyte drinks and carbohydrate snacks. We follow a path around the square, adding almost another mile to the distance we’ve already covered, but I know if we don’t do it, we’ll pay dearly later.