Rebel North

by JB Salsbury

  He saunters closer, his eyes, the same blue as mine, study my face and linger on my scars. “I only want you to be happy.”

  I know he thinks he means that, but what he’s failing to say is that he wants me to have his idea of happiness. Financial success, recognition, awards, and applause are his ideas of happiness.

  At one time, they were also mine.

  But not anymore.

  “I am happy. I know you don’t approve of my choice of job—”

  “Job?” He lifts a brow.

  “Dad.”

  “I’m just saying, the word job usually implies there is a paycheck involved. You’re a volunteer.”

  I nod, feeling the reprimand in his words. “Okay. Volunteer job. But either way, I’m really searching for some direction. I just haven’t landed on anything yet.”

  When I started volunteering at the hospice, I thought it would be for a few months until I figured out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. The accident ripped my plans out of my grasp, forcing me to start over. As much as I hope for a rush of inspiration, a wave of direction, neither has yet to come.

  “You could always meet with Dr. Lowell, see if he has some insight, maybe point you in the right direction.”

  Dr. Lowell said my brain would heal in time, but he never did put a frame on that time. He told me there is no timeline for healing from my type of brain injury. That only time would tell.

  “I just want you to live up to your potential.”

  And that is my dad’s way of saying I love you.

  He doesn’t realize the shame his statement delivers time and time again.

  “I should get going. People are counting on me.”

  I’m almost to the top of the stairs when he calls my name. I look down at him from the second floor.

  “I’ll be back in New York in a couple of weeks. If you’re still with this guy, maybe we could all grab dinner.”

  “Sure. Sounds good.” I race to my room, now in a bigger hurry than before. I imagine introducing my dad to Kingston and chuckle. My dad will have plenty to say about Kingston’s eyeliner and flamboyant clothes. I decide to put off that meeting for as long as I can get away with it.

  Work goes by in a daze, my mind jumping from the depressing confrontation with my dad to the incredible night I had with Kingston. My thoughts wandering, I lose my place several times while reading to Mr. Oberon. Lucky for me, his attention span seems to match my own as he dozes on and off during our visit. He doesn’t seem to notice my distractions.

  By ten o’clock, I give up on reading and put on some music instead.

  Annette comes into the room carrying a gigantic bouquet of spring flowers—peonies, tulips, calla lilies, and hydrangeas. She sets them on Mr. Oberon’s bedside.

  “Those are gorgeous,” I say, even though he’s sleeping peacefully. “Who are they from?” I’m assuming a family member in another state is showing their love with the colorful bouquet. Their way of saying goodbye from a distance.

  “You’re not going to believe it,” Annette whispers.

  “What?”

  Come here, she mouths, her eyes as big as her smile.

  I turn the music down to a comfortable sleeping level and dim the lights. Annette is practically jumping on her toes when I meet her in the hallway.

  “Twelve arrangements were delivered. One for every patient!” She grabs my hand and tugs me toward the reception desk—or where the reception desk should be. It’s nearly unrecognizable, surrounded by bouquets that had to cost over one hundred dollars each.

  The scent of fresh roses and fragrant lilies mask the usual sterile antiseptic-smelling space. I search the vibrant buds and stems for a card. “Are they from a donor?”

  “I don’t know. Looks like a card on that one.” Annette motions to an arrangement bigger than the rest. So big it’s like something found in the hotel lobby of The Plaza. And it’s not nearly as sweet as the other bouquets. This one is, dare I say… sexy. Blood red roses intermingle with branches of drooping black orchids, with one single pale pink rose. Next to that rose is a card.

  And on that card is three letters.

  Bee.

  My breath catches in my chest, and I pluck the card from the petals.

  You weren’t here when I woke up and I worried it was all a dream.

  Until I smelled your skin on mine.

  I’ve never been so happy to be awake and alive.

  I miss you already.

  XO Yours

  I press the note to my chest like some love-sick moron.

  “Well?” Annette says, practically salivating for information. “Who are they from?”

  “Kingston.” I press the card to my chest, protecting the private words he shared with me.

  She frowns. “The gay guy?”

  Heat crawls from my neck to my cheeks. “Turns out he’s not gay.”

  Her brows pinch together. “Not gay…” Her expression morphs from one of confusion to understanding. “You’re sleeping with him!”

  “Shhh…” I look around, thankful that we’re mostly alone, save for a nursing assistant who walks past us with her nose buried in her phone. “I’m not sleeping with him. I mean, I am, but because I really like him.”

  She throws her arms around me with a girlie squeal and then backs away with a look of awe and wonder on her face. It’s at this moment that I’m reminded for the first time since I saw the flowers what my face looks like. Annette isn’t purposefully trying to bring me down, but her response is a reminder of what this must look like to outsiders. The beast manages to win over the handsome prince with her glowing personality—or worse, her willingness.

  I tuck the card into the pocket of my scrubs and clear my throat. “I should probably call him.”

  “Of course, yes. And tell him thank you.” She scoops up one of the bouquets. “These are really going to brighten up the place.”

  I head to the breakroom and stumble to a halt when I see Evan glaring up at me from an open New York Times.

  He drops his gaze back to the paper and turns the page. “Hey.”

  I can’t call Kingston from in here, so I head to the fridge and grab a string cheese, then leave to search out somewhere more private.

  “It’s only money,” Evan says to my back as I’m about to leave. “To a guy like him, throwing his money around is as easy as throwing pennies into a fountain for people like you and me.”

  “How did you know they were from him?”

  “I heard him call you Bee. Saw the card.” He looks hurt, and that just pisses me off. He never made a single move, and when he finally did, I gave him a chance, but he was a huge disappointment. And that’s somehow my fault?

  “Is this going to be a problem for you, Evan?”

  “Not at all,” he says flippantly. “I’m happy if you’re happy.”

  “Good, because I am.”

  “Don’t come crying to me when he breaks your heart.” He runs his gaze over the newspaper, but they move too fast for him to actually be reading anything. “And he will, no doubt about that.”

  “Consider me warned.” I shove open the door. “Asshole,” I mumble and go straight for the supply closet.

  I hit Kingston’s number, and he answers on the first ring.

  “Good morning, gorgeous.” His voice is deep and quiet, and I’d like to imagine he’s still in bed, warm between the sheets. I wish I was still there. Although, it’s more likely he’s at work and being quiet to keep from being overheard.

  “The flowers,” I say, breathless and speechless. “Kingston, they’re so beautiful. You have no idea how much they’re going to lift patients’ spirits around here.”

  “Glad to hear it, but you should know, I sent those flowers for purely selfish reasons. I’m working on winning you over.”

  “I wasn’t aware I needed winning over.” I pace the small room, feeling giddy all over.

  “So, what you’re saying is,” he says in a low voice, “you’re sold on u
s?”

  Us. My God, I could squeal at the prospect of us. Me and Kingston.

  “Well, let’s do the inventory. We get along pretty well.”

  “Check.”

  “You’re funny. Handsome,” I say, even though it’s a gross understatement.

  “Go on.”

  “A little arrogant.”

  He chuckles.

  “And after last night, I can say with one hundred percent certainty that—”

  “We have incredible sexual chemistry.”

  “I was going to say that you keep a clean bathroom.”

  “Liar.”

  I shiver at the vibration of his voice in my ear.

  “Your body gives away all your secrets.”

  I clear my throat. “I can’t talk about this at work.”

  “So, we’ll talk about it tonight. What time do you want me to pick you up?”

  “I get off at four, so how about I’ll meet you at your place?”

  “Okay. And bring an overnight bag.”

  My skin flushes with the heat of anticipation and memory. “Fine. I’ll text you later. I have to go. But Kingston, really, thank you for the flowers. They’re stunning.”

  “You’re welcome. But Bee?” He gets quiet, his voice a little rough. “You should know, they’re only a fraction of what you deserve. See you tonight.”

  I disconnect the phone and lean back against the wall. My heartbeat is a little fast, my breathing, too. Kingston has the ability to affect me in the most tangible ways without even being in the same room.

  I am in so much trouble.

  I refuse to believe what Evan said is right.

  I’ve somehow fallen hard for Kingston, and in doing so, I’ve handed him the ability to completely destroy me.

  Twenty-Two

  Kingston

  “Where are you going?” Coleman’s hissing voice stops me in the middle of my exit from the conference room mid urgent department meeting.

  These are the first words she’s said to me since the dinner I walked out on, and I fully expect her to expose me to August any day now. After all, I didn’t deliver on my end.

  I turn around, eye the eight other people at the table and then my boss, who stands with her hand on one hip and an iPad in the other. I point to the door. “I’m leaving. Thought that was pretty obvious.”

  Her jaw hardens. “You can’t just leave in the middle of a meeting.”

  “Oh yeah? Who’s going to stop me?” I swing my gaze around the table of men and women, who are shifting uncomfortably in their chairs while avoiding eye contact.

  “Mr. North, a minute in the hallway.” Coleman hands off her iPad to one of her minions and stomps her heeled feet to the door.

  I roll my eyes and follow her out.

  She reaches around me to close the door, then shoves a long-manicured finger in my face. “You’re insubordinate.”

  “Okay.”

  “We had an arrangement last night.”

  The reminder of last night has me grinning wide.

  “You’re unable to follow through the simplest of my requests.”

  “If you’re referring to you trying to blackmail me to get dirt on August—”

  “Quiet!” Her eyes are wide and panicked as she searches for anyone within earshot. “Do you want me to go to August with your little secret?” She tilts her head, and the corner of her mouth tilts up.

  I shove my hands in my pockets and lean a shoulder to the wall. Yesterday, her threat would’ve really got me thinking. But after last night, when I finally got Gabriella in my arms, her taste still on my tongue and my body still throbbing with memories of hers, there’s nothing this woman could say to upset me. “Go ahead.”

  She blinks and tucks her chin. “You’re not serious.”

  “I’m dead fucking serious. Tell him whatever you want.” I check my watch. “If you’ll excuse me. There’s somewhere important I have to be.”

  I push away from the wall and head for the elevators.

  “More important than your job? More important than your paycheck?”

  I throw my head back and laugh so hard the sound bounces off the cold walls. I hit the call button on the elevator. “Do your worst, Ms. Coleman. I don’t give a fuck.”

  I ride the elevator down to the lobby and step off into a crowd of executives returning from their lunch breaks. A big hand snags my upper arm, and Alexander glares down at me, Hayes looking annoyed at his side.

  “Where are you going?” Alexander’s eyes dart between me and the elevator as if I made a mistake by heading out instead of in.

  “That way.” I yank my arm free of my brother’s grip and point toward the street-level doors.

  “It’s only one thirty.”

  “Yeah,” Hayes says. “Shouldn’t you be up working your ass off for that new boss of yours?”

  “She let me go early.”

  “Bullshit,” Hayes says.

  Shrug. “Don’t believe me. I don’t care.”

  “What’s wrong?” Alex motions to my face. “You look weird.”

  “Oh, this?” I Vanna White my face. “This, dear brother, is called happiness. Also known as joy, contentment, excitement, and anticipation.”

  His brows pinch together. “Do you have a fever?”

  “No, I’m happy. And I really have to go, so just be happy for me, okay?”

  He grunts. Hayes shakes his head disapprovingly. And I slip between them and continue to make my way out to the street.

  James, Alex’s driver, is leaning against his SUV, looking at his phone screen.

  “You free to run a couple of errands with me?”

  “I don’t have to be back here until seven, so, yeah.” He pops open the back door and climbs inside.

  “A couple of stops and then to City Hospice by four.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. North.”

  “I thought we were meeting at your place.” Gabrielle smiles warmly as she crosses the sidewalk in front of City Hospice toward me.

  I push off the hood of the SUV and open my arms to receive her. She falls against my chest, and her hands grip the fabric of my shirt. I nuzzle her hair and breathe her in. “I couldn’t wait.”

  When she leans back to look up at me, I take advantage and drop a kiss on her lips. A soft hum vibrates in my throat at the contact, a barely-there tease. “I couldn’t wait,” I say against her lips. “I had to see you.”

  She pushes up on her toes, kissing me again. This time, she parts her lips. Warmth cascades like honey down my body as her tongue slides against mine.

  “I take it you’re happy to see me?”

  “I am, but I already called a car.” She pulls away from me to look at her phone. “Five minutes.”

  “Cancel it.” I shrug.

  Her eyes widen slightly. “No, I’ll just take it home to shower and pack a bag, and then we can meet back at your place like we planned.”

  I tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Or… we can go to your place together, and you can shower and pack a bag—”

  “No!” She seems shocked by her own outburst and attempts to laugh it off. “I mean, I couldn’t expect you to do that.”

  I cross my arms at my chest. “What’s up with you not wanting me to go to your place?”

  She sighs and shakes her head. “Whatever you’re thinking, I can assure you it’s not that.”

  “You’re not hiding a husband and a handful of kids, are you?”

  “No.” She grins.

  “Roommates who are in the mafia?”

  “No,” she says and gives me a playful shove.

  “Oh, God,” I say and put on my most repulsed face. “Are you a hoarder?”

  She laughs.

  “Do you have dead cats stuck in your couch cushions?”

  “Stop it. No,” she giggles.

  I frown. “Freezer full of body parts.”

  “Nothing like that, I promise.”

  “Then let me take you home, Bee.”

 
Her smile falls, and she blinks at the sound of my nickname for her.

  “It’s okay. I don’t mean to push you.” I take another step back, wanting to give her some space. “We can meet back at my place.”

  When she looks at me, the confusion in her expression disappears, and a hint of a smile returns. She’s about to say something when the Uber pulls up to the curb in front of us.

  A woman steps out. “I’m Loreen. Are you Gabriella?”

  “Yes,” Gabriella says but makes no move toward the car. “Um…” She looks at me, back at the car, and then at her phone screen. “Actually, I’m sorry, I’m going to cancel the ride.”

  Loreen eyes me for a second. “Are you sure?”

  Gabriella shifts a little nervously on her feet, and I can see Loreen is reading the signals.

  “I’m sure, totally.” Gabriella’s spine stiffens, and she looks a little more confident when she turns and heads toward the SUV.

  “Have a good night,” I say to Loreen, and she grumbles about losing money as she climbs back into the car.

  James opens the door, and I slide into the backseat behind Gabriella. When he closes the door, we’re plunged into the semi-darkness of the tinted windows.

  “I hope I didn’t pressure you to—”

  Her head jerks around. “Not at all.”

  I nod.

  She picks at her fingernails, hands balled up in her lap.

  “Where to?” James says from the driver’s seat.

  I look to Gabriella to answer.

  She rattles off an address and part of town.

  “So,” I say as the SUV moves forward. “Tell me about your day.”

  Gabriella

  My stomach is in knots as we head in the direction of my home in Cobble Hill. To avoid dwelling on what Kingston might be thinking about me living in the wealthiest neighborhood in Brooklyn, I tell him about my day. He smiles, nods, and chuckles in all the right places.

  When the driver turns the car onto Henry Street, my stomach sinks.

  My family’s tri-level brownstone was built in 1844 but has been completely stripped and remodeled so that the interior looks more like something from The Jetsons while the exterior still screams founding fathers.