by K. C. Ale
“Is there ham sandwich?” I like the way mom and Lee made sandwiches. They cut off the crusts. “And juice?”
There was a smile on Lee’s face when he pulled out a small loaf of bread. “Don’t you mean sammich?”
I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t four anymore, but he still made fun of how I said things. “Don’t be a bully.”
“No ham, but there’s cheese. You want a cheese sandwich?”
It didn’t sound as good as ham, but I was too hungry to be picky. “Okay.” Wiping my dirty cheeks against my shoulder, I asked Lee, “How come you know how to do so much stuff? You’re just a kid like me.”
An almost empty jar of mayo was set on the counter before he grabbed a plastic plate. “I’m a big kid. And ’cause my grandma taught me how to take care of myself and my dad before she died.” Bony shoulders shifted. “No big deal. ‘s not that hard.”
I chewed on my lip as he used a knife to carefully slice off the edges of the bread. “Can you teach me?”
He didn’t look up from what he was doing. “Teach you what?”
“How to take care of myself.”
He frowned. “Sure, but you know I’ll always take care of you, Gemmy.”
That made my growling belly feel better. Restless, I squirmed in my seat. “Promise?”
Setting down the knife, he gave me a funny look for a long, long time. “Promise.”
My lids lift lethargically, unwillingly, as trails of dampness streak down my temples into my hair. The long-forgotten pierce in my heart, violently sharp and crippling, fast fading away. Groggily I become cognizant of the fact I’m lying on a bed, a soft white sheet covering most of my limp body. Bright sunlight spills in from the wide window, though I can’t make out anything beyond the glass other than a clear blue sky. There’s no one around, but by the lush and tasteful furnishings, the high ceiling and modern lighting, the incredibly cozy mattress, it’s obvious I’m in someone’s very comfortable bedroom.
Gingerly I test my arms. They move on command and without hindrance. My legs, too, seem to be in perfectly working order. There’s a mild throbbing in my head as I scoot to a sitting position, the left side of my face stinging. They’re tolerable so I ignore the discomfort, scooping my hair back as the sheet slip to my stomach to reveal my unassuming pink bra.
A bottle of water sits on the table next to the bed, and I don’t hesitate but put it to good use, letting the cool liquid slither down my neglected and irritated throat. Returning it half empty, I take a deep, calming breath, noting the silky glide of the sheet against my bare thighs, and file that detail away.
Wherever I am, at least I still have my underwear.
And just where am I?
The last thing I remember is… Brad Hawkes. The observatory. His jacket wrapped pleasantly around me. His arms, protective yet gentle. It vaguely, maddeningly reminds me of someone.
Was that why I had the dream?
Before I can give it too much thought there’s a low knock at the door and the man himself walks in. I barely have enough time to hike up the sheet for decency, clutching it against my nearly naked chest.
Without reserve or hesitation, he plops down on the side of the bed facing me. “How are you feeling?”
“Not too bad, I guess.” Why does my voice sound so scratchy? “What is this place?”
A hand lifts and sweeps back my hair behind a shoulder. “This place is my home.”
A part of me knew that. I just didn’t want to believe it. “Why am I here?”
Ten
Brad
I don’t know. I don’t know what to do with us anymore.
I can’t very well tell her that, not if I don’t want her to freak out. Not if I want her to stay. I have a promise to keep, and this time, nothing and no one will keep me from it.
“You needed medical attention. I made sure that happened in an environment I can fully trust.” God, she’s absolutely adorable with her hair every which way but down, her beautiful eyes still drowsy, her pert lips sulking. And that death grip she has on the sheet would be downright comical if I can buy a sense of humor right now. “The doctor said you have some minor bruising on your neck, your cheek, and your back. They’ll heal.”
The thought of that fucker putting his hands on her makes my blood boil all over again.
The dark thoughts must’ve shown on my expression, because her weary eyes widen first in disbelief and then apprehension before she starts delicately broadening the space between us.
“Where are my clothes?” she asks abruptly, her nervous gaze darting about looking for her garments.
“I had to take them off, Gemma. Dr. Bae needed to examine you, and I wasn’t about to let him remove them.” Never mind that I made him check her in sections with a blanket tossed over the rest of her, despite all his annoying grumbles about doing his job. “They’ve been cleaned.”
Her fingers tighten until they’re white. “I want them back. I want to go home.”
“There’s no need for that,” I try to reassure her in as gentle a voice as I can manage, like calming an injured animal. “You’re perfectly safe here. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Where’s my dad?”
“He left for Arizona.” Her lips quiver, starkly reminding me of the lost little girl from so many years ago. The image nearly shatters me on the spot. “You’re safe here, Gemmy. No one would dare touch you, you hear me?”
Those lips part but no sound escapes for several beats. Big hazel eyes nearly swallow her face. “Wha… what did you call me?”
I still.
Fuck.
Her old nickname just slipped. I hadn’t meant to call her that.
“Gemmy,” I allow slowly as though testing the name. “Isn’t that what Peter calls you?”
She gazes at me, unblinking. “My dad doesn’t call me that. No one’s called me that since I was a kid.”
I was the only one who ever called her Gemmy. “You sure?” I feign puzzlement. “I could’ve sworn I heard Peter calling you that. Oh wait. I think you were out cold, and in his panic, he must’ve fallen back on it. In any case, I think you need to get some rest.”
She’s not buying it. Her suspicious gaze dances all over my features, boldly prodding into every curve and shape, the color of my eyes to the bend of my brows. She stills suddenly, engaging eyes abruptly growing distant, her lips parting to suck in an audible, rushed breath.
Is she… is she on the fringes of remembering me?
In that held second my inhale and my heart pause only to have the latter beat a wild tempo against my chest. My mouth goes dry as a surge of unexpected alarm seizes me.
Immediately I’m up, pacing away, not wanting her to see me. Really see me. The powerless sixteen-year-old boy who left her to her own miserable devises. Not now. Not yet. Feebly my hands jam into my pockets so she won’t notice them quaking.
I take my time to brood out the window. Not even my reflection wants to look at me. Glancing back, I say “Dr. Bae will be by later to check on you again.”
Long lashes flutter, seeming to bring her back to the present. Then she’s sulking – rather adorably - but seems too tired to pursue it. “You’ve done enough for me as it is. The money, helping my dad with his… habit. Not to mention the doctor.” She swallows. “I don’t have much, but I’ll get another job. Pay you back. It might take some time, but I ca—“
After everything we’ve been through, that just enrages me. “Shut up, Gemma.”
“Just hear me out. It’s important to me t—“
I’m rounding the bed before she can finish the despicable thought. “Shut it.” Maybe that came out too harshly, but shit… “Don’t even think about finishing that sentence.”
She snaps up her lips to glare at me. I don’t know who’s more amazed that she actually complied. Defenseless against my own frustration, my buried hands fist stiffly.
“I’m only going to say this once. I don’t need nor do I want your money. I told Peter he would not h
ave to worry about you and I intend to honor my word. Fully. There’s no point in arguing because it’s not a debate. I’m just sharing a fact, so live with it.”
The glare turns into a glower. “You sure are bossy for someone so young.”
I can only shrug at that. What can I say? Sometimes I feel like I might’ve fathered dirt. “Do we have an understanding?”
Her gaze falls away, cheeks turning that pretty pink, and hikes up the sheet to her chin. “For how long do you expect me to stay here?”
You’ll never have to worry about it.
“As long as it takes.”
She ponders that before nodding, accepting the words with innocent trust. “It really isn’t necessary, Mr. Hawkes, but I guess a few days won’t be a big deal. I wouldn’t want my dad wasting energy on worrying about me when he should be focused on getting better. I can email my professors and let them know of the situation. Take a couple of sick days from work. It shouldn’t be more than that.” A frown mars her brow. “But I don’t have any of my stuff here.”
“That’s not an issue,” I assure her, glad she’s not disputing me too much. “We have everything you can possibly need.”
The bedding loosens from her death grip but still manages to completely conceal her from breasts to toes. “I’d rather have my own things.”
“Very well.” I can be a reasonable man. After all, she agreed to stay. The least I can do is allow a few of her things. Never mind that amenities have been fully stocked in preparation for her. Sliding my phone out of my pocket, I tap out a quick text. “Carlson can pick up whatever it is you want.”
Long, wild hair sways as she shakes her head. “There’s no way I’m letting Carlson go through my underwear.”
That gets me scowling. “You got that right.”
“Just a few changes of clothes.” Utterly drained, her head falls back against the headboard, peering at me with languid lids. “I have two roommates. Craig and Jamie. Will you call them?”
I nod, but she’s already drifting, her head starting to loll to the side. Carefully, I reposition her until her head is resting on the white pillow once again.
Quietly slipping out of the guest bedroom, I find Carlson lounging against the opposite wall in the hallway, massive arms folded against his chest.
“Got your text,” he starts in his booming voice. “You’re letting your id run amuck.”
“My id is still in my pants, asshole, so don’t start with me. And keep your voice down.” I scald and scowl at his stupid hulk smirk. “Gemma is sleeping.”
The smirk alters into a disgusted sneer. “Already she’s running the house. What next? The company? Your bank accounts?”
“How about my guard?” I retort crossly. “You don’t live here, remember? Don’t you have other things you need to do? Like tracking down Gemma’s roommates?”
He shoves off from the wall. “Whatever, man. I’m just trying to talk some sense into you. Clearly, your ego has taken a pussy stroll.”
“My ego? What the hell are you jacking off about?”
“Not your ego. Your ego,” he clarifies by adding to the nonsense. “As in id, ego, and superego.”
“And you need to go. Get the fuck out of my face and go earn your outrageous salary. I don’t pay you for your id or your ego, super or otherwise.”
The colossal asshole has the nerve to pfft at me. “Need I remind you that you fired me? Again.”
“In that case, you’re rehired. Now you’re fired.”
The blimp that’s Carlson’s oversized head is shaking, the motion no doubt generating power energy. “You’d be lost without me, Hawkes, and you know it. That girl in there?” He jerks his sausage thumb towards the closed bedroom door. “She’d have you wrapped around her little finger in no time if I’m not around to bash some sense into you. And by the way,” he remarks, “Peter Warton is safely checked-in and beginning detox. You’re welcome,” he grumbles as he heads down the hall.
Eleven
Gemma
“Holy shit, Gemma, this is some digs.” Perfectly at home, Craig bounces onto the amazing bed, crossing his jeans-clad legs underneath him. “You hit the jackpot this time, girl.”
Truth is, I wouldn’t know about the digs, as Craig so eloquently put it. Having napped most of the day away, only awakened for Dr. Bae’s quick follow-up assessment under Hawkes’s watchful eye, I hadn’t had an opportunity to feel my way around the house.
Then I was told Jamie and Craig were almost here, and I haphazardly don on a borrowed, oversized t-shirt and a cashmere scarf to hide the colorful bruises on my neck. If either of my roommates thought it was odd I was wrapped up in designer neck wear while in bed, they haven’t commented on it.
More subdue, Jamie lowers his tall frame onto an accent chair near the bay window, his quiet blue eyes doused with concern. “What’s going on, Gem? You were going to see your father, and the next thing we knew, Brad Hawkes is having your things summoned.”
I jerk a shoulder, not entirely sure how to explain it. Not when the details are murky even to me. “I’m only staying here for a few days,” I remind them and myself. “Brad Hawkes assured my dad he’d look out for me while he’s in Arizona. A few days was our compromise.” At least, I think that was a concession. “I don’t have any intention of staying longer than that.”
“Really?” Unconvinced, Craig nods at the bulging overnight bag abandoned on the floor just inside the room. “Then why did I have to pack up all your girly thingamajigs?”
Perplexed, I cut a questioning glance to Jamie before returning to Craig. “What do you mean?”
“His majesty bade us to bring all we can manage, down to those ugly-ass rabbit ear socks of yours I tried to bury with a shovel last winter. Tatted Gigantor was hefting your stuff in as soon as we pulled into the driveway. But no worries,” Craig adds with a knowing smirk and a wink, “I wouldn’t let him touch your undies and brought them in myself.”
“Gemma. All your worldly possessions are now in this house,” Jamie gets out when I can only stare, mute and dumbfounded, at Craig. “Wasn’t that what you wanted?”
“That can’t be right.” My harried gaze dart from one man to the other. “You were only supposed to bring a few days’ worth of clothes.”
Jamie looks inquiringly at Craig, who suddenly appears more confused than me.
“That wasn’t what I heard,” he replies to the silent question. “In fact, Mr. High and Mighty’s exact words were, ‘Gemma requested her personal belongings be brought to my residence. She will no longer require the apartment.’” He nods as if that’s that. “Since you didn’t have a lot of things, it didn’t take us long.” A dramatic sigh of longing. “He’s mag-ni-fi-cent, Gem. I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on us.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Trust me, I haven’t held anything. He’s Mr. Hawkes, my father’s former employer. Nothing more.” Since Craig is obviously a lost cause, I try to reason with Jamie. “Please tell me he’s joking. You didn’t really move me out without even talking to me first, did you?”
“Gemma.” Jamie’s contrite expression more than his tone is answer enough. He joins me on the bed opposite Craig. “This Hawkes guy. What’s he up to? And how did you end up in his bed if there’s nothing going on between you?”
“I’m not in his bed. Well…” I flick out a dismissive hand. “I guess technically, it is his bed, but I’m not in his bed. He’s just… he’s helping my dad,” I finish lamely.
“But why would someone like Brad Hawkes go out of his way for an ex-employee? Yes, I get that he has the resources, but most people, even if money isn’t an issue, wouldn’t do something like this, much less take in his daughter.” Unwavering blue gaze centers on me. “Unless he has an ulterior motive.”
With unabashed excitement twirling around him, Craig shifts closer and enthusiastically jiggles my leg over the bedding. “Buttercup, I think he wants you. God, but he’s worth wanting, too.” The animated grin holds for a spell as he
takes in the flush creeping up my face. Then his eyes narrow suspiciously. “Oh hell no. I knew it! You have been holding out on us!”
Sometimes I really hate my fair skin. “We just… I don’t know. I mean, nothing really happened.”
“Define nothing.”
If zealous Craig leans in any further, he’d face plant on the mattress. Even the normally tame Jamie seems to be holding his breath for some grand confession.
Wishing futilely I’m anywhere else, I begin plucking at some invisible lint off the bedding. “The usual stuff, I guess,” I mumble.
“Gemma Warton, did you or did you not lose your v-card to Brad Hawkes?”
“Of course not!” I announce to punctuate my glare.
Both men deflate in disappointment.
Craig sighs. “Did you at least give him an IOU for it?”
“Believe me, guys, I already owe him a lot. More than either of you can imagine.” It’s my turn to wither. “More than I can possibly pay back.”
“What do you mean?” Jamie wants to know.
I chew on my lip, dying to share it with someone but not sure where to begin. “He’s been kind of leaving me money. At Conyers’. A lot of them.” Eyes downcast, I tell them of the many generous tips left at my tables, time and time again for the last few weeks, how it started on the busy night Brad Hawkes stopped by for turkey burger and white wine. “I’ve not spent a penny of it,” I quickly assure my appropriately stunned roommates. “Even though I really wanted to. I tried to return them, but he refused to admit they were from him.”
“But Gemma…” Thoroughly staggered, Jamie peers at me with disbelief. “Why would he do that? You just met him a month ago. It doesn’t add up.”