by K. C. Ale
Gone.
Gone and forgotten.
Not forgotten. Deliberately suppressed. Carlson would piss on himself with that amateur theory.
Which makes me wonder if it would be better for Gemma if Lee stays buried. We can start fresh. She doesn’t ever have to know.
You’re deliberately keeping who you are from your girl, and you’re wondering why she doesn’t exactly trust you?
Suddenly restless, I toss aside the tools and use my bare hands to grab at a tattered piece, heaving it down in a single elaborate jolt.
A dead boy stands between me and Gemma. And that boy is me. I’d laugh if I’m not so aggravated with the whole fucked up mess.
She’ll learn to trust me. I won’t give her a choice. I didn’t have anything to do with Peter’s new job, and I think, for once, she believed me.
Three hours later, my arms are smarting and my hands throb like a bitch. My shirt is plastered to my sticky skin. I have every intention to keep at it until my tender limbs fall off, but Bull is bounding down the stairs, looking refreshed and eager. The dog pauses at the mass of dilapidated wallpaper scattered all over the floor and busies himself investigating.
This means Gemma is up.
I scowl at the cockblocker and leave him to it.
In the kitchen, I wash the gooey gunk off my hands. Gemma hasn’t eaten all day. She barely touched the orange juice during the flight back. She must be starved.
Even as I’m drying my hands on a towel and scavenging my mind for quick meal ideas, Gemma is wandering in with Bull happily wagging his tail behind her. Her hair is damp, and she’s in another one of those tank tops. This one thinner than any of the others.
And no bra.
Her perky tits jiggle as she comes around and opens the cabinet to grab a glass. “Hey,” she says casually and sticks it under the water dispenser on the fridge door. Her gaze drifts sideways to my sweaty, dirty shirt and frowns. “What are you up to?”
Please, please, please let the water spill on her top. “Just stuff around the house.” Fuck, those teeny shorts should be illegal. “You want to call in a pizza?”
She makes a face before shaking her head. “Not really in the mood for all that grease.”
“What do you feel like?” When she swivels back to the dispenser, I grab the opportunity to adjust the front of my tightening jeans as discreetly as I can manage. “Chinese?”
She takes that moment to turn, her eyes instantly dropping and zooming in on my fingers. “What are you doing?” Her teeth work her bottom lip to fight back a grin. “You naughty man.”
“It’s your fault,” I reason defensively, gesturing at her getup. “Don’t you know better than to strut around half naked?”
Holding out the arm with the glass, she peers down at herself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m perfectly decent.”
“Right. That’s why your nipples are gouging my eyes out. All you need is to dump that glass over yourself and you’d be the intro to amateur porn.”
She tips back her head and laugh. “I think the water would be more useful on you. Wash off some of that grime.” Setting the porn prop aside, she tilts her head, an impish smile joining the twinkle in her eyes. “Why don’t you come here and let me help you with that shirt?”
I don’t dive – barely – but try not to strut across the kitchen. As soon as I’m within reach she’s tugging my tacky shirt up and over my head, her delicate fingers deliberately grazing the skin on my abdomen. I make quick work of kicking off my shoes. Before I know what she’s about, the glass is back in her hand and she’s pouring the fucking ice water down my chest.
“Shit!” I leap back as Bull yelps and immediately scats off.
All kinds of curses are about to gush out when Gemma immediately leans over to lick at the drops. Her wicked tongue drags across my dripping skin, lapping me up like cream.
Fucking hell yeah.
A moan escapes. Mine. Hers. I’m not sure.
She peeks up at me through her lashes. “Your pants are dirty too.”
You bet they are. My fingers practically rip the zipper right off the denim. I’m shucking them off in no time, kicking them aside to let them sop up the mess on the floor. The impatient, splendid woman shoves my boxer briefs down my thighs herself, tsking as my dick springs out in grateful salute.
“What?” I ask
“Such a mess. You must be cleaned.”
I take a second to think back. “I showered this morning.”
She’s shaking her head. “This is a job I must do myself.”
I can’t agree more. “You are the best cock cleaner I know.”
“Um…” Her lips touch mine. Just a skim. “Close your eyes.”
I do as I’m told. I’m buck ass naked in my kitchen in the middle of the day, and Gemma is about to clean me with her tongue. Thank God I didn’t go to work.
That is, until freezing liquid rains down my jutting parts.
My eyes fly open. “Mother of… oh fuck, Gemmy.” She immediately has her entire mouth around my dick, sucking the water right off my blissful skin, crouched in front of me and gripping my ass with one hand for balance. “Fuck,” I groan. That’s all I can manage, because now she’s practically sucking the skin right off me.
My urgent, choppy breaths and the titillating slurping are the only sounds reverberating through the still kitchen. Half-lidded hazel eyes peer up at me with wonder and something else. I seriously don’t have the brain capacity to think about what that might be right now.
Gemma moans deep in throat and I feel it all to way to my toenails.
“Gemmy.” Holy shit, I’m not going to make it. “You need to stop.”
“Ummm.”
She keeps right at it, busy mouth siphoning while her tongue strokes and teases, blunt nails digging into my rigid ass to anchor me in place.
That’s it. That’s it. That’s it. Every felt and unknown muscle in my body tense for blast off. “I’m coming.”
I swear she’s grinning, beaming at me even as I send my pent-up release straight down her waiting throat for what feels like an hour. As the last pulsating drop leaks out of me, Gemma finally releases me, but not before she plants a small kiss at the center of my sweaty, panting chest. On not too steady legs, I fall back against the counter, admiring those tiny shorts clinging to Gemma’s lusciousness as she sashays out.
I might ask her where she’s going, but I need a minute. Maybe two.
The brush of faint fingertips on my abdomen has me jerking up in attention.
Gemma is biting her twitching lower lip and fighting back a smirk. “You were snoozing… while standing.”
That explains why my legs have gone numb. “I was merely resting my eyes.” I flick her nose. “Troublemaker.”
Her arms come around me, resting her cute chin above my heart for a beat before gazing up at me with soft hazel eyes. “I’m famished. What’s for lunch?”
Smoothing back her hair, I taunt, “Worked up an appetite, have you?”
“You only whetted it.” Her lips skim my jaw. “How about something simple?”
I swat her tight bottom. “Let me see what we have.” Scooting her over, I head for the fridge, glancing over my shoulder in time to catch her ogling my ass. “And dessert is on you. Literally.”
“You do realize you’re still naked, right?
I don’t bother to turn. “You got a problem with that?”
“Not one bit.”
“Good, because you can join me at any time.” Looks like Carlson went to the store, I decide as I peruse the shelves. Grabbing the mayo and other sandwich fixings, I line them up on the kitchen island. “Besides, I’ve got socks on. Well, one sock anyway,” I correct with a cursory glimpse. Can’t say I know or care where the partner went.
Gemma grabs a couple of plates and sets them down, still grinning at me as she takes a seat on the stool. “Better be careful with that knife,” she suggests when I get to work on slapping sauce on the
bread. “Wouldn’t want to have an accident.”
The thought has me mentally cringing. “Don’t even think it.” Gemma was always partial to ham and cheese sandwiches as a kid. I fleetingly wonder if she’s grown out of it. She didn’t say anything when I set it down, so it must be okay. “You put that energy out there, and who knows what would happen. Knives are not toys, as my grandma used to lecture. She was no chef, but she taught me enough in the kitchen that I manage not to starve.”
My gaze, which is steady on the sandwiches as I carefully slice off the crusts, jerks up at the abrupt loud bang on the floor.
The stool Gemma was lounging on is sideways on the tile. A look of bewildered horror saturates Gemma’s beautiful face.
Her shocked eyes aren’t on me. They’re on the negligently discarded crusts.
Thirty-three
Gemma
Slim. Precisely cut. The edges of the bread curling like hissing snakes on the counter.
“You always do it so nice. I like it when you make sandwiches. Can you show me how you do that?”
Lee shrugged his lanky shoulders. “What? Cut off the crusts?”
“Yeah,” I said. “You do it different. When mom does it, she cuts away some of the ham too. When you do it, it’s perfect. I want to do it like that so I don’t waste the meat.”
“What for?” He scooted the plastic plate with the seamlessly shaped sandwich in front of me. “I told you I’ll always take care of you.”
“Oh God.” It’s amazing, really. I don’t know how those words trembled out of my suspended lips. “It’s you.” I see it perfectly now. Perfect like his meticulously carved bread.
Lee.
The name, the agonizing memory of it, rams in my throat, suffocating me. And it hurts. Somewhere in my hurtling mind and stinging chest there’s pain. The kind that viciously scars you for life. I’m shaking my head in denial, because even now, with the familiar and beloved green eyes staring at me in absolute panic and apprehension, I don’t want to believe it. Refuse to accept it. Not when tears are seeping down and my body buried in solid ice.
“Gemmy, it’s—”
“Don’t call me that!”
He flinches. It would be comical if I remember how to laugh. A big, gorgeous naked man clutching a knife cringing because little me raised my voice.
“Gemma.” He takes a step towards me. “Let me explain.”
Retreat. There’s no other word for it. That step back is more than distance. Choking down the boulder lodged in my throat, I manage, “Who are you?”
“You know who I am.”
I ignore the despondency in his voice. I can’t afford to consider it. “Evidently, I have no clue.”
His gaze falls away briefly, deliberately resting the knife next to the plate. “Deep down, you know who I am. You’ve always known.” Lips that I adore tighten. “Bradley Christopher Hawkes. You… you used to call me Lee.”
There’s a twister inside me. That’s the only explanation for the rapid swirls whipping me from the inside out. “Lee is dead.” The words were hard. Final. “He died years ago.”
The striking green eyes settle on me. “I’m right here, Gemmy. I’ve been here.” His long legs move, attempting to close the mounting gap between us.
I just as quickly step back. “You’re not Lee. Lee was my friend.” My lips shake violently at that. At the aching lost. “He was my best friend.”
A flash of hurt. It vanishes as though it was a long-forgotten dream. “Then what am I, Gemma?”
“You’re a liar.”
“I’ve never lied to you.”
“You were my father’s boss.” Another step, this one wider than the last. “You were my employer. None of those are true any longer. And you’re not Lee,” I affirm again, shaking my head. That’s a broken reel in my head. “You’re just some guy I lost my virginity to.” This can’t be true. It’s impossible. It’s some sick joke.
“We were neighbors. My father was Peter’s drinking buddy,” he declares, completely disregarding my desperate denials. “You were four when I first met you. A tiny person that tore out of your front door and right at me when I was coming home from school. There was a pink plastic comb stuck in the mess that was your hair, and you were in this long sleep dress with no shoes.”
“What’s your name?” I asked the tall kid I’d seen a few times from my window.
He looked down at me with a funny face. “Bradley,” he finally responded.
“Bat-lee?”
“Bradley,” he corrected, hefting the heavy looking backpack tighter on his shoulder.
“Bad-lee?”
He shook his head, one corner of his mouth tugging up. “Not even close.”
“Lee?”
A dismissive hand. “Yeah sure. Whatever.”
“I’m Gemma. My name is Gemma Warton when I’m in trouble. Do you have a mommy? I saw your daddy.”
“Just me and my dad.”
“My daddy is friends with your daddy. My daddy told me.” I shifted from one restless foot to the other. “You have candies? I like chocolates.”
The big kid blows out a loud breath. “Yeah, I got chocolate.” He glanced up at the grimy window of his house. “Tell you what, I’ll share it with you if you get that ugly comb out of your hair.”
“Yay!”
“Every day when I came home from school you’d run out of your house looking for a candy bar. Your favorite was Kit Kat. I was just a kid. Didn’t have much. I helped this other kid with some homework, and he’d give me whatever treats his parents put in his lunchbox. Then one day he transferred to another school. My supplier gone. I thought for sure you’d run back home and slam the door.” He snatches his boxer briefs from the floor and yank them on. “You did run home, but the next day you raced back out with your own treat and offered it to me.”
“My mommy likes candies too. She hides them. I find them!”
I just keep shaking my head. None of this is real. It can’t be. “Stop lying.”
“You know it’s true. How else would I know all this? After I was taken away, your father… he said you were inconsolable. Said it would be best if you believed I was dead so you could move on.”
“How can that be best?” I shout. “Dead isn’t better! Dead is gone forever!” Cautiously, I take in a deep, raw breath. “Why did they take him? That day. The cops,” I clarify. I’m not going along with his lies, but I need to know what he’d say.
“Gemma.” This time when he gets closer, I stand my ground. “There are certain things that happened that doesn’t need to be remembered.”
Impatiently, I swipe at a damp cheek. “Lee was acting different. Defiant. Being a teenager. What kind of trouble did he get into?”
It’s his turn to shake his head. “It’s not important anymore.”
“Not important? Are you kidding me?” I stare at him incredulously. “The cops thought it was important. My father thought it was important that you claimed he concocted this stupid farce.” It would be like him to come up with this impetuous scheme. “Tell me.”
Weary, he scoops back his hair. “No, Gemma.”
*****
No.
Like I was a child he needed to deny for asking too many questions.
No.
As if Bradley Hawkes has something to hide.
How he knew those things about me and Lee, I don’t know. Perhaps my dad shared them with him, except my dad wouldn’t know the minor details. Kit Kat. How could he possibly have known about that?
Ugh! This is so frustrating. Barricaded in my room, I flop back on the mattress. No one would tell me anything. Bits and pieces. It’s worse than torture. If I think about it anymore, I’m going to go insane.
When my cell begins to ring, I pick it up on the first ring. Anything to distract myself.
“Gem, I’m sorry.” Craig starts without preamble. “I shouldn’t have been so hard on you. I know this situation with your father isn’t easy. I just want you to be happy.”
My heart tugs at his confession. “I know.” Craig is the brother I never had. No matter how many times or how viciously we fight, at the end of the day, we’re family. “And I’m sorry for getting upset.”
“How’s your father?”
“He seemed good. He…” Deep inhale. “He’s going to stay in Sedona. Permanently. He got a job there.”
There’s a hesitation. “How do you feel about that?”
I choke out a tense laugh. “Scared. Happy at the same time, I guess, mostly because he seemed happy. I don’t know yet. It hasn’t completely sunk in.”
His voice softens. “This might be good for him, buttercup. What’s he going to be doing?”
“Groundskeeper at the treatment center. Hope Sanctuary.”
“Huh, that’s a coincidence,” Craig observes as though to himself.
“What? That they offered him a job there?”
He makes a noise. “I was just thinking that it’s a coincidence the place is called Hope Sanctuary. I mean, it makes sense, but isn’t your middle name Hope?”
I frown at the ceiling. “That is a coincidence,” I agree, considering the odds. “Like you said though, the name makes sense for a treatment center.” Doesn’t it?
We stay on the phone for another fifteen minutes with us making plans to meet at the end of the week, but my head isn’t on the coming weekend.
What if, for just an outrageous moment, I contemplate Brad’s story to be as he said?
Ever since I barged into HC and Brad became an integral part of my life, I’ve been unnerved with reminders of Lee. Each time I looked into Brad’s clear green eyes, I saw Lee’s mischievous gaze. Then there’s the way he makes me feel. I haven’t been so cherished, felt so safe and cared for, since Lee.
I wish I can just ask my father, but I’m not sure I can trust him anymore. Not about this.
“Ask Mr. Hawkes some time. Say, ‘Brad, tell me about the first time you met me.’ See what he says. Just ask him. Say those exact words.”