The Secrets You Keep

by Foster, Delaney

  That’s why no one ever came to the hospital. She lost her mother. And now her father is gone too. She’s alone. And broken. That’s why she spends all her time trying to forget. She’s lost so much in such a short time. I want to pick up all her broken pieces and put them back together. To make her feel whole again. I tear the colorful wrapping paper from the package and set it to the side.

  “A first aid kit?”

  She answers with a proud smile. “Because there might not always be a doctor next door.”

  I place the white plastic box on top of the dresser and move closer to her. “I was hoping to change that.” My hand cradles her face, my thumb grazing her cheek.

  “Callan…” She closes her eyes and sighs. “I can’t afford to care about anyone else. There’s not enough of my heart left to be broken.”

  I bring my forehead to hers. “Open your eyes, Grace. Look at me.” She obeys. “Let me in. Give me your pain. I can take it. It’s who I am. It’s what I do. Trust me. Let me be your safe haven.” I let my hand rest on the curve of her hip, pulling her closer. She doesn’t resist. I keep going. “Take off your shirt.” Without hesitation, she steps back, away from my touch, and lifts her tank top over her head. No bra. Perfect breasts. Round, pink nipples hard and ready to be sucked. I twist one of them between my fingers, drawing another gasp from her lips. She throws her head back, and I bring my mouth to her ear. “There’s something you need to know.” She grabs my shoulders, and I take her hands, pulling them behind her back. There’s a black, silk robe draped across the foot of her bed. I slide the belt from its loops and move behind her, bending her arms behind her back. I wrap the silk around her wrists twice, holding them in place. I slip her pants from her hips and let them fall to the floor. I reach around her body and run a finger along the seam of her panties. Soaking wet. Just like I knew she would be. Leaning forward, I whisper against her neck. “When we’re like this.” I slip my finger inside her panties. My other hand cups her breast. She moans. “When I’m touching you. Tasting you. Fucking you.” Her head falls back as I slide the finger inside her. “I own you.” She’s so hot. So wet. “All this, your silky black hair, your beautiful brown eyes. These perfect tits.” I roll her nipple between my finger. She cries out, her body quivering against mine. “And this delicious pussy. All of it. Every last inch. Belongs to me.” I brush her clit with my thumb while my finger fucks her. “Do you want that, Grace? Do you want to belong to me?” She moans her answer, her hips grinding against my hand.

  “Yes,” she breathes. “I want that.”

  “Oh, beautiful girl, I have so much to show you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Grace

  I want to touch him. I want to cry out. I want to beg him to fuck me. And I don’t want to say a word. Because the look on his face when he turns me around is one of sheer pleasure. And my heart flutters with excitement knowing I’m the one who put it there.

  His voice hypnotizes me. Soothes me. In that moment, I trust him. I give him control because I know he can handle it. And I know that unapologetic control is exactly what I’d been waiting for. He bends me over the edge of my bed. His hand lays flat on my spine. A rustle of fabric and the metallic growl of his zipper and he’s entering me. So hard. So full. Flesh against flesh. Hungry and possessive. Devouring my body with pleasure. He fucks me. No mercy. The pleasure borders on pain, and it’s threatening to eat me alive. The pressure of his fingers against my throat. The thrust of his cock. Sweaty flesh and breathless whispers. Time stands still. The cloud of grief blows away. All my fears vanish with every drive of his hips. The only thing that matters is him. This. Us.

  With a fist in my hair, he turns my head to face him. His tongue blazes a trail of heat along the seam of my lips. Then he kisses me. Claiming me. Taking what’s his.

  “Do you want to come?”

  “Yes.” The word is a plea. A prayer. Please. I’m about to come undone.

  “Ask me.”

  “May I?”

  “Come. Give me everything. Let me have you.”

  His permission releases the hold I have on my senses. Pulsing, clenching, covering his cock in my arousal, I come. Hard.

  I lie there, breathless, face against the soft down of my comforter. The air around us is full of sex. I can still taste the peppermint on his tongue. Callan gently slips the silk belt from my wrists then rolls me over onto my back. The skin on my breasts glistens with sweat as I fight to catch my breath. He leans over me, deep blue eyes full of satisfied pride.

  “You haven’t even begun to enjoy what I can do to you.”

  ***

  I’ve never felt so pampered, so cherished as I did after I gave myself to Callan. He spent the night stroking my hair and tracing his fingertips across my bare skin, making me feel precious and safe.

  He left this morning with the promise that I would see him again before he had to go. He had things to do, and I needed to try to make it a full shift at the hospital. I don’t want to think about him leaving. Or what happens after that. Or the fact that he’s just started putting me back together and losing him will only tear me apart again. My heart can’t manage any more pain right now. So, I do what I do best. I block it out. I focus on saving people. Because in its own funny way, that’s how I save myself.

  I park next to the emergency entrance, no more than fifty feet from the door, right under the parking lot lights. I manage to make it a full six hours before the grief threatens to swallow me whole. I thought going back to work would take my mind off the fact that I’m completely lost without my father. But I was wrong. I’ve tried for the past two days to get back into some sort of routine, but nothing helps. Every sound, every smell, every thought leads to my dad. Until last night. Until Callan showed up at my door, knowing exactly what I need without me ever saying a word.

  When I get home, Natalie’s car is parked in the driveway. She has a key. Why didn’t she just go inside?

  “You could’ve just gone in,” I tell her once she rolls down her window.

  “I lost my key. And I wasn’t sure when you’d be going back to work.”

  Her eyes are bloodshot, and I’m ashamed to admit I can’t tell if it’s from drinking or crying.

  “Well, I would’ve called you and told you but—”

  “Look… I just came to get a few things. I didn’t come here to argue.”

  Is she serious right now? I laugh. Loud, obnoxious, and amused. The nerve.

  “Wow. Now? Now you show up? See, Nat, that’s the thing. You didn’t come here at all. Not after Mom died. Not when Dad was sick. Not when he got worse. You never came. And now… Now you show up asking for stuff? That’s fucking rich. Even for you.”

  She rolls her eyes, raising her window as she shifts the car in drive.

  “We can’t all be perfect. Amazing Grace.” She laughs and shakes her head. “Saving the world. Too bad you weren’t able to save Dad. And you can stop trying to save me. But you can bring me the lamp on Mom’s dresser. The stained glass Tiffany one I got her for her birthday. If you’re ever in my neighborhood.”

  Her window closes, the glass nothing more than a steel wall standing between us, and she pulls out of the driveway without another word.

  She’s right. I couldn’t save him. The monitors. The medicine. The sleepless nights making sure he was still breathing. And he’s still gone.

  Three hours later, the doorbell jars me awake. I didn’t even realize I’d cried myself to sleep on the couch. Lucas stands in the darkness of the entryway, his eyes shining with tears.

  I lift him up and carry him inside. “Hey, big guy. What’s got you so sad?”

  I don’t really need to ask. I only need one guess. He sweeps the sleeve of his long sleeve T-shirt across his watery eyes.

  “She’s gone again,” he says, his words broken as he works to catch his breath. “I came home from school, and she wasn’t there. But sometimes she works late. So, I waited.” He hiccups between tears. “Then it got dark. And I g
ot hungry.”

  I imagine him, alone and looking at the door. Checking out the window for her car. Scared and hungry. I curse my sister right now. And I refuse to let Lucas see me cry. I set him on the couch where I was just sleeping.

  “Where is she, Aunt Grace? Why didn’t she come home?”

  Oh, Natalie. I should’ve known she’d pull something like this. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have argued with her. I shouldn’t have gotten her upset. I should have just given her the lamp without the third degree. I have to find her. I have to fix this. For Lucas.

  “We’ll find her, sweet pea. I promise.”

  He curls his knees up against his chest and rests his head on the arm of the couch. I pull his gray Converse tennis shoes from his little feet and cover him with a quilt.

  “Did John bring you?” I ask him.

  He nods. His eyes are puffy and red. As many times as that poor teenage kid has had to bring Lucas to our house in the middle of the night, I’m surprised his parents haven’t called CPS yet.

  “Okay,” I say, finding his favorite television show to distract him. “I’m going to go get Annette. Then I’ll find your mom. You get some sleep. Deal?” I hold out my pinky.

  He wraps it around his. “Deal.”

  ***

  My body vibrates with the beat of the music. The scent of sweat, alcohol, and too much cologne hits me like a freight train as I fight through the crowd of the nightclub. A tall, bald guy with more confidence than class grabs my ass when I walk by. It’s been a while since I’ve dated, but I’m pretty sure that’s not the best way to make a first impression.

  A familiar scent—mahogany and leather—forces my head around as a pair of hands grabs my waist.

  “Is this where all the hot doctors come to unwind after a long day?” Callan asks, and his voice sets my soul on fire. I ache for him the moment he touches me.

  “Only when there are no more bays at Top Golf,” I tease, hoping he gets the humor.

  He laughs, and his entire face lights up. “Then you’re good with a club?”

  “Only if it’s putt-putt. Clubs aren’t really my thing. That kind… or this one,” I say, waving my hand in the air around us.

  “No?” He arches a brow, noting the hypocrisy in my statement.

  “No. I’m looking for my sister. Sometimes she… disappears.”

  “And it’s your job to find her?”

  “I’m all she’s got.” The truth in my words is like a knife through the heart. “She’s not a bad person.” Why am I defending her? “Sometimes she just… loses her way. Acting out is her way of escaping.”

  “Clubs—either kind—aren’t my thing either. The owner is an old friend. I came to say hello before I leave.”

  Focus on the music, the sound of his voice, not the words he’s saying. You knew he was leaving. But don’t think about that right now.

  He strokes the side of my face. My eyes drift shut from the sensation of his touch. His fingertips trace my jaw, down my neck, to the top of my bare shoulder. Then he takes my chin between two fingers, bringing my face to meet his. Before I can speak, his mouth is on mine. Powerful and fierce. Owning me. Just like he said he would. I feel the instant swell of my lips when he pulls away. “I know you care about your sister. And I know you want to help.” He takes my hand and leads me through the crowd toward the exit. “But sometimes the best way to help someone… is to let them go.”

  I take another look across the crowded dance floor and row of people lining the bar. She’s not here. There are a hundred other places she could be. Am I really going to spend another sleepless night trying to find her? And what happens when I do? I’ll take her home and watch her sleep until I know she’s okay. She’ll wake up and pretend like none of it ever happened. And we’ll do it all again in a few weeks.

  Maybe Callan’s right. Maybe it’s time to let her go.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Grace

  I fall asleep to the rhythm of Callan’s steady breathing, wrapped in the warmth of his touch. He insisted on staying with me even though I told him I’d be okay. Annette assured me I did the right thing before she went home, but part of me feels like I should get in my car and not stop driving until I find Natalie. Then I think about the little boy asleep in the guest bedroom. And how he deserves so much more than a lifetime of nights like this.

  It feels as if I’ve just closed my eyes when the doorbell starts going off with an anxious fury. What the hell? I glance at the digital clock on my nightstand, my eyes adjusting to the bright red numbers. It’s 3:00 a.m.

  I climb out of bed and make my way around the still dark room. My heart beats with terror. At three in the morning, there are only two things it could be. The police. Or someone running from a serial killer. And I’m not excited about either one.

  I pull the door open, slowly, carefully, my pulse thumping in my veins.

  Natalie.

  She looks like she’s walked through hell to get here. Her lipstick is smeared across her cheek. Her mascara nothing more than a black streak down her face. And the collar of her dark purple tank top is ripped at the seam. My God, Nat. What happened to you? She’s shaking. And cold. Her hand is clammy in mine as I take it and pull her inside.

  She curls up against my body, buries her face in the crook of my neck, and sobs.

  “I’m sorry. Grace, I’m so sorry.”

  “Ssssshhhh. Don’t. Don’t think about that.”

  She struggles to control her breathing.

  “It’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re home.” I brush her hair back from her face, so I can look at her. “We need to get you cleaned up and in some fresh clothes.”

  All the anger, all the resentment, all the frustration from earlier is gone now. She’s my sister, and she’s in pain. All the way from the inside out. And no matter what she wants, no matter what Callan says, I have to help her. She wraps her arm around my shoulder as I carry her to the bathroom.

  Callan is awake and standing in my doorway. His eyes convey both an understanding and sadness as if he recognizes something in my sister that brings him pain. And that melts my heart.

  “We’re okay,” I tell him quietly as we walk past, and he nods but doesn’t go back to bed.

  I help Natalie undress while the tub fills with water. I hear Callan in the kitchen, then smell the fresh roast of a brewing pot of coffee. He didn’t sign up for any of this. He didn’t ask for restless nights in hospital waiting rooms or sitting up taking care of my sister. But he endures them anyway. And when I think about it, something undeniably hopeful builds up in my chest.

  Natalie climbs in the bathtub, and I lather the loofah, inspecting her body for injury while I wash her. Tears spill from her eyes as I pour hot water over her hair.

  “I need help, Grace.”

  Never once in the two years I’ve been rescuing her has she ever said those words out loud. On the outside she fights to appear so strong, so put together. But on the inside, she’s a broken little girl crying for help. It’s heartbreaking.

  “You were right. I didn’t come. I couldn’t. There was so much of Mom still here. I just couldn’t. Then Dad got sick and…” She starts to sob again, and I take her hand. “It hurt to see him that way. What he’d become. I don’t know how you did it. You were always so strong. I didn’t mean what I said. I know you don’t try to be perfect.”

  “You’re strong too, Nat.”

  “No. I’m not. But I want to be. I don’t want to do this anymore, Grace. I don’t want to be this person.” She squeezes my hand and closes her eyes as if she can wish away the ugliness she feels.

  “You really mean it? You’re ready to get help?” She nods, and I heave a thankful sigh. “Then, I’ll make sure you get it. No matter what it takes.”

  “What about Lucas?”

  “Lucas just wants his mother back.”

  She starts to cry again, letting go of my hand to wipe her tears.

  I look over at her and smile. “And he’ll ha
ve her. Better than ever. Until then, I’ll take care of him.”

  And I will. I’ll take care of both of them. Natalie is going to be okay. She has to be.

  “Do you have any idea how remarkable you are?” Callan says when I step out of the bathroom to get Natalie some clean clothes. He links his finger in the waistband of my pants and pulls me close.

  “I’m starting to get an idea.”

  His mouth turns up in a seductive grin. “No, you’re not. Not yet. But I do plan on showing you.”

  ***

  “Take those off,” he says, his words a command my body has no choice but to obey.

  After a hot cup of coffee and a little pampering, Natalie went to sleep in the guest room with her son. She didn’t tell me what happened to her to bring her to my door, and I didn’t ask. That conversation will happen when it’s time. Right now, the house is quiet, and Callan is standing at the foot of my bed eyeing my gray T-shirt and polka dot pajama bottoms.

  I slip the thin cotton fabric over my head. Then pull the bottoms from my hips, leaving myself displayed for him in nothing more than a pair of sheer white panties. He never makes a sound. He doesn’t speak, except to tell me what he wants. But his eyes tell me all I need to know. They flash with uninhibited desire. The desire to take, to claim, to own. Outside of Callan, I am my own. I serve others, help them because I want to. Because that’s what keeps me whole. But when I’m alone with him, like this. I belong to him. Long before I even met him. I was his.

  “Now mine.” His firm tone is soft and deep.

  The cool air breathes against my naked breasts, bringing my nipples to a peak. I reach forward with steady hands and pull the black T-shirt over his head, admiring the silky smoothness of his skin. I run my fingertip across a raised scar on his chest, and he grabs my wrist. The pressure is enough to make me stop, but not enough to cause any pain. I don’t ask what happened there, and something tells me that he wouldn’t tell me if I did.

  He lets go of my hand, and I drop to my knees and take off his pants. His cock, thick and solid, taunts me as I remove his underwear. I’d give anything to taste him. Then, as if he’s reading my thoughts, he wraps my hair around his fist and pulls my mouth against his flesh.