Epilogue #3
Even under the shapeless clothes, and despite the distance, I can make out her hourglass figure.
She wears them with the panache of a princess wearing a gown, and glides like she’s wearing not sneakers, but stilettos.
The pathway in front of her seems to resemble a catwalk; that’s how arresting her gait is.
Thick chestnut hair flows down her back.
I can make out her high cheekbones, the sweep of her nose, the evenly spaced features of her face.
Though I can’t make out the details, I see enough to tell me she’s striking.
Enough to send a sizzle of awareness down my spine, and for the hairs on the back of my neck to rise to attention.
Next time, I’m getting a camera with a high-powered lens so I can watch her closely.
When I received my best friend James’ message to look out for his little sister, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But his message was urgent enough that I headed here right away. That, and the fact I felt at loose ends.
I spent the better part of the last month helping my brother Tyler with his division of the Davenport Group, so he could spend more time with his wife and daughter.
Now that he's resuming his duties, I’m ready for a new challenge.
And the woman in front of me represents the kind of task which is both intriguing and feeds into my sense of responsibility.
I owe James so I’m more than happy to help out.
If I’m honest, the fact that his sister has something indefinable about her which draws me could be a complication, but it’s also alluring.
Besides, I'm here to watch her, so I’m not doing anything wrong, right?
The object of my attention pushes open the waist-level gate—it’s more a demarcation than a deterrent, something which is a red flag among the many other red flags I’ve already spotted in terms of her security—and steps onto the sidewalk.
She hefts her backpack more securely, pulls out her phone and fiddles with it. She walks up the road in the other direction from me, head bent, seemingly occupied with whatever she sees on screen. Then her steps slow. She seems to stiffen and glance around.
Good instincts.
She looks over her shoulder. I’m parked far enough that I’m sure all she’ll make out is an indistinct figure behind the wheel. A food delivery person cycles by.
He stops at a house between us, gets off his bike, walks to the front door, and rings the bell.
It seems to ease her nerves—she turns away and walks on. I release the handbrake, ease off the brake pedal, and let the car roll forward. She rounds the corner. I follow, keeping a careful distance, shadowing her on the fifteen-minute walk to the hospital.
Despite a couple of times when she stops and turns to look over her shoulder to survey the area before she continues, I'm far enough away, and with more vehicles on the road, there's no way she notices me.
She’s more alert, more aware than I expected her to be. It makes me respect her more. It makes me want her even more.
I wait until she’s safely inside the hospital, then turn the van around and head back to her home.
I’m tempted to go in, but damn, that would be an infringement of privacy.
I respect James too much to do that. And it wouldn’t be fair to her either.
I satisfy myself by doing another drive-by around her house to familiarize myself.
Then, I head back to the hospital and park a little way down the road.
My phone vibrates, I check the screen and answer the FaceTime call.
"James?"
"Connor, did you see her?" James’ worried features appeared on the screen. "Is she okay?"
"I did, and she’s fine. I’m headed back to the hospital to wait for her to leave; I'll follow her back home."
He heaves a sigh of relief. "Thanks, man. I’d keep an eye on her myself, but if she’d spotted me, I’d get an earful. She wouldn’t be happy." He makes a face.
"Something tells me, she’s not going to be much more appreciative when she finds out you’ve asked me to fill that role." I jerk my chin at him.
I haven’t spoken to her, but given the stubbornness I’d glimpsed on her face, I’m sure she’s the kind who won’t take too kindly to her brother hovering over her.
Or any other man, for that matter. Not that I’m going to let myself be found out.
I push that thought aside. "What’s this all about?
Why do you think she needs to be watched over? "
James rubs at his temple. Then he nods to someone I can’t see out of frame.
Behind him, I hear the sounds of his kitchen and spot some of his staff dressed in chef’s jackets and aprons scurrying about.
He heads away, and the noise recedes, presumably because he stepped out of the kitchen.
He heads into another room, where he sits down at a desk and places the phone on it.
Then he leans back. "It might be nothing but—"
"But you don’t think so."
He shakes his head. "Phoenix is the youngest of us eight siblings."
"Big family." I grew up with five brothers, plus a half-brother I discovered later, so I'm no stranger to having multiple siblings. But eight sounds excessive, even to me.
James laughs. "Growing up, it was quite competitive between us, as you can imagine. She’s the quietest of the lot.
As the youngest, you’d think she would've been the most spoiled, but she’s always been too independent for that.
She put herself through medical school on her own merit, refusing to take money from any of us to help. "
My esteem for her increases. It’s not cheap to get that kind of education, and she stuck it out on her own.
"She’s always been reticent, but over the past few months she's withdrawn even more into herself. She doesn’t come to family get-togethers or our weekly dinners—not that I blame her.
My family can be a little full-on. But she also doesn’t answer our calls.
She checks in with our mother, and me on occasion, but that’s only through text messages.
She refuses to share her thoughts with us.
And if she knew I was concerned enough to contemplate following her to make sure she's okay, she’d—" He shakes her head. "She’d be pissed off, and that’s putting it mildly. "
"So, you want me to be the one tailing her?"
"I get the impression she’s going through something personal. Something she doesn’t want to share with us. And that’s fine; it’s her prerogative. But it’s also my prerogative, as her brother, to watch out for her and make sure she’s okay."
I nod slowly. "If you want security, you should speak to Quentin or Nathan."
"They’re too busy to take this on personally. Whereas you—"
"Have no such commitments." I twist my lips.
He half-smiles. "It’s the truth."
I blow out a breath. I should be amused that he thinks my lack of a personal life or a family means I have the time to take this on.
Instead, something inside me resents it.
Not that he wants me to help; I’d do that in a heartbeat.
It’s more the fact that I don’t have anything resembling personal commitments or people I care for that clears the way for me to do so. Which is bizarre.
Perhaps, it’s the fact four of my brothers have settled down in the last year and walk around looking happy, that’s making me wonder if Arthur isn’t perhaps right in having given them deadlines to get married?
If you’d told me that a few years ago, I’d have laughed. Now, I have the evidence in front of my eyes, and a part of me is envious. On the other hand, I’m happy in my bachelor state.
“This won’t be cheap," I warn.
He barks out a laugh. "I didn’t expect it to be."
"I’m turning down another assignment to do this." It might cost me my career, but that doesn't seem as important as ensuring I watch over Phoenix.
His features soften. "I appreciate this. My sister is important to me."
And to me.
Perhaps, something of my thoughts shows on my face, for a flicker of something sparks in his eyes. "I’d do anything for her. And if anyone hurts her"—he sets his jaw—"I won't hesitate to punish whoever it is."
Phoenix
"I don’t love you." I look into my boyfriend’s face. "I care about you, but I don’t think I was ever in love with you."
He winces. His lips turn down.
"This is so difficult for me to say, but I believe it’s best to be honest."
The light in his eyes dims, and my heart seizes up. "I don’t mean to hurt you, but it would be wrong to ignore how things are between us, don’t you think?"
He hunches his shoulders, then turns and walks out of the kitchen, past the living room, and into the bedroom. The door slams shut.
I stare at the remnants of the breakfast on my plate.
My heart somersaults in my rib cage. My stomach seems to bottom out.
The food I tried to eat rushes up my throat.
I swallow down the bile, then rise to my feet and place my plate in the sink.
I fill a glass with water from the sink and drink it slowly. It settles me a little.
I’ve been building up to that; I kept putting off the conversation with Drew.
But the lack of sleep and general exhaustion must have lowered my barriers, for when I sat opposite him at breakfast today, I was unable to hold back.
The words I'd rehearsed for days come tumbling out of my mouth.
And the result is far worse than I expected.