Chapter 16 #2
“Are you all right?”
“He… uh… we were supposed to meet for dinner.”
“And he still wants to?”
“Yeah.” And more.
“You’re not going, are you?”
“Not sure I can walk, let alone ride.” Not true. I’ve ridden a bike in a far worse state than this. It’s all about focus.
“Okay, then.” She pats my thigh. “Get some food in?”
“Sure.” I’m still staring at the text.
“Chinese?”
“Sure.” An hour and a half until he’s sitting at a table, by himself. He’ll be calling me by quarter after. Texts every few minutes past then. Figuring something is wrong when I don’t answer, the gradual passage of time until it becomes a certainty.
Will he guess that I know?
“Shall I reply?” I ask. “Say I’m not coming?”
“No, fuck that.” Tasha’s resolute. “Let the bastard stew.”
She’s probably right.
I turn my phone to do not disturb and set it face down, back on the table. Then push it away another inch.
Tasha holds her hand out. “Give it to me.”
I’m not certain her judgment is any better than mine. She’s drunk more, too. But I hand it over.
Tasha powers it off, then stuffs it down the side of the couch. “You get it back tomorrow, if you’re good.”
“Yes, Mom.”
We watch another film and eat takeout, and I have no idea what we watch or what I ate.
But I fall asleep on Tasha’s sofa bed, the wine helping me to a welcome oblivion.
I wake up Sunday morning with less of a hangover than I expected, stand under the shower for long enough that some of it is washed away, and hit the rest with coffee.
Tasha groans from the bedroom, clearly dying, so I bring her a cup.
“How are you up?” she asks from beneath her pillow.
“It’s a morning thing.”
“It’s disgusting, is what it is. I suppose you’re going to go and do things?”
I smile and take a sip of coffee. “I had intended to head down to Lou’s and work on my bike ahead of this evening.”
“What time are we meeting?”
“Seven.”
“See you then.” The duvet gets pulled over her pillow, followed by a muffled, “Don’t forget your phone.”
Like I’ve been thinking of anything else. “Thank you for letting me crash.”
“Anytime.” A hand emerges and flaps at me. “Please go, before I embarrass myself and throw up while you’re still here.”
She’s cute when she’s grumpy. “Need a back rub and your hair held?”
“No, I need it to not be morning.”
On that wistful note, I see myself out, bag in hand and phone in my pocket, still switched off. I don’t have the courage to turn it on just yet.
The ride back to Tujunga is quiet, sparse Sunday morning traffic. It’s getting on for ten as I pull into Lou’s shop, having taken the long way round to avoid going anywhere near my apartment. Just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean Declan’s not waiting near there for me.
I spend the day working over my bike and swapping banter with Miguel. Lou comes out of his office to help, which is nice as I’m not paying him. It reminds me I owe him for the Palm Springs job, but Kurt hasn’t paid me yet. Lou understands.
Together, we lubricate the chain and check the tension, bleed the brake lines and put in fresh fluid, check the coolant levels, and a dozen other small jobs that keep my hands busy, if not my head.
My phone is an inert lump in my pocket, and a constant reminder I’m hiding.
Come six, I ride back to my apartment, keeping a careful watch for Declan’s bike, take a shower, and put on clean clothes. Then I head for Kurt’s place, getting there around seven thirty. Fashionably late again.
When I walk in, Declan’s sitting on his usual couch, glaring, and the mood is frosty to say the least.
Fuck him, I remind myself, and look away.
Cammy gives me a cheerful greeting. Dario’s slouched on the other couch. Tasha’s carefully not meeting my eyes, working on her laptop, presumably making final checks, while Kurt’s in the kitchen, leaning on the counter and talking to Cole.
I walk straight through, heading for the kitchen, but Declan’s up in an instant, hand closing on my arm.
“Where the hell have you been?” he hisses, voice pitched low, but still loud enough to travel. The room’s quiet.
“Bike shop.” I shrug my arm free, riding my anger, using it to power my appearance of indifference. “Why?”
“Why?” He takes a breath, releases it, jaw clenched the whole time. “Because I tried to call you.”
“Sorry. Phone was off.” I pull it out of my pocket to prove it. I still haven’t turned it back on.
Coward.
“And then I texted you.”
“Yeah. Phone off.” I waggle it in front of his face.
“And then I started calling the hospitals.”
I don’t have a response to that. My stomach clenches, my heart rate rising.
“Do you know how many hospitals there are in LA?” he asks.
Quite a few. But I still can’t find my words.
His pale blue eyes bore into mine, anger and something I can’t identify fighting for space.
“Thirty-two,” he says through clenched teeth. “I called thirty-two hospitals.”
Fuck.
I should’ve turned my phone on. Should’ve texted him back.
“Sorry,” I mutter, trying to cling on to my anger. It’s fading too fast, like mist on a hilltop when the sun comes out.
And now there’s nothing in his eyes but hurt. He’s not pissed that I stood him up, he’s pissed because he thought I was injured, or dead, lying in a hospital bed somewhere. And he has every right to be. I just… never expected him to go so far. To worry.
But I don’t get it. I’m not his wife. He’s here, he has the job, what does it matter if I turn up or not?
“Why do you care?” The words slip out before I can stop them, genuine curiosity in my voice.
“Why do I care?” For the length of several breaths and dozens of beats of my racing heart, he stares at me, incredulous. Then he turns on his heel, walks out of the room, and his footsteps recede down the stairs. The outside door slams behind him.
I’m left standing in the middle of the room, frowning after him, very conscious of all the eyes on me. They heard everything. I can’t help but wonder if they understand more than I do, because I’m fucking confused.
There’s only one conclusion: Declan’s concern is real. His hurt is real. No one could be that good an actor, even a man who hides his family from the world.
I can’t shake the feeling I’ve made a horrible mistake, but I don’t know what it could be. I only know I feel like shit, my stomach in knots.
“Genesis.” From behind me, Kurt’s voice breaks the quiet. I turn to face him, schooling my expression. Cole’s watching me too, gaze assessing. “Are you ready for tonight?”
“Yes.” My bike is, anyway. Whether I am?
“Good.” Kurt’s eyes narrow. “No distractions. Head in the game.”
“Sure.” I lift my head and straighten my spine. “No distractions.”
Apart from the obvious one, somewhere outside, inexplicably pulling me to him.
And that’s the worst. Even knowing his secret, I’m still drawn to that annoying man.
How fucked am I?