She Walks In Moonlight Page 9

  He glanced at me but kept his face forward. “I spent seven years on active duty in the infantry. Two tours in Iraq, one in Germany, and the last in Afghanistan.”

  “Shit…” I breathed and mumbled to myself in Russian. I stared openly at him this time, at his legs that seemed so strong but had been so fragile and broken before. The only time I’d asked Peter about Adam King, and I did mean only time, was to ask if he could walk again. Apparently, he had done more than walk.

  Like an old wound breaking open, my heart began to ache. “Why didn’t you go to art school or something? You were so good, Adam.”

  He flinched, and I had to wonder if it was because I’d spoken his name. His voice was rougher, deep. “To create something takes a lot of heart. I guess I didn’t have anything left. It’s a little late for me to go into something like that now, unless you want me to ink skin like Jameson.”

  “Oh God, no.” I laughed at the mental image that snuck up.

  Adam turned slightly to me with a strained grin, and I realized this was the first conversation we’d had that I had enjoyed. Maybe it was that awkward grin, unnatural in his stern face, that made me want to tell him more.

  “I came back for Peter and the kids, but I also came back for me. I haven’t been a sister or aunt to them, and I screwed up so much of my life, I want to get this one thing right.”

  He bowed his head slightly and nodded, as though he understood. “Guess you heard about my sister and your brother.”

  “Yeah, your sister brought us breakfast the other day. I didn’t react so well.”

  “Hailey’s not so bad once you get to know her. I always thought you guys’ problem was that you were too much alike.”

  “Thanks so much for the compliment. I was wondering when you’d start throwing insults at me again.”

  “I just meant you’re both stubborn, strong-willed women.”

  “Right… nice try, but I’m still not seeing the compliment here.” I stood and tripped on the bottom step. Adam’s hands clasped hold of my waist on either side, sending a rush of warmth between my legs. I stumbled again, and his grasp tightened. His hands could have encompassed my waist, I was certain. The traitor inside me wanted to find out. “Thanks,” I said and tried to step out of his hold.

  “I’m taking you home,” he said against my ear.

  I flushed, this time from the ends of my hair down to my toes. It had to be the wine. “No thanks, it’s only a mile. Doubt I’ll get lost.”

  “No, you’ll just drive into a ditch. C’mon, this is me trying to be nice.”

  “Now he’s nice to me,” I murmured. “Aren’t they gonna miss you inside?”

  “I need to head home, anyway.”

  “Home’s not here?”

  He hesitated only a second before answering. “I live in the apartment above the garage.”

  I recalled the other morning when I was dropping Peter off and could have sworn someone was watching me. Adam had my keys in his hand again and opened my passenger door before depositing me inside.

  “What are you doing? How are you supposed to get home?” My brain, it would seem, had ceased forming logic.

  “I’m driving. I can get your car to you tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow implied there was going to be more, that there would be a tomorrow somehow for us. And I had to wonder why. One day, he was yelling at me to stay out of his life, and the next, he was smiling, sort of, and driving me home as though it was no big deal.

  I knew for certain I was tipsy when Adam started my engine—the car engine, of course. I didn’t realize I was humming, off key, until I caught the look Adam flashed at me.

  “What?” I froze and listened for the song on the radio, only to realize neither of us had turned on the radio. What was I humming? And where the hell did my self-control go?

  He shook his head and kept his eyes on the road. Good thing he was driving.

  “So, I guess this means we have a truce, huh?” I didn’t know I’d asked that in Russian until he pointed out the fact, so I repeated my question in English.

  “Truce?”

  “Yeah, you know, like between warring nations. Russia verses the US. I’m Gorbachev, and you’re Bush.” I laughed, and his grip on the wheel tightened.

  “What terms?”

  “Huh?”

  “In a truce, there are always terms. How do I know you won’t nuke me the minute I turn my back?”

  I tried to think about this reasonably but only laughed at the mental image of me with a bald ugly head and Adam in a three-piece suit. Again, I considered the terms of the truce. “Maybe we should try honesty for starters. Let the press see us shaking hands and that kind of thing.”

  “I guess going out for coffee would be overkill.”

  “That is the last thing we should do! Coffee is boring, for hipsters and intellectual snobs and just friends.”

  “And we aren’t friends?”

  “No… we are so beyond remotely just friends.”

  Adam didn’t reply, and he didn’t laugh about our united nations. Maybe it was the alcohol, but for a moment, it almost felt like the old days, before I’d fucked up, when Adam King still loved me.

  Adam pulled up to the front yard and let the car idle. He looked over at me and seemed to struggle with himself before he cut the engine and stepped out of the car. My limbs felt nice and loose. I planned on opening my passenger door but couldn’t reach the handle before he could. Next thing I knew, he unbuckled my seat belt and half pulled, half carried me out of the car and up the steps to the front door. My feet touched the ground again, and I smiled lazily up at him.

  The night left his face in shadows, but his eyes seemed bright against the moon and starlight. “Hey,” I said as I placed my hands on his chest. “Your muscles are so frigging hard…”

  “What?” He seemed startled, and I realized I’d said the last part out loud.

  “Shit, I’m sorry… I’m really nervous. I mean, you make me so nervous all the time!” I held on to his shoulders and leaned in slightly. He smelled like grease and mint and something wonderful—something rooted beneath his skin. I sighed and smiled again. “I think you should come inside.”

  Adam laughed. “Thanks, but I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” He put his hands on my hips to push me away, which was the wrong move. His thumb brushed the skin between my jeans and my shirt, and I sucked in a sharp breath and hovered closer to him.

  “Actually, I think that’s a brilliant idea. I can show you my room. Did you know Peter left it exactly the same? I’m going to change it.” I stepped into his space until my breasts were pressed to his chest and our thighs brushed together. I wanted more. “You were right earlier,” I said between shallow breaths.

  He swallowed, and his eyes widened while his fingers flexed slightly against my lower back. “About what?”

  “About me being strong. I am strong, you know, a powerful woman and shit. But not around you. Around you, I feel… soft.” I needed to taste him again, just to see if he was different than I remembered, to see if he had changed.

  Adam opened his mouth and grimaced. “Dani…”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe to reach his mouth. I tasted his lips slowly, sucking first on the bottom then the top. I wanted to feel his tongue wrap around mine, so I tasted the seam between his lips, and he gasped, his fingers pressing hard into my waist as I touched my tongue to his. He tasted wonderful, and it was better than coming home. It was home, and I wanted to stay there forever.

  His body was rigid, taught, and hard against mine as he kept still against me. But his tongue traced mine, and his lips sucked me back into his mouth when I tried to pull away. And when I opened my eyes, I saw the wonder reflected in his… and the anger.

  I pulled away to breathe and said another stupid thing. “I’ve wanted to do that since we fought at the Brewers.”

  Adam took a step back, and his hands shook as he reached behind me while keeping one hand against
my waist. I didn’t notice him open the front door until he pushed me gently inside.

  A cocktail of pain and hate filled his eyes as he said, “Good night, Danica.”

  11

  Running Up That Hill

  I woke up with visions of a shirtless Adam King dancing around my head. Though since I hadn’t seen him shirtless since high school, the fantasy in my head was the standard male chest on the cover of every romance novel. Memories were fuzzy at best, the result of too much alcohol. Oddly enough, Adam featured most prominently in quick, brooding snippets, interspersed with a friendly Hailey King. It was difficult to say what I’d made up after the fact and what had happened at dinner last night. And it was even more embarrassing that I was hungover from red wine.

  I sat up and held my head in place so it wouldn’t fall off. “I must be crazy.” I slid out from the tangle of bedcovers and glanced at my terrifying reflection before leaving my room. I was surprised the kids hadn’t woken me until I heard the melody of cartoons downstairs. Clearly, they had helped themselves to a little Saturday morning awesomeness.

  I was heading downstairs for a cup of coffee when I heard retching sounds coming from my brother’s bedroom. Ignoring the pounding in my head, I opened his door and rushed inside.

  “Peter?” I saw the bathroom light was on, and lying on the tile floor, just in front of the toilet, was my brother. I cursed and shut the door behind me. The kids didn’t need to see this.

  I stumbled as I knelt at his side, ignoring the trail of vomit on the floor leading to the bathroom. The toilet bowl was streaked red with blood. Peter’s skin looked wan, and his hair stuck slick to his head.

  “Shit.” I pressed my hand to his scalding forehead.

  Peter looked up at me as I grabbed a towel and tried to clean off his face. “Sorry you had to see this, baby girl,” he choked.

  My vision blurred, and I held him as he heaved over the porcelain again. I shook my head and stared at the mess around us. “Shit, this is bad.”

  Peter moaned and collapsed in on himself. I tried to pull as much of his weight on me as I could. It was too easy, and reality knocked the breath from my lungs while my brother clung to me and cried silently.

  “It’s okay,” I heard myself whispering. “Everything’s gonna be okay.” I shushed and whispered reassurances in Russian, and when that wasn’t enough, I hummed songs our father used to sing to us when we were kids.

  I knew Peter was sick, but I hadn’t understood, not really. Peter had always been the strong one, so when he’d told me his cancer wasn’t as bad as Papa’s had been, I believed him. I was sick from more than the stench of bile and blood then. I was sick of my own selfishness. Even after coming home for him and the kids, I had spent most of my time caught up in King drama. I’d even let myself feel bitter and angry with Peter for keeping things from me about Adam.

  You’re a supreme bitch, Danica Pavlova.

  Peter’s voice was even weaker when he whispered to me, “Don’t let the kids see. They don’t know yet.”

  “Okay,” I promised. An image of Hailey King offering me a sympathetic glass of wine rose to the front of my mind. “I need to clean up your bed and get you back into it.” I glanced down at his ruined shirt and pajama bottoms. “And get you a clean set of pj’s. Do you want to stay here or try to go back to your bed?”

  He pulled away and rested against the toilet seat. “Better stay put.”

  I nodded and went to work. Most of the mess was in his sheets, it turned out, and on the bedroom floor. At least the floor was hardwood and not carpet anymore. I used every spare towel I could find to mop up the biggest mess. Then I picked up my brother’s cell phone and found the number I needed.

  She picked up after one ring. Her voice was breathless and, if I didn’t know any better, giddy. “Hey, baby, wasn’t expecting your call so late this morning.”

  “I wasn’t planning on calling, either.”

  “Danica?” Confusion quickly bled into concern. “What’s wrong? Where’s Peter?”

  “Wanna prove to me how much you love my brother?”

  Hailey came straight from her shift at the hospital. I don’t know what excuse she gave her supervisor, but the fact that Mrs. King was the head nurse probably had something to do with it. All I knew was that for the first time in my life, I was relieved to see Hailey King walk through our front door. Since hanging up with her, I had managed to gather the soiled bedsheets in a ball with the towels I’d used to clean up the mess on the floor. I pulled fresh sheets out of the linen closet by the laundry room and barely avoided Sasha as he passed me, walking into the kitchen.

  Thank God, Hailey waltzed in the front door at that same time. I slipped back through the bedroom door and got to work covering the bed again. Hailey came in seconds after and shut the door with a light thud.

  “Where is he?” she asked.

  I glanced up from a bed corner. “Bathroom. Almost done cleaning up.” As she entered the bathroom, I began pulling pillows into their cases.

  “Peter, baby? Can you sit up? Look at me, baby… That’s it.”

  “Hailey?”

  “Don’t try to get up too quickly. Hold on to me.” Hailey held Peter up as they walked the short distance from the bathroom to the bed. She eased him under the covers and rubbed her hand over his forehead in a tender gesture. His eyes fluttered closed.

  I felt as though I was intruding and gathered up the giant ball of sheets for want of something to do, somewhere to be. I pulled the bedroom door shut behind me with my foot and found Sasha standing in front of me with his arms crossed over his chest.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  I blinked. Why the hell was this kid so smart? For some reason, in my mind, I still saw them as babies.

  “Where’s your sister?” I asked as I edged past him to the laundry room.

  Sasha followed me. “She’s watching Batman. What’s going on? Why is she here?”

  I shoved the sheets and cover in the washer and prayed the smell wasn’t as strong as my nose thought. “Damned if I know, kid.” I paused and checked my filter. Pasting a pleasant aunt smile on my face, I dumped as much soap and fabric softener as I could before starting the washer.

  “Those are Papa’s sheets. Why hasn’t he come out for breakfast yet? Something stinks.”

  I turned to face him. “Look, kid, your dad wanted to see Hailey. It’s not really our business.”

  His nostrils flared, just like Peter’s during the rare times he let his anger get the best of him. “What’s all over your shirt? Did you throw up?”

  I pulled the hem of my shirt from my waist and stared at the stains. I sighed. “Sasha, look, I really don’t think—”

  “Forget it! You’re lying! You aren’t gonna tell me anything.”

  “Sasha, wait!” I took a step forward, but he turned and ran the other way and up the stairs. I flinched when he slammed his bedroom door shut, then I leaned against the washing machine. “Shit.”

  “Aunt Dani?” Anya peeked from around the corner, eyes wide. “Is Sasha okay?”

  I didn’t bother pasting on my happy aunt smile this time. “Don’t worry about it, baby girl. He’s upset with me about something, but he’s going to be okay.” I held my breath and waited for the same accusation that had been in Sasha’s eyes to fill Anya’s.

  She swung from the doorway and then, to my relief, nodded. “Okay. You know, it would be okay if you wanted to make me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

  My smile was genuine. “Sure, kiddo, whatever you want. Just give me a minute to change, okay?”

  Anya smiled back. “Kay!” She scampered back into the living room.

  Sasha’s room was silent when I passed it on the way to mine, but I didn’t bother knocking. I’d always hated it when Peter came to check on me after one of our fights growing up when he’d gotten to play both Mama and Papa with me. I wasn’t Sasha’s mama, and I didn’t feel like a very good aunt, either.

  I strip
ped clean of all my clothes once I got in my room and kicked them into a corner for later. I still smelled like my brother’s sickness and held my arms over my chest when the sobs began. I covered my mouth with my hand and caught my teary-eyed reflection in the mirror. I clenched my fingers into a fist and scowled at the weak woman in the mirror.

  “Pull it together, Pavlova,” I whispered and lowered my arms. “You’re a grown-ass woman now, not a teenager, and they need you. Stop crying, put on some clothes, and go back downstairs.”

  I dug my nails into my palms and went to pull a shirt and pants from my bag. Everything in my suitcase was dirty. Hopefully, my housekeeper back in Petersburg had sent the rest of my wardrobe already. I cursed and threw a cursory glance up at my old dresser drawers from high school. I put on the first pair of clothes I could find without bothering to match and promised myself to do the rest of my laundry later.

  And even though I hadn’t been to mass or prayed in months, possibly years, I crossed myself and looked up at the ceiling.

  Please, God, help me get through this.

  I came back into Peter’s room to find Hailey sitting on the edge of Peter’s bed with her back to me. Peter was asleep, and his bedside table was littered with medical supplies. As I came closer, I saw several prescription bottles, a thermometer, and a wet washcloth. The room smelled fresh, as though Hailey had sprayed Febreze since I’d left earlier. She turned to me, and I paused at the worry twisting her face and making her look ten years older.

  “Hey.” I spoke softly and checked Peter, but he didn’t stir.

  Hailey stood and rubbed her arms as she walked to the sink counter. “He still has a fever, but he’s stable for now. I thought we were going to have to take him to the ER at first.” She paused and looked everywhere but at me. “Thanks for calling me, Danica.”

  “Right, so you wanna tell me what the hell is going on?”

  She looked startled and frowned. “What do you mean?”