Beard Necessities: Winston Brothers Book #7 Page 5

  “You can go now,” he said, setting the bowl back on the tray and still not looking at me.

  “Hmm.” I stood and peeked at it. The bowl was empty, but the plate with the rolls hadn’t been touched.

  Picking up the first roll, which was still warm, I split it in half and buttered both sides liberally. Then I added the blackberry jam, returned the roll to the plate, and placed it in front of his face. Billy stared forward and through the roll I held in his line of sight, the muscle at his jaw ticking.

  “I know you like blackberry jam,” I said, wiggling the plate. “And I know you love these rolls. It’s still warm. I just made them this morning.”

  Billy closed his eyes, his chin lowering to his chest. I withdrew the plate as he brought his hand to his forehead, shoving his fingers into his hair.

  “God, Claire. Please. Please just leave me alone.”

  I tensed against a distinct and sharp spike just beneath my rib cage. He’d called me Claire. Again.

  But I wouldn’t think about that now. He was sick, in need, and whether or not Billy still cared one stitch about me was irrelevant.

  “Eat the roll,” I said mulishly, tapping into the fourteen-year-old version of myself who used to give him sass and smiles in equal measure.

  I watched as Billy gathered a deep inhale, his eyes eventually opening and lifting to mine, and I stiffened. This. This is what I’d been expecting earlier. This was the look. The heated, piercing, ferocious collision of his gaze.

  For a second I lost my wits, dazzled, my neck growing hot. But then, as we stared at each other, I detected a fracture in his signature steeliness. An off-note, as though it were a mask he’d put on rather than truly him.

  I tilted my head to the side, studying this face I knew so well. “Ah-ah. I know what that look means.”

  “What look?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the tone sending a wave of goose bumps over and up my arms.

  “You’re thinking you’ll intimidate me out of here, right?” I crossed my arms even while I held the plate. “Turn on the caveman charm? Maybe make me blush, something like that?”

  “You have such a pretty blush.” His heated gaze traveled down to my breasts. “I’ve always wondered, do you blush everywhere?”

  I did blush at that, but I also smiled and chuckled. He wasn’t shocking me or bullying me, not today. “Go on, William. Say something to embarrass me.” I snapped my fingers. “You could tell me how you bet I taste like strawberries,” I said, making sure I sounded bored.

  His eyes darted back to mine, the forced heated licentiousness replaced with that disconcerting dullness. For once, I mourned the loss of that blasted stare; I wished it back, but only if it was really him and not him pretending.

  Holding out the plate, I wiggled it again. “Eat it now, please.”

  Lifting his hand like the action exhausted him, he plucked the roll off the plate and ate it in two bites. Then, still chewing, he sluggishly slid lower in the bed, rolling again to his side and giving me his back. I returned the plate to the tray reluctantly and decided not to push him about eating the other roll. Not yet. Maybe later. Along with that fettuccine alfredo Cletus had suggested.

  Picking up the tray, I climbed the steps and placed it on the table outside the door. And then I walked back into the room, felt around the dark closet for a spare blanket, and covered him with it. But I left his shoes uncovered so I could untie the laces, which I proceeded to do.

  “What are you doing?” Billy lifted his head slightly as soon as I touched his boot, and I could hear the frown in his voice.

  “I’m taking off your shoes, you’ll sleep better.”

  Finished unlacing the ties, I pulled off the right boot, then the left, setting both just underneath the bed. After covering his feet with the blanket, I returned to the rocking chair—again, allowing instinct to guide my movements—and sat. This time I didn’t rock, that squeak-click noise would make a manatee go rabid.

  As soon as I was settled, I glanced at Billy and found him watching me over his shoulder.

  “Are you going to sleep?” I asked softly, equally at ease and on edge. “I thought you were tired.”

  He gave his head a subtle shake. “Why won’t you go?”

  Before I could think better of the words, I said, “Because I want to stay and make sure no monsters come while you’re sleeping.”

  Crap. I’d let my hopes get ahead of me. Here he was sick, and here I was bringing up controversial moments from our past before we’d had a proper talk. But something behind his gaze shifted, a spark of interest, of recollection, and my heart gave an answering flutter.

  “What will you do . . .” He frowned. It looked thoughtful, like he was remembering something. He started again, “What will you do to the monsters, if they come?”

  “You don’t want to know.” I quoted his words from those controversial stolen moments, so many years ago. “Sweet dreams.”

  Billy’s eyes moved over me, still dull, and yet somehow not as detached as before. Eventually, he turned completely, his head falling to the pillow.

  I breathed out relief and breathed in trepidation, needing to relax my hands and unbunch my shoulders. I hadn’t realized I was so tense, but I supposed it made sense. Every time we were alone, we would either fight or kiss; I regretted both the fighting and the kissing for so long. I didn’t want to fight anymore.

  For better or for worse, his disinterest in me had disarmed my apprehension and kindled my protective instincts. I could no more stand up and leave this room than I could fly like a bird, and that was that.

  A few moments passed and I settled into the rocking chair. It was comfortable enough, as far as chairs go, but nowhere near the most comfortable chair in the house.

  I watched Billy’s broad shoulders rise and fall in a steady rhythm, hoped that meant he was sleeping, and nearly relaxed myself when Billy’s voice—rough and quiet with sleep—said, “You’re confusing me, Scarlet.”

  Holding perfectly still, waiting, I worried he’d say more. I didn’t want this to turn into one of our arguments, our epic shouting matches followed by his cold shoulder. I wanted Billy to be nice, to let me take care of him, to let things be. Just this once. Please. Just let me do this.

  He didn’t say anything else. He slept. I watched him sleep, determined to keep the monsters away.

  Chapter Three

  *Billy*

  “He shrank from hearing Margaret's very name mentioned; he, while he blamed her – while he was jealous of her – while he renounced her – he loved her sorely, in spite of himself.”

  Elizabeth Gaskell, North and South

  The sun had set and risen since her visit. Now it was morning, or maybe afternoon, I wasn’t certain. I couldn’t read the light coming through the edges of the drapes, it was different here.

  Mildly curious, I stood with effort and limped to the sliding glass door. Walking up those stairs yesterday had cost me. My body stiff and protesting, I pulled open the curtains and squinted, turning my face away from the sudden flood of brightness. Stepping back, I blinked, waiting for my sore eyes to adjust.

  The repeated buzz-buzz-buzz of my phone from somewhere in the room had me turning from the blinding view and searching. Tired as I’d been yesterday, it had taken me a while to fall asleep with her in the room. When I did, I’d dreamed of nothing. And when I awoke at some point in the dark, the irritating rocking chair had been empty.

  At the time, I’d worked to ignore the pang of senseless disappointment and set about a few necessary motions: using the bathroom, brushing my teeth, charging my phone to check if Roscoe had called and so I’d know the time, changing into more comfortable clothes. My hip and back had hurt so I’d taken something to dull it. I’d gone back to bed but hadn’t been able to sleep.

  Now I was limping around the room, trying to remember where I’d set my phone. Eventually, I found it on top of the dresser where I’d plugged it in last night. Frowning at the screen, my hover
ing thumb ready to reject the call, I straightened, surprised by the identity of the caller. Accepting the call, I brought the phone to my ear.

  Before I could say hello, she said, “Billy.”

  “Dani.”

  “Your phone has been going to voicemail for two days.”

  I glanced around the room, not noticing the surroundings in my search for a seat. “My phone was off. It was, uh, dead. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I called Cletus, he said you made it to Italy and were with Jethro, so I knew you were okay.”

  Ignoring the rocking chair, I walked to the bed, sat on the edge of it. “Were you worried about me?”

  “A little.”

  I’d asked the question mockingly, so my initial reaction to her admission was surprise. Daniella—Dani—Payton wasn’t a worrier. She was a bulldozer, and I admired the hell out of her for it. Since the initiation of our mutually beneficial engagement, she’d never reached out to express worry for me or concern about my well-being.

  “You’re surprised?” she asked, not sounding offended, more like curious. “I’m not trying to nag you.”

  “I know you’re not trying to nag me.” I would never accuse her of nagging. She didn’t call. Ever. I was always the one reaching out to her to discuss planning and logistics, make requests for her attendance at this function or that benefit, not the other way around. “I should’ve called and checked in. I am sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing. We don’t do that with each other. Hey, did you eat something?”

  Oh. That’s why she’s calling.

  “Did Cletus tell you to ask me that?” I grumbled, shaking my head. I loved my brother, but he was definitely a nag.

  “Yes, he did. He wanted to make sure you are eating, because he said the day before you left you didn’t eat anything, and then when you arrived, Jethro told Cletus—”

  “I can’t believe them.”

  “Who?”

  “My siblings. They’ve created a phone tree to discuss my eating habits.”

  “I guess they did.” Dani laughed. She had a great laugh, but it always sounded reluctant, like she didn’t really want to share that part of herself with anyone. Or maybe she didn’t want to share that part of herself with me. “But can you blame them? They’re worried.”

  “They shouldn’t be,” I said, thinking, I’ve been through worse.

  “That’s a silly thing to say. Your family loves you, of course they’re going to worry.”

  “Lack of appetite is a known side effect of the anesthesia they used for the procedure. Happened the last time too.”

  “So, did you eat?”

  “I did.”

  “What did you eat?”

  I glared at nothing. “Chicken soup and, uh, Parker House rolls.”

  “Oh. Your favorite.”

  “Yeah. My favorite,” I responded softly.

  “Why do you sound like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “You’re using your Scarlet voice.”

  Crap. “Am I?”

  “You are. She’s there, isn’t she?”

  I rubbed my face with an open hand, suddenly tired of talking. Falling asleep was always difficult, even without the corporeal her in the room. Usually, if I wasn’t exhausted to the point of passing out, night was when memories of Scarlet were sharpest, which was why I always made sure to wear myself out during a typical day. Some folks work out, work hard, and work long hours due to ambition. My reasons were much less commendable.

  “Are you still there?” Dani’s voice in my ear brought me back to the present. “Billy?”

  “Yes, I’m here,” I said, working to banish thoughts of Scarlet. Again.

  Life beyond this room had continued since I’d discovered the vacant rocking chair. Life had moved forward while I’d struggled to think about anything else. But I’d done it. Last night, I’d pushed her to the margins of my mind, filling the spaces she sought to invade with ordered lists and tasks. If there was one skill I’d practiced more than any other over the last decade, it was forcing myself to concentrate on matters other than Scarlet St. Claire.

  “So, she’s there. Right?”

  “Did Cletus tell you that too?” I didn’t try to disguise my dislike of the subject.

  “Actually, yes. He made a point of telling me you were there with Scarlet.” She sounded amused, like she found Cletus hilarious. “It was really cute.”

  “Yeah, well, he knows you and I called off the engagement, but he doesn’t know it was fake.”

  “Oh, I think Cletus probably knows it was fake. In fact, I’m pretty sure he knew the whole time it was fake.”

  “You think so?” I didn’t know if I agreed with her, given how Cletus had loudly fretted about the engagement.

  “Your brother is an evidence-based person. We never went on dates or spent any time together except to be seen in public. But it doesn’t matter now, because you called it off.”

  “Are you still irritated?” I asked.

  “No. Of course not. From the beginning, we agreed to do it as long as it benefited both of us. And I wasn’t irritated with you when you ended it, just the situation. I was hoping we’d have a few more months. I have a few irons in the fire, deals I need to see through that would’ve been easier if I was engaged to Congressman—soon to be Senator—Winston.”

  “You should’ve said so. We can continue for a few months more, if it helps.”

  “No, I don’t think that’s necessary since you’re presently in Italy with Scarlet.”

  I ignored that. “Dani. It’s no big deal.”

  “Billy, it’s fine. But thanks for letting me be the one to make it public. I might wait another week and then send out the official statement.”

  “Take all the time you need.”

  Dani paused, maybe thinking, maybe uncertain how to proceed, but eventually asking, “Are you staying off your feet?”

  “I’ve done nothing but lie here since I arrived.”

  “Good. The doctor made a point to call me and remind me to make sure you stay off your feet this time. You didn’t take care of yourself with the last donation, this time you really need to stay off that hip. No walking. Take it easy.”

  “Fine.”

  She paused again, perhaps working through how to broach a topic. Content with silence, I stared forward unseeingly, neither enjoying nor disliking the cold void of thought and feeling within me.

  I’d been in this numb limbo before. The first time when I was twelve, just after I woke up in the hospital after my father had almost killed me. The second time when I was sixteen, just after I woke up in the hospital after taking Scarlet’s punishment as my own and my father’s men had almost killed me.

  This time, the numbness had descended just after discovering my little brother Roscoe in that diner with a stab wound in his back. Since then, I’d been going through the motions, doing what needed to be done. The void had only intensified when I’d decided to make the first bone marrow donation for Darrell, an act that would save the life of the man who’d almost taken mine twice.

  Dani sighed—sounding impatient—and said, “Okay, real talk, Billy. How are you? And I don’t mean your hip. Have you seen her?”

  A suggestion of something, of pain and frustration, throbbed once behind my eyes. I closed them, blocking it out.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “She’s the one who force-fed me,” I said.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Mm-hmm,” I said.

  “You should do a continuous hunger strike while you’re there.” Dani’s tone was desert dry. “Then maybe she’ll give you the time of day.”

  “I’m not doing that.” I tested my jaw, moving it back and forth. I’d been grinding my teeth at night, or so my dentist had told me when I’d complained of headaches.

  “Why not? Play patient for a little bit, let her play nurse, see where that goes.”

  “No.” I opened my eye
s. “My days of trying to manipulate Scarlet into wanting me are over, they have been for a long time.”

  “You mean Claire.”

  “Yeah.” Once more, my gaze lost focus and I welcomed the blank void. “I guess I do mean Claire.”

  I heard Dani shift, her seat creak. “You know, from one tragic love story survivor to another, may I suggest that . . . you know what? Forget it. You two never even sealed the deal and you sound just as miserable as I do. So, I don’t have any good advice. Do what you can to protect yourself as much as possible. Have realistic expectations of her, and then set them even lower. That’s all you can do.”

  I felt my lips curve. “Can’t argue with that.”

  “How was it seeing her?” An uncharacteristic hint of worry entered her voice. “Did she talk to you this time? Or did she do the usual running away thing?”

  “She did talk to me, actually.”

  “Shocking. I am shocked. Shocked.”

  I finally gave my mind permission to drift and think about Scarlet’s short visit. She’d confused me. It wasn’t the food that confused me, or her harassing me into eating by rocking in that damn chair. Both actions were very Scarlet-like, so were the hovering and stubbornness.

  What confused me was why she’d stayed after I’d eaten, why she’d taken off my boots and covered me with a blanket, why she’d said what she did about the monsters. Why had she done it? I hated that she’d done it. I hated how hope flared at the memory, even though I knew—with her—hoping for anything was lunacy. So, yeah, I was confused. I didn’t understand her.

  You don’t need to understand Scarlet. You need to let her go.

  “Well? What did she say?” Dani pushed, again bringing me back to the present.

  “Nothing of consequence.” The lie slipped out before I could catch it, but I let it be.

  I want to stay and make sure no monsters come while you’re sleeping.

  What will you do to the monsters, if they come?