Hold Me Like a Breath (7 page)

Carter sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Pen, I know you're disappointed, and I'm sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am,” I snapped.

He pushed Garrett out of the way and bent so his eyes were level with mine. “I
want
to include you—let me just figure out a way to do it. A way that keeps you safe.”

I hissed my answer from between clenched teeth. “Has it ever occurred to you that if whatever you're involved in is too dangerous for me and has to be kept secret from Father, then
maybe you shouldn't be doing it
?”

“Yeah, actually, it has.” He scrubbed at his face with both hands, looking suddenly exhausted.

And then
I
was the one feeling guilty for pushing him too far, searching for a way to make him smile. “You still owe me Korean barbecue. And it better be the best thing I've ever tasted after all this hype.”

“Good night, Pen.”

“Come on,” said Garrett, and I followed him up the walk to the side door.

“Will
you
tell me what's in the trunk?”

“At this point, nothing. Some empty coolers and leftover dry ice. Let it go, okay?”

“Were there organs? And if so, why in the world were you transporting them like that instead of through the regular channels?”

“Penny, it's late, I'm tired. Please, just go in the house.”

I sighed and punched in the unlock code. “You know, if I were a regular girl, a guy walking me to my door at the end of the night would be a date.”

Garrett raised one reddish eyebrow in a look that made my pulse jump. “Oh, yeah?”

I let him enter first, his gray-green eyes scanning all corners of the rooms that lit up automatically as we passed through. I liked the estate best late at night. There were still security at the gate and patrolling, but there weren't Family members and staff around every rounded corner. This was the only time of day it felt more like a house and less like the headquarters of the Business.

In the foyer I paused beneath the chandelier. Its crystals seemed to drip down and form the abstract sculpture displayed
on the marble table that stood between the dual staircases that curved up to the second floor.

I put one hand on my hip and pointed a finger at him, at the muscles visible through the navy cotton of his shirt. “Though
he'd
take me on a more romantic evening than clandestine parking lot shadiness and a rat-infested apartment.”

“Don't let Carter hear you call his place rat-infested. And don't forget dinner—that was good pizza.” Garrett followed me up the left branch of the stairs. His hand on the railing right beside mine, his breath and voice in my ear.

I stopped at the top and turned to face him—our eyes, noses, mouths were almost level from my vantage point two steps above him. “On my date, we'd eat dinner off real plates, not ones made of paper.”

Garrett's smile changed from amusement to something warmer, something that touched his eyes and made him look younger, less intense—more like the boy I'd grown up crushing on than the duty-focused man who'd come home from college with a gun.

“And would you let this guy kiss you at your door?” He stepped around me and into the hallway that led to my bedroom.

“That's for me to know.” I dropped my voice so it wouldn't carry down the opposite hallway toward the light that crept out from under my parents' bedroom door. My heart was pounding so loud, I had a hard time believing they couldn't hear its drumbeat.

Though maybe they could, because the door cracked open and
Mother stepped out, all regal elegance with her hair down and curling around the shoulders of her satin robe. I froze where I was, half in her hallway, half in my own.

“How was your night, sweet pea? How are you?”

“Fun. Great.” With my bruised hand behind my back, I made a
stay put
gesture to Garrett. He was close. So close I could feel his body heat and all I wanted to do was lean into it. “Thanks for letting me go, but can we talk in the morning?” I yawned.

“Of course. Get some rest.”

“You too.”

Before her door was even completely shut, I was turning to Garrett, hoping the interruption hadn't killed the flirtation and energy of the moments before. He was waiting, eyes on me with an intensity that made me need to fill the silence. “Where were we? Oh, right. I was knowing things.” I could feel my cheeks warming with blushes, but I still added, “Kissing things.”

“And I was going to ask if I could find them out,” Garrett whispered, his voice deep. “May I?”

“That depends.” I continued down the hall to my bedroom. He followed. “Not if you're going to treat me like I'm not old or smart enough to make my own decisions.”

“You can't ask me not to care about you. I'm always going to want to keep you safe.” He reached for my doorknob, and for a moment he was all stiffness and attention as he pushed it open and scanned my room.

It was a moment I needed. To catch my breath. To convince myself that this was reality and not a fairy-tale fantasy.

He turned away from my room and looked at me in a way he
never had before. This was not the look he'd given me when he'd lost a bet at eleven and Carter had told him to kiss me as punishment.

It was a gaze of fire and flames and like he wanted to devour me whole—and something else too …
fear
? Like maybe he was as nervous as I was. It was a combination so intimidating and thrilling that even as I edged closer and tilted my chin up, I couldn't help but use my least favorite word. “You'll be careful? My counts
are
good, so you can touch me, just be gentle.”

“I'd never hurt you, princess.” His voice was low, vibrating with emotion, and his hands were in my hair, the tips of his fingers barely skimming my skin. He leaned down—

“Pen? You still up?” Carter's footsteps padded up the carpet of the stairs, smashing the moment before it had truly begun.

Garrett let go of my hair and stepped backward, but not fast enough. Or maybe too fast. Maybe the sight of Garrett and me framed in the doorway to my bedroom wouldn't have tipped off Carter if we hadn't been so frantic to put space between our bodies.

“No,” he growled.

“Carter—” We said it in unison—which made it worse, made us both fall silent.

Finally I swallowed. “Did you want something?”

“Never mind. Penny, go in your room and go to sleep. Garrett, you forgot your piece in the car.”

I'd never hated anything as much as the hunk of metal in Carter's hand. The way it had scared me in the parking lot, the
way it had poisoned this moment, the way my brother looked comfortable holding it, and the way Garrett was turning pale.

“You're not gonna tell your dad I forgot it, are you?” He cursed under his breath. “Or
my
dad? My brothers?”

“No,” said Carter. “But you'll be lucky if I don't shoot you with it.”

I squeaked and grabbed the hem of Garrett's shirt.

“Don't touch her,” Carter snapped when Garrett moved to put his hand on mine. “I
was
joking, but if you bruise her, I won't be.”

“Hey!” Garrett sounded, if possible, angrier than Carter. “If you think I'd leave so much as a mark on Penelope—”

“Stop it!” I stepped between them.

Once, when I was ten, Carter had whacked me instead of Garrett when they were “roughhousing”—I'd missed the fireworks of Father's wrath, but even from the isolation of my bed in the clinic, I'd known the consequences were severe. Just the fact that neither of them was allowed to visit me proved that. They'd learned the lesson well, and now both of them practically leaped backward to give me space: Garrett into my room and Carter farther into the hall.

“You're both being ridiculous. Just stop.”

Carter curled one hand into a fist, but he reached past me and handed Garrett the gun.

Garrett tucked it in the holster beneath his shirt and edged around me into the hall. He drummed his fingers on the wall before giving me a weak smile. “I'm sorry, princess.”

A quick nod to Carter and he was leaving. Walking away.

I ducked my head so they wouldn't see that those words hurt more than any physical bruise.

“Pen?” Carter's pity was like a thumb pressing on a sore spot. Good thing I had plenty of experience hiding pain.

I turned around to face him, eyebrows raised, face blank. “What's up?”

He snorted. “You're something else, kid.”

“I'm not a kid.”

“I know.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead, ruffling the front of his blond hair. “You're this crazy mix of too-old-for-your-age and too innocent.”

I shook my hair out of my face and glared at him. “Don't even start with me. I
almost
kiss Garrett and you throw a fit? My nonexistent love life is
none
of your business. If anyone should be mad, it's
me
—your timing is awful. Couldn't that mystery thing in your trunk have kept you busy just two minutes longer?”

I could see the arguments swirling in his eyes, in the clenching of his jaw, but he exhaled slowly. “Fine. It's not a big deal. I guess. I don't know. That's not why I wanted to talk to you.”

“No? Well, if you're not here to play some sort of purity police, what do you want? To lie to me some more?”

“I get it. I'm a jerk. I'm the world's worst brother—” He banged a hand against the wall. “But if you'll listen for a minute, I came up here to apologize. You have a right to know what's going on and make your own decisions.”

“Oh.” I'd reached for my door, planned a rageful slam in his face, but instead I leaned against the frame—it was rounded.
When I'd first been diagnosed Mother had hired a team of architects to smooth out all the corners of the rooms I used most. Reduce the sharp edges, pad the hard surfaces, hide the marble stairs beneath cushioned carpet. I looked up at Carter and in a voice squeaky with surprise, I asked, “Really?”

“Sorry I freaked out over your bruises—and if you want to go to school, I'm on your side. I'll help you convince Mother and Father.”

“You think it's possible?” My whisper was a desperate plea for reassurance.

“Yeah, I do. You've got to pick your battles, Pen, but then fight to the death for the ones that matter.
This
matters.”

“That sounds like it should be my screen saver.” A bit of confidence was creeping back into my voice, back into my veins.

“Oh, I'm full of motivational clichés:
Go, fight, win; Ask forgiveness, not permission; If you want respect, demand it; ‘No' is never the final answer
, and something about doors, windows, and a rocking chair.”

“Remind me to get you some pom-poms for your next birthday.” I tugged on his sleeve. “You're a good guy, Carter Landlow.”

His smile disappeared. “I hope so.”

“Although good guys aren't usually the ones shooting out tires.” I'd been aiming for a joke, but his face went pale. “Carter? What really happened tonight?”

“Something I'm starting to think was a mistake.” He shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Ask me something else, Pen. I'll tell you anything else about the Business.”

“Okay …” I was torn between wanting to help with whatever was stressing him and wanting answers before he changed his mind. “What about the Everlys? I get that they're amoral slime, but are they really a threat to our Family?”

“You mean besides the fact that Nolan's using them as reason eight hundred we should support the Organ Act? He gave a two-hour presentation on it yesterday morning. Two hours of explaining why we should support a law that would make it legal to pay organ donors—and pretty much put ourselves out of business. Two hours.”

I didn't necessarily agree that the Organ Act would ruin the Business, but this wasn't the time for a political debate. “Yeah … that doesn't surprise me. It's Father's fault for giving him an audience—but no one listens to him. He's my tutor, and
I
barely listen to him.”

This earned me a quick grin and an “I know,” before he lapsed back into seriousness. “They might listen to him this time. A couple of the guys seemed interested. Miles and Frank especially. The bill's getting some traction. The FBI is facing a ton of public pressure and salivating to shut someone down. On top of that, the Everlys had someone die on the table this week.”

“How horrible.” It had only happened to us once—that I knew of—a fifty-eight-year-old man had died during a heart transplant at the Hilton Head clinic. It was a tragedy for sure, but there was always a risk. The waits to reach the top of the government transplant lists were so long; sometimes people didn't contact the Families until it was too late. “But the FBI is
always
salivating.
Are we worried our payoffs aren't getting to the right people? Or that one of the clinics isn't secure?”

“No, you don't get it—it was the
donor
who died. A twenty-six-year-old kindergarten teacher who was going to use the kidney money to pay for her wedding. And after she died, they harvested all her usable parts without asking her next of kin.

“It's turned up the heat on all the Families—the donor's fiancé is talking to the press, and there was a group of senators on the news today demanding answers.” Carter tugged on his hair again, shut his eyes. “I don't know, maybe Nolan's right. If the industry was legalized … We'd lose profits, but maybe it would be better, you know?”

“Money is not more important than morals. If it keeps scum like the Everlys from killing donors, giving people diseased parts, or lying about corpse pieces—yeah, I think that'd be better. And no more fear of FBI raids; no more people like Keith Ward getting killed; or worrying about you or Father ending up in jail or worse—sounds heavenly to me.”