Race the Darkness (13 page)

She pulled her hands out from underneath his and picked up the sleeping Killer, handing him back to Kent. She stood and headed toward the kitchen door. Xander stood there. The memory of Camille pressing herself against him, her hand disappearing between their bodies, stabbed into Isleen's brain.

She turned back to Kent. “You're wrong. It's not a wound. It's an abyss.”

Fifteen minutes ago…

The swollen pink mound of skin in the center of Isleen's forehead grabbed Xander's attention the second he walked in the door. What happened? He'd
known
something wasn't right. That's why he'd called Row to check on her.

Hurt and betrayal etched themselves on Isleen's face. Xander tried to go to her, to explain, but Camille—still pressed against his front—squeezed his dick dangerously hard, yanking his focus back to her.

You're mine. Not hers.
Xander heard Camille's thoughts but experienced no pain from them. Just as he hadn't felt any pain when he burst through the kitchen door and the frequency connection opened with all of them—except Isleen. Usually, conversation with more than one person was a formal invitation for the Bastard in His Brain to make a guest appearance. Not today. All because of Isleen. Something about being near her helped him have control over his hearing. It was as though she healed the damage done by the lightning and made him almost normal.

Row's thoughts reached his ears.
I think she's going to blow him. Right here. In front of me.

Jesus fucking Christ. It was bad enough having to deal with Camille, but Row's commentary—even if she wasn't saying it aloud—brought the situation to a whole new level of awkward.

“I haven't seen you in days, and you haven't been returning my calls,” Camille said.
Kent told me you haven't left her side. You're spending too much time with her. Maybe I need to remind you why you're mine.

Xander's gaze cut to Isleen following Kent out the kitchen door. God. Damn.

“Find us a private place,” Camille whispered. “I know what you need. You need my mouth. You need me swallowing everything you've got.”
You'll forget about her once I take care of you.

The mental picture her words created in his mind wasn't erotic. It made him feel on the verge of a virile case of stomach flu. Being with Camille was wrong. Had been wrong for years, and yet he'd allowed things to continue because he was a selfish asshole who'd found someone willing to fuck him and not make demands.

Meeting Isleen had changed him into a different kind of person. One who no longer wanted a meaningless fuck. One who wanted more. He didn't know exactly what
more
meant, he just wanted it from Isleen, not Camille.

Does she not know I'm standing right here, listening to every word she's saying?
Row's thoughts were an invasion into an already convoluted situation.
I thought her parents raised her better than this. And that my boy would involve himself with such a harlot—where did I go wrong raising him?

He met Row's eyes. “This is on me, not you.” Then he turned his attention back to Camille. Part of him felt horrible over what he was about to do to her—he'd been a pussy for not doing it sooner. The other part was still pissed at her possessive sexual display in front of Isleen. “Listen, I'm an asshole. You know that. Everyone knows that.” He gripped her shoulders and physically forced her off his body. “But, there have never been any rules between us. There has never been a relationship between us. The only thing we shared is fucking. That's it.”

“You don't mean that. You're just tired. You've been too busy playing nursemaid to
her
, but she's fine now. And I've missed you. I know you're not taking care of yourself.”
Not the way I take care of you.

He grabbed her by the arm and hauled her toward the front door and away from Row who wasn't shy about being nosey.

One day you're going to realize that you love me. And you're going to marry me. And we'll live here and be happy and—

“Marriage and happiness are two things we will never share.”

She flinched at his words, taken from her thoughts. Her mouth opened to say something, but he sliced off her response with his own cruel words. “When have we ever gone on a date, Camille? Have I
ever
picked you up and taken you to the movies? Or out to eat? Or anywhere?”

“Well, no, but—”
That doesn't mean anything. It just means you don't like to be social.

“Have I ever just called you, just to hear your voice? Or do I call with the sole purpose of schedule coordination so we can fuck.” He let go of her long enough to haul open the massive front door.

“But you're not dating anyone else. You've never dated anyone. We've been together for so long.”

“Wake up. This”—he motioned back and forth between them—“has only ever been about sex. And now, I'm done. Done with this. Done with you.” With his hand on the small of her back, he guided her toward the open door.

No… Oh my God. No. I can't be that stupid.
Camille stopped on the threshold. Her too-perfect mouth slack with the realization.
He can't mean what he's saying. He's confused.
“It's her. She's playing you, making you feel like the hero to her damsel in distress. Wake up and see what's happening. Are you willing to throw away our years together over some girl who's not even pretty? And her hair—it looks like she hacked at it with a pair of pruning sheers. In the dark. Without a mirror.”

Leave it to Camille, who managed a salon, to comment on Isleen's hair. Anger curled his hands into fists. He leaned in close to her face. “Don't. You. Ever. Talk about Isleen that way.”

Camille crossed her arms, not intimidated by him or his anger. “There you go, playing her hero again.”
You'll see her for who she really is once she drops the victim act.

“
Don't call me. And don't ever come here again. I'll tell Kent you're ready to leave.”

No. He can't mean that. Can't mean that we're really over. He just needs to see that girl for who she really is. A manipulative bitch who's moving in on my—

He slammed the heavy door, the sound so loud to his ears that it drowned out the rest of what Camille said. Now to fix the damage done with Isleen. He turned to see Row leaning against the kitchen island giving him her most disapproving, disappointed look. The look that made him feel like he was five years old and had gotten caught stealing a candy bar from RaeBeck's Grocery.

“What?”

You know what.
Row's expression didn't change. She was one of the few people who knew he heard on the frequency of thought. She knew how much it hurt him, too. So for her to be actually communicating with him like that, even she could see the changes Isleen brought into his life.

“I wasn't serious with her.”

Row's right eyebrow rose just slightly.

“I wasn't.”

You were fornicating with her.

“Jesus. When you put it that way, it sounds so dirty. I knew she wanted more from me, but I never delivered. Never gave her false promises. Never—” He stopped talking. Row's silence, both internal and external, didn't bode well for him. The one bright spot was that at least he was too big for a spanking. And he could outrun her if she tried to take a switch to him. Though if he was being truthful with himself, Row's disappointment in him stung worse than any switchin' he'd ever gotten.

“Okay, I made some bad decisions regarding Camille. But I'm trying to fix that now. And it looks like she's going to be”—he searched for the right word—“persistent.”

Row rolled her eyes. “I want to know what you're going to do about Isleen. You hurt her by not informing her you had a girlfriend and by the display you two made.” Xander opened his mouth to say it wasn't his fault, but Row shot him with the shut-up-and-listen look. “And Isleen's already had a rough morning.”

“What happened to her forehead?”

“I'm not talking about that—though she
says
she bent down to pick up her towel and thunked her head against the bathroom sink. What I'm talking about is your father. He verbally attacked her. Blamed Isleen for Gale's physical and mental state. Demanded answers. He really upset Isleen. And then, all this shit with Camille happened.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Now, go and fix this.” Row flicked her thumb in the direction Kent and Isleen had left the house.

Xander was at the kitchen door before he'd even told himself to move. Hand on the door handle, he paused.

Isleen sat on the porch swing overlooking the ravine. Kent's mini-mutt was curled up sleeping peacefully on her lap, while Kent held both her hands in his—a comforting gesture that no one should be offering Isleen except for Xander.

He eavesdropped through the finale of their conversation—just another reason he was an asshole—then held the door open for her when she approached.

“Are you all right?” he asked as she walked into the house. He heard her heart thudding, her breath rushing in and out of her lungs. He settled his hand on her shoulder. “What's wrong?” It was a stupid question, but the only one that his vocals produced.

She whirled on him, shrugging his hand off. “You're asking me what's wrong?” Her chin trembled and so did his heart. “The easier question is, what's right? Nothing. Right now, nothing. And don't touch me. You want to touch someone? Go touch your girlfriend.” She walked away from him.

He watched her until he realized she was heading toward the front door. Toward Camille. “Isleen, wait.”

“I don't want you near me, so just stay away.”

He didn't move toward her, wouldn't force her to be around him—not after everything she'd been through. “Camille's out there,” he warned her.

“Good. We need to talk.” She dragged open the heavy door and left him standing there with his regret and self-loathing.

“She's not happy with you.” Kent said from behind him, not even bothering to conceal his amusement.
I'm glad she sees you for who you really are, even if my sister can't.

It would be so satisfying to serve the guy a fist of five, but priorities were priorities. “Check out a guy named William Goodspeed. He should be arriving at Sunny County Children's Services today for a supervised visit with his son. He'll have a gun with him. And if someone doesn't stop him, he'll kill his caseworker, his wife, and his son.”

* * *

Isleen shut the front door behind her. Before she could even take a breath, let alone a step, Camille invaded the bubble of her space, staring down at her with red-rimmed eyes.

Isleen understood pain and didn't want to hurt this woman anymore. “Are you okay?”

“Have you slept with him?” Hatred sharpened the woman's words.

“Yes.” It didn't occur to Isleen to lie, when maybe she should have. Where was her self-preservation?

Camille glared at her, her eyes assessing Isleen's truthfulness. “I don't believe you. If you'd been with him, you wouldn't be calmly talking to me. You'd be just as angry as I am.”

“Oh, I'm angry. Just not at you.”

Camille smiled a downright cruel smile. “He's a machine, you know. Can fuck all night and still want more.”

Not from her experience. And not in Isleen's dreams. In her dreams, he'd been tender and caring and passionate, but never mechanical. Never a machine. But then, her dreams weren't real. And what she had thought was real turned out to be smoke. The sooner she got that fact imprinted into her mind, the sooner she could begin to move on from him. Again. How many times was she going to let herself get hurt by him when they'd never even had a real relationship?

Camille stepped back out of Isleen's space. “You know he's only being nice to you because he feels sorry for you.” Camille's gaze landed squarely on Isleen's hair, traveled to the swollen mound on her forehead, then moved down to take in the pale-blue sundress that Isleen had thought of as feminine and pretty when she picked it out.

The door behind her opened.
Please, don't let it be Xander.
She didn't have it in her to see him and Camille together again so soon.

“There you are,” Kent said. “I was hoping to have a chance to talk to you before we left.”

Relief unclenched muscles she hadn't realized were tense. Isleen stepped to the side to face him.

“Roweena was just telling me about all the trails. Maybe, if you are feeling up to it, we can take Killer on a walk tomorrow morning.”

“I'm not going to talk about…” Her tone was filled with warning.

“You don't have to. Tomorrow will be a social call, just Killer visiting his lady friend. And since I'm his chauffeur, you get me too.” Kent's features were so much softer and friendlier than his sister's.

Killer whined and pawed at the mesh dog carrier.

“How can I say no to that?” What else did she have to do between now and Kent's next visit? Nothing.

“I'll be by in the morning.” Kent headed down the steps toward his truck, and Camille trailed silently behind him. If he'd been alone, Isleen might've asked him to take her with him. She didn't want to go back into the house and face Xander or Alex or Matt. The list of favorable people had dwindled to Row and Gran.

She could either stand out here all day feeling sorry for herself, not appreciating the awesome new life she had, or she could go in there and make the best of everything. Gran was alive. That was huge. More than she had ever dared to hope for.

Without giving herself another moment of pity-party time, Isleen walked back into the house. The massive space was wonderfully empty. She stopped outside Gran's room and peeked inside. If Alex was in there, she'd come back later. Gran lay in her hospital bed, her face turned to the window. The nurse sat in the chair Alex had used yesterday, reading aloud. Her finger moving across the line of text with each word spoken.

Isleen knocked lightly on the door. The nurse stopped reading and looked up. The woman appeared nearly as old as Gran, but she had color and vitality that Gran lacked.