Small-Town Redemption (19 page)

Kane sidled up next to Char. “You kicked my mom out?” he murmured.

“I’m trying,” she whispered back.

“Appreciate it.”

They shared a smile and she was glad she’d come here. No matter what sort of busty, overly perfumed crazies she had to deal with.

“Charlotte is a friend of mine,” Kane said into the fray, silencing them. “Charlotte, this is my family. My mother, Gwen Bartasavich, my older brother, Clinton Junior,” he said, nodding toward C.J. “My younger brothers Zach—” a gesture toward the dark one “—and Oakes.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Oakes said with a charming grin and nod.

“And this,” Kane continued as if his brother hadn’t spoken, “is Carrie.”

“
Mrs
. Carrie Bartasavich,” younger blondie corrected, her eyes narrowed. She grinned sharply at Char. “I’m his stepmother.”

Poor Kane. She must be five years younger than him.

“If Char thought you needed to leave,” he told his mother, “she must have had a reason.”

“They were...arguing,” Char explained quickly. “And when I asked them to stop, they refused. I’m sorry, but that sort of commotion isn’t allowed in the hospital, especially outside the ICU.”

“This is all her fault,” Gwen Bartasavich said, stabbing a pointy-nailed finger at Carrie. “I came all this way to see Clinton, to make sure he’s all right.” Her voice broke and she dug out a tissue from her bag. Pressed it to her nose, her mouth quivering. She sniffed delicately, her eyes dry despite all the noises she was making. “I wanted to let him know that I...I forgive him for everything he did. But she told me I couldn’t see him.”

“Only family is allowed to see him.” Carrie glanced at her audience as if looking for support. “That’s what the nurse told me.”

Gwen drew herself up. “I am the mother of his children.”

“If all the mothers of all his children showed up,” Zach put in, “we’d have to rent out an entire floor and not just one room.”

Oakes ducked his head, but Char was pretty sure she caught him grinning.

“You have no right to dictate who does or does not see my sons’ father.”

Carrie shoved her left hand—and the huge rock on her ring finger—into Gwen’s red face. “See this? This gives me the right. I am his wife.”

“Where are you going?” C.J. asked Zach when he brushed past them.

“To my hotel.”

“You can’t even give us a hand here?”

Zach lifted a shoulder. He looked hard, like Kane, but he also looked mean. “My mother’s smart enough to stay away. Seems to me these two are your problem.”

And he walked away again, pushed the button for the elevator.

“Look,” Char said, using her most soothing, compassionate tone. “This is a stressful, upsetting situation, for everyone. You’re worried, you’re tired. It might be best if you all went and got a cup of coffee.” She eyed the two women. “Separately. Then came back and tried to figure this out when everyone has had a chance to calm down.”

“Good idea,” C.J. said. Taking his mother’s arm, he escorted her down the hall toward the elevator.

Oakes wrapped his arm around Carrie’s shoulder. “There’s a vending machine in the ICU. Let’s get a cool drink and talk about this.” Pushing the button to open the door, he sent Char and Kane a wink over Carrie’s head.

“That’s your family, huh?” Char asked as she smiled at a young couple walking by.

“Minus a few ex-stepmothers. That’s them.”

“I have no words.”

“They have that effect on people.” He watched her intently. “Why did you come up here?”

His voice was soft. His tone seeking. Not for the first time she wished she was one of those women who could flirt effortlessly, lie easily. She preferred to tell the truth. “I wanted to see how you were doing. But now,” she continued quickly, “I’m heading home.”

He walked with her to the elevator.

“I hope your family can figure something out,” she said as the doors opened and she stepped inside. To her surprise, he got in as well. Char pushed the button for the first floor and the doors slid shut. “Your mother did come all this way.”

“Oakes will convince Carrie to let Mom in. He’s a lawyer. He can talk anyone into anything.”

She laughed, the sound dying when Kane dipped his head and kissed her.

His mouth was warm, and he tasted like rich coffee and cinnamon. His lips clung to hers, his hands at his side. The kiss was so sweet, unnamed emotions clogged her throat. Had her stomach tumbling.

The elevator stopped and Kane stepped back.

“What was that for?” Char asked, forcing herself not to lift her trembling fingers to her mouth, to somehow try to capture the feel of his kiss.

The doors opened and he gently ushered her out into the hospital foyer. Held her gaze. “Because I really like your laugh.”

And the doors shut, leaving her stunned and wondering what she was going to do next.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“H
OW
’
S
YOUR
GRANDDAD
?”
Andrew asked Estelle Tuesday afternoon.

Sitting on Andrew’s bed, Estelle looked up from her math homework. “A little better.” Though he hadn’t looked good when she’d gone to see him that morning with her dad. As a matter of fact, he’d looked awful, though he’d tried to smile when she’d sat next to him.

Tears stung her eyes, worry sat like a stone in her stomach. She blinked rapidly, swallowed to ease the ache in her throat. She’d wanted to stay longer at the hospital but had been so upset seeing Granddad hooked up to those machines, his cheeks sunken, his body barely moving, her dad had brought her home.

She’d been a wreck all afternoon, jumping every time her phone buzzed. Her dad and uncles all said Granddad was going to pull through but there was no way they could know that for sure.

Please, please, God, don’t let Granddad die.

Stressing over things wouldn’t help anyone. She needed to stay positive. Granddad would be all right.

He had to be.

She sent Andrew a smile. “You’re sweet to ask about him.”

Andrew flushed, and she couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed by her words or angry.

She gave a mental shrug. She didn’t need to know every emotion the boy had. They were friends, possibly becoming something more. Not that he’d made a move or anything.

Too bad. If he did, she’d totally make one back.

But he really was sweet. And funny. She was so glad he’d texted her after school and invited her over. She didn’t think she could spend one more minute in that apartment by herself—not without losing her mind. She’d had a horrible day which had only gotten worse when she’d been forced to go to lunch with her grandmother. Talk about cruel and unusual punishment.

And she hadn’t even done anything wrong.

Except, you know, run away from Pilar’s, fly to Shady Grove without permission and, oh, yeah, totally lie about wanting to live with her dad.

Maybe she should have let her mom come. Meryl had offered to cut her vacation short so she could be with Estelle, but Estelle had told her not to worry. That she was fine.

At this point, what was one more lie?

Restless, she climbed off the bed and crossed to Andrew’s bookcase. He had, like, tons of books, which was so weird. She didn’t know any boy who read unless they had to for school, and usually they just watched the movie.

Andrew was smarter than most of the guys she knew. That much was obvious even though he didn’t act like a nerd or something. But he was always asking insightful questions, and when they talked about stuff, like parents and school, the future or religion, he took his time before answering and didn’t mind if she disagreed with him.

Didn’t try to get her to think like him.

She snuck a glance at him and sighed. His T-shirt was snug around his arms, clearly showing his biceps. He frowned adorably at his biology notebook, his forefinger tapping the page. His hands were large and tan, his fingers long. She’d like to feel those hands holding hers, or cupping her cheek, his palm warm and dry on her skin as he moved in for a kiss.

She sighed again. Yeah, she’d definitely like him to make a move.

“Your house is nice,” she told him.

He shrugged. “It’s okay.”

Well, it wasn’t close to being as big or impressive or expensive as her mother’s house, was maybe a quarter of the size of Granddad’s mansion. All of Estelle’s friends lived in fancy houses, too, usually in cul-de-sacs or the toniest of neighborhoods.

But Andrew’s place was still pretty cute. It was one of those old Victorian homes with lots of windows and high ceilings and wood throughout. The furniture wasn’t designer and didn’t match perfectly; it was a mix of colors and styles, but still looked great.

Very homey. Like you could tell people actually lived there instead of it being a showcase for how much money the parents made with ugly furniture you weren’t allowed to sit on and kitchens that were rarely used except when the cook or maid fixed a meal.

His room could use some major work, though. The dark blue walls made it seem smaller than it actually was, and she wasn’t a big fan of all the sports posters or the plaid curtains. Guess decorating wasn’t his strong suit. Oh, well, she couldn’t expect him to be good at everything.

She picked up the baseball glove on top of his dresser. It was heavier than she would have thought and smelled funny. Like wet dog. She set it back down, wiped her fingers on her jeans, hoping the scent didn’t linger on her skin. “Are you on your school’s baseball team?”

He pressed down so hard with his pencil, the point broke. “No.”

She wondered why. He obviously loved sports. Maybe he sucked at them.

Estelle sighed louder this time. Sat on the edge of the bed and swung her legs, her heels sweeping against the carpet.

Andrew stood, then dropped down next to her. The mattress dipped under his weight and she slid toward him. She stiffened, then forced herself to relax. His knee bumped hers. It was okay, just his knee. He wasn’t pawing at her, wasn’t shoving his tongue down her throat.

He wasn’t like Adam.

But her heart still pounded, hard, in her chest. Her skin got hot. Sweaty.

Maybe she wasn’t ready for any moves. But she wanted to be. Didn’t want Adam to take this away, too.

Andrew shifted, putting his arm behind her, his hand on the bed. She could do this. She wanted to do it.

She faced him. He swallowed, his gaze dropping to her mouth. He slowly leaned forward. The blood rushed in her ears, her fingers curled into her palms. His mouth brushed hers, his lips were warm. Dry. It was nice, a sweet kiss from a sweet boy. No pressure, no expectations of more.

She forced herself to kiss him back, reminded herself this was what she wanted, but her shoulders were so tight they ached, her breath locked in her lungs.

Andrew edged closer. Their hips bumped, his left hand settling next to her thigh. Trapping her.

Fear clawed at her belly. Perspiration dotted her hairline. Andrew deepened the kiss, his tongue stroking her lips.

Her breath exploding out of her, she shoved him, hard. Right off the bed. He landed on his rear with a dull thud, his expression shocked. Embarrassed.

She leaped to her feet, her hands trembling, her knees weak.

“I’m sorry,” she rushed out, hating she’d hurt his feelings. She hugged her arms around herself. “It’s not you, I swear.”

“Whatever,” he muttered as he stood stiffly, then knelt and shut his bio book, gathered up his notebooks. “Look, maybe you should go.”

Tears stung her eyes. “No, really. I...I want to kiss you. I just...I freaked out, okay?” She used the heels of her hands to wipe her cheeks. “It’s just...a few months ago something happened and...I thought it wasn’t a big deal, but I guess it was.”

It was the reason she hadn’t wanted Chandler touching her. Her coldness toward him was probably why he’d started texting Pilar.

Jerk.

“What do you mean, something happened?”

She sat back down, lowered her head. “It’s not a big deal—”

“Estelle,” he said softly. “Just tell me.”

She wiped her nose with the hem of her shirt—which was gross, but it was either that or let it drip. “A few nights after my birthday, I was in my room when Adam—”

“Who’s Adam?”

“My mom’s fiancé. He moved in with us after Christmas. Anyway, he came in. I thought it was weird because he’d never been in my bedroom before. He asked me about my day and was just...I don’t know...looking around at my stuff.” She’d been on her bed, listening to music while she studied chem, already in her pajamas, a pair of shorts and a tank top.

“When he sat on the bed, right next to me, I got nervous, but I told myself I was being stupid.” Her throat was so tight, she could barely say the next words. “Then he kissed me.”

She’d been so shocked, for a moment, she hadn’t been able to move. That shock had cost her because by the time she snapped to her senses, he’d pinned her back against the headboard, his tongue in her mouth, his hand on her boob.

Andrew patted her back, his touch light. He didn’t look freaked out that she was telling him this, crying all over him. Didn’t seem uncomfortable with it as other guys would be. “Estelle, did he rape you?”

Her head whipped up. “No! God, no.” She shuddered. But she’d been afraid he would. “I pushed him off and yelled at him to get out of my room. Told him I was going to call my mom and tell her what a pervert he was.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I couldn’t.” She’d had her phone in her hand, but Adam had just given her an oily grin. “He told me Mama wouldn’t believe me.”

“He was playing you,” Andrew said firmly, sounding angry. Not at her. For her. “That’s what creeps like him do. They’re manipulative.”

Maybe. “I didn’t tell her, I just made him leave and I locked the door. Made sure it was locked every time I was in my room. And if Mama was out, I left the house, too.”

“That was smart.” His praise warmed her. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders. “But you need to tell her and your dad the truth.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

He lifted her chin with his forefinger and waited until she reluctantly met his eyes. “You can. You can’t let that asshole get away with this. Do you really want your mother with someone like that?”

She sniffed. Wiped her tears away with her fingers. “No.”

Andrew nodded as if that was the right answer. “Good. You can do it. You’re stronger than you realize.”

But Estelle wasn’t sure.

There was a quick knock on the door then it opened. “Andrew, could you—”

Estelle looked over to see a woman, Andrew’s mom, obviously, standing in the doorway, surprise on her face.

Andrew jumped to his feet. “Mom! Could you please knock before you come into my room?”

“I did.” She glanced at Estelle again, stepped fully into the room, crossed her arms as she sent her son a narrow look. “I didn’t realize you had someone over.”

But it didn’t sound as if she was just surprised. She sounded mad. And she looked it, too, her eyes suspicious as she stood in her work clothes, dark pants, ugly sensible pumps and a silky white button-down shirt. She looked like Andrew, or, well, Estelle guessed it would be the other way around. Still, they both had dark hair and complexions, the same mouth and eyebrows, but where Andrew’s eyes were blue, his mom’s were light brown.

“You were at work,” he said, sounding unlike how he did when he spoke to Estelle, always nice and sweet. Now he sounded defensive. Bitter.

His mom raised her eyebrows. “Yes, well that’s one of those annoying things I have to do in order to keep a certain someone clothed and fed, and you know, keep a roof over his head.”

“If you’d stayed with Dad, you wouldn’t have to work,” he grumbled in a tone Estelle had never heard from him before.

Mrs. Freeman went white, but then color rushed into her cheeks and she turned to Estelle. Smiled tightly. “I’m afraid Andrew has forgotten his manners. Among other important facts.” She held out her hand. “Hello. I’m Mrs. Freeman.”

Estelle, knowing full well the importance of a first impression, scrambled to her feet and smiled brightly though she was sure her eyes were red from crying, her makeup smudged.

“I’m Estelle Monroe,” Estelle said, working her accent for all it was worth as she shook the older woman’s hand. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m so sorry we didn’t tell you we’d be hanging out today.”

His mother wasn’t buying it, that was for sure. “Well, I like to be informed when Andrew has a...friend over. Especially one he entertains in his bedroom.”

“Mom. Jesus!” Andrew said, his hands fisted at his sides. “What is your problem?”

“My problem is that I come home and find you and a girl in your bedroom, on your bed, in an embrace.”

Andrew’s face reddened; Estelle wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or anger. He opened his mouth, but Estelle stepped forward.

“I’m so sorry,” she rushed on before he could say anything else. “Mrs. Freeman it’s, like, totally my fault. My granddad he...he’s in the hospital, you see. He had a stroke.”

It worked. Mrs. Freeman’s expression softened fractionally. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she murmured.

“Thank you. He’s in the ICU still. I’m afraid it all got to be too much, you know? I’m in town visiting my father and Andrew’s just been so sweet to me. I guess he understands what it’s like,” Estelle continued, “being in a new town far from his friends.”

Mrs. Freeman glanced at her son, looked guilty. “Yes. I’m sure he does.” She sighed. Smiled which made her look really pretty even though her hairstyle was all wrong for her face structure. “It’s fine. How about I order some pizza for dinner before you go?”

She was good, Estelle would give her that. She wasn’t having a major fit even though it obviously upset her, Estelle being here with her son. But she wasn’t kicking Estelle out. No, she’d invited her to dinner all with the clear hint they finish up what they’re doing so after they eat Estelle could get on her way.

“You don’t have to go to any trouble for me.”

“It’s no trouble, really. We’d love for you to stay for dinner, wouldn’t we, Andrew?”

“Yeah,” he told Estelle. “Stay.”

She smiled, not having to fake her relief that she didn’t have to go back to her dad’s empty apartment. Not yet. That she wouldn’t have to be alone for a few more hours. That she wouldn’t have to decide, at least for a little while longer, whether or not to tell her dad the truth. “That’s so kind of you both. Thank you. Can I help you do anything?”

“I’ve got it,” Mrs. Freeman said. “I’ll let you know when it’s time to eat, though it’ll probably be in about forty minutes or so.” She walked out, stopped in the hall and sent a pointed look at the door, her meaning clear.

Leave it open.

When they were alone again, Estelle sat back on the bed. “Your mom is nice,” she lied, though,
intimidating
was a better word.

“She’s okay.”

But he didn’t sound as if he meant it.

“Your parents are divorced, right?”