Yield (21 page)

“Pity. It was rather enjoyable.” He pushed off and walked into her room, shutting the door. “If those papers are important, you need to move them.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm. Would hate to destroy them when I ravish you.”

Her eyebrows rose even as she began to gather everything up. “I’m going to be ravished?”

He smirked as he grabbed the back of his shirt and dragged it over his head. Kate sat on her bed and took in the sheer perfection that was Doyle without a shirt. “The real question is, when aren’t you being ravished?”

He had a valid point.

“Look at you,” he said as he put a knee on her mattress and captured her face between his hands, tilting it up, “finding your voice. Amazing. I came here wanting to show you something and instead I was shown something. Amazing,” he repeated before he commenced with the ravishing.

Chapter 15

Resting her cheek on her bent knees, Kate watched the dancing flames in the fireplace. There was something comforting about the warmth that radiated out mixed with the scent of burning wood. She liked Doyle’s house. She liked the simplicity of it, the hominess of it. The steady thump of feet on the stairs had her watching Doyle. World War Tween had erupted between the sisters over sink space and not even Doyle’s shouts up at them had broken up the fight. After he had gone up, Willow had stormed down, slamming the door to the half bath after stopping on the stairs to shout at both her father and sister. Doyle had simply stood at the top of the stairs, staring at his oldest, who had finally screamed “Fine!” before the door slamming.

It had been an interesting look for Kate into the life of a healthy family. Never would she have shouted at Jace as a teen and her relationship with her own sister was non-existent. She actually found herself wishing there was something between her and Natalie. To have her sister tantrum at her like that. There was too much poison in their pond though. Shaelynn hated Kate. Hated her. She hated Jace too, but he was the money. Kate was an easy target so Shaelynn had poured all that bad energy into polluting any kind of relationship between Jace’s daughters.
 

So to watch the two sisters fight and scream while doors were slammed had been a peek into a window that was forever boarded up to her.

Doyle flopped onto the couch, dragging his hands down his face. “They’re like gremlins. All cute and furry until the double digits hit before then they mutate into volatile little things I want to zap in the microwave.” He made an exploding noise while popping out his fingers like bombs going off. “Puberty is awesome.” He sighed.
 

“This is just the beginning.”

He glared at her and Kate grinned in response. He reached out, grabbed under her legs and yanked so her feet rested on his lap. In a graceful move, he rolled so he lay on top of her, his arms folded over her thighs and his chin resting on his stacked hands. “Dani showed me her bracelet.”

While Doyle and Willow had been working on Willow’s song, Kate had been sitting on the lower deck listening while she looked in the toolbox she used for school, determined to make something out of the pieces from the neck of a violin. What was supposed to be a bracelet had turned into a pile of wooden pieces that wanted to go back to being a violin. She had enlisted the help of Danielle, who had been feeling a little left out. They hadn’t come up with a solution to the jewelry puzzle, but Kate had ended up making a simple bracelet with guitar strings, a couple slices of the ebony fingerboard and some alphabet beads that were in her toolbox. She had put the letters in a mishmash order but when they were spaced out along the metal strings they spelled out dream. It was so cute she was going to make an entire line for the store.

“You do know Dani’s jewelry is what started the battle.”

“Oh?”

“Dani flaunted. Willy responded. It moved to a territorial war over the sink and you know the rest.”

“I guess Willy needs one too.”

He nodded. “She is the only one in the house without a Katey Jay design.”

That explained the stink eye she was given when Willow stormed into the bathroom. “Can’t have that.”

“No. Don’t move.” He rolled off her and disappeared into the kitchen.
 

Reaching back to adjust the pillow, she scooted down so she was on her side, watching the fire dance and pop. The relaxed feeling evaporated when he set a box on the coffee table. A familiar box.

Her stomach snapped tight and she sat up where he had been before, putting as much space between her and the box. He sat on the table and braced his elbows on his knees, watching her watch the box.

She had briefly wondered where it had gone, but she hadn’t let herself think about it anymore, pushing the contents presence back and back and back. “You opened it.” She saw the sliced edges and the tucked ends of the flaps that kept the box shut.

He nodded.

“Why? Why would you…why?”

“Because it pains you.” Her gaze skittered to him and his midnight stare was steady on her. She nervously tucked her hair behind her ear and tried to not look at the box. “You wanted me to or else you wouldn’t have brought it here. Right?”

She shrugged one shoulder, not particularly wanting to talk about this. Her nervous fingers dropped down to her bracelet where she began to worry the hell out of the first knot she found. He reached out and covered her hand with his, stopping the fidgeting.

“Look at me, Kate.”

She did, not realizing she was back to watching the box as if expecting it to come alive and devour her whole. His thumb stroked over the thin leather cords, brushing her skin; his touch calming.
 

“Nothing,” Doyle said in a tone that demanded she listen, “in that box will hurt you again.”

“Yes, it will.”

He shook his head and she hissed when he pressed on one of the knots, making her look at him. “Only ghosts are in that box. Past hurts that left scars but cannot leave fresh wounds. You have carried the ghosts, and now I’ll carry the load. Is that not why you brought it here?”

She nodded, watching his thumb gently rub over where he had caused the small hurt. “Okay,” he said as he pushed her along the couch and turned her so her back was to the box of memories. He shifted onto the couch and pulled her forward, draping her legs over his thighs. “What do you want to do with it now?”

“I don’t know.” What she wanted for it never have existed in the first place. Resting her head against chest, she felt exhausted. Doyle rested his chin on her head, waiting. “Burn it?”

“You haven’t kept all that shit for this long to set it on fire.” One hand rubbed soothing circles on the small of her back while the other rested on her thigh. She hated logic. It was so damn logical. She sighed heavily, shrugging a shoulder. His voice became low and gentle as he spoke. “What would you say if I told you that within the province of British Columbia, there is no statute of limitations on sexual abuse?”

Her breath lodged in her chest and she drew her legs back, wrapping her arms around him as she looked up at him through her lashes. “I would ask why the drummer of a rock band would know that information.”
 

One tattooed arm stretched over the back of the couch, his thumb beating a slow rhythm that made the small inked demon nod at her. “I asked a lawyer friend of mine.”

“You talked to someone about me?”

“No. I asked a question and she’s now panicking at the thought that one of the girls has been molested. So that’s fun. Before you get defensive and pissed and offended, as the women in my life tend to get, I want you to ask yourself one important question, Katey Jay. Why did you save everything?” He leaned forward, rested his arm on her bent knees and put his face close to hers.
 

“I don’t throw anything away.” Lame, she thought as those dark eyes looked at her and through the weak answer. That was really…lame.

“Bull shit. Why have you kept everything if you didn’t want someone to see, someone to know…someone to believe? Now I’m putting that shit away again because I’ll be fucking damned if you start going through it, hurting yourself when you don’t need to, and because the very knowledge of its existence makes me want to hunt that fucker down and beat him down.” Despite the violent threat, he pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead and left her sitting there with the conversation spinning around her brain.
 

Her forehead fell against her knees. “Red,” she whispered because she couldn’t do this. Whatever he was implying, she didn’t know if she wanted to face not just a lawyer but
him.
She also wasn’t sure if the him in her head was Jace or his friend.

Red, she thought with a panicky desperation.
Red.

****

She told herself it wasn’t sneaking away when she had to wait until morning to catch the first ferry. She wasn’t running away, she was going to work in her studio to finish the violin concerto piece and then work on her pieces for her courses.

Sitting on her stool at her work table, she stared blankly at her sketches without seeing the drawings. Shaking her head, she made herself focus. The concerto piece was by far the more complex so she reached for that one. She lost herself in the precise placement of the black gems as she duplicated the music. Her fingers found the familiar rhythm she had developed so the notes would be visible whether the piece was being worn or laid out. Time melted away as did thoughts of Doyle and lawyers and
him.
There was just the necklace.

Finally there was no more necklace to create.

She had known she was close to finishing it but to suddenly have the piece done left her feeling a little lost. With her hands resting on her lap, she stared from the necklace then back up to the music. Was it playable?

What if it wasn’t?

Fuck. What if it
was
?

Her fingers hurt from working for—she paused and looked at her phone and saw she had missed quite a few texts from Doyle—almost five hours. Her stomach rumbled and her back was sore from hunching over. Even her ass was sore from sitting. She had paused briefly for a bathroom break, shifting from sitting to standing then sitting again until she had simply forgotten to move, as if sensing the finish line.

Grabbing her phone, she went into the kitchen, made herself a peanut butter sandwich and sat on the couch to eat while reading through Doyle’s texts.

Am good
, she reassured him,
was working. Sorry.
 

Only that made her think of why she had fled.

Are you okay, Kate?

A Kate. Serious. He so rarely called her Kate. Only when he really wanted her attention. Was she okay? No. Yes. Maybe. She shrugged as she lay down on her back. That’s what she told him before her sleepless night and constant working during the day grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her under.

Hands on her. Fear. Pain.
The pain.
 

Her entire body jerked and she tried to remember where she was. Everything was familiar yet it felt wrong. Her workshop was shrinking closing in on her and she covered her eyes to make it stop. She swore she could still feel his hands on her, hear his “Hello, pretty little No One.”
 

“Stop, stop, stop,” she whispered.
Doyle
.

His name whispered through her and she began to pat around looking for her phone. Desperation clawed at her and she flipped over, searching for the lifeline. She found it on the floor. Her hands shook as she tried to remember the simple code to get into her phone. Finally she found the right numbers that opened it up and she found the right image to tap. Bending her legs, she pressed her forehead against her knees.

“Hello my Katey Jay.”

His greeting wrapped around her, his deep voice so clear and warm she half expected to look up and see him. “Hi,” she returned, her swirling thoughts settling. “I finished the violin piece.”

It wasn’t what she wanted to say. There was the nightmare that had clawed at her, the uncertainty that had developed at hearing the word lawyer in conjunction with
him
, but what had come out wasn’t why she had called.

Why should all that shit rain on one important truth. She had finished her first contracted work. Exhaling softly, she looked to her workbench and smiled. “It’s gorgeous. Doyle, it’s so beautiful.
I
made it. Me!” His chuckle was low and the warm feeling grew. “Come see it?”

“Already on my way.”

****

From the outside, Wallace’s looked like a dive bar where you’d get shanked going in or out. The inside wasn’t that much better. Appearances were deceiving. Wallace’s was a bar where many Canadian bands, like Cyanide, had been discovered. If you wanted a music career, this was the place to come. The line up had curled around the corner of the building. If not for her name on a list, odds were she’d still be standing outside.

People were everywhere: standing, filling up the tables and crowding the dance floor.

A stage took up an entire wall and a band was rocking out a cover of a Soundgarden song and they weren’t bad. The decor clung to the dive bar feeling, with neon signs on the walls and the dark, almost dingy walls and floor. People didn’t come to Wallace’s for shiny and trendy. They came for the music.

By the stage there was a booth and she recognized a couple of the guys sitting down. They were like her, kids of Cyanide, but unlike her they were following in their famous fathers’ footsteps with their band Hysteria. She hadn’t interacted with them in years. She wasn’t here to see the opening band, Neon. Or even to see the second show with Hysteria. She was here for the unknown third act. She wondered if anyone knew what was coming.

There was something in the air, a crazy vibe of anticipation, and it seemed to add to the chaos.

It had been a hard week. In the shadows of the night, where memories crawled and clawed, she would open up her laptop, Google Josef Henzberger and be unable to sleep when she read an article, stared at his sports stats or saw a picture of him.

Not the smartest thing she had ever done. Sheer desperation had made her call her therapist.