Then I asked softly, “Her name was Caitlin?” Mace stayed where he was too and replied, “Yeah.” I took in a breath then let it go, tried to find something innocuous to start with, settled on an idea and continued, “Did she look like you?”
Mace watched me a beat then shook his head once and answered, “No. She was blonde. Blue eyes. Tiny.” I kept my silence and my distance, only my eyes were on him. But my brain was emanating comfort vibes as hard as it could and I hoped like crazy he was receiving them.
He put a hand to the counter and leaned into it.
Then he repeated on a tortured murmur, “Tiny.” I knew in an instant the conversation had changed.
Something about the way he said that word made my heart squeeze.
I waited, eyes on him. He kept his eyes on me.
When he didn’t say anything, I whispered, “Tiny?” When I said the word, his eyes closed, when they opened the demons were there, I saw them, clear as day.
Effing bloody hel .
I held my breath but kept my distance and I hoped to al that was holy I was doing the right thing.
He spoke again. “She was a dancer. Bal et. Good at it.
So petite, Christ, so fuckin’ smal . But graceful. Just the way she moved was like a dance.” He stopped and started again, “She was pure elegance. Al she had to move was her hands. She had exquisite hands.” He stopped again then went on, his voice quiet, “Jesus, I’l never forget the way she moved her hands.”
He stopped again and I thought there was something important about this but somehow I knew it wasn’t the time to push it.
“You were proud of her.” My voice was soft.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. I knew the answer was an affirmative.
Instead he said, “She wanted to move to New York.” I nodded.
He kept talking and his voice was getting low and rough and my heart squeezed again at the sound of it. “I took her there when she was fourteen. She fel in love with the place.”
I pressed my lips together and nodded again. This was hard. I wanted to go to him, it hurt to hold my ground but I stayed away.
“You guys didn’t have the same Mom?” I asked.
Mace shook his head.
“Half sister,” I went on.
Mace just looked at me.
“You were close,” I guessed on a whisper.
“I cal ed her Tiny,” Mace shared.
Understanding the importance of that word, I felt the tears hit my eyes and thought about having a cool, tal , handsome, surfer dude brother who took me to New York, loved the way I moved my hands and cal ed me Tiny.
It was an immensely happy thought at the time it was devastatingly sad.
Softly I said, “I bet you were a good brother.”
“Not good enough,” he returned, his voice now unbearably rough and so low, it was barely a mumble.
And his eyes were haunted.
I couldn’t help it, it hurt too much to keep looking at him, I closed my eyes.
I felt a streak of wetness rol down my left cheek, opened my eyes again and whispered, “Tel me.”
I held his gaze for a beat then two then he muttered,
“Fuck, Kitten…”
He stopped speaking, his head dropped, he stared at the floor and that’s when I moved.
I went right to him, fit myself into his body, the top of my head under his face, my arms tight around him. Al the while I did this, he didn’t move, not a muscle. Didn’t even put his arms around me, just kept leaning against the counter.
I pressed my cheek into his chest.
“Tel me,” I whispered again.
I heard his cel ring and his taut body went tighter.
“Ignore it,” I said.
He didn’t.
His head came up, he pul ed the phone out of his pocket and I leaned back to look at him.
It was over.
The guard had slid down over his eyes.
I lost him.
Shitsofuckit.
Even so, he wrapped an arm loosely about my waist as he flipped open his phone with his thumb, put it to his ear and muttered, “Yeah?”
I turned to face his chest and put my forehead there so I felt his body give a smal jerk as his fingers flexed into my hip with such strength, it caused a little bit of pain.
My head snapped back. I saw his jaw was clenched and I felt a coldness start seeping through my veins.
“I’l be there in ten,” he clipped into the phone, flipped it shut and without hesitation let me go, on the move to something urgent.
I turned to watch him nab his belt and boots, the oxygen burning in my lungs.
“What’s going on?” I asked, scared shitless whatever it was was about the Rock Chicks.
He dumped his boots on the edge of the platform and started to slide his belt through the loops.
Then his eyes came to me.
“Carter branched out,” Mace’s voice was hard. “With the Rock Chicks protected, this morning he went after Shirleen.”
I took a step back as if he’d dealt me a physical blow.
Effing hel .
Chapter Eighteen
La La La
Stella