Circle in the Sand (11 page)

Travis stops at a cement bench, leans against the side of it, arms folded. “You make
it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

“I don’t know. I never used to think so.”

“Hmm.” He turns his gaze away. Is he digesting what I said or lost in his own troubles?

It’s awkward not to be asking him questions as well. But so many topics could lead
to something embarrassing for him.
Where did you work before you lost your job? What are your plans for the future after
you get off my friend’s couch? Hack any girlfriends to pieces lately?
I go for changing the subject. “So, have you been to La Jolla cove?”

“No, I heard it’s beautiful there.”

“It is. Lots of people go there for snorkeling or to watch the seals. The beach is
tiny, but it’s a very special place.”

“It sounds nice.”

“It’s a must-see beach if you’re planning on being around for a while.” God I hope
that didn’t sound like I was fishing for information.

“Maybe I’ll go there sometime.”

“I could take you?” I say as his dark eyes meet mine.

His expression tightens. He pushes off from the bench, ending face to face with me.
I’m not sure what I’ve said wrong, but I take a step back before he unloads. “I don’t
know what you’re looking for, but I don’t have a job, a car, or a house, and I’m sleeping
on a fucking couch, so…”

“Whoa, settle down there, Dirty Harry,” I interrupt. “I was trying to be nice.” Wasn’t
I? It can’t have anything to do with his tan bare chest, or that he keeps flashing
me those dark brown eyes filled with longing and mystery. Being the pursuer was foreign
to me. I was probably playing with fire, but it was keeping my mind occupied. I start
to walk away, heading the same way we were going. “Sorry if I was out of line.”

“Wait,” he says as he jogs a step to catch up, but I don’t look at him. “Hey, I’m
an ass sometimes. What can I say?”

“You don’t have to say anything. I was being pushy. It’s fine.”

“You were being sweet. I’m just not a very trusting person. I’m basically starting
my life from scratch here, and I don’t have time for much of anything…or anyone.”

“Sounds lonely,”

“Maybe so, but I don’t know any other way to do this.”

“You’re letting Jax help you.”

“That’s true. Maybe you should be a lawyer. You have very good arguments.”

“I’m actually not used to having to argue with men.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

Up ahead we notice chairs set up on a grassy area that is adjacent to a boat club.
I bet they are setting up for a wedding. Two men are standing next to a wooden altar
that appears slightly crooked and is swaying in the wind. It’s obvious they are trying
to fix it, make it more stable, using tools and wood scattered around it.

“Wait here a sec,” Travis says and jogs over to them.

I obey his command, then fold my arms across my chest and watch. One of the men appears
to be in his sixties. The other is younger with a ball cap on. The two turn to Travis
and listen as he speaks. He gestures to different parts of the altar. Then the three
of them kneel down near the tools, continuing their conversation. He certainly is
chatty for someone who just told me he wasn’t a people person. After another moment
they stand, each man shaking hands with him. I can tell Travis is smiling.

“Sorry about that,” he says when he arrives back to me. His face is more relaxed,
almost happy-looking.

“That’s okay.” We begin to walk again, this time heading back toward the house. “You
seemed really happy helping those guys. Is that what you do…build things?”

“I used to,” he says looking ahead as we walk. “But my last job was home construction.
Not as rewarding but it was work.”

“So what did you build?”

“Anything.” He gives me a quick glance before shrugging. “Back home I made custom
tool benches, desks, coffee tables, shelves, you name it. Then I moved to California,
started building houses…sort of lost what I love.”

Great job, Sage. Way to suck the last of his happiness out. “Sorry to hear that. I
didn’t mean to pry or bring up…anything.” Shit, what was I trying to say, or not say?

Travis gives me a determined look. “I’m having a hard time figuring you out, so I’m
just going to ask. Did Jax tell you about me?” When he sees my eyes lock onto his,
he looks away. “That I have a record?”

“She mentioned something about it, but didn’t say why.”

“If you want to know, I can tell you that…”

“You know what?” I say, cutting him off. At the moment I don’t want to hear these
details. Whatever it is, I can’t hear it now. I want to enjoy meeting this man before
something ruins it. “Let’s go back to not talking for a while.”

I park myself on the couch facing the back patio, waiting for Sage’s return. I seem
to be the only one who gives a crap that she took off with the redneck’s brother,
an ex-con. I don’t know why I’ve suddenly turned into the shotgun-holding, suspicious,
father type. Scratch that. I do know why. These are
my
girls. I’ve taken their crap, come to their rescue, dealt with their moods, and had
the most fun of my life in their presence. So fucking forgive me if I’m a little over
protective.

I actually think the kid is pretty cool, even with his “mama” complex. But, I don’t
trust his brother, and I won’t give him the benefit of the doubt. I need to find out
more about him, and I’m pissed that Jax is blowing us all off about it. I run my hand
along my pocket, touch the plastic test stick still tucked inside. It’s like some
freaky lucky charm I’ve become obsessed with, and though it’s none of my damn business,
I can’t help wanting to figure this out.

When we were growing up, I used those girls as my personal female Wikipedia. They
never minded all my idiotic questions. And I always got one of them to answer. Jax
was unaffected when she explained to a twelve-year-old me, why girls have three “holes”
and boys only have two. And Sage was all too willing to inform me at sixteen that
all bras didn’t hook in the back. A couple of the countless details I’ve cherished
over the years. So doesn’t it make sense that I could ask each one of them if they
were pregnant? Hell, no. We’ll always be close, family close, but the intimacy we
all shared back then has slowly faded, like the air seeping out of a tire. One day
you look at it and register the loss.

Growing impatient, I go to the kitchen where Emily and Jax are fawning over Brady,
feeding and spoiling him. What’s so freaking great about that guy? I sort of understand
why Emily is doing it. She misses her children, can never escape the maternal instinct
to nurture and care for others. But Jax is another story. Yeah, she helps the poor,
the hungry, the needy. I’ve just never seen her act so motherly before. Both she and
Sage are at that age where the clock is ticking. I bet that saying pisses them off.

I snag a barstool and wait for Jax to finish rinsing a glass and turn off the water.
She places it in the strainer with the rest, wipes her hands on a towel. She definitely
doesn’t look motherly to me. As much as she’s always been a little pain in the ass,
I can’t help but smile when I watch her. She’s short in stature, with a cute chubby
face that lights up the room when she smiles. The thing that makes her most unique
is her power over people; similar to a comic-book character, you hope she’ll only
use her powers for good. I’d never admit it to her, but Jax scares the shit out of
me sometimes.

“Hey, you,” she says when our eyes connect. “Wanna beer?”

“No, I’m good. I do need to talk to you for a second, though.”

She offers me squinty eyes and an “Okaaay.”

I get up from the stool and gesture to the hallway with my head. As I walk away, I
make the decision that Sage’s safety is more important than finding out if one of
my friends is knocked up. I won’t mention the pregnancy test yet.

“So what’s up?” she says leaning against a bedroom door.

“Are you kidding me? You don’t think it’s a big deal that Sage took off with that
guy?”

“No,” she says, looking blankly at me.

“You barely know him. And you never told us anything about him. Why does he have a
record? What the hell did he do?”

“Hey, if Travis wants to tell you, that’s his business.”

I haven’t pissed her off yet, so I’m going to press this because I want answers. “So
you’re willing to risk your friend’s safety by bringing this guy around?” Before she
can answer, a worse thought enters my brain. “Shit, Jax, the guy’s sleeping on your
couch. Doesn’t that worry you?”

I already know the answer before she smiles and shakes her head. “Look, Barney Fife,
I can take care of myself. And if Sage wants to find out what Travis has done, she
can ask him herself.”

I sigh in frustration, and a new look emerges on her face.

“Oh, I get it. A bit jealous are we?” she says.

God, why does it always come to this? Yeah, I might have had a thing for Sage at one
time. Who hasn’t? I even know some women who’ve wanted her, and they were straight.
“It’s not about that.”

“So you two never hooked up?”

I refuse to answer that question and can’t believe she’s actually asking. “I’m going
to say this for the last time. You know I care about Sage…and you, and I don’t like
worrying about some unpredictable, possibly dangerous guy getting close to you.” By
now, the blood has pumped through my body and rushed to my face, which I’m sure is
red. I can see her analyzing the vein that has probably surfaced on my forehead. Especially
since she doesn’t see it often. She lowers her head, but raises her brows. The stereo
comes on from the other room, then the sound of something big and plastic falling
to the ground.

“I’m glad that’s the last time.” She smiles and shoots me a quick wink. “Stop worrying.
I
will
tell you that he’s not dangerous. Now I need to go see what that noise was.” Before
she walks away, she squeezes my wrist as if to say that everything will be okay, as
if I’m some little kid, or worse, a woman.

I take a minute to decide what I’m going to do when my sister walks up.

“What?” I say defensively.

“Geez, I’m just going to the bathroom,” Emily says, passing me. “Do you mind?”

I instantly feel bad, knowing this is her weekend to have fun. “Hey, wait.”

She stops in the doorway, turns to face me. “What?”

“Having a good time?” She truly needed a break, so I hope the answer is yes.

“Yeah, but I’m looking forward to seeing the kids tomorrow. You should see the cute
t-shirts we bought them today.” Her eyes light up, intensifying a bright expression
on her face.

I smile in return. “You seem more relaxed, Sis. I’m glad you agreed to this. Actually,
you’re even…glowing.” I’m pretty confident that’s the appropriate word. I wait to
see if there is a reaction. After all, she’s the most likely one to be pregnant.

“Shut up.” She gives me a furrowed brow that I wasn’t expecting. “What are you talking
about?”

I try to recover. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just glad you’re happy and…is there anything
you want to tell me?”

Her confusion remains, and she exhales a laugh. Some people say twins can read each
other’s minds. They can transfer information to each other in non-verbal ways. I’m
not saying Emily and I can do that, but we have always been adept at communication.
We can sense when we need each other, and most of the time that alone propels us to
act in some way. Apparently that’s not working at this particular moment, and she
responds with, “I don’t know. Why? Is there something you want to tell me, little
brother?”

She never tires of pulling that big sister card. Ninety-six seconds doesn’t have much
credibility with me. “No, I just, I don’t know…”

Awareness spreads across her face. “Oh…Ned, are you worried I’m going to say something
to Jax?” she whispers. “I promised you I wouldn’t tell her, didn’t I?”

“No! That’s not what I meant.” Crap I am screwing this thing up. “Go ahead.” I motion
to the bathroom.

“Okay, but don’t worry. I won’t say anything.” She smiles and disappears into the
bathroom, but I can still hear her say. “I’d like to, but I won’t.”

When I walk back to the living room, the sliding glass door opens and Travis steps
in. Our eyes lock on each other. I’m not the intimidating type, but I try to relay
whatever confidence I have tucked away inside of me. I’ve been in exactly one fight
in my life and will do whatever it takes to avoid another. But I won’t be afraid to
tell this guy, who appears to have a good twenty pounds and two inches on me, to back
off if necessary. Something in his eyes tells me I won’t have to. They’re not shifty
or determined or manipulative; they look beaten as he attempts a tight smile and turns
away.

Sage enters close behind and grins at me as she passes. I trail her back to her bedroom.
Then I sit on the bed and watch in the mirror as she closes in on her reflection in
the bathroom area, her expression fading. She fiddles around with her blond hair in
frustration. I can tell she’s thinking,
Is this what I looked like while talking to a hot new guy
? She doesn’t see me shake my head. Most women’s best day is not even close to Sage’s
worst. She has that California-beach-girl model-thing going, but nothing about it
looks fake. She’s never been conceited about her looks either, at least not from my
perspective. I glance over at the nightstand where her wallet sits flipped open. A
white card sticks halfway out of a pocket as if she hurriedly stuck it in. The half
I see, combined with a guess, could read “Westfield Fertility Clinic.” My eyes shoot
back to the mirror. She hasn’t seen me looking, so I nervously start talking.

“So, how’s the ex-con?”

“Ned!” She turns to look at me directly, still brushing her already perfect hair.

“Did you ask him?”

“Ask him what?”

I fold my arms and cock my head. “What he was in for?”

She shrugs and puts the brush down, joins me on the bed. “I was afraid to ask.”

“Well, that makes a hell of a lot of sense.”

“He seems…I don’t know what he seems actually, but I don’t think he’s dangerous.”

“What if it was date rape or something? Did you ever think of that?”

She jams her elbow into my arm. “It’s not that! God, do you really believe Jax would
be sleeping under the same roof as a date raper? If she can be forgiving and open,
why can’t we?”

I look at her as if her Barbie hair fell out of her head. “Since when?” I wouldn’t
say either of us was shallow, but we’re nothing like Jax. Sage and I are realists;
at least I thought we were.

She fights back a smile. “Since he’s cute, and I want to get to know him.”

“I’ve never known you to be this desperate,” I say.

A serious, yet snide look takes over her smile and she says, “Really?”

“Fuck off!” I leap from the bed as both her hands clamp down on my arm.

“Wait, I’m sorry.” She yanks on my wrist with a pathetic pleading face that causes
me to relent and collapse back onto the bed. “I didn’t mean that. I couldn’t resist.”

“That’s my job,” I say trying to add light to my somewhat bruised ego.

“Listen, I know this is bad timing after that remark, but I need to talk to you about
that favor I mentioned.”

It’s typical of Sage to stomp on your toes and then ask you to dance. I was wondering
when she’d get around to that. “What is it?”

“It’s a little embarrassing to even ask you…”

Oh, God. My eyes flicker over to the card that’s visible behind her shoulder. I’m
not ready to be Sage’s baby daddy. Images flash in front of my eyes—spit stained shirts,
toys scattered all over the place, Sage wearing a tent over her inflated belly. I
shake my head; try to stay focused on what she’s saying.

“And I don’t want you to feel obligated…”

My hand rests on my pocket, checking the bump hidden inside. What if she’s already
pregnant? Does she want me to help raise it? “Tell me what it is,” I say louder than
I planned.

“I have this thing…this work thing, and I really need someone to go with me.”

I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Is that all?”

“Well, no. I don’t just need a date. I need you to pretend you’re my boyfriend.”

I’ve been Sage’s back up several times. I don’t mind being used, but it was always
pretty casual. “Why?”

“My boss’s husband hit on me at the Christmas party, and I’d feel better if they both
believed I was with someone.”

I’m already laughing hysterically before she finishes her sentence. She belts me a
couple of times in the ribs before I reel it in. It wouldn’t be the first time Sage
has gotten herself into this kind of mess. When I get a hold of myself I notice she’s
upset. Do I have “ass” tattooed on my forehead? “I’m sorry,” I say taking her hand.
Then I say what I always say, “Of course, I’ll do it.”

“Really?” she begins to brighten.

“As you wish, Buttercup. I’ll worship the ground you walk on.” I kiss her hand and
she giggles. “They’ll think we’re madly in love. Better?”

Her smile says “yes.” She then wraps her arms around my neck, plants a kiss on my
cheek, and walks out of the room, leaving me with more questions than when I came
in.