Come On Closer (24 page)

“They're not leaving. Where are they going to go? Nowhere. I told you before, I didn't come from much, and my house looks like a palace compared to what I grew up in.” She looked around sadly. “At least . . . it
did
.”

Right that second, he hated them for throwing her into such a tailspin. He'd never seen her like this. She looked haunted. And she was, he supposed. Just by living people instead of the dead.

“You don't need to let that happen,” Shane insisted. “You're your own person now, Larkin. Don't let them barge in here and take that away from you.” It was part pep talk, part plea, and he wasn't sure whether any of it was getting through. She looked so
tired
.

“It's not a matter of
letting
them. I'm not sure if I can . . . I just . . . I have to figure this out on my own. I haven't had to deal with them for a few years, but they're always going to be my problem. It's on me to solve it.”

She was as stubborn as he was when she wanted to be. Shane exhaled loudly. “It's okay to lean on people.”

“I know.”

“Some of us want to be leaned on. You have people in your life who want to help you when things get hard, Larkin.”

She blew out a breath. “Yeah.” It was neither an answer nor acceptance, but it seemed like the best he was going to get tonight.

“I brought you fries,” he said, lifting the bag. “You want to have a few with me before I take off?” He could see the longing on her face then, and he knew it wasn't about the fries so much as it was about the evening they were supposed to have had. “You can come stay with me,” he said, his voice dropping. “You don't have to stay here.”

“No, but thank you. This is my house. I need to stay here.” Her smile was bleak. “Besides, I don't know what I'd come back to if I left it.” She looked at the fries wistfully. “Thanks for those. I'm starving. You can take them if you're hungry, though.”

“Nope. Got them for you.” He handed her the bag, fingers deliberately brushing hers. She lingered, just for a moment, and then took it from him.

“Thanks,” she said again.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her and take her out of this house. Permanently. But since that would likely earn him nothing but a kick in the nuts and a ride in Seth's squad car, Shane simply moved in close and pressed a kiss to her forehead, running a hand gently over her hair, then her shoulder. She leaned into his touch with a soft sigh, and he could feel the tension and exhaustion coming off her in waves. He had never felt this before, the overwhelming urge to fix everything that was wrong for another person, no matter what it took. Now that he did, he had no idea how to act on it in a way that would actually help.

Right this second, he didn't think he could. He needed time to figure out the best way to do this.
Trouble was, he hated leaving her as much as he hated what was happening here.

“I'm here if you need me,” he said. “Call me tomorrow, okay?”

She nodded just as Journey came back inside. Larkin's mother looked between the two of them, then said, “I'm going to watch my shows. I'll pick up some of this in a little bit, honey. I'm tired. Those flights were the pits. Nice meeting you, ah . . .”

“Shane.”

“That's right. Nice name,” she said, then winked at her daughter and strolled past into the family room. He watched Larkin look around at the mess again, and all he felt was helpless anger.

“I'll stay and help clean,” he said.

“No,” she said quickly, her voice a tight snap. Then, with a shake of her head as though she was irritated with herself, she repeated, “No. I just need a little time on my own. It'll be quiet out here when I turn off the radio.”

“You need help,” he said.

“No. I need . . . I don't know what I need. Something. Please just let me be, Shane. It's not you. I just need a little space tonight. Okay? I'll figure this out. Then we'll talk.”

Leaving her there, in the middle of that maelstrom, was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do. But he couldn't force her to want his help, or his company, no matter how much he wanted to give both. So Shane walked away, hoping that the morning would bring them both a little sunshine. He had a feeling they were going to need it.

I
t was snowing like hell.

Larkin stared out the kitchen window as the snow fell in a thick white curtain, piling onto the already substantial piles of snow in the yard. She didn't think much of it, other than a faint sense of
ugh
. Her mother and sister had been in her house for two weeks. It felt like a month. Or a year. She didn't really have the bandwidth to figure out which.

“Larkin, have you seen my good bra?” Amber wandered through the kitchen, grabbed a cup of coffee, and wandered back out again without bothering to wait for an answer. She cared about the bra about as much as she cared about finding a job, Larkin thought. Why bother? They'd pinned her down perfectly. She had no idea how to get them out. They had no intention of leaving. And this time, she didn't want to be the
one doing the running away. Where would she even run to? This was
her
place, damn it.

So here they sat, snowed in together on a Thursday afternoon.

She'd closed up early once it became clear that the storm was headed in. She'd briefly considered bringing a blanket and pillow to work and setting up camp in the kitchen, but people would know. Aimee and Jo had already been talking about her, she knew. She was an expert on worried whispers at this point in her life.

Was it the bloodshot eyes? The fact that she'd forgotten to change her shirt twice this week? Or maybe it was just the moments when she'd find a spot to focus on somewhere on the wall and then start to fall asleep. She knew she looked terrible. Her friends were just nice enough not to say so.

And then there was Shane. She knew he wanted to help, but . . .

Larkin frowned and shuffled to the coffee maker in her fuzzy socks, pushing her thoughts away. She couldn't deal with that right now. The kitchen was messy. Not as apocalyptically messy as it had been that first night, but she always had a lot of work to do on it when she got home. Sadly, she'd grown to love it. It was the only time her family left her alone.

The knock on the front door startled her out of her stupor. She waited, with morbid curiosity, to see if anyone else would answer it. There were a few seconds of no sound but the television, constantly on these days. Then another series of knocks.

“Are you gonna get that?” her mother hollered. Larkin sighed irritably and headed for the door. She knew she needed an actual plan to remove her family. She
just wished she could concentrate for long enough to come up with one. Even after all these years, it had taken no time at all to slip back into survival mode. All she seemed to be able to manage was one day at a time.

Larkin opened the door to find the man she'd been ducking for days now, looking like the handsomest thing she'd ever seen, just the way he always did. She knew how rough her appearance must be, and had to fight the urge to slam the door and go hide in her room. He didn't need to see her this way. Maybe, when she could get back to being the woman he was interested in instead of the much younger version of herself she seemed to have backslid into, they could pick things back up where they'd left off.

As it was, she had no idea what to do. All the emotion she'd bottled up for days welled in her chest, threatening to replace her speech with sobbing. All she wanted was for things to go back to normal.

I can handle this. I can handle this, damn it. I did it before.
She repeated it to herself so often. . . . Why did it still feel like a lie?

Larkin blew a lock of hair out of her eye and tried to look casual. Never mind that the house behind her looked like a hurricane had hit it.
Everything's good, everything's fine, yes, of course I have laundry all over my couch all the time, it's a thing.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hey,” he said. Bright white flakes were sticking in his red hair, and on the black wool sleeves of his jacket. His hands were stuffed in his pockets—no flowers for her today. She had a sudden, awful premonition that he'd come to “discuss the relationship,” which was never a good sign. Her fingers itched to trace the sharp
outline of his jaw, to slide over his big shoulders and just bury her face in his chest until everything stopped being awful.

Instead, she hung back. After two weeks where she hadn't been able to bring herself to reach out, God knew what he thought. But she'd be damned if she'd let him or anyone see her crack under the strain. She
would
deal with this. Somehow. There was no reason to drag him into what no doubt looked like his family's worst nightmare for him. Not that she should care; not that it should matter. But if she was being honest, Larkin knew that the biggest problem was her. She didn't want him exposed to all this. She wanted to have put all this behind her. Her family seemed to ruin everything it touched.

She wouldn't let it touch him.

“I'm stealing you,” he said.

Larkin's brows shot up. “Um, what?” She looked past him, at all the snow falling. “Where were you planning to take me? The nearest snowbank? This isn't a great day. . . .”

“It's as good as it's getting,” he said. “I have plans. Come on. You wouldn't want to ruin all my hard work, would you?” His mouth quirked up into the smile she found impossible to resist, though it held a hint of something more somber. He was worried about her. That made two of them. Still, this didn't feel right, running away from home.

“But I look awful. I'd need to change.” She wanted to go. She wanted to go so badly. The danger was that she wouldn't be able to force herself to come back. She was out of practice with running, but the instinct had still been there, buried.

“I'll wait,” he said, and then stepped past her as though she'd invited him. “Hi, Mrs. O'Neill. How are you?”

Larkin lingered in the doorway for a few stunned seconds, then turned to shut the door. Part of her railed at the high-handedness. On the other hand, his refusal to leave without her was a perfect excuse to go. Which he knew, of course. She also couldn't ignore that he was giving her an escape route because he cared.

Shane didn't even look at her while he chatted with her mother, who was eating up the attention. Larkin pursed her lips and headed for the bedroom, where she threw on some clean clothes—her favorite boyfriend jeans, a loose Bohemian-style top—and redid her bun so that it was less like a bird's nest. She leaned forward to examine her face in the mirror and decided there wasn't much she could do about the bags under her eyes. A little lip gloss would have to suffice for some color, because, man, was she pale. She finished it off with a big pair of gold earrings and decided that she was about as good as she was going to get.

“Okay,” she said, reappearing in the family room to watch her mother twirl a lock of hair around her finger and laugh just a
little
too hard at whatever Shane was telling her. He looked up and brightened considerably. The way he looked at her . . . No one had ever made her feel as cherished as he did. It could make her do all manner of stupid things if she wasn't careful.

It wasn't until she was buckled into his nice warm car that she bothered to ask where they were going. It didn't really matter. As soon as she'd stepped out the door, it was like a weight had lifted from her shoulders.

Maybe he knew that, too.

“You'll see,” he said. She didn't bother to try to get the information out of him. Harvest Cove was small. She'd find out soon enough. They could stay in the quiet, warm car and she'd be perfectly happy. Larkin stared out the window, watching the flakes drift by. She liked snow. She was about ready for it to end, and for the leaves and flowers to emerge, but winter always had its last hurrah. And right now, it was very pretty. Very cold . . . and quiet . . .

“Larkin?” She jerked awake. For a moment she had no idea where she was, but it came back quickly enough when she saw Shane leaning across the seat to wake her.
Great. I passed out in his car.
She blinked the sleep from her eyes and then covered her mouth for a yawn.

“Sorry,” she said. “Guess I'm a little tired.”

“I can see that,” he said. She didn't know what to do with the concern in his voice or the rigid set of his jaw, so she ignored both as best she could. When she turned her head, she realized they hadn't gone far at all.

“Your house,” she said. “A classic choice for a crappy day. Did you get pizza and a movie?” The thought of it produced an ache deep in her chest. It was so normal, and very sweet, and she would probably fall asleep on his couch. As sexy as the man was, the chances of her libido waking up enough to act on it today were roughly nil.

“I did better than that.”

He got out, then came around to open her door for her. She let him—her reflexes weren't as quick as usual, so she let herself appreciate the little bit of chivalry. They walked inside together, where Larkin immediately knew something was up. The air smelled like
heaven, the place was even cleaner than usual, and Shane had decided to help her out of her coat. Like they were at a fancy restaurant instead of his house.

She suddenly felt underdressed. Her nerves sparked to life, waking her up . . . but not in the way she might have wished.

“Shane?” she asked.

“Hang on,” he said. “Just . . . stay there.” He left his coat on and hurried off into the dining room, returning just a couple of minutes later minus the coat. “Okay. Now you can come in.”

“Surprise!”

Larkin couldn't find words. They'd fled the instant she saw all of her friends gathered in Shane's dining room, their smiling faces lighting up the room just as much as the disco ball Shane had hung from the chandelier. The table was covered with food from Merry Meet, the source of the heavenly smells.

“Oh. You
guys
.” She was torn between laughter and sobbing, but she managed to keep the sound that escaped her more like the former. She looked at Shane, who was hanging back looking pleased with himself. She had to admit, he had every right to be. “You threw me a party?”

“I'm
throwing
you a party. Present tense. The night is young, and you needed to get out for a while.”

She thought again of all the unfinished business at home, all the business that might conceivably never be finished, and tried to make herself care. “But—”

“No buts,” Emma piped up. “Shane rented a karaoke machine. You haven't been to karaoke night in like two weeks, and if you think we're letting you leave before we do our traditional duet, you're nuts.”

Larkin looked at her friend, with whom she'd done more questionably pitched renditions of old pop songs than she could count, and wanted to hug her. So she did, walking into the middle of the crowd of people she cared about and enveloping Emma in a bear hug. Emma's muffled laugh came from somewhere in the vicinity of her chest.

“No Bob Marley!”

“Not today. I'll save it for when you're least expecting it,” Larkin told her. Then she leaned down to speak directly into her friend's ear, breathing in the comforting fragrance that was Emma's alone. “Thanks. I think I needed this.”

“Thank the guy who wouldn't let me decorate and hung up that disco ball,” Emma replied, her eyes warm when she pulled back. “And yes, you totally need this. Now eat something. You need fuel to sing, and I can't have a partner who falls asleep in the middle of a song.”

“You got it.”

Larkin drifted through her people as music began to play somewhere—the P. Funk song she'd been dancing to in Petite Treats when Shane had come to see her at work, right before everything had gone sideways—and let herself take in the smiles and faces and chatter of her friends in the Cove. She didn't have the energy to do much else, and it was strange not to be the one bouncing through the crowd and teasing people into laughter. It was different tonight . . . but somehow, it was exactly what she needed.

And Shane had known that before she did.

Then he appeared in front of her with a plate that was loaded with food. “Eat.”

She blinked for a moment before eyeing the heaping mounds of marinated chicken skewers and barbecued meatballs and ham rolls and Merry Meet's amazing mac and cheese. Her mouth watered. “I am kind of hungry,” she admitted.

“Then you'd better get started before Gina comes over here and starts trying to feed you herself,” Shane said.

Larkin turned her head to see Gina watching her like a hawk, though when their eyes met, she got a grin while the older woman pointed at the food and mouthed,
You need to eat!

“Well, I hate to disappoint anybody,” Larkin said, accepting the plate and digging in. It tasted just as amazing as it smelled, and she began to relax into the evening as chatter filled the room while people sat or wandered with plates in their hands, moving between the dining room and the kitchen and family room. Shane was a strong, unusually quiet presence at her side, and Larkin found herself leaning into him more than once while he talked with their friends, one of his hands occasionally touching her back, her waist. She knew she should move away, try to be as social as she always was, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he was holding her up.

When people began to move into the family room, Larkin looked up at him. “Karaoke time?” she asked.

“You don't have to,” he said. “But yeah. It just . . . seemed like the thing to do. You do talk about it a lot.”

“Because I love it,” Larkin said, and felt all the added weight of the emotions she couldn't yet express to him.
I love lots of things, but you most of all. Do you have any idea?
It was the wrong time. For her, it always
seemed to be the wrong time. And this time, more than any other, it felt horribly unfair.

“I'm glad you love it,” Shane said. “That's what it's all about.”

He led her into the family room, where the beer and wine had begun to flow freely and Annalise, Brynn, and Emma were huddled together over the karaoke machine, looking through song choices. Seth lounged in a chair, talking to Zoe and Jason, who were cozied up together on one end of the couch. Jake seemed to be trying to demonstrate his singing skills to his wife, who had a pained expression on her face, and Aaron, who was dancing along to the music with a level of skill that didn't surprise Larkin at all. Fitz and Ryan were engaged in some kind of debate with Gina, who was talking with her hands the way she always did, and Jo and Aimee were laughing together over extra helpings of dessert.