Icing on the Cake (Close to Home) (5 page)

Especially not once the woodpile entered her line of sight.

God, she could still picture it, as if it’d happened yesterday. The scream that’d brought her running from the swing set. Peter lying on the ground in a pool of blood as more gushed from a massive gash in his upper leg.

Fearless—yes, she’d take that label. Proudly. But scared of nothing? Curtis couldn’t be more wrong.

“Hey.” He caught her wrist before she could slip from the parked car. Instead of a firm, dominant grip, his fingers coasted over her palm to twine with hers. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Was this guy for real? She doubted he knew about the chainsaw incident all those years ago, but to mention ghosts? Surely he knew about her first set of parents. Everybody knew.

Another piece of her heart folded in on itself. Amazing anything remained of it after eighteen years, but in the short time she’d known him, he’d found a tender spot. She had to guard the few that remained. From anybody and everybody who could hurt her. Starting now.

She met his waiting eyes—and damn, they were nice eyes—and summoned her hardest glare. “You’re either a dick, an idiot, or clueless. Regardless of which it is, go to hell.” She yanked her hand free of the too-intimate, too-gentle contact, pulled her keys from the ignition and put space between them.

The solid sound of metal meeting metal echoed in the quiet evening air, followed by an identical echo as Curtis exited the driver’s side of her car. He stared at her across the red roof, jaw ticking, eyes narrowed. Thinking she was certifiable, probably. In about two minutes, he’d be thinking she was a monumental bitch too. He’d be right. On both accounts.

She opened the passenger door, flung herself over the center and onto the driver’s seat at superhuman speed. Before he could even think about hauling her out, she slapped the door lock down.

He peered through the glass as she cranked the engine. “What the fuck are you doing?”

What she should have done the first time—getting away, alone. “Move or lose your ability to dance with my ugly cousins at the reception tomorrow.”

He held his ground as she gunned the motor. “Sara. Come on, think of your sister. Whatever’s going on with you, fucking file it away until the wedding is over.”

If only she could, she’d have filed it all away years ago. She threw the shifter into reverse. Coldhearted bitch expression in place, she gave hell to the gas pedal and peeled out of there. Experience had taught her she couldn’t outrun the ghosts he’d asked about. Didn’t mean she wouldn’t keep on trying.

*

Curtis stood in the empty spot where he’d parked Sara’s car. Dust from the gravel settled in front of him as the sound of her car faded into the distance. So much for keeping an eye on the maid of honor and ensuring she didn’t mess up the wedding with one of her self-centered stunts.

He’d had things—and her—under control. It’d taken a few minutes for her to decompress from whatever the fuck that scene with her dad was about, but once she had, she’d seemed relaxed. Hell, he’d even say they had a good time on their short road trip. Until the wheels flew off. Again.

Conn was going to flip out when he learned Curtis had effectively
lost
Sara the night before the wedding. Fuck and fuck. He cracked his neck side to side, rolled his shoulders and released a long breath. Might as well get it over with.

Twilight had fully descended and the near-darkness wrapped around the Chambers’ cozy home. A few interior lights were on, but it didn’t appear that the intimate get-together had moved indoors. Didn’t sound like it either. Country music and laughter carried across the warm evening air, probably from the deck on the waterfront side of the property. They hadn’t let Sara’s dramatic exit ruin the party. Good. Neither would he.

He followed the path around the house. The easy laughter dwindled when he stepped onto the deck without a sassy brunette in tow. He motioned his brother aside, and not surprisingly, Nia joined him. Made sense. She had more invested in this problem than anybody. At least she didn’t have to depend on Sara for the big event tomorrow. Lindsay could take a step to the right and do maid-of-honor duty. The show would go on.

The three of them moved out of earshot. Kind of pointless since the remaining guests consisted of Nia’s parents, Conn’s parents and sister, and the friendly pastor, all of whom would undoubtedly be updated on the situation in the time it took him to go to the can. Still, announcing the recent events to the group didn’t sit right. It wouldn’t be nice for Nia and it wouldn’t be fair to Sara, crazy as that sounded.

“Where is she?” Nia’s soft voice broke through his silent musings.

“Took off. No idea where or why. I thought she’d calmed down.” He grunted under his breath. “As much as that’s possible, I suppose.”

“Yeah. Sara is…” Conn glanced at his almost-wife, then back to Curtis. “Complex.”

Nia sighed and leaned in, head snuggled to Conn’s chest, arms circling his waist. Conn pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. Two pieces interlocking automatically, a perfect fit—that’s how they seemed. Something that ideal couldn’t last forever. For both their sakes, Curtis hoped they logged a lot of good years before the glow disappeared.

“We drove around a bit. Stopped to put gas in her car.” No need to tell them they’d been shooed from the station after almost making out in the front seat. “She told me to head back here so she could make things right. She was laughing and smiling one minute, then went cold and snappy the next. After tricking me out of the car, she practically dove back in, locked me out then bolted.” He met his brother’s gaze and did what needed to be done. “Sorry, man. Hope I didn’t make things worse somehow.”

“It’s not your fault, Curtis.” Nia worried her bottom lip between her teeth, then nodded, obviously settling some internal debate. “She’ll be fuming mad at me for sharing this with you, but that’s what she gets for storming off. As she always does.”

“A trait that
used to
run in the family,” Conn said, grinning when Nia squeezed him in some sort of lame, romantic chastisement.

“Ignore your brother.” Not a hint of annoyance lived in that statement. Just adoration, about three hundred percent’s worth.

“Done,” Curtis said. Enough with the sappy displays of their endless love. Whatever the thing was that Sara wouldn’t want him to know, he wanted to hear it. Five minutes ago.

“It was the chainsaw that set her off. Years ago, my dad had an accident while cutting up a felled tree. A bad accident, almost fatal.” She shivered and Conn rubbed his palm over her arm. “The ER doctor said the saw missed the femoral artery by about half an inch. Sara was playing nearby when it happened, she witnessed the whole thing. Heard the scream, saw all the blood.”

“Jesus.” That explained why she’d lost her freaking shit when she caught her dad showing them his new saw. That’s what she’d been referring to when she yelled at him about his broken promise.

“My mom is a nurse, and thank god she was home at the time. If not…”

“Sara would’ve watched her dad die.”

Nia looked up at Conn. Unspoken communication passed between them, as clear as the night stars.

Curtis narrowed his eyes at them, his brother in particular. “You want my help with the maid of honor tomorrow? Time to cough up whatever ‘need to know’ information you didn’t think I needed to know when you asked me to babysit her the first time.”

“Shit.” This from Conn. A solid response since Nia was giving him the wounded-puppy expression while sliding free of their embrace.

Guess Conn hadn’t shared that request with his bubbly bride-to-be. Oh well. Secrets—one of the three big relationship killers. Best his baby brother figured that out now.

“Sara was eleven when the chainsaw accident happened. Her real parents died in a house fire the year before, on Christmas Eve.”

“Her real parents?” What the fuck?

“Yes. Ray and Brenda Robinson. My parents’ best friends. After the fire, my parents legally adopted Sara, but back then, they were still Peter and Meredith to her. That was when she spoke to us at all. Seeing Peter go down like that, the sound of sirens when the emergency vehicles got here…” Nia shook her head and resumed her former position as Conn’s conjoined other half. “I’m amazed she didn’t withdraw even further into herself.”

In his line of work, Curtis had witnessed a lot of horrible shit. He’d had to deliver devastating news to loved ones. He’d grieved the loss of a fallen officer. All of it sucked, but none of it had been personal.

“She got really quiet and pale when we pulled in the driveway. I said she looked like she’d seen a ghost.” He leaned against the railing and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Safe to say it’s my fault she fled the scene the second time.”

You’re either a dick, an idiot, or clueless.

He’d been clueless. The best of the three options she’d spat at him, yeah, but that didn’t make him feel like less of an idiot dick. “Any idea where she might’ve gone? I’ll go apologize.”

Nia shook her head hard enough to give
him
a headache. “Oh god, do not do that. Please. She’d take it as pity. Not a good thing.”

Fuck, he hated having his hands tied. Especially when his gut told him he needed to fix the fractures. “Then what should I do?”

“Call it a day and forget any of it happened when you see her tomorrow.”

“You sure that’ll happen?” The way she’d looked when she drove off, he wouldn’t be surprised if Sara was city-bound with no intention of returning for the wedding.

Conn’s lips thinned to a straight line. Thinking the same thing as Curtis, probably.

“She’ll come back,” Nia said, apparently reading both their minds. “She’s my only sister and my best friend. She’ll be there for me when it counts.”

For both women’s sakes, Curtis truly hoped so.

*

The alarm on Sara’s cell went off, though unnecessarily. Nobody would be oversleeping in this house today. Conn’s giant dog had paced past her door fifty times already. Across the hall, the bathroom door had to have closed at least a dozen times since she gained full awareness. Her parents had been banging about in the kitchen for an hour, the resultant aromas of quiche and bacon having snuck through the crack beneath her bedroom door about ten stomach-growling minutes ago.

Unless she could exist on the half package of mints in her purse, she’d have to suck it up and go out there for sustenance. Face the music for bailing on the party last night.

Maybe the mints would see her through after all.

“Sara?” Nia’s voice, soft as always. “May I come in?”

“Sure.” As if she could say no to her sister on her wedding day.

The door opened and Nia stepped inside. “I come bearing caffeine,” she said, raising two steaming mugs.

“It’s true, you really
are
an angel.” She accepted one of the cups, then shifted over so Nia could sit alongside. “Though with all the naughty deeds you and the almost-hubster have been getting up to lately, your halo’s looking pretty tarnished. I’m thinking I may have to work that into my wedding toast somehow.”

“Oh my god. Remind me why I tell you anything?”

“Because you know I wholeheartedly approve of your burgeoning depravity.”

Nia’s laughter filled the room. Her damp hair hung straight, partially obscuring her smiling, freshly scrubbed face. Even without makeup, she had a glow. Nia always looked pretty, but this morning, especially so.

Sara sat up straight, angling for a closer look. Yup, definitely glowing. “Dude. Are you knocked up?”

“No, definitely not. I mean, I’d love to have a miniature Conn running around, but that would mean giving up some of that depravity you mentioned.” A different variety of color settled across Nia’s fair cheeks. “And I’m quite enjoying this phase of our relationship.”

“Look at you. My sister—the goodie-goodie turned kinky nympho.” She sniffled in a show of mock emotion. “This is such a proud moment for me.”

“Whatever, maniac.” Nia clanged her mug against Sara’s. “Drink up. The breakfast feast is waiting and we’ve got hair and nail appointments in an hour.”

“I’m on it,” she said, tipping the mug to her lips. Whatever Nia wanted today, Sara would nod and hop to it. She’d be Nia’s bitch—and she was nobody’s bitch. Ever.

Nia could have come in here loaded for bear. She certainly had justification. Instead, she’d come in peace. In friendship. The type Sara didn’t deserve after her recent behavior.

She smiled as she and Nia took simultaneous sips, the actions identical in timing and duration. Even the way they scooped a lingering drop of coffee from the rim of the mug matched. For all their differences—and those numbered nearly to infinity—they did share some similarities. Impossible not to after living together for a decade.

“Hey…did I miss anything good last night?” As far as traditional apologies went, this rated pretty high for suckage. But Nia would understand its deeper meaning. She’d always had a wide margin for forgiveness, thank god.

“Hmm…” Nia tapped one waiting-to-be-manicured fingertip on her cheek. “Aside from Curtis and Conn stripping down to their boxers and jumping off the dock for a late-night swim after everybody else had cleared out…no, you didn’t miss a thing.”

Sara’s jaw dropped, literally. Because whoa, the visual. “You’re shitting me.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Nia shrugged and hopped off the bed, a smug smile in place as she tightened the belt of her pink satin bathrobe. “It pays to stick around. You never know what you might miss by skipping out.”

A side-door lecture to match Sara’s indirect apology. “Well played, blondie.”

“Thanks. But I’m still not confirming or denying,” Nia said, playfully shoulder-shoving her as they walked down the hall.

“And I still have seven-or-so hours to tweak my toast for the wedding reception. I’m sure your future in-laws would enjoy that funny story about Zeus howling at the foot of your bed while you and Conn—”

“Yes, they went swimming last night.” The words tumbled from Nia’s mouth as if she couldn’t get them out fast enough. Not surprising, since they’d reached the end of the hall where it joined the edge of the kitchen, and their parents were no more than six feet away, definitely within earshot.