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He felt the presence looming over his body before he saw it. His eyes popped open before the feeling could be integrated into his dream, another one where he was left with gunshots ringing in his ears and blood...so much blood.
“Fuck!” he shouted, jolting upright in the bed.
“Oh, god, so sorry, lindo. I didn’t mean to scare you!” Chase was standing only a few feet away with a mug of a steamy substance that smelled like chicken soup.
“Why do you keep calling me that?” Garrett questioned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. His gaze swept the room, trying to remember if Anjuli had actually been there when he fell asleep or if that was part of the dream as well.
“Oh...” Chase’s eyes sparkled as a grin curled on his lips. “It means ‘handsome.’ Sorry, I can stop using it if it bothers you.”
Garrett’s brows immediately shot together. “Are you coming on to me or something?”
Chase raised his hands, shaking his head. “No, no, just some innocent flirting. I—well, you’re an attractive guy—”
“Wait. I thought you just moved out of your girlfriend’s place?” His head was full of the demons he’d been battling all night long. Chase wasn’t making any sense. Maybe he was still asleep...
“Here, I made this soup for lunch. Did you know it’s like two o’clock already? I’ve got to get ready for work soon.” He smiled as he held the mug out toward Garrett.
“No, no, not so fast.” Garrett accepted the mug, but then patted the mattress. “Sit. I want to get to the bottom of this.”
“Oh, me too,” Chase volleyed back, winking. “Oh, god, I’m sorry. I can’t seem to help myself!”
“Are you bi?” It’s time to cut to the Chase...so to speak.
“I am,” his roommate replied, puffing out his chest a bit. Apparently he wasn’t the least bit ashamed of it, either.
“Fuck, why didn’t you just tell me that?” Garrett shook his head, but a smile was twisting his lips. “I assumed since you said you’d broken up with your girlfriend—”
“Why do you think we broke up?” He rolled his eyes. “She wasn’t down with it.”
“That sucks.” Garrett took a sip of the soup. “Fuck, this is really good, man.”
“Thanks. It’s not homemade, so don’t get too excited.” He chuckled. “Does Anjuli know?”
“Know what?” Garrett squinted at him as he took another sip.
“That you’re bi?” Chase locked his eyes on Garrett’s.
“What makes you think I am?”
“Let’s just say I’m very good at reading people,” Chase answered, “and I had a feeling by the way you looked at me the first time I met you. Like you were stripping me down with your eyes.”
Garrett chuckled and stroked his fingers through his beard. “I can neither confirm nor deny that accusation.”
“You didn’t answer my question about Anjuli...” A serious look rearranged his features as Garrett set the mug of soup down on his nightstand.
“Right...well, let me ask you a question first, okay?”
Chase seemed surprised at the tables being turned but nodded.
“Did your girlfriend leave you when she found out you were bi?”
Chase nodded. “Why?”
“Did you cheat on her with a guy? Is that how she found out?”
Chase wrinkled his nose up in disgust. “Fuck no. I wouldn’t do that to her.”
“So you just told her?” Garrett questioned.
“I did—because we were getting serious—I mean, we moved in together, right? And we were talking about our pasts because she wanted to know what all I’d done. And I told her the partner I had before her was a guy.”
“And she was disgusted?” He scratched his beard and awaited his roommate’s response.
Chase thought for a moment. “Not disgusted so much...as just distrustful. Like she didn’t think I could be faithful to her if I was bi. It’s like she thought I wouldn’t be able to keep it in my pants if some guy came on to me.”
“Right. Well, I think that’s your answer, then.” Garrett smirked at him.
“I heard you guys last night, you know,” Chase shared, his eyes narrowing a bit. Garrett shrugged in response. “She’s loud!” He laughed and patted Garrett’s leg. “She seems like a really cool lady. She’s probably a lot more mature about these things than my girlfriend—I mean, ex-girlfriend.”
“Anjuli is not my girlfriend,” Garrett corrected. “She’s just a...” He stared off for a moment at a spot above Chase’s head, trying to figure out the right term. Something that wasn’t degrading but reflected the casualness of their relationship—or lack thereof.
“Fuck buddy?” Chase supplied.
Garrett sighed. “Well, she was...until we started talking about serious shit last night.” He still regretted telling her about Mara and Lilly. “Now I don’t know what we are.”
Chase grinned and leaned in. “I think she cares about you a lot.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Garrett answered, shaking his head. “Exactly what I’m afraid of.”
Asking for help was not his strong suit. When he was a child, he remembered learning to tie his shoes. He was the only kid in kindergarten who didn’t know how. That was when his mom had first started dating Clark, and he was over at their house quite a bit.
For the first few months, Clark had been moody at times but sometimes nice. One night he offered to take Garrett fishing while his mother made dinner. There was a lake only a mile or two from their house. All Garrett needed to do so they could leave was put on his shoes and tie them.
His mom was busy stirring something in a big pot on the stove. “Go ask Clark for help,” she suggested.
He had frozen. Clark was tall and sometimes gruff. He had that military look and the demeanor to match. Garrett was intimidated, and the idea of going to ask him for anything struck fear in his five-year-old heart. “Go on, honey, don’t be afraid. Clark will help you.”
It was the first of many times his mother had been wrong about the man she would later end up marrying. Garrett gingerly stepped into the living room, where Clark was sprawled in the recliner drinking a beer and watching the five o’clock news.
“Can you help me tie my shoes?” Garrett’s voice had come out in a timid little squeak.
“’The fuck wrong with you, kid? What kind of almost-six-year-old doesn’t know how to tie his goddamn shoes?”
Garrett had stood there, speechless, his fingers trembling at his side. He hadn’t prepared himself for what he’d do if Clark wouldn’t help him. And his mother had made it clear he was to figure it out on his own. She was busy making dinner.
“Your mother sure coddles you, don’t she? Bend down there, boy, and get to work on it. I’m not waiting around here all day for you.”
Clark pushed himself off the recliner and headed toward the front door. He pulled a baseball cap on his head, then turned back to look at Garrett, who was willing himself not to cry as he twisted his laces in all sorts of configurations, trying to make a bow tie.
Finally, Clark’s patience was exhausted. The more Garrett scrambled, the more of a mess of knots he made in the laces. “Maybe by the time I get back, you’ll have figured it out,” Clark bellowed with a laugh. And the next thing Garrett knew, the door slammed behind him. He heard Clark’s truck rumble to a start, then saw the dust billow in his wake as he flew down the gravel driveway.
Stupid how something that happens when you’re five affects your whole fucking life, Garrett thought as he held his phone in front of him. Anjuli had already texted him to say she was sorry she had to leave before he woke up. When he looked at the screen, he noticed he had only ever sent her that one text. All the other ones displayed had come from her.
He took a deep breath and typed out: Suppose I did want to find my brother. Where would I start?
It was a couple hours before he heard back. What are you doing tonight? she’d asked.
Chase had already left for work, which left Garrett by his lonesome in the apartment with no booze. There wasn’t much food either, now that he thought about it. What I really ought to be doing is looking at some job websites. He glanced around the place, trying to imagine himself home alone all night, voices whispering in his ear.
Maybe Anjuli has some wine, he considered. If not, we could drop by and see Chase at the store.
He also realized he was starving. Other than the mug of soup Chase had brought him, he hadn’t eaten since...Thursday? He couldn’t even remember. Fuck.
I don’t have any plans, he answered her text.
Thirty minutes later, he was walking toward her apartment. Parking over near her place was dicey, he remembered from the party she’d hosted. Besides, they were still having a warm snap, and the October breeze felt delicious on his face. The trees were turning colors, and that sweet smell leaves got right before they fell hung in the air. He sucked it into his nose and told himself he’d made the right choice.
He knocked on the door, and she opened it immediately, looking radiant with part of her hair pulled back into a barrette and the rest hanging around her shoulders. She wore a silky-looking blouse with a red and gold paisley print and a long black skirt. He immediately wanted to pull it up and expose her legs. He hated seeing a lush, curvy body like hers covered up. Around her neck was the rose choker she’d been wearing the night of her get-together.
“What smells so good?” he asked as she ushered him inside. Indian food, he guessed.
“Curry,” she answered, grinning.
“Yum!” He followed her into her kitchen, and all he could do was picture them at her party several weeks before. This is where their romp had started. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but did you grow up in India?”
“I did,” she said, her dark eyes full of glitter. “I came to the U.S. for my undergraduate degree when I was eighteen, and I never left. Well, except for a trip back home here and there.”
“Wow, that’s awesome. You don’t have much of an accent,” he noted. He was so worried about offending her, he tried to choose his words carefully. “Shit, I probably shouldn’t have said that.”
She laughed as she checked a pot on her stove. “It comes out sometimes,” she answered. “Just ask my daughter what I sound like when I’m mad.”
“How old is your daughter?” Despite the need to step over potential cultural landmines, Garrett rather preferred interrogating her over the reverse situation.
“Are you trying to figure out how old I am, Garrett?” she questioned with a sly smile on her face.
He nearly blushed, which was something he never did. As if anticipating the heat rising to his face, she handed him a glass of ice water. “Thanks,” he murmured before swallowing half of it down.
“I’m forty-two,” she shared, extinguishing his curiosity. “And my daughter Mishti is nineteen. She’s a sophomore at Penn State.”
“Oh, nice,” he managed, still feeling the burn in his cheeks. There was something about her that seemed older and wiser, but also something youthful and almost innocent about her too. He remembered her hesitance to go along with anal the night before, only agreeing after delivering a serious speech about how much she trusted him. For her age, she didn’t seem very experienced in the bedroom. He wondered if she was recently divorced? Maybe her ex had been boring and vanilla?
“And how old are you, Mr. Stone?” Those eyes flashed at him as if they held diamonds buried just beneath the surface.
“I’m thirty-two. So, see? Not that much difference between us.”
She nearly choked on the sip of water she had just taken. “Okay, if you say so.”
“Age is but a number,” he reminded her.
She gave him an uneasy smile as she turned off the stove and took two plates from her cabinet along with several small, shallow bowls. She took the pots from the stove one at a time and filled the small bowls two by two. He was mesmerized by her movements, and the food smelled delicious.
She lit the candles just before they sat at her table, surrounded by the small bowls full of Indian delights. She refilled their water glasses and invited him to dig in.
“No wine?” He looked up at her, wondering if she’d just forgotten it with all the other things she’d prepared.
She let out a nervous breath. “No wine,” she answered. “Sorry.” The look on her face warned him not to push her.
He shrugged and picked up a piece of naan from the middle of the table. “So is this how I do it?” He tore off a piece and dipped it in one of the little bowls on his plate.
“That works. What do you think?”
He took a bite and chewed it thoughtfully as his cheeks pushed up with a smile. “Dammmnnnnn! That is pretty fucking amazing!”
“Oh, good. I love it when my cooking elicits expletives!” She giggled and patted him on the hand affectionately.
“There’s more where those came from,” he joked and shoved in another mouthful. It was definitely the best thing he had eaten in a long time, except perhaps Anjuli’s succulent pussy the night before. He still wished he had some wine to wash it down with. It was going to be a long night without something to calm the nervous jitters creeping into his hands.
He reminded himself why he had come. Not just for the company, but to learn more about what she could do to help track down Jackson Stone. He waited to broach the subject until their meal was almost done and she had finished telling a story about her daughter when she was growing up.
“I’ve been thinking about your offer...about helping me find my brother.” He looked into those eyes as he spoke and saw a bit of surprise and delight fire off in their sepia depths.
She reached across the table and took his hand into hers. “I’m so glad to hear you say that. I need whatever information you have on him—full name, date of birth, parents’ names, last known address. Where he was stationed. Where he was deployed. I have a few people in mind who can help.”
His brows furrowed as his eyes trailed down to their joined hands. He’d never noticed before, but she wore an emerald and diamond ring on her right hand. Nothing on her left. She had beautiful hands with long fingers and natural but well-shaped fingernails that were neither too long or short. There was an elegance to her hands, just like everything else about her. She exuded grace and class. It reminded him that he had no business being involved with a woman like her.
How can I ask her to find my brother when I can offer her literally nothing in return?
“Garrett?” Those eyes bade him look up at her, and like magic, his gaze lifted to her face. Concern swept over her features, tightening her jaw. “Okay, just tell me what you do know, then.”
He shook his head. “Not much. I think he’s about seven or eight years younger than me. We have the same father but different mothers. I guess I could call Lilly...uh, my sister...and ask her for the information. But I don’t want to get her hopes up.”
“If they’ve been searching for him for a year already, she probably already knows everything there is to know about managing expectations.” She offered him a kind smile, then turned around to retrieve a small yellow notepad and a pen from the counter behind the table.
“Jackson Stone,” he told her, then she wrote it down. Just having that name on his lips made his head begin to pound. He felt a clamminess creep up his neck as the pain radiated throughout his skull and down his neck, arms and back. He wasn’t sure if it was the Indian spices he wasn’t used to—or maybe the lack of alcohol. He hadn’t had anything to drink since Thursday afternoon, and it was now Saturday evening.
“I—“ He raised himself from the table and was suddenly overcome with dizziness. He clutched the edge of the glass as he tried to stabilize himself. “I’m sorry, I—where’s the restroom?”
Anjuli stood too, her face darkening with worry. “Do you need help?” She lunged for him, taking his arm in hers as she guided him down the hallway toward the restroom.
I was just here a couple weeks ago; I should know where it is, he thought as he tried to get his feet to work. It felt like he was dragging fifty pound weights on each ankle. She pushed the door open for him, and he stumbled inside till he was on his knees in front of the toilet. He heard the door shut as all the food he’d just eaten came rioting up his throat like lava exploding out of a volcano. Clutching his stomach, he choked as he vomited every last bit of its contents into the bowl, trying not to make a mess, but also just hoping he didn’t die in the process. It felt a little like he might.
Then, there was silence. His head was still pounding, but at least his stomach didn’t feel like it was revolting against him. He leaned back against the wall and weakly lifted his arm just far enough to reach the handle so he could flush. The smell was so bad, it nearly made him wretch again. If my head will just stop pounding...fuck!
“Garrett?” came her voice from outside the door. “You okay? Can I get you anything?”
She sounds worried, he thought, running his hands through his hair. He tried to keep his eyes closed, but it only made the room spin more violently. She called his name again, but he couldn’t seem to get his throat to vocalize any of the words in his head.
Finally, she slowly pushed the door open. “Oh my god, are you okay?” She rushed over to him and laid the back of her hand against his forehead just like his mother used to do when he was little. “You’re burning up! Come on, let me help you into bed.”
She bent, reaching her arms down toward him, but he was so disoriented, it took him a few tries to actually connect with her hands. Once he did, she gritted her teeth and jerked backward, trying to lift him up. He wanted to help, but he still felt weighed down, like he was anchored to the floor.
“I don’t think I can drag you, Garrett.” She let go and crouched beside him. “Should I call 9-1-1?”
That got his attention and seemed to clear the blockage from his throat. “Fuck, no. Please.” He groaned, using every bit of his strength to leverage himself against the bathtub and rise to his feet. She leaned down and offered him her shoulder, but he waved her off. She frowned before leading him out of the bathroom and to her bedroom across the hall. She pulled down the comforter and gestured for him to get in bed.
“I’m going to get you some ibuprofen,” she announced once he was settled.
He took the handful of pills and the glass of water she offered gratefully. After he swallowed them down, he strained to give her as much of a smile as he could muster. “I am so sorry, Anjuli. And trust me, my getting sick is in no way a reflection on your cooking abilities because I enjoyed our dinner so very much. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.”
“What’s wrong with you is your system probably rejected the food because it had gotten so used to only having alcohol in it,” she suggested with her lips pursed. If she was attempting to keep the mother-knows-best tone out of her voice, she had failed miserably.
He exhaled, leaning his head back against the pillow. With his eyes still closed he said, “I was hoping to get back in your bed someday, but not like this.”
“You’re telling me,” she retorted, not even trying to hide her smile. She took ahold of his hand and squeezed it. “I want to help you. But you have to be willing to help yourself too, you know.”
“I know.” He didn’t want to look into those eyes. He was too afraid of seeing her disappointment that he couldn’t be who she wanted him to be. Maybe the best thing to do is to sleep it off, then get up in the morning and move on with my life.
“So, I gathered from all this discussion that you didn’t grow up with your father?” She took a seat on the bed, her legs crossed underneath her.
Great, now the interrogation is starting back up again. “Look, Anjuli, you’ve been so kind to me. I don’t even know why—maybe it’s because you like fucking me, I don’t know. But you deal with this kind of shit for a living, and I don’t want to be your patient. And I definitely don’t want to take advantage of you.”
She suppressed a scoff as she dropped his hand back to the mattress. “I appreciate how you’re looking out for me, but as a forty-two-year-old woman and mother of an adult, I think I can take care of myself.”
He didn’t say a word.
“Furthermore, has it ever occurred to you that one does not need a motive or an advanced degree to be kind to one’s fellow human beings?” His eyes flew open as he prepared to challenge her, but then her face softened as she added, “And, for the record, yes, I do like fucking you.”
“The truth comes out.” He shook his head as a smug little smirk appeared on his lips. Fortunately, the pain medicine she’d given him was already starting to kick in. He’d thought it was ibuprofen, but now he wondered if it was something stronger.
“Do you have a problem with that or something?”
“I certainly do not. I just don’t—”
She cut him off. “So we were talking about your family. I’m just trying to understand what happened so I can help you find your brother, okay? I assume your parents were divorced, and your dad got remarried?”
He nodded. “Something like that. It’s more like my dad walked out on us when I was three, and I never saw him again.”
Her eyes scanned his face, maybe looking for a tear to appear or some sign of pain. But he said it matter-of-factly, like he was reading something out of a textbook. “I’m sorry to hear that, Garrett.” She took his hand again and pressed it into both of hers. Her touch was soft, warm, electric. If he hadn’t still felt weak and disheveled from his earlier double dose of nausea and dizziness, he might have even been turned on.
“Do you want to stay the night?” she suddenly changed the subject. She scooted off the bed and to her feet, looking at him while she awaited an answer.
“Uh...why?” He didn’t mean to sound skeptical, but her abrupt change in demeanor almost gave him whiplash. First she was a nurse, then mother, and now she had the playful smile of a schoolgirl reaching all the way to those eyes.
“I just thought maybe we could relax and watch a movie. Get your mind off everything, and hopefully you can get a good night’s sleep?” She lifted the red and gold blouse she’d been wearing all evening over her head, revealing a lacy red bra.
He tried to keep his tongue in his mouth. Why does she have to be so fucking gorgeous? he wondered. “Yeah, that sounds fine by me.”
“It’s settled then.” She turned around and unhooked her bra, took it off, slipped a silky black nightgown on and tossed her skirt aside in what seemed like a millisecond.
She must be used to quick changes in the theatre, he reasoned with a chuckle.
“What, why are you laughing?” She moved the comforter and sheet so she could slide into bed next to him. “You aren’t supposed to laugh at a woman who just put on lingerie and climbed into bed with you. It’s beyond rude!”
Now he laughed again, even harder. “You changed so fast! You’re like Superman or something.”
“Hey, I’m no stranger to quick backstage costume changes. And, besides, you, Mr. Stone, are going to keep that sexy cock of yours to yourself tonight. You need a night off. No booze. No sex. Just some good old-fashioned cuddling and sleep.”
He sighed, not bothering to hide his disappointment. “Is that an order?”
“Doctor’s orders,” she corrected and leaned over to press a chaste kiss to his forehead.
