Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths, #3)(68)

“Thank you for the flowers,” she offers suddenly, adding more softly, “I never thanked you earlier. They’re beautiful. The color is stunning.”

I guide her face toward me with a finger at her chin. “Brown eyes are pretty, but violet eyes . . . I can’t stop thinking about them.” It’s true. I haven’t. I’ve been dying to see them again, since the day I hired her. “Why do you hide them?”

She pulls in her bottom lip, no doubt deciding whether she’s going to tell me the truth or not. With a sigh, she says, “Because I need to be forgettable.” The pain in her tone is unmistakable and it tightens my chest. Is this because of that douchebag Ronald? Or another guy like him?

I can’t think about that guy right now. It’ll make my fists curl, and Charlie will notice. I drove by his apartment building earlier tonight and almost stopped. Almost.

But I didn’t. By the mediocre building, I’m guessing he wasn’t showering her with money and gifts in exchange for sex at any point. I don’t want to cause her more trouble and until I know what’s going on, stalking the guy might not go over well. “You’re a lot of things, Charlie Rourke, but forgettable is not one of them, violet irises or not.”

When she opens her eyes again, there’s a sad smile touching her lips. “Why do you come out here to think?”

Bittersweet nostalgia washes over me. “It reminds me of my childhood, back in L.A. My grandmother used to take my sister and me to the pier on Sunday afternoons when we were young.” Despite raising the despicable man my father turned out to be, I remember my nan being a kind, soft-spoken lady who hugged us a lot. I think she did the best she could as a single parent, holding down two waitressing jobs to provide for them. I never met my grandfather. He went to jail for armed robbery years before I was born, where he eventually died of a heart attack. From the few comments that my dad made about his temper and how he “taught” my dad to fight, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

On those afternoons, she’d treat my sister and me to hot dogs and an ice-cream cone each. We’d sit side-by-side on a bench much like this one while we ate, my sister’s feet not even touching the ground, she was so young. I don’t know that my nan could afford to treat us every week. But when I was young, I didn’t think about things like that; I just took what was given to me. I don’t remember ever saying thank you to her. To this day, I don’t know if she ever knew how much I looked forward to those afternoons.

I wish I had told her when I had the chance.

“I don’t remember my grandparents,” Charlie says softly. “My mom said they used to care for me when I was really small. My mom had me when she was fifteen, so they helped while she was finishing high school. In my head, I see this older blond woman with blond hair and a red-checkered apron, standing on a big white porch, waving at me.” She frowns. “But I’m not sure if it was real or not.” Leaning in toward my body, her head nests itself in the crook of my arm. “What’s your sister’s name?”

“Lizzy.” The painful lump that used to come with uttering that name has long since vanished, leaving only faint bitterness.

“Lizzy,” Charlie repeats in a whisper. There’s a pause, a slight hesitation, and then she confesses, “I would have had a brother, but he died during childbirth. My mom was going to name him Harrison. She said she always wanted a son named Harrison.”

Wrapping my fingers around a strand of her hair, I start playing with it, marveling at its silkiness. “Harrison and Charlie?”

Her chest rises with a sharp inhale. “Where is your sister now?”

I pause to watch a ship sail by in the distance as I decide just how much I want to share with Charlie tonight. So far, she hasn’t seemed at all put off by what she’s learned. I can’t help but want to just off-load everything and find out quickly whether she’s going to reject me. Other than Penny, Storm, and Nate—and John, of course, who was the first officer at the scene that night ten years ago—I’ve never talked to anyone about my past. And no one but Nate knows the entire story. But do I really want to air all my shit in one night? I could end tonight’s conversation very quickly by leaning in and kissing her. That would end all talking. I’m sure of it.

I feel Charlie’s questioning eyes on my face and that’s all it takes for me to relent. “She died ten years ago, with my parents, in a drug-related murder. The cops were never able to nail anyone for it.”

Charlie’s body tenses up next to me and that makes me hold my breath. Is this the part where she starts wondering if she really wants to get involved with a guy like me?

“What do you remember about your sister?”

Air hisses through my teeth. I’d expected her to ask how they were involved with drugs, if they were guilty. If I miss them. This is one question I didn’t anticipate, and it somehow feels all the more invasive.

Charlie’s hand loops around mine settled on my lap. She pulls it to her, letting it rest halfway up her thigh, just below where her dress ends. Having my hand against her soft bare skin is definitely distracting.

My hard swallow fills the air. “At sixteen, Lizzy had a chip on her shoulder and an attitude that made you want to throttle her. She’d already been expelled from two schools, and suspended for fighting from another. She was into drinking and smoking pot. Older guys . . .” I shake my head.