Whisper Me This(29)

Maisey scrubs the tears from her eyes with the palms of both hands and blinks up at him. “What? Why would I be mad?”

“I have sisters, remember? They always get bitchy after I see them cry. Especially if I’m nice.” He grins at her, trying to look big-brotherly and nonchalant and having no idea if he’s succeeding or not.

She snorts, and a little snot bubble comes out of her nose.

“Oh my God,” she says, clamping both hands over her face.

Tony laughs. Despite his body’s demands, despite the gun waiting on the coffee table, despite everything, it’s genuine, clear, delighted laughter. He fetches the box of tissues sitting on the end table by the couch and brings them to her.

“Tears are damned messy,” he says.

She grabs a handful and turns her back to blow her nose and dry her face.

“How many sisters?” she asks.

“Five.”

She spins around and goggles up at him, jolted out of her embarrassment. “Five? Five sisters?”

“Yes, ma’am. Four older, one younger. Not a brother in the bunch. You?”

“I’m an only.”

“Lucky.”

“Am I? It seems like it might be fun to have sisters.” There’s a wistfulness in her voice.

“Yes. Well,” he says, wondering what it might have been like to grow up alone, without the tangle of girls alternately tormenting and taking care of him, “sisters are a mixed bag. Trust me. That was my little sister who answered the phone when you called. Mia. We share a house.”

Maisey’s mouth opens, then closes again. A slow flush darkens cheeks already red from her weeping.

“What?” he asks.

“I thought she was your girlfriend.”

She says it like maybe it matters to her, whether he has a girlfriend or not. His heart skips a beat, and he’s quick to tame it. “Girlfriend? Ha! Too many women in my life already. Seriously. Mia’s good people, but I should warn you that she’ll want to meet you now. You sure you’re not mad?”

“Not the tiniest bit. A little embarrassed. Very grateful. For the gun, and for . . . can you keep it for me? The gun? I don’t know what to do with it.”

Tony’s heart jabs sideways. His belly tightens. Whatever he does tonight, he won’t be taking the gun with him. He needs a solution, and he needs one now.

“Tell you what. You hold on to the gun. I’ll take this.” He tucks the magazine into the front pocket of his jeans. “That way it can’t hurt anybody. Can you get me a ziplock bag for the ammo?” He looks up at her, questioning.

Her eyes are focused on the gun, her forehead creased with worry. But then she draws a deep breath, and her face clears. “Deal.” She picks the weapon up with the tips of her fingers and drops it back into her handbag. For a minute she just stands there, as if she doesn’t know what to do next, and then she sort of crumples down onto the couch.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Exhausted,” she says, sliding down so she can rest her head. “I feel like I’ve gone boneless.”

“When did you last eat?” He hears the words come out of his mouth and wants to call them back. What are you doing, idiot? Get out of this house. Bail.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Yesterday? Maybe the day before.”

“Maybe it would help to get a little food into your body.”

She laughs in a way that is perilously close to another bout of tears. “No food in this house worth eating. Aside from dry cereal. The milk has gone bad.”

“Fine,” Tony says. “I’m ordering pizza.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“You need to eat. Your daughter needs to eat. I can’t imagine either of you are up to cooking. And, if I may say so, I am always hungry. So I’ll order pizza, and if you send me away, I’ll take a slice to go.”

He realizes he is holding his breath, waiting for her answer. So much seems to hang in the balance of pizza. Maybe she’ll say no. Maybe she’ll thank him for his assistance and usher him politely out of the house. This is the safe solution, the thing that ought to happen.

But instead, Maisey covers a yawn and gives him a small half smile. “Let me go wake Elle. She’ll never forgive me if I let her sleep through pizza. But first, I’ll get a bag for that.” She gestures at the heap of rounds on the coffee table.

As if from a distance, Tony watches himself reach out a hand to help her up off the couch, hers so small and pale compared to his. An unfamiliar emotion expands inside his chest. He feels protective toward his mother and his sisters, but that feeling pales compared to this. He’s had plenty of crushes on women, but again, that feeling is different.

He watches her walk out of the room—the glorious hair, the slim hips, the easy way she walks even when she’s clearly exhausted—and knows he has opened the door to a whole heap of trouble.





Chapter Ten

Exhausted as I am, sleep lurks just outside the boundaries of consciousness and refuses to come closer. The old couch has a lump right under my shoulder blade and is about an inch too short to let me stretch out my full length.

Awake, I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a precarious slope of secrets. One tiny misstep and I’m going down in a rattle of loose shale. Truth is more likely to kill me than set me free. My subconscious grasps this theme, and every time I manage to drift off, I wake with a start and the sensation of falling.