We get out of the car and walk toward the crooked door. Just as I’m about to open it, Zeke smooths my hair to one side and clasps his hand on the back of my neck. Tingles sashay down my spine at his possessive touch, growing even more powerful when he uses it to direct me through the entrance. I glance back at him, and it takes everything I have not to stumble.
Smoldering.
His heated stare screams ownership, and I love it.
However, before I have a chance to do anything about the fire sparking through my veins, Jeanette rushes from behind her desk, squealing. “Wil! You’re back!” Sprinting forward, she wraps her arms around me—no mean feat, considering Zeke refuses to let go. But I’ve missed her more than I realized, so I don’t mind being sandwiched between them.
“This place hasn’t been the same without you,” my friend gushes. She steps back, holding me at arm’s length, her gaze sweeping my body. A knowing smile forms. “Well, look at you. Bright eyes, color in your cheeks. You’re practically glowing, girl.” Tapping a finger against her chin, she muses, “Hmm, what could have caused such a dramatic change, I wonder?”
Pretending to just notice Zeke, she claps a hand to her chest, feigning shock. Impossible, considering his sheer size and brooding stare. “Zeke! I didn’t see you there. How are you doing, honey?”
He nods. “Jeanette.”
It’s difficult to suppress a giggle, both at Jeanie’s enthusiasm and Zeke’s distant reserve. They’re polar opposites, yet something in her teasing gaze and his easy stance tells me they get along well.
Shaking her head, she clucks her tongue, chastising him. “How many times do I have to remind you? It’s Jeanie. Or lover, if you’d prefer.” She winks. “Though something tells me that ship has sailed. Old Mrs. Butterworth is going to be so disappointed.”
I choke. For a solid minute, it’s impossible to focus on anything other than clearing my airway and wiping tears from my eyes. When I finally do, it’s to witness Zeke’s furrowed brows and Jeanette’s head thrown back in laughter.
“Oh, Wil,” she says with a chuckle once her hysterics subside. “You should’ve seen your face.” Grinning at Zeke, she places one hand on her hip. “You’ve come to collect, haven’t you?”
“Yep.”
With a dramatic sigh, Jeanette walks behind her desk, rummages through her purse, and pulls out a twenty-dollar bill. Rounding her work station once more, she slaps it in Zeke’s open palm. “It hurts to do this, but here you go.”
Zeke pockets it with a nod.
I hold up one hand. “Wait.” Narrowing my gaze, I focus on my friend. “What did you have him do?”
Jeanette’s grin is wide. Pointing a thumb at me while looking at Zeke, she raises an eyebrow. “She’s a feisty one. You’d better watch out or she’ll put a spell on you if you’re not careful.”
He snorts. I groan.
“Jeanie, I’m not a witch. We’ve had this conversation, like, a million times already.” I roll my eyes. “Now, would you quit with the jokes and tell me how the stupid bet started?”
Jeanette throws up her hands in defeat. “Fine, spoil my fun.” She heaves an exasperated sigh. “Mrs. Butterworth complained about her window being jammed open. She said the cold set off her arthritis, so Hero here,” she gestures toward Zeke, “offered to fix it.”
“When?” I ask.
Tapping a finger to her mouth, she looks at the man beside me. “I think it was the second, no, wait, maybe the third day you were here.”
“Second.”
Jeanie claps her hands. “That’s right. It was the day….” Her expression falls. After shaking her head, she continues. “Anyway, Donnelly from maintenance was out of town, and I’m hopeless with stuff like that. It was either leave the window the way it was and risk Mrs. Butterworth catching pneumonia on top of dealing with her chronic arthritis, or accepting your man’s offer.” She shrugs, her eyes alight with humor. “The decision was easy.”
Something clicks inside my brain and a memory from a couple of months ago resurfaces. “Hang on, are you talking about Mrs. Butterworth from room twelve? The Mrs. Butterworth?”
“Uh-huh.” Jeanie nods, giving me a knowing smirk.
Giggling, I cover my face with my hands. Beside me, Zeke gives a frustrated exhale.
“I warned him,” Jeanette singsongs. “I made it clear the woman can’t be trusted with sixty-year-olds, let alone someone who looks like he does, but did he listen?” She shakes her head in mock disappointment. “No.”
“Did you tell him about what happened to the electrician?”
She nods. “Yep, even showed him photographic evidence. We’re lucky the guy didn’t press sexual harassment charges with the scratches she left on his back.”
Gazing up at Zeke, I fight back laughter. “How’d it go? Did she give you any trouble?”
His gaze flicks away before settling on mine again. “No.”
Jeanette steps forward, narrowing her eyes at him. “Somehow you got in and out of her room without a scratch, hickie, or burgundy lipstick stain.” She shakes her head, muttering, “If anyone’s the witch, it’s you.”
Zeke gives her a flat stare, not bothering to respond, while I collapse in a fit of giggles once more.
“So, how’d you do it, Hero? How’d you win the bet?”
“Didn’t do shit. Just went in there, did what had to be done, and got out.”
Jeanette huffs, unimpressed with his response.
After my chuckles subside, I give Zeke a wry grin. “You must have scared the poor woman. She probably didn’t know what to do with a man like you.”
“Not many women do.” He pulls me closer until my breasts are crushed against his chest. My fingers dig into the material of his shirt, wishing it wasn’t there.
“Come to think of it,” Jeanette muses, ignoring my heated cheeks, “Mrs. Butterworth hasn’t been her usual self since then. Maybe I should set up some therapy for her?” There’s a mischievous glint in her eyes. “She might be traumatized from the experience.”
“Only trauma that’s gonna happen is if we don’t get back to the studio on time,” Zeke rumbles. Gazing at me, he pushes some hair away from my face. “We need to move this along, little siren.”
I lean into his touch and nod. “You’re right.” Facing Jeanette, I brace myself. “How’s Mom?”
The joy in my friend’s face fades. It’s like watching a chalk painting wash away in the rain. With a slight shake of her head, she murmurs, “Sorry, love. It’s not a good day today.”
I try to swallow the lump in my throat, the one that reminds me of how selfish I’ve been. I’ve been so busy focusing on myself, on my band, that I haven’t spent nearly as much time with the person who always prioritized me. And yeah, I haven’t been well, but I was fine yesterday. I could have made the journey to see her if I really wanted to.
But I didn’t.
Annoyed at myself and so bitterly sad for Mom, I clear my throat. “Is she awake?”
“No, she had a difficult night. We gave her a sedative and she’s resting now.”
Pulling out of Zeke’s hold, I rub the dull ache in my chest. “Difficult? How do you mean?”
Jeanette pauses. “One of the night staff found her wandering the hallways at around two this morning. When they asked what she was doing, she told them she was looking for you.”
The pain grows stronger, a vise squeezing my lungs to the point of bursting.
“It’s not uncommon behavior, Wil. You need to remember that. Many patients experience confusion and disorientation at this stage of decline.” Her smile is gentle. “And the fact she was out of bed and mobile is actually quite positive. It means her kinesthetic movement and muscle memory is still relatively functional.” She stops, her expression turning somber.
“What? What is it? There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“When the night staff said you weren’t here, she became… volatile.”
I tense. Jeanette gives my arm a gentle squeeze. “It’s not a reflection on you. It’s all part of the disease. I just want you to know why she was sedated.”
“I wasn’t here. That’s why she was sedated.”
She envelops me in a hug even though I don’t deserve her compassion. “Oh, honey, only staff are allowed on premises at that time of the morning, so you couldn’t have been here even if you wanted to. Don’t blame yourself for something that’s out of your control.”
Clenching my eyes shut, I fight the panic threatening to overtake me. I need this record finished. I need the money to start rolling in so I can find a place for us both. That way, Mom will never wake up alone because I’ll be there to look after her.
Then it hits me.
“The tour,” I gasp.
“The what?” my friend asks, pulling away.
I don’t respond. I’m too busy sinking into a bottomless crevasse of guilt, buried alive by my ineptitude, to formulate a reply. How could I have been so blind? I completely overlooked the fact that I’m going to be away for months at a time. Granted, our first leg is along the west coast, so I won’t be far, but after that we’ll be jetting all over the country, and after that we’ll be overseas.
I cover my mouth, fighting back a wave of nausea. “I’m a horrible daughter.”
Zeke grips my shoulder. “The fuck?”
How the heck will I know Mom’s safe, that she’s properly looked after and not missing me if I’m not even there? Sweet Hermes, what am I going to do?
Jeanette and Zeke are close, too close. Their combined body heat is stifling. I shift away. “Please, I need some space.”
“Wil,” Zeke warns. “It wasn’t your damn fault.”
I turn my back, praying I don’t throw up on him. “I’m serious. I need room.”
With an agitated grumble, both he and Jeanette shift away, though I can sense they’re not happy about it.
I guess that makes three of us.
Needing to get my shit together, I take a few minutes to center myself, to close my eyes and focus on my well-being.
“What is she doing?” Jeanie stage whispers to Zeke.
“No idea.”
Ignoring them, I visualize the wide expanse of the ocean. It’s calm, picturesque, a sea of tranquility. There are gulls above squawking for fish, and a light wind caresses my cheeks. I pretend I’m in a wooden boat, the water swirling and lapping against the sides, rocking me gently back and forth. The movement is relaxing, the sun’s warmth is comforting, and the tension inside me weakens.
After releasing a long exhale, I slowly come back to the present, renewed.
Meditation is the bomb.
With more composure than I’ve felt in a long time, I face Jeanette. “I’d like to see Mom.”
She nods. “Of course. I’ll buzz you in.” She must think I cast a spell or something, because her movements are harried as she scuttles to the desk and jabs the automated security lock five times.
With a loud click the heavy door is disarmed and I step through. Zeke’s footsteps follow, a distinct thud to my measured tread. He doesn’t try to speak to me, and I’m glad. The less we talk the better.
Minutes later, we’re inside Mom’s room. It’s hot, stuffy, and the once fresh scent of rosemary now lends a stale tang to the air. I wrench the window open, close my eyes, and inhale the fresh breeze.
Right.
Mom’s my priority; she’s who I need to invest my energy in. Not my growing dependence on Zeke, not worrying about our uncertain future, and definitely not lusting over how freaking hot he is. Finishing the record and getting her out of here is all I need to focus on. Everything else can wait.
Another ache builds, this time in my stomach. It’s beyond frustrating since I only just cleared my mind. I blame it on having to tell Zeke we’re over. I have to do it; there’s no other way. I won’t allow myself to forget about the most vital person in my life.
Doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to the conversation though.
Despite the throbbing hurt, I turn, ignore the man standing silent against the far wall, and face Mom. My heart stops.
“Sweet Kratos,” I whisper, invoking the Greek god of strength.
With hesitant footsteps, first one, then another, and another, I move to where she’s lying. She’s so small. Her tiny body is dwarfed by the patchwork quilt, making her look like a child in a king-sized bed. Incredulously, I take in the woman who gave me life, the woman who’s fading away.
“Where have you gone?” Agony rolls through me. I wrap my arms around myself, my voice a broken murmur. “I’ve only been gone four days, and look at you, you’re barely a shadow.”
Reaching out, I trace Mom’s cheeks. They’re sunken, and the bone is razor sharp in contrast. My vision blurs. Next, I skim under her eyes, the dark rings glaringly obvious against her pale, paper-thin skin. The once tan hue is now a dull ash with spidery blue veins peeking through. How much more can this disease take away? It’s stolen so much already.
“Come back to me, Mom. Please, I need you.”
Nothing.
When I blink, tears spill and trickle down my face. I don’t care. This isn’t about me anymore. Tenderly, I comb my hands through her hair. Even colored, it lacks the shine and vibrancy it once had. There are knots at the base of her neck, so I take my time working them free, and when I glance at her gnarled hands gripping the blanket, it’s to see her fingernails are a sickly tarnished yellow.
Wiping the dampness from my face, I straighten my shoulders. “Well, that I can do something about.”
With renewed purpose, I pull open the drawer of her nightstand and rummage through Mom’s belongings until I find what I’m searching for. Holding the lavender nail polish at eye level, I give it a shake, pleased to see there’s plenty left. She loves this shade, says it reminds her of the wildflowers she once saw at a music festival.
“Let’s see if we can spruce you up a bit, huh?” I murmur, sitting down and gently placing her palm on my thigh. I go about painting her fingernails, relieved when each swipe of polish covers some of the evidence of her illness.
And like always when in her presence, a sense of ease washes over me.
So, I talk.
My words are stilted at first, mirroring my disjointed thoughts. But soon enough, as I recount the events of the past week, it becomes easier to offload my hopes, fears, and dreams. Talking with Mom has always been like this. We used to sit for hours chatting about anything and everything. Even when I was a teenager, she understood my troubles. She didn’t judge, didn’t mock, didn’t condemn. Mom always had an open heart, willing ear, and a warm smile. She always had time for me.
It’s not until both hands are done, the nail polish is dry, and I’ve finished giving her a light massage that I realize my one-sided monologue lasted almost an hour. Glancing out the window, it’s clear the sun is higher, doing its best to penetrate the branches of the decaying, knotted tree. I don’t like its chances but am heartened by its attempt.
So, after tucking the blanket beneath Mom’s chin, I stand and smile sadly. “Love you.”
I spend the next few moments straightening her room. I set some crystals to charge in the sunshine, add essential oil to her electric burner, and freshen the small bunch of Californian lilacs sitting in a plastic vase beneath her ocean print. I check to make sure she’s got enough herbal tea and am satisfied that her collection of reiki gemstones are still emitting positive energy.
Content, I nod.
Until the back of my neck tingles with familiar awareness.
Zeke.
I’d done such a good job of ignoring him, I forgot he was there. But not anymore. There’s a brooding vibration in the air and it’s messing with the waves of serenity emitted by the crystals. Even they don’t stand a chance against him. Holy Hera. If natural molecules can’t compete with his virile presence, what hope do I have?
Negative thoughts aren’t going to get me anywhere. I need to be strong, resolute, unaffected. I need distance.
My fortifying pep talk gives me the strength I need to face Zeke. I even raise my chin, disregarding how freaking delectable he looks leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and eyes trained on me.
“I’m ready. Let’s go,” I state.
Thankfully, as I approach Zeke, my steps are sure and don’t falter once. He watches carefully, his expression blank. But I don’t buy it. I’m almost certain he senses my resolve to end our relationship, and, knowing him, he’s trying to figure out a way to negate my newfound tenacity with a special brand of pigheadedness. Ironic, considering he was the one who didn’t want a relationship in the first place.
But I’m determined. Heck, I even make it down the hallway, past Jeanette’s now empty desk, and into the parking lot without going back on my decision. I keep my hands, arms, and legs to myself, which is pretty damn admirable in my book.
Until he ruins it.
Just as I’m about to open the car door, Zeke’s giant body presses into my back, pushing me against the warm steel. My hands dart out, catching me before I’m crushed. I hate that I like the feeling.
Two large palms brace on either side of mine; they’re twice the size and three times as strong. I watch them, mesmerized, and frustrated because I’m mesmerized. It’s a puzzle I have no time to piece together. His broad chest blankets my shoulders, and his hips thrust against my lower back. If I wiggle my ass, he’d harden.
I’m not going to wiggle my ass.
“Stop it,” a deep voice growls in my ear.
Okay, maybe a little.
“Swear to fucking God, siren. If you rub against me one more time, I’m gonna take you right here in this parking lot. We’ll give the residents a real good show. They’ll be begging for a double dose of Viagra by the time I’m through with you.”
“You wouldn’t,” I whisper, clenching my thighs together to ease the sudden ache, my body screaming anarchy at my mind.
“Try me.”
The possibility of a public indecency charge prevents me from doing just that. Not that I want to have sex in front of old people, and I definitely don’t want to have it with Zeke. I mean, I do. An elemental part of him calls to an essential part of me, and no matter how much I try to block it out, it’s there—a fundamental truth. However, I promised myself I’d stay away and focus on the bigger picture, so that’s what I’m going to do.
Soon.
Very soon.
Why does he have to feel so good?
Glancing over my shoulder, I take in his clenched jaw, his warning stare, and the deep grooves between his brows. “You’re angry,” I murmur, once again drawn to the storm in his eyes.
“Damn fucking straight I’m angry. You’re pulling away from me.” His head lowers, and his warm breath whispers across my skin. I shiver. “Whatever’s going on in that head of yours needs to stop, you hear me? Stop.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you motherfucking can.”
Closing my eyes, I attempt to block out his direct stare, the way he sees straight through me. “You don’t understand—”
My eyes dart open as I’m spun around and once again pushed against the car. “What the hell?”
Zeke cups my face, his eyes burned caramel. “Explain it to me. Tell it to me real slow, so I can understand what changed in the last hour. Last I heard, this was a done deal, and now you want out?” He shakes his head. “Doesn’t happen that way. I’m not letting you go that easy.”
There’s a hint of something in his eyes, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say it’s fear. And if I’m honest with myself, my own gaze probably mirrors it too. I grasp his hands, trying to stop him from touching me but somehow forcing him closer.
“We can’t keep doing this, Zeke,” I plead. “I need to focus on what’s best for Mom right now. I can’t let myself get distracted by you or anyone else.”
His knee pushes my legs apart while I bite back a groan. “This isn’t a casual fuck, little siren.”
Dampness pools between my thighs as I run my hands through his hair. “I know. Jesus, I know.”
He smirks. “You’re calling on a Christian god now?”
“Desperate times.” I smirk. “And it’s all your fault.” My nails dig in to his skin. He hisses. “Being with you makes me forget everything, everything. For the past few days I’ve barely thought about my own mother, and yeah, I was comatose for most of it, but the woman’s fucking dying. How selfish is that?”
Broken, I rest my forehead against his and take a deep breath. His fresh pine scent warms my insides. I want to savor it, delight in it for as long as I can. Because after that, I’m letting him go.
“We need to end this.” My heart hurts. It hurts so freaking much I can barely get the words out.
“No.”
“No?” My head whips back until my confused gaze lands on his determined one. “It wasn’t a question, so how can you reply with no?”
With slow, deliberate movements, Zeke’s palms skim my neck, the sides of my breasts, my ribs, and come to rest on my hips. He yanks me forward, the corner of his lips quirking at my soft gasp. “From where I’m standing, it’s simple. You’re mine, I’m yours. The. Motherfucking. End.”
“Are you even listening to a word I’m saying?” I groan as he grinds against me. “Getting Mom out of that nursing home is my priority. She’s my sole focus.”
“Never said it wasn’t.”
“Then why are you still touching me? Why are you distracting me? Why won’t you let me go?”
“One, because you don’t want me to.” He nips my collarbone.
A fair point, but denial’s a beautiful place.
“Two, because I can’t.” He bites my shoulder.
And just when I thought my feelings were safe, he tampers with them a bit more.
“And three, being together and getting your mom out of this hellhole aren’t mutually exclusive.” Dipping his head, he licks my cleavage.
I open my mouth to argue but he rises to his full height and pins me with a direct stare. “Listen to me. You want to finish the recording? We’ll finish the goddamn recording. You want your mom someplace nice? We’ll find her a fucking nice place. But you’re not doing it alone. None of this ‘we need to end it’ bullshit is gonna fly. We’re in this together, you got that? Deal with it.”
“Deal with it,” I murmur, lost in his unwavering gaze. Lost in the steadfast certainty of a man who knows what he wants. How did someone so cold, so set on being alone, become the very person intent on keeping me close? How is it that he’s now drawing me in while it’s me trying to run away?
Strange.
Zeke nods, pressing his hand against my heart. To my dismay, its erratic beat tells him everything I’ve tried to talk myself out of since first walking into the nursing home. Every lie, every falsehood, every half-truth fades with each resonant thump. It’s time for honesty, both with myself and the man who demands nothing less.
We belong together, the storm and the siren.
It’s pointless pretending any longer. The charged air is evidence our souls were destined to meet. All we can do now is accept that Fate holds our future in her grasp and trust in whatever she has planned. Problem is, she isn’t always kind.
For our sake, I hope she is.