The crying woman was the most beautiful person Grace had ever seen. Sitting on the forest floor, arms gathered on a tree stump, the blonde with loose, enviable curls sobbed up the sky, her face dappled with sunlight. Grace needed to move, but her legs wouldn’t take her away from the sight. It looked like a painting. One that could be re-created into millions of duplicated posters and hung up in the bedrooms of aspiring poet teenagers. Grace had gone through that phase, hadn’t she? Before she’d been sent to the camp.
Discomfort boiled below Grace’s breastbone, but she took a deep breath and embraced it. Maybe it even passed quicker than usual because another human being was so miserable in her vicinity. She couldn’t even remember the last time—or if ever—that had happened. When her mother made the decision to send her to YouthAspire the summer she turned sixteen—a leadership program that was a glorified summer camp for the children of affluent families—that almost comical sense of mutual suffering had been present in the beginning. Some of the campers had even bonded over being sent packing so their parents could go on a real vacation, but there had been no opening up. Or sharing of pain.
That had come later.
But it hadn’t been in the form of sadness. It had been anger. Frustration. Unlike the sorrow pouring off this beautiful forest-weeper in waves, so heavy and frothy, Grace could feel it lapping at her ankles like ocean surf.
Sunlight bounced off the crying woman’s necklace, and forgetting everything she’d been taught, Grace spoke. “Are those rings around your neck?”
“Ah!” The blonde even looked pretty when she was frightened, falling back onto her butt in a whoosh of leaves. “Who said that?”
Grace tipped only her upper body sideways, making it visible from behind the tree. Like an old-fashioned jack-o’-lantern, she imagined. “I really don’t have time to introduce myself, but I’m Grace. What’s your name?”
A beat of windy silence. “Peggy.”
Grace would have thought Winifred or Guinevere. If they were in Camelot, knights would have jousted to win her hand. But somehow the name Peggy suited her, too. A bubble-gum-snapping waitress at a fifties soda fountain. “Can you point me toward the road, Peggy?”
“Um…yeah.” Peggy came to her feet, her puffy eyes dropping to the dirt caking Grace’s hands. “I have to get back anyway. I’ll walk you.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
Despite her offer, Peggy didn’t move right away. “Hot damn. That is one wicked awesome hairstyle.” Grace knew from experience what it looked like when a person had the urge to touch something, but held back. So she grabbed Peggy’s hand and shoved it into the tangled locks she hadn’t taken the time to brush this morning, pleased when the sadness in Peggy’s eyes seemed to dissipate, her fingers moving with a fluidity that Grace somehow already associated with her. “Do you wear it like this for a reason?”
No one had ever asked quite like that. Out of pure, nonjudgmental curiosity. “When it reaches my waist, I’m going to cut it. They’ll make wigs—”
“And gift them to cancer patients?” Peggy nodded, smoothing her fingers down a red ribbon. “I’ve heard of that.”
Grace wanted to close her eyes and enjoy the sensation of someone other than herself touching her hair, but she managed to keep her lids up. “I guess I’m just giving it an adventure before cutting it loose.”
Peggy snorted a laugh, Grace smiling as they fell into step together. Twice in one day she’d walked side by side with someone who wasn’t doing so because it was their job. Never mind that Aaron had been pretending it was his duty. A tiny stab of regret made itself known in her side, thinking about Aaron. The kiss. The way he still hadn’t moved when she backed down the stairs. She liked that he hadn’t moved. “Why do you have rings around your neck?” Grace asked Peggy, hoping for a distraction. As if the cash she’d stolen wouldn’t suffice.
“It started that…” The blonde swiped at her eyes with an impatient noise. “It started as a way to take responsibility for hurting the four men who gave them to me and asked me to be their wife. Or maybe a warning for anyone who gets a similar idea.” She wet her lips. “But right now, knowing where we’re headed next, I know I’m just wearing them to be selfish. I want him to see.”
“Who’s he?”
Peggy’s laugh was watery as she threw a sidelong glance at Grace. “You’re pretty nosy for someone who doesn’t want to talk about why her hands look like they’ve been dipped in mud.”
Grace observed her palms. “How do you know I don’t want to talk about it?”
“Every time I look down at them, you shake your head.”
Grace’s answering smile was so heavy, she had to stop walking. “I wish I didn’t have to go—” A crunch of leaves cut off Grace’s statement, her body tensing. But when she saw the white dog approaching from the direction of the cabins, she deflated on a relieved exhale. “It’s just Old Man.”
Peggy paused in the act of petting the panting newcomer. “Wait. How do you know Old Man?”
“We met last night.” Grace scrubbed her finger pads behind the dog’s ears. “You weren’t a bear, were you? No, you weren’t. Just a handsome doggie. Yes, you were.”
“Was Old Man with my brother?” Peggy asked with a raised brow.
Gravity thinned in her stomach just thinking about the dog’s owner. Remembering how closely he’d watched her in the darkness. How he’d looked at her mouth as if he were angry with it. That final lick of his tongue this morning and the sense he hadn’t been able to resist one last taste. How she’d felt that wet slide between her legs, as if he’d kissed her from his knees instead. “If Aaron is your brother, then yes,” she breathed, sounding like she’d just swallowed a billow of smoke.
The sound of sirens in the distance propelled Grace forward, in the direction Peggy had already been leading her. “This way, right? It was nice talking to you. For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re selfish.”
“Wait.” Peggy straightened from her crouch, Old Man walking in a circle around her jean-clad legs. “Are, uh…are those sirens for you?”
Grace only hesitated a second, before nodding. “I can see that you’re thinking of helping me, which is really…I mean, wow. That’s nice.” She rubbed her filthy palm down the side of her leather pant leg. “But I can’t let you do that. I don’t want to get Aaron’s sister into trouble.”
Peggy sniffed and pursed her lips, giving Grace a nonjudgmental once-over that wasn’t completely devoid of speculation. “I’m helping you. Move your ass.”
A fair amount of Grace’s life was dictated by other people. She was brought along to various places with her family so they wouldn’t have to worry about what she’d do in their absence. They deposited her onto couches in stuffy offices and begged her to talk, to loosen the resentment they claimed she stored deep inside. As a result, she greatly disliked being told what to do. Her mind was sound, and she could choose her own path. But she’d never been made to feel like a coconspirator, the way she did as Peggy hooked their elbows together, hastening them through the woods. No, it was more camaraderie than someone knowing what was best for her. So with a smile flirting around the edges of her mouth, she ran alongside the crying woman with rings bouncing off her neckline.
“I really won’t stay long,” Grace breathed as they reached a grouping of cabins, the last of which Peggy led her up the creaking porch. “I just need somewhere to clean up and—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Peggy dug a key from her pocket and opened the door, nudging Grace inside and gesturing to yet another pretty woman who sat in a yoga pose on the floor. “Sage, Grace. Grace, Sage. Tell me how you know Aaron.”
Without opening her eyes, Sage waved in their general direction. “Hello. Be with you in a moment.”
With a nod, Grace followed Peggy into the bathroom, where she had the tap running, steam already rising to fog the oversized mirror. “I helped him get into the pancake breakfast this morning.”
“Really.” A crease forming between her brows, Peggy squirted hand soap between Grace’s wet hands. “Why did you do that?”
Grace lathered her hands, lifting them to her nose to catch the scent of magnolias. “Because he didn’t think I could.”
Peggy slouched to the side, catching herself with a hip on the sink. “I think you were a victim of a little reverse psychology. Aaron is kind of famous for that.”
“Oh no.” Grace couldn’t help the smile from tilting one end of her mouth as she accepted a towel from Peggy and dried her hands. “I know reverse psychology when I hear it. He was just plain skeptical.”
“Yeah, he’s famous for that, too,” Peggy murmured, watching her carefully. “Who should I expect at the door?”
Grace’s stomach sank down to her toes at the idea of getting her new friend into trouble. “Maybe the police. Or security personnel.” She folded the towel neatly and laid it on the sink. “But don’t worry, they’ll just take me home. No matter what I do, they just take me back—”
A loud knock on the door cracked the air in half. Grace and Peggy exchanged a brisk, wordless look, before Peggy hustled her into the bedroom and straight into the closet, closing the door. Ensconced in darkness, Grace watched through the wooden slats as Peggy bent forward at the waist and snapped her hair back so it fell in waves around her shoulders. Then she strutted forward like a beauty queen during the swimsuit competition. When Peggy opened the door, Grace expected to see a member of her father’s security team standing on the other side. But she didn’t.
Instead, Aaron blew in like the north wind and Grace’s heart lifted.
* * *
“Hey, Aaron—”
“I need a drink.” He bypassed his sister, loosening his tie as he entered the tiny cabin. With a muttered hello in Sage’s direction, Aaron jerked the silk from around his neck and tossed it onto the bed, followed by his jacket. He wanted everything off—everything—which wouldn’t be happening in his sister’s cabin, but every bit of fabric touching his skin was offensive. It itched with irritation, and he wasn’t even sure why. Information. He was lacking in information and that was flat-out unacceptable.
The last half hour had been spent searching the forest for Grace, and the longer he’d gone without a glimpse of her haphazard mane of hair and earnest expression, the more his anxiety had mounted. Because he wanted to question her about the missing money. Right. That was it. He didn’t give a shit why she needed it. Or if she would get into trouble. Or what would happen to her. Or if he would ever taste of her again. Do more.
“Fuck,” he growled, slamming a fist down on the small corner table, screwing up a half-finished game of solitaire.
“Eh.” Peggy removed a jug of vodka from the room’s small refrigerator and poured the clear liquid into a paper cup, handing it over. “Bad morning?”
“That’s not how it started.” His anger went on an upswing, catching him around the nape of his neck. Although truthfully, he couldn’t be sure if it was directed at Grace or himself, for putting his faith in a stranger. A stranger who sure as hell didn’t feel like one. Not a typical reaction for someone who coveted his lone wolf status. Keeping people at a professional distance meant he wouldn’t have to see that glint of discomfort in their eyes when he proved their initial judgment of him correct. Nothing below the surface but more calculation. It was better than opening up to someone or trying to be a good son and brother and only getting their retreating backs for his trouble.
“The morning started perfect, actually. I got an audience with the man I needed to see. He listened. I hooked him. He asked me to meet him later for dinner.” He took a swig of the vodka, laughing bitterly into the half-empty cup. “Then this…this crazy girl jeopardizes the whole thing for me. I’m fairly certain she just stole a heap of cash and didn’t think to mention it to me before we were seen together. Dammit.”
Dimly, Aaron registered Peggy’s face looking paler than usual. “Aaron—”
“I should have known.” He drained the cup and set it down, pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, trying to banish the image of Grace. And failing. Which only spurred his frustration. “The way she looked and talked and behaved weren’t…normal. I should have known.”
It took Aaron a moment to realize Peggy had backed across the room, her side pressed up against the closet door. Sage rose to her feet at his right, tidying the cabin with unnatural movements, even though it required no cleaning.
“What’s going on?” Aaron asked, experiencing sudden numbness in his lips. “What…”
Of the four Clarkson siblings, he and Peggy’s relationship had always come the closest to friendship. They’d been lumped together as the troublemakers of the bunch, so when they’d been separated on opposite sides of the room as kids, they’d learned to communicate without words. When she gave a subtle nod at the closet, Aaron knew. Knew Grace was inside, knew she’d heard everything he’d said since entering the cabin. And with a fist turning in his throat, he ran back the whole shitty monologue and ice cropped up along his spine. Inward. Freezing him right down to the middle of his stomach.
“She’s…”
Peggy blinked.
Jesus. Funny, how—out of every unethical move he’d made in his life—this was when shame chose to make an appearance. It slunk in from all sides, crowding him like drunk people on a dance floor, erecting his defenses into giant castle walls. Hating the mixture of sympathy and censure being projected not only by his sister, but by Sage, too, Aaron stormed toward the closet, ripping the door open as soon as Peggy unblocked his path.
Grace sat on the floor, her knees pulled up against her chest. All that hair, it draped around her body like a protective cloud. The lamplight filtered in from the bedroom to highlight her face, and Aaron could see she watched him, but nothing about her spoke of being offended or embarrassed. No, it was far worse. She looked at him as if their encounter in the forest last night had never even happened. As if they’d never walked together or kissed inside a noisy kitchen. Having those moments taken away from him—in her eyes—shouldn’t have been so god-awful, but it was. It was like being burned.
“You have a lot of nerve looking at me like that,” Aaron heard himself say, even though it didn’t really sound like his voice, but some choked, gravelly version of the way he usually spoke. When she didn’t move or respond, the castle walls that had constructed themselves in his chest bolstered themselves with even more brick and mortar. “You could have warned me, Grace. I would have found a way in that didn’t implicate me in a crime.”
She shook her head, as if he’d spoken in Russian. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His laugh was rife was disbelief. “Where is the money? Who are you?”
Peggy ducked past Aaron, blocking his view of Grace where she finally gained her feet in the closet. “Hey. Why don’t you back off?” His sister stared at him hard. “What is wrong with you?”
I don’t know. Saying those three words in his head started a dull ache behind both eyes. How many times had he asked himself that same question? Come up with the same answer? In a family full of people who couldn’t manage their goddamn emotions, couldn’t help but act on those emotions—whether it be burning down a restaurant or leaving four pathetic suckers at the altar—he was the one who saw everything through cut-and-dried analysis. His mind made his decisions, probably because he didn’t have a heart big enough to perform the job. It had worked for Aaron, kept everyone from trying to peel back layers and be disappointed by what they found.
“Apologize to her,” Peggy whispered furiously, bringing him back to the moment with the force of a catapult. “For what you said. Apologize.”
He hesitated. Aaron hesitated because he knew. If he looked into Grace’s newly distant green eyes and said I’m sorry, he might mean it. He’d have to face hurting her feelings—head on—and take responsibility for that damage. God, nails were already digging into his kidneys at the very idea. Being responsible for someone else’s feelings? Jesus Christ. No. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t acknowledge how bad he’d fucked up, because that would mean she meant something to him.
Admitting to a mistake or a weakness meant an exchange of power. It opened the door for people to find his other faults, which was why he used a reinforced steel padlock to keep the entrance shut. His focus needed to be on tonight’s dinner, not worrying about making someone sad, for the love of God.
Hardening himself, Aaron turned from the closet and retrieved the vodka, pouring a second dose into his paper cup. “Look, we don’t have time for this. I only have the afternoon to prepare for my meeting.” His neck prickled when Peggy and Grace walked out of the closet behind him. “We might be harboring a fugitive. A fugitive with a high level of security clearance. I’d kind of like to find out why, so why don’t we stop worrying about how everyone feels?”
“Who said we’re worried about how everyone feels?” Peggy murmured for his ears alone. “Maybe that’s just your conscience talking.”
The vodka burned in his stomach. “I never claimed to have one.”
“Yeah? The lack is showing,” said Peggy, sitting down on the bed and patting the spot beside her. Not for him, but for the girl still standing by the closet. In anticipation of Grace entering his line of sight, Aaron held his breath, but the floorboards creaked near the door instead, tying knots in his muscles.
“Where are you going?” Aaron rasped, feeling her imminent departure like a blow to the midsection.
She settled a hand on the doorknob, hair shielding her face until she tossed the wealth of it back, giving his eyes access to the smooth angle of her chin, the round tip of her nose. Vivid green eyes that he somehow knew would get darker, turn a mossy color, while he moved inside her, angling his hips to get her off hard. “If you feel the need to report your side of things, you should do it. I would never ask anyone to lie for me. Ever.” There was finally a flicker of recognition when she looked at Aaron, but it died almost immediately. “I thought there was something a little magic about meeting someone in the forest at night. Meeting…you.” She shifted side to side. “If wondering about things like magic makes me not normal, I think I’m okay with that. But I don’t have to wonder about you anymore.”
The pressure in his sternum ratcheted up, like a giant bolt being turned. Her name wanted to be called, he could feel the weight of it on his tongue, so he bit down hard. And when the door opened to reveal Belmont, Aaron tasted blood. Grace’s head was still turned in his direction, so she attempted to walk through the door without looking—and ran smack into Belmont, bouncing off his immovable frame like a bird hitting a sliding glass door.
With a ripped expletive, Aaron dropped his cup of liquor and dove forward, just managing to insert himself between Grace and the floor before they could meet, catching her in his lap. The firm curve of her ass felt like it was locking home against his groin, right where it was meant to be. Clearly stunned, Grace looked up at Aaron, wind-reddened lips parted…and the room started to spin with his regret, his arousal, the betrayal that radiated from her. Clean, churned earth scent crept up and wrapped around his neck, and he couldn’t stop himself. Couldn’t prevent his fingers from winding through her hair, his palm from conforming to the side of her face.
“I didn’t mean it, hippie.” He fisted the locks of hair, watched awareness color her cheeks. “I didn’t mean it.”
Grace stared back at him for a moment that simultaneously stretched forever and ended all too quickly. He caught just the beginning of a moving sheen in her eyes, gutting him. Then she was gone, her tangled strands freeing themselves from his hands, her body sliding off his lap, before she rushed to her feet and vanished through the doorway.
The shocked scrutiny surrounding Aaron rushed in, making him all too aware of his slumped position on the floor, the way he stared out into the midmorning light, wishing he knew where the fuck Grace had gone. Hating that he’d forfeited his right to ask. That could very well be it. He would probably never see her again. Fighting through a wave of nausea, Aaron surged to a standing position and straightened his collar.
“Can I use the Suburban tonight?” He leveled the question at Belmont. “Or were you planning some brooding drive through the countryside.”
Without answering, Belmont slid the thick silver key—attached to a rabbit’s foot keychain—from his pocket and tossed it to Aaron, who caught it midair. His brother was watching him with both eyebrows drawn like he gave a shit, and Aaron couldn’t even remember the last time they’d made eye contact. Oh, this was the moment his brother chose to change up their dynamic? When he was already swimming laps in some unfamiliar emotional deep end? Well, he didn’t have room just then to wonder what the fuck Belmont was thinking. Or what his brother wanted to see in him instead. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be there.
“What is it, Bel? Huh?” Aaron snatched his jacket and tie off the bed. “Did you find something about that entertaining? I guess you’re not the only one who can make an ass out of himself over a girl, right?” God, he hated himself in that moment, but the roiling self-disgust only made him want to seal the deal. Finally make himself irredeemable with the Clarksons. Yes, with Belmont, the one who’d ended their association like a slammed door, decades ago. But the rest of them, too, because they’d followed suit. He could still recall the way they’d watched him at their mother’s funeral with varying degrees of astonishment, possibly even disgust. He’d been the only one who could function that day. Shaking hands, smiling, performing his role. Or that’s what he’d thought until he’d seen Rita and Peggy watching from the front pew, staring as though he were some kind of exotic reptile at the zoo.
Maybe I am, he’d thought. If I can still operate as though I feel nothing, maybe I don’t. Maybe I don’t need to. Maybe that’s what his father and Belmont—and yes, even Miriam to a degree—had seen in him all along. Someone like you.
Aaron swallowed hard. Just then, he needed the attention on him placed elsewhere. Preferably on his brother, who apparently only gave him the time of day when disappointed. So much of Aaron’s focus during the trip had been keeping attention off Belmont. Finding motels off the beaten path, smaller populated towns to stop in for food. Concessions the family had always made without a formal discussion ever since the day Belmont had been pulled from an abandoned well, after being missing for four days. Well, Aaron was flat out of concessions at the moment. He wanted banishment. How else would he stop imagining the feel of Grace on his lap? Stop hearing her condemnation, gentle in its delivery, but damning nonetheless.
“Looks like I’m rid of my girl, Bel. But what about yours? You going to make a move on Sage? Or wait for a better opportunity than this endless goddamn road trip?”
Belmont’s eyes burned like two coals, the hands Aaron knew to be veritable weapons fisting at his sides—but it wasn’t Aaron’s brother that snapped him out of his rage. Sage’s hand cracked across his face, which had the effect of cables being cut on an elevator. His anger plummeted and smashed to pieces, leaving nothing behind. Just nothing. He was empty of all things, unless a continuous image of Grace tucked into herself on the closet floor counted.
It did. It counted.
Aaron watched as Belmont came up behind Sage, taking hold of her wrist like it was an alien object, and leading it back to rest on his shoulder. Watching it sit there through steady eyes, as if it were the most fascinating appendage he’d ever seen. Sage went from bristling to breathless in a split second and Aaron couldn’t—couldn’t—witness any more of the naked emotion. Couldn’t take another reminder of what he very obviously lacked.
“We could sell tickets to this fucking freak show,” Aaron quipped on his way to the door, but his accompanying laugh cut off as soon as the door closed behind him. And he walked to the other cabin wrapped in the loudest silence he’d ever heard.