Bad Boys of Red Hook [2] You're the One (32 page)

Pete looked from Slater to Nicki and back again and seemed to pale before Skye’s eyes. “Pete, are you okay?”

“Pop?” Slater must have seen the same thing.

Slater grabbed Pete’s arm and Pete fought him off. “I’m fine. I’m not a damn invalid. Leave me alone.”

Slater held his hands up as Pete lumbered over to his favorite chair and sat. “I’m just a little tired. I was out too long.”

“Hey, Nicki.” Slater bent down to her level. “Maybe we should get the pizza to go and bring it home. What do you think?”

Skye looked at Pete—he really did look pale. “How about I fix dinner? I’ll throw together something Pete can eat that won’t blow his diet.”

Nicki groaned. “Healthy food again?”

Slater was still eye to eye with her and had his big hands wrapped around Nicki’s little waist. “Healthy food is good stuff, Nicki. How do you expect to get as big and beautiful as Skye if you don’t eat right?”

Nicki shrugged. “I’m almost as big as Skye, and I’m only ten and three-quarters. All that healthy eating didn’t help her grow very tall.”

Skye rolled her eyes, and gave Nicki’s shoulder a squeeze. “That’s just genetics, kiddo. There was nothing I could do to change that. My grandmother was only
four foot eleven. Unfortunately, I take after her. My mother even named me after her.”

“I guess it’s a good thing her name wasn’t Bertha or something horrible, then, huh? I don’t know how my mom came up with my name.”

Skye looked at Slater, and then at Pete—both of them avoided her gaze. Skye was on her own with this one. “‘Nicoletta’ is a beautiful name, and ‘Nicki’ is a cool nickname—they both suit you. I’m sure your mom took one look at you and knew it would be the perfect name for her perfect baby.”

“You think I’m perfect?”

“Yes, I do, a perfect angel sometimes, a perfect devil others, but no matter what part of you shows, you’re always loved. Face it, kid, you’re lovable.”

“Not everyone thinks so,” Nicki mumbled, looking at Skye and wearing an expression she’d never seen on someone so young. Nicki looked world-weary.

Skye found it hard to swallow past the lump in her throat. Nicki had to miss her mother, she had to be worried sick about her, and she had to be waiting. She was probably half hoping for and half dreading her mother’s return. And every day that her mom didn’t show, she had to lose a little of the hope she’d held for so long.

Nicki dug her sneaker into the carpet. “Can I go to my room until dinner?”

Skye pulled her into another hug and kissed her forehead. “Sure, sweetie. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

They watched as Nicki didn’t skip, didn’t bounce—heck, she didn’t even walk; she moped across the living room and disappeared down the hall.

“How long has it been?” Slater asked.

“How long has what been?” Skye wasn’t sure whether
she should go to Nicki. She wanted to, and not for the first time, she wished Logan were there. He always knew what to say and do when it came to his little girl. Skye was still new to all this.

“How long has it been since she was dumped?”

Pete hauled himself out of the chair and rubbed his chest. “Almost six months.”

Slater nodded to Skye as if it all made perfect sense. “It takes at least a year to either stop running for the door or away from it every time someone knocks.”

He must have seen her look of confusion, so he continued. “It takes a couple years to stop waiting for the case manager to show up and tell you to pack your bags.”

“How long do you think it’ll take for her to believe that we love her?” Her voice was almost a whisper.

Skye watched Slater; his eyes held that same quality Logan’s did. Strength, depth, with a scary twist of total desolation.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s the day after you finally figure out what the fuck you did to make your real parents stop loving you. When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

And just like Logan’s, Slater’s shields rolled down, closing himself off to her, to Pete, to everyone.

“I’m going to talk to her. Okay, Pop?”

“Sure, son. It might be good for both of you.”

Slater picked up his bag and headed down the hall, walking the same walk Nicki had, the same plod of his feet, the same angle of his head, the same slow, purposeful gait. He looked like a giant, lighter-skinned, male version of Nicki.

Pete stared after Slater and then, as if his legs couldn’t hold him up any longer, collapsed into his chair. Thank
God he hadn’t moved. He covered his face with his hands and cursed.

“Pete, what’s the matter? Are you okay?” Skye knelt beside the chair before she even registered moving.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Pete wasn’t a very good liar. Something was definitely wrong, but she didn’t think it was his heart.

Logan walked from the limo to the club with Payton and Walt. He had a part to play. The same part he’d played for years. It fit like an itchy wool sweater—it looked fine, but looks didn’t make it any less irritating.

He held the door for Payton, who stuck to him like gum to the bottom of a favorite shoe, reminding him with every step that something was wrong. Dead wrong. No amount of rationalization would make him feel less guilty. He’d never cheated on anyone—until today. At least that’s what it felt like. Everything he did felt as if he were betraying Skye. Every step he took was like another shovel of dirt—digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole he feared he might never be able to escape.

They were seated in the main dining room of the country club—the club for which he’d worked so hard for acceptance and realized that admittance as a fake didn’t equal acceptance at all. If the people surrounding him knew him—the real him, the one behind the facade—most wouldn’t give him the time of day. He’d become a cardboard copy of every other person in the room.

Halfway through the meal, his phone vibrated and he knew it was Skye, the same way he knew she wouldn’t understand any of this. Hell, he wasn’t sure he did anymore.

Payton’s chair was too close, her perfume too strong. She’d been force-feeding him bites of her food, and making it impossible to ignore her without being rude. She slid her nails over his thigh, and his muscles jumped beneath her claws. He caught her hand, gave it a punishing squeeze, and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “That’s enough, Payton. I’m not putting up with this. Leave me the fuck alone.”

He pushed his chair away. “Excuse me.”

Walt leaned forward. “Logan, you gave me your word.”

“I know.”

“This competition is important, not only to the future of Billingsly wines, but if you remember your contract, it’s important to your future income.”

“I realize that. If it weren’t, I wouldn’t be here.” Logan stood and adjusted his tie. His eyes landed on Skye’s brother Patrick, who dined with a woman who stared right back, shooting virtual daggers at him. He didn’t even know her. It made no sense. He was sure that Patrick knew nothing about his relationship with Skye. Patrick didn’t even know where Skye was, so why was Patrick’s date looking as if she’d like to fry his entrails in hot oil?

Logan stepped away from the table and headed to the men’s room. He needed to at least text Skye. Tell her he loved her. Let her know he was thinking of her. Missing her. He might have to play the part of Payton’s fiancé a little longer, but then they were through, and he didn’t want Skye to worry.

He stood in the small sitting room just outside the
restrooms and sent Skye a text. “Having lunch b4 leaving 4 competition. All packed, sold my car, can’t wait to get home. I miss u like crazy. I love u, L.”

“Was that your fiancée, Payton Billingsly, with you?”

He looked up from his phone, a stupid smile still on his face, and stared into the eyes of Patrick Maxwell’s lunch companion. “Have we met?”

“Not formally, no. But unlike you, I don’t conspire with the enemy. And you, Logan Blaise, are a lying, cheating sack of shit in an overpriced suit.”

“What? Look, lady, I don’t know who you are or what the hell your problem is—”

“My problem is that my best friend is in Red Hook taking care of your family while you’re here playing slap-the-salami under the table with your supposed ex-fiancée.”

Logan’s heart thudded like a flat tire and then stopped. “You’re Kelly?” Shit. “Hold on.” He grabbed her arm, and the look on her face had him release her immediately. “It’s not what it looks like.”

She stepped closer so he could see the image on her phone. “Pictures don’t lie. Here’s a message from Skye.” He didn’t even see the hand coming until it slapped his face so hard, he was sure it left a handprint. The sting made his eyes water and his jaw ache.

She brought the hand that slapped him to her chest, then shook it out before balling it into a fist.

Oh God. Skye thought he was back with Payton. He held up his hands. “Wait a minute. Kelly, you don’t understand.”

“Go to hell, asshole. One word and I’ll sic her big brother Patrick on you.” She turned to walk away and nearly collided with Payton and Walt.

Payton skirted Kelly and wrapped herself around Logan’s arm. “You two know each other?”

“Just by a mutual acquaintance.” Kelly’s gaze met his and he knew just how a feeder mouse felt when it was dropped into a python’s cage. He wasn’t sure how long she’d toy with him before she went in for the kill. What Kelly didn’t know was that if Skye thought he and Payton were really back together, the deed was as good as done. Kelly’s misinformation just might have killed any dream of a life with Skye. He watched Kelly walk away, still stunned by what she had just done.

Walt stepped forward. “We have a plane to catch, Logan.”

“I just need a minute. Then we can go.” Logan didn’t even look at Walt. He shook off Payton and followed Kelly. He needed to explain.

“Kelly, wait. Please.”

She stopped just before entering the dining room. “Forget it, cretin. You and Payton deserve each other.”

Before he could speak, Kelly slipped through the door and any chance he might have had was gone.

“Logan.” Payton slid her arm though his and hung on like industrial-strength Velcro. “We have to go. Daddy’s not too happy.” She pressed herself tighter against him. “What was that all about anyway? And why is the side of your face so red?”

“It’s nothing that concerns you, Payton. Leave it alone.”

When the walls of the hole he’d dug himself into collapsed around him, drowning him in dirt, making it impossible to breathe, he was still too stunned to react.

“Logan, let’s go.” Walt urged him forward and he followed without protest.

*   *   *

Skye was in the kitchen dealing with the beginning of a typical Friday night rush. The tritone of her phone announced a text. She tossed a towel over her shoulder and reached for her cell. A picture and a text popped up from Kelly.

Skye clicked the arrow to expand the picture to full size and her breath caught. It was a picture of Logan and Payton together dining at the club. Payton was pressed against his side with her hand in his lap, while Logan whispered in her ear. The caption said, “Should I hit him?”

Pain battered Skye with the force of a kick to the stomach, all the air in her chest rushed out, and her mouth filled with saliva. She felt physically ill, off-balance, and it sounded as if a thousand flies buzzed in her ears. She gripped the edge of the counter.

“Skye, are you all right?”

Harrison stood beside her looking at her phone—the picture. Logan and his fiancée. She pressed the kill button. “I’m fine, but I need a minute.” Her voice sounded so normal, almost bored. Her world crashed down around her feet and her voice was calm and steady. Amazing. “I’ll be in my office.” She took a deep breath and walked blindly through the kitchen. Her phone rang out with texts. She silenced it, stepped into her office beside the kitchen, and shut the door.

She’d known this was going to happen.

The vision of Logan and Payton flashed before her eyes. Her face heated, her ears burned, and she covered her mouth, trying to hold in the sob that somehow made it through her closed throat.

Anger bubbled inside her with a rage she’d never experienced.

Should she let Kelly hit him? She wished she could be there to do it herself, but if she couldn’t, Kelly was second-best—Kelly was bigger and took stick fighting. A slap from Kelly would probably leave a mark. Good. She’d never wanted to hurt someone before. She did now.

Skye pulled up the text. “Hell, yes!” She shook so hard with anger, she had a difficult time texting. “Go 4 it. Give him a msg for me. Tell him he’s a lying, cheating sack of shit in an overpriced suit.” She took a breath, wiped the tears trailing down her cheeks, and hit Send.

She was in full meltdown when the phone vibrated in her hand. She glanced at it.

“Consider it done. Off to slap the shit out of him. He just left the table.”

A minute later she received a text from Logan. She didn’t bother reading it. She cleared the entire conversation. She couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been.

The next text was a picture of Logan’s shocked face with a red handprint on his right cheek. She laughed through her tears and texted back:

“Thx 4 delivering the msg. I lov u.”

“Anything 4 u. I’m here w/Paddy. Should I have him break Logan’s legs? They haven’t left yet.”

“NO!!! Don’t tell Paddy.”

“Ok. U hanging in there?”

“I’m fine.”

“U lie.”

“Going back to work. :( Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

She didn’t have much of a choice; she had a kitchen to run. She’d fall
apart after her shift. Besides, she had the rest of her life to cry.

Skye dried her face, took a deep breath, and moved. One foot in front of the other, one dish at a time, one minute ticked into the next. The night seemed interminable.

Harrison kept shooting her strange looks; she ignored them. She ignored everything but her job. That was the one concrete thing she knew she could handle. Everything else in her life could fall apart, but as long as she was in the kitchen, she kept her sanity.

When Skye heard the crack of gum behind her, she cringed. There was only one person who could crack gum loud enough to rattle the windows. She pulled a burger off the shelf and measured out a serving of fries before tossing a pickle on the side. “Rocki, it’s not a good time.”