Harkham's Case (Harkam's #1) (42 page)

“Is that healthy? Shouldn’t there be more than those things . . . More balance?” Mari asked.

“How many things rule your life?”

“Two.”

“And they are?”

“Adam and music . . .” And that’s when it all came down like an avalanche of dunce rocks falling on her head. Adam was so right. They were exactly the same. Cigarettes didn’t rule her anymore. In fact, she hadn’t had one in over two days now. She didn’t even care that much. She still loved her music and loved him. Nothing else really mattered. She’d get through school, of course, because it was the right and smart thing to do, but it wasn’t what kept her going—what she lived for. It was amazing how much her priorities had changed in a short amount of time. She marveled at how her weight didn’t preoccupy her mind either.

All the shallow things that used to seem so all-consuming had simply faded away.

Adam was number one on that list now, and she was certain she was number one on his list, too. She never thought there would be a day anything would mean more to her than music.

She cried and grabbed Amelia into a tighter hug. “I wish I’d known you a long time ago. I’d be less screwed up than I am now.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You weren’t ever really broken . . . Just . . . Stuck.” Amelia patted her back and let go.

She walked her to the door, and Mari felt like her bones were all Jell-O and her blood drained out of her—gone with her healing tears.

Mari stumbled out the door. Adam caught her.

“So?” he asked, his eyes round and electrified with worry.

“I love that woman. She’s gonna be my maid of honor,” Mari said, smiling.

He kissed her and said, “I think that might be awkward since Sam might kill her for that spot.”

“No doubt.” She moved over to a chair and watched as Dustin went toward Dr. Harkham’s office for his turn.

“She was amazing, Adam.” Mari could barely breathe. It was all too much.

He breathed in a carefree way that warmed her chest. “I know.”

“We should see her every week.”

Mari looked up, and Dustin was standing in the door to the office, staring at them, his mouth rounded, his eyes widened.

“Dustin?” Amelia called after him from inside her office.

“Coming . . .” And he disappeared right after that, his gaze on the happy couple until the last minute.

Chapter 21

Mari had no idea what to do when they got home—back to
Adam’s
home.

Samara was already bustling around the kitchen, starting dinner.

“Can I help?” Mari asked but kept back a few feet so she wouldn’t encroach into Samara’s territory.

“I guess.” Samara kept her eyes on the food she was chopping like a maniac.

“What are you making?” Mari pushed onto her toes, stretched her neck and peered over Samara’s shoulder. It smelled great.

“Stir fry. I always make stir fry after he’s had a doctor’s visit. He needs the protein and vegetables. And since he won’t eat salad—”

“He eats salad with me,” Mari blurted.

Samara sniffed and went rigid. “Oh . . .”

Had his sister forgotten that Mari had made stir fry the other night? She acted like making this meal was some huge novel idea. Like Samara was heads above Mari in terms of knowing what proper nutrition was and what might help Adam best. Was it so wrong that Mari wanted to care for him, too—in her own way?

Would she ever get any credit with Samara?

“Yeah, you can help, I guess.” Samara kept chopping.

Mari stood still, wondering where she could fit here, even though the kitchen was spacious. It felt claustrophobic.

“I’ll cut up the chicken if you want,” Mari offered. It looked like the breasts were all browned and done. They were resting in the pan.

“What can
I
do?” Adam asked, sneaking up behind Samara and giving her a hug.

“You can set the table,” Samara replied.

“But I wanna help make the food like Mari is.” He stared into the pan and his eyes lit up.

“You don’t know how to cook,” Samara told him.

“Neither does Mari, other than spaghetti and her own stir fry. She only knows two more things than I do. Why does she get to help, and I can’t?” he asked.

“Oh, all right. You can help me by cutting these mushrooms up. Use the egg slicer,” she said, pointing to the drawer.

He pulled it out, opened it up and tried to strum it like it was an instrument.

Both of their energy levels were dizzying. Why did Mari feel like she’d run an emotional marathon while he was bouncing around with energy to spare?

She found herself staring at him in awe several times, rather than cutting the meat into cubes.

He was definitely stronger than she was and more resilient.

Adam was done in no time at all. He sidled up to Mari and began helping her without being asked or told. He whispered in her ear, “They don’t like me to chop anything because they don’t want me to have a knife in my hands.”

It tickled her ear the way his breath blew her hair. She rubbed her ear on her shoulder when he pulled away.

“Why not?” she mouthed.

He shrugged.

Mari’s mind raced with all the restrictions they put on him and how some of them seemed justified while others were nothing but silly.

“Samara, why does Adam think your family doesn’t want him to handle a knife?” Mari put her knife down and faced her.

“Because he’s not careful enough and can cut himself,” Samara replied.

Mari put her hands on her hips. “Just now, while we were cutting, he was more aware than I was. Does that mean I shouldn’t be slicing anything in this kitchen as well?” Her hands went to the counter and rested there so she could keep herself from doing something stupid like smacking some sense into his sister.

“No.” Samara’s eyes went wide and she turned to them both. “It’s for his own good. We never know when the numbers will take over.” She went back to finishing up what she was doing.

“When’s the last time you were out of it because of the numbers?” Mari asked him.

“It’s been a long time, and the last few times were so minor I was able to focus and keep doing whatever I was involved with.” He smiled like he wore a badge of pride.

“I think this family underestimates you and your abilities,” Mari said under her breath, looking at Adam.

Samara’s knife clanked on the counter. “I heard that!”

“Oh goody. Then maybe you can learn to trust that your brother’s not a kid anymore. Maybe you should ask him more often how in control he feels. Does he seem stressed out to you right now?” Mari’s finger’s flexed. She took on a wide stance to balance herself in case Samara, the real menace with a knife according to Rory, decided to do something about this little confrontation.

“Maybe you should shut your mouth.” Samara tossed the knife in the sink and dumped the chopped veggies into a hot sizzling pan.

The vegetables popped and hissed.

“Let me tell you how impressive Adam is, in case you’ve missed it.” Mari took a deep breath. “We just got run through the mental meat grinder at Dr. Harkham’s. I feel drained, and I’m dragging. He’s upbeat, hopping around here like a bunny. He bounces back better than anybody I’ve ever seen. I’d give
him
the knife before I’d give it to you.” She put the chicken in with the vegetables that were cooking.

“Is that so?” Samara stepped closer, her eyes gleaming. “And you’ve known him for what? Three weeks? Oh, that means you know him better than me. Congratulations.”

“I’ve known him for
ten
weeks now, and yes, I
do
know him better, because I listen to him. I ask him how he feels about everything. I don’t know why you don’t ask—he’s happy to share.” Mari stepped forward, too. “Maybe you don’t really care, or maybe you think you know best. I’m betting on the latter. I don’t treat him like a kid, I treat him with respect like an adult man would want. No one’s going to know better than him what’s actually best for him, because none of us knows what it’s like to
be
him.”

Samara’s hand flung out like a whip. Mari flinched to brace for the impending smack, since she had no intention of dodging it, but in a flash Adam snatched Mari out of the way, ensuring she wasn’t struck.

“Go to your room!” Dustin’s voice carried through the kitchen.

Mari’s lungs tightened, and her stomach dropped. She was in trouble for helping Adam?

It wasn’t your place to say . . .

Dustin’s eyes raged at Samara, making Mari’s brow furrow.

How did
this
happen? He was taking Mari’s side, rather than his own child’s?

“
What
?” Samara cried. Her face was even more wrinkled in confusion than Mari’s. “What did I do?”

“I heard and saw exactly what you did. Mari’s not just some guest here you can treat like trash. She’s living with us now as a part of the family because Adam says she is.” His dad pointed to the stairway down the hall.

Samara huffed and turned off the stove. “She barges right in here and acts like she’s the authority on everything there is to know about his condition and how our family handles it. What right does she have to—”

“I talked to Dr. Harkham today, and she said Mari’s done more for him than any of the rest of us ever have or could, and I believe her.” Dustin moved through the kitchen with grace and stood right in front of her, looming by a foot in height. “I’m getting out of their way—you should, too.”

“But, Dad, she has no idea what it’s like to deal with him in the long term,” Samara said.

He turned his head over his shoulder and with sharp eyes on Mari asked, “Do you think you could finish up this meal?”

Adam stood straight up and answered for her, “We both can.” He beamed at his father.

“Fine. I trust you both. Mari—if you’re unsteady right now, maybe you should sit and direct him. I’m sure he’d be happy to get dinner done. I’m gonna go have a chat with my daughter . . .” Dustin grabbed Samara behind the elbow and led her out of the room.

Mari’s head fell forward. An awful sinking sensation swept through her. It was her fault. She should have shut the hell up. But no! She went and belittled her possible future sister-in-law, and right in her own domain. Dinnertime was special to Samara, and Mari splattered it all to pieces because she was being indignant over them treating Adam like a child—not allowed to use anything but safety scissors.

“I’m sorry,” Mari said.

“I’m not. I loved it, and it made me really hard, hearing you defend me like that.” Adam smirked.

She looked his body over. He was indeed exactly what he said—extremely turned on.

“Don’t you usually say you’re sore?” she blurted.

What was with her mouth? Was it that doctor’s session? Did it tap into her mind and let it free?

“Zach gave me a book with sexual terms and told me what to call things so I don’t sound like a health professional. That’s what he says I sound like, and he also told me it’s a turnoff to girls. I don’t want you to be turned off. I like it when you breathe hard, your nipples stick out, and you have that look in your eyes like you want to eat
me
for dessert rather than a donut. And I think I’ll taste good to you.”

“Boston cream?” she teased.

“Exactly.” He hugged her, keeping his lower half from touching her.

She wanted to giggle, but after what she’d gone through a moment ago with Samara, it seemed cruel to be laughing and having a good time while Samara was being scolded.

“Let’s cook some yummy food,” he said.

She smiled, squeezed his arm and let go.

“Unless you need to sit?” He watched her move like a sloth around the area.

“I think I’m good.” She had him start the rice and turned the burner back on so they could finish cooking the vegetables.

In less than a half hour, dinner was done. The table was set, but they were the only ones in there.

“Should we go tell them it’s done?” she asked in a quiet voice. The place seemed so empty.

“I’ll get them. But I want you to do something while I’m gone.”

“Anything . . .” She leaned her chest into his with her head tipped back so she could stare into those gorgeous eyes.

“I want us to have peace tonight. There are some candles on the top shelf in the pantry and matches right next to them. Set them out, and I’ll play some music so we can all stay calm.” He cupped the back of her head, slipped his fingers in her hair and kissed her like a confident man without fear of anything at all.

“Those numbers don’t have a chance,” she whispered when his lips detached from hers.

“Not when you’re around.” His smile was so bright it poured new life into her.

When he left to gather his family, her step had a lift to it and her breathing was lighter.

Mari could live happy in this house forever if she could count on moments like this with him. That little snippet was more rejuvenating than any amount of time she ever spent in the gym, fixating on music or being stoned.