Secret North: Book 4 of The Wishes Series (29 page)

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” replied Adam. “You’re welcome here any time.”

“It was a one off.” I didn’t exactly sound believable, and judging by the sympathetic look he gave me, Adam didn’t think so either.

“Look,” he began, “I know Ryan’s not the brightest spark when it comes to considering other people’s feelings, but don’t give up on him yet.” I couldn’t give up on him. I was all-in, which was the crux of the problem. Ryan clearly wasn’t all-in to anything other than himself. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

The last thing I wanted was to enrol him in frog training. Ryan needed to figure things out for himself, just as Adam had done.

“No, thanks anyway,” I replied. “I’ll handle it.”

Bridget came bounding back, looking sweet in a pink leotard and matching tutu. The little girl was so excited that she was practically ticking. I couldn’t face that level of excitement so early. I drank my coffee, pulled myself together as best I could, and went home to face the music.

***

I didn’t know what sort of mood Ryan would be in, but I wasn’t expecting the mess of a man I found sitting at the kitchen counter. He’d looked tired the night before. With his dishevelled dark hair, creased T-shirt and low-slung pants, he now looked shattered.

“Hey,” I said weakly, closing the door behind me.

“If you follow up with a wave, I’m going to be seriously unhappy,” he warned.

I clenched my fist to stop myself from accidentally waving, not that he would’ve noticed if I had. He didn’t lift his head to look at me. “Have you been up all night?”

It’s the only thing I could think of to explain his disastrous appearance. “Most of it.” He picked his phone up off the counter and swiped the screen. “I called you nineteen times. Ironically, your phone is switched off.”

“Were you worried about me?”

Say yes, Ryan
, I silently willed. It was all I wanted to hear.

“I didn’t like the way our conversation ended,” he replied. “I didn’t like the way it started either, but I would’ve appreciated a chance to make things right.”

I waited by the couch, contemplating leaving again. He’d said nothing so far to make me want to stay. “You don’t know how to make it right, Ryan,” I muttered. “That’s the problem. You just don’t have it in you, do you?”

I couldn’t even be upset about it. Something in his emotional wiring was misfiring. It wasn’t a new problem; he’d always been defective.

Finally he swivelled the stool in my direction and looked at me. The dull expression on his face gave nothing away and as expected, relying on him to enlighten me with words was pointless. “Whatever I say is going to come out wrong so it’s best I don’t say anything.”

Ryan could be very cutting when angry. Perhaps he knew it. It was probably in my best interest to agree, but like a dog with a bone I refused to let it go.

“If you don’t speak, nothing gets resolved.”

Ryan stood. Sitting at the counter must have been a position he’d been maintaining for a while. He raised his arms above his head, stretching out his tired body.

He was an unfeasibly good-looking man, even after a sleepless night. The gap that appeared between his shirt and his pants when he stretched made me reconsider the tough-love stance I was trying to take – but only until he spoke.

“The only problem we have at this point is your temper,” he told me. “It’s not okay to hit me, Bente.”

That was probably the moment that I was supposed to apologise. I refused. His thoughtlessness hurt far more than my bagel to his head.

“I was worried about you,” I yelled. “I thought you were holed up in Grover Irwin’s basement or something.”

Ryan arrogantly folded his arms, but did crack a small smile. “I couldn’t sleep last night,” he admitted. “I just kept calling your phone and listening to your voicemail message.”

“So you know the level of panic I felt when I didn’t know where you were,” I suggested.

He shrugged, which infuriated me. It was as if he was determined to hang on to the one part of his personality that made him Ryan Décarie, douche bag.

I planned my next words very carefully. “If you don’t care, I can’t care,” I said quietly. “Do you understand that?”

“What do you need to hear from me right now, Bente?” he asked, sounding at a loss. “Tell me and I’ll say it.”

I wasn’t going to coach him. I was tired of trying to teach him how to be a decent person. I took the steps necessary to reach him and put my palm flat to his chest. His heart was pounding, which was a good sign. It proved he had one.

“Why is your heart racing?” I whispered.

“Because you’re touching me.” His eyes darted between my eyes and my mouth.

I dropped my hand to my side and he groaned.

“Are you mad?” I murmured.

“No.”

“Frustrated?”

He smirked. “A little.”

“Doesn’t feel good, does it Ryan?” I asked. “That’s how I feel. You keep me in a constant state of frustration.”

His expression morphed into a wily smile. “I could take care of that for you in about five minutes if you’ll let me.”

“I’m not talking about sex.”

“I know.”

“So don’t make it about sex. Give me something more meaningful. It’ll be another first for you.”

Ryan pulled in a long breath through his nose, and seemed to hold it forever. I didn’t push. I waited for him to speak.

“It bothers me that I keep screwing us up,” he began. “I truly didn’t give you a thought last night, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. I’ve never had to think about anyone other than myself, Bente.”

“I know.”

“It took me an hour after you left to work out why you were so pissed with me. That’s how stupid I am. I can’t change thirty years of selfish stupidity overnight, but I’m going to keep trying if you’ll just stick with me.”

He’d given me more of an explanation than I thought he would. I knew I had to give too. I wasn’t perfect either. “I’m sorry I hit you. I promise I’ll never do it again.”

Ryan swept my hair off my shoulder and rested his hand behind my neck. “Thank you,” he said softly. “I appreciate that.” He stepped forward, closing the gap between us. “Do you want to know why my heart’s pounding now?”

“Yeah, tell me.”

His soft kiss didn’t stop at my lips. It travelled all the way through my body. “The Black Plague,” he whispered.

I put my hands on his cheek, holding his face in place. “It’s not the plague, Ryan.”

“No,” he agreed, leaning closer again. “It’s something much more serious.”

47. GERIATRIC GANGSTERS

Ryan

There’s nothing worse than feeling inadequate. I was seriously lacking as a boyfriend; therefore I was inadequate. There were probably a million shortcomings in my repertoire, but the ones I focused on that week were being more attentive and considerate. When I tried, I could be a star pupil. Making the effort wasn’t anywhere near as taxing as I expected. I wanted to make Bente happy. I loved her.

The sale of the club was progressing nicely. Adam spent all week arranging paperwork, permit applications and other boring junk. I hadn’t been quite so diligent. Most of my week was spent in bed with the most beautiful woman I’d ever known.

Bente had barely shown her face at Billet-doux in days. I’d called in three times asking Noelle to find someone to cover her shift, never giving a reason why. “She’s going to make my life hell when I go back to work,” said Bente, shifting with me as I dropped my phone on the nightstand.

I smoothed my hand through her hair and kissed the top of her head. “No she won’t,” I told her. “And if she does, tell Charli. She’ll set her straight.”

She rested her chin on my chest. “Why would you get Charli to deal with it?”

“Because Noelle already thinks she’s a bitch,” I explained, grinning. “No harm, no foul.”

Her warm laugh melted through my entire chest. It was all the encouragement I needed to put an end to the conversation and remind her why my plan of staying in bed for the entire morning was a good one.

***

For some cruel reason, a ringing phone sounds louder than usual when you don’t want to hear it.

“Ry,” whispered Bente. “Answer it.”

“No.” I murmured.

The phone eventually stopped, then started again a minute later.

“Please answer it.” She breathed the words into my ear, which was a stupid move on her part. There was no way I was going to answer it now. “Ryan, answer it and tell whoever it is to never call you again,” she commanded.

I looked into her lovely brown eyes. “Or what?” I wondered, trailing a line down her body with my fingers.

“Just answer the damn phone.”

Groaning in protest, I reached across her and grabbed the phone. “Don’t ever call me again,” I said curtly.

Bente gasped, making me laugh. I wasn’t worried about causing offense. I could tell by the ringtone that it was Adam.

“I don’t even want to know what you’re doing right now,” he replied.

“I’ll bet it’s a damn sight more fun that what you’re doing,” I responded.

“You might be right,” he agreed. “I’m sorting out building permits.”

“Is there a problem?”

“No, but we need to clarify a few things. Can you meet me at the club in an hour?”

I was a little taken aback but didn’t question him. It was usually impossible to drag Adam out of his office during the day, and this would be his second play at hooky – the first being when he skipped out to take his kid to the park. I agreed to meet him and ended the call.

“Everything okay?” asked Bente.

I dropped the phone and pulled her close. “Yeah. Adam might finally be growing a spine,” I marvelled. “I have to go to the club. Do you want to come?”

She turned her head and kissed me. “No, but thank you for asking.”

***

Adam and I arrived at exactly the same time. I’d come empty-handed. He had a stack of paperwork, blueprints and a big tape measure.

“You’re on time,” he noted. “I’m impressed.”

“You escaped your office,” I retorted, making my way up the steps. “I’m even more impressed.”

Before we opened the door, he gave me a quick explanation for the meeting. “I’ve been looking over the blueprints Tiger gave us, but they’re ancient,” he said. “I’m pretty sure some of the measurements are out. We need to make sure they’re right before we submit any applications.”

I unrolled the prints and pretended to know what I was looking at. “You can tell just by looking?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Can’t you?”

“No, Adam.” I rolled them back up. “I’m not an engineer.”

Adam made a grab for the door handle. “It’s simple math, Ryan.”

“You are such a freaking dork,” I complained, following him inside.

I thought that was going to be the inaugural moment that we finally got to check the club out without Tiger breathing down our necks. I was wrong. We didn’t make it a foot inside before seeing him, and he wasn’t alone. Tiger stood puffing away on his cigar at the base of the stairs, barking orders to his friend Earl, who was at the top of a rickety ladder battling to keep his balance.

“Move to the left a bit,” ordered Tiger.

Moving a single inch to the left would’ve ended badly. I grabbed the ladder to steady him. “Jesus, Earl! What are you doing up there?”

“Changing a light bulb,” he replied.

The top of an eight-foot ladder is no place for an eighty-year-old man. I ordered him down and asked Tiger what the hell he was thinking.

“He likes heights,” he explained, shrugging. “His last girlfriend was so tall, he used to have to climb a ladder to kiss her.”

Adam and Earl laughed, but I struggled to find the funny side.

“You crazy old bastard,” I chided, looking up at Earl. “You’re going to kill yourself.”

“Lighten up, Ryan,” urged my brother.

As soon as Earl was on the ground, Adam took the bulb from him and climbed the ladder.

“Did Earl draw the short straw?” I asked Tiger. “Why didn’t you climb the ladder?”

He puffed a choking plume of smoke at me. “No ladder experience. All my broads are short.”

Adam changed the bulb and gave Earl the go-ahead to turn the light on. It didn’t make much difference: the place was still dingy; but the old men were impressed with their effort.

“Job well done, Earl.” Tiger thumped his friend on the back.

“Yes,” he agreed, staggering back a step. “Time for a drink, eh?”

Adam stepped back to solid ground. “It’s ten in the morning.”

“That’s right, kid,” replied Tiger. He donned a brown trilby and flicked the brim. “We’re late.”

They shuffled out and the door slammed. We stood in silence until Adam found words. “I swear Ryan, they’re geriatric gangsters.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Total badasses.”

***

Measuring up the main room would have taken less time if Adam hadn’t had to keep stopping to answer his phone. It highlighted just how manic his schedule was. The only calls he didn’t take were the ones from Dad, and there were plenty.