The Nymph's Curse: The Collection (60 page)

“I didn’t want another popcorn shrimp incident.” He pushed a carton of milk into the fridge and shut the door. “What’s going on?”

Harper stared down at the mysterious symbols and words in Starling notebook. “Starling, do you want to tell him, or should I?”

The last bits of the scrambled eggs wiggled around Chance’s plate as if they were as uncomfortable with the conversation as he was. Harper sat her fork down on the edge of her plate with a clink.

“What do you think?”

“I’m thinking a lot of things.” He tried to give Harper a look that would remind her of how he hadn’t wanted to force Starling into spilling her secrets.

“Thank you, Starling, for telling me about Jenna. I know it must have been hard for you,” Harper said, her voice soft and caring.

“Yeah, thanks,” Chance echoed, but his heart wasn’t in it. He had expected many things from his daughter, anger, resentment, and even the revelation that she was a nymph, but he hadn’t expected this. He wasn’t prepared to hear that his daughter could speak to the dead. He was at a loss.

“Yeah,” Starling replied with a shrug.

“Let me get this right. So you can speak to the dead through writing?” Chance tried not to stare at Starling’s composition book, which sat as the centerpiece of the table.

“Yeah.” Starling ripped a corner from the piece of toast on her plate and popped it into her mouth. It was nice to see his daughter eating. It was the most normal thing he had seen her do since she’d arrived into their lives. It was too bad the little sense of normalcy was so fleeting.

He’d never met anyone who could actually talk to the dead. He’d seen a few late night infomercials in which the psychics claimed they could connect with the dead, but until this moment he’d thought it was all bullshit. Yet, sitting here and staring at the black-haired young woman he couldn’t deny she had a gift. He’d seen it firsthand, the way the pen seemed to skim over the paper, making words given to Starling by a dead woman.

He glanced over at the word
Red
. Beneath Harper’s sister’s name was a series of lines and then the word
Find her
.
Help all.
Chills ran down his spine as he thought of all of the possible meanings for those simple words and what Jenna had meant by
red
— had she meant Carey’s red hair, or something more sinister?

“Did your mother know about your abilities?”

Starling nodded again. “She could do it too.”

Another of Carey’s secrets he was only learning now — long after it would be of any help. “Have you been talking to her through your writing?”

Starling nodded.

“Can you hear the dead or do they just use you to write?” He stared at the black spiraled
M
at the end of
Find them
.

“Sometimes they talk.”

Chance tore his gaze from the letter and tried to focus on the familiar eyes of a daughter he was only coming to know. “Does Carey talk to you?”

“I only listen.”

If Starling was telling the truth and talking to her mother, then she could find out what really happened. The girl was only a day out from finding out about her mother’s death; she couldn’t be ready to talk about it. Or could she?

“Have you asked Carey how she died?”

Starling’s chin moved down and she sent him a look from under her brows, which would have made lesser men question themselves, but he had every right to ask about her mother’s death.

“Did she tell you if someone killed her?” he tried again.

“No.” Starling’s monosyllabic answer overflowed with contempt.

Why did talking to her have to be like pulling teeth? Was it her age? Or was she simply her mother’s daughter? “Did you ask?”

“No.”

Harper sat forward, almost as if she wanted to put a stop to his interrogation, but he shot her a look. “Why not?”

“Why would I?”

Harper shook her head, motioning for him to stop.

“Starling, don’t you want to know what really happened to your mom?”

Starling shrugged.

“Could you at least try and find out?”

“Stop, Chance.” Harper dropped her hands to the table as she stared at Starling. There were tears sliding down the girl’s face.

“I’m … I’m sorry, Starling.” The hope for answers which had only seconds ago been inflating suddenly seeped from him like a balloon let loose from a child’s fingers. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No. You meant to use me.” Starling dropped her face in an effort to hide her tears. “Just like everyone else.” Starling jumped up from her chair, upsetting it and letting it crash to the ground as she ran to Harper’s guest room.

“Why did you do that?” Harper asked him as if she was accusing him of some evil misdeed.

“All I wanted to know was who was behind her mother’s death. I swear I didn’t mean to upset her.”

Harper stood and picked up her and Starling’s plates and walked them to the kitchen sink. “For someone who is supposed to know how to read people, you can be terrible at it.”

“That’s not true.” Even as he spoke the words, he knew Harper was right. He’d pressed Starling too far. She was young and in pain. Chance stood up and walked his plate into the kitchen. He stopped beside Harper.

Harper sighed as she sat the plates down into the sink. “Chance, when you’re playing poker, what do you do when you have a drawing hand? Do you show them your cards?”

“No.” He sat his plate down on top of the others in the sink.

“What do you do?” Harper turned to face him.

“I don’t know, depends on the opponents and the pot odds.”

“What are pot odds?”

“In poker, if your odds of getting the card you need are higher than the odds of your bet in relation to the winning pot you go in. If not, you call.”

“So, in other words, if you think you can win, you keep betting?”

He nodded. “Usually, if the pot odds are in my favor.”

“What happens when you think you can’t win? Do you make a bad bet or do you let it go and hope you’ll get a better hand the next deal?”

It was a no-brainer; no one wanted to bleed chips. “You can chase the hand by calling or you can fold and wait to get back in the game and then make the smarter bet.”

“What you just did with Starling was a bad bet, my friend. Now you are going to have to fight to get back in the game.”

She pushed off from the sink and walked out of the kitchen without another word.

Chance felt like an ass. Harper was right — he had taken a low road to get Starling to talk, and hadn’t been thinking about her and her feelings. He wasn’t used to having to take women into consideration. Kodie was nothing like this — he was always just there, ready to brush up some players for the next game. He didn’t get upset when Chance fucked up. Hell, Kodie had to half expect him to say something stupid — it just came with the territory. He was going to have to pick up his game with the women in his life — or else get the hell out.

But was running away the answer? If his past had taught him one thing, it was that running was a hell of a lot easier than facing things. Running away always let him get another perspective and, at least for a short time, forget.

He walked out of the kitchen and made his way upstairs, hoping the entire way he wouldn’t run into Harper or Starling. He needed a moment to think, to come up with the pot odds. Were the odds better to stay or was it smarter to walk away?

Chance pushed open the door to his guest room and grabbed a handful of clean clothes and his shower gear. He grabbed his tired white towel that had turned slightly yellow from the ravages of age and the thousands of nights he had spent in cheap hotels. It struck him how he was a bit like this old worn-out towel — there was always some soiled spot to remind him of his actions from the past.

Throwing the towel and his clothes on the bathroom counter, he turned to the shower. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a shower in a place that wasn’t in a hotel. He hadn’t lived in a real house in a long time. The best he had was a mini storage unit half filled with castoffs from the life he’d shared with Carey. After the divorce, he’d hit the road and hadn’t looked back, but here he was, faced with all of his mistakes.

Dropping to his knees he laid his face on the cold porcelain of the tub. The cold felt good against his skin. Unlike the revelation his daughter had made, it was something real — something tangible. He reached up and pulled the old-fashioned shower knob. The pipes moaned and a deep thumping echoed up from the bowels of the house. He pushed the knob back down. Maybe this was the one thing he could fix.

He stood up and walked out of the bathroom, then out of the house to his truck. In the bed was a red aluminum box of tools. He turned around to head back into the house, but was met by Harper standing in the front door, her hand on her hip.

“Where do you think you’re going? Do you really think you could run away?” She sounded like an enraged mother, ready to take him out at the knees over her unfounded fear — well, not that her fears were not without some merit, but he wouldn’t have left — not like this, not without so much as a word to the only women in his life.

“Just because I left Carey doesn’t mean that I’m going to run away from Starling. Or you.”

“You say you’re not running away. But you are going to Vegas.” She could barely look at him. “You are running. You’re running away from me.”

“Harper … ” He stopped beside her and sat down his tools. “I thought we understood that this couldn’t be anything.” No matter how much he was attracted to her. No matter how badly he wanted to pull her into his arms or taste her flavor on his lips.

“It’s fine. I get it,” Harper said with an edge of anger to her voice.

“Don’t be angry with me. Please.” He reached out and put his hands on her arms, but she pulled away.

“What are you doing with your toolbox?” Harper asked as she avoided the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them.

“The shower isn’t working. I was just getting going to try my hand at fixing the thing.”

“I was going to call a plumber. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“I’m staying here with Starling. It’s the least I can do to help.” Besides, if he wasn’t working, or keeping busy, he would be forced to repel the tension in the house. Around every corner he would feel Starling’s growing dislike and Harper’s fear that he would disappear.

“When are you thinking you and Starling are going to leave?”

He wanted to touch and comfort her, but after being rebuffed he forced his hands to rest at his sides. “I’m planning on heading out in the morning. The game in Vegas is starting the day after tomorrow and Kodie and I have to be there early — we have to get a feel for the other players.”

“You taking Starling with you?”

“I think so. I guess there really isn’t any alternative.”

“You know, you could get a house here in Worley. You could settle down and let her finish school. She’s a senior — she only has a few months left. If you wanted, you could rent an apartment — maybe even this house — and have a normal life.”

Something about the idea struck him as beautiful. There he could be with Starling at his side, living together as a family until Starling could finish her last bit of high school.

On the other side of the argument, in order to follow that dream, he would have to give up his life, his hopes of striking it rich, and living a life most bachelors could only dream about. He’d been living the good life up until Kodie took the money from Nate. And with that debt looming, now wasn’t the time for Chance to run off and start playing house. He’d told his friend he would help him out; he’d told Kodie he’d win the tournament. If he didn’t he hated to think what Nate would do to his best friend.

And about Starling … Well, the only thing that kept Starling tied to this place, except Harper — who herself was moving — was Starling’s high school. Starling could finish her education anywhere. Hell, she could even get her diploma from one of those online schools. Maybe. Other than her school, this placed was only filled with the horrific memories of her mother, the dead, and what had to be the terrors of her past — all the poor girl did was live with ghosts.

Maybe Harper was the one who had it all wrong. Maybe a little travel and life experience was exactly what Starling needed. She could step out of the confines of her own mind for a while. Maybe he could even find others like her — others who connected with spirits. There was one thing he knew for sure — they wouldn’t find anyone else like Starling, no one with a gift, in the little dot on the map that was Worley, Idaho.

Even though they were so close he could feel the heat of her body radiating from her, she was a world away. She didn’t understand all he had to lose, all he owed. She may have thought she knew him, but she didn’t have a clue. “I know what you’re trying to say, Harper, and I appreciate it. But I have to do what I have to do.”

“There’s no way you would ever be willing to stop drifting, is there?”

His mind slipped back to thoughts of Carey and the time they’d spent together in this town. He’d always been looking for the next big thing, always trying to make ends meet when there was never enough — not enough time, money, not even love. He couldn’t bear the thought of going through the motions of that type of life again.

“You, a nymph, are going to judge me for something you don’t understand? You of all people should know that sometimes we have to do things other people don’t understand in order to survive. I carry my own curse.”

She stepped back in affront. “How dare you use what I told you against me? You are lucky. You aren’t cursed. You can’t possibly understand what it’s like to be a nymph — always carrying the weight of knowing you can’t have love — that you can’t make another person truly happy — knowing you always have to walk away from the one thing you want more than anything else.”

“You think I don’t want a home? A real life?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Look,” he said, “I want love. I want a real life. I get tired of traveling around, winning and losing, but never really getting anywhere. But I don’t have anything to offer anyone. I don’t have anything in my life except poker — and now a daughter who I’m going to have to figure out how to raise. You deserve a man better than me. You deserve a man who can give you everything you want, a man who can make you happy.”