Overture (Rain Dance, Book 1) (Rain Dance Series) (43 page)

     
"No. There
were a few times when some random guy would start following me, but that's all.
If there was a store open or something, I would head inside and wait it out. If
I was in the neighborhood, I always had my phone out. Although, there was one
time a few years ago when I got cornered by a group. It was pretty scary at
first, but they were so drunk they could barely walk straight, so it was an
easy getaway."

     
Ethan averted
his eyes, looking past me with a strained expression. I pressed my hand against
his chest, trying to ease him. "I eventually got a feel for which kinds of
places were safe and which weren't. Not to say that there aren't dangerous
areas up here in the north, but there are a lot more small towns with mostly
hippies or old people. If I could manage to find work in places like that, I
stayed."

     
He exhaled and
closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were partially filled with sadness.
"Let me take care of you, Kitten."

     
I smiled.
"You
are
taking care of me." When he shook his head, I raised
an eyebrow and leaned up on my elbow. "You've given me a job." When
he was about to speak, I covered his mouth with my finger and continued,
"You feed me ice cream, among other things. You give me rides. You listen
to me. You shower me with appreciation and adoration. And you give me some
mind-blowing orgasms. If all that isn't taking care of me, then I don't know
what the hell is."

     
"…Mind
blowing, huh?" he spoke through my finger.

     
"
Big
bada boom
."

     
His laugh made
my heart swell.

     
Since the
heavens had blessed us with another sunny day, I wore my new spaghetti strap
dress that fell just above my knees. It was off-white in color and the outer
layer was sheer with a few lace detailings. But most importantly, it flowed
around me when I moved. I left the ankle bracelet on from the day before.

     
As soon as we
had finished breakfast, Ethan and I went to walk along the shoreline again. The
view was different at this time of day, and the direct sunlight provided us
with a warmth that protected us from the cold breeze. It was calm, not at all
like the foolish frenzy we'd pulled the day before. We walked hand-in-hand in
quiet contemplation.

     
"Who did
you send to talk to my stepfather?" I suddenly remembered to ask.

     
"Pierre.
He was already in California, so he was able to get back to me quickly,"
he answered, looking at the water.

     
Pierre had been
with him that night at the club. It felt weird knowing that his friend now knew
of my shameful past. Not only that, but the falsified version.
Which would
you rather he know? That which paints you as a total innocent or the truth?

     
"Does
anyone else know? About the Noel thing?"

     
Ethan turned to
look at me. "…No. I'm sorry. I wasn't sure how much your stepfather would
admit to, and I certainly wasn't expecting any of
that
. But I can
promise you that Pierre will keep quiet about it. He's my most trusted
colleague."

     
I nodded. If
Ethan trusted him then I did, too. Although it still made me feel a bit sick
knowing that someone else knew. There would be no helping that, I suppose.

     
A thought came
to me then, and I came to a stop. If Truman had freely given that information
up, word would get around eventually, wouldn't it? Probably not
that
far, but just enough that some people might try to go after Noel. Like Ethan.
Even if the story was true, it didn't happen exactly the way Truman had said it
did.

     
"You
aren't…going to do anything about it, right?"

     
He focused his
gaze on me, studying. His face was calm, but I could see the edge in his eyes
as he took in the meaning of my words. "…Not if you don't want me
to."

     
"It's all
in the past. I just want to keep moving forward."

     
Nodding, he
looked away. "Whether you believe it or not, I can still only see it as
you being a victim. You were basically a child, and those people had gotten you
to a point where you weren't entirely right in your mind. That should have been
enough for him to have left you alone."

     
I had to ask,
"…Are you sure it's not just because you would rather see me as the
victim?"

     
He spared
another glance at me before returning his attention to the view. "I saw
it…Your fear when I grabbed you last night. You might have been aware during
your nights spent with Noel, but you were in a fear-induced stupor - numbing
yourself as a means of survival - as protection from not only your family, but
from yourself, as well. And the fact that you rejected him when he tried to go
further is enough to make me believe that had you not been living as…as a
zombie, you would have said no. That right there is proof enough." He
paused. "You don't have to answer me if you don't want to, but I'd like to
know…What are your feelings towards him?"

     
"…I don't
hate him."

     
"And how
would you feel if he were to touch you now?"

     
My reaction was
automatic. A shiver ran down my spine and my body tensed at the thought.
Shoulders hunched, I wrapped my free arm around my torso. "…I don't want
that." Ethan squeezed my hand. Suddenly I wanted to cry. That alone
brought me even more shame. As if I hadn't cried enough yesterday.

     
I waited it
out, focusing on Ethan's warm hand, the comforting breeze, and the sound of the
ocean. Soon enough, my body relaxed. I looked up at the man beside me. He
stared back with eyes full of understanding. Timidly, I moved closer to take
hold of his arm and lean my head against it, still keeping his hand in mine.

     
"I only
want you to touch me. Ever," I spoke quietly.

     
He wrapped his
free arm around me and held me for the next minute.

     
We went back
indoors after that, where we mostly just sat in the living room talking about
simpler topics, such as music - something I hadn't gotten a chance to ask him
about yet. I was finally glad to find out that our tastes were as vast as they
were similar. I could probably get away with playing just about anything while
in his presence. We spent well over an hour going back into the years and
picking out favorites. Since we started with tunes that were composed years and
years before our time, it took a while to cover all the bases.

     
If his hand
wasn't on mine, it was absently caressing some part of my body. It was an odd
feeling, talking to him so easily after everything I had told him the night
before. I felt…light. The negative voice in my head was silent. And he was
still here with me.

     
"When are
we leaving?" I asked while we were eating lunch.

     
"Tomorrow
night," he replied.

     
"Tomorrow?
You have to work, don't you?"

     
"No. Perks
of being the boss," he grinned, earning a frown from me. "I rarely
ever take days off. If anything, I'm long overdue for a vacation. I might have
to take a couple of calls, though."

     
Suddenly, I was
trying to imagine a twelve-year-old Ethan whose parents had just passed. Did he
always know he was to inherit or did it come as a sudden realization? Was he
eager to jump in and take over or was there something else he wanted to do? And
at what point did he fully comprehend what it all meant? Was he scared? In
school, I couldn't even handle being in charge of group projects. What kind of
control did it take to be in charge of hundreds, possibly thousands, even?

     
"What are
you thinking about?" he asked curiously.

     
"You."

     
"And?"

     
I studied him,
quietly chewing on my sandwich.

     
"You look
sad, almost," he continued.

     
Swallowing, I
answered, "I was thinking about the younger you. Trying to imagine what it
must have been like growing up. Did you always know you would be doing what you
do now?"

     
He turned
thoughtful for a moment. "No. My parents were firm believers of
whatever
makes you happy
. That being said, it didn't stop my father from getting me
started. If I hadn't shown any interest, I'm sure he would have left well
enough alone."

  
   
"How did he get you started?"

     
"He would
often bring me to the office with him. Of course, I couldn't fully grasp what
he actually did until I was a teenager. But I was always fascinated by the busy
environment."

     
I hesitated
before asking, "…What was he like?"

     
Ethan scoffed.
"He was a goof. An oddball. Genius in some ways and not so bright in
others. Sometimes I used to wonder how he even managed to get the business up
and running at all. Even as a child I could see that he was a bit of a
scatterbrain. But he was a very well-respected man. People felt comfortable
around him. When he wasn't busy working, he was constantly doting on my
mother." He became quiet for a minute, lost in his thoughts.

     
"I used to
sit in his chair. I would often look out at the city and wonder…who would I end
up being? I never knew what I wanted." Pausing, he shook his head.
"No, that's wrong. The truth is that I didn't want anything. I was quite
dull, you see. I never had any goals. No silly childhood dreams. So while I
wasn't happy about how it happened, I was grateful for the opportunity to pick
up where my father had left off. Not because it was something I saw myself
doing, but simply because of the challenge it presented me with. If I focused
on making the business better, I wouldn't be left thinking about other things.
Like how obsolete the rest of my life had become after their deaths."