The Broken Sister (Sister #6) (13 page)

“More than you’d think. My sister was.”

“Was?” Her heart stalled. Shit, did he have some kind of complex to save her? Was he attracted to her out of a sick need to make her eat? Maybe save her from it where he hadn’t saved his sister? Did his sister die of it and now he sought out other anorexics to try and make some kind of weird atonement?

“She doesn’t speak to the family anymore. I haven’t heard from her in eight years. She was anorexic last I knew her.”

“That’s very sad.”

“It is.”

“What’s her name?”

He was silent for almost a full minute before he said, “Tara. Her name is Tara. Tara Aderly. I have no idea where she is.”

She reached out and touched his jaw. “Why doesn’t she talk to you?”

“More the whole family. Not just me specifically.” He sighed and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, the gloom of the room hiding his features. “I haven’t talked about her to anyone, even my parents, in a long time.” He turned his head to the side. “Why do you suppose I mentioned it to you?”

Kylie wasn’t sure if he actually wanted her to answer. She could just faintly see the scowl on his face. He seemed to be questioning himself out loud, rather than actually speaking to her. She didn’t answer and he sighed. “Anyway, she didn’t like how certain things were handled. I used to think she was wrong. Now, I wonder if she wasn’t just really mixed up. Or maybe we are. Hell, it just doesn’t seem as easy anymore.”

“So you don’t know how she is?”

“I know she’s alive. Or was as of a year ago. My grandfather hired a private investigator, who keeps tabs on her. But he lost her. She had trouble with drugs and alcohol. Not a pretty story. But unfortunately so typical.”

“And she was anorexic?”

“Yes, since she was a teen. Grandfather had her in treatment for it when she was a junior in high school. She ran away not too long after she got out.”

“That’s really tragic.”

He nodded his head. “Yes, it is. She is.”

Kylie licked her lips. “Is that why you’re here?”

He turned his head quickly, his gaze sharp on her. “What do you mean?”

“You see something in me that reminds you of her? You think… I don’t know, maybe you can save me. Where you lost her.”

His gaze was piercing, and she was sure his scowl was even darker. “That’s pretty twisted if that’s what I’m doing here.”

“Yes, it would be. And it won’t exactly end well.”

“What if it’s not why I’m here?”

“I don’t know. But what if it is?” she countered, insisting again. Too scared to wonder what if it wasn’t. It made more sense to her that his interest in her stemmed from some similarity or resemblance she had to his sister. A sister he felt a huge amount of guilt about failing—or at least, that’s what she was picking up on. That was easier to believe than this guy, who seemed so much older and together and handsome and successful… and, well, most of all so normal, would be so compelled to seek her out. It just didn’t add up. Not at all.

“No. I don’t think that’s it at all. It’s not something I’ve ever done before, so I just don’t think I’d do it now. Besides you don’t look anything like her.”

“But I remind you of her?”

He sighed. “Well, not until you just said it now.”

“So I do remind you of her? Your long-lost, broken sister?”

“She was. She was always so broken. I never really knew why. My family… Well, there are issues, sure. Like all families. You know? But something like this? To make her so screwed up she didn’t eat? She drank and did drugs, slept around, and then finally ran away. I just don’t get it.”

“Yet you think I can’t figure out why you felt compelled to come here? Come on, Tristan. You pretty much described me. Just maybe not so extreme.”

“I don’t think that’s it, Kylie. I don’t think that’s why I wanted to come here. Besides, I just don’t think you’re all that broken inside, not like I believe you think you are.”

“I don’t know what else it would be.”

He shifted to his side, and tugged one of her pillows down so it was under his head more. He reached out and put his hand on her waist and pulled her forward. His confidence, his power, was back in his gaze and the strength of his touch. He’d lost the confused look that talking about his sister had evoked. “You really believe that of yourself, don’t you? That there would be no legitimate or positive reason I could be here. That it has to be tied up with some long-lost sister of mine? You’re funny. You’re shy. You’re cute. You’re easy to be around. I think, perhaps that’s the reason I most feel compelled to be around you. I find you refreshing to spend time with.”

“I don’t know why you would.” She swallowed, totally conscious of his hand on her, feeling the bone of her spine now poking into his fingertips.

“So you didn’t answer the original question. Are you anorexic?”

“I don’t think so. Most everyone else thinks I am. It’s almost like they try to convince me I must be.” She almost bit down on her tongue. Why? Why would she bring this up with a guy she was trying to date? There was nothing less sexy than thinking about wasting away from self-induced hunger now, was there?

“How do they try to convince you?”

“I’ve never really cared if I ate. I don’t get a lot of joy from thinking about eating a certain type of food. They comment on how skinny I am as if there must be a catastrophic reason I look this way. Instead of even considering it’s just how I am. Anyway, I don’t seem to ever really fit into any box.”

His hand rubbed back and forth over her hip bone as she talked. “What do you mean? Any box?”

She shut her eyes and pushed her hair off her face. “When my father… well, after he was gone, I was only ten years old, but I didn’t cry. Ally cried and screamed and acted out and did all the typical things you’d expect. But I never did. Mom tried so hard to help me, to reach me, but I just didn’t react. I think it scared her. She put me with different counselors over the years. I tried to talk to them, figure out why I never cried, but it just didn’t help. I was diagnosed with depression, anxiety, fear of abandonment; on it went. Anorexia was thrown out there too. Mom kept a sharp watch on me while I lived at home. But since coming here, she can’t. I don’t know. I just don’t really fit anywhere. I’m kind of screwed-up, but not as screwed-up as everyone thinks I should be. Does that make sense? They always feared I flirted with suicide or I acted out because of what happened, but honestly? I was never suicidal. I was never so depressed I couldn’t function. When I got to college I just wanted to have fun. Relax. Enjoy. You know? Total freedom? It was heady. After being watched like a bug for signs of what was wrong with me for a decade, getting here was like I’d been released from a cage. And I liked to have sex. But they all said I was acting out. Something must be wrong with me to act like this. Maybe I was searching for validation in all the wrong places. The thing is, I just don’t know if that’s totally true. So you see, I don’t know. I never seem to know what I am.”

“You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met. Of that I’m certain.” Tristan spoke it softly. She swallowed and wondered what he had to think of her strange, convoluted confessional.

What she didn’t add was that after being raped, she didn’t behave the typical way either. She didn’t cry. She didn’t stop having sex. She just never seemed to know the right way to deal with stuff. 

“Whatever I am. You can’t be here to save me. Or pressure me to eat. Or talk. Or cry. Or…”

“What about sex? I’d be happy to pressure you to do that.”

A laugh escaped her lips. She hadn’t expected his tone, his teasing, his flirting after the conversation they’d just had.

“No one would be that happy to have sex with me.”

He leaned closer, his lips hovered just over hers. He hung there, staring her in the eyes, his breath warm over her face. It worked in drawing out her anticipation, her strung-out feelings. Her stomach fluttered and something warm percolated in her blood from his sudden attention and nearness. “I would be happy to,” he whispered.

She pushed at his shoulder, flustered by the intensity of his gaze and voice. “You just want to get laid.”

“I wish it was that. That would be a whole lot simpler,” he whispered, and then dropped a kiss to her forehead. “I don’t think that’s it.” He then silenced her when his lips sealed over hers. When he withdrew he laid back next to her. Without another word they fell silent, lying there together, and she could make no sense out of it. Why? Why didn’t he kiss her more? Cop a feel? Have sex? She would have let him, gladly. She glanced his way, but he just turned his head and stared back at her, silent. Intense. Serious. But he didn’t say anything and she was hesitant to dispel whatever spell seemed to have enveloped the room. Until eventually the peace of it, the quiet of it, had her eyes fluttering in sleep.

She woke up just barely when she felt him kiss her forehead the next morning, at an early hour with light just leaking in. “I’m busy the next few days. I’ll call you though, before the weekend. Okay?”

Ha. As if. She didn’t think she’d ever hear from him again. She barely lifted her eyelid and studied him as he shrugged his coat on. She had revealed too much. So had he. In the light of day he’d get freaked out by his own admissions… and hers. She wouldn’t hear from him this weekend. Bullshit. She almost sat up and called him on it, but decided he didn’t really owe her anything. The classic “too busy” excuse. Well, so was she. She rolled over, squeezing her eyes shut, determined not to be the typical whiny, broken girl.

****

Tristan shut the door to the small studio and leaned back onto it. He let his head fall back and breathe release. What the hell had that been? The intimate sleepover, without sex to even justify it? The late night confessional. Why had he even asked about Kylie? He shouldn’t know her. He didn’t want to get to know her. He was playing a stupid, dangerous game. She was a confused, messed-up, broken girl. Hadn’t she all but told him that? She was also accusing his little brother of rape. She could ruin Tommy’s life. It wasn’t just a corporate image, even if that was his grandfather’s main motivation. It wasn’t Tristan’s. He might not believe she was the evil, vindictive shrew he first believed was coming after the family name and money, but neither could he deny she was screwed-up and lost, and maybe even believed her own lies.

All he needed to do to dispel her ability to hurt them was have sex with her, take a few photos for insurance, and
voilà
, damage control complete.

Why hadn’t he?

Instead he’d told her about Tara. Even used Tara’s real name. The name she went by, last he knew anyhow. What the hell kind of game was he playing here, and why did he keep playing it?

She just was so fucking easy to talk to.

He pushed off her door and quickly left to go home and shower before work. Maybe Morgan would be there. He could touch base, find his damn brain and ambitions again. Find his balls to do what needed doing again. Not cuddling up to some screwed-up little college girl, who held in her hands the power to destroy his family.

He could not forget that again.

But maybe, she was in fact correct about some of his motives. Maybe it was something in Kylie that reminded him of Tara that made him hesitate to do what needed doing. Maybe he was too sentimental about this, because he saw similarities between the sister he had lost and the girl he was trying to neutralize. And yes, maybe, he worried a little bit about what she’d do to herself once he succeeded.

But it wasn’t his problem. She shouldn’t be spreading lies about his brother. She should own up to liking to sleep around instead of burying it like it was shameful. He started towards his car, ready to harden his heart. All Kylie had to do was fully embrace who and what she was, and what she liked to do. She needed to admit first to herself, and then to others, that she liked having sex. She could then just do it, without having to find some tragic reason for why she did it.

He fisted his hand. That was what this was. She was young and troubled, but more, she was unwilling to admit the simple fact the girl liked to have sex. A positive thing, really. He didn’t get the whole name-calling thing she did with herself over it.

He was sure he could find some reason to explain what happened between her and Tommy.

He hadn’t protected Tara, and look what happened to her. She’d nearly overdosed once, almost died and had to be brought back to life. She’d lived. But barely. She was gone now, and he’d be damned if he’d let anything happen to Tommy. Not if he could help it. And this time? He really could help it.

When he was in his office later, his grandfather knocked as he entered. “Have you got the girl to sleep with you yet? Have you got the proof?”

“No. She’s proving more selective than I figured. I think I might have to pretend to date her a little bit before she’ll do it.”

Grandfather held his gaze. His frown receding into his wrinkles. “But you will get her to do it, right?”

“Yes, I’ll get her to do it.”

“Good. Make it quick. I don’t like this loose thread, Tristan. It isn’t like you to take so long to snip it.”

Loose thread? This wasn’t some forgotten report or quarterly insurance statement. “Well, I can’t rape her now, can I? Would kind of defeat the purpose, right?” He snapped and then leaned forward in his chair to grab the edge of his desk, gripping it too hard, his knuckles turning white. Why had he said that? It was a terrible thought. Horrible. Kylie getting raped? Him raping someone? He’d never, ever. NO! Jesus, why would he spit out such a vile thing? He shook his head. This loose thread, as Grandfather called it, was playing with his head and his heart. Way too much.