The Darkest Link (Second Circle Tattoos) (21 page)

Lia followed him and perched on one of the bar stools, resting her brace, newly decorated with pink hand-painted roses, on the counter. “I know. If I say what’s on my mind, though, I might scare you back to Fort Pierce.”

Reid walked back around the counter and came to stand in front of her. If she had the courage to say what was on her mind, he might, too. “Believe me, babe. Fort Pierce is the last place I want to be right now. I need to go see my kids at the club and take care of business. But if there was any other way, I’d stay here with you for a little while longer while I figure out why my insides feel like they just got torched.”

Her clear gray eyes studied him. “You feel it, too?” She reached for his hand, clasping his fingers with hers.

“It’s not as if you didn’t warn me, babe. I just didn’t expect to fall so fast with you.”

“Is that your gruff way of telling me that you love me?” she asked playfully.

“When I was earning my engineering degree, I learned that potential energy is basically energy stored in an object as a result of its size and vertical position or height.” He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “The formula is mass multiplied by acceleration multiplied by height. I’m a big guy, and you were right, this was fast. And while I can’t say I’ve hit the ground yet, I guess the rate at which I’m falling makes it inevitable.”

“So in layman’s terms . . .” Lia let the sentence hang, and grinned at him.

“You really are cute, you know,” he said, running one of his fingers down the side of her cheek. “I think you understand me loud and clear.”

“You’re the one with the engineering degree. My arts degree didn’t prepare me to understand the technical explanation of your feelings.”

They stood staring at each other, stupid grins on their faces, for a couple of moments. Each waited for the other to crack. Her fingers slid underneath his T-shirt, stroking the skin just under the waistband of his jeans.

He grabbed her wrists. “That’s cheating,” he said.

“I know, but if I can keep you here for just a little while longer, you might just decide to say it.”

“Say what?” he said, waiting for her to say the words.

“You might say that you love me. And I might respond by telling you that I love you, too.”

Something squeezed at his chest, the word settling between them as he brushed his thumb along her bright red lip. “Isn’t there some rule that you can’t say it before a month is up or something, just in case something goes wrong?”

Lia laughed and placed her forehead against his chest. “You’re making it sound like a warranty for a new blender.”

Reid ran his fingers through her hair. “This is crazy. You know that, right?”

“Yeah. But I did give you fair warning.”

* * *

Lia smoothed the full skirt of her navy blue dress as her taxi made its way over the bridge to Star Island. The bright yellow flowers on it always cheered her up. Her arms were bare—at best an act of defiance, at worst, a giant fuck-you to her father. The entire ensemble was offset by her ridiculously unsexy arm brace. Her disastrous attempt at driving yesterday had revealed it was impossible to operate a stick shift for now. After the first gear change, she’d almost wept like a baby. She hadn’t made it out of the parking garage.

She smiled at the memory of Reid’s video call threat to get on his bike and drive down to Miami to spank her ass if she pulled any more
dumb shit
. For all his bluster and posturing, those expressive brown eyes of his had told her just how much he cared. He’d threatened to hire a car and driver for her, which, while of course she refused it, touched her so much. After all, he was fighting to make ends meet while building a business for himself. All her life she had been exposed to wealthy people, and the truth was she really didn’t like any of them. In fact, one of her biggest fears was being seen as
one
of them, which was why she also hadn’t hired a limo like any other child of a Star Island resident would do in her position.

When she was younger, Lia had assumed Star Island had gotten its name because of all the famous people who lived there. At various times in her life, her neighbors had included Gloria Estefan, Shaquille O’Neal, and more recently LeBron James. Now the homes were more likely to be in the possession of wealthy CEOs and reality-TV stars. As she’d gotten older, she’d realized it was so exclusive that even God himself wouldn’t have been able to buy a home there unless he had twenty million or more to spare.

A wave of nausea washed through her, as it always did when she approached her childhood home. These days, crossing the bridge meant confrontation and bickering. It was almost impossible to admire the beauty that surrounded her as they headed down Star Island Drive. When they arrived, she asked the driver to wait for her. It was important to know she could make a fast and clean escape.

She headed straight for the greenhouse, knowing that even if her mother wasn’t working with her plants, she would be sitting in there reading or watching segments from a documentary she was supporting.

“Hey, Mom,” she said, stepping inside the sunlit room.

“Lia, darling,” her mother said, putting her book down on the wicker-and-glass side table. She removed her glasses and stood. “You poor thing,” she said, taking hold of Lia’s arm and extending it so she could assess the damage.

“I wanted to see you,” Grace said. “But somehow . . . I don’t know . . . I just . . .”

“It’s okay, Mom. I understand. And I wanted to talk to you about that.”

Her mother looked down the hallway. “Your father just texted me to tell me he was on his way home.” Which meant they’d only have a few minutes to talk.

Lia had spent hours thinking about how to approach this. Not for one moment did she believe her mom was in love with her father anymore, but for the sake of her mom’s mental health she needed to tread carefully.

They sat together on the small wicker love seat and faced each other. “I wanted to know how you are feeling,” Lia said, “about Dad and his plans for the next few years.”

Her mom absently reached for the gold stud on her earlobe and twirled it. “For better, for worse, I agreed to stand by your father.”

Lia flopped back against the sofa. “I know, Mom. And I think you’ve made good on your promise a million times over. But I also wonder whether Daddy sees your relationship in the same way. Don’t you ever feel like we’re merely commodities to him? I mean, he doesn’t really want a relationship with me. He simply wants me to do his bidding.”

She hoped that speaking about her own story might inspire her mother to share hers.

“I’m not sure what you expect me to say, Lia. My life is what it is. I’m too old to consider anything else.”

“You have options, Mom. It’s my birthday next week, and I get the rest of my trust fund. It’s yours if you want it. I can help you.”

“Lia, I can’t. That money is yours to support you and your family when you start one. You need to keep it. Your father . . . when he rewrote his will several years ago . . . he . . . he wrote you out of it.”

“But Mom, I don’t care. I’ve never cared. I wanted a father, not a walking, talking ATM. And I want you to be happy. It worries me, what he’s about to undertake, and what he wants you to do to help him. You know how stressful it was for you last weekend to have all those people in your home. And that was such a small taste of what it’s going to be like when the nominations are actually open.”

“I know what you are trying to do, darling. I appreciate it, I truly do. But it isn’t that simple, and I have known for a very long time that this day would come.”

“You quoted your wedding vows earlier, but I’m not sure that Daddy puts any faith into those. If he did, ‘in sickness and in health’ would have some meaning. When I was ill, all he wanted to do was hide me away so I couldn’t embarrass him. He was so furious when it got in the way of his plans to run back then. Do you remember how he forced me to stay in my room, how he couldn’t stand to be around me? He didn’t care about me then, and I’m scared he is going to push you further than you want to go, Mom.”

“And why would I do that?” The voice came from the doorway to the greenhouse. She turned to face him.

“I don’t know, Daddy. Why
would
you do that? Why would you so blatantly disregard Mom’s needs in pursuit of your own selfish goals?”

Her father stayed in the doorway and shook his head. “Lia, Lia, Lia,” he tutted. “You always did have such an active imagination. I often thought that was why you focused on art so much.”

Lia didn’t respond or stand. Her father was in his business suit, his salt-and-pepper hair matching the gray pinstripes perfectly. There was no way he would step voluntarily into the steamy heat. She had never, in her whole life, seen him enter the greenhouse. It was her mother’s space, an atmosphere in which, when she was a child, she’d imagined he could not breathe.

“Is this one of those moments,” he said calmly, “when the protagonist returns home to find the natives plotting insurrection?”

Her mom coughed politely. “Franklin, it’s not what you think.”

“Are you certain, Grace? Because to me, it sounded a lot like my daughter was trying to convince you to leave me.”

Now Lia did stand. She turned to face him. “It’s okay, Mom. You’re right. That is what I was trying to do. And if you eavesdropped for long enough, which I assume you did, you realize that Mom has put great stock in her wedding vows.”

Franklin stepped onto the greenhouse floor. Behind her, Grace gasped. “I put stock in our agreement that you would support me in this, Grace. If you have even the slightest shred of doubt, I suggest we divorce now, so that the whole situation can be forgotten before any campaigning begins in earnest.”

“Oh my God, Dad. Seriously? I don’t know why you have it in your head that Mom and I are so vital to your campaign. It didn’t affect Ronald Reagan when Patti Davis was active in the antinuclear movement. And look at Sarah Palin, preaching the traditional family values platform while her daughter’s getting knocked up. Nobody is expecting us to be perfect. Why can’t we embrace that?”

Her father didn’t even look at her; the gray eyes she’d inherited were solely focused on her mother. “Those were their children . . . not their wives. Grace?”

“Oh, Franklin. I have no intention of divorcing you,” her mother said, a slight quaver in her voice.

Her mother looked toward her, and her eyes told her everything she needed to know. Lia’s stomach sank.

“As you have always said,” her mother began, her eyes filled to the teary brim, “Lia has always had a flair for the dramatic.”

* * *

Thank heavens there was nothing complicated on the manifest for today. Even though it was Sunday, it looked kind of light. Depending on the progress they made, he might let a couple of the guys go early. Reid looked at the Buick Century currently on the lift. He’d already removed the wheel covers and center caps, along with the lug nuts, wheels, and tires. Changing the front brake pads and rotors was going to take a little time, but it gave him the opportunity to think.

Restlessness bothered him like an unscratchable itch. Sitting in his apartment the previous evening had been a miserable experience, only made better by an hour-long video chat with Lia. He wanted to be where she was, helping her recover, not removing the bolts on the back of the caliper.

Reid placed the bolts in a small container so he’d remember to grease them before reinstalling them.

He felt like he’d just installed a new engine in a classic car but had over-tightened the head bolts. At best, the engine might perform sub-par, but at worst, he could cause unfixable damage to the head gasket.

Coming back to Fort Pierce was meant to give him distance to see things a little more clearly. To get some clarity on the relationship he was building with Lia. But as useful as Fort Pierce was for distance, it sucked when it came to comforting Lia. He wasn’t much of a talker, but now he found himself waiting like a pussy for her call, and fighting the urge to jump on his bike and go to her. If it weren’t that he’d promised Sharon that he’d spend time with Donovan at the hospital while she took care of her three other children, he would have done so.

“Got something on your mind, boss?” asked Chase, who was working on the rear pads.

Yeah, a shit ton.
“Nah, I’m good,” he replied.

“Really? ’Cause you’re really going to struggle to remove that rotor without removing the brake pad bracket.”

Reid looked down.
Damn.
He needed to focus. “Think I need a bit more coffee,” he said. Chase grinned. “Can I get you some?”

“I’m good,” Chase replied. “Is somebody keeping you up at night?” he teased.

“If there was, I certainly wouldn’t be telling you about it.”

Chase dipped his chin. “Whatever you say, boss.”

Reid couldn’t face another mug of the sludge Jarod passed off as coffee. It was thick enough to stand a spoon in. He slipped out the side door and took the stairs to his apartment. There was a reason he’d bought a Keurig, and it was on his list of things to buy as a wedding gift for Harper and Trent. After all, Harper had said they didn’t have one was because Trent had an aversion to them—which made it, in Reid’s mind, the perfect gift. There was no malicious intent; he just intended to tease the ever-loving shit out of his brother-in-law to be, even though the more time they spent together, the more he liked the guy. It would be hard not to, given how much he obviously loved Harper.

Now that he knew Harper was safe and happy, he needed to figure out his own future, and the one thing holding him back was a remnant from the past. He pulled his phone out from his pocket and tried to remember the name of Harper’s lawyer. It was Lydia something. And the law firm name ended with Ross. Reid started to put some words into the browser on his phone, and after a few moments he had the names. Lydia Grayson at Brewster, Grayson, and Ross.

The coffeemaker finished its thing, and Reid poured milk into the espresso. He took a sip and sighed. There would be definite advantages to buying one of these machines for the garage downstairs. They could even begin to offer drinks to customers. He put the milk back in the fridge and closed the door. On it, hung with magnets, were images of the kind of studio he really wanted to run. Reid laughed to himself sadly. He was so far away from affording it when he couldn’t even afford a second coffeemaker.