Own the Wind

  But Jason had a mother and three sisters who were into musicals in a big way. They dragged him with them and Jason went, but he did this under duress.

  But not Les Mis.

  “Sweetheart,” he’d said, “I saw The Pajama Game when I was eleven and had nightmares until I was fifteen. We won’t get into what Cats did to me. But Les Mis, Tab, everyone has to see that.”

  It meant so much to him I went, and I had to admit I didn’t get it through the first act. Jason had decided I needed to “experience” it, so he didn’t tell me anything, and since they sang all the time, even the dialogue, I couldn’t catch it all and I had no idea what was going on. Luckily, there were some kick-butt songs, or the first act would have been wasted on me.

  At intermission, Jason saw the error of his ways, filled me in, and the second act rocked my world.

  Dad loved me, but he was never going to listen to musicals with me.

  Tyra loved me, and she didn’t care about musicals, but she listened to it with me in my car all the time when we were off shopping or to lunch or whatever we did.

  She’d heard “I Dreamed a Dream” lots.

  She knew what I was saying.

  “Oh, Tabby,” she whispered.

  See?

  I flopped to my back, stared at the ceiling then moved just my eyeballs to her to see she’d shifted closer and was resting on a hand in the bed beside me.

  “It felt good,” I told her, and she smiled.

  “Of course it felt good, honey. Shy’s a nice guy who took your back and listened to you sing a sad song. It was what you needed and he gave it to you.”

  “No,” I whispered and held her eyes. “It felt good waking up in his arms.”

  Her smile faded again.

  “Oh, Tabby,” she repeated in a whisper, and I put my hands over my face.

  From behind them I said, “It was messed up, crazy, wrong.” I pulled my hands away, looked into her troubled face, and let it all hang out. “It was wrong, Ty-Ty. It was… it was messed up. I forgot.”

  “You forgot what, honey?” she asked gently.

  “Everything,” I answered, rolling to my side and getting up on a forearm. “Everything, Ty-Ty. I was crying when I fell asleep and Shy was holding me, but somehow when we were sleeping he tucked me under him, tucked me close, and I woke up and all I felt was warm. Warm and safe and loved and right. That was all I felt. All I thought. All that went through my mind was how good all that felt.”

  “Is that bad?” Her tone was still gentle but now also cautious.

  “Yes,” I hissed.

  “How?” she asked carefully.

  “Jason didn’t hold me.” She closed her eyes and opened them when I carried on, and I did so thanking God I could talk to Tyra about everything, “He was loving and he could cuddle but not, you know, in bed. He was a hug-and-roll guy. After we, uh…” I let that hang then went on, “He hugged me, let me go, then rolled away. He was sweet about it but that just wasn’t his thing. He liked to sleep in his space and he left me to mine. I’d never had that, not ever, not from a guy, not until I got it from Shy and I liked it. It felt good. No, it felt great.”

  “Tab—” she began, but I was on a roll so I blathered on, talking over her.

  “It gets worse,” I shared. “Even after I woke up feeling safe and right, it didn’t all crash over me. It didn’t come to me at all. I looked up at Shy and he’s, well… you know, everyone knows Shy’s really good-looking, but asleep, Ty-Ty, asleep—” I leaned toward her “—he’s amazing. So amazing, so handsome, so close, holding me, making me feel safe and loved and after he’d been so cool with me the night before, I kept forgetting. Kept forgetting everything and I, oh Tyra, God help me”—my voice dropped to a whisper—“I nearly kissed him.”

  After sharing that, I flopped back to the bed, put my hands over my face and let it wash over me as it did every time I remembered it, which was often, dozens of times daily for six weeks.

  Guilt.

  Shame.

  Betrayal.

  “Tabby, honey, look at me,” she called gently, I pulled in breath behind my hands, then I dropped them away from my face and looked at her.

  She was smiling at me just as gently as she was talking to me, and it hit me, not for the first time, not by a long shot, that I loved Tyra Allen a whole lot.

  “I’m glad you shared that with me. Your dad has been concerned and even more concerned lately, thinking that something else was not right with you,” she told me.

  There it was.

  Proof my father wasn’t stupid and I couldn’t pull anything over on him.

  “It was a betrayal to Jason,” I whispered, and admitting it out loud hurt worse.

  She kept talking gently even as she grabbed my hand and squeezed, “It wasn’t, Tabby. It’s natural. It’s proof you’re healing.”

  I shook my head but she squeezed my hand again.

  “It is, honey,” she pushed. “This sucks, it sucks huge, so huge there are no words for how huge it sucks, and I would say you’re too young to process it, losing Jason the way you did when you did. But honestly, you could be a hundred and three and you wouldn’t have lived enough life to be able to process that kind of loss. Jason was a good man and he loved you. He deserves your grief. But he loved you and he’d want you to heal, move on, find happiness.”

  I shook my head again and she dipped her face closer and kept going.

  “I understand why you feel the way you do, but what you need to understand is that’s part of the process. Having those feelings, remembering you’re alive, remembering there are good things to look forward to. You’re young, Tab, you have a lot of life ahead of you. What happened with Shy is reminding you that life is out there for you when you’re ready. Those feelings you had with Shy are natural. They’re good. They are right. More so for you now because they indicate you’ve begun the process of healing.”

  “I totally forgot him, Tyra,” I returned. “I totally forgot Jason for whole minutes, lying in the arms of another man. Worse!” I cried, sitting up and twisting toward her to see she reared back. “It felt… it felt…” I stammered, unable to get out what I hadn’t really even admitted to myself. Then I pushed it out, “Beautiful. Waking up that way with Shy… it was… it felt…”

  Oh God, was I going to say it?

  I was going to say it.

  “Better,” I finished. I watched as her eyes blanked, hiding her reaction, and I knew what that meant so I cried, “See! I’m messed up!”

  She reached out, snatched up my hand again, and shook it. “You are not messed up, Tabby. You’re a woman and Shy’s a man, a good-looking one who was there for you when you needed him, and he handled you with care. Your feelings are natural. They are beautiful. They are right. There is nothing wrong with forgetting. I want to be gentle with you, honey, I know you don’t want to lose Jason now, even only having him in grief, but in all honesty, you’ll get to the point when you’ll forget for days then weeks—” she squeezed my hand as my heart squeezed and she finished “—and so on. It will happen and that’s healing too, and you might not believe it but I do, I totally do. I know he loved you enough not to want you to forget him completely, which you never will, he’ll always be a part of you, but enough so you could be happy. I know that, Tab. I also know, God forbid, the roles were reversed, you’d want that for Jason too. Nothing, not one thing you did or felt that night was wrong or shameful. I don’t think so, and I don’t think Jason would either.”

  I had to admit, she was right about that. Jason loved me and I loved him, and although it would suck huge for him as it did for me, if he lost me, I loved him enough to hope he’d eventually be happy.

  “I get you,” she said softly. “I so get you, Tab, spending time with Natalie, calling a brother to take care of you, having the feelings you had. You are not doing anything wrong except being way too hard on yourself. In this time especially, my beautiful girl, you need to be gentle with yourself. Please, stop beating yo
urself up.”

  Okay, I had to admit she might be right about that too.

  “Okay?” she pressed, and I nodded.

  “Okay,” I replied quietly, and a small smile curved her mouth.

  Then she let my hand go but lifted hers to tuck my hair behind my ear before she ran a finger lovingly along my jaw and her hand fell away.

  “Now, since I’m laying it out, what I say next does not take back anything I said before, but it has to be said. Shy is a good guy and he did right by you. What you felt was natural and part of healing. Going out with Natalie was what you needed, and when you felt the situation was unsure, you did the right thing and called a brother to take care of you. But I caution you, Tab, to learn from these things, how they went wrong and how they made you feel. I know you love Natalie, but I also know you know she can be trouble. From what you said, I know Shy handled you with care, but I also know you know how he can be trouble for a girl who’s lost something precious and may be vulnerable.”

  One could say I knew that.

  Tyra wasn’t done.

  “I can’t imagine Shy would ever go there with you, but Shy’s Shy and everyone knows all the ways he is, the good and, for a woman, the bad. Don’t get mixed up feeling those good feelings you had with him or any man. Assess where you are and only move forward in that part of healing when you’re genuinely ready. Not going for that hit that is meaningless just because it feels good and makes you forget. Am I making sense?”

  She was.

  She totally was.

  She was also right. Shy took my back and handled me with care.

  But Shy was Shy, and that wasn’t where it was heading. I wasn’t that for him.

  He’d made certain to heal the breach but that was as far as it went. I couldn’t really mess up and mistake it for something else.

  “I made him cookies,” I told her, and she blinked.

  “You made him cookies?”

  “We played pool, we bet on the games we played, and he bet me for cookies. I made them for him. They’re in the kitchen. I also didn’t phone him for six weeks even after he was great with me and now, I… I… well”—I threw out a hand—“I don’t know how to face him. What to say. How to excuse the fact I didn’t call to say thanks or even hi.”

  Her eyes moved over my face and hair, I saw something flash in them before she hid it, caught my gaze, and grinned at me.

  “Shy bet you for your cookies.”

  I grinned back and muttered, “Shut up.”

  “Maybe Shy isn’t as sharp as Tack thinks he is,” she remarked.

  “I warned him, he said he wanted cookies.”

  Something else flashed in her eyes again before she hid it—again—and I gave her that play. I did this because when I needed my own head space, she gave it to me. It would be uncool not to return the favor.

  “Okay, this is the plan,” she declared. “I take your car and the cookies to the roast. I tell everyone you aren’t feeling great and ask one of the guys to bring your car back tomorrow. You take tonight to relax and reflect.” She grinned. “Or not reflect and just relax. Whatever you need. Then, in your time, when you’re ready, you find your way to connect with Shy and share gratitude. He’ll know by the cookies you didn’t forget.”

  That sounded like a plan and, as usual, Tyra sorted me out.

  “Thanks, Ty-Ty,” I said softly.

  “Anytime, honey,” she replied softly then shifted to move off the bed, ordering, “Right. Cookies.”

  I rolled off my side, got her my keys and the cookies, got her long hug at the door and locked it after she was gone.

  I moved back to my room, changed into a nightie and my robe, washed the makeup off my face and went to the kitchen. I grabbed the leftover chocolate from Christmas that I had a lot of. Tyra went nuts with stockings at Christmas, and not just with Rider and Cut, who expected Santa to go bonkers, but also with me and my older brother, Rush, who were too old for Santa. It was three months old but I was going to eat it.

  I took it to the couch, sorted out my Hitchcock marathon, and scared myself silly through Rebecca and Rear Window before falling asleep among a mountain of green, red, gold, and silver foil during The Birds.

  Chapter Three

  It Was Family

  The bell at my door rang. I jumped and foil wrappers went flying.

  I saw blue screen on my TV and stared at it fuzzily for a second before I grabbed my remote, hit Off, and the screen went blank. My eyes went to the DVD player and I saw it was just coming on nine in the morning.

  The bell sounded again, and I turned my head to look at the door.

  “Who could that be?” I muttered, straightening from the couch amid a fall of silver, gold, red, and green.

  It wasn’t quite nine, and I grew up Chaos. This meant I knew that my people didn’t often see that hour and definitely not after a hog roast. Not even if they got a wild hair with being worried about me and popped by, which happened more than occasionally lately.

  I moved to the door, rolled up on my toes, and looked out the peephole.

  Then I stopped breathing.

  Shy was out there, his head tipped down looking at his boots, but even with head tipped down, face mostly obscured, he still looked hot.

  Crap!

  Now what did I do?

  As I stared out the peephole, his head came up, his brows drawn, and he looked at the door. I was a little surprised he didn’t look pissed or impatient. Instead, he looked a little perplexed and a little concerned.

  He lifted his hand and no bell this time, he knocked. Loud.

  Oh God.

  What did I do?

  Before my mind figured it out, my feet took me running toward my hall, then they shifted me and sent me back to the door while my mouth shouted, “Coming!”

  Okay, I didn’t know what to do but my feet and mouth did, and apparently that was acting like a dork.

  I hit the door, unlocked the locks, threw it open, and standing there was all the hotness that was Parker “Shy” Cage.

  My belly flipped.

  Crap.

  “What are you doin’—?” I started but didn’t finish.

  I didn’t finish because his hand snaked out, hooked me at the back of my head, and yanked me forward into a forced face plant to his chest. The instant I was there, his other arm wrapped around my waist, he shuffled us in and kicked the door closed with his boot.

  Then I felt his lips hit my hair and I went completely still.

  I did this because my dad put his lips to my hair when he was holding me close and talking to me.

  I liked it. I always liked it.

  But this, with Shy, I loved it.

  “Cherry said you felt shit, sugar. You feelin’ better?” he asked into my hair.

  “Um… yeah,” I mumbled into his chest, seeing as this was my only choice since my face was smushed there.

  His lips left my hair but he didn’t back away when he remarked, “Uh, Tab, just sayin’. You feel shit, eatin’ a mountain of three-month-old Christmas candy might not be the way to go.”

  Obviously he spied my fall of candy wrappers.

  He was also being funny but I didn’t laugh, though I did smile into his chest.

  His hand at the back of my head slipped down to my neck. I pulled my face out of his tee and looked up at him.

  Yes, concern, hotness… no, more accurately extreme hotness. That was it.

  “You aren’t pissed at me?”

  Yep. That was what came right out of my mouth.

  His brows drew together. “Pissed at you?”

  He seemed perplexed and I wondered, if he was confused about why he should be pissed, if I should enlighten him.

  As was often the case with me, my mouth decided before my brain did and it started blathering.

  “For not, um… when you were so cool with me that night, me not calling to say thanks for being so cool, which was uncool.”

  His face relaxed, his startling green eyes grew warm
and he replied quietly, “Baby, bein’ your safe harbor doesn’t come with me gettin’ pissed when you gotta do what you gotta do when you gotta do it. It also doesn’t come with me expecting you to explain why you did what you had to do. Bein’ your safe harbor means lettin’ you do what you gotta do when you gotta do it and not gettin’ pissed.”

  That was a good answer.

  And cool.

  And sweet.

  Crap.

  He gave me a squeeze, let me go, then moved around me, sauntering with his long, lanky, loose-limbed, biker badass grace toward my couch, saying, “You’re feelin’ better, I’ll make you breakfast.”

  I wasn’t listening, and this was mostly because I was engaged in watching him moving, bending, and scooping up Christmas candy wrappers, balling them into his fist. As I was occupied with this, I also was wondering how he could be all long, lanky, loose-limbed, biker badass while cleaning up Christmas candy wrappers. Further, as I always did around Shy even when I was holding my grudge, I was thinking he was all kinds of handsome. Thick, dark, overlong hair. Strong jaw that was so cut, it jutted out a bit at the hinges. Those green eyes. The Chaos tats on the insides of his forearms. The small silver medallions hanging from thin, black leather cords around his neck. The flat, black leather straps around his wrists that had thick, silver bands punched with insignias. The chunky silver rings on his fingers.

  Amazing.

  He turned to me, “Tab, honey, you want breakfast?”

  I came to with a start and looked up at him. “Breakfast?’

  “Yeah, breakfast. You’re feelin’ better, I’ll make you some.”

  “I don’t have any food in the house,” I told him, and his brows went up.

  “You don’t have any food in the house?”

  “Well,” I did a quick mental inventory, figured he wouldn’t want tuna or ranch-style beans for breakfast then suggested, “We could have Pop-Tarts.”

  His lips twitched and he shook his head. “Not sure Pop-Tarts are good sittin’ on mountain of Christmas candy. I’ll take you out.”

  My belly flipped again.

  He’d take me out?