Butterfly in Frost Page 8

  I want to back away. A few steps and I would be out of the suffocating crowd.

  But I stay for Garrett. I train my gaze straight ahead and tune out my surroundings, thinking about how I’m going to arrange the charcuterie board, how I’m going to slice the salumi, which cheese I’m going to suggest pairing with which—

  “Teagan.” Garrett’s voice is laced with strain.

  I realize, as I turn my head toward where he stands beside me, that my grip on his hand is both too tight and damp with perspiration. Horrified, I let go. But Garrett does not.

  It’s not until my gaze reaches his face that I understand he’s gripping me that hard, and his taut face is pale. His gaze is on Rachel . . . and the multitude of children clinging to her.

  “Hey.” I turn my back to the crowd and wrap my arms around his waist. Since he doesn’t release my hand, his arm becomes pinned at his lower back. “You okay?”

  He nods, but his jaw is clenched tight.

  “Dumb question,” I mutter. “Of course you’re not. Let’s get out of here.”

  “No. You said there was more.”

  “We don’t need to see more. You’re the only thing I want to look at anyway.”

  That admission pulls his gaze to me.

  In the mirrored reflection of his sunglasses, I glimpse the phantoms that haunt him. I slide my free hand beneath his T-shirt to caress his bare skin. “You feel feverish, and your heart rate is elevated. And for a guy as tan as you are, you’re far too pale.”

  A child’s high, piercing laugh rends the air, and he jolts violently.

  Garrett curses. “Let’s get away from this spot.”

  I worry that won’t be enough—and seeing him falter has shaken what there was of my strength—but we step back until we’re at the curb, centered where Pine turns onto Pike Place. There are people all around us. We become an island in the midst of a stream of people flowing in either direction.

  “Let’s head back to the parking garage,” I offer. For me, going home sounds more appealing than going forward.

  Bending, Garrett pulls me tight into an embrace. His cheek presses against mine, his low voice harsh against my ear. “It’s hard for me . . . seeing people with their children. Especially when they’re focused on the wrong things. I want to grab them and tell them to fucking appreciate what they have.”

  “Oh, Garrett.” I want to cry, but I can’t.

  “And when it’s the opposite and they’re enjoying their kids, it’s like a knife in the chest. And I wonder why I have to suffer like this. What did I do to deserve this kind of pain?”

  My forehead drops to his chest. I hold him tighter. If only I could take away his pain . . . He feels so deeply. I know that from his work and his ability to voice his agony. “I’m so sorry.”

  Someone walks by and tells us to get a room, his laughter grating.

  Garrett ignores him and holds on to me so tightly, even the breeze can’t come between us. As the minutes pass, I feel his breathing even out. Beneath my cheek, his heartbeat begins to slow. It takes longer for me to realize that I’ve calmed down, too.

  His hand finally relinquishes mine and slides up to cradle the back of my neck. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what? Don’t apologize to me.”

  “Am I freaking you out?” he asks before pulling away to meet my gaze. He touches my cheek with his fingertips.

  “This crowd was. You’re fine.”

  He turns his head and takes in the length of the arcade, packed with tourists. There are florists and farmers, leather goods and spices, jewelry and art of all sorts left to see. Across the street is the original Starbucks, featuring the original logo and menu; Piroshky Piroshky, famous for their deliciously flaky pastries; and my favorite, Beecher’s Handmade Cheese, where I’d planned to take Garrett to pick up the last item for my planned charcuterie board: the Flagship cheese I’d included in the gift basket I gave him when he first moved in.

  “Let’s just go home,” I tell him fervently. “Why put ourselves through more if we don’t have to?”

  “Because we do have to.” He looks back at me, his full lips twisted wryly. “Life goes on, and we’re still living it.” Stepping back, he slides his hand down my arm to cup my elbow. “Let’s do this.”

  Another hand touches my shoulder, and I turn around, my heart leaping at the sight of the pretty blonde who’s walked up behind me.

  “Teagan! I thought that was you.” Her words carry a hint of Central Europe, and her smile is girlishly charming. Her hair is like sunshine, and it hangs in a sleek curtain nearly to her waist. She’s chic, sporting black boots cuffed in black fur that matches the fur on the vest she wears over a charcoal bodysuit.

  “Zaneta.” The sight of her makes me jittery. “Hi.”

  “You haven’t come to see me in a while.” She glances at Garrett, smiling as she notes his hand on me. “Didn’t I say you would date again? I knew it would happen.”

  I’m embarrassed enough to skip the introductions.

  “Do you . . .” I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry. “Do you have news?”

  She reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze. “We can’t talk here. Come see me. Give me a call, and we’ll make an appointment.”

  “Excuse me,” Garrett says, draping a possessive arm across my shoulders. “Who are you?”

  “Zaneta.” She extends her hand. “I’ve known Teagan for a while now.”

  “How do you two know each other?” he asks as he shakes her hand.

  Her head tilts as she looks at him thoughtfully, the long fall of her hair sliding over her shoulder. “Something big is coming up for you, something to do with your work. You should come see me, too.”

  I cringe as she digs into the Louis Vuitton tote hanging on her shoulder and pulls out a business card. She hands it to Garrett and looks back at me. “I have so much to tell you, Teagan.”

  “Can’t you tell me now? Even a little bit?”

  As Garrett’s head lifts from reading, his fingers flex into my waist. “We’re going to go our separate ways now, Zaneta. And we’re not going to see you again. Ever.”

  “Garrett!” I look up at him and see icy fury.

  Zaneta offers a tight smile. “You’re a skeptic; I understand. But Teagan can tell you how helpful I can be.”

  “Lady, if you were capable of helping me,” he says with marked disdain, “I would’ve gotten a heads-up fifteen months ago. As it is, I think you’re a charlatan taking advantage of a vulnerable woman, and that pisses me off enough to lose my shit. You don’t want me making trouble for you—trust me. So walk. The fuck. Away.”

  Her lips purse, her blue eyes going flat and hard. She glances at me. “You know where I am, Teagan, and you know I can help you.”

  “Don’t contact us again,” he calls after her.

  She flips him the bird over her shoulder as she crosses the street. I’m torn between following her and staying with Garrett. It’s crazy, and I know it, but if she has news . . .

  “A psychic?” Garrett hisses. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Don’t.” My shoulders hunch. “You shouldn’t have talked to her like that.”

  “She’s a fraud, for fuck’s sake.”

  “So?”

  “So? That’s your answer? You let her fleece you out of God knows how much money?”

  My foot taps against the curb. “I wasn’t fleeced. And I can afford it, in any case.”

  “Damn it, it’s not about the money, Teagan! It’s about exploiting you.”

  “Don’t judge me!” I turn on him. “I am so tired of being judged.”

  He crosses his arms over his chest, simultaneously defensive and aggressive. “I’m not judging you.”

  “Liar.”

  “Knock it off,” he snaps. “I’m mad at her, not you.”

  I straighten to my full height. “You think I’m an idiot.”

  “I think you know better,” he corrects tightly. “You’re too smart to be swindled like
this.”

  “So . . . what? I temporarily lost all reason and did something stupid? Is that what you’re saying?”

  He looks up at the sky; a muscle in his jaw tics visibly. “You’re twisting things around.”

  “No, I’m clarifying.” I walk away, needing to get far from the crowds, the noise, and the smells.

  “Teagan! Don’t walk away from me.”

  I speed-walk, darting around and among people, my smaller size making it easier for me to cut through the crowd than Garrett.

  “Teagan, goddamn it!”

  His voice is farther away, but I’m still picking up speed, amped on adrenaline and anger. I round the corner to Western and head to the parking garage. Garrett catches me by the elbow before I get there, pulling me around to face him.

  How the hell can he look so damn hot when he’s pissed off and I’m pissed off at him?

  “Stop running,” he snaps, even angrier than when he’d confronted Zaneta. “We’re having a conversation. You don’t get to walk away in the middle of it. You don’t get to walk away ever. You got that? We’re hashing shit out.”

  People pass by us, turning their heads to stare.

  “I’m not running.” My words are bit out, one by one. “I’m saving you the embarrassment of getting your ass chewed in public.”

  “What are you mad at me for? I haven’t done anything but worry about you.”

  “Oh, you’re wrong about that, Frost. Seriously wrong. The only person standing here who hasn’t fucked up is me.”

  His frown turns thunderous. “You better start explaining yourself.”

  I give him a tight smile. “I can’t wait. But we’re getting in the car first.”

  10

  Garrett starts walking, pulling me along with him. “You’re using this as an excuse to get out of here, instead of sticking through and dealing.”

  “You really need to stop talking,” I warn him.

  We don’t talk as we make our way to the Range Rover. Garrett opens the door for me, then puts the nearly full tote bag on the floor in the second row behind me. I soak in the brief quiet as he comes around to the driver’s side door.

  He hops in, turns the vehicle on, programs the navigation, then shoots me a look.

  “When we get on the highway,” I tell him.

  Garrett sets his arm on the back of my seat and looks behind him as he backs out, muttering, “You try my patience, Teagan. You really do.”

  We make our way down one-way streets, then up startlingly steep streets rivaling San Francisco, and finally onto the freeway.

  “Why don’t you just talk to Roxy?” he asks as soon as he hits the on-ramp. “She’s a good friend to you, isn’t she? I know she’s worried about you.”

  My spine goes rigid. “What did you tell her?”

  “I didn’t tell her anything.” He glances at me. “She noticed all the security on your house, how strict you are about locking things up. She thinks maybe Kyler was abusive when he was using.”

  My ex-husband’s name hangs heavily in the air for a moment.

  I look out the window, watching the city passing by, not willing to waste words talking about my ex. “Have you heard from Roxy since the dinner at your place?”

  “No. We’ve waved at each other now and then, though.”

  “She’s avoiding you,” I tell him flatly. “If she wasn’t, she would have stopped over a couple of times by now. That would be her usual pattern. Plus, I’m sure she’s dying to ask you questions about your work. She’s an artist, too, after all. It’s very out of character for her to stay away.”

  “What are you getting at? She doesn’t like me?”

  “She adores you. But thinking about David . . .” My fingers twine in my lap. “It’s awkward for her, I’m sure. Pain, depression, grief—most people want to stay far away from those things and the people affected by them, even if they’re otherwise great friends.”

  “You’re saying I shouldn’t have told her.” His knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. “I can’t pretend my son didn’t exist, Teagan. That would feel like losing him all over again.”

  I sigh. “What I’m trying to say is that yes, Roxy is a good and caring friend, but people shy away from uncomfortable situations, and I can’t afford to lose Roxy or Mike.”

  “So you talk to a psychic instead? Why not go to a therapist? Someone who can actually help.”

  “You have no idea how many times you’ve hurt me in the past hour,” I say quietly. “Or that I’m about to scream, waiting for the next time you’re going to hurt me again.”

  “Teagan.” Garrett reaches over, setting his hand on my knee. His touch is warm and dry, meant only to be reassuring. But it sends a flare of sexual awareness through my whole body. “I never want to hurt you. I honestly have no idea what’s going through your head right now. I need you to tell me.”

  “You say you’re not judging me, but you are.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Let me finish. You could have asked why I went to see Zaneta. I knew she didn’t have any real answers. I was aware every time she started fishing or made a prediction that was way off base or totally wrong. It didn’t matter, because there were some days when I didn’t see any point in being alive, and she gave me false hope, and sometimes that’s better than no hope at all.”

  His fingers flex into the flesh of my thigh. “Okay, I get it. I—”

  “No, you don’t. You just presumed I’d have to be out of my mind to see her, instead of having made a conscious decision to do so. And you concluded I was throwing my money away without realizing it. But what really hurts is that you automatically default to thinking my way is wrong just because I handle things in a way you wouldn’t.”

  This time, he doesn’t try to speak over me.

  “Just because I deal with my issues differently doesn’t mean I’m not dealing with them the ‘right’ way.”

  His chest expands; then he exhales in a rush. “I didn’t realize I was doing that. I’m sorry.”

  “You suggested I should’ve talked to a friend or a therapist instead, because that’s what makes sense to you. But you know what, Garrett? Neither a friend nor a therapist would create a fantasy for me that gives me comfort, even if it’s only temporary. I paid Zaneta for that, and as far as I’m concerned, she gave me what I paid for.”

  The freeway curves, and snowcapped Mount Rainier suddenly dominates the landscape.

  Garrett’s breath catches.

  I, too, am awed by the mountain’s enormity and the dichotomy of a bustling metropolis so near such an extraordinary geological feature. It amazes me that, more often than not, Mount Rainier is hidden behind fog and clouds. It seems impossible that something so majestic, so colossal can hide in plain sight. Maybe that’s why I feel such an affinity to it.

  “I’m sorry, Teagan. You’re right; I was wrong.” He glances at me. “But more than that, I learned something from this. I’m going to be more aware of how I react to things in the future.”

  I absorb his apology, taking a moment to admire his profile—the masculine line of his jaw, the strength of his neck. Then I look back at the mountain.

  “If you keep talking,” he goes on, “I’ll keep learning, and we’ll keep growing stronger.”

  I set my hand over his where it rests on my lap and squeeze.

  The ride home is quiet but not uncomfortably so. Garrett’s fingers are now linked with mine, his other hand resting easily on the wheel. The aviators shield his eyes from the sun, and I look over at him often.

  I think of what he said earlier and take in the view of the mountain. There are stretches on the drive home where Mount Rainier is in the perfect position to be appreciated.

  “I really love it here,” I say aloud. “I think it’s just beautiful.”

  He glances at me and smiles faintly. “There’s definitely beauty here.”

  My lips twist wryly. “Not your best effort, Frost.”

  “I’m saving my re
ally good lines for later.” His brows waggle over the top of his sunglasses, and I laugh silently at the absurdity.

  When we reach Garrett’s house, he parks the SUV in front of the garage, then hops out to open my door. “Are we taking this to your house or mine?”

  “I’m good with either.”

  The twinkle returns to his eyes. “I have the blue velvet couch.”

  My lips curve in spite of my lingering irritation. “Your place it is.”

  He heads back around to the driver’s side, opens the door, and hits a button on the rearview mirror that opens the nearest garage door. My eyes widen as a multitude of fitness equipment comes into view. A stationary bike, a treadmill, a dumbbell rack, and a variety of weight machines fill the space designed for three cars.

  As we walk through to the door leading into the house, I tell him, “I think I’m going to try out Roxy’s gym.”

  “You’re welcome to come here.”

  “Just the thought intimidates me.” Once inside, I join him at the kitchen island. The cabinets throughout are white, except for the island, which has black cabinetry and is topped with black granite veined with gray. The countertops are so bare, it seems almost as if no one lives here. But there’s a coffee maker by the sink and a professional set of knives.

  Then I spot the wicker basket I gave him on another counter and the loaf of bread sticking out of it. My heart warms at the sight.

  “What intimidates you? The equipment? Or me? I can stay out of your way if it’s me,” he offers.

  “Both, actually. And I lack your discipline. Roxy says her gym has small classes and is heart rate–based, so you always know if you’re working too hard or not hard enough.”

  “Interval training, right?” He turns to put some of the food we bought into the fridge.

  “Yes. Do you want me to put the board together now? Are you hungry?”

  “I’m always hungry. How about you?”