“She sent them a few letters.” Star avoids my eyes.
And no one told me? My hands are flying wildly.
“She was still locked up when she sent the letters.” Lark looks guilty.
I can’t believe no one told me. How could you do that?
They glare at me. “Did you really want to know?”
That my mother was looking for me? I don’t know. I say nothing.
Wren calls downstairs and has Henry tell security to get a car ready. Someone packs a small bag for me with necessities. Then the girls all go down and cause a disturbance so that my mother looks the other way while Sam and I sneak into the car.
We pull away, and I can’t keep from turning, trying to get a glimpse of her. But she’s watching Lark and the others. She’s thin. Even thinner than I remember her being.
Sam reaches across the seat, takes my hand in his and squeezes. I stare out the window, and I don’t talk to him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He just holds my hand tightly and doesn’t let go.
Sam
She’s still trembling when we get to my apartment building. It’s not too far from hers, but it’s far enough. I lift her hand and press my lips to the back of it, pressing hard, trying to reassure her. She looks at me quickly, and then lowers her eyes, her cheeks pink.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, but she doesn’t say anything.
The car stops and she doesn’t move to get out. “We’re here,” I say. She shakes her head like she’s drawing herself from a trance. She takes in a deep breath.
The driver opens the door and she gets out. She has nothing with her except a small bag of clothes that one of her sisters hastily packed for her. I would take it from her, but I’m on crutches and it’s a little difficult to maneuver when I’m unbalanced. She doesn’t seem to mind. My doorman opens the door for us and I motion for her to precede me. She looks down at the floor and walks by me.
My insides are at war. This Peck is nothing like the girl who I’ve seen busting the drums on stage. That girl is fearless. This one is not. And I don’t know why.
She leans back against the wall of the elevator and looks everywhere but at me. I find myself at a loss for words for the first time in a very long time. I want to reassure her. I want to tell her everything with her mom will be all right. But I met the woman. It’s not all right. And it won’t be all right.
I let her into the apartment and she glances quickly around.
“It’s not much, but it’s home,” I say.
The apartment is huge. It’s a two-bedroom in a high-rise. It’s more than I need. But I wanted some space and it had the kitchen I wanted.
“It’s n-nice,” she says quietly.
I motion for her to follow me and open the door to the guest bedroom. “This one is yours,” I tell her.
She nods and steps into the room.
“The bathroom is down the hall.”
Her finger taps on the edge of the footboard. “Thank you,” she says. “I feel really bad about putting you out.”
“You’re not putting me out of anywhere.” I jerk a thumb toward my bedroom. “I have a nice, soft bed in my room. It’s not like I’m going to be on the couch or anything.”
She nods again.
“The housekeeper just came, so I know the sheets are clean.” Not that anyone stays in this room anyway.
She sets her bag down on the edge of the bed.
“I’ll give you some time to settle in.” I turn and hobble my way down the hallway. I hear her door close softly behind me. I’d hoped she would come and join me in the kitchen, but apparently she’d rather be alone.
I go to the kitchen and rummage around in the fridge. I always have a fully stocked fridge. Always. I love food. I love to cook. And I like to have ingredients at hand. I pull out some chicken and everything it will take to make some Chicken Parmigiana. It’s simple, but I like it. I wonder if she even eats chicken.
I start to prepare dinner, and she still doesn’t come out. She stays in her room. I hear her phone ring a couple of times through the closed door, and when I press my ear against her door I can hear her murmuring softly. Not that I am pressing my ear against her door or anything. Okay, I’m totally pressing my ear against her door.
Suddenly, the door opens, and I nearly fall into the room. I catch myself on the doorjamb. She hops back, surprised. She’s carrying a bottle of shampoo and some soap. And she has clothes folded over her arm.
“Sorry,” I rush to say. “I wasn’t snooping or anything.”
Her brow arches, and a smile tips the corners of her lips. Did you need something? She’s signing again, which must mean she doesn’t have anywhere to tap.
Do I need something? Well, I kind of need her. I’ve needed her ever since I met her. But she doesn’t need me back.
“Are you hungry?” I blurt out. “Dinner is almost ready.”
She glances toward the kitchen. You cooked? She looks…amused? Yeah, that’s definitely amusement.
“Real men cook,” I say defensively, and I stand a little straighter.
You don’t have to defend your masculinity, you know? she signs, but she’s grinning.
God, she’s pretty on a normal day. But when she smiles, she could knock me to my knees if I wasn’t held up by crutches. I lean against the doorjamb. “My masculinity is intact, thank you very much,” I say.
Her gaze runs slowly up and down my body, and she stops at my most vital parts, her eyes lingering. Did she seriously just do that? Or am I just wishing she would?