True Colors (14 page)
“I’m being honest. That’s what you do when you love someone. You tell the truth.”
He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips together before turning away. “Jesus,” he murmured as he braced both hands on the dresser.
Alex swallowed, feeling shaken. He hadn’t even noticed what she’d said.
That’s what you do when you love someone.
That’s what you do when you love someone.
He needed time. That was all. Once he had some time to think, he’d remember that she wasn’t a flake or a nut-case. Maybe they could go see AnnaCoreen together. For now, though, she thought she should back off, give him some space. God knew she hadn’t been ready and willing to accept the truth the first time she’d heard it.
She braced herself to speak normally even as emotions whirled through her. Don’t leave me. God, please, please, don’t leave me. “I’m . . .” Her voice cut out, and she took a breath and tried again. “I’m going to take a shower.”
She didn’t hear if he responded, because a roar had begun in her ears. He didn’t try to stop her, didn’t say, “No, wait, let’s talk about it. Help me to understand.”
He let her go.
Logan got into his truck and slammed the door shut. The sun glinted off the hood, and he squinted, remembering he’d left his sunglasses sitting on Alex’s kitchen table. Fuck.
Instead of going back in to get them, he cranked the engine and backed out of her driveway. He knew exactly where to go for answers.
It took ten minutes to get to Charlie’s. If anyone had an explanation for this madness, it was Alex’s trusted sister.
When he rapped on the screen door, though, it was Noah’s voice that called out permission to enter. Logan found the other man sprawled on the kitchen floor, his head disappearing into the cupboard under the sink.
“Gotta leak?” Logan asked.
Noah grunted. “Garbage disposal gave up the ghost this morning. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, either.” He scooted out and sat up, swiping a grimy hand through his sweaty hair. “You know anything about replacing garbage disposals?”
“That’s what plumbers are for.”
Noah scowled. “That’s what Charlie said.”
Logan glanced around, trying not to appear too impatient. “Is she here?”
“Nope. Got called into work on her day off again. Her boss is a slave driver.”
“Mac Hunter? He was great about Alex’s time off after the shooting.”
“I just get the impression the guy depends too much on Charlie. He had a thing for her, you know. Back before . . . well, me.”
Logan nodded, not at all interested in assuaging Noah’s insecurities. It’s not like they were best buds. “So when do you expect her back?”
Noah angled his head to peer up at him as he wiped his grubby hands on a white dishcloth. “Why? What’s up?”
“Nothing. I just need to talk to her.”
“Is everything okay with Alex?”
Logan stiffened in spite of his effort not to. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I’m just asking. No need to get your shorts in a knot.” Noah pushed to his feet and dropped the filthy dish towel on the counter as he went to the fridge and pulled it open. “Want a beer?”
“Can’t. I’m on duty in an hour.”
Noah handed him a Sam Adams with a smirk. “I won’t tell anyone.”
Logan stared down at the beer in his hand while Noah jerked a chair out from the table and sat down with a groan. “You know any plumbers around here?”
Logan twisted the cap off the bottle and took a long swig. It felt cold and refreshing going down. Maybe the alcohol would clear his head. God knew he needed
something
to help him think.
something
to help him think.
“Hello?”
Logan focused on an annoyed-looking Noah. “What?”
“Plumbers? Lake Avalon? Know of any? Maybe one I could call to come get this damn thing fixed before Charlie gets home?”
“Oh. Sorry. My landlord takes care of all that stuff for me.”
“Lucky bastard,” Noah muttered.
Then, with a sigh, Noah pushed himself up, set aside his beer and crawled back under the sink. “Want to hand me that red doohickey with the teeth?”
Logan scanned the tools. Even he knew that red doohickey with the teeth was called a pipe wrench. “You’re in way over your head.”
“Just hand it over and shut the fuck up, would you?”
Logan slapped the wrench into Noah’s waiting palm. He’d finish his beer and be on his way.
“So what’s the problem?” Noah asked, his voice almost drowned out by the metallic clanking of the wrench as he tried to adjust its grip.
Logan hesitated to respond. Noah would laugh his ass off. “There’s no problem.”
“Yeah? Then why stop by unannounced to talk to Charlie? You and Alex have a fight?”
“Hell, no.” But the words sounded choked. Yeah, they’d had a fight. Their first. And who knew it’d be so soon after the first time they’d made such incredible love? And about something so . . . unbelievable?
“So you want to talk about it?” Noah asked, obviously out of his element in more ways than one.
Logan snorted. “What is this?
Dr. Phil
?”
Dr. Phil
?”
“Charlie’s not here, butthead. If you want to talk to someone, I’m all you’ve got. Take it or leave it. I don’t give a shit. Hey, you see a Phillips-head screwdriver out there somewhere?”
Logan spotted the tool and handed it over.
“So is it the psychic thing?” Noah asked.
Logan stilled, waiting for the other man to snicker. Jesus, he’d never hear the end of this. But Noah said nothing, pipes rattling as he worked, as though they were discussing the chances of the Miami Heat making it to the NBA finals.
“Because, you know,” Noah said, “I was pretty freaked out when I found out about Charlie.”
Logan plopped back down onto the chair, all the air leaving his lungs. “Charlie’s psychic, too?”
“The technical term is empathic. But, yeah.”
Logan rubbed at his eyes. The whole world had gone screaming insane. “Cue
The Twilight Zone
theme.”
The Twilight Zone
theme.”
Noah scooted out from under the sink and sat up. “You don’t buy it?”
“Hell no. Do you?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“It doesn’t make sense. I mean, she said she tapped into my dream. Don’t you think that’s . . .
odd
?”
odd
?”
“Only if it wasn’t your dream.”
Logan didn’t know what to say to that as an image flashed through his head of a dirty six-year-old boy sprawled on a filthy, scarred hardwood floor with a bullet wound in his chest.
“It’s not possible,” he said, more to himself than to Noah. “She found out somehow and instead of just confronting me, she cooked up this . . . this twisted scenario to . . . to . . .” To what? He didn’t even know.
“You think Alex is that manipulative?”
“No, of course not.” Damn it, Logan didn’t know what to think. Nothing made sense anymore.
“What did she find out?” Noah asked, as casually as he’d offered Logan a beer earlier.
Dropping his head back, Logan dragged his hands through his hair. “Fuck.” No way did he plan to share that info with
anyone
.
anyone
.
Noah clearly got the message, because he moved on. “You trust Alex, don’t you?”
“Yes, damn it. Of
course
I trust her.”
course
I trust her.”
“Then why don’t you believe her?”
“Because it’s not possible. That shit doesn’t exist.”
Noah pushed to his feet. “There’s someone we need to go see.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I
n the shower, Alex tried to shove Logan from her mind. She’d have to figure out a way to deal later, depending on what he did next. He’d either come back to her or not. Instead of obsessing about which it would be, she’d decided to pay a visit to her mother to ask some key questions about their psychic history. Charlie might not have any luck having a conversation with the woman, but Alex could usually cajole something out of her. Probably because she knew how to avoid the button on her forehead that said “push here to irritate the hell out of me.” Charlie seemed to live to poke that button, something Alex never understood. Yes, their mother could be cold and unemotional, but she was their mother. A little respect went a long way.
n the shower, Alex tried to shove Logan from her mind. She’d have to figure out a way to deal later, depending on what he did next. He’d either come back to her or not. Instead of obsessing about which it would be, she’d decided to pay a visit to her mother to ask some key questions about their psychic history. Charlie might not have any luck having a conversation with the woman, but Alex could usually cajole something out of her. Probably because she knew how to avoid the button on her forehead that said “push here to irritate the hell out of me.” Charlie seemed to live to poke that button, something Alex never understood. Yes, their mother could be cold and unemotional, but she was their mother. A little respect went a long way.
At her parents’ front door, Alex paused to check her sneakers for mud. Wouldn’t help with her goal if she tracked something in on the clean floor. As she perused the bottoms of her shoes, her eye caught on the word scrawled prettily across the mat in front of the door: WELCOME.
When they were teenagers, Charlie had explained irony to her by using their mother’s welcome mat as an example. “It says ‘welcome,’” Charlie had said, “but have you ever seen Mom throw open the door with a cheery hello and a great big smile? Nope. That’s ironic. A black fly in your chardonnay? That’s just bad luck. And unsanitary.”
Tears welled in Alex’s eyes, and she shook her head. Why was she even crying about a stupid welcome mat anyway? But it wasn’t the damn welcome mat. A butterfly could have landed on the tip of her nose, and she’d probably burst into tears. She honestly couldn’t imagine a day when her life wouldn’t suck now that she had super-turbo bullshit empathy.
Maybe, though, just maybe, her mother could help. Charlie had said their cousin, the one they’d had no idea they had, was empathic. That meant there was an aunt or an uncle, and perhaps more cousins. If empathy were indeed genetic, and it appeared to be, maybe someone somewhere on some branch of their family tree knew how to get it under control. Singing a song in her head—Charlie said that worked for her—wasn’t going to do it. Alex feared that if she was going to survive her new ability . . . gift . . .
curse
, then she needed answers. She needed coping mechanisms.
curse
, then she needed answers. She needed coping mechanisms.
With a deep breath and a swipe at her wet lashes, Alex opened the front door and walked into her parents’ house. It smelled like warm chocolate chip cookies or perhaps chocolate cake. Someone was baking, which surprised her, because her mother had never been one to bake when Alex was a kid. She had been too busy lunching with her high-society friends and arranging charity events.
Alex paused in the foyer to peruse the family photographs artfully arranged on the wall. Just like in real life, no extended family existed there.
“Mom? Dad?”
The door to her father’s office whipped open within seconds, and her father ambled out with a huge grin on his face that eased the tight band encircling Alex’s chest. She walked right into his arms and received his engulfing hug and peppermint scent without a second thought.
After he set her back from him, his hands on her arms, she realized her mistake. Luckily, she wore a long-sleeved T-shirt (on purpose), and he’d pressed his kiss to the top of her head. No skin-on-skin contact, thank God. She
really
didn’t want to know her father’s darkest nightmare, and it shocked her to realize that she had no idea what that would even be. Perhaps the moment six months ago when it hit him that he’d gambled the family newspaper’s future, and that of everyone who worked there, and lost.
really
didn’t want to know her father’s darkest nightmare, and it shocked her to realize that she had no idea what that would even be. Perhaps the moment six months ago when it hit him that he’d gambled the family newspaper’s future, and that of everyone who worked there, and lost.
He hadn’t stopped grinning. “How’s my littlest angel?” he asked.
She couldn’t help but smile. Losing the paper, in her opinion, had been the best thing that ever happened to Reed Trudeau. He looked healthy for the first time in her memory. And smiling! It helped that his loss had been a bored billionaire’s gain, and the
Lake Avalon Gazette
lived on. No harm, no foul.
Lake Avalon Gazette
lived on. No harm, no foul.
He cocked his head and would have cupped her chin in that way he did when he was concerned about her if she hadn’t stepped back. “I’m fine,” she said, and felt her lips quirk on the lie. A Trudeau tradition. No matter what happened, the answer was always the same. She and Charlie got that from their mother. The queen of “fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” her father said as she walked to the large windows that looked out on a rolling green hill that sloped down to the bank of the peaceful Caloosahatchee River. “You’ve been crying. Come into my office and talk to me.”
Her father, the king of the pensive silence, wanted to
talk
. Alex tried to rub the chill out of her arms. She didn’t think she’d ever be warm again. “Is Mom here?”
talk
. Alex tried to rub the chill out of her arms. She didn’t think she’d ever be warm again. “Is Mom here?”
“Last time I saw her, she was in the kitchen supervising her latest protégé in the art of the perfect chocolate chip cookie. The DAR is having a bake sale.”
A laugh bubbled into Alex’s throat. As if Elise Trudeau had any idea how to make the perfect chocolate chip cookie. Any fresh-baked cookies she and her sisters had had as children had come from their Nana’s oven. It amused her, too, that her mother appeared to still be angling for the perfect daughter, one who baked and wore frilly dresses and belonged to the Daughters of the American Revolution. The exact opposite of her own girls.
Elise walked into the living room from the kitchen, a pristine white apron tied around her narrow waist and a sunny yellow dish towel in her hands. She saw Alex and paused, clearly not planning to bestow a bear hug similar to her husband’s. “Hello, Alexandra. I thought I heard voices.”
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