In Pursuit Page 9

  “You did say your feet hurt when that fucking moron Warden was hitting on you,” his tone is sharp, revealing his discontent. At the moment, Jake’s name sounds like it has a left a bitter taste in Harris’ mouth.

  “Edith.”

  “Harris.”

  “I like the way you say my name.” He’s on my right foot now, digging his thumbs into the knots. “Your voice,” the words come out gruffly, and he clears his throat before he finishes, “has a musical lilt to it.”

  “Who says musical lilt?” I giggle to myself, keeping my eyes closed so I can’t see Harris’ reaction to my teasing.

  Jared never complimented me – unless to tell me I looked perfect for the fundraiser or cocktail party we were attending, so I relish in this, letting Harris’ words sink in, enjoying the warm feeling they have on me. But there’s something the drunk girl inside me won’t let up, so she decides to come out and make her presence known.

  “Tell me why you’re here.” Sleep is nearing, my voice is a mixture of slur and drowsiness.

  My eyes are closed, so I feel Harris move next to me on the bed rather than see him. Then he lifts me into his arms and cradles me to the hardness of his chest. I’m so content, so calm, that I don’t fight it, just enjoy the comfort I find in his arms. A few moments later and he’s tucking me underneath my blankets.

  His voice is right next to my temple when he speaks next. “You humble me when I needed humbling most. And...”

  “This is the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in,” I peer at him through half-closed eyes. I don’t want to hear what he has to say next. “I’m too drunk to follow this conversation,” I admit sheepishly.

  “Then we should have it when you are sober.” His gruff voice is soft. “Edith, I’m going to kiss you now.”

  “That would be lovely.”

  Like a soothing whisper, his soft lips brush across my forehead.

  “That’s all I get?” I whine.

  It must be my imagination, but it sounds like he is chuckling.

  “For now, Edith, for now.”

  Sleep lures me away from him.

  “She is MINE! Do you hear me? Back. The fuck. Off.”

  The voice jolts me from the confines of sleep, causing me to bolt up in bed. I can’t tell if I’m having a nightmare or if the voice is real, because now the only thing I hear are my labored breaths. Then there is the low growl of a male voice, but the walls muffle the noise so I can’t make out the words.

  “Keep it that way, Harris.”

  Even though Greg isn’t there for me to pinch him, I know I’m not dreaming. Claire and Harris are arguing in the hallway near my bedroom. But over what?

  “You’ve taken everything from me. So don’t even consider taking her.” Clack, clack, clack. Her designer heels smack against the floor as she walks in some other direction, then slams a door so aggressively that the picture of my mom and dad quakes on the table next to me.

  The door to my bedroom is firmly closed, but when I strain my body upward I can see some of the hallway light, blocked by what might be two feet. My brain is foggy with exhaustion and vodka, but I want to figure this out. Just as I kick back my comforter to investigate, the light blocker leaves the space outside my bedroom door. Just a few heartbeats later, the front door to our apartment shuts.

  A quick glance to my clock reveals it’s nearly three a.m. Harris brought me home around one. Has he been here this entire time? And if he was, what the hell was he doing? I flop my body back into the cozy comfort of my bed with a heavy sigh. Before I can analyze this too deeply, sleep comes calling again and my lashes droop down.

  When I wake up late the next morning, it’s of my own volition, not because shouting interrupts my REM sleep. After I scrub a hand across my face, in an attempt to clear up my alcohol-soaked memories, I see a glass of water and teacup saucer on my table. I push myself up on my elbows. In the saucer are two aspirin. I swallow them gratefully and then lean back in my pillows. Someone, okay it must have been Harris, put my small purse neatly on the modern side table, so I lunge for it, pulling my phone out. Perfect, there’s already a missed call from Sarah.

  “Well, well, well. She must be hungover if she is just waking up now,” my friend says by way of greeting.

  “Who knew being social had such negative consequences?”

  Sarah hums in response, she’s waiting for the dirt.

  “What are you doing?” I ask weakly.

  “Waiting for you to 'fess up. What are you doing?”

  “I’m in over my head here, Sar. I need help.”

  “That’s not true, but go ahead.”

  “There’s new developments with Harris.”

  “Don’t make me wait! What’s happening?”

  After yesterday’s lunch with Sean and Luke, I called Sarah to discuss everything Harris. Greg’s bias makes her think that Harris returns my crush, and now I’m starting to agree. When I finish telling her about the painkillers I found when I woke up this morning, she shrieks.

  “Eddie! Stop kidding yourself. This is guy is just as interested as you are, if not more. You need to take this to the next level. Do you have his number?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Ask Claire! Hang up the phone, and get it right now.”

  “There’s one thing I haven’t told you…”

  “Spill.”

  I tell her about the argument in the middle of the night.

  “Do you think they were talking about you?”

  I don’t want to answer the question, because a niggling voice inside decides that I was most certainly the topic of conversation. “Maybe.”

  “That’s a yes, then. Didn’t you say that Claire was drinking and probably on coke?”

  The drugs. They are not a topic I want to consider, but she forces me. “Yes, I did mention that.”

  “Then the obvious answer is that tensions are always high between them. I mean, what two siblings don’t fight? You wouldn’t know, because you’re an only child, but it’s completely normal. I think it’s actually sweet that he's always looking out for his sister. Chalk it up to booze, and plan your attack to pounce. Harris is so hot that he’s almost good-looking enough to be with a beauty like you.”

  “Sarah, I’m kind of freaking out about Claire doing drugs,” I admit. “I’m starting to think there are enough red flags that I should consider moving out.”

  Sarah sighs. “I know.”

  “But I don’t have the financial stability to do that yet.”

  “Look, Eddie, you’re a smart girl. You know how to take care of yourself, you have your whole life. I’m not suggesting that you stay with her long term, but I think you’ll be okay to live there while you save up your money. Chicago is a lot more affordable than DC, and you can definitely find your own place at a decent price point. Just keep your eyes open, okay? Be safe.”

  “I will. By the way, you still haven’t told me about Cooper. And the odd thing is, no one else here ever mentions him either. What’s going on?”

  She sighs and pauses for a hesitant beat.

  “Growing up in our little community, everyone called the Grants the perfect family. Two beautiful parents, three gorgeous kids that got along well. Harris, the charming track star, just graduated from an Ivy League college and was getting ready to go to the best law school in the city, Claire the high school beauty queen, and then Cooper.”

  “Hm.”

  “If you saw them in person, you would be shocked at how well they got along, how nicely they spoke about each other. Especially Claire and Cooper. They were only a year apart, and inseparable. They did everything together.”

  I’ve seen that look of love; it’s perfectly documented on the wall outside my bedroom.

  “A family with so much money, of course, has a massive house on the shore of Lake Michigan, and the Grant kids always had parties up there. It happened years ago, maybe ten or twelve, I can’t remember exactly when. Their parents were out of town, who knows where o
r why, and Harris had a graduation party at the house in Michigan.”

  An uneasy feeling threatens. I don’t like where this story is going.

  “As you know, Claire spent her summers in Wisconsin, so she wasn’t there. This... incident happened when Claire and I were actually at camp together. For some reason, that summer, Cooper wasn’t at camp with us. So when Harris decided to go the lake house, he brought Cooper with him because, like I said, the siblings were so close. Always together, even despite their age gaps.”

  I could tell, I think forlornly.

  “According to the gossip mill, it was a huge party, and a whole caravan of kids from Chicago rode out to his house together. Eddie, I truly don’t know all of the details, but the way the story goes, Cooper had never drank before that night.”

  I bite my lip between my teeth.

  “And Harris introduced his little brother to beer pong. Apparently, they were playing all night and then Harris left the party with some girl. Some people were on the second floor and they heard him.”

  “Him who?”

  “Cooper. He told one of Harris’ friends that he wanted to see the lake. Nobody stopped him, nobody thought that a fourteen year old shouldn’t be drunk and stumbling around a balcony. He didn’t even scream, the only sound was a really loud thump. Harris apparently ran outside in his boxers and…”

  “Stop.” The thought of Harris finding his brother that way makes me feel ill. “That poor family.”

  The pieces of the pie start to come together. Harris constantly following his sister around; ensuring her safety, his demand that I don’t go to Pilsen by myself. He’s a protector. Even Claire’s mood swings make more sense. I cannot begin to fathom the devastation of losing a beloved sibling.

  “Did Claire blame her brother?” I wonder, thinking back on her words from last night.

  Sarah doesn’t answer my question directly. “She was catatonic when Harris came to tell her at camp. Spent the remainder of the summer in therapy, and when she came back to school the rumors were that she never spoke of what happened to Cooper. At least not to anyone outside of the family.”

  “How terrible.”

  “Right after it happened, even though Claire was still in high school, their parents left and went to Australia. Not sure how often they come back.”

  “They left Harris and Claire behind? Doesn’t that seem a little extreme?”

  “I agree. Anyway, this might be an explanation for how they treat each other.”

  “It could.”

  “From what I remember, after Cooper’s death, Harris became a different guy – intense and never smiling.”

  I clutch my phone tightly. “It’s awful, to think of him in that much pain.”

  “Eddie...”

  “I know.”

  It doesn’t need to be said out loud, we both understand that I have more than just a crush on Harris.

  Many hours pass, and I still have not seen or heard from Claire. When I tapped on her bedroom door earlier to see if she wanted to join me for breakfast, there was no response. It’s only my second Sunday living here, so I don’t know her usual routine.

  I’m in the living room, watching TV and replaying Harris’ words to me last night. He said that I humble him. Why in the world would he need to be humbled? In fact, unless it’s to me, I only see Harris being polite and friendly to others, if not a bit distant. With the exception of his sometimes abrupt and angry reactions to me, I can’t find a flaw with him. Okay, so he doesn’t smile very often…

  A heavy sigh escapes. I’m flipping through the channels when the door slams and I hear the smack of wedge heels against the wood floors.

  “Little mouse!” Claire yaps joyfully. “What’s happening?”

  She’s not wearing the same clothes as the night before, so it’s not a walk of shame. But her clothing is laid back for Claire, just a soft cotton maxi dress.

  To my dismay, there’s no big brother to be found with her.

  “Just hanging.”

  “I need to hang, too.” Claire sets her purse on the counter and drops down next to me.

  “Where have you been?” I ask casually.

  She shrugs. “With a guy.”

  “Oh?” I raise my eyebrows at her “Your fun time fuck, by the way, is someone I know nothing about. Who is he?”

  “You don’t know him.” The words tumble out quickly, making the comment sound dangerously close to a lie. But how many men do we know in common?

  Claire decides it’s time to change the subject, and asks if I want wine. After the amount I consumed last night, I decline.

  For me, things feel incredibly awkward. I can’t help but dwell on the dance floor grope. I didn’t tell Sarah that it happened, because deep down I’m hoping it was just an exaggeration my drunk mind concocted. Today, Claire looks normal, or at least as normal as she’s been for the last week I’ve known her. No sexual deviance lights her eyes, no sultry looks fly my way.

  “Oh, I forgot to ask you,” Claire starts nonchalantly in a commercial break. “Harris took you home last night?” Even though it’s a statement, she raises her tone at the end to indicate a question.

  Two options: admit that he carried me home and massaged my feet until I fell sleep, or play it cool. Since there’s a good chance that whatever I tell Claire will wind it’s way back to Harris, I select the second option.

  “Oh, yeah. It was so thoughtful of him, I was complaining about my aching feet and he offered to drop me off. But...” I force an impish grin “I was a little too tipsy, so he made sure I got upstairs okay. Did he say I did something embarrassing? I don’t really remember what happened.”

  I guess my answer satisfies her, because the subject is dropped when she shakes her head. We chat about the upcoming week, and I tell her about a potential client I met through Amanda.

  “What’s the name?”

  “Melinda Fletcher – do you know her?”

  A smirk twists at her lips, but she quickly smothers it, smoothing her features.

  “Not really, she’s just married to someone at the firm,” Claire says quickly, again shading her comment with a color of insincerity.

  “Just watch out for her, she’s a stickler for vanilla.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, nothing more than she’s a boring old hag. But most of the partner’s wives are.” she swipes the remote from me and clicks on a movie.

  The next week begins uneventfully. Claire and I go about our normal work routines, and things are peaceful. I know that this won’t be a long term living situation for me, but this existence works for the time being. Of course, the absence of Harris probably has made her more relaxed. I haven’t seen or heard from him since Saturday evening. Now, Wednesday night, I’m antsy for another encounter. Sarah’s right, I need to get his number and make things happen.

  I’m working on dinner when the front door opens and closes more softly than usual. I’m in the middle of singing to myself, On my Own from Les Miserables, when he starts making his way into the condo. I do not hide my voice from him, instead I work through the words of the song, emoting the loneliness held in the lyrics.

  Before I see him, I feel him. The way my heart starts galloping in my chest, the knife becoming slippery in my damp palm. My skin starts to tingle, still humming in appreciation from his earlier touches. I sing softly to myself, the words slipping out. I don’t feel the usual rush of shyness. He should see this side of me.

  When our eyes connect as he enters the kitchen, I know he’s feeling something, too, by the way that his eyes soften at the sight of me and his lips flicker upward for a half second. I cut the song short, ending before the singer professes her love.

  Neither of us speaks as he crosses the galley kitchen. I avert my eyes back to the task in front of me as he moves behind me. He places one palm on either side of countertop, caging me in.

  I concentrate on my breathing, but it doesn’t help the racing of my heart or the butterflies of
excitement fluttering in my stomach. We’re not physically touching, but every pore of my body hums with energy.

  “Do you feel that?” he asks huskily.

  “Yes,” I breathe.

  His cheek brushes against my hair in an achingly tender gesture.

  “Good.”

  His arms drop and he puts distance between us, his features oddly calm.

  Wow.

  “Hungry?” I ask, tilting my head toward the boiling pot of water.

  “Famished,” he confirms with a nod.

  “It’s just pasta.”

  “The peanut gallery assures me that you’re a wonderful cook.” He raises an eyebrow, making my lips twist into a half smile at the expression.

  He shrugs off his suit jacket and yanks at his tie, draping them both around the back of a barstool. My fingers twitch with need, wishing we were close enough that I could unbutton the top buttons on his shirt and smooth my hands across his broad shoulders.

  “Need help?”

  By the way he moves around, I can tell he’s slightly unsure of himself. He can’t keep still, tapping his fingertips on the bar, watching every move I make. It’s nice to see he’s human, and not the superhero I built him into in my mind.

  “How about you set the table,” I suggest while stirring the sautéing vegetables.

  Harris clears his throat, and then I’m nervous, wondering what’s about to happen between us.

  “Sure. What do we need?”

  I can’t contain a soft laugh. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

  He shakes his head, giving me a sheepish shoulder shrug. I instruct him to take the napkins, silverware and water glasses to the table. We work in silence, and a few minutes later dinner is ready. I’m sipping from a stemless wine glass when he moves into the kitchen and reaches around me to grab the two plates I set out. When his fingertips brush against my waist I splutter, spilling droplets of red wine all over my baggy blue top. I immediately put the glass safely on the counter to avoid further spillage. He freezes, then takes a step back so we are making eye contact.