Sweet Trilogy: Sweet Talk / Sweet Spot / Sweet Trouble

CHAPTER FIVE

CLAIRE HEATED the last of the takeout Wyatt had brought over. As she waited for the microwave to do its thing, she placed her hands on the counter and closed her eyes. Without even willing them to, her fingers moved against the cool granite. In her mind, she played notes and heard music. The sound filled her until her body seemed to rise up and float.

The microwave dinged, dropping her back into this reality—the one where she didn’t play piano anymore, didn’t go to classes or teach or fit in that world.

She missed playing. Crazy, considering the fact that she could barely look at the damn instrument without having a panic attack. Maybe it wasn’t the piano she missed as much as the sense of getting lost in music, of losing herself in the richness of the sound. Plus, practice and play were her life. It was like quitting smoking—even without the physical addiction, she still had all the behaviors in place.

She glanced at the stairs leading to the basement. While she didn’t want to go back down there, she should take care of the piano. Her mental problems weren’t the instrument’s fault.

After checking on Nicole’s dinner, she found a phone book and looked up piano tuners. She called three places before finding a guy who would come out this week and tune the piano. That done, she put the plate on a tray, along with a pot of herbal tea and some bread, then carried everything upstairs.

Nicole’s door stood open. Claire entered and smiled at her sister. “I thought you might be getting hungry, so I brought a little more than last night. How are you feeling?”

Nicole lay on top of the covers. Sometime during the day, she’d changed into different sweat pants and a new T-shirt. Thick socks covered her feet. The color had returned to her face.

“I’m fine,” her sister said.

“Good.”

Claire set down the tray. “This is the last of the takeout. I’ll get something else for tomorrow.”

“Are you cooking?” Nicole asked.

“Uh, no. I was thinking maybe Chinese.”

Nicole didn’t say anything, which left Claire feeling as if she’d failed again. She didn’t know how to cook. When was she supposed to find the time?

She told herself that she didn’t have to apologize to anyone for her life, but couldn’t shake the feeling that she was once again being judged and found wanting.

Nicole slid the tray onto her lap, then looked up.

“Thank you for helping out in the bakery this morning. They were swamped.”

Claire stepped forward eagerly. “I couldn’t believe how many people were there. It was a huge crowd. Everything went so fast. It was difficult to figure out how to use the cash register, but by the end of the morning rush, I sort of knew what I was doing.”

She’d come through and that was what mattered, she told herself. Every challenge met made her stronger.

“I heard you had some kind of fit,” Nicole said sounding more curious than concerned. “Are you on medication?”

Claire felt herself blushing. She forced herself to continue to stand there. “I had a panic attack, but I worked through it.”

“Don’t expect an award for showing up,” Nicole muttered.

Claire’s embarrassment shifted to annoyance. “Did I ask for an award? Did I ask for anything at all? My recollection of recent events is a phone call from Jesse asking me to come home because you needed help. I dropped everything and flew out the next morning, showed up here to do exactly that—take care of you. I’ve brought you meals and snacks, helped you to the bathroom, carried in whatever you’ve asked for, helped out at the bakery and in return you’re nothing but mean and sarcastic. What is wrong with you?”

Nicole dropped her fork onto the tray. “Wrong with me? You’re the one who totally screwed up. You think I should be grateful that you brought your oh-so-special self to the peasant world for a few days? You think that makes up for anything?”

“All your labels, not mine.” Claire’s voice rose. “As for finally showing up, I’ve been trying to connect with you for years. I send letters and e-mails. I leave messages. You never get back to me. Ever. I’ve asked you to join me on tour. I’ve asked to come home. The answer is always the same. No. Or more accurately—go to hell.”

“Why would I want to spend time with you? You’re nothing but an egotistic, selfish, mother-murdering princess.”

And I hate you.

Nicole didn’t say those last words, but she didn’t have to.

Claire stared at her sister for a long time, not sure what accusation to take on first. “You don’t know me,” she said in a low voice. “You haven’t known me for over twenty years.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Not mine.” Claire drew in a breath. “I didn’t kill her. We were driving together. It was late and rainy and another car came out of nowhere. It hit us on her side. We were trapped and she was dying and there was nothing I could do.”

Claire closed her eyes against the nightmare of memories. The coldness of the night, the way the rain dripped into the shattered car, the sound of her mother’s moans as she died.

“I lost her, too,” Claire whispered, looking at her sister. “She was all I had and I lost her, too.”

“Do you think I care?” Nicole yelled. “I don’t. She went away. She went away because of you and she was all I had. She left and I had to take care of everything here. I was twelve when she left. I was twelve when I figured out she would rather be with you than with me or Jesse or Dad. She was just gone and I had to do everything. Take care of Jesse and the house and help out at the bakery. Then she was dead. Do you know what it was like after that? Do you?”

Claire remembered the funeral. How she’d stood with Lisa rather than her family because they were strangers to her. How she’d wanted to cry, but there were no tears left.

She remembered wanting to be with Nicole, her twin. How she’d longed to have her father say it was time for her to come home. Stay home. Instead Lisa had explained about Claire’s schedule and concert dates and that she was very mature for her age and capable of handling her life without a guardian or chaperone around. Her father had agreed.

Ten-year-old Jesse had been a stranger to her and Nicole had been distant and angry. The way she still was.

“Go back to your fancy life,” her sister told her now. “Go back to your stupid piano and your hotels.

Go back to where you don’t have to earn everything you get. I don’t want you here. I’ve never wanted you here. Do you know why?”

Claire stood her ground, sensing her sister had to say it and it was Claire’s job to take it all in.

Nicole’s blue eyes burned with white-hot rage. “Because every night after her death, I prayed God would turn back time and make it you instead of her. I still wish that.”

CLAIRE SAT ON THE BED in the guest room and let the tears come. They rolled down her cheeks, one after the other, washing away nothing, simply seeping from the great open wound inside of her.

She’d known about Nicole’s anger and resentment, but she’d never thought her sister wished she was dead.

The situation was hopeless, she thought grimly. She’d come home for nothing. No one wanted her and she had nowhere else to go.

She covered her face with her hands and cried for a few more minutes, then sniffed and realized she couldn’t feel sorry for herself forever. But maybe the rest of the night would be acceptable.

She stood and walked over to her suitcase. A small photo album lay at the bottom. She carried it back to the bed and sat down.

There were only a dozen or so pictures inside, all of them taken before she’d left Seattle when she was six. She and Nicole laughing. She and Nicole on a pony. Their identical Halloween costumes, when they’d both been Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. One photo showed them in bed together, sleeping, curled up like kittens.

Claire touched the cold, flat surface, remembering and wishing, knowing neither would change what time and distance had destroyed.

After washing her face, she grabbed a box of tissues and set it by the bed, then changed into an oversize T-shirt she’d bought in London—one with a huge head shot of Prince William on the front—and crawled into bed. She knew she wouldn’t sleep, but curling up would make the whimpering easier.

She flipped channels on the small television on the dresser. As the pictures flashed in front of her, she wondered if she and Nicole could ever make peace with the past and each other, or were they forever destined to be strangers. She wasn’t going to give up but she was also only half the equation.

And what about Jesse? Claire thought about their conversation from that morning. How could Jesse have violated Nicole’s trust like that? Had she really slept with Drew? Could it have been a misunderstanding? If not, reconciling those two was going to be a nearly impossible task. Not that she was making great progress herself. Honestly, her personal life sure put her professional troubles in perspective.

Claire’s eyes closed. She felt herself drifting off and welcomed the escape of sleep. What seemed like a few seconds later—although it could have been a couple of hours—she heard a creak on the stairs. She stirred and heard it again.

Just footsteps, she told herself, prepared to roll over. Then she sat up. Nicole couldn’t use the stairs and Jesse was too slight to make that much noise. The possibility of Wyatt flashed through her brain, but the steps sounded too stealthy…as if the person climbing was trying not to make noise.

Claire got out of bed and crept over to her door. She cracked it and glanced out. Sure enough, a strange man stood on the landing, staring at Nicole’s door.

He was only a few inches taller than her and not all that big. Instinctively, she glanced around for a weapon. The only thing she saw was a pair of high-heeled shoes. She grabbed one and quietly eased into the hall.

The man crossed to Nicole’s door and opened it. Claire didn’t stop to think, she charged, jumping onto his back and hitting him with the heel of the shoe. The guy shrieked, then stumbled into Nicole’s room, all the while yelling at her to get off.

“Call 911,” Claire screamed as she and the guy went down.

She braced herself for the impact. Fortunately he crashed into the hardwood floor, and she only landed on him. While he was still gasping for breath, she dropped the shoe, grabbed his right wrist with both hands and pulled it against his back, up high, near his shoulder blades. He yelled in pain. At the same time, she planted her foot on the back of his neck and pressed down as hard as she could.

The man swore loudly. “I’m fucking bleeding. Goddammit, Nicole, what the hell is going on here?”

“Call 911,” Claire repeated. “I can’t hold him much longer.”

Nicole sat up and stared at them. “Claire, I have to say, you’ve really impressed me. When did you learn to do that?”

Claire felt her strength fading. “I took martial arts classes off-season for a couple of years. Plus, I’ve seen my bodyguards at work.”

“You have bodyguards?”

Talk about the wrong thing to say, she thought with a sigh. “Not all the time. Not in New York, but sometimes in Europe. Fans can be aggressive.”

“Nicole!”

The shout came from the guy. Claire looked at him, then at her sister. “He knows you?”

“Apparently. You can let him go. That’s Drew. My husband.”

Her… “What?” Claire released the guy’s wrist and stepped off his neck. “Drew?” The cheating bastard who slept with his wife’s sister?

The man in question rose slowly and glared at her. “Who the hell are you?”

He seemed good-looking enough, she thought absently, if one ignored the deep, oozing gouge in his cheek and the second one just under his ear. The wounds gave the phrase “killer high heels” a whole new meaning.

She ignored him and picked up her shoe. “I’ll be down the hall if you need me.”

Nicole looked at her. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Claire left Nicole’s door open, then retreated to the guest room. As she shut her door, she heard Drew’s impatient repeated question, “Who the hell is she?” but couldn’t hear Nicole’s response.

Feeling proud of herself and empowered, Claire sank onto the bed and grinned. She’d done good. Maybe she should start working out and get stronger. Maybe take up martial arts again. She could be a dangerous killing machine. She looked down at her long, tapered fingers—a part of the freak hands she was supposed to protect at all costs. Maybe not.

She turned her attention to the television when what she really wanted to do was listen at the door. But that would be rude. She did her best to get interested in a show on HGTV only to jump when Drew started yelling.

“You’re taking this all wrong.”

“How am I taking it wrong?” Nicole demanded, just as loud as Drew. “Are you saying you just slipped on the carpet and ended up having sex? She’s my sister, you bastard. My baby sister. If you had to whore around, at least keep it out of the family.”

“Look, I know it’s bad, but it’s not what you think.”

“Saying it didn’t mean anything is not going to help you.”

“I’m not saying that. It’s just I want you to know I’m sorry for how much this is hurting you.” His voice dropped.

Claire muted the television and tiptoed to her door. When she still couldn’t hear anything, she opened it a tiny bit.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Drew said.

Claire frowned. She was willing to admit she knew nothing about men and women and the complications of their relationships, but it seemed to her Drew was apologizing for the wrong thing. The problem wasn’t that he’d hurt Nicole. The problem was he’d had sex with her sister.

Nicole seemed to agree with her. There was a loud crash, followed by a “Get out, you slimy bastard. Get out!”

Claire opened her door wider. If she had to, she was prepared to escort Drew out of the house. She wondered how he’d gotten in, then wondered if he still had a key. She would have to talk to Nicole about changing the locks. Before she could decide if she wanted to interfere, she heard more footsteps on the stairs. Who now?

Wyatt couldn’t believe Drew had been stupid enough to show up here. There were some relationships that couldn’t be fixed and his marriage to Nicole was one of them. There was no recovering from sleeping with Jesse. He couldn’t figure out if Drew was too optimistic or just too stupid to know that for himself.

He climbed the stairs, only to come to a halt near the top when he saw Claire standing on the landing. She was speaking—at least he figured she was. Her lips were moving and there was probably sound, but he couldn’t hear it. Not when every cell in his body had spun around to get a look at her wearing a baggy T-shirt and—he swore and prayed at the same time—nothing else.

Her face was washed clean of any makeup, her hair hung long and straight. She was barely covered to the tops of her thighs and he would bet every penny he had that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“He just showed up. I didn’t know who he was, so I jumped him. I don’t think the punctures are really deep. I don’t actually care about him, but someone should look at those just in case. He could get an infection.”

He had no idea what she was talking about.

She took a step toward him. Yup, no bra. Worse, he could see the outline of her nipples pressing against the soft cotton.

Panties, he told himself. She had to be wearing panties. So that was something, right?

It wasn’t enough as he imagined her in silk and lace and nothing else. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Why her? That’s all he wanted to know. He accepted that he had lousy taste in women, but why her? Why not someone reasonably intelligent and compassionate? Or just a regular person. Not the ice princess.

He moved past her and walked into Nicole’s bedroom. Ignoring his stepbrother, he asked, “You okay?”

Nicole shook her head. “Get him out of here.”

“Sure.” Wyatt glanced at Drew. “You shouldn’t have come. You—”

He stared at the deep puncture wounds on Drew’s cheek and neck. “What happened?”

“Claire attacked him,” Nicole said. She sniffed, then gave both a sob and a laugh. “It was pretty impressive actually. She jumped him from behind and started hitting him with a shoe. They both went down. She got him in some kind of armlock, then stood with her foot on the back of his neck. I guess they take interesting classes at music school.”

Claire had attacked Drew to protect her sister? Who would have thought.

“She got me by surprise,” Drew said defensively. “I’ve been drinking. My reflexes aren’t working right.”

Wyatt couldn’t help grinning. “You were taken down by a girl?”

“Shut up.”

“I’d say make me, but we both know that’s not going to happen. I doubt Claire weighs a hundred and forty pounds. Jeez, Drew, talk about embarrassing.” He grabbed his brother by the arm. “Come on. I’m taking you home. You can sleep it off.”

Drew pulled free of him. “I’m not leaving. I belong here. With Nicole. I love her.”

“You have a funny way of showing it,” Wyatt muttered. “Come on. Don’t make me get Claire to beat you up again.”

“Get off me. At least I was willing to fight for my woman.”

Wyatt ignored the dig. Shanna hadn’t been worth fighting for. “If you’d been faithful in the first place, you wouldn’t have to fight.”

Drew glared at him, then stalked out into the hall. Wyatt watched to make sure he didn’t go into Claire’s room, then turned back to Nicole.

“You okay? One of his buddies told me he was drinking a lot tonight and talking about how much he missed you. He thought it was just talk, but I went by Drew’s house to make sure he got home and he wasn’t there. I came by and saw his truck in front.”

Nicole sagged back against the pillows. “I’m fine. He’s an idiot and he won’t even apologize for what he did. He’s sorry he got caught, but I don’t think he cares that he had sex with Jesse.” Tears filled her eyes. “I just can’t believe it happened.”

Wyatt sat down next to her. “I know. He’s too stupid to live.”

She nodded. “I don’t love him anymore. I can’t. But it still hurts.” She wiped her face with a tissue. “Thanks for coming by.”

“It sounds like the situation was under control.”

Nicole gave him a shaky smile. “She was an animal. I was impressed.”

“Drew will be humiliated for weeks. That should be worth something.”

“It is.”

He patted her arm, then stood. “I’ll make sure he gets home in one piece.”

“Okay.”

“See you in the morning.”

He braced himself for the impact of seeing Claire again. She still hovered in the hallway, looking five kinds of sexy and practically naked. She was probably one of those women who claimed she had no idea what she did to a man, prancing around like that.

He hated the wanting that rushed through him, the heat and the need that made him feel primal and hungry. She was completely the wrong woman—not that he would ever be the right man.

Claire glanced past Wyatt toward her sister. She wished she and Nicole were talking so she could comfort her and maybe make what was a bad situation a little better.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, sounding almost angry.

She squared her shoulders. “I’m not sorry I hurt Drew.”

“Neither am I.”

“Oh. Okay. I thought you were mad at me or something.”

“I’m not mad.”

He stared at something over the top of her head. She turned but couldn’t see what had captured his attention.

“It’s about Amy,” he said. “My daughter.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “I know who Amy is.”

“Nicole looks after her a couple of days a week. After school. Just until I can get away from work. But with Nicole laid up and recovering, that hasn’t been possible. I work construction, so Amy can’t always be with me. Job sites aren’t safe.”

Claire had no idea what he was talking about. Maybe he wanted her to drive Amy to her new babysitter.