“No worries whatsoever. Chaos is the name of my game. And I’m happy to help any way I can.”
His slightly accented Turkish made Emre’s father frown. “Are you French?”
Adem sat in the empty chair next to him. “
Oui
, I am. But just as Turkish. Split my time between the two. Have a couple of restaurants.”
“Tarkan!”
Buyuk Anne’s
cry of the one name they all avoided saying made everyone startle. The older woman made straight for Adem, who, to his credit, sat, and endured her hands on his face, his neck, shoulders, and arms. “Oh. I’m sorry, young man. I thought…you were with the
erkek arkada
over there.” Tears stood in her eyes. Adem guided her into the seat he’d just vacated, kissed both her hands, and pressed them to his forehead in a traditional greeting that made her smile through her tears.
“
Buyuk Anne
. It is an honor. Please, you must show me your kitchen. I am but a humble cook myself. Learned at my own grandmother’s knee. But I understand you are a legend. When you feel strong, I would love to watch you work.”
Emre glanced up at Caleb, saw the love in his gaze, combined with the agony he know must be reflected in his own. He touched the blond man’s shoulder. “Come. Let’s talk.”
They settled into the third-floor sitting room. Caleb leaned forward and white knuckled his own hands. Emre waited.
“There was a farm, near the Black Sea. The troops found it, questioned the owner who finally admitted Tarkan had been there. For nearly a month.”
Emre held his breath.
“He was…stronger. But emotionally unbalanced. Unhappy, unable to sleep. Until the very end. The last week he was there. The man…he…oh fuck.”
Emre put a hand on Caleb’s clenched fists. “It’s okay.”
They both looked up when Lale came in, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Caleb smiled at her and stood.
“Sleeping beauty. Sure that ring isn’t making your bicep bulge hauling it around?”
“Fuck off, homo. What’s the news?” She sat, tucked her bare feet up under her, and stared at them both. Emre swallowed. He’d kept a lot from her. But the green-tinged hue of her face lately made him wonder how much she could take.
Caleb filled her in. She put a hand over her lips, and ran out, barely making it to the toilet. Emre sighed. “Something tells me that a little Greek addition to the family is imminent.”
Caleb sat back. “Yeah, why the fuck not? It’ll just add to the madness.” They waited until Lale came back, wiping her lips with a washcloth.
“Oh God. I feel like day-old shit. With a hangover. And I haven’t even had a single drop of…urp….” She ran out again.
“So what now?” Emre focused on Caleb once more. “I mean, does the guy know anything more? Where he went? Why?”
“Yes, he does. Bulent is doing a great job keeping this quiet.” Caleb glanced up at the doorway.
Emre hated keeping so much of this from the rest of the family but honestly thought he was doing the right thing. “Go on.”
Caleb took a breath and continued. “Tarkan stayed there, ate, worked, rested, and became physically intimate with the owner. But he had to leave. Told the man he had to get to Istanbul. To see.” He gulped. “To find.” Caleb stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. Emre waited. “He kept saying my name. He had to find me. To tell me something. This man was convinced Tarkan was going to kill himself. He was hysterical about it apparently. Bulent had to bribe him to keep him from following them here.”
“Emre!” His wife’s voice echoed up the steps. “I need you. Now!”
He made for the door. Glanced back once. “Okay. So he’s here, or almost here. Now we can alert a bigger group of people. I’ll get on it right away.” Caleb nodded, looking out the window onto the seemingly happy group of people below.
Chapter Twelve
Lale sat on the bathroom floor in her parents’ upstairs suite. It was a familiar place. But now, even throwing up didn’t help. If anything she felt nine hundred times worse afterwards. She was on her hands and knees, the glint of her engagement ring catching the sun streaming in through the window. It blinded her, nauseated her. Fuck. Everything made her gag lately. Jesus. It must be the rich food. She wasn’t used to it anymore. She groaned.
“Emre!” Elle called out. “I need you. Now!” Her brother clattered down the steps. Lale tried to rise but gave up. Her body felt so heavy, weighted down, slow. She looked up at the sound of a knock on the door.
“What?” She croaked.
The door swung open to reveal Caleb’s face. He was smiling but not like he used to. She gave him a weak thumbs-up in return from the floor. He hunkered down and sat next to her. They leaned against the cast iron tub together, not speaking, just soaking up each other’s strength. He picked up her left hand, threaded his fingers through hers.
“So how do your parents feel about this?” He shielded his eyes, pretended to be blinded by the sparkling rock on her finger.
“Who knows? This whole thing is so fucking surreal. I have managed not to bring up the fact of his heritage. Seems like overkill at the moment.” She sighed and clutched her stomach. “Christ, I feel so awful. Is anyone else sick? Could there have been some bad mutton or something?”
She frowned when Caleb laughed so hard he snorted. “What? Stop it!” She let go of his hand and smacked his jean-clad thigh.
“Oh God, you are so blessedly naïve. I love that about you.” He kissed her lips and pulled her to her feet.
“Fuck you and your new boyfriend. What the hell are you talking about?” She groaned as the room spun once again. A sudden surge of longing for Andreas overwhelmed her. She sank to the side of the tub. “Shit.”
“C’mon, let’s get you some tea and toast. That makes everything right, remember? Brush your teeth. Change your clothes. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“Fine. Go.” She waved him off before she started crying.
“Caleb!” Adem’s voice rang up the stairs. “Is Lale up there with you?”
Lale watched him poke his head out the door. “Yeah. Why?” A sudden surge of nausea made her lean over the toilet again, waiting to lose whatever might be left in her stomach. It wasn’t much. Caleb leaned back into the bathroom. “Um honey, I’ll help you. Let’s get downstairs.”
“What? What’s up? Is it Tarkan?”
“Ah, no. C’mon, I’ll help you.”
By the time he’d poured her into jeans that were loose on her after nearly three weeks of throwing up non-stop and guided her downstairs, the whole family was gathered around the huge flat screen in the living room. The CNN International crew used words that forced a chill down her spine—“UNLV” and “sports scandal.” Her mother took her hand, drew her down to the couch. She took deep gulps of air.
Buyuk Anne
handed her a cup of scalding hot water with a hunk of lemon at the bottom—pretty much the only thing she could keep down since getting the stomach flu from hell.
She sat, took the mug of water, and leaned back on the soft leather. Nothing surprised her anymore. But the sight of Andreas, his handsome face surrounded by flashing cameras and microphones forced her to sit up so fast the hot water tumbled to the floor at her feet. The words “UNLV Athletic Director resigns two days ago amid basketball coaching scandal,” seared into her brain.
Buyuk Anne
peered closely at the enormous screen. “Who is this Greek?” She spit on the floor. “Why are we watching him? Levent? Vivian? Emre? What is this?” She pointed to the screen, her lined face red with fury. “Someone speak to me!” Lale stood, held both hands out to her grandmother. “Darling, Lale. Tell me what is this Greek?”
Vivian positioned herself between her daughter and mother-in-law. “Hang on,
Buyuk Anne
. Just let her listen, okay? Then Lale will explain everything.”
Lale sat. And watched as her fiancé, her savior, spoke calmly to the crowd and said that he would no longer be affiliated with a program that condoned cheating. As long as the basketball coach remained, they would have to hire another AD. He was done.
Turns out the coach had let players pay other students to take tests for them nearly six years ago and the former AD had covered it up. The minute the allegations emerged that the man had done it again about a month ago, Andreas fired him. And was attacked by alumni and regents. They had a “winning season.” The coach must have been the victim of a smear campaign. Lale put her hand to her lips at the sight of her beloved—then lurched to her feet.
“Sorry. I’m…oh shit….” She ran out, straight for the downstairs guest bath. Tears poured from her eyes as her stomached clenched and tried to empty its already empty contents. Her hands shook as she tried to stand. Oh Christ. She needed Andreas. She couldn’t take it another minute without him.
The sound of her grandmother’s terrified scream made her wrench the door open. What the hell? Emre stood at the door, holding the small woman back with one arm. Vivian stood on his other side, staring at whatever had made her mother-in-law screech and claw the air like a banshee. Lale wiped her lips and stepped out into the chaos. The sight of Andreas at the door, suitcase in hand, eyes seeking something in the room until they locked onto her made her knees give way once more.
Sidestepping the crazy Turkish crone Emre had in one hand, Andreas’s jaw released the tension he’d held for a solid month at the sight of Lale. The tears pouring down her face infuriated and frustrated him, but the sheer relief at seeing her again overrode all of that. He lifted her into his arms, felt her wrap herself around him, and buried his nose in her neck. He knew, that instant, she was pregnant with his child.
He could hear the soothing noises Emre and all the others around him were making to the old lady, but did not give two shits about that. What he needed now was Lale, to make her understand he would never leave her to face any of this alone again. The whole bullshit media circus back home convinced him of that. He packed his shit up, gave the dog to his next door neighbor, who took care of him more than half the time anyway, and got the first connecting flight he could find to Istanbul.
“Andreas.” She sighed into his chest. “Oh God, I am so glad to see you. I….”
“Shh, my love. I know. I’m here.” He kissed her lips, nose, cheeks, as his body tingled and hardened, before he turned away from her family. He found an open door to the patio. Sat in a chair and held her close in the brief moment of quiet before all hell broke loose.
Something wrapped around his calf. Lale kept a death grip on his neck as he leaned over to see Ayla clutching his leg like a barnacle. “Giant.” She sighed. “We missed you.”
Chapter Thirteen
The sunlight streamed in through the open window. Tarkan leaned back on one arm as it covered him. Let the sounds of the Flower Passage fill his ears, soothing, all the busy-ness below. It centered him. He took a deep breath, felt the air pass through his lungs as his body accepted the oxygen, processed the food he’d eaten. Like a normal human being. One not worried that any moment he’d be snatched from his bed, dragged down a cold hallway and tortured. Then dumped, starved, and ignored.
“Flower boy!” His boss of the past couple of weeks yelled up to his open window. “Get your ass down here. I’ve got a big group.”
Tarkan rolled over and sat at the edge of his meager bed. The small room suited him perfectly. A bed, a chair, a table, a small refrigerator—all he needed to restore his equilibrium, regain control over his emotions and mental health. The shared toilet and shower down the hall was clean, the other tenants quiet, leaving him alone. His days were spent stalking his parents’ building. Watching the comings and goings there. Afternoons and evenings he worked, hawking flowers, flirting with girls and boys alike, smiling and regaining control of his life. Slowly but surely.
The first time he’d glimpsed Caleb standing on his parents’ patio he’d nearly screamed out his name, revealed his position a mere fifty yards north. But the sight of a tall, handsome man with long black hair and compelling green eyes who’d wrapped Caleb in an embrace had forced all the air from Tarkan’s chest. When the man had brought his lips to Caleb’s, Tarkan’s stomach had clenched, made him lean over to catch his breath, take deep gulps of air to keep from throwing up. Then he watched, fascinated, as the man pulled his blond lover of six years over to the large tree line separating the Deniz family building from its neighbor. He had a perfectly clear view in the twilight as the man held Caleb’s face in his hands. Spoke words Tarkan could not hear then kissed him again, so fiercely his entire body had hardened as he gripped the balcony, whimpering with memory. And watched his man fist his hands in the long dark hair of the man on knees in front of him. Tarkan watched in sick fascination as his beloved lived his life. Went on and was happy, without him.
“Caleb,” he said simply, and the tears he’d kept inside since he’d escaped flowed down his face as if released by the act of watching him, seeing Caleb happy, in the arms of another.
Tarkan rose to his feet. His body was strong again, but still very thin. His mind could process what had happened. What he had done. The woman. His child. But his heart—it would never, ever be the same.
He made his way down the steps, happy to just be alive, breathing air, knowing Caleb was happy, even without him. He wanted to talk to him, to make sure everyone knew he was okay. But not yet. He wasn’t ready.
He froze at the sound of a familiar voice. His hand curled around the rough wooden banister of the stair. Lale.
“No,
Anne
, no. I don’t like those. Ayla, let go a minute.”
Tarkan closed his eyes. Ayla, his niece.
Oh. Fuck
. Emre’s voice was next.
“What about these?”
Tarkan sank to the last step and gripped his knees. He wasn’t ready. The air exited his lungs in a whoosh.
“Hold up.” Tarkan whimpered at the sound of his beloved’s voice, so near at last, after all this time. After all the longing, the crying, the dreams and the hard reality. Caleb kept talking. “No. Those are fugly. Here, these.” The group was obviously discussing the many floral options on display. Since when did his entire family come to the Flower Passage? He made his slow way back up the steps. His heart pounded so loud he sensed its beat in the top of his mouth. He bit his lip, held back the need to yell out.