Authors: Kathleen Lash
****
Whisper
himself limping up the walk to the massive house, questioning himself every hobble of the way about what he’d say. If she threw him out, he’d make sure she would at least agree to a meeting with Heather.
She couldn’t hate Heather the way she probably loathed him. She’d forgive the kid for words spoken in anger.
Nomad stepped out of the house. He looked good, older, more self confident and less cynical.
God, if it hadn’t been for him following Whisper…
“Where are you going?” Keith asked as Nomad strolled by.
He turned to face Keith. “Promised Mark and the kids I’d take them to a movie. We’ll get back to the hotel around midnight. Figured I hang out with them tonight. You okay with that?”
“Yeah.” Keith looked at the enormous house he was about to enter. She’d spent years there. How the hell did she happily transition to his shit hole?
“After the door closes, the house is armed. You want to leave, call me. I can be back in twenty minutes. If you run into problems, two security guys patrol outside. No matter what, don’t leave her alone.”
“Security?”
“She’s a hot commodity. Wendy Black gets round-the-clock babysitters. She’s your responsibility now. Don’t screw up. Get me?” Keith ignored the kid because of the smile on his face. “I forgot. She’s not just Whisper.”
“It’s kind of hard to understand at first, but when I saw the whole picture I couldn’t believe that, back home, she washed my underwear.”
“Yeah,” Keith said, struck again by where she came from.
Nomad turned. “You know she’d rather be Whisper than Wendy Black. And I sure as hell know how she felt about being Wendy Neuman. Use your 213
Kathleen Lash
charm on her. She needs it.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?” Nomad jammed his hands in the front pockets of his khakis, and strode down the walk. With his black hair, build, and long legged stride, the kid looked like security for a star. Keith sure as hell didn’t look like he belonged in the neighborhood. He limped into the house anyway, closing the door behind himself.
Black marble floors and expansive rooms filled with elegant furniture greeted him. He kept moving through a huge living room and then dining room, before coming to a massive—parlor? Library?
Carefully descending three steps into the area, he scanned for Whisper. Three white leather couches, enormous built-in bookcases, a big screen television with chairs scattered here and there, filled the room.
He almost missed her sitting on the oversized couch.
“Whisper?”
She stood immediately. She didn’t turn to face him as he gained a few steps. He waited. Maybe Nomad would get a call sooner than expected. As she stood there, she trembled. His palms began sweating. He’d come to apologize, not terrify her.
“Why are you here?” Obviously, by her tone, Nomad didn’t warn her about the visit.
Stunned because she’d spoken, he took a moment to reply. Nomad never said she’d regained her voice. “To see you.”
She wore a powder blue shirt with the neck hanging off one shoulder, resting slightly down her arm. Her jeans hugged every tiny inch and sat low on her hips. The heels of her bare feet poked out below the bottoms.
A pin dropping would’ve sounded like a plate. It hurt like hell, her standing there, unmoving. Nomad wasn’t far. It wouldn’t take him long to come back.
She’d been savaged too badly to forgive what he’d done. He’d hoped things would be different.
214
Whisper
He couldn’t stand the uneasy silence.
Face-to-face
was too much, too soon for her. He’d call tomorrow. “I’ll go. I’m sorry.” She turned to face him with her head bowed, something in her arms. “I got him,” she said quietly before her voice faded.
Drawn toward her, he closed the distance. If she took a step back, he’d die. A small bundle of fur gained his attention. She held and stroked a red-haired puppy that slept against her stomach, cuddled in her hands. “Nomad picked him up.”
“Whisper?” Within a few feet, he viewed the full effect of everything he’d seen at a distance. Tears fell onto the scrap of fur. Her bottom lip trembled. The emotion radiating from her wounded him to the core.
He’d never seen anyone so hurt and vulnerable.
I’m
sorry, baby, for everything
. “Pomeranian?” She nodded and sniffed, swiping at tears with the back of her hand. She resumed stroking the puppy with shaking fingers. Huge, watery eyes glanced again, like she didn’t want to look, but couldn’t help it. She needed to feel secure—couldn’t help gauging how close he stood. She hadn’t used that self-defense tactic in months.
No one ever needed him more, and he’d never hurt anyone worse. It’d been done quickly with a few angry words. He wanted to explain his reaction would’ve been different with someone else. He’d never cared so much for a woman, hadn’t the experience with the strong emotions attached to love. “Allergy,” she said, glancing up a little longer.
“What?” He’d been staring, taking an accounting of every small facet, pondering how he could’ve ever reacted badly to such a sincere and loving woman.
He’d probably never be this close again.
“My eyes. I’m allergic. That’s why they’re watering.” She drew in a shaky breath before 215
Kathleen Lash
clearing her throat.
He took another step and she held the puppy out, placing something between them. He deserved the barrier. He’d hurt her. The urge to hold her and take away the fear overrode a lot of common sense.
Their hands grazed when he accepted the warm bundle of squirming, half asleep fur. He couldn’t have been more surprised when she didn’t pull away, kept her fingers close as she stroked the little thing.
She chose a pet as fragile as herself. A little dog would need protection. She’d been strongest when someone required her care. He knew firsthand.
“I lied,” she whispered. “No allergy.”
I know, Whisper.
A long breath escaped before his back teeth set together. The pain inside swelled.
Rather than growing angry at the situation, he felt sorrow at how close they stood physically with a canyon separating them. He finally opened his damp eyes to find her gaze. “Allergies.” His voice sounded harsh, even to his own ears.
His fingers opened to touch her soft skin.
Stroking her settled some of the building emotion because she accepted the caresses. The little ball of hair squirmed and he arranged it to lie comfortably in one hand. The fingers of his left hand were then free to touch her. She stilled for a moment before accepting that too. She continued gently fondling the puppy.
Drawn closer, he tried to remember not to crowd her. His hands itched to touch, his arms longed to hold, and chest burned to feel the warmth of her breath. When he brushed tresses from her face to tuck behind an ear, the short black hair felt just as silky against his fingers as the strawberry blond.
Calloused fingertips soaked up the pulse at her temple before gliding to her jaw, neck and then shoulder. When his hand shook, he pulled it away.
216
Whisper
His voice trembled when he spoke. “I figured you more the kitten type. Why a puppy?”
“If I love him enough—if I do it right,” she said before taking in a ragged breath, “he won’t leave.” Unsteady fingers slid into her hair and he hesitantly opened his palm to pull her close. The cane he’d hooked over his forearm, hit the floor. He absorbed the warmth of her scalp before caressing the back of her neck. He wanted to ease the strain in her, and then take it completely away. Eventually, she slumped against him and his eyes closed in thanks. Soft kisses fell on the top of her head.
“I’m sorry, Whisper. I never meant to hurt you.”
“I did awful things. Didn’t tell you because I knew how you’d feel about a stripper around the kids.”
“Please don’t.” His ears would bleed if she said anything more.
“I wasn’t sure the divorce went through and I forced you to have sex with me.”
“You never—”
“I tried not to, tried really hard, but it happened anyway. I shamed you.”
“You never shamed me or yourself.” She felt so good, her and the puppy against the front of his shirt.
“I should’ve handled things differently. I’m not strong though. I’m weak, ineffective, irrelevant.” Is that why she’d gotten so thin? She wanted to be small and insignificant, to go through life unnoticed?
“You’re very brave, Whisper. What you did to make money, must’ve been terrible. I know why you did it though, where you learned to dance. I heard what the bastard made you do.” She sobbed and he put his arm around her.
After a few months with Heather speaking openly and honestly, he knew some of their history. He ventured even though Heather lived under the same 217
Kathleen Lash
roof, she probably didn’t know half of how Whisper suffered. Whisper would’ve hidden the worst from her, just like she tried to hide the dancing.
“Heather told you,” she said. She knew where the information came from.
“Heather never blamed you, only your ex. She felt guilty you danced to support her. She’s a kid, honey, and she lashed out at the only person close enough to take it and forgive her. You.”
“She hates me. She should.”
Heather needs you, baby. Forgive her. Forgive
me.
“She loves you.” She needed to believe what he said and he’d repeat it until she accepted the truth.
“The kids do too.” His cheek rested on her silky black hair. “They can’t. Not after…”
“They all know what happened. They don’t still love you despite the dancing; they love you because of your sacrifice.”
“I didn’t sacrifice. I made money as a stripper.”
“Did you like what you did?”
“No. I hated it.”
“Doing something you hate, to provide for someone you love, is a sacrifice.” She’d kept them all oblivious to what she faced nightly while offering love and caring to each and every one of them. She’d never asked for a thing or expected repayment. She just wanted and needed to be accepted and loved without judgment.
Forgive me.
“Does Billy know?”
“I explained it, in ten year old terms.” He kept her head against his chest when she would’ve pulled away. “He said he hated me for hurting you. I told him I hated me too. What you did made no difference to him, because he only ever viewed you with his heart. I made a mistake when I met you, looked at a situation rather than the woman standing right in front of me. I did it again the last time we talked.
218
Whisper
Please, Whisper,” he said, unable to say more.
A hand remained on his chest when she straightened and pulled back. Big, blue-gray eyes gazed into his. Fingertips scraped against fabric as her hand drew into a fist. He’d accept a punch. He deserved it. Her hand flattened back out. She’d caressed him. She kept rubbing until his pulse slowed.
His voice came out raw. “One more chance? I swear I won’t screw up this time.” She didn’t have a clue what he’d asked. She really couldn’t understand what he wanted. He’d tell her. “I love you, can’t stand what it’s like without you.” Her lips turned down and before she could look away, he gently cupped her chin. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
He placed the puppy in her hands before kissing her cheeks to take the tears. She gave her answer by sagging against him. She no longer belonged to a dead, bastard ex-husband. She belonged with him.
Carefully, he kissed her temple before licking the rim of her ear. Just below, a strong pulse beat in her neck. It seeped into him through his lips and tongue. With every breath he took, he got closer physically and emotionally.
Composure spread through him with the taste of her skin. The strangest, most comforting things filled his senses. His mind conjured sunshine, a green lawn and the smell of freshly cut lumber. The laughter of children echoed as he envisioned them playing and sleeping, singing and talking, crying and smiling.
He drifted further and reminisced on memories he’d take to the grave. He revisited Billy taking his first steps. He remembered how Corey used to run from the house every evening to fly into his arms. He sighed, vividly recalling Mark gazing at him in disbelief, his eyes bright with tears when a forgiving 219
Kathleen Lash
judge pardoned a stupid moment in Mark’s youth.
Whisper.
He thought about more recent happenings in his life. He traveled to a peaceful house where the smell of dinner permeated every room. He thought about how the half dressed woman with fragrant, soft skin, felt nestled against him while she apologized for becoming wet with desire.
Quiet moans and soft whines echoed in his ears as he relived Whisper coming apart from his touch. All her apologies and regret finally made sense. She’d been sorry for enjoying his hands, his mouth, and his body. She’d regretted wanting and needing him. At the time, she believed she’d been disgracing him.
She pulled away and the happy moments ended.
The room grew darker, colder, against the stark white furniture and pastel walls. An overzealous air conditioner didn’t cause it.
She stooped, picked up his cane and handed it to him. He accepted it and expected to be ushered to the door. He’d been way out of line. He once mentally offered a leg for what he’d just gotten. With the leg still attached and him getting more than some words with her, he’d forever be grateful.
She gained a few steps, cuddled the puppy, and glanced back. She expected him to follow, which he did, cursing himself every step of the way. When she opened a door and stepped inside, he went too. So entrenched in thought, once he regained his focus, he realized they’d stopped in a bedroom.
She closed the door, placed the sleepy puppy in a large basket, and stood in front of him. The white walls didn’t seem stark with splashes of blue and yellow on the curtains and bedspread. Light colored wooden dressers made the room appear huge. A brass and wood ceiling fan turned lazily, reflecting the dim lighting.
Trembling fingers reached for his shirt. A button slipped through a hole. As she worked open the next 220