Rebel North by J.B. Salsbury

Twenty-One

Kingston

I wake to the feel of Gabriella thrashing against me.

Her naked body is damp with sweat, and she kicks at the bedsheet as if it were a monster with a hold on her ankles.

I put my lips to her ear. “Hey, shhh…” I wrap my arms around her middle from my position at her back. “You’re dreaming, Bee.”

My voice seems to only make her kick harder.

“Gabriella, wake up.” I prop myself up on an elbow and notice her cheeks are full of air as if she were holding her breath. Shit, she’s not breathing. I get to my knees and roll her to her back. “Breathe!” My pulse slams through my veins. I shake her. “Wake up!”

She gasps so hard she chokes, and I roll her to her side while she coughs and catches her breath. She sucks in a wheezing breath, and the sound of it sends me falling back to the bed in relief.

“You okay?”

She sits up and throws her legs off the side of the bed. Her bare back is a silhouette in the dark room. “Bad dream.”

“Yeah, I figured. Do those happen often?”

She shakes her head. “No. Not until recently.”

I grab the cold bottle of water I brought in earlier when we ate cereal wearing nothing but our underwear. I check the clock. That was two hours ago.

She guzzles the cold water and then sets it on the bedside table and falls back onto the pillows.

“You want to talk about it,” I say while staring at the ceiling.

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

Silence fills the space between us, and a sense of unease trickles in, tainting my good mood. Taking a shit on my hope.

“If you go back to sleep, you might not even remember it in the morning.”

She rolls to her side, facing me. “Help me forget?”

Crushing suffocation pulls behind my ribs, the feeling so painful it should be enough of a warning to send me the opposite way. To do what’s best for Gabriella and let her go. Be out of her life forever.

She wants to forget, and she looks at me as if I could help her with that.

I meet her on the pillow, kiss her, and let my lips rest against hers. “I’d be happy to do that.”

My only fear is that in making her forget, she might remember.

Gabriella

I pull myself from Kingston’s arms well before sunrise. Exhausted from the night’s activities, combined with one doozy of a nightmare, I lean my head against the window in the backseat of the Uber, close my eyes, and smile.

In what universe does a woman like me get to spend an entire night, naked, with a man like Kingston?

My skin still hums with the memory of his hands, and my lips tingle from his brutal kiss. Warm and a little sore in all the best places, I wish I was still in his bed and wrapped in his arms.

He was still sleeping when I left, and not wanting to wake him, I kissed his stubbled cheek and whispered goodbye. Maybe I should’ve left a note?

The car jerks to a stop outside my house.

I drag my feet through the front gate and to the door.

“Gabby?”

My feet freeze in the large entryway. “Dad?”

He walks around the corner, wearing a suit and smelling fresh from a shower. A cup of coffee in one hand, he looks me up and down under the bright light of the chandelier. He frowns. “I assumed you were at the clinic.” His frown deepens as he takes in my dress, heels, and the messy knot of hair atop my head. “I see I was wrong.” His voice drips in disappointment.

“Not entirely wrong.” I head to the stairs. “My shift starts in an hour.”

“Jesus, Gabby…” he mutters.

I whirl around from a few steps up. “Do you have something to say?”

Ever the high-powered CEO, he lifts his nose and manages to look down at me, even from his position at the bottom of the stairs. “We had an agreement.”

“And I’ve been sticking to my end.”

“No.” He scowls at the place where my dress hits the tops of my thighs, making me fidget and want to tug at the hem, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. “You haven’t.”

“You said I could stay in New York as long as I wanted.”

“I said you could stay in New York while you recovered.”

“However long that takes,” I fill in the rest of our agreement.

He blows out a breath and gives my obvious walk of shame outfit another once over. “Looks to me you’re recovered.”

“Because I went on a date? You think because I had sex, I’m recovered?”

He cringes at my words. “Watch your mouth. I’m still your father.”

“You’ll always be my father, but I’m grown up now. I don’t need a parent.”

The tension in his face falls. “I suppose you’re right. I’m overprotective since… you know.”

“I know. But I’m okay.” Memories of Kingston’s smile and the emotion in his eyes when he looks at me all flood my vision. “Better than okay, actually.”

“Oh, yeah?” My dad sounds hopeful. “Anyone I know? Is it Tom Peterson’s son? Boy, did he have a thing for you in high school.”

I frown on the inside, not wanting him to see my disappointment. Ever since the accident, he’s been wanting me to be the person I was before, enjoy the things I did before, erase the horror of that night in a pick-up-where-we-left-off kind of way. He doesn’t understand that the accident changed me permanently. That the Gabriella from before is gone. She’s never coming back. “No, you don’t know him.”

“Will I get the opportunity to meet him?”

“Maybe.” My cheeks warm. “If things continue as they have been, then yes, you will.”

He saunters closer, his eyes, the same blue as mine, study my face and linger on my scars. “I only want you to be happy.”

I know he thinks he means that, but what he’s failing to say is that he wants me to have his idea of happiness. Financial success, recognition, awards, and applause are his ideas of happiness.

At one time, they were also mine.

But not anymore.

“I am happy. I know you don’t approve of my choice of job—”

“Job?” He lifts a brow.

“Dad.”

“I’m just saying, the word job usually implies there is a paycheck involved. You’re a volunteer.”

I nod, feeling the reprimand in his words. “Okay. Volunteer job. But either way, I’m really searching for some direction. I just haven’t landed on anything yet.”

When I started volunteering at the hospice, I thought it would be for a few months until I figured out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. The accident ripped my plans out of my grasp, forcing me to start over. As much as I hope for a rush of inspiration, a wave of direction, neither has yet to come.

“You could always meet with Dr. Lowell, see if he has some insight, maybe point you in the right direction.”

Dr. Lowell said my brain would heal in time, but he never did put a frame on that time. He told me there is no timeline for healing from my type of brain injury. That only time would tell.

“I just want you to live up to your potential.”

And that is my dad’s way of saying I love you.

He doesn’t realize the shame his statement delivers time and time again.

“I should get going. People are counting on me.”

I’m almost to the top of the stairs when he calls my name. I look down at him from the second floor.

“I’ll be back in New York in a couple of weeks. If you’re still with this guy, maybe we could all grab dinner.”

“Sure. Sounds good.” I race to my room, now in a bigger hurry than before. I imagine introducing my dad to Kingston and chuckle. My dad will have plenty to say about Kingston’s eyeliner and flamboyant clothes. I decide to put off that meeting for as long as I can get away with it.

Work goes by in a daze, my mind jumping from the depressing confrontation with my dad to the incredible night I had with Kingston. My thoughts wandering, I lose my place several times while reading to Mr. Oberon. Lucky for me, his attention span seems to match my own as he dozes on and off during our visit. He doesn’t seem to notice my distractions.

By ten o’clock, I give up on reading and put on some music instead.

Annette comes into the room carrying a gigantic bouquet of spring flowers—peonies, tulips, calla lilies, and hydrangeas. She sets them on Mr. Oberon’s bedside.

“Those are gorgeous,” I say, even though he’s sleeping peacefully. “Who are they from?” I’m assuming a family member in another state is showing their love with the colorful bouquet. Their way of saying goodbye from a distance.

“You’re not going to believe it,” Annette whispers.

“What?”

Come here, she mouths, her eyes as big as her smile.

I turn the music down to a comfortable sleeping level and dim the lights. Annette is practically jumping on her toes when I meet her in the hallway.

“Twelve arrangements were delivered. One for every patient!” She grabs my hand and tugs me toward the reception desk—or where the reception desk should be. It’s nearly unrecognizable, surrounded by bouquets that had to cost over one hundred dollars each.

The scent of fresh roses and fragrant lilies mask the usual sterile antiseptic-smelling space. I search the vibrant buds and stems for a card. “Are they from a donor?”

“I don’t know. Looks like a card on that one.” Annette motions to an arrangement bigger than the rest. So big it’s like something found in the hotel lobby of The Plaza. And it’s not nearly as sweet as the other bouquets. This one is, dare I say… sexy. Blood red roses intermingle with branches of drooping black orchids, with one single pale pink rose. Next to that rose is a card.

And on that card is three letters.

Bee.

My breath catches in my chest, and I pluck the card from the petals.

You weren’t here when I woke up and I worried it was all a dream.

Until I smelled your skin on mine.

I’ve never been so happy to be awake and alive.

I miss you already.

XO Yours

I press the note to my chest like some love-sick moron.

“Well?” Annette says, practically salivating for information. “Who are they from?”

“Kingston.” I press the card to my chest, protecting the private words he shared with me.

She frowns. “The gay guy?”

Heat crawls from my neck to my cheeks. “Turns out he’s not gay.”

Her brows pinch together. “Not gay…” Her expression morphs from one of confusion to understanding. “You’re sleeping with him!”

“Shhh…” I look around, thankful that we’re mostly alone, save for a nursing assistant who walks past us with her nose buried in her phone. “I’m not sleeping with him. I mean, I am, but because I really like him.”

She throws her arms around me with a girlie squeal and then backs away with a look of awe and wonder on her face. It’s at this moment that I’m reminded for the first time since I saw the flowers what my face looks like. Annette isn’t purposefully trying to bring me down, but her response is a reminder of what this must look like to outsiders. The beast manages to win over the handsome prince with her glowing personality—or worse, her willingness.

I tuck the card into the pocket of my scrubs and clear my throat. “I should probably call him.”

“Of course, yes. And tell him thank you.” She scoops up one of the bouquets. “These are really going to brighten up the place.”

I head to the breakroom and stumble to a halt when I see Evan glaring up at me from an open New York Times.

He drops his gaze back to the paper and turns the page. “Hey.”

I can’t call Kingston from in here, so I head to the fridge and grab a string cheese, then leave to search out somewhere more private.

“It’s only money,” Evan says to my back as I’m about to leave. “To a guy like him, throwing his money around is as easy as throwing pennies into a fountain for people like you and me.”

“How did you know they were from him?”

“I heard him call you Bee. Saw the card.” He looks hurt, and that just pisses me off. He never made a single move, and when he finally did, I gave him a chance, but he was a huge disappointment. And that’s somehow my fault?

“Is this going to be a problem for you, Evan?”

“Not at all,” he says flippantly. “I’m happy if you’re happy.”

“Good, because I am.”

“Don’t come crying to me when he breaks your heart.” He runs his gaze over the newspaper, but they move too fast for him to actually be reading anything. “And he will, no doubt about that.”

“Consider me warned.” I shove open the door. “Asshole,” I mumble and go straight for the supply closet.

I hit Kingston’s number, and he answers on the first ring.

“Good morning, gorgeous.” His voice is deep and quiet, and I’d like to imagine he’s still in bed, warm between the sheets. I wish I was still there. Although, it’s more likely he’s at work and being quiet to keep from being overheard.

“The flowers,” I say, breathless and speechless. “Kingston, they’re so beautiful. You have no idea how much they’re going to lift patients’ spirits around here.”

“Glad to hear it, but you should know, I sent those flowers for purely selfish reasons. I’m working on winning you over.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed winning over.” I pace the small room, feeling giddy all over.

“So, what you’re saying is,” he says in a low voice, “you’re sold on us?”

Us.My God, I could squeal at the prospect of us. Me and Kingston.

“Well, let’s do the inventory. We get along pretty well.”

“Check.”

“You’re funny. Handsome,” I say, even though it’s a gross understatement.

“Go on.”

“A little arrogant.”

He chuckles.

“And after last night, I can say with one hundred percent certainty that—”

“We have incredible sexual chemistry.”

“I was going to say that you keep a clean bathroom.”

“Liar.”

I shiver at the vibration of his voice in my ear.

“Your body gives away all your secrets.”

I clear my throat. “I can’t talk about this at work.”

“So, we’ll talk about it tonight. What time do you want me to pick you up?”

“I get off at four, so how about I’ll meet you at your place?”

“Okay. And bring an overnight bag.”

My skin flushes with the heat of anticipation and memory. “Fine. I’ll text you later. I have to go. But Kingston, really, thank you for the flowers. They’re stunning.”

“You’re welcome. But Bee?” He gets quiet, his voice a little rough. “You should know, they’re only a fraction of what you deserve. See you tonight.”

I disconnect the phone and lean back against the wall. My heartbeat is a little fast, my breathing, too. Kingston has the ability to affect me in the most tangible ways without even being in the same room.

I am in so much trouble.

I refuse to believe what Evan said is right.

I’ve somehow fallen hard for Kingston, and in doing so, I’ve handed him the ability to completely destroy me.