The Remaining Sister (Sister Series, #9) Page 5

  “Chloe! I—I’m not. He’s just upset and confused because he can’t remember her.” Tara stumbled over her words as usual. Meek. Weak. Timid. Chloe sneered again. How could Ryder stand her after knowing the strong, interesting, fun, and exciting personality of Ebony?

  Chloe held her hand out, and her voice was strong and sure. “Come here, Wyatt. Now.” It was time to end this charade once and for all. Tara was not and would never be Wyatt’s goddamned mother or mother figure. Chloe straightened up. She’d become Wyatt’s surrogate mother. She was closer than anyone else to Ebony. Hell. She looked exactly like her. Even Ryder couldn’t tell them apart when they dressed the same and styled their hair the same way. Chloe hardened her heart when she saw the confusion in Wyatt’s face and ignored her guilt at witnessing the little boy’s obvious distress. No. Ignore it. This was the right thing to do. Wyatt would need his family. His real family. Not this stranger whom he’d only known for a few months.

  Tara dared to voice an argument. She had an opinion. Chloe was blown over. Still she persisted, chanting in her throbbing brain, that this was the right thing to do. She had to protect Wyatt’s fragile memory of Ebony and make sure he knew all about his mother. “Wyatt. Come here,” she repeated sternly.

  Wyatt stepped forward and his hand received her outstretched one. Chloe instantly tightened her grip on his little, sweaty hand. Fresh tears blurred her vision. This beautiful, unspoiled motherless, little boy. It was so unfair. So cruel. So wrong.

  Then she heard the deep voice behind her, calling her name. Ryder. She caught the stern tone that wasn’t usually there. She should have known, after all. Next to Ebony, Chloe spent the most time with Ryder Kincaid, enough to know him exceedingly well. Far better than the mousey woman standing before her.

  Still… his tone suggested… fuck! It seemed he was about to rebuke her, not Tara.

  Chloe’s eyes welled up with tears. Even Ryder would soon forget Ebony. He had to move forward… probably with this awful woman and it would soon be like Ebony never existed. Except for his half-black child, Ryder wouldn’t even remember Ebony in twenty years. He’d have an entirely new life and new family, no doubt. Probably more kids too, with her. And that would mean her sister was forgotten. Her son would be mothered by someone else. Wyatt would love someone else and call someone else his mother. Her heart sank into her gut knowing Wyatt would be cared for by a stranger. He’d never remember his mother. And it most likely wouldn’t be Chloe, but Tara who assumed that responsibility. A burning anger, that bordered on rage, seemed to overtake her. The outrage over her sister’s premature death and her violent murder. Being forgotten in a filthy swamp for three and a half years. But most of all, for her family to have believed such terrible things about her. And now what? Now it would end with Wyatt becoming part of a family that wasn’t even Ebony’s. No! She couldn’t stand it.

  “It’s his mother! She was trying to eliminate his mother’s place in his life. Of course Wyatt should be sad. He lost his mother. She’s… she’s dead. And that woman, your girlfriend, tells him not to care?”

  Instead of answering Chloe, the logical, analytical, and always fair-minded Ryder gently asked Tara to tell her side of the story. She chattered off some drivel about Wyatt instigating the conversation. Ha. As if. NO. Tara Aderly conducted most of that conversation.

  Ryder calmly nodded. He was listening to whatever his girlfriend described and believed she was not trying to remove Wyatt’s mother from his memory or his heart. Instead of admonishing Tara, Ryder stepped forward and swept Chloe up in an embrace. Chloe suddenly found herself helplessly restrained in her brother-in-law’s arms. In a gentle voice, like the way you’d talk to an old person suffering from confusion, advising them on how to take care of their personal grooming habits, Ryder said to her, “He doesn’t remember her, Chloe. He was too young. Our grief isn’t his. You can’t be mad at Wyatt for that.”

  Chloe shook her head in denial. She hated Ryder’s calmness in the face of this horrendous experience. The concept that Wyatt would never know his mother, Chloe’s sister, was so wrong. It was just wrong. And Ryder was being too calm and acting too okay about it.

  “Chloe,” Ryder’s voice was low and sincere as his gaze held hers. “You are my sister. You will always be my sister. Nothing can change that, especially not this. This solidifies it, okay? And you will forever be Wyatt’s aunt and he will always need you. Always. On a daily basis. You already take care of him and influence him and nurture him, every day. Do you think I’d ever change that? No. Never. Not for anything in the world.”

  “Not even her?” Chloe spat out the snide remark. Tara. That bitch. The one trying to take her sister’s place. “Your white girlfriend?”

  Ryder retained his composure and did not get angry. She wanted him to let her have it so she could then scream back at him. If only to release this pressure that was building in her head and ready to steam out of her ears. But no. Oh no, wonderful Ryder, the man her sister married for that very reason, said with a tinge of humor, “You know, I’m white too. Hating her for that is kinda stupid.”

  And it was. It was so stupid. But it felt so good. It was the easy way. The easy gibe and she tried to revel in that. She wanted to be nasty and mean just to vent some of the terrible resentment lodged inside her chest. But it was wrong. She knew that too. Duh. To call out Tara for being white? Actually, she hated her because Tara wasn’t Ebony. And Chloe just wanted Ebony back.

  “I know.” Chloe dropped her gaze, feeling ashamed. “But I didn’t want Wyatt to have her as a—”

  “Chloe, you were the first one who told me to ask her out.”

  “Well…” she hesitated, suddenly at a loss to find a logical answer when there wasn’t any. She was being irrational. “That was before. Before I realized…”

  “What?” he prodded. His tone remained kind when in truth, anyone else could have turned mean and nasty towards her after the way she talked about his girlfriend. Tara was the woman he now loved and chose to have in his life. Chloe knew that was true. She just didn't like it and didn’t intend to let it be okay right now. Not today. She just couldn’t face it today.

  Her shoulders fell forward. “That you’d fall in love with her.”

  Ryder brought her closer to him again, initiating another hug. After asking Tara to take Wyatt outside to play, Ryder gave Chloe his undivided attention. Fuck. Just what she hoped not to happen as a result of this confrontation. Tara taking her nephew off to play as if she were his guardian. No. That job wasn’t for Tara. It was at the very minimum meant for Chloe. But of course, Ryder had the final say.

  And that, perhaps, was the source of her burning anger. She didn’t have the final say anymore. Before Tara, Ryder consulted her for all the motherly advice he needed with Wyatt. He often relied on her to babysit or just hang out with Wyatt. Not so anymore. He rarely called for her to take him or even to ask for her opinion on childrearing. She noticed a distinct shift, and that was before Ebony’s body was even found. She had more time to herself now and she hated it. Detested it. She missed Wyatt and Ryder too. But he had Tara now. He had a life and she had none. Other than the café, she had nothing but her parents. And they were too ripped up now, so she had what? Grief.

  The thought of waking up tomorrow with this same hurt sitting in her heart and head was exhausting. Chloe doubted she could get up and feel this all over again, not to mention the next day after and the day after that. The burden of her grief was overbearing. It was too draining and all-consuming. She wanted to curl up into a small ball in Ryder’s laundry room and just sleep. Maybe forever.

  Ryder let her go, but squeezed her hand. “I’ll be here, Chloe. No matter what. For you. With you. And so will Wyatt.” Then he added assertively but kindly, “But leave Tara out of it. She is just an innocent bystander to all of this. If you have something to say about Wyatt, please say it to me, okay?”

  She stiffened and scowled at him, shaking her head without answering before she shoved past
him. He let her leave and she stormed out the back door. Slamming the door shut and blurry-eyed from her tears, Chloe walked past the walkway and huddled against the side of the barn. A new onslaught of tears overwhelmed her.

  Then, out of nowhere, a hand swooped in and took hers. Shocked right out of her hiccups and sobs, with a startled exclamation, she jerked her head up to find Chet beside her. He didn’t comment, and his facial expression didn’t change. He paused long enough to take her hand in his before he pulled her behind him and oddly enough, she followed, trailing after him like a puppy after its mother. What was he doing? Where had he come from? Why? Why was he taking her somewhere? And more importantly, why was she going? Why did she blindly follow him? This person who had never given her a second glance that she could remember and yet, he was dragging her after him. To where? His car. She realized that when the black vehicle came into view. It was parked near the end of the crowded parking lot of Ryder and Ebony’s driveway. They were at her family’s old farmhouse. Her grandparents’ land, barn and farmhouse. Now? Now it would belong to Tara.

  Her blurred vision cleared as Chet’s path found them alone now. He let go of her hand, stopping beside the car’s passenger door. He opened it for her and tipped his head, indicating what? Should she just get inside? Why? Where would they go? Why would they leave? How…? What the hell was this? What was Chet doing? First, he found her curled up on the bathroom floor and now he rescued her from crying alone beside the barn? Other than that, she never saw him and had no idea why they were even there together.

  But her ripe, explosive fury toward Tara left her depleted. She let her body plop down into the low car and she huddled there without thinking or caring why she was. Who cared about what she did or where she went now? Ebony was dead. Nothing could change that. Nothing could fix it. And what she did now or tomorrow or the day after didn’t matter. Confusion made her dizzy. The sun hurt her eyes. She wished for her sunglasses and more, she wished for anything to stop her from feeling like this. This bad. This lost. This confused. Feeling so much raw pain.

  She shut her eyes against the glaring rays of the sun, mocking her with its intensity. As if the sun were purposely being cruel, it provided endlessly clear skies and hot summer temperatures. Fuck it. She’d disappear and for once, not do the right thing. Because there was nothing left inside her anymore. She didn’t know how to do the right thing anymore. She couldn’t manage it. Not now. She needed to leave. Now. She only wished it could be forever.

  Chapter Four

  THE CAR STARTED BUT Chloe didn’t open her eyes to look. Her exhausted brain didn’t care. She kept her arms crossed over her chest and leaned her head against the window. The car pulled out and quickly sped up. The road turned this way and that, but the swaying calmed and soothed her. She doubted anything else could have provided that for her right then.

  She let it go. For some peculiar reason, she released all of her grief and anger, her tears, and general upset. She just let it all go. Exhaustion gripped her unlike any other time she could remember. It was abnormal for her not to ask the numerous questions that should have been asked about her situation with the silent, attractive man beside her. But she didn’t care. She just didn’t care what Chet was doing with her or why. He found her and decided to take her away from her own sister’s life celebration and memorial and she complied without doing one correct thing. She hadn’t said goodbye to anyone. Not one person. She hadn’t checked on her grieving and distraught parents, nor her nephew. Her absence would be duly noted and perhaps someone would even worry about her. After all, she was the identical twin of the dead woman they were honoring. The woman her mother kept flinching over losing. Oh, yes, Chloe caught her mother staring at her when she wasn’t looking. She seemed to be mulling something over in her head. Was she wondering why Chloe was alive and not Ebony? Or possibly wishing it was just the reverse? Chloe had no basis for thinking that. Neither of her parents ever played favorites or treated them as a single unit. Twins. Sisters. But in Chloe’s heart of hearts, they were a single unit. More than anyone else could fully grasp. One heart. One face. One body.

  Someone was touching her and gently lifting her from the car. Groggily, she wondered if she were dreaming, or hopelessly lost in the lunacy of her own grief. Maybe she’d never come back from it. In many ways, that seemed preferable to fully facing it again.

  Her eyes popped open and she found herself in Chet Willapana’s arms as he lifted her from his car. She glanced up and forward. How the hell? They were at her house. He was carrying her into her house. How could he even lift her? She started to struggle and he locked his arms around her tighter. He held her garage door opener in his hand and calmly opened it.

  “Did you take that from my car?”

  “Yes.”

  He carried her inside although she started struggling. He kept walking and gently set her on her unmade bed. The shades were blissfully shut to the brightness of the day, which made the room gloomy. It comforted her bruised and battered eyelids that were aching from so many burning tears flowing past them.

  “What are you doing? How did you know where I lived? Where did you find my garage door opener? Why… what the fuck is this?” she rattled off, finally finding her missing voice.

  She sat up and he suddenly placed his hands on her arms and pulled her upright so she was next to his warm, tight body. His mouth came down on hers before she could start talking again, and his lips swallowed her words. Startled to find his mouth on hers, she didn’t react at first. His hands scooped the back of her head while his mouth kept playing over hers.

  Her head was too full of thoughts and dizzy already. Confusion addled her once functioning, young, and healthy mind. So many tears had fallen, they seemed to drown out her ability to make sense of anything. She could not comprehend what was happening or how it happened and yet, her hands crept upwards toward his neck. He dipped down further so he was closer to her height and let her reach his neck. Her arms encircled him as their mouths touched and she kept kissing him.

  She moved up onto her knees so they were almost eye level and her mouth opened to him. She whimpered when his tongue collided with hers. Eagerly, she stuck her tongue into his mouth. Once, she was pretty smooth with her moves and kissing was as articulate as the rest of her. But not now. Not today. Emotions were torn raw, exposed, already out of control. They seemed to spill over into this. Whatever this was.

  Making out like that on and on, Chloe tugged on his neck, pulling him towards her, not pushing away. What was this? She didn’t know him. Yet, she’d known him for three years. She never spoke to him. Or said more than hello really. And yet, this? Today? Today, of all the fucking days in the world.

  Lying flat on her back on the rumpled bed, she pulled him over her, his knees touching the bed as his torso followed. Their mouths were still connected as he kept his chest off hers, and the rest of his body flopped over to her side. Her hands drifted upwards into the strands of his hair. In the daylight, it was shiny and black, and as smooth as silk. So unlike her own. Entangling her hands in it, she seemed to be petting him. But her thoughts failed to progress when his mouth engaged with hers. It was hot and wet. So demanding. There was nothing sloppy about his kisses. His hands left her shoulders and slowly skimmed down the sides of her. He outlined her body, reaching down towards the hem of the dress she’d worn today. The long, dark dress she chose to wear while burying her sister. Wearing a jacket over it, she carefully hid the side panels that exposed the skin of the otherwise modest black dress.

  And as surreal as the day had been, now a pair of strong male hands were trailing down her thighs and resting on her bare knees. Holding her breath, her blood raced at his touch. Why was this happening? How was it happening? And why was she letting it go on?

  Her thoughts, doubts, fears, and even guilt started to recede however, as his hand inched upwards on her inner thigh. Slowly and softly, his fingers pushed into her skin, then he rubbed her lightly as if he were skimming over the s
urface of water. Longing pooled in her core when he rubbed her flesh and goose bumps broke out all over when he so very gently touched her skin. All the while, his mouth remained engaged with hers. Oh, God. She moaned when his hand left her thigh and drifted to her waist where he slid his palm along the indentation of her curves. Moving upwards, he slipped it under her jacket and over the top of the V-neck of her satin dress.

  His mouth left hers and she strained after him only to flop back on the pillow, embarrassed by her own eagerness. His lips touched the corner of her mouth, trailing down to her neck and her breath caught at his gentle, chaste touch, which was so unlike just a few moments ago.

  Her chin tilted upwards and a soft sigh escaped her lips as her eyes half closed. His hands brushed over her breasts, confined beneath the tightened fabric of her dress. He drew back, pulling her torso against his as his mouth engaged hers again. His arms were long and surprisingly strong. He encircled her and held her for several minutes as the kissing heated up again. Then his hands moved upwards and he pulled on the blazer that covered her waist and kept her looking respectable. He tugged it off and his tongue once more dipped deeply into her mouth as she groaned. His hands slid over the skin exposed by the crisscross straps of material from her dress. His fingers kneaded her skin as they ran along it, convincing her he liked the way her skin felt.

  Finding the short zipper that kept the dress cinched and ending just below her neck, he unzipped it and the sleeveless dress dropped down towards her waist. She wore nothing under it. It was so tight, it strapped in her breasts like a corset. The material was silk-lined and didn’t show anything. The first noise she heard was the one he made at the sight of her bare breasts popping free. She was large and full and his hands immediately cupped her as he pushed upwards, supporting their weight and admiring their amplitude. His mouth landed on hers harder, and his thumbs grazed over her dark nipples. She moaned in response as both of his hands pushed and kneaded the round, full globes that filled them.