Enlightened End Read online

  Nick shakes his head. “Nah, man, my bad. I was harsh, and I’m man enough to admit it. I’ll bring a case by, yeah?” He directs the question to Luna.

  “That would be lovely, Nicky. You know how much I enjoy your family’s wine.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?” He chuckles and glances up at the clock. “Need to get hoppin’. My class starts in ten, and I want to make sure the silks are locked in tight.” He puts his hand out toward me again. “We cool, brotha?”

  I nod. “Yeah, I… We’re cool.” I shake his hand and notice his grip isn’t nearly as firm as it was before.

  “Rockin’. Dash.” He squeezes the man’s bicep. “Amber. Get on that baby-making. I want a little Alexander running around with my boys soon.”

  The Alexanders both smile and agree to try.

  “Trying’s part of the fun.” He winks and enters the hallway toward the classes.

  Amber and Dash head in the same direction after waving goodbye to Luna and me.

  “That was strange,” I murmur.

  Luna plants her head on my chest. “It was. I’m sorry. Nick is like a big brother, and I’m pissed he was such a…”

  “Dick?” I offer. “Cad?” I continue. “Overbearing brute?” I finish.

  Her shoulders slump, and she rubs her nose against my chest before resting her chin and looking up. “At least he admitted he was wrong.”

  I wrap my arms around her and hug her close. “That he did. Though I no longer have a desire to take his class. Early dinner instead?”

  Her eyes go half-mast. “Food isn’t always going to get me to do what you want,” she threatens, but it’s one hundred percent empty. Food always gets her to see my way.

  “Mmm-hmm. What are you in the mood for?”

  “Thai!” she exclaims like it’s the best food on God’s green earth. I swear, if I didn’t know how good she is at being a yoga teacher, I’d suggest she start culinary school. The woman is obsessed with her meals.

  I chuckle. “My lamb wants Thai, she gets Thai. I know a great place not far from here, just on the edge of the city.”

  “Do I need to change?” She gestures down to her plain black yoga pants and green tank. “I’ve got boots and a sweater I can grab too.”

  “Then you’re fine. Besides, I love your ass in yoga pants.”

  She snorts and bends over, gifting me an awesome view of said ass as she grabs her purse and sweater hanging over the back of the chair. “Every man likes a woman’s ass in a pair of yoga pants. That’s why they are so versatile.”

  She’s got a solid point. All of the women I’ve seen here at the studio, whether bigger or smaller than my woman, all looked good in their yoga pants. It’s quite the phenomenon.

  “This is true, but your ass”—I palm it as I lead her out of the studio—“is exceptionally fantastic.”

  “Says the man who has to love it because he’s not getting anyone else’s.” She sways her ass while walking to my car.

  “With zero complaints on all fronts,” I assure her.

  She grins and hops into the car before I can make it around to open the door for her.

  I sigh, get in, and buckle up.

  * * *

  The Thai restaurant is one of my favorites, and the owner and staff know me. This secures us an excellent table by the window with a full view of the restaurant.

  We place our order for spring rolls to share and pad thai for Luna, because the woman eats everything whether it’s healthy or not and doesn’t gain a pound, at least not that I’ve seen since we met. I order the chicken in coconut soup and a round of Mekhongs over ice.

  “What is this drink?” Luna sips the amber liquor and tilts her head as if deciding whether or not she likes it.

  “It’s a Thai whiskey.”

  Her blue eyes seem to widen as she takes another taste. “It tastes like rum.”

  I smile in approval. “It does. Spicy and sweet, with hints of ginger and honey, vanilla, and floral notes.” I take a swallow myself, appreciating the distinct taste along with the familiar warmth the whiskey brings. “The most interesting fact about this particular whiskey, besides not tasting like whiskey”—I chuckle—“is that it’s made with about five percent rice.”

  Luna purses her lips. “That is neat. I like it.”

  “You like everything,” I tease and then lean over, steal one of her spring rolls, and take a big bite out of it before putting it back.

  “Hey!” She smacks my hand, grinning.

  “Sharing is caring.” I laugh out loud but feel a prickling on the back of my neck. To the left of us is a table with a couple. A pretty brunette with dark-blue eyes is staring at me.

  I glance back to Luna and continue poking fun at her, trying to steal her noodles from her pad thai and enjoying her snark when she pretends to be mad at me.

  Once more I feel the tingle at the base of my neck and look over at the couple to find that this time, both of their eyes are on us. The man has dark-brown hair and brown eyes. I don’t recognize him at all, but from the way they are staring, they recognize me. This is not unknown to happen because of the many events and circles I work in for business, but it’s incredibly rude of them to keep staring.

  I frown and suck back a gulp of my drink, trying to ignore them.

  “What’s the matter, big man? You got caught stealing and you’re pouting. Don’t worry… Punishment won’t be too harsh. I’m thinking a couple orgasms tonight ought to free you from your troubles.” She smiles wickedly, and I lay my hand over hers.

  “Duly noted, and the punishment absolutely fits the crime.” I wink. “What’s strange, though, is that couple keeps staring at me. First it was the woman, and now it’s both of them.”

  Luna’s smile is heartwarming as she squeezes my hand. “Grant, honey, you’re hot. As in, women everywhere you go want to have sex with you. No-questions-asked kind of hot. Then they see you with me, you in a suit and me in workout attire, and they stare, thinking maybe they have a chance. They don’t, but I can hardly blame them.” She tags more noodles with her fork and spins it like spaghetti before shoving it in her mouth.

  I shake my head. Leave it to Luna to compliment me while I’m feeling uncomfortable. “Lamb, that’s very sweet…and incorrect. Any woman within a ten-mile radius can see that I’m taken by my own personal fairy princess. They would never stand a chance against your beauty. Or your body. Or how insanely good you are in the sack.” I wink and grin.

  “Aw, words of love to live by,” she jokes, and I snap my teeth in jest.

  “Only that’s not it. Look to your right in a few moments and see if they are still staring.”

  She giggles and covers her mouth. “That’s so silly.”

  “Just do it. For me.”

  She rolls her eyes and nods. I sip at my drink and stare at her face and then bug my eyes so she’ll make her move. I watch as she raises her hands in the air, stretching and yawning as if she’s tired, before turning her head to the side.

  Subtle.

  Not.

  I can’t help but laugh at her cuteness.

  Her expression is serious when she turns back around. I glance over to find the woman still staring and not even trying to hide it.

  “They totally are staring!” she whispers. “What are you going to do?”

  I stand up and set my napkin on the table. “Confront them, of course.”

  “Grant…”

  I walk the twenty or so feet over to the couple’s table, and neither one of them hide their curiosity at my approach. They were caught several times and are owning up to it right away.

  “Can I help you?” I ask, tucking my hands in to my pockets.

  “Um…no.” The woman glances down and back up. Her blue eyes are red-rimmed, as if she’d been crying or was really tired. Her skin tone even looks a little ashy up close. Not someone I recall.

  “We know you,” she states. “Well, we know of you.” Her voice shakes, and it sounds familiar, kind of like a long-lost m
emory, but I’m not sure why. Her face, bone structure, and the color of her eyes offer a glimmer of something, as if I’ve seen them before.

  “Through work or my professional contacts?” I assume.

  She shakes her head but doesn’t respond. The man with her stands and holds out his hand. “Not exactly, no,” the man answers flatly before introducing himself. “Brett Tinsley, and this is my wife, Greta.”

  I shake his hand and then hold my hand out to her. The woman licks her lips and stands, offering me her hand. She’s carrying extra weight in the midsection, almost as if she could be pregnant, but I wouldn’t dare ask. That’s one lesson my father did teach me. Never ask if a woman is pregnant. Ever.

  The minute my palm touches Greta’s, I feel a bolt of electricity zip up my arm. It’s not painful, just unusual. Warm. Comfortable, even.

  “Grant Winters.” I feel Luna come up behind me and touch the small of my back. “This is my girlfriend, Luna Marigold. How did you say you know me again?”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. Go on. You said you would if you saw him again. Now’s your chance,” Brett urges vaguely, his eyes on his wife’s.

  “You would do what?” I question, feeling that weird prickle stabbing at my neck, a deeper sense of foreboding coming over me.

  Luna must sense my mood, because she moves closer to my side so I can wrap my arm around her, her hand coming to rest on my stomach as if she’s lending support.

  “I promised I would introduce myself to you.” Greta’s voice is shaky when she speaks.

  “I’m not exactly following. You said you know of me. How?” I repeat, tendrils of irritation starting to weave their way through my mind at the oddity of this greeting.

  “Well, you see…um…” She pushes a lock of hair behind her ear.

  “Yes?” I urge.

  “We have the same mother.”

  Those words are quite possibly the last thing I could have ever, even in my wildest dreams, imagined would come out of this woman’s mouth.

  “I’m sorry.” A fire burns in my gut instantly. “What the fuck did you say?” My tone is harsh and demanding an answer.

  Brett moves around the table and pulls his wife back to his front. A protective gesture if I ever saw one.

  “Gretchen Winters is my mother too.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  When a person is closed-minded, they may have a blocked crown chakra.

  LUNA

  Oh snap. This cannot be good. Grant had already made it known to me he was an only child and his mom had abandoned him. He hasn’t shared his thoughts on this tragedy or told the tale of what happened. And here a woman stands, claiming to be his…sister.

  I rub my hand up and down Grant’s back as his entire body goes ramrod straight.

  “I don’t know who you are or what kind of game you’re trying to play, lady, but you’re not getting a dime out of me.” He points his finger at her, and she cringes.

  Her husband’s eyebrows rise up toward his hairline, and shock blankets his features.

  “Um, Grant, maybe you should try to talk about this…” I attempt.

  He scoffs. “There’s nothing to talk about. People have tried to blackmail me before. It happens in my position. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “I’m not lying!” Greta chokes out on a half sob.

  Brett holds her in his arms. “You don’t know what you’re saying. We’re not trying to blackmail you.” He sneers. “We don’t want anything from you or your dickwad father. Bunch of scumbags, the whole lot of you.” He shakes his head as he pulls a now fully crying woman into his arms.

  Grant’s head jerks back, and then an eerie calmness overcomes him. “Right. Gotcha. Have a nice dinner. Luna, we’re out of here.”

  He turns on his heel, pulls out a stack of twenties, and tosses them on the table. Far more than enough for our meal and drinks.

  “I don’t know what to say. He obviously didn’t know about you.”

  “No, he wouldn’t. But we know everything about him.” Greta looks out the window, her eyes following Grant as he storms to the car.

  I make a split-second decision. “Do you have a card? I’ll talk to him. Perhaps I can have him reach out when he’s digested this information. You see, his mom is a hot-button item for him. She abandoned him…”

  “Yeah, when she was pregnant with me. A baby not created through love or the man she was married to.”

  Oh, yowzers. This is not good. Not good at all. “Uh, the card?”

  I rush back to the table, grab my purse, pull out a free yoga session card, and hand it to her. “It’s the only thing I have with my information on it.” I smile and hear a double honk coming from Grant’s Aston Martin.

  Greta hands me a card from her purse with a shaking hand. “I’ve never wanted anything from Grant, other than to know my brother. Please tell him that for me.”

  I nod and stop, at a loss for words. “It will be okay. Eventually.”

  “Eventually,” she repeats. “Thanks for trying, Luna.”

  “Yeah, bye.” I wave and rush out the restaurant, around the building, and to Grant’s car. The second I get in, he backs out and stops abruptly.

  “Seat belt,” he grates through his teeth, as if he’s seconds away from losing his mind.

  I stop, get out of the car, and walk around to the driver’s-side door.

  He pushes open the door. “Luna, what the fuck! Get in the car.”

  “Get out. I’m driving. You are in no state.” I cross my arms, prepared to wait it out if I have to.

  “I am perfectly capable of driving my goddamned car, with my goddamned woman sitting in the passenger seat where she belongs.”

  I shake my head. “Nope. Not happening, buster.” I open my palm and close it, gesturing for him to give me the keys.

  His eyes are like ice daggers ready to strike at any moment as he stares at me. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  With a firm shake of my head, I respond, “’Fraid not. We protect each other. That’s what you do when you’re in a relationship with someone you care about.”

  He curses under his breath and maneuvers his big body out of the car, takes a wide berth around me, and then gets into the passenger seat.

  I get into the car, adjust the mirrors, and move the seat up a half a foot.

  He huffs and sighs as I put the car in drive and head out of the lot. “Do you want me to take you to your apartment tonight?”

  “No.”

  “I could give you some space, let you sleep in your own bed?”

  “My bed sucks,” he snarls.

  I nibble on my bottom lip and head toward my loft. “Okay, will you talk to me about what happened in there?”

  “You heard what happened. Some nutjob thinks she’s my sister and probably wants a free ride on the Winters’ money train. Won’t be the first time someone’s attempted something outlandish.”

  For a minute, I allow myself time to think about how I want to respond. He’s upset, possibly even angry, and downright hurt. Anything regarding his mother is a sore spot for him, but he’s got to talk about it.

  “Can you tell me about your mom?”

  He sighs and puts his fingers to his forehead. “Not much to tell. We were a happy family. At least in my five-year-old brain we were. I honestly don’t remember much about her now. Just that she had beautiful red hair”—he turns in his seat and fingers one of my curls—“like yours but much darker. Maybe more auburn, whereas you’re far more copper colored.”

  I enjoy the attention he pays to my hair, has always paid to my hair, and maybe I know a bit more now about why he adores it. Because his mom was a redhead. He hinted at it at the charity dinner when he bickered with his father, but he never confirmed anything one way or the other.

  “She also has light eyes. Same color as mine.”

  “Same color as Greta’s,” I toss out to see where it lands.

  “Her eye and hair color did not escape my noti
ce, lamb. That does not make her my half sister.”

  “No, no it doesn’t. Continue with your mom.”

  He groans. “I don’t know. One day she was there, and life was good, and the next she was kissing me goodbye, told me she’d always love me and would write to me.”

  “Did she?”

  “Not one letter.”

  “What did your father say?”

  He shrugs. “At first, that Mommy went away. Later, as I got older and demanded more information, he said she’d abandoned us. Just up and left, never to return.”

  “That’s it? He didn’t try to find her, with all his riches?”

  Grant lays a warm hand on my thigh. “Lamb, when someone doesn’t want to be with you, leaves you and your five-year-old child…” He shakes his head. “I get why he didn’t chase after her.”

  “What about you?” My heart hurts as he squeezes my thigh, his fingers digging in, as if he’s anchoring himself to me.

  “What about me?”

  “Did you chase after her? Um, later, when you were, you know”—I wave my hand in the air—“master of your own domain and all that jazz.”

  Grant inhales, long and deep, as if the weight of the entire world was just laid upon his shoulders. “No, I didn’t.”

  Without being accusatory, I gentle my words but know I need to ask the question in order to get to his frame of mind. “Do you mind if I ask your thoughts on why you came to that decision?”

  He licks his lips, and I put my hand over his on my thigh in a show of support.

  “I thought about it. A hundred times over. I came to the same conclusion each and every time.”

  “Which was?”

  “If she didn’t want me at five years old, she most certainly wouldn’t want me at twenty or twenty-five or thirty or even thirty-five.”

  “Honey, you don’t know that.”

  “Lamb, nothing has changed in my world. My father still lives in the same house he brought my mother home to when they married. The same home they brought me home to a year later. I lived in that house my entire life, until college, but he still lives there. If she wanted to reach out, she could have a million times. She chose not to. We didn’t leave her. She left us.”