Silent Sins: A Lotus House Novel: Book Five Read online

  I close my eyes tightly, not wanting to see another man giving him comfort.

  “Hannon made his choice all on his own. We had no idea what his plans were, and for the past two years we’ve suffered, and for the rest of our lives, we’re both going to suffer for it. But I’m not going to stop living.”

  I lock my arms around Sean and hold him as if it’s goodbye. He returns the hug, keeping me close. He turns his head and whispers into my ear. “You are the only other person in the entire world who loved him and feels the loss as deeply as I do. As his twin sister, you have to know that better than anyone.”

  And I do. Oh, how I do. The day I buried my brother was the day I buried half of my soul.

  For long minutes, I hold on to Sean, knowing this has to be the last time. “Me being here is hurting you.”

  His grip tightens. It’s an answer without words.

  “I won’t come again.”

  “Don’t say that, Honor. I couldn’t live knowing I lost you too.” His chin falls against my neck, where he places a kiss. “I love you, but you remind me of Hannon, and I need to let him go. Let him be free. You do too.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t.”

  “You can, and you will. Eventually, thoughts of Hannon will make you happy, not sad. That’s where I’m at. I love talking about him, thinking about him, sharing stories. And it helps. Promise me you’ll do the same. Start the process for healing.”

  Healing. What’s that?

  Instead of lying, I give a noncommittal nod. “I’m sorry I was mean.”

  “Honor, baby girl, you’re family. Always will be. I want you in my life. I just want you to be healthy. Hell, I want to be healthy.”

  On that we can agree. At least as it pertains to Sean. As my brother’s life partner, he became my family too. He is one of the only people I have left I can trust. He cares about me, not my money or what kind of status I can give him.

  “Will you meet my friend? It would mean a lot to me to have your acceptance. I can’t move on until I know you’re going to be okay with it.”

  Dread fills my heart, but for Sean, one of the best guys in the whole entire world, I can push aside my selfish need for him to never move on from my brother and be a true friend. I nod and step back, wiping at my wet eyes.

  Sean takes a full breath, staring at me before nodding succinctly. He maneuvers us around and gestures to the tall man, whose eyes are also watery behind his glasses.

  “Honor Carmichael, meet my boyfriend, Chad Schilling. Chad, this is my best friend, Honor, Hannon’s twin sister.”

  Chad smiles, revealing a beautiful set of white, even teeth. He presses his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose in an endearing way before extending his hand for me to shake. I take it, and he clasps it between both of his. “Lovely meeting you, darling. Sean has told me endless stories about you and Hannon, and I just want to say, I love Sean, and I’m so sorry for the loss you both endured. I look forward to spending time with you in the future and getting to know you.”

  I choke back the tears that want to spill out when I hear he’s in love with Sean. It’s a hard pill to swallow because I’d always believed that Sean and Hannon would go the distance, growing old together, the three of us being a family. Now I’m the outsider in this trio, regardless of the bittersweet sadness in Sean’s eyes right now.

  No matter what, this introduction changes everything. I can no longer escape to what used to be Hannon and Sean’s house, looking for Sean to talk me through the overwhelming grief that sometimes engulfs my entire being.

  “I’m sorry I stopped by unannounced. I won’t do that anymore. And it’s very nice to meet you, Chad.” I focus my attention on Sean. “I love you, Sean. I want you to be happy, and you’re right. Hannon would want you to be happy too.”

  Sean rushes forward and embraces me. “I love you. Promise me you’ll get help. See someone to work through this? Promise me.”

  Knowing there is no way he’s going to let me leave this house until I’ve promised, I concede. “Okay. I will.”

  He pulls out his wallet and removes a card. “Call this woman. Her name is Monet Hart. She’s incredible, and I think you’ll like her a lot.”

  I glance down at the white business card and nod.

  * * *

  “Honor, you seem a little lost today. Why?”

  I stare out the window and watch the clouds roll by and then shrug.

  Dr. Hart’s voice is gentle when she replies. “You know, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me. We’ve gone through this for two months now. It’s time you were more forthcoming.”

  I inhale slowly and turn my head toward the woman sitting in a chair across the room. She’s incredibly beautiful and a dead ringer for Lucy Liu, the actress. Long, cascading black hair, almond-shaped, coal-black eyes, and a long, athletic figure. She’s wearing a white blouse with a cowl neck, a beige pencil skirt, and a pair of matching Louis Vuittons that make her legs look a mile long. She looks expensive because she is. Not only is her hourly rate off the charts, the woman is a genius with getting me to spill my guts without me even realizing I’m doing it. She’s incredibly good at her job.

  When I committed to Sean that I’d attend therapy, I figured why not? I had nothing to lose. My life is filled with doing what my mother forces me to do. Mostly, I attend countless charity functions so she can groom me to take on the lead role of Mrs. Carmichael, the best charitable planner there ever was. None of which I’m interested in participating in. All the events and charity work… All a smokescreen, created to make her look like a saint, when she’s anything but a good person. The only benefit is I’ll happily give any amount of money needed to a good cause. I have zero attachment to the money I have because I didn’t earn a single cent of it.

  I’m a trust-fund baby. Money is something that will never disappear in my world. I’m already worth a few billion dollars, and I didn’t do a thing to get it besides being born. My parents, grandparents on both sides, and their grandparents before them were all trust-fund babies. The money keeps coming. I barely know what we own anymore.

  I have an Ivy League education and a degree in business I haven’t used and have no interest in using. I’m walking through life with absolutely nothing to show for it. No goals, desires, talents, or skills to speak of. Basically…I’m nothing.

  Knowing that Dr. Hart isn’t going to let me mull over my response for much longer, I admit what’s hurting me today. “It’s Hannon’s birthday.”

  Unexpectedly, the doctor laughs. Loudly. The sound coming from her lips mimics ringing bells. Lovely, just like the woman doing it, though I find her laughter hurtful because she knows anything involving my dead brother guts me. Honestly, it doesn’t hurt as much as it pisses me off.

  I narrow my eyes and strut over to stand near her chair. I place my hands on my hips, the ire her laughter brings burning against my flushed skin.

  “Why are you laughing!” I demand on a growl.

  My response only makes her laugh harder, so much that she fans her face with the yellow legal pad she keeps on her lap. “Sit down, Honor. My goodness you’re funny.”

  I stomp over to the couch across from her, sit down softly as my ingrained manners require, and cross my arms over my chest. “Why?”

  Dr. Hart blows out a breath of air and tucks an arm around her belly protectively. I noticed she’s been gaining weight since I started coming, but I didn’t think much of it. Now that I see her cup a section gingerly, it hits me. She’s pregnant.

  “You’re pregnant!” I blurt out.

  She grins. “Yes, just entering my fourth month. Did you think I was just getting a little fluffy?”

  I lift my shoulders defiantly once more. “Not my business. What is my business is why you think me telling you what’s got me down today is so funny? Frankly, Dr. Hart, it hurts my feelings.”

  “Honor, I’m sorry you took my laughter the wrong way, but do you even realize what you said?”

  I sha
ke my head.

  “You’re sad because it’s Hannon’s birthday.”

  “Yes, I know that. It’s what I told you,” I grumble.

  “Did it not occur to you that, as twins, it’s your birthday too?” She blinks a few times and curves her lips into a soft smile. “Happy birthday, Honor.”

  Her words smack me across the face without warning. Stupidly, I didn’t realize that it was my birthday, so focused on the fact that Hannon would have been twenty-six today, but he’s not here, so there was nothing to celebrate. We always shared our birthdays. The two of us would plan an entire day of fun just for us. No parents. Not that they ever remembered. Even Sean, when he came along, would allow us our day and celebrate the night with Hannon privately.

  Tears prickle at the back of my eyes. I glance at the clock, noticing the short hand about to reach the five and the little hand the twelve. It’s just about the end of the workday. And that saddens me more as I give her more honesty. “You’re the first person today to tell me happy birthday.”

  Dr. Hart leans forward and places her hand on mine where it rests over my knee. “And how does that make you feel?”

  “Alone.”

  Chapter Two

  Flying Lotus Pose (Sanskrit: Padmasana)

  This is an aerial lotus pose. Typically, beginners start with the hammock cushioning the buttocks, back, and legs as though you are sitting in the hammock longways. Place your legs into the hammock with the soles of your feet touching. An intermediate student can take the position farther by easing the silks behind the shoulders and biceps. The silks are then wrapped around the outsides of the feet so that you have a delicate push/pull of the upper and lower body to create balance.

  NICHOLAS

  “Ma! I’m here. What smells so damn good?” I holler while setting down my gym bag and keys and kicking off my sneakers.

  “Watch your tongue, boy!” my mother yells back.

  I make my way through my childhood home, along the hallways filled to the brim with family pictures of my five sisters and me, my mother and father, and our extended Italian clan. I come from a big family. Not only did my parents have six children, but they each came from six themselves. That makes for some roaring family get-togethers. It’s a good thing my parents built their home long ago when the market outside of Berkeley in the Bay was still affordable. The house may not be huge—my sisters had to bunk up all their lives—but it has an enormous backyard that backs up against a small river. One we’ve taken advantage of more times than I can count with gatherings, birthdays, and celebrations.

  Like tonight. Family dinner nights are Sundays—no exceptions unless one of us is out of town. My mother would have my hide if I blew her off. And if I said I was sick, either she’d be banging down my door, checking in on me, bringing homemade chicken noodle soup, or one of my sisters would. My family is close. Very close. It’s just our way. Sometimes it can be a pain in the ass, but most of the time, it’s the best feeling in the world. I’ve never felt alone or out of touch because there is always someone at the ready to hold my hand and lift me up, support me and my goals and dreams. And I do the same for them. Family is everything to the Salernos.

  I get to the kitchen and find my tiny mother slaving over several pots simmering on the stove. Homemade marinara steams up the room with a mouthwatering scent that equals happiness and home. Nothing better. Getting close, I wrap my arm around my mother from behind and kiss her temple.

  She lifts the free hand not holding the ever-present wooden spoon and embraces my arm. “My Nicky.”

  “How you doin’, Ma?”

  My mother pats my forearm. “I’d be better if my boy would speak like a gentleman.”

  I grin, knowing my mother hates profanity of any kind. Even a simple “damn” grates on her nerves. Squeezing her tight, I kiss her temple again. “Sorry, Mama. Won’t happen again,” I lie, playing the game we always play.

  She chuckles. “Liar. Be a good boy and get your mother a glass of vino.”

  “You got it.” I give her one last squeeze and head to the small cellar off the kitchen where we keep the endless supply of our family’s wine. My father’s side comes from a long line of vintners, which allowed us to afford this house and enabled my mother to stay home and raise her family. Be a wife and a mother. Her claim to fame, as she puts it.

  Not worrying about the varietal or vintage, I just pull a bottle off the shelf. In my opinion, they are all amazing because they were made by my dad and uncles. Food or drink made with love is the best there is.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, I reach the landing back in the kitchen and find my sister Dawn. Her long dark hair is pulled back off her face in a ponytail, highlighting her high cheekbones and rosy cheeks. I grab her from behind, lift her up, and spin her around while she squeals in delight.

  After I’ve made a full spin, I drop her down, where she turns around and hugs me tightly. “Hey, bro. How’s it hanging?”

  “Heavy and to the right,” I joke, and she crinkles up her nose and punches my chest.

  “Gross!”

  It’s our standard greeting, one that never gets old. Dawn and I have always been close, being a year apart, but I’m pretty tight with all my sisters. Behind me, Dawn’s husband, Lorenzo, or “Lo” for short, claps me on the back.

  “Nick, bro. How’s business?” He lifts his hands into two fists and weaves from side to side as I playfully duck and punch his hands.

  “Gym’s good. Can’t complain. Of course, we need new equipment, a new ring, an overhaul of everything really, but it pays the bills. That and the classes I teach at Lotus House.”

  “That aerial shit you do is crazy, man.”

  I grin. “What? You not man enough to give it a try?”

  He shakes his head. “Hell, no. Dangling from silk over a hardwood floor. I’d like to keep my balls and bones in perfect working order, thank you very much!”

  I grip his shoulder lovingly. When my sister married Lo, my mother got down on her knees and thanked the good Lord above for the miracle. He’s the perfect son-in-law. Tall, dark, handsome, a family man, loves my sister to insanity, and most importantly…he’s Italian. Lo comes from a good family and has recently taken an interest in winemaking. My father, Sal, couldn’t be happier. Neither could I, since his interest in the business, along with my second sister, Angela, takes the pressure off Sal’s only son not wanting to participate.

  It’s an endless argument, me not going into the family business, but one I’ve been winning lately. After I opened Sal’s Boxing Gym & Fitness Center, my father eased off the winemaking lectures. I’m sure the day I named the gym after my dad—well, technically, after both of us, since I’m Nicholas Salvatore Salerno Jr.—he understood why I needed to do it. It was me going after my own dreams, being my own man. Do I love wine? Absolutely. You’re not Italian if you don’t love wine. I think they slip it into our genetic makeup when we’re in the womb. Do I love what the Salernos have built? Hell, yes. I’m damn proud of my family. We aren’t rich, but we’re damn sure not poor. We’re all living the lives we want to live, and that’s all anyone can ask for. Me included.

  My dad enters from the back deck, holding a plate of steaming grilled sausages. Ma may have made the marinara and pasta, but my father appreciates a nice grilled sausage instead of putting it in with the sauce. “Nicky! How you doin’?” he asks with that Italian flair.

  “Good, Pops. Can’t complain.” I grab a few wineglasses as the rest of the brood makes their way into the kitchen.

  Angela shows up with her boyfriend in tow. Ma has not shown him the love yet, mostly because he’s quiet and Latino. It’s not that she’s racist; she just really loves being Italian and wants her children to have a horde of Italian babies. Still, Javier is wearing her down. He’s been living with Angela for a solid year, and I expect a ring on her finger any day now. Once he makes that intention known, Ma will switch over to doting future mother-in-law in a second flat. All Ma wants is for her children
to marry good, preferably Italian, men and have lots of babies. If he marries Angela, she’ll accept him with open arms. Until then, no one is good enough for her children.

  Cara, my third baby sister, breaches the kitchen with a new beau and, shockingly, a little girl who couldn’t be more than three or four years old. Oh, damn. Shit is about to get real. One thing my mother loves more than being Italian is children.

  I walk over to my sister and pull her into my arms. The man next to her braces visibly, locking his jaw tight and narrowing his eyes. Seems protective and/or jealous. I can relate to the first; the second will earn him time in my ring, meeting my glove-covered fists.

  “Hey, care bear, you look good. Who’s this you have holding your hand?”

  She gives me a wobbly grin, her brown eyes shining bright as she looks down. “This is Kaylee and my boyfriend, Scott.” Scott is not an Italian name. And neither is the blond-haired, green-eyed guy putting an arm around my sister. This ought to be fun.

  I offer my hand, and when Scott shakes it, I squeeze it hard enough for him to know I’ll mess him up if he so much as hurts one hair on Cara’s head. “I’m Cara’s brother, Nicholas. Boxer.” I tip my chin up and flex my muscles in what I consider my signature boy-scaring move. “You should come down to the gym sometime. Would be good to get to know you a little better, wouldn’t you agree?” I squeeze harder and grin.

  He pulls his hand away and shakes it while wincing. “Uh, I’m not thinking that would be good for my health.”

  I grin wickedly. At least he’s smart.

  Cara shoves my shoulder. “Nicky, be nice.”

  My mother turns around from the stove when she hears Cara’s admonishment. Her blue eyes smile when she sees Cara and then turn hard as she takes in Malibu Ken, aka Scott. I hold back a snicker. One thing my mother despises is a Richie Rich, and this boy reeks of money from the tips of his Ferragamos up to his dress slacks and Ralph Lauren polo shirt.