Rebel: Chapter 11

Los Angeles There were few places better in the United States in February than Los Angeles. Then again, it was my home, so I was probably pretty biased.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Leah asked, holding Pax’s hand as they walked down the ramp in front of me.

Disembarking was a hell of a lot faster with our VIP passes—another perk of Pax owning the ship.

“Certain,” I answered. Two whole days away from their lovefest would be a welcome break. Between Pax and Leah and Landon and Rachel, it was like a nonstop Hallmark movie in our group—not that I was jealous.

Okay, maybe a little jealous.

We said our good-byes at the end of the ramp, and I promised again to get to Pax’s house to practice on the ramps tomorrow. Well, they could practice, and maybe I’d work up the courage to sit on my freaking bike.

I slid in to the welcoming leather of the town car’s backseat and the driver shut the door. “Where to?” he asked as we drove toward the port’s exit.

“My apartment, please,” I answered. “Wait!”

The car came to a screeching halt next to where Cruz was walking alone, his hiking pack over his shoulder. I rolled down the window. “What are you doing?” I asked him.

“Walking to the parking lot to get my truck,” he answered with a what-the-hell-does-it-look-like-I’m-doing face.

“Your truck is parked here?”

“I had a friend park it last night. I do have friends, you know.”

“I vaguely remember seeing them in the bar in Vegas,” I answered before I thought better of it. “Hop in, we’ll take you.”

“Not a good idea.”

“Oh, come on. That parking lot is at least another mile past the rest of these cruise ships. I’m offering you a ride, not a striptease. In fact, I’ll promise you the opposite—I vow that my clothes will stay on.”

A smile flashed across his face, those adorable dimples making a rare appearance. “You sure?”

“Get in,” I said, opening the door and sliding over.

He looked over his shoulder to make sure we were alone—we were—before climbing in next to me.

“Where to, sir?” my driver asked.

“You have a driver.”

“I have a service. Now tell him where your truck is, or we’ll waste half our time here arguing.”

“Right. I’m parked in V-19. It’s a black quad-cab F-250.”

“Yes, sir.”

The car started to roll, and Cruz rested his head against the headrest. “We couldn’t be more different if we were from different planets.”

“And yet we wound up on the same ship.”

He looked over at me, those incredible eyes of his so deep that I wanted to fall in. “That, we did. So tell me, Penna.” He nearly choked on my name. “What are you going to do with your break?”

“I’m going to see my sister,” I told him. “You’re the only one who knows.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You haven’t told any of your friends? Are your parents taking you?”

“Nope. I don’t want to tell them about the letters, and the other Renegades…well, they wouldn’t understand. I just…I need to see her. If she won’t answer my phone calls or even read my letters, then I have to try this.”

He didn’t attempt to talk me out of it like the others would have, or argue that she betrayed us, nearly killed me, or was generally messed up in the head. He simply nodded as we pulled up next to the truck I assumed was his. “Okay, grab your bag.”

“Excuse me?”

“Grab. Your. Bag. I know I have an accent, but it’s not thick enough for you to have misunderstood me.” His hand rested on the door handle, but he didn’t open it.

“Why?”

“Because you’re not going to see your sister alone. You might not be able to tell your friends what’s going on. Hell, maybe you feel guilty for missing her—which is a normal human emotion—but I’m not going to let you do this on your own. So grab your bag, because I’m taking you.”

“I…I have a car.” Okay, that excuse sounded lame even to me.

“Right, but just for fun, let’s pretend that you’re not the daughter of tech-com millionaires and that you didn’t pull in over a million yourself last year—”

“How did you even—” I sputtered.

“Google. Just get your bag and pretend to be normal. Get in the truck.”

“You’re my teacher.”

His jaw flexed, the tiny muscles in the side pulsing a few times. “And you’re my student. But I also happen to care about you. We’re not going to cross a single fucking line,” he growled, but it seemed like the order was directed more at himself. “But please, don’t do this alone. Let me take you, or tell one of your friends. That Leah girl seems kind.”

“She is, and I know she’d go with me, but she’d never understand.” My voice dropped along with my eyes. “Brooke nearly killed her in Morocco.”

“Then get in the truck, Penelope.”

My gaze flew to his at the use of my full name. His expression wasn’t the distant one he’d used on me the last two and a half weeks. No, he looked like the guy I’d met in Vegas, the man who had trusted me enough to jump with a chute he hadn’t packed.

Guess it was my turn to jump.

“Okay.”

A couple minutes and one dismissed car service later, I was belted into the passenger seat of Cruz’s truck as we pulled out of the port. The soft leather interior was meticulously clean, making me wonder what his cabin looked like. I highly doubted it had clothes strewn about like mine currently did.

“Where are we headed?” He motioned toward the GPS in the dash.

“I think it’s about an hour away. Is that okay?”

“Absolutely.”

I plugged in the address as he hooked his phone into the dock, and then I leaned back against the seat, stealing small looks at his profile as he drove through the abominable, ceaseless traffic that was L.A. I could tell myself all I wanted that he was my teacher, but it didn’t change the fact that he was the most incredibly beautiful man I’d ever seen, and for someone who spent her life surrounded by beautiful men…well, that was saying something.

“Twenty One Pilots?” I asked as his music kicked on.

“Why so surprised? I’m twenty-seven, not seventy.” A corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk.

Somehow those five years between us felt as big as the Grand Canyon.

“You sure? Because I’ve seen your tie collection.”

His mouth dropped. “Take that back.”

“Nope. Just admit that you have the taste of a geriatric man in the tie department.”

We pulled onto the highway, and I felt lighter with every mile he put between us and the Athena.

“Not fair. I had about twenty-four hours’ notice before I had to pack to leave for the ship.”

“So you went shopping in my grandfather’s closet?” He was way too much fun to tease.

“Hardly!”

“You walked into a department store and picked out the first ten ties you saw.”

He glanced at me quickly, never looking away from the road for too long. “Twelve.”

“I’m sorry?” I asked, turning in my seat to full-on face him.

“I picked out the first twelve ties I saw.”

“And so the truth is revealed!”

“Hey, when I was in the army, I only had one tie. It was black and matched my blues. Then I didn’t have a lot of reasons for them in graduate school until student teaching, and at that point I just didn’t care. What’s that look for? What are you thinking?”

I tilted my head. “Just picturing you in army dress blues. My imagination approves.”

“Penelope,” he warned, but I didn’t miss the way he fought a smile.

“I have this whole Officer and a Gentleman vision playing out in my head right now,” I admitted.

He shook his head, his grin finally full enough to show me those sexy-as-hell dimples. “You do realize that’s navy, right? Not army?”

“Who cares? Swooping in like that to carry off the woman you love? That’s the stuff of legends. I can’t think of any guy I know who could pull that off. Even Landon or Pax, and they’re pretty swoony for those girls of theirs.”

He scoffed, that grin turning into another smirk.

“What?” I asked, waiting for the next smart-ass remark out of his mouth. He didn’t back down or roll over when I dished crap at him, which was one of the things I really liked about him.

“That’s because you’ve been hanging out with boys.”

“Oh really?”

“Your friends? All boys. Their little follower-Renegades? Boys. Jumping out of airplanes and flipping motorcycles doesn’t make you a man. Serving something larger than yourself, sacrificing for someone you love, understanding the nature of true suffering and working to alleviate it in someone other than yourself—that’s manhood.”

“I have friends that definition would fit.”

“No, you don’t. Not fully. That’s why you’re still single.”

My back straightened, and I crossed my arms in front of me. “Oh, that’s why?”

The look he sent me could have been personally responsible for global warming. “You are a headstrong, independent, stubborn woman surrounded by a sea of boys, when what you crave—what you need—is a man. One who isn’t going to hold you back but isn’t afraid of you, either. One who knows the delicate balance between watching you fly and protecting you so you don’t fall. Hell, I’m not sure any of those boys would even know what to do with you if you ever let them get their hands on you.”

But you did. You do.

I shifted in my seat and forced my gaze away before either of us could say what hung in the air between us. Cruz was that kind of man.

He just couldn’t be my man.

Now if only my libido could understand that.

“So are you sad to be leaving L.A.?” I asked, changing the subject to something safer.

“A little. It’s been my home since I was nine. I’m excited for a new opportunity, but I’ll definitely miss the weather.”

“Why not settle in Florida, or somewhere with a bigger Cuban community? I can’t imagine it was easy leaving everything behind.”

“It wasn’t. But we knew Miami and those communities would be the first place he’d look. We needed to blend in with our new country.”

“You were running from someone.” I stepped into territory I had no right to. “Maybe the person who burned your arm?”

He glanced at me briefly.

“It looked like a cigarette burn,” I said quietly.

“Cigar, actually. My father is not a good man.” His hands flexed on the wheel. “I thought my grandma had chartered a fishing boat for the day. That day turned into three when the motor gave out, but we made it to the Keys.”

“You must have been terrified.” I couldn’t imagine going through that so young—or ever. It spoke of a desperation I had never tasted.

“I was never as scared on that boat as I was living every day in his house.”

“And your mother went back?”

“She did.” He said it with a tone of finality that let me know the subject was closed. The last miles passed in relative quiet, until we were pulling into the long, winding drive that led to Oak Moss Grove.

“Nervous?” he asked softly as the compound came into view. It looked more like a resort than an institution…or mental rehabilitation center—whatever they were calling it.

“It’s a desert out here. Look at that cactus.” I absolutely ignored his question and the nausea rolling through my stomach.

“Definitely no oaks or moss in sight,” he agreed, pulling into the closest open parking space.

“Right?” I nodded a little too aggressively. “Seems like false advertising.”

“Penelope,” he said softly, then waited until I felt strong enough to look at him. His patience—the certainty with which he always waited for me to choose—was one of his most attractive qualities. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

“Yes, please,” I answered instantly. I hadn’t pictured making this trip with anyone, but now that I was here with him, I couldn’t imagine being here with anyone else.

I hopped down from his truck and met him at the front.

“I would have opened your door if you’d waited a second,” he told me.

“I can get my own door,” I argued as we walked up the wide concrete steps to the front of the reception building.

“Chivalry isn’t misogyny,” he rebutted.

“Touché,” I said, and gave him a thankful smile as he held open the door to the facility. His hand rested on the small of my back for the barest of seconds, and I nearly leaned in to it just to see if I could feel it again.

We waited at the desk until a petite woman who looked to be in her forties appeared. Her brown eyes were kind and her smile warm as she asked what she could do for us.

“I’m here to visit my sister,” I said, my voice a lot stronger than my stomach.

“Name?”

“Brooke Carstairs. I’m Penelope Carstairs.” I produced my ID from my back pocket.

“Of course. Right this way. I’ll let her know that you’re here.” She shot a look at Cruz. “It’s family only.”

“He’s my fiancé,” I answered immediately.

God bless the man, he didn’t so much as flinch. He wrapped his arm around my waist, tucking me into his body with a familiarity that gave my lie a little credence.

The nurse looked pointedly at my bare left hand.

“I told her to leave it at home,” Cruz said, his voice soft and soothing. “Brooke doesn’t know yet, and we wanted to make sure she was at the right point in her recovery before we told her.”

His lie was so smooth that I nearly believed it.

The nurse visibly melted. “Of course. How considerate. Congratulations to you both. If you’ll follow me?”

She led us through a door and down a wide, lushly decorated hallway. My parents were paying a fortune for Brooke to be here if the art was any indication. “How did you meet?” she asked as she ushered us into a room marked “Visitation Two.” It was set up like a home-style living room with brown leather couches, bookshelves filled to the brim, and cozy lighting.

“In a bar in Las Vegas,” I answered absently.

“I saw her take out a guy for grabbing her, and I simply had to know her,” Cruz added, gazing at me adoringly. “She keeps me on my toes.”

How badly I wanted to slip into the lie, to believe that we were in a relationship—that I had him in my corner, backing me, sheltering me, lifting me when I couldn’t find a way to stand, and to be able to do the same for him.

“Well, you’re just adorable,” she said with a scrunch of her nose. “I’ll be back with Brooke.” She shut the door behind her, leaving Cruz and me alone.

I sank into the couch, leaning over so my head was between my knees.

“Do you need the trash can?” he asked.

“No,” I said, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth to quell the twisting in my belly.

“Want to tell me what you’re thinking?”

I shook my head, lifting it. “No. Yes. No.”

He took a seat next to me, his warmth radiating through the material of my jeans. “However you’re feeling is okay. You’re allowed to be angry with her, especially after the letters. You’re allowed to hug her, to miss her, to love her. You’re allowed to hate what she did, and you’re allowed to forgive her. There is no wrong feeling here.”

My gaze fixed on the second hand of the clock on the wall between two large windows. “The last time I saw her, I was on a stretcher. She was blurry—I was in so much pain—and I couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t coming in the ambulance with me. I didn’t realize until later that she was the one…”

He took my hand in his—the gesture completely platonic, and yet exactly what I needed.

“I don’t even know what I’m going to say to her. I just need to see her. I need to understand.”

He gave my hand a gentle squeeze but didn’t speak. I didn’t realize until that moment exactly how badly I needed someone to listen without judgment or bias—without knowing the backstory.

The door opened, and I stood, anticipation shaking my nerves like no stunt ever had.

A tall, red-haired woman walked in. Her hair was in a perfect French twist and her white lab coat didn’t have a speck of dirt on it. Her smile was kind and her eyes firm as she extended her hand. “Penna? I’m Dr. Kelley, Brooke’s doctor.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I responded automatically, my gaze darting to the closed door. “Is Brooke on her way?”

“Why don’t we have a seat?”

She took the couch across from us, and I returned to my seat. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, not entirely,” she answered. “I’m so sorry to tell you this, but Brooke won’t be visiting with you.”

In the time it took me to blink, my body numbed. My only physical sensation registered from where Cruz took my hand. “Today?” I asked. “I’m in town only today and tomorrow. Then I won’t be back in the States until May. I can come again tomorrow, if she’s busy.”

“Tomorrow won’t work, either. She’s simply not ready for a visit.” Her tone was soft, placating, and yet came out like nails on a chalkboard to me.

“But she sees my parents,” I said, trying desperately to understand.

“She does.”

The truth slammed into me, bringing with it a shock of pain that would have laid me out if I hadn’t already been sitting. “You think she’s not ready to see me…because of what happened.”

Never mind that we’d been sisters since infancy—that every good memory I had included her in some way. The years she’d been my best friend, my only confidant in a world where everyone wanted my secrets didn’t matter to this woman. A lifetime of moments had been erased in her eyes the second that stadium light came crashing down in Dubai. To her, my relationship with my sister would always be defined by the worst day in both our lives.

She saw me as a deterrent to Brooke’s recovery.

“While it’s true that she’s still very fragile, and we have a long road ahead of us to really untangle her issues, this was not because of anything I advised.”

Wait. What?

If Dr. Kelley wasn’t the reason…

“But…but I’m the reason Pax didn’t press charges. I asked Brandon to work with the authorities in Dubai. I made sure she wouldn’t go to jail for what she did so that she could get help. So she could come to you.”

“I know.”

My mind raced, trying to outrun the emotional tsunami headed toward me. Every logical explanation immediately refuted itself before I could voice it, leaving only the one I couldn’t bear to hear. “I’ve been trying to contact her since it happened. She’s refused my calls and returned my letters, and I don’t know what else to do. Dr. Kelley, I just want to see my sister.” My voice cracked on the last word.

“But she doesn’t want to see you.”

The tidal wave hit, drowning me before I even had a chance to take a breath.