ENCORE PERFORMANCE (THE MATCHMAKER TRILOGY) (13 page)

He stirred in his sleep. The wrinkle between his
eyebrows deepened as he slept like a child with his hands
folded beneath his cheek. His blond hair was tousled and
his leg peeked out from under the sheet. A smile crossed
Carissa’s lips. She was so in love with the man, her heart
was pounding just from her watching him sleep. She bit
down on her bottom lip to keep it from quivering. How was
she going to make him fall in love with her if he couldn’t
even promise not to leave and mean it?

By the time Thomas made it down the stairs the pot of
coffee was cold, the scent of toast lingered in the air, and a
note waited for him on the table. She’d taken a run to the
school to let in the contractor and to drop off more flyers at
the grocery store and elementary school. He laughed aloud
at the postscript: “Please get the car and meet me at the
Spot. I’ll need a ride home.” He ran back to her room,
pulled on his jeans and T-shirt, and found his shoes in his
own room. He hurried down the stairs, pulled his keys from
the drawer, and headed out the back of the house. Just as
quickly, he retreated to his room for a coat. Was she crazy?
It was getting much too cold out to be running miles and
miles through town.

When he pulled into the parking lot he could see into
the small diner. The breakfast crowd had cleared out, but
there was no sign of Carissa inside. He stayed in the car
and waited. Ten minutes later, he heard pounding on the
trunk of the car. He jumped in his seat, hitting his head on
the window.

Carissa was smiling at him as she pulled the door open.
“It’s warmer inside.”
“I was just debating on whether to go looking for you.

It’s freezing out here.” He stepped from the car and pulled
his coat tighter as Carissa adjusted the ponytail at the top of
her head.

Her breath misted in the cold air and the chill of her
skin warmed as she looked. He’d come for her. It was
something, she decided. He hadn’t left when she wasn’t
there to wake with him. She stepped in and kissed him
lightly.

“Good morning, dear.” His voice joined in the
playfulness.
They collected menus as they walked past Betsy with a
wave and huddled into the booth in the back corner. He
didn’t sit across from her. Instead, he pushed her over on
the seat and sat down next to her. She turned her face to
him. She fretted a moment. Was she feeling false hope? He
had said he’d stay. Would he? Could he?
Betsy hobbled to the table. She wore her age and
weight like a badge of honor.
“You already up and runnin’ through town?”
“Will you tell her it’s too cold for it too?” Thomas
chimed in.
“I knew I liked your new beau.” Betsy winked. “I’ll
get you both some coffee. You need to warm up,” she said
to Carissa. “And, honey, you need to wake up.” She gave a
nod to Thomas.
“She likes you.” Carissa nudged him and he smiled
down at her.
And I
love
you
, she wanted to say, but didn’t
dare even take the breath for it.
Thomas looked over the menu. He’d been away from
American diner food for so long he wanted it all.
“What are you having?”
“I think I’m just going to have a cinnamon roll and
some coffee.”
“Not me. I’m having ham and eggs, over easy,” he
added with a nod. “Toast with strawberry jelly and home
fries.”
“They come with cheese if you want.”
“I want.” He closed the menu, playfully raised his
eyebrows at her suggestively, and she laughed.
He took her hand in his and gently kissed her fingers.
Mornings with Thomas were something she could get very
used to. A routine with a man. His things by her sink—their
sink, she corrected. A morning full of making coffee and
toast for each other and someday getting little ones ready
for days at school. Nighttime would come with its own
routines of brushing teeth, reading stories, and tucking
those same little ones into bed.
Betsy returned with coffee, took their orders, and
hurried away toward the counter.
Carissa realized she’d been daydreaming about things
she shouldn’t be thinking of. She took a sip of coffee to
clear her mind.
“I got a call from the store in Chicago this morning.”
“Hmm,” he muttered as he lifted the steaming coffee to
his lips.
“I scheduled a meeting with them for November
second.”
Thomas jerked, splashing coffee down the front of
him.
Carissa jumped back and reached for napkins from the
dispenser.
“God, are you okay?” She handed him the wad of
napkins and went to work helping him dry his clothes. “Did
you burn yourself?”
“I’m fine.” He snatched the napkins from her hand.
She watched him dab the coffee from his ruined white
T-shirt as he muttered curses under his breath. His blue
eyes seemed to have.
She sat back away from him. “Are you sure you’re
okay?”
“Carissa, I said I was fine.” He wadded up the napkins
and set them to the side, but when he lifted his mug, she
noticed his hands were unsteady.
She was sure Chicago held a secret for Thomas
Samuel. Before November second she’d know what it was.

Thomas fumbled through the rest of his day. Acting so
stupid like he had, spilling his coffee, getting so upset,
hadn’t set the pace to be much company for the day.

He practiced at the piano for three hours after helping
Carissa move it into the living room and then he took a
long, hot shower. He watched some stupid movie while
Carissa gave lessons and he tried like hell to recompose
himself, but he just couldn’t get control over his emotions.

Now he sat in Carissa’s bed. His head pounded, his
throat was sore, and his hair was damp from sweat. His
hands, gripping his head, were shaking.

Carissa stood at the lighted doorway of the bathroom,
holding a glass of water.
“Are you okay?” She moved back toward the bed. She
looked fresh from sleep and Thomas looked at the clock on
her nightstand. It was just past three in the morning.
He nodded.
She handed him the glass of water and stood back a
step. Her eyebrows knit together and she chewed her lower
lip.
“Who is Sarah?” she finally asked as he sipped the
water she’d brought to him.
He didn’t need to ask why she was standing back from
him asking such a question. He’d been dreaming again. It
was still as vivid in his head as the pounding of his pulse.
Her hurt expression prodded his conscience. He’d been
sleeping in her bed, building a business with her, and
letting his heart go to her. It was time he did a little talking.
He finished the glass of water and set it on the
nightstand. He adjusted the pillows against the headboard
and sat up against them, then reached for Carissa’s hand,
pulling her down to the bed so that they sat facing each
other.
“Sarah?” he whispered, and she nodded. With a breath
of courage he gave some thought to how much he was
about to tell her. “Sarah was my sister.”
“Your sister?” He nodded again. “Was?”
He held tight to her hands, and their quivering eased.
“She died when she was twelve, on the second of
November.”
“Oh, Thomas.” Her hand shifted to his cheek as her
eyes softened. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—the date.” She
shook her head and he knew she’d realized it was the date
that had set him off at the diner. She’d be traveling to
Chicago on the very date his sister’s life had been taken.
“I’m sorry. How old were you?”
“Sixteen.” The night replayed in his mind over and
over. He could hear Sarah and he had to wait until he
stopped hearing her to let the pain in his heart abate before
he could finish his story.
Carissa brushed away a tear that had fallen from her
eye.
“Was she in an accident?”
Dear God, she was trying to walk him through it. He
kissed her fingers tenderly as though to appreciate the
softness she exuded. What he had to tell her wasn’t soft and
couldn’t be coated to be delivered gently. It was harsh and
painful and she couldn’t help him through it. He had to dig
deep inside and pull it out the way he remembered it.
“No. It wasn’t an accident.” He tried to steady himself.
“She was killed.”
Her gasp ripped through his heart. She covered her
mouth, and her eyes filled with tears. Telling the woman he
was falling in love with that his sister was killed—
murdered—wasn’t as horrible as the rest of the story.
Wasn’t as horrible as the reason he couldn’t fall in love
with her. He dreaded the moment when that would come
up.
“You said she wasn’t in an accident.”
He shook his head. “No. It wasn’t an accident. Not like
you’d think.” He shifted uncomfortably. He had to tell her
the truth as he knew it. “She was murdered.”
Sobbing, Carissa pulled him into her arms. “Oh,
Thomas, that’s terrible. So terrible.” She pulled back to
look at him. “How did you find out? Was she near home?
Oh, your parents . . .” Her hand was back over her mouth.
“How did you find out?”
He took deep breath and swallowed hard. “I was
there.”
“You were there? Oh, God!”
His stomach churned at the memory of the horror.
“Carissa, I really don’t want to talk about this.”
“You have to. You have nightmares about this. This is
the second time in a week that you’ve woken up screaming
her name.”
“Third,” he admitted. “The nightmares started again
the night Katie fell.”
“You tried to help her, didn’t you? In your dreams
you’re trying to find her.”
Shamefully he shook his head. He took his own hands
from hers and clenched them together, remembering the
pain he’d been in that night.
“I was hiding.”
She tucked her feet beneath her and moved closer to
him.
“You have to tell me what happened. Did someone
break into your house? I need to know what you’ve been
through.”
Thomas shook his head. Having to go back through it
all and relay it to another person made him feel young and
weak all over again.
“I’m afraid.”
“Afraid? Afraid of what? You’ve already been through
this.”
“No.” He gathered her into his arms and buried his
face in her hair. He breathed in every detail of her from the
scent of her hair to the shape of her body. He wanted to
take it all with him when he was forced to leave. “I’m
afraid of telling you and what you’ll think.”
She pulled back and looked him in the eyes. “I may
have known you only a little over a week, but I know one
thing.”
“What is that?”
“I know I’ve fallen in love with you.”
His eyes grew wide and his already pounding heart
beat harder. “Carissa . . .”
“Don’t tell me I shouldn’t have said that. I’ve already
told you I watched two people miss a decade of loving each
other because they were stubborn. If I get my heart broken,
then I’ll have to deal with that. I asked you not to leave me
and no matter what you tell me, I’m not getting up and
walking out on you.”
“But I’m not who you think I am.”
He saw it flash in her eyes. Fear.
“Thomas, did you kill your sister?”
“No,” he answered, and she let out a breath. “It wasn’t
me that killed her. It was our father.”
Tears fell from her eyes and her breath had stopped for
a moment longer than it should have. He could see the
shock in her eyes and the paralysis of her body. It was as if
he’d hit her with his own hands. He kicked his way from
the sheets and climbed out of the bed. He walked to the
window and stared down at the empty street.
“You don’t want to love someone like me.”
“Too late.” She walked up behind him and wrapped
her arms around him, resting her head against his back. “I
do love you. Now, I’m going downstairs and I’m going to
start us a pot of coffee. You are going to gather your
strength and come down and tell me all about this.” She
turned him toward her. “I want to know.”
“You’re going to change your mind.” He knew what
he'd told her already had shaken her.
“Didn’t you promise me not to leave?” Yeah, and he’d
said it knowing he’d have to leave when he told her what
he’d just told her. What he hadn’t yet told her. “Then I’m
not going to change my mind.” She kissed him softly and
left the room. She was wrong. She didn’t know.

Thomas let out a sigh of relief when he saw Carissa at
the kitchen table in her tank top, boxer shorts, and a blanket
wrapped around her waiting for him. He hadn’t scared her
away yet.

He took a moment to study her. She was beautiful. She
deserved better than him.
The October air had chilled the house. She looked up
over her coffee mug at him and he watched as she let her
eyes settle into his. He had to tell her the rest; she was
waiting.
It had taken him a half hour to work up the courage to
make it down the stairs. Now dressed in a pair of flannel
pants and a T-shirt, he shuffled into the kitchen.
She stood to pour him a cup of coffee.
“I thought you gave up.” She pulled down a mug,
filled it, and handed it to him. “C’mon. We’re going out to
the couch and cuddle and talk.”
She was amazing, he thought as he followed her to the
living room with his cup of coffee in his hand. It had
saddened her and shocked her to learn the bare bones of
what had happened. Perhaps, just perhaps, she was going to
be able to deal with the details of that horrible night and
who he’d become.
Carissa turned on the small lamp on the end table and
situated herself on the couch with her legs tucked up under
her. She set her coffee on the table and patted the cushion
for him to join her. He slowly walked to the couch and sat
down. She draped the blanket over both of them, picked up
her coffee, and focused her eyes on Thomas.
“Now, tell me about what happened.”
His mouth had gone dry and the coffee did nothing to
help the matter. His hands still shook so he leaned across
her to set his mug on the table. He felt her breath in his ear
and the pounding of her heart as his body brushed against
hers. As he pulled back, he stopped and laid a gentle kiss
on her lips.
“That’s for taking this much time with me.”
“I’d like to take more,” she said as though she were
offering her life to him, and his stomach knotted. He’d
never considered living his life with anyone else until that
moment and the thought scared the hell out him. It scared
him more than what he was about to tell her.
“Are you sure? I could just leave. I could be out of
your life in a matter of moments. Sophia didn’t know
anything about me other than that my situation at home was
abusive and I ran away. I met up with someone who knew
Pablo and he arranged an audition for me. Pablo took me
in, trained me, and made me a musician. He took care of
me.” He cringed at the mention of Pablo’s name. The look
in her eyes said she hadn’t missed it. “Had she known she
never would have asked me to come here.”
“She’s not that shallow.”
That was true enough. So, he began.
“I grew up just outside of Chicago. We moved there
when I was about eight and Sarah was four. Dad had been
fired from his job and Mom thought we needed a change.
At least that was what they told us.”
Carissa took his hand and interlaced their fingers. Her
eyes urged him to continue.
“I know now he was fired because he sexually
harassed a woman at work. Her story didn’t seem to hold
up. She’d told everyone he sexually assaulted her, but it
came down to harassment and they didn’t send him to jail,
they just fired him. Mom was embarrassed and we moved.”
He was fidgeted in his seat. Carissa gave his hand a
squeeze. “Things were quiet for a few years. He held a job
and Mom taught school. She taught at the same school we
went to. I know now that was so she could keep track of us
and us of her. When I was eleven he’d begun to accuse her
of having an affair.”
“Did she?”
He shook his head. “No, but I sure as hell wouldn’t
have blamed her.” He ran his fingers through his hair and
licked his lips. “He was a drunk. A mean one. You’d hear
him lay into her with his words, then his fists, and then his
body.” He swallowed. “Why she didn’t run away I don’t
know, except that I think she thought he’d kill her.”
His heart continued to race. The story wasn’t getting
any easier to tell.
“It was that way for a long time. He’d beat my mom.
Sometimes he’d beat me. I was bad enough a few times to
stay home from school,” he admitted. “Then there was
Sarah.”
He tossed the blanket aside and walked over to the
piano that had once belonged to Millie. He pulled out the
bench and sat down. He pushed back the wooden door that
covered the keys and his fingers ached when he did it.
Gently laying his fingers on the keys, he played a few soft
chords.
“Sarah was very small for her age. The night she died
she’d turned twelve and a half,” he recalled with a sad
smile. “I’d written her a silly song and she thought it was
funny. Well, our father didn’t like that.” He turned on the
bench and faced Carissa. “He’d never hurt Sarah before.
Why on this night . . .” He ran his hand over his brow. “But
we were sitting at the piano. She was just on the side of
me.” He looked to his side and could almost see her. “I’d
finished the song and she was laughing. She had such a
beautiful laugh. My mother was standing behind us and she
was laughing too. It was a beautiful moment.” He shook his
head. “He lost his job that day. I’d never seen him so
drunk.
“He walked in and slammed the piano cover down on
my hands.” He swallowed again and pulled back his hands.
The pain shot through them when he spoke. “He broke
almost every bone in them,” he said with a quiver in his
lips. “Next he threw me back and began . . .” Tears were
welling in his eyes. The man had meant to kill him. “My
mother stepped in and he threw her across the room. Then
Sarah grabbed a vase. I think she meant to break it on him,
like in the movies. But it didn’t break until it hit the floor
beside me. It just made him angrier.”
He stood and crossed back to Carissa, who wept
silently on the couch. Her mouth was wide open and her
eyes streamed with tears. He sat down next to her and
wrapped the blanket back around them.
Immediately she took his hands and looked them over.
She kissed each finger then shifted her gaze to him. He
knew she still loved him. He’d been wrong to think the
truth might push her away. She urged him to continue.
“He left me on the floor. I had glass on my face from
the vase. My hands were wrecked and he’d beaten me until
my eyes were swollen shut. Sarah had run. My mother had
run after her and my father followed.
“I made it to my room and locked myself in the closet,
just like I always did. I could hear him scream at my
mother. I could hear Sarah scream. He was beating her and
my mother was trying to fight him.” He closed his eyes
tight. He could still hear her scream. “Then it was quiet.”
Carissa wiped away her tears. “I’m so sorry,” was all
she could say.
He nodded. “I heard the sirens. Someone must have
heard all the commotion.” He kissed her hands interlaced
with his. “I woke up in the hospital. My mother said it took
them two hours to find me. She could have lost us both.”
“Sarah?”
“Died in her room at twelve and a half. He’d choked
her to stop her from screaming. When she died, he ran off.
They found him before they found me in the closet. They
locked him up. I ran away.”
“You ran away?”
He nodded. “My hands were still bandaged. My face
was battered and I left the hospital and I ran. I haven’t seen
my mother since then.”
“Thomas . . .”
He shook his head. “It’s okay.” He mustered a smile.
“I met a man who was a musician who was on his way to
Paris. I followed. Three months later I was auditioning for
Pablo DiAngelo and he saw to it I finished my education
and had a steady job.”
“I think I need a drink.” Carissa stirred to move from
the couch.
“No. You don’t need a drink.” He pulled her back into
his arms and held her close. “We can just hold each other.”
She turned her face to his. “You don’t drink.” It was as
though she finally realized it.
“I stopped drinking,” he said. “Let’s leave it at that.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For trusting me with this.” She touched his face and
skimmed her fingers over his jaw.
“I may have trusted you with it, but I can’t change it. I
will always be the son of a murdering, drunk bastard.”
“So.” She shrugged.
“So?” His eyebrows shot up and he stood. “So?” He
paced. “Carissa, don’t you understand? I can’t fall in love
with someone, marry someone, with his blood running
through me. God, what if I hurt her—you? What if we had
children and I . . .”
“Stop!” She stood up. “You’re going to hide behind
your father for the rest of your life?”
“I’m not hiding. I’m just staying away from situations
that would allow me to become him.”
“And you think falling in love, getting married, and
having children would do that?”
“Yes.” A storm brewed inside of him and he wanted to
shake her. Had she not heard a word he’d said? He wasn’t
the kind of man who could nurture and love. It wasn’t
possible.
“God, what have I done?” She moved through the
room and toward the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“To bed, Thomas. Alone,” she added as she began her
climb.
He grabbed hold of her hand. “I’ve scared you away,
haven’t I?”
“Excuse me?” She turned and looked down at him.
“Everything I’ve told you. It did just what I thought it
would do.”
“And what’s that?”
“You’re turning your back on me.”
“No, Thomas, you did that to me. You’ve just told me
that you will never fall in love, marry, or have children
because your father was a drunk who beat you and killed
your sister. Isn’t that just what you’ve said?” His eyes were
wide. “That’s what I thought. So, I’m okay to sleep with
while you’re under my roof, but I’m not someone you’d
want to try to fall in love with. God forbid you should think
about marrying me and having children.” She swung her
hair back over her shoulders. “Well, Thomas Samuel, that’s
something I want. I want to marry you and have your
children because dammit, I’ve already fallen in love with
you. But that doesn’t matter to you, does it?” She turned
and ran up the stairs.
Thomas followed her, calling her name. Finally, she
stopped at her door and turned around in such a fury that
her hair wiped from one side to the other. He moved in
closer to her.
“You’ll never know what it’s like to be the child of
someone who hates you. You don’t understand that there is
the possibility you’ll be that person some day.”
Carissa walked up to him and slapped him across the
face. It stung. “If you’d stop feeling sorry for your damn
self, you’d know that you are not the only person in the
world with a fucked-up parent!” She held up her wrist.
“Sometimes you have to hide the scars, Thomas. And other
times you have to show them to the world and say, ‘Screw
you!’” She turned back around and slammed the door.
He heard it lock and his breath hitched. He’d bared his
soul. It had hurt more than he had imagined it would. And
Carissa, who’d promised she wouldn’t change her mind,
had.
He stood in the dark, silent, for a long time. Thinking
about her scars. What was Carissa Kendal hiding?