Page 14 of The Dancer and the Dark
“Gavin.” Immediately her eyes began to water, and her throat grew tight. It was as if a dam had broken in her chest. She heaved a cry out, grabbed him around the neck, and clung.
“There, dove.” He wrapped her tightly and rocked back and forth. “Tell me, Chloe. I’m here.”
The words erupted from her throat, and her eyes burned with all the tears she’d been holding back. “My dad is dead, Gavin.”
“Och, love.” He held her tighter. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I’m so very sorry.”
“He died and he was going to fly out to see me dance at Lincoln Center but he didn’t and now he died.” She knew she wasn’t making much sense, but she also knew he’d figure it out.
“I’m sorry, dove.” He kept rocking her back and forth. “I’m so sorry he’s gone.”
It was shit. Her dad was dead, and everything was awful.
But Gavin was back.
5
Gavin watched her from the doorway and spoke into the phone. “Aye, she’s sleeping now. So is her mother. I don’t think she was planning to stay here tonight, but part of me doesn’t want to wake her and move her.”
Ben was on the other end of the call. “Zain can stay there if you need him with Audra.”
“I’ll send one of my people to relieve Zain; I’ve already talked to Audra.” But Gavin would need to leave before sunrise, which irritated him.
He owned two clubs in Los Angeles and had numerous safe places he could stay, but it wasn’t one of his usual territories, which meant he felt exposed.
And Chloe was doubly exposed.
She was grieving her father—not that the man deserved her tears—and was distracted by her mother. She was out of her element and vulnerable as hell. Gavin wanted to lock her away, but that wasn’t possible.
He heard a door open and turned to see Clara watching him from the other side of the upstairs landing.
“Ben,” Gavin said quietly. “I’ll call you back.”
“Take care of her.”
“I will.” He slid his bulky phone into his pocket and turned to Chloe’s mother. “Dr. Brown-Reardon. It’s good to see you, but I’m very sorry for the circumstances.”
“Gavin.” Clara had been sleeping when he arrived at dusk. “Chloe said you had business in New Orleans to take care of. I hope that went well.”
“I signed papers late last night, traveled here during the day. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come with Chloe.”
“It’s fine.” She turned toward the stairs and started toward the first floor. “Leave her to sleep. I could tell she was tired earlier, and I’m sure she has jet lag.”
He glanced over his shoulder, but he suspected Clara was correct. Chloe was dead to the world. “Can I make you a cup of tea?”
She smirked a little. “Sure. Tea. That’s the British answer to everything, right?”
“It’s the Scottish one anyway.” He followed Clara down the stairs and into the kitchen. “And if tea doesn’t work, we’ll get the whisky out.”
“I’m not much of a whisky drinker, so hopefully the tea will cure this headache.” She pressed her fingers to her temple. “I’m probably dehydrated.”
“Tea is definitely the remedy then.” Gavin walked past her and saw an electric kettle on the counter.
Bollocks.
If he was very careful, he might not short it out.
The Reardons’ new kitchen was a veritable minefield of electronic hazards. It would likely be impossible for him to spend much time in the room and not start a small electrical fire with his amnis, so he’d have to be cautious.
