Page 20 of Room Ten: Praise Times Three

6

REESE

Coffee at midnight. If she was up and out for a run at six-thirty, she’s most likely a morning person and not a night owl, which means she is avoiding sleep for obvious reasons. But having her mentally exhausted is not good for any of us.

If she was an uncooperative witness placed in our custody, I wouldn’t be above slipping her some valerian root or some other gentle sleep aid, but the last thing I want to do is betray her trust. She’s our client, yes, but there is something about her that calls to my primal need to protect at all costs.

Everything about her profile says she’s intelligent, with a good head on her shoulders. It also says she’s lonely and possibly sheltered, although I’ve yet to determine if that is self-imposed or a result of losing her mother at such a young age. She diverged from her sister’s path at some point and, although her father seems genuinely concerned about his daughters, his interaction with Epiphany left a lot to be desired.

What would his interaction with Leti be like, and would I approve?

I put on a pot of coffee, regular, because we don’t have decaf anyway, while Caiden puts a sandwich and a glass of water on the table in front of her.

Soren sets up his computer and slides a phone in front of her. “Who would you like to talk to first?”

“My sister, I guess.” She picks a corner of the sandwich apart and pops the smallest morsel into her mouth.

“We’ll give you some privacy,” Caiden says, motioning to Soren to follow him into the living area. Caiden sits on one end of the couch while Soren sits in the chair with his computer on his lap.

I pretend to be oblivious as she stares at the phone screen, not making a move to hit send.

I’m about to ask her what she wants in her coffee when she stands abruptly, taking the phone with her into the living room and sitting on the couch, practically in Caiden’s lap. Their thighs are touching. His arm already stretched over the top of the sofa falls naturally behind her head as she settles back and hits the call button, the conversation on speaker.

“Yeah?” Lee answers just as gruffly as before. Considering I chewed his ass earlier when Epiphany answered the secure line, I’m guessing he’s still pissed.

“Hey, man,” Caiden says gently. “Leti’s ready to talk to her sister.”

Lee’s tone softens. “I’ll bring her the phone.”

“Leti?” Epiphany’s voice comes over the speaker.

“Hiya, Pip.” Leti has her head down, her chin low, her damp hair covering her face. Her words are upbeat, but the voice behind them doesn’t sell positivity.

Caiden looks up at me with wide eyes, especially when she rests her hand on the seam where their bodies meet, her fingers brushing the outside of his thigh. I presume she’s seeking comfort, like she did in the car with her toes under Soren’s thigh, which only emphasizes how starved for physical touch she is. How many years has she survived hugging teddy bears instead of flesh and blood while living in the cold mansion on the hill?

There are many documented benefits to human touch. A hug is said to raise serotonin and decrease cortisol levels. Massage stimulates an increased release of healing oxytocin to the body. And sex… dear god, I shouldn’t think about her and the documented benefits of sex in the same thought process.

She’s our client. Our beautiful client with a sweet, almost naïve charm—which is my catnip—but she’s still a client.

I bring a mug of coffee over to the couch and place it on the table in front of her. She reaches out and grabs my hand with a forcefulness that surprises me, pulling me down to sit beside her. Now she’s sandwiched between Caiden and me, the phone on speaker resting on her thigh, her palms flat on our legs.

Neither of us says a word as dead air plays between the twins.

“I’m sorry,” Epiphany finally says.

“Why?” Leti shakes her head. We can’t see her face. I can’t see her eyes. But we feel the tension ratcheting through her limbs as she squeezes our thighs. As if we, too, are twins born of the same mind, both Caiden and I place a hand on top of hers, interlacing our fingers and resting our joined hands between our legs. This seems to calm her enough to get her talking. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m sorry for all the trouble this is causing you. I’m sure being hundreds of miles away is disrupting your business. Your fans miss you.”

Soren watches us with interest, the computer in his lap holding none of his attention as his eyes follow our innocent and yet meaningful coupling.

“Fuck them!” Epiphany chokes back a sob, which seems to cause Leti even more distress. “You’re my sister. You are the only thing that matters. If anything had happened to you… well, they told me you’re fine. Is that true?”

“Yes,” Leti says, barely above a whisper.

Epiphany sniffles on the other end of the line. “Dammit. I told myself to hold it together and be strong for you, and now I’m blubbering. I’m sorry.”

Oh, dammit - I wish these women would stop apologizing to each other and say what they really mean.

“Are you okay?” Leti whispers again, as if she’s afraid of asking more than hearing the answer, which makes me wonder what kind of emotional abuse she’s experienced over the years. Can such a simple question equate to backlash? If so, my feelings for Epiphany and her welfare are diminishing by the second.

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