“Even if this was your stalker, you have nothing to do with it.” She wanted to look away, he could tell she did, and he followed the direction of her gaze every time her eyes flickered away. He wouldn’t let her get away that easily, not until she heard and absorbed what he tried to tell her.
“That’s easy for you to say,” she whispered with a bitter gasp of a laugh.
“It’s the truth. That was their decision, their actions. Not yours. You didn’t do this, and you didn’t ask them to do it. This is all on them. You know, it’s interesting. Detective Santiago asked me why somebody who was stalking you, who wanted to make you miserable, would go up and kill somebody who had treated you badly.”
She snorted. “Not a bad question.”
“You’re right. It isn’t. But you know what? No matter why they did, they did because they wanted to, because they felt it would mean something, get them somewhere. I don’t know exactly. But it doesn’t matter exactly why they did it. It only matters that they did and that you had nothing to do with it. You couldn’t have stopped it. Okay? I can’t stand seeing you punish yourself this way. It’s useless, and you don’t deserve it.”
It took a while for her to let out a long, soft sigh before nodding in agreement. “Yeah. You’re right. There was nothing I could do.”
He waited for a caveat. When none came, he asked, “You mean it? You believe that?”
“I believe it. I really do.” Even if she didn’t quite mean it, she was trying. He felt it; his wolf felt it and quieted for the first time all day. So long as she was able to get through this without beating herself up, the wolf could sit back and bide his time.
But he wouldn’t sit back forever because now there was a strong chance of the stalker owning a gun. The rules of the game had changed midway through.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Aren’t you tired of watching that yet?”
Serenity shook her head, sitting in the middle of the couch and staring up at the screen. It was barely eight o’clock in the morning, earlier than she’d woken up in a long time.
Though waking up wasn’t exactly the right term. To say she had woken up would imply that she’d slept at all, which she barely had. She’d essentially given up hope of sleeping and had gotten out of bed. There was no use tossing and turning any longer.
Braxton stood in front of the TV, his arms crossed over his chest. “They’re still talking about him?”
“Not constantly, not anymore. But they lead off with his story every half hour.” She had already seen it play out three times.
He turned to her, scowling. “This is no good. You’re driving yourself crazy.”
“I just need to know. Don’t you get it?”
“No, I don’t. What do you need to know? What do you think is going to change from one half hour to the next? They still have no idea who did this.”
“And neither do we.”
His scowl deepened. “Do I hear accusation in your voice? Are you trying to tell me something?”
Was she? Was she accusing him of not doing his job? For a moment, she wanted to say yes she was. She wanted to hurt him the way she was still hurting, as irrational and childish and shameful as it was. She wanted him to hurt.
But who would that help? Even in her sleep deprived state, she was able to stop herself before she went too far. “Maybe I was. That was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”
He didn’t accept it right away, not that she expected him to. He was still angry, annoyed with her. “Maybe if somebody had been completely upfront with us—with me—from the beginning, we could be further along with this. I would’ve already gone to talk to Nick whatever his name is.”
“I really doubt this is Nick,” she whispered. It was pretty sad, seeing him grasp at straws this way. “He doesn’t have it in him.”
“Because you’re such an expert on people? You can read their intentions that easily?”
Fighting with him wasn’t the way she had imagined starting her day, but here they were. She heard the accusation in his voice and knew exactly what he was talking about. “Right. You just got done telling me yesterday that it wasn’t my fault, the whole thing that happened with Paul. Now you’re standing in front of me and blaming me for it. Insinuating there was something I should have done differently.”
“I’m just saying maybe you shouldn’t have been so surprised. Melody said flat-out that he had a bad reputation. You’re such a smart girl, but you keep misreading people.”
That stung much worse than she liked to admit even to herself. He was right all the way, though she didn’t like the insinuation that she could’ve done anything about what happened in that office.
“Yeah, maybe I do misread people. Maybe I’ve been misreading you too,” she mused.
“What’s that supposed to mean? What, you don’t have faith in me anymore?”
No, that wasn’t what she’d meant, and now that he looked good and mad, she couldn’t bring herself to say it. She’d been talking about their kiss, about why nothing like that had happened since. She was talking about getting a glimpse at a different side of him, a side she wanted to know more about.
The person standing in front of her was the last person she’d want to kiss, and it was clear he felt the same way about her. That was what she was talking about, but she would rather have cut out her tongue than say a word about it.
Instead, she snickered, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “Anymore? You’ve hardly done anything to inspire faith yet. Anybody can throw a guy around, especially when they’re strong and they’re dealing with somebody weaker than them. Any bodyguard would’ve protected me.”
He fell back a step, and she knew she’d hit her target. So why didn’t she feel good about it? Why did she feel so rotten, the way she would have if she’d kicked a wounded animal? There was no victory in something like that.
“So that’s how it is,” he murmured. “I’m glad I know.”
She shrugged. “Hey, I’m only asking you to do your job. You weren’t sent here to live in my house and eat my food and swim in my pool. That’s all any of you have managed to do so far.” She wanted to kick herself. What was wrong with her? Where was this coming from? She should have stopped herself long before now. Instead, she dug deeper and deeper, and part of her actually relished the despair in his eyes.
“Anything else you want to get off your chest? I wouldn’t want to stop you now that you’re on a roll.”
She turned away from him in favor of looking back to the TV. Picking up the remote, she deliberately turned the volume up, signaling an end to the conversation. It mattered, having the last word.
Maybe if she kept telling herself that she wouldn’t feel so bad. What was wrong with her? Why would she alienate the only person she’d been able to lean on and trust fully since this whole thing started, the only person who hadn’t walked away in a fit of jealousy, who hadn’t sent her into the lion’s den the way Melody had?
No, he’d gone in and risked himself. Maybe not physically, but he could’ve been sued and could have been hurt by that. He had done it anyway, all because she was in jeopardy and he wanted to protect her. Why would she turn on somebody who was willing to do that? What was it about her that made her do these things?
She was too tired to figure it out, too tired and too sad and too afraid. He walked away at some point, and she deliberately pretended not to notice. She needed to do something, anything, to get out of this funk. She was spiraling deeper and deeper with each repeat of the same old story about Paul and his murder. What was she trying to do? Torture herself?
It wasn’t ten minutes later that she was dropping her robe, draping it over a chair and diving into the pool. Yes, this is what she needed. To be alone, underwater, where nothing could get to her. Nothing and nobody. She might as well have been the only person left on earth, and she was fine with that. Other people only brought her more things to worry about.
Lap after lap, back and forth across the length of the
pool, she worked her body. Every stretch of her muscles, every twinge and ache, she welcomed. She welcomed all of it because it reminded her that she was still alive. She hadn’t buckled under the weight of this any more than she had buckled under the weight of anything else that happened to her.
Stroke, stroke, stroke, breath. Stroke, stroke, stroke, breath. There was something soothing about that rhythm, about boiling her entire life down to something as simple as cutting through the water and taking a breath. This was all she had to worry about right now, and she welcomed the simplicity. Pretty soon her thoughts turned off, her entire existence boiling down to three strokes and a breath on turning her head.
There was no way of telling how much time had passed or how many laps she’d swum. Only when her muscles were fatigued to the point of threatening to go out on her did she stop and kick out onto her back, floating freely. She let the water support her while she caught her breath, moving gently to keep from cramping.
Funny how she didn’t really feel any better. If anything, she was more disappointed in herself than she’d been earlier. What was she thinking, alienating him that way? Braxton was the last person she wanted to do that to. Just the memory of him storming into that office and pulling Paul Bergman away from her was enough to make her want to crumple up in shame.
What was she thinking, talking to him the way she had? Sure, she was tired and heartsick and worried, so worried. But still, that was no excuse. Was there a way she could make it up to him? Or had she already done more than enough damage?
“Hey.”
The sound of his voice startled her out of the nearly meditative state she’d been in. How long had she been floating there on her back, unaware of Braxton being right there on the patio with her? She opened her eyes and reached for the wall just at her right.
“You have a visitor.” So he hadn’t come out to see her. Why was that disappointing? She blinked, her eyes still adjusting after being closed for so long, and found who the visitor in question was. And now she understood why he sounded so irritated.
“Ben,” she breathed. “Where did you come from?”
“From home,” he chuckled. He was always so literal.
What was she supposed to do with this? How was she supposed to act? Leave it to him to show up and add even more complication to what was already complicated enough.
Braxton cleared his throat. “I’ll be inside.” How was it possible for three words to carry so much meaning? Combined with the way he eyed Ben up and down before snickering and walking inside, there was no questioning how he felt about this new acquaintance.
Ben relaxed visibly when they were alone, taking off his ballcap and running a hand through his sun-bleached hair to fluff it up. He did love his hair. “Wow. Where’d you find that guy? He’s like a monster.” He held his arms out at his sides, strutting back and forth across the patio with his chest puffed out.
She couldn’t help but giggle even though she knew Braxton was probably watching either through the door or on the security feed. “Don’t be mean,” she whispered. “And he’s watching you, I bet.”
“What’s he gonna do to me? Beat me up like he beat up Paul Bergman?”
In spite of the sun-warmed water, she shivered. “What made you say that?”
“He did, didn’t he?” He blinked his wide baby blues. “I mean, that’s what everybody’s saying.”
“And just where did you hear that?” Her voice was sharper than she meant it to be and sharper than he expected judging by the surprise in his expression.
“I don’t even remember. I guess Bergman started spreading the word around about it before…” He made a gun shape with his hand and held his finger to his temple before pulling the trigger.
“You’re a dick.” She climbed out of the pool and picked up a towel, wrapping it around herself. He’d seen enough of her in a bikini and even less than that. No way was she trying to give him a free show now.
“What? He’s the one who was a dick.” Nothing got through to this guy. Had she ever considered him worth spending time with? Why? It was one thing to be slow on the uptake, but he gave the impression of deliberately avoiding understanding anything happening around him.
“Yeah, I know, but he’s dead, and you’re acting like it’s a joke. It isn’t.” She sat down, wrapping another towel around her shoulders. It wasn’t cold outside—far from it—but she couldn’t seem to warm up.
“Hey. I’m sorry. If anything, I thought you’d be glad.” He sat next to her, crowding in on her personal space. He knew she hated that, but he did it anyway. “I’m glad, knowing what he tried to do to you. I wish I could’ve been there to beat him up myself.”
“Nobody beat him up,” she sighed. It was impossible to imagine Ben beating anybody, no matter how many hours he spent at the gym with his trainer. He had a great body that reflected all that time put into it, but he didn’t have what it took to be intimidating. Maybe she knew him too well.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, and I’m telling you it isn’t true. I would appreciate it if you would spread the truth instead of buying into rumors.” She looked him up and down, disgusted. “Why are you even here? I thought it made it pretty clear the other day that I don’t want to see you or talk to you anymore.”
There he went, pouting just like he always did. What the hell was she thinking spending any time with him at all? She wasted six months of her life dating him, being faithful to him, and for what? “Wow, sorry. Here I was, thinking you might need a little support. Everybody knows you went to see him yesterday and that you were the last appointment he had before…” Again, he made that gun with his hand, but at least he didn’t put it to his temple this time.
“How the hell does everybody know this? What—was Melody talking about it? I swear to God, sometimes I wonder why I still let her work for me.”
“She was really shaken up by it from what I heard.”
“Poor baby,” she snickered. “She wasn’t the one who went through it.”
“Listen.” He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He had something on his mind, obviously. “I wanted to try to pick your spirits up a little bit, and I screwed up. It seems like that’s all I can do around you, screw up. I don’t blame you for leaving me.”
Was that what this was going to turn into? An opportunity for him to feel bad about himself, to earn her pity? If so, he had come to her at the wrong time. Rather than tell him everything was okay—the way he wanted her to; it was painfully obvious—she held her tongue.
He shifted around in discomfort, exactly the way she wanted him to. “I really am sorry. I wish you’d believe me. I never meant to hurt you.”
There was no holding back a laugh. “I can’t believe you want to talk about that right now. Besides, there’s nothing else to say. Though if you really insist on talking about it, I’ll tell you one more thing: if you didn’t want to hurt me, you shouldn’t have acted the way you did. Sometimes I think you’re more sorry that I found you out than you are about cheating on me. If I had never walked into your apartment that night, what would you have done? You wouldn’t have changed your ways. You would’ve kept on with what you were doing because you were getting away with it. You’re only sorry you got caught.”
“That’s not true, Serenity. I love you.”
What she would’ve done to hear those words only weeks ago. Even now, knowing what she knew, her heart clenched a little. It was so unfair. “Stop talking,” she whispered. “I don’t wanna hear it. You’re wasting your time.”
“Don’t shut me out right now.” He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away like his touch burned. “Please. I realized yesterday after hearing about what Bergman tried to do to you, knowing that you could’ve been there when that psycho showed up and shot him, how much you mean to me. I was wrong. I was so stupid. If I didn’t have you in my life, nothing would be worth it. I’d rather die than not have you in my world.”
“Stop,” she whispe
red. It was embarrassing hearing him talk like that, but the real problem was how much she needed to hear this, how her heart softened. This was Ben, Ben who’d cheated on her, who’d made a fool of her. Ben who’d wasted her time.
So why did she let him take her hand when he tried again? Why did part of her glow in relief? Was she this weak?
Weak or not, it felt good. She needed to feel good when the rest of the world was spinning out of control.
“This isn’t fair,” she breathed when he stroked her wet hair. “I mean it. You’re not playing fair.” But she didn’t move away, did she? She didn’t tell him to keep his hands to himself. It was too nice, being touched, being cared for. Why did her body have to betray her like this?
“I’m not trying to play,” he whispered. “I just wanna be here for you. That’s all.” Was that it? Was he the only person in her world who didn’t want anything from her? What a relief that would be.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, the fact that Braxton had never asked for anything rang like a gong, reminding her there was somebody else who had never hurt her. Not once. She’d hurt him. She’d said terrible things, and even then, he hadn’t retaliated.
Why did everything have to be so confusing? She barely knew who to trust, what to believe. What to think.
“I’ve missed you,” Ben whispered, and that didn’t feel right. It rang false—or maybe the problem was how she didn’t feel the need to agree that she’d missed him too because she hadn’t. His absence in her life hadn’t made much of a difference at all.
“You didn’t need to miss me,” she whispered instead, holding his gaze. “You were the one who lost me because of what you did.”
“I’ll do anything to make it up to you. I swear. I’ll never leave your side again if that’s what you want.”
That wasn’t what she wanted, no matter how sweet and contrite he sounded now. “You don’t have to go that far,” she snickered softly.
Wolf Shield Investigations: Boxset Page 40