"I need a favor," I say through broken sobs.
"Are you crying? What's going on?"
"I need you to help me and not ask questions right now. I promise I will tell you everything." I choke out, my voice so emotional it doesn't sound anything like me.
"Okay. What do you need?"
"Does your father's company still have a corporate suite here?"
There's a pause, and it feels like hours are passing before he responds again. "Yes, do you need it?"
"Yeah." Emptiness fills my chest, because I know this step takes me out of Alex's life, and starts me on a new path.
"When?"
"Now."
"I'll call and have the key waiting for you at the front desk."
"Thanks, Paul."
"It's no problem, K, you know that." He takes a deep breath and exhales. "But when you get in and get settled, you better call me and tell me what the hell is going on. I'm assuming this has something to do with you and Alex?"
"There is no more me and Alex." A fresh stream of tears run down my face. "I'll talk to you soon, Paul."
I end the call, not waiting for a response. I can't talk about it now. I need to know if Paul and Ryan knew about John, and if they lied to me, too. Please, God, don't let that be true. I don't think I'll recover if the people I love and trust the most in my life, have kept John's survival a secret.
I manage to find a couple of bottles of wine in the kitchen, fill my glass, and take it and the bottle with me into the living room. My laptop is on the coffee table, and I log into my Skype account while sending Paul a text. Once his icon pops up and states he is available, I call him. He and Ryan crowd together so they are both on the screen.
"Jesus, K. You look like shit," Paul says. His brows furrow.
"Thanks," I answer, and take a large gulp of my wine.
"What's happened, darlin'?" Ryan asks, his voice softer.
"So much shit…I don't even know where to start." I take another drink. It hits my empty stomach and burns. I should probably eat something, but my appetite is gone. "Alex lied to me, and I will never be able to forgive him."
"Slow down, Kylie," Ryan says. "Tell us what's going on."
"John's alive."
"Uh, huh," Paul says.
"Did you hear me? He's alive…as in, not dead."
"Yeah, he took a plea deal and was sent to the state hospital. Why did you think he was dead?"
"Because that's what Alex told me!" I yell.
"What?" His eyes grow wide, he runs his hands through his hair, and lets out a long sigh.
"He's been lying to me since I came out of the coma." I rub my hands against my temples to stave off the migraine that's threatening. "So, he didn't ask you guys to help with this cover-up?"
"No. We never would've done that, K. I swear to God, I thought you knew. I never brought it up because I figured you didn't want to be reminded of that asshole."
Ryan is quiet. His face blank, pale, and he's no longer looking into the camera.
"Tell her." Paul elbows Ryan in the side. Ryan gazes over at Paul. "Oh, no. No fucking way. Tell me you didn't know about this? That you didn't help Alex keep this from her?"
"You have to understand," Ryan says. He turns his head to the camera. "Kylie, please listen to me. We never meant to hurt you."
"How could you do this?" Paul bellows.
"We did it for you, Kylie. We wanted you to feel safe when you came out of the coma. We were going to tell you—" He looks at Paul. "I swear, we were going to set it straight."
It feels as if someone has pulled the rug out from under my feet, and I am falling. There is nothing around me but darkness. No light. Nothing I can grasp onto to stop me my quick descent.
"I have to go," I mumble, and end the call. I have no idea if they even heard me. Paul was yelling at Ryan, and Ryan was trying to defend his actions.
And now, I'm going to drink the remainder of this bottle of wine—and maybe the other one, too—and hope to God I wake up to discover this is all a horrendous nightmare.
My phone is buzzing in my ear. I lift my head and instantly wish I hadn't. The pounding is excruciating, like someone gave the toddler inside my head a drum set and said "go at it, kid!". I drop my head back onto the pillow and pull my phone toward my face.
Alex.
He called about ten times before I passed out last night. The buzzing stops, and the screen shows twenty-six missed calls—all from Alex.
I need water. And coffee. Every part of my body aches from sleeping on the couch. Sounds are amplified to unconscionable levels. Even the act of scooping coffee into the filter sounds as if I am in the middle of a construction site. The coffee slowly drips into the pot. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and head to the shower. Hopefully, the hot water will make me feel a little less like roadkill. If nothing else, it will pass the time while the coffee is brewing.
I have no idea what to do at the moment. The alcohol induced haze is not helping with rational thought. I should probably go into the office, but I'm sure I look as bad as I feel, and I really don't need the inquisition. My life is too screwed up at the moment for me to explain it to others.
My phone goes off again. Might as well get this over with—if I don't answer, Alex will continue to call, or try to find me. And I can't see him right now.
I press the answer button. "Alex, I have nothing to say to you."
"Kylie, please, I just want to explain."
"No! You're not going to sweet talk your way out of this."
"Kylie, I'm not trying to—"
"Do you have any idea what I went through yesterday? After months of believing John was dead, he walks into Dr. Hinderland's office. I thought I was in the midst of another nightmare. Jokes on me, because the truth is so much worse than any nightmare. You betrayed me, Alex."
"I know, and I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, you have to believe me. I was—"
"—Trying to protect me. Yeah, that's your excuse for every deception. Here's the thing, though…I don't care what your reasons were. I don't care that you decided the truth would be detrimental to me. I trusted you when I was at my most vulnerable. When I needed help filling in the gaps. And you mislead me."
"You're right. I should have told you from the very beginning, as soon as you woke up…I know I can never take back all the hurt you feel, and you may never feel the same about me again, but I hope you can forgive me someday. I truly had your best interests at heart, Kylie."
"I can't forgive you right now, Alex. And I don't want to talk about this anymore."
"Okay. I love you, baby. I will always love you."
I hang up, turn off the ringer, and drop the phone on the couch. The wine glass from the previous night is still on the table. I grab it, throw it as hard as I can, and watch as it shatters against the wall.
"Fuck you, Alex Stone!" I slump onto the couch, bury my head in my hands, and cry. After all this time—after everything we've been through—I thought we had moved past this. He convinced me that he would not decide my life for me, that we would work together. But Alex will never change. He will always try to control me. And that's just not something I'm willing to accept.
There's a knock at the door as I throw away the last pieces of the glass shards. My heart pounds, and my hands start to shake. Please, please don't let it be Alex. I'm not ready for round two of this fight, especially not face-to-face. I peer through the peephole, and breathe a sigh of relief.
I swing open the door. "What are you doing here?" I ask Paul.
His shoulders slump and he sighs. His eyes have dark circles under them, and are rimmed with red. "Have room for another refugee?"
I grab his hand and pull him through the door, wrap my arms around his neck, and hug him. "For you, always."
There is a man standing behind him in the hallway holding a large gift basket, shifting from one foot to the other. He glances at his watch and then back at me, a forced smile on his face.
"Sorry
," I say, "I didn't see you there."
"No problem. Are you Kylie Tate?" He asks.
"Yes."
He hands an electronic clipboard to me. "Sign here." He hands the basket off to Paul, retrieves his clipboard from me, and heads down the hallway to the elevators.
"Friendly," I murmur to Paul. He snickers, walks into the kitchen, and slides the basket onto the counter.
I pull the cellophane from around it, hunting for a card, and taking in the various items. There are a few bags of coffee, a large mug, and a new travel mug. The card reads:
Special coffee for a special woman.
Wish I was there,
You and Me Forever
Paul reads it over my shoulder. "Who's it from? Alex?"
"Most likely," I answer. "He didn't mention it when I talked to him this morning, although, we weren't exactly having a friendly chat." I pull out one of the coffee bags, find a pair of scissors, and slice open the top. I usually love the smell of fresh coffee, but this one is odd.
"Smells like a jock strap after a football game," Paul says, and follows up with gagging sounds.
"And here I thought you like that musky male scent." I take another whiff of the coffee, and decide to make a pot and see if it tastes better than it smells.
"If I wanted a jock, I wouldn't be with Ryan."
I chuckle. Ryan is in great shape, works out everyday, but he is definitely a treadmill and elliptical kind of guy. Paul and I used to make fun of him for lettering in fencing in high school.
"So, what are you going to do about Ryan?" I ask, and place the remaining bags of coffee in the cabinet.
"No idea. That's why I'm here. I needed some distance from him. I love him, but right now, I want to kick the living shit out of him."
"On top of being a really gross mental image, you know you could never do that to him."
Paul nods. "Yeah, I know. The little shit bruises like a peach."
Laughter spills out of both of us, and it feels so good to let go of the pain and hurt, even if it's just for a minute or two. Paul may need a safe place away from Ryan to get his bearings straight, but I doubt he realizes how much of an elixir he is to me. He is the only one that can make me laugh in a situation where all I want to do is cry.
Chapter Ten
I grab a bag of the coffee to take into the office, and lock the apartment door on my way out. Paul is holding the elevator door open for me.
He glances at the coffee, then up at me. "Do you hate the people you work with?"
"No, why?"
"Just wondering why you would want to subject them to that crap you want to pass off as coffee."
I toss the bag into my attache. "It's not that bad."
"It tastes like it smells."
I cross my arms over my chest, and watch the floor numbers light up as we descend. "And just how many jock straps have you drank coffee out of, Paul?"
"Ha fucking ha…look at you with your funny jokes." He playfully elbows me in the side.
We enter my new office, and I introduce Paul to Reyes. They shake hands, but it's awkward between them. I'll have to get Paul's take on it later. I walk to the kitchenette, and pull the coffee out and start a pot. Coffee is my lifeline. It's rare for me not to have a pot on at all times.
"Sergeant, would you like a cup of coffee?" I ask.
Paul shakes his head. "Don't do it, man. It's some type of secretion from Satan's ass."
"Hush, Paul."
"Uh, no thanks. I don't touch the stuff," Reyes says.
I nod, turn back to the coffee maker, and pour myself a cup. "Well, that explains some of what's wrong with you," I mutter under my breath.
The three of us are able to get the conference room in order, sorting everything so it's easier to locate what we need, when we need it. We're sitting around the conference table, Paul and I reliving our college days, laughing so hard we have tears.
Paul cocks his head to the side, lifts an eyebrow, and stares into the office. "Where the hell did those come from?" he asks, pointing to a large bouquet of long-stemmed red roses sitting at the top of the stairs.
Reyes jumps out of his seat, picks up the flowers, and sets the glass vase on the table. The flowers are bright red, the blooms massive, and their sweet fragrance fills the air. I fish out the small white envelope stuck in between the stems. The card reads:
You will always be mine…
I drop it onto the table as if it's burned me. Those words…the same John said to me before I fled from the hospital. My heart is exploding in my chest. They can't be from him. I dart over to the window hoping to catch sight of the person who left them. A black BMW idles in front of the building then speeds away, but I manage to get a glimpse of the vanity license plates. JAS.
John Allen Sysco.
My knees buckle, and I grasp the window ledge to steady myself. A sensation I haven't felt in a while, but used to be my constant companion, rolls through me. Dread.
Paul's reading the card when I come back into the room. "From Alex?" He hands the note to Reyes.
I force a smile, and attempt to keep my voice light. "Most likely."
"Why would he just have one of his henchmen sneak in and leave them at the top of the stairs?" Reyes asks.
A huge weight sits on my chest, making it hard to breath. My knees are suddenly weak, and I barely make it back to my seat before collapsing.
The flowers are from Alex. I have to believe that. I'm letting my paranoia get the best of me—John is in the hospital. That was not John's car. Alex sent me the flowers.
Reyes casts a sideways glance at the roses, his eyes narrowing, his smile gone. Does he sense my apprehension? Or is it something else completely?
I pick up the flowers and place them on the receptionist desk. Out of sight, out of mind—for all of us. While the gesture is romantic, and a cliche for men everywhere who want to say, "I'm sorry," it's not something Alex would do. Christ, the implications of them being from John are almost too much to comprehend. He's escaped, is back in town—presumably the first place they would look for him—and stalking me all over again. It all seems too impossible. My breathing is fast, too fast, so I close my eyes and count slowly to ten before I hyperventilate.
It's not him. It can't be. I push the possibility to the dark recesses of my mind, refocus on what I need to do, and make that my priority.
By mid-afternoon, all I have left to do is get my office put together. There's really nothing more Reyes can do today, so I tell him he can go ahead and leave for the day.
"Are you sure you don't want me to start going through the files from the original investigation?" he asks, a tight-lipped smile on his face, restlessly flipping his keyring around his finger.
"No, it can wait. We'll get a jump on it first thing in the morning. Go relax, have some fun."
There's a frown on his face, but he nods, and heads to the stairs.
"Thanks for all your help, Sergeant," I call after him.
He gives a wave over his head, and disappears down the stairs.
"So, what's his story?" Paul asks.
"You've met Reyes before. He was one of the officers on John's case." I open a box, take the assorted office supplies out, and place them in my desk drawers.
"No, I mean what's going on with him and you? And before you say 'nothing' and look at me like you have no idea what I'm talking about, I can tell you that he thinks—or wants—something to be going on with the two of you." Paul drops into one of the chairs across from me and rests his feet on the corner of my desk.
"What makes you think that?" I ask.
"He just gives off a very weird vibe. Very protective, but in a jealous sort of way."
I snort. "That's not much different from Alex."
"Yeah, it is. With Alex, you can tell he truly has your best interests in mind—not because he wants to have a relationship with you, but because he wants you safe. With this guy—I don't know—it feels more like he wants to be the only man in your life. Period." H
e picks up a glass paper weight off my desk and tosses it back and forth between his hands. "Christ, I'm starting to sound like Ryan, getting all head-shrinky."
"Head-shrinky?"
"Technical term."
I sigh and lean back in my chair. "I don't know, you may be right. There's something there. He acted strange when I met with Matt the other day. Overly excited to see me, maybe?" I shrug. "If there is anything, I'm sure its nothing more than an infatuation that will pass once he gets to know the neurotic side of me."
"True," Paul says. "That'll have him running for the hills, screaming like a banshee."
I glance around my office. Good enough for today. Now, all I can think of is getting out of here and sharing a bottle of wine with my best friend.
We gather our things, turn off lights and head for the door. The flowers are still on the desk as we pass by, and I have an overwhelming desire to toss them in the trash. My gut is screaming at me to check with the hospital and make sure John is there.
I shake the thought from my head. It's ridiculous—the flowers are not from John.
But an evil whisper taunts me, "You will always be mine."
Chapter Eleven
"Hey, slacker," I call as I come through the front door of the apartment. "I brought lunch." I slide the bag containing two hoagies onto the kitchen counter. Paul was still asleep when I left for the office this morning. We stayed up way too late last night talking about everything from family, friends, babies, and finally ended with our shared relationship woes. It drained me to the point of exhaustion, but I still slept like shit. The hurt of what Alex kept from me is battling with the painful heartache of being separated from him. My life since meeting Alex has been such a roller coaster, but the best parts are always when we are together. Fighting or not, if we are around each other, a sense of calm surrounds me like a warm breeze on a summer day.
Paul emerges from his bedroom, raking his fingers through his hair. Sweat is streaming down his face and dripping onto his t-shirt. He glances at me, then averts his eyes.
"Jesus, what the hell have you been doing?" I pull the hoagies out of the bag.
Revenge: Tri-Stone Trilogy, Book Two Page 8