But wasn’t it always serious in a way? From the word go? From that first kiss? Just because you don’t have much in common with someone doesn’t mean you can’t have real feelings for them.
The stark realization that she actually loved him—was in love with him—had hit her hard last night, and of course, at the worst possible time. And it had been so very shocking to her. Because she’d always thought she understood her own emotions better than that. But didn’t Rogan teach you, from the very beginning, that you clearly don’t know yourself as well as you thought?
The sobering notion produced a long, heavy sigh as she parked the car, then dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. Apparently she’d given up far more of her control to Rogan than she’d even understood at the time.
But loving the big clod doesn’t matter if he doesn’t love you back. And clearly he doesn’t, or things would have ended differently last night. And a guy like him probably isn’t even really capable of love.
Not that that made her feel any less heartbroken.
Oh God. Of all the men in Miami, you had to fall for that one?
But it was too late to cry over spilled milk, so she had to just go on and be the mature, back-in-control woman she was. And right now she was due to spend some time with Gram—then later she’d take her to the grocery store and maybe she’d make dinner for them both before heading home. As much as she often felt put-upon by her family, right now going to Gram’s felt . . . comforting, so she was more than happy to devote her Sunday to her grandmother.
She hadn’t been there for long when Gram noticed she wasn’t acting like herself. April was busy buzzing around the apartment, straightening things, watering plants, when Gram said, “Why don’t you slow down for a minute and tell me what’s wrong, darlin’?”
April didn’t particularly want to talk about this, but once Gram realized something was wrong, there wasn’t usually any getting out of it without telling her the whole story. So April set down the small watering can she carried and came to sit with Gram in front of the TV. Gram put the television on mute.
“You remember when you told me I needed a man?” April asked.
Gram nodded. “Sure do.”
“Well, I got one,” she explained. “For a while. It was . . . brief but intense. I fell in love with him, but it’s over now.”
Gram looked understandably surprised. “Amber told me you had a date a couple of weeks ago, but I didn’t realize it was something serious. So why the breakup? Something he did?”
“More like something he didn’t do, won’t do,” April explained, her heart hurting all the more for having to think through this again. “He just won’t open up to me about things the way I’ve opened up to him.”
And now Gram looked even more surprised. “April, don’t take this the wrong way, but he’s a man. And a lot of men just aren’t good at that part of things. It’s a fact of life, darlin’.”
April knew that. And she couldn’t explain to Gram the reason it mattered to her so much in this particular relationship—she could hardly share the many ways she’d bared her body and soul to him. So she simply said, “I just don’t think I can be happy if things feel one-sided, and to me, they do. And if he cared enough, he’d have found a way not to let me walk out of his life, don’t you think?”
“I appreciate that you know what you want and know what you’re worth. I like to think I had a little something to do with that. But, well, just be sure you’re not throwing away something good too fast.”
April drew in her breath. Was she being unreasonable? She only knew how her heart felt, like she’d opened and opened and opened, in so many ways, and he still couldn’t tell her a little something about his family? It made no sense to her. And whatever his reasons, she thought he was selfish. “The way I see it, he’s the one who threw it away. And the truth is, I have no idea if he cares for me at all—for all I know, it’s entirely one-sided in that way, too. So I have to walk away—I have to.”
Gram reached out to pat her hand where it rested on the arm of an easy chair. “Well, I know it hurts, but if it’s not meant to be, then it won’t, and the pain’ll pass. Believe it or not, things generally work out like they’re supposed to. Everything happens for a reason.”
Gram had always said that about the trials and tribulations in life. Oddly, in fact, Rogan had even said something similar recently. And April usually tried to believe that. But it was harder with bigger things. And now she asked Gram something she never had before—because it was too difficult a question. “Even the crash? Mom and Dad dying? That was meant to be?”
“Even that,” Gram said without missing a beat. “We’re not always meant to understand why—but things go as they should, and you grow from them. And you’re growing from this now, too, even if it hurts.”
April sighed. Growth—who needed it? And maybe someday she’d look back and understand that better, but at the moment she wondered, “Isn’t anything ever supposed to just go right and be easy?”
At this, Gram let out a hardy laugh. “Sometimes. The rest you just have to take on faith.”
“Just so you know, it always throws me when you get all philosophical,” April told her. It wasn’t Gram’s usual way.
But her grandmother just laughed again. “I don’t dish out the deep stuff often, but you seemed like you need it today. Now let’s watch TV. I think there’s a good, tragic movie on Lifetime that’ll make you feel better about your own troubles. And it has a good looking guy in it, too.”
And now it was April who let out a light laugh. Gram’s moment of depth had indeed passed. But as they tuned in to the movie, she found herself thinking about Rogan, and realizing that, like it or not, as much as it hurt, she did have to believe it all happened for a reason—even this, even Rogan. Otherwise, what was there to hang on to?
Already, she missed him like crazy. Mainly she missed the giddy sense of passion and fun and excitement he brought to her. And she missed knowing that she’d see him again soon. She missed the idea that there was more to come, that their relationship was expanding and growing. She missed looking into his eyes and knowing he understood her better in ways than she understood herself. She missed the things that passed between them silently, without need of words.
They’d really just gotten started, just really discovered each other. And it broke her heart to know there wouldn’t be more of everything good they’d shared.
But the truth was, even now that it was over, Rogan had given her so much.
And nothing could take that away.
And she would have to, somehow, try to make peace with that, try to make herself believe it was enough.
* * *
Rogan stood outside the storeroom at the Café Tropico, listening. Dennis had called him a couple of nights ago to let him know Martinez had turned back up like a bad penny and that he again suspected him of dealing drugs out of the restaurant. And sure enough, Rogan had been here less than an hour this evening before the thug had shown up and gone sauntering back to the storeroom like he owned the damn place.
The good news was that there’d been no sign of Gonzalez this time around. One thug was easier to take down than two—it evened the playing field for Rogan. And given that he’d picked up from April—despite her guarded language—that Gonzalez’s wife had finally filed for divorce, he could only guess that maybe Juan was off licking his wounds somewhere—or trying to get her back, for all he knew. He didn’t much care where the guy was as long as he wasn’t here. Sure, he wouldn’t like seeing Gonzalez get off for his part in whatever was going down here, but with any luck maybe Martinez would rat out his buddy before all was said and done.
And as for April—well, his heart stung every time she came to mind. So he tried not to think about her. Especially at times like this, for God’s sake, when he needed to stay sharp and keep his wits about him.
But still . . . shit. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened there, why she’d gotten that upset about him keeping
his family stuff to himself. And more than once he’d thought about calling her up, telling her what she wanted to know.
Except that he hated thinking about his family and did so as seldom as possible. Which meant he sure as hell hated talking about them. And his past. The past was the past, and he wanted to keep it there. Maybe it had made him who he was today, and maybe he should be grateful for that in a way—but the bad crap in his childhood far outweighed what little good had come of it, and he saw no reason to dredge it up. Not even for her.
And yeah, she’d been open with him. Open as hell. And that had moved him—it had meant something to him. But just because she wanted to open herself up in those ways didn’t mean he did. Or that he should have to. Women. Always wanting to talk, and share. He shook his head. Why did they all have to be that way, for God’s sake? Why couldn’t they just enjoy the present?
Right or wrong about all that, though, the hell of it was that it had upset him to lose her—still upset him. He knew they hadn’t been seeing each other for long, and he knew they hadn’t been in any kind of committed relationship, yet . . . there had been moments when he’d wanted that with her. That had become startlingly clear every time Colt had tried to fix him up with some other woman. He’d only wanted Ginger. Buttoned-up, straitlaced but kinky-deep-down-inside Ginger.
He smiled even now thinking about what a walking contradiction she was. He’d kind of loved that about her. And he’d liked being the one man in the world who had shown that to her, who had uncovered all the hot, naughty passion hiding under those tailored business suits.
Still, though, he couldn’t deny he’d let himself get in too deep with her, and now, like it or not, this was starting to feel a little too much like when he’d parted ways with Mira. It hurt, damn it. Hell—had he ever known a woman who could make him smile just thinking about her at the very same time his heart felt like it was being crushed in his chest because she wasn’t here? He’d been trying to guard against that, but looked like he’d fucked up.
Just then, Martinez started talking on the phone. Shit, dude, get your head back in the game. Martinez spoke low, but as best as Rogan could tell, he was talking to a customer, setting up a deal. This was it—this was finally coming down.
* * *
April sat at the frozen yogurt bar where she’d met Kayla once before. It was a solid hour past their meeting time, and still no Kayla. And no answer when she tried to call, either. Her time was valuable and she’d been particularly irritable this week since storming out of Rogan’s apartment, so she was in no mood for this, especially when she could have been home by now, in comfy clothes, making herself something for dinner.
Finally concluding this was a lost cause, she got up, threw her empty yogurt cup in the trash, and walked out the door. She’d have some harsh words for her client the next time they spoke.
The heat was particularly blistering when she hit the sidewalk, not helping her mood. She’d had to park several blocks away, around the corner and up Ocean Drive.
When the Café Tropico came into view, her heart skipped a beat. So much had happened here—every bit of it a surprise. A delicious, delectable surprise. But it’s over now. So just keep on walking. Get back to your normal life. And that would be easier once Kayla’s case was concluded—there would be nothing to keep drawing her back to this part of town.
Just then, though, it occurred to her—could Kayla be here, inside the café? The sad fact was, Kayla wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, and she and April had gotten their wires crossed more than once. In fact, Kayla had originally suggested meeting at the Café Tropico again today, mentioning that Juan had split with Martinez and wasn’t hanging out there anymore, so that it would be a safe spot. But April hadn’t thought it a safe spot for either of them and had suggested the yogurt place instead. And still it wouldn’t surprise her at all to find Kayla inside waiting for her.
And realistically, it was doubtful Rogan would be there, either, given that he’d told her the owner was no longer having problems with Kayla’s scumbag husband and his friends. So . . . well, maybe she’d just go in and take a quick peek, just to make sure Kayla wasn’t there.
As usual when she arrived, it was too early for a crowd and the place was mostly empty other than a couple of guys at the bar and a few vacationers at a far table by one of the large, glassless windows. Which meant no Kayla, either. But the air inside was blessedly cooler due to overhead fans and shade, and April decided it might be wise to use the restroom in case she got stuck in rush-hour traffic.
So she turned toward the hallway that led to the bathrooms—and her eyes fell on none other than the big bad wolf himself.
Her heart nearly stopped beating and she froze in place, too stunned to move. She honestly hadn’t thought he’d be here or she’d have never risked coming inside.
His thick black hair looked like it could use a trim, dark stubble covered the lower half of his handsome face, and he wore a white T-shirt that somehow gave him a simple air of James Dean sexiness she’d never seen on him before. He was—oh God—too beautiful for words, and the mere sight of him practically paralyzed her.
Their gazes locked; he looked just as surprised as she was. And was she imagining this or did he appear just as emotional as she felt, too?
“Ginger,” he murmured.
And she was just about to move toward him, busy trying to think what on earth she would say—when the door next to him burst open and a scary-looking tattooed guy with greasy hair and a shiny goatee came charging out. His accent was thick as he said to Rogan, “What the hell you think you’re doing, huh?” And faster than she could blink, the Hispanic man had pulled a knife and was holding it at Rogan’s throat.
April couldn’t breathe. Her whole body went numb.
Get your phone.
Where is it? She couldn’t think.
Pocket. Jacket pocket. She’d stuck it there rather than in her purse just in case Kayla suddenly called or texted. And somehow now she found the strength to wrest it from the pocket, though her hands trembled like mad.
She heard Rogan and the guy with the knife arguing, and couldn’t believe how weak she felt—it made her angry that she could barely operate her own damn phone. But finally she managed to access the keypad and shakily press three numbers. 911.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
And—oh God—the operator had spoken loudly enough, and right in between songs being played over the sound system, that her voice reverberated through the air, catching the knife guy’s attention. He looked up, clearly alarmed. “What the fuck?” He glared at her, making sense of the situation. “You better drop that fucking phone right now, bitch, or I cut him.”
April didn’t hesitate even a second—she let her cell phone clatter to the floor—a split second before more music began to play.
“What the hell’s going on over here?”
The words came from just over her shoulder, startling her, and she turned to find an older man she thought might be the owner, Rogan’s friend.
Then she looked back to see—oh Lord!—the owner’s arrival had surprised the knife guy enough that, whether accidentally or on purpose, he’d sliced into Rogan’s neck. All she could see was the bright blood seeping from the fresh wound, staining his white T-shirt red.
Chapter 18
Oh God! This couldn’t be!
And suddenly April wasn’t weak anymore. Because now nothing else mattered but the rage inside her. She wouldn’t stand by and let some low-life loser hurt the man she loved.
Without thought, she reached for a large terra cotta urn sitting as a decoration on a ledge to her right and flung it at the knife-wielding hooligan for all she was worth. She didn’t know how badly Rogan was hurt, but she wouldn’t just stand here and watch things get worse, and she couldn’t have cared less what happened to her as a result.
“You crazy bitch!” the Hispanic guy yelled, turning toward her and then stepping back a bit as the urn crash
ed to the floor in front of him, exploding into orangey bits.
But it gave Rogan the opportunity to put out his foot and trip the guy as he tried to move forward again, and he crashed to the floor, facedown. April squealed in fear the whole time—but the next thing she knew, Rogan’s shoe was planted squarely on the guy’s back, his gun held in both hands, arms outstretched, as he pointed it at the guy’s head. “Don’t fuckin’ move, asshole,” he said.
Meanwhile, the man who had approached was scrambling to pick up April’s phone, dialing 911 again and soon assuring everyone that more police were on the way—and he’d requested medical assistance, too.
“Oh God, you’re bleeding so much!” April said, sickened and terrified by the horrible sight. She had no medical training, but it seemed like a lot of blood to her, like more all the time.
But Rogan met her gaze, looking surprisingly calm now as he said, “Don’t worry, Ginger, I’ll be fine.” Then he added in a slightly lower tone, “Everything will be fine now—I promise.”
* * *
He was right—everything was fine. Even though April held her breath the entire time two EMTs worked on him. She couldn’t seem to stop making hissing noises as she watched one of them stitch up the cut in his neck—even though he looked totally at ease and comfortable the entire time. The EMTs had wanted to take him to the hospital, but he’d stubbornly refused, pretty much leaving them no choice but to do the stitches on the spot.
“Maybe you shouldn’t watch this, babe,” he glanced over at her to say.
But she just shook her head. “No, given that you should be at the hospital, I’m not letting you out of my sight until I make sure you’re completely okay.”
He looked amused and maybe pleased—she couldn’t exactly tell but didn’t really care at this point. She was far beyond hiding her feelings from him. And even if things between them were over, she still loved the big lug and needed to be here with him, for him, right now—even if he didn’t need her there in return.
Give In To Me Page 23