LaClaire Night

by Dori Lavelle

  “You could have called for help.”

  “And I did. I was the one who called the ambulance. But of course you wouldn’t have noticed because you were unconscious.” I mop the sweat off my forehead. “For you to think I’d leave you for dead is preposterous. I ran around like a freaking mad person, trying to get all the paperwork handled for your return home. That’s why when you woke up, I wasn’t by your side. If you had been awake before then, you would have found me in the waiting room, out of my mind with worry.”

  “Poor Bryant.” Lance gives me a scathing smile. “Look at you, feeling sorry for yourself. You don’t realize how good you have it, do you? Want to know the truth?”

  I’m too furious to respond.

  “I don’t think you deserve a girl like Grace. She seems like a lovely person, kind and innocent. And you, you care nothing about her. You’re only interested in fucking her before tossing her aside like a used condom. Like you do with all the others. If you didn’t think with your cock all the time, you’d see how good you have it.” Lance’s face contorts with anger. “Instead, you go around treating women like dirt, when you have the chance to fall in love with a good woman, to start a family, to live a real life. But you’d rather screw bimbos.”

  As his words hit home, I sink to the floor, my fingers buried in my hair. It’s as though since that night in Paris I’ve been wearing dark glasses and Lance has just now snatched them off my face. As I watch my brother, sitting there helpless, I see myself through his eyes. “Lance, I thought—I didn’t let myself fall in love with those women because I thought it was unfair to you. I felt I was doing you a favor.”

  “Well, you’re not.” Lance leans back in his chair and closes his eyes. “You’re being selfish, flushing your life down the toilet.” He opens his eyes again and meets my gaze. “That woman, Grace, doesn’t look like your usual bimbo types. She seems real and her eyes told me she likes you, but you probably don’t deserve her.”

  “You’re right. I don’t deserve her. I’m not worthy, Lance.” Lance’s words have entered my heart and are crushing it. I grab at my chest, grappling for air. “I don’t deserve to be loved by anyone. It may have been a mistake, you falling over that balcony, but I’m still at fault. I started the fight. How can I live my life when you can’t? It doesn’t feel right. It’s not fair.”

  “And it’s fair for you to fuck up your life because mine is wrecked? You think that will change things?” He’s shouting now. “You think that would make it better, pull me out of the damn wheelchair, turn back time? That’s bullshit. By wasting your life, you’re just being a fucking dick. Whether I fell over the balcony by mistake or you threw me over, doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I pant, my eyes boiling. “It kills me every day that you are in that wheelchair.”

  “Fuck that. The fact that my life is on standby is none of your concern. It shouldn’t affect the course of your life.”

  “I don’t want you to think I don’t care. I want . . .” Now that the anger has dissipated, leaving only pain, my voice is lower, broken.

  “Fuck what you want.” Lance grabs one of his bottles again. The liquid inside sloshes as he speaks. “What about what I want?”

  “Tell me what you want. Anything. I’ll do it.” Over the years I’ve offered Lance my help in several ways, but he never accepted. But then again, helping him was partly for my own relief, to alleviate my own guilt. Now he’s opening up. He needs me. “Anything.”

  He’s quiet for a long time, his eyes never leaving mine. “What I want is for you to get your shit together, to grow up.” He breathes in a ragged breath. “I admit over the years I made you feel guilty. I lashed out at you because I wished your life was mine. I wish I were the one in your shoes. I keep thinking I would do things differently, better. And when I watch you wasting the life I wish I had, it pisses me off.”

  “Who says you can’t live? You can have a life too, Lance, a good one. Maybe you’ll see that, if you’d only stop ingesting that poison.” I jab a finger in the direction of the bottle in his hand.

  He lowers it to the floor. “I drink because I’m afraid. I dread the surgeries. They freak me out. Sometimes I’m afraid I might never wake up. I’m also afraid I will wake up and nothing would have changed, that I’d still be stuck in a life that’s going nowhere.” A bitter smile stretches his lips. “I drink to numb the pain and kill the fears. And when it doesn’t work, I drink some more.” His words are more slurred now, and he sounds on the verge of falling asleep.

  If I feel this much pain, without going through what he is, how much more does he have to deal with every fucking day?

  “You don’t have to give up hope.” There’s no way I’ll let him quit. “You never know when a treatment might work.” The truth is, with every treatment I’m afraid as well. Afraid it might fail and my guilt will live on.

  He shakes his head. “I’m not sure I’m strong enough for all the side effects. I seriously don’t know how much longer I can take it.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it anymore, Bryant.” His face softens. “Make up for everything by living the life you’ve got.” He shifts in his seat. “If it helps, I forgive you.”

  “You have no idea how much that means to me.” I stand and move to his side, place a hand on his shoulder, wishing I could pull him into a hug instead. “I wish we could be the way we used to be. I miss our friendship.”

  Lance squeezes my hand. “Maybe one day we’ll get it all back. You never know.”

  “I’ll work at it, I promise. I’ll get us back to that place.”

  “Good.” He pauses. “But now you have to figure things out with Grace. Who knows where she might have run off to? She could have left the house. She won’t be safe out there on her own.”

  “Shit.” I straighten up. I’ve been so wrapped up in the emotions between me and Lance that I’d forgotten about Grace. “You’re right. I have to find her.” Now that Lance has forgiven me, everything looks different. I feel a kind of freedom I’ve never felt before, as though anything is possible now. If Grace finds it in her heart to look past my imperfections, maybe we could be something more than we intended.

  “Then get the hell out of here. I’ll be fine.” Lance brushes my hand from his shoulder. “If she’s the one, treat her good. Do something right for once.”

  “I won’t let you down.” Grinning, I pat him on the back and turn on my heel.

  18

  Grace

  Funny how one moment you think you know someone and the next not at all. As I walk down an unknown, palm tree-lined street with tears rolling down my cheeks, I can’t help feeling betrayed somehow. I don’t have the right to feel this way. We’re not a couple. But my emotions are out of my control.

  I wrap my arms around my body in an attempt to keep warm as the late night sea breeze sweeps across my skin.

  I look around me and a chill tickles my spine. This place is isolated. No people on the street. All I see are mansions and palm trees.

  I stop walking under the golden stream of a street lamp. I had meant to go to the beach, but maybe I should turn back. What if I get lost? But I take the next step toward nowhere. The thought of going back to the LaClaire villa, to face the truth of what Bryant had done, makes my stomach turn. I don’t know how I can ever look at him the same way.

  The first man to ever sweep me off my feet threw his brother over a balcony because of a woman.

  As much as I’m disappointed in his actions, I’m hurt that he kept it a secret from me. So what if I’m not his girlfriend. I come with my own shameful baggage too and I told him all about it.

  It would have been best if I never came to the party, never found out about the other side of him. I would have walked out of his life with an untainted image of him in my mind.

  Before I make it to the beach, I change my mind and lean against the rough bark of a palm tree, breathing in the sea air before I turn back. Whether
I want to or not, I have to return. Being alone on the beach in a place I’m not familiar with could be dangerous. But I close my eyes for a brief moment, shutting out the image of Bryant’s guilty face.

  “Hey, tú! Bella dama.” The voice comes from somewhere behind me. It’s slurred and rough around the edges.

  My eyes fly open and I push away from the tree. The hairs at the nape of my neck bristle. The first thing I see is the red glow of a cigar.

  As I watch the stranger slumped against a palm tree, two more men show up at his side. One of them is holding a bottle of what I assume to be alcohol.

  My adrenaline spikes, and my body yells for me to run. But it takes a few heartbeats before my feet get the message and start moving. I keep my shoulders straight to feign confidence, but my head down. No eye contact. A scream gets trapped in my throat when I hear their footfalls behind me. I walk faster and so do they. They’re not far behind now. I can smell cheap cologne.

  Stay calm. Keep walking.

  “Hey, chica. ¿A dónde vas? ¿Hablas Inglés?”

  “Yes, I speak English,” I mutter. “I—I have to go.” Not responding to them might offend them more than saying something. But I keep walking, my head down. “I have to go.”

  “Hey, we just met you. Come on, stay a while?” He cackles, and his friends join in. “We want to play.” The man is so close now I swear I feel his breath on the nape of my neck. My instinct tells me to turn around and see if he’s about to grab me, but before I can, he steps in front of me. “Why so fast, eh?”

  I slow down and try to get past him, but the other men appear to block my way. I’m trapped. I force myself to look up, to prove that I’m not afraid of him, even though my insides are trembling.

  The leader of the pack has long greasy hair, reaching his shoulders. The others are all bald with dirty unkempt beards. They all reek of alcohol and stale cigarettes.

  The leader leers at me, his gaze traveling the length of my body. I wish I were wearing my baggy clothes instead of the dress Bryant has bought me. I’ve never felt more exposed.

  “Please, I don’t want any trouble.” It’s hard to keep the tremor from my voice. “I need to . . . My friend is waiting for me.”

  They bark again with laughter. The bitter taste of bile lingers at the back of my throat. How the hell am I going to get out of this situation?

  How stupid I was to walk out alone, and without a phone on me. My head is spinning, imagining all kinds of terrible things these man can do to me with no one to stop them. Of course I could scream, but what would they do to shut me up?

  “Please, let me go.” I blink tears away because I don’t want to show too much fear. They would enjoy my discomfort more than be put off by it.

  “Está me gusta. Yo me la cojo primero.” One of the men takes a step closer to me. My tears break free and trickle in streams down my cheeks as he reaches out to touch a strand of my hair.

  Please God, help me.

  I can no longer stop myself from trembling.

  “My kind of girl.” His eyes still on me, he adjusts his crotch.

  Still holding on to hope, I scan the faces of the men, searching for one that’s friendlier than the rest, someone I could reach out to and beg for help. I find no kindness in any of their eyes. There’s no way out, and no one knows where to find me. Why didn’t I tell anyone where I was going?

  “Please, I’m begging you. Please.” My body quakes as sobs tear through me. “I need to go.”

  The man with the long hair pushes the other one aside, coming to stand in front of me, way too close to my body. He places a finger under my chin, forcing me to look into his dark eyes. “Don’t be afraid, bella dama. I promise you’ll like everything I’ll do to you.”

  I slide my gaze from his eyes, not wanting to see the desire in their depths. By looking away, I’m also shutting myself off.

  I might have lost the fight, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the naked fear in my eyes. He turns away from me and talks to his friends in Spanish.

  Although I know a little Spanish from school, they’re conversing too fast for me to understand what they’re saying.

  The leader returns his attention to me, placing his hands on my shoulders first, before running them lower toward my breasts.

  I can’t stand here and allow him to have easy excess to me. It might be dangerous for me to react negatively to his touch, but I cannot make it easy for him to get what he wants.

  Clenching my teeth, I smack his hands away from my body, punching and screaming and flailing.

  The next moment, I’m on the ground, all of the men holding me down, the leader on top of me, his weight pushing me into the pebbled ground.

  I shut my eyes so I don’t see his dirty face.

  “Let me go.” The only thing I have at my disposal right now is my voice and I use it, screaming at the top of my lungs.

  “Get off her, right this minute,” a man’s booming voice breaks through the pauses in my screams.

  I open my eyes. It’s Bryant’s voice.

  The leader rolls off me and jumps to his feet, trying to scare Bryant away, pushing out his chest and baring his teeth.

  “Fuck off,” he growls. “It’s none of your business.”

  “You’re wrong about that, buddy. This is my business.” Not a hint of fear in Bryant’s voice.

  While the other men are watching the confrontation, I use their distraction to flail my arms, releasing my hands from their grasps. Instead of grabbing me back, keeping me down, they also jump to their feet and surround Bryant.

  Between their heads, I meet Bryant’s eyes.

  “Get out of here, Grace. Run.” I back away from all of them, but instead of running, I struggle with indecision. How can I leave him here? What if he gets hurt?

  “I said go. Now. I’ll catch up.” Bryant slams his palms into the leader’s chest, shoving him away.

  I don’t wait for another order. The only way I can be of use to him right now is by running to find someone stronger than me to help him.

  My feet beat the ground as I run in the direction I hope is the right one. With each step, I pray that by the time I get him help, it won’t be too late. After running for a while, I stop and slump forward, my hands clutching my knees. My breath bursts in and out of my lungs. Tears drip onto my hands.

  Heavy footsteps thunder behind me and I snap upright, holding back a scream. Have they hurt Bryant and come to finish what they’d started?

  “Grace, it’s me.”

  “Bryant?” My shoulders collapse with relief. I spin around as Bryant catches up with me.

  “Come on, let’s go.” His face is covered in bruises and blood is staining his torn shirt.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, breathless.

  “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. We should get back to the house.” He takes my arm and we run together.

  After running for a few minutes, he halts, raising his face to the black sky, gripping his side. “Keep running,” he orders.

  I lay a hand on his shoulder. He wouldn’t be hurt if it weren’t for me and my stupidity. “Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe we should go to the hospital instead.”

  “No, it’s not that bad. It was just a kick in the ribs.” He spins me around to face him. “Did they hurt you?”

  I shake my head. “You came in time.”

  “Good.” He takes my hand. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

  I don’t answer but my hand remains in his.

  19

  Bryant

  If anything had happened to Grace, I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself. I already have one person’s pain on my conscience.

  I should never have let her go off on her own like that. I should’ve followed her, stopped her from walking the streets of Cabo by herself. But it’s over now. I managed to save her from those assholes. So much for fighting like a girl.

  Neither of us speaks the rest of the way home, but I can feel from Grace’s body l
anguage that she hasn’t quite forgiven me yet. I don’t blame her for being angry. She opened herself up to me and I’ve stayed closed the entire time.

  But my story isn’t something you can easily tell somebody else. In some way, I’m grateful that everything happened the way it did. It led Lance and I back to one another, erased years of silence between us. But the fact that he had painted me in a bad light will not help my case with Grace.

  When we enter the house, most of the guests have already left, and the rest that are still there are drinking out on the terrace. All my brothers are in the living room, including Lance. Neal is the first to see us. He shoots out of his chair and rushes to our side.

  “What the hell happened to you?” He asks as the others join us.

  “It’s nothing. A little fight, that’s all.”

  “I’ll take care of the injuries,” Grace promises, putting a hand around my back to steer me toward the stairs.

  Derrick looks ready to say something, but I give him a look that says, “back off.”

  This is my chance to be alone with Grace, to make things right if I can. As far as I know my injuries are only skin deep. I’d managed to get away before the switchblade the long-haired guy pulled out caused too much damage.

  Grace helps me up the stairs. Although I’m perfectly capable of walking myself up, I’m finding it hard to separate myself from her. Who knows, this could be the last time I get to feel her body next to mine. Somewhere inside my heart, there’s an ache at the possibility she would reject me. I can’t help but miss her before she’s gone.

  She leads me to the balcony, where the earlier argument had taken place. The moment she sits me down, Derrick shows up with a first aid kit. She takes it from him without a word.

  Most of the blood has come from my running nose and not from the cut across my cheek. Grace disinfects the wound and I try not to wince. She cares about me or she wouldn’t still be here.