Aria (Duet Series Book 1)

by Jennifer Hartmann

  Chelsie moved through the condominium, tossing her purse onto the coffee table and kicking off her shoes. She pulled out her phone to see if Devon had contacted her when she heard a noise coming from the master bedroom.

  A familiar fear rattled in her bones. Chelsie had been so preoccupied with Devon’s new developments she’d forgotten to be more cautious. She had forgotten about Ian’s shadow looming over her. She approached the door to the bedroom, her bare feet tiptoeing across the hardwood floor. She reached a tentative hand toward the doorknob. Chelsie could hear her heartbeat in her ears, trouncing her senses like a bass drum.

  She pushed the door open and gasped. She propelled herself backwards against the far wall when she came face-to-face with Ian Masterson. He was there. He was waiting for her.

  And she was completely alone.

  “Ian,” she said. Her mouth had gone so dry the word barely squeaked through her parched lips. Every extremity began to shake at the sight of him.

  “Hey, Chelly Bean,” he grinned. “It’s been a while.”

  Chelsie pressed her fingernails into her palms, reminding herself she was indeed awake. This was not one of her recurring nightmares. “What are you doing here?”

  “I missed you.”

  Chelsie swallowed. Ian had changed over the years. He was haggard and gaunt. His cheeks were sunken in, sharpening his already prominent features. Strands of gray hair peeked out through his mop of blonde curls. Chelsie idly wondered what she ever saw in him, aside from a broken man who needed fixing. “Ian, you need to leave. You need to stay away from me.”

  There was a wicked gleam in his eyes as he stepped towards her. “Oh, Chelsie. Innocent, naïve Chelsie,” he sang. “We have so much to catch up on.”

  Chelsie pulled out her phone to dial 9-1-1.

  Ian was on her before she could complete the call. A scream pierced the air, echoing deftly through every room, every hallway, every nook and cranny. It was her scream. It was the same scream from all those years ago. The inflection, the pitch, the spectrum of fear. Nothing had changed. This scream belonged to Ian. He had dusted it off and brought it back to life like a special piece of china only unboxed for special occasions.

  Ian had knocked the cell phone from her hands and tackled her to the floor. Her head struck hard against the wood grains and she saw stars. They weren’t stars, though. It was her occipital lobe sending out electrical signals, forcing shocks of light to permeate her vision. Stars were meant for wishes and fairytales.

  This was no fairytale.

  “Just like old times, huh?” Ian snarled, straddling her waist and pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. He used his free hand to unzip her jeans and tug them down her legs.

  No, no, no. Chelsie felt weak. She had no fight in her. She was accustomed to Ian taking what he wanted.

  “No.”

  The word finally passed through her lips, but it only made him laugh. “You know that only gets me more excited.”

  “No,” she repeated. Chelsie wasn’t the same girl she was back then. She had evolved. She was not the frail, lilting flower from years ago. She was a goddamn, motherfucking warrior. “I said no,” she hissed through her teeth.

  Her body began to resist him. A primal need to protect herself took over and she lashed out at her attacker. Chelsie’s legs thrashed about, trying to connect with some part of his body. Her hands and arms twisted their way out of his hold when her knee lifted and connected with his groin.

  Ian growled in pain as Chelsie rolled onto her stomach and began to crawl away. She was pulling herself to her feet when she felt a crude hand tug at her ankle, sending her back to the ground. She screamed again, hoping someone would hear her. He was about to mount her again when Chelsie eyed a decorative vase sitting on a shelf. She only had a fleeting second, so she gathered every ounce of strength she had and careened her body towards the shelving display.

  She just missed it.

  Ian flipped her onto her back for a second time and wrapped his icy fingers around her throat. “You’re going to pay for that, you stupid bitch.”

  Chelsie saw evil in his black eyes. She gasped and clawed at his hands as his grip tightened around her neck. Was this it? Was she going to die here on Devon’s living room floor? Was he going to rape and violate her before or after he squeezed the air from her lungs?

  The thought was too much to bear. She had built a life for herself. She had too much to live for now.

  She had Lisa, and Devon, and Sam, and Noah.

  Noah.

  Noah’s face flashed through her mind as her lungs burned and begged for release. She pictured him barreling through the front door and saving her life. He was the hero in her story.

  Ian was kissing her now. He was forcing her mouth open with his teeth and shoving his tongue in and out. Chelsie bit down as hard as she could.

  “Arrrgh!” Ian released his hands from around her neck as blood pooled down his chin.

  Chelsie took a heaving gulp of air, choking and sputtering on Ian’s blood. She knew she only had moments before he struck again. She lunged towards the vase, successfully wrapping her fingers around its spine. Without thought, she whirled around and collided it against his face with a sickening ‘thunk’.

  Ian cried out in pain, collapsing backwards. “You’re fucking dead,” he snarled.

  Fear bubbled inside Chelsie’s gut at the realization she hadn’t knocked him unconscious. The battle wasn’t over. She ran toward the guest bedroom, looking back to see Ian rising to his feet. She threw open the door and raced to the bedside table, pulling out the drawer and snatching the pistol. Panic consumed her as she heard Ian’s footsteps begin to approach.

  “Boo.”

  Chelsie spun around to face him. She pointed the gun square at his chest.

  Ian faltered. He laughed, as if to hide the fear that had flashed across his face. “You actually think I believe you know how to use that thing?” He wiped at his mouth with his shirt sleeve, leaving a bloody streak across his cheek.

  “Feel free to call my bluff,” Chelsie said. Her voice was calm, but her trembling hands betrayed her. She inched forward, her index finger on the trigger and her opposite hand trying to hold it steady.

  Ian held his hands up and backed away. “Maybe I underestimated you,” he said. He spit a dollop of blood to his right as he stepped backwards.

  “Get out of my house.”

  Chelsie moved forward, rage bubbling through every cell in her body. She wanted to pull the trigger. She wanted to see him explode before her eyes, disintegrating into dust. But even more than that, she wanted him to live. She wanted him to rot in a prison cage for the rest of his life, knowing she had won. He had failed to surmount her. His control over her had been permanently severed. She knew that would be a worse punishment for a narcissistic pig like Ian Masterson – knowing he had lost.

  Ian winked at her, then turned on his heel and ran out the door like the coward he was. Chelsie lowered her arms. She shut the door as hard as she could, and double bolted it. The pistol was dangling by her side. The weight of it was heavy, but not as heavy as the awareness that she had almost died.

  Chelsie set the weapon down at her feet. She massaged her throat, running the tips of her fingers along where Ian had choked her.

  I need to call the police. She stumbled into the hallway where Ian had knocked the phone from her hands. She fell to her knees and dialed in the familiar number.

  “I’d like to report an assault,” she said into the speaker.

  Chelsie gave them the address. She told them his name. She detailed the attack to the best of her recollection. They advised her to stay on the line, but she dropped the phone to the floor and fell back against the wall.

  Chelsie broke. She crumbled into her hands, years of pent up torment and self-loathing spilling out of her eyes. She wailed and screamed and smashed her fists against the floor, releasing what felt like a lifetime of locked-up skeletons with every blow. She tipped over,
laying sideways on the ground. Warm tears pooled beneath her cheek as she curled her knees up to her chest and sobbed.

  16 Chapter Sixteen

  Chelsie had given her statement. She had answered their questions. She had refused medical treatment, as she was far too exhausted.

  “Do you have a safe place you can go tonight?” an officer had inquired.

  “Yes.”

  Chelsie knew of only one place she wanted to be.

  She had tried contacting Devon multiple times to no avail. She had even tried Tad, but his phone was also turned off.

  So, there she was, standing on Noah Hayes’ doorstep late into the evening hours with a blanket wrapped loosely around her shoulders. Officer Fenton stood beside her as she waited for entry. Noah opened the door. The look on his face could only be described as shell shock.

  “Chelsie?”

  He stared at her with a thousand questions in his eyes.

  “Miss Combs was involved in a domestic assault tonight. She was unable to reach her boyfriend and asked me to bring her here. I wanted to make sure she had a safe place to spend the night before I left,” the officer explained.

  “Of course.” Noah nodded his head, his eyes never leaving her.

  “Very well. Here’s my card, Miss Combs. Please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

  The officer gave them a friendly nod before heading back to his patrol car. Chelsie grazed the card between her thumb and finger before glancing up at Noah. He opened the door to let her inside. She was about to speak when she noticed Beth sitting on the couch, gaping at her with wide eyes.

  “Chelsie, what happened?”

  Chelsie swallowed back a lump in her throat. She had not expected Noah to have company. “I’m really sorry. I can go. I’ll call myself a ride.”

  “Nonsense.” Beth stood up and reached for her cardigan and purse. “I’ll go.”

  Chelsie watched as Beth offered her a sympathetic smile and stood on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on Noah’s cheek. “Call me tomorrow,” she told him.

  Then she was gone.

  Chelsie and Noah stood in silence as their eyes met. Chelsie recalled everything she’d felt when she thought she was going to die. She had seen Noah. It was his face that had rippled through her brain in what she thought might be her final moments. It was him who she pictured breaking down her door and coming to her rescue like her knight in shining armor. It wasn’t her mother or father or Devon.

  It was him. Why?

  “Ian,” Chelsie whispered, answering his unspoken question. She hated for that name to flicker across her tongue. It tasted like kerosene and ash. She reached for the scarf she had wrapped around her neck and tugged it loose. It fluttered to her feet. Noah’s eyes landed on the deep bruising coloring her throat. She watched as his jaw tensed and the muscles in his face twitched.

  “He did that to you?”

  She nodded. “He was waiting for me in the condo when I got home. I managed to break free just long enough to grab your gun.”

  Noah stepped towards her, reaching out and cupping her face in his hands. “Did he rape you, Chelsie?”

  His touch prompted a flurry of goosebumps to dance up and down her flesh. She closed her eyes. She finally felt safe. “No,” she said. “He tried.”

  “Fuck.”

  Noah pulled her to his chest and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. Chelsie could feel his heartbeat vibrating against her and it gave her comfort. She could feel herself breaking again – she felt the tears biting at her eyelids, begging to be set free.

  “I thought of you,” she said. Her words were barely audible with her lips pressed up against his t-shirt. She felt his hand in her hair, pulling her even closer. “I thought of you when he was choking me. I don’t know why.”

  Chelsie could feel his heart rate speed up when he registered her confession. She pulled back to look at him. She needed to know what he was thinking.

  ***

  She was peering up at him so intensely it made his stomach flutter. Chelsie had thought of him when she thought her life was ending?

  It was… profound.

  Now, she was begging him with her peridot eyes to tell her what that meant. He knew she needed answers. Hell, he needed answers. But it wasn’t the time. She was almost murdered.

  Murdered.

  Noah thought about never holding her in his arms again or watching her nose crinkle when he told a bad joke. He thought about never smelling the lavender in her hair or the citrus on her skin. It made his blood run cold.

  He had to keep touching her. He had to keep feeling her warmth to remind himself she was okay. Noah pulled her back against his chest and kissed the top of her head. He felt her begin to tremble in his arms as fresh tears stained his shirt.

  She balled her fists up next to her face as she cried. “I was so scared.”

  Noah rubbed her back and peppered kisses into her hair. “You’re okay. You survived.”

  Chelsie lifted her head, her cheeks dampened with tears. “What if he comes back? What if I don’t survive next time?”

  “I won’t let that happen,” Noah said.

  He felt her relax. She pulled away and wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse. “I could use a drink,” she told him.

  Noah blinked. It took a moment for him to process her request. “I’ve got whiskey and wine.”

  Whiskey. That had been her choice. Noah had brought her the bottle, along with two small glasses. He sipped his drink over ice, while Chelsie swallowed the liquor in one shot. They had made their way to the couch, and Chelsie’s head was resting against his shoulder. She clutched a throw pillow between her arms, picking absently at the pretentious embellishments along its edges.

  “Thank you,” she said, using her other hand to twirl the glass between her fingers. “I just needed something to help me wind down. I still feel… frazzled.”

  “That’s understandable. You experienced a trauma.” Noah felt her body rise and fall against him. She reached for the whiskey and poured a few more ounces into her glass.

  “I just want to pass out,” she confessed. “I know I won’t be able to sleep.”

  Noah watched as she downed the second shot and gagged. Then she poured another. “Don’t overdo it, Combs,” he warned. He handed her a bottle of water.

  Chelsie set the whiskey on the coffee table and gulped down the water. “I just want my brain to stop replaying everything. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he was strangling me. I can’t get it out of my head.”

  Noah’s heart hurt. He imagined how scared she was fighting for her life. “You should try to get some sleep.”

  Chelsie nodded her head against his shoulder. She stood up and wobbled on both feet, then plopped back down on the couch with a sheepish expression. “Oops. I think the alcohol is starting to hit me.”

  Noah rose to his feet and helped her stand. “I think you’re going to pass out just fine,” he assured her. “I’ll help you to my room. I can take the couch again.”

  Chelsie clutched his arm with both hands as they made their way up the stairs. There was a chill when they entered the bedroom and Noah realized he’d left the window cracked open.

  “Sorry it’s so cold in here,” he apologized. “Hop in and I’ll shut the window.”

  Chelsie made her way over to the bed with clumsy feet and disappeared under the comforter. After Noah closed the window and shut the curtains, he stopped by the side of the bed to say goodnight. “I’m just downstairs if you need anything.” He waited a moment and didn’t hear her reply, so he turned to leave.

  “Wait.”

  Noah wavered. It was dark in the room, but he could make out her face peeking out from under the covers. “Yeah?”

  “Can you stay with me? I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

  He studied her silhouette masked in shadow while he registered what she was asking him. He bit down on his cheek and moved towards her. “Chelsie…”

  She was br
oken, vulnerable, and intoxicated. What would Devon think if he ever found out about this? Separated or not, she was still Devon’s girl. Sharing a bed with her directly after a trauma – not to mention, a woman he had feelings for – did not seem like a rational proposal. Chelsie was not thinking clearly. Noah needed to be the logical one.

  Her voice was muted against the bed sheets. “You make me feel safe.”

  Fuck. She needed him. She shouldn’t have to sleep alone tonight, and Devon wasn’t there.

  Screw logic.

  Noah approached the other side of the bed and situated himself underneath the covers. He had anticipated a woman in his bed tonight, but not her. Never her. The bed squeaked beneath his weight and he moved towards the center of it, just close enough he could feel her body heat emanating into him. He felt a few rogue strands of hair tickle at his forehead as they splayed across her pillow.

  Chelsie rolled over to face him. Don’t do that, he thought. Just go to sleep. Don’t do that. They were close. There were only a few inches between them. Noah felt her knees graze against his own as she stared at him.

  “You should get some sleep,” he told her. Noah’s voice was stark against the shroud of silence.

  “Will you hold me?”

  Another terrible idea he was absolutely going to do. “Of course.”

  Chelsie scooted her body over to him, closing the gap between them. She nuzzled her face beneath his chin as Noah wrapped his arms around her. He could smell the whiskey on her breath and the lavender in her hair. She was warm, and soft, and intoxicating, and…

  Mine.

  It was a foolish thing to think. Only a goddamn fool would have fallen for the one woman he could never have. But right now, in this room, he did have her. She was in his bed and in his arms. She was his.