Say Love (Lost & Found #2)

by C. L. Stacey

  Given the circumstances, Chris agreed that it just wasn’t the right time to meet Caleb. Seemingly disappointed, he promised to return sometime soon. Unfortunately, between med-school and competing for a spot in a new internship program at a hospital in Boston, he couldn’t promise when.

  Standing outside the Four Seasons, we wait for the car Chris ordered to take him back to LAX, and he keeps urging me to head back inside. “Really, Ariana, I’m fine. Honest. You had a rough day. Go up to your room and try to get some shut-eye.” He nods toward the hotel. “Doctor’s orders,” he adds with a smile.

  “Okay,” I sigh, extending an arm to give him a hug. “I’m so glad to have met you, Chris. Thank you so much for meeting with me, and again, I’m so sorry it didn’t work the way we wanted.”

  Chris squeezes me back. “Hey, it was fun. I got to hang out with Ariana Andrews. Life doesn’t get much better than that.”

  “You flatter me,” I laugh tiredly. “I think I will take your advice, though. I am feeling a little tired. Text me when you land?”

  “Will do.”

  “Bye, Chris.” I wave over my shoulder before heading into the building.

  I’m halfway to the elevators when someone calls for my attention. When I turn to see who, Stefan is heading my way with a warm, friendly smile.

  “Hello, angel,” he greets me with a kiss against both cheeks.

  Angel. We’ve come a long way since the first time I met him. But we’ve learned to work through our differences, and he’s since become one of my favorite photographers to work with.

  “Stefan, what are you doing here?”

  “I met a friend for drinks. I was just on my way out.” Stefan frowns when he gets a better look at my face. “Hold on.” His hands come up, tilting my head back. “Have you been crying?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Nonsense, you must tell me all about it. Come.” He leads me toward the elevators before I can protest the idea.

  Having a shoulder to cry on—a shoulder attached to someone without a direct relation to Caleb—doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea right now, actually. I can sleep after I cry my eyes out. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and they’ll swell shut.

  When we get up to my room, we empty the mini fridge of all the liquor inside. I tell him everything. Well, mostly everything. I leave Caleb’s name out of it. I’m angry as hell with him, but I can’t bring myself to bash him in front of someone who doesn’t know the first thing about him.

  “That bitch,” Stefan mutters with disgust. “You are a million times more beautiful than that hag, Ariana. Trust me.” He places a gentle hand above my knee. “Knowing beauty is my job.”

  With a pitiful laugh, I use the back of my hands to dry my cheeks. “I feel better,” I sigh.

  “Good, I’m glad.” His mouth lifts into a smile, and he leans in to kiss my cheek, his lips lingering a little longer than he usually does.

  Hand above my knee, I can take. Hand on my thigh while trying to take advantage of me in my vulnerable state is where I draw the line.

  Turning subtly so as not to humiliate my friend, I scoot a few inches down the couch.

  Taking notice of my sudden discomfort, Stefan laughs out of embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes.

  “No, it’s okay,” I lie.

  He holds both his hands out for me to take. I stare at them, then I decide that I’m just being paranoid, and I place mine into his. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  I shake my head again with a tight smile, not wanting to think about it.

  I no longer feel safe when I hear him say, “I can treat you better than Caleb did, Ariana.”

  My brows pinch together in confusion. I never mentioned his name…

  “I see the way he obsesses over you, we all do. The way he threatened me my first day on the job? He made it obvious.”

  “He did what?”

  “I was having a bad day,” Stefan admits, sheepish. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you, but Caleb threatened to fire me if I didn’t get my shit together.”

  “Oh…”

  “The man’s a hypocrite, Ariana. Forget him. He preached to me about how you were irreplaceable, but look what he did to you.” Stefan’s hand comes to cup my cheek. “I never would’ve done something like that if you were mine.”

  My stomach turns at the thought. It sounds so wrong coming from him, and I feel suffocated with how close he is to me.

  When Stefan leans in closer, I stand from the couch, crossing my arms protectively in front of me. “I’m getting kind of tired, Stefan. Do you mind if we call it a night?”

  Taking offense to my sudden guarded response, Stefan scoffs lightly before rising to his feet. The relief I feel is short-lived when instead of making his way toward the door, Stefan heads straight for me.

  “You know, I’m getting real tired of your innocent act, Ariana.”

  The usual friendliness in Stefan’s eyes has far gone, now malicious and threatening as he closes in on me. He’d mentioned earlier that he met a friend for drinks at this hotel. I have no idea how much he’s had prior to the drinks we had here, but he isn’t himself right now.

  “Stefan, you’re drunk. Go home, and I’ll forget about this in the morning…” I stumble backward, bracing myself against the desk behind me.

  “Don’t you know who I am? Other models would kill for the chance you’ve been given. I fucking made you. Instead of showing me the respect and gratitude I deserve, you dismiss me?” His hands come to grip me by the arms. “What’s wrong, Ariana? Sleeping with the boss to get ahead is okay, but the photographer is where you draw the line?”

  We’re standing close enough for me to smell the vodka on his breath, and I feel the bile stinging my throat when his lips graze mine.

  “Stefan, please,” I whisper, tears spring to my eyes. I feel around the desk for something, anything.

  “Learn to loosen up, Ariana. Keeping the photographer happy is a must if you want to get far in this business. All the girls do it; it comes with the territory.” He plants his lips firmly over mine, his tongue tracing the edge of my lips, and I fight the urge to puke my fucking guts out into his mouth.

  My fingers brush over the phone on the desk, and I wrap my fingers around it, detaching it from its charging port before swinging as hard as I can against the side of Stefan’s head.

  Howling in pain, Stefan keeps a hand over the bleeding gash against his temple and backhands me hard with his other.

  The pain shoots straight to my brain, the force of his blow blurring my focus. Then I feel his fingers wrap around my throat, squeezing so tight I can hardly breathe.

  “I was hoping to make this fun, Ariana. Now look what you did.” His hand shoves me back, my head hitting the mirror so hard I hear it crack. I tap my hand repeatedly against his arm, fearing that I may pass out at any second.

  If I lose consciousness, he’ll have his way with me. I can’t let that happen.

  Tears pour down my face when hope drains along with my air.

  Punch to the nose and kick to the nuts should still do it. I don’t have the strength to punch him, but I’m still clutching the phone in my hand.

  With my will to fight, I bring my hand up and smash the phone as hard as I can against his nose, praying that it’s enough for Stefan to release me. It is. The phone drops from my hand, and the battery pops off the back when crashing to the floor.

  Gasping loudly when my lungs fill back up with air, I bring my knee up, hitting him as hard as I can against his groin, and Stefan folds in half.

  Stumbling away from Stefan, I scream as loud as I can, “Someone help me!” but my voice comes too weak and hoarse.

  I can call for help. But I dropped the phone over by Stefan.

  My cellphone.

  It’s in my purse on the couch, so I move quickly toward it. The floor falls away from me and my head hits the floor hard when I land on my back.

  Stefan’s grip i
s still firm around my ankles when he begins to pull me toward him. “You fucking bitch, come here!”

  “NO!” I kick out, my heel successfully making contact with his face. I scramble to crawl toward my purse, pulling my phone out and dialing 911.

  The call goes through. “911 operator. What is your emergency?”

  “Please, I need help. I’m being attacked— NO!” I scream when Stefan flips me back over, hands ripping the front of my dress. Desperate for the operator on the other line to send help as soon as possible, I shout, “Ariana Andrews, Four Seasons Hotel, room—” before Stefan’s fist comes down hard against my eye.

  The door to my room bursts open, and a group of the hotel staff pours into my room. Two of the men run to restrain Stefan, and I burst into tears when relief floods my chest.

  A man comes to my side, but he doesn’t touch me or try to move me. “Ms. Andrews— Oh, God…” he reacts. “The maid was walking by when she heard shouting. We’ve alerted the authorities, they should be here any moment now,” he informs me.

  “Thank you,” I sob. “Thank you.”

  “Is there anyone we can call for you?” he asks.

  Escorting me out of the hotel will be an embarrassing display, I’m sure, and then I’ll more than likely be hauled off by an ambulance… I don’t want to face that all on my own.

  Call me. I’ll come running.

  “My cellphone… where is it?”

  The man leaves my side, just for a moment, and then hands it to me. I dial the first person I can think of.

  “Hello?”

  “Chris, where are you?”

  Sensing my distress right away, he asks, “Ariana, what’s wrong?”

  “I didn’t know who else to call…” I cry.

  “Sir, turn the car around. Take me back to the Four Seasons Hotel, please,” he tells his driver. “Ariana, tell me what happened.”

  The call came in at 10:43. A man named Chris called me from Ari’s cellphone, filling me in on an incident that arose in her hotel room with Stefan Rossi. I made it to California Hope Emergency by 11:06.

  I stop by the desk, slamming my hand against the counter to grab the attention of a nurse. “Ariana Andrews. Where?”

  “Are you family?”

  “I’m her boyfriend,” I tell her.

  “Caleb?” A man’s voice calls from just behind me, and I turn toward it.

  “Are you Chris?”

  “Yes, I’m the one who called you. I’ll take you to her.” He moves, and I follow.

  We stop at a curtained section in the far back, away from the rest of the patients, and I shove it aside. Ari is sitting up in a cot, bloody and bruised, currently being examined by a female doctor. Cleaning the cut above Ari’s right eye, the woman preps her for stitches.

  “Jesus Christ!” Rage floods my chest.

  “I told you not to call him,” Ari whispers disapprovingly to Chris.

  “How could I not call him?” he retorts.

  “Why wouldn’t he call me?” I counter. “Where’s Stefan?”

  The doctor speaks up, pulling my attention from Ari. “He’s being treated right now. Ariana put up quite the fight.” She smiles down at Ari. How could she fucking smile at a time like this? “You are my hero,” she says to her, then turns to look at me with the same smile. “Hey, Caleb. Don’t remember me, huh?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Jackson’s sister. Bree?” she reminds me of her name. “I treated you a few nights ago. You came in with a nasty cut along your arm… from a broken beer bottle…” she tries some more. Bree shakes her head, giving up. “Never mind. You were pretty wasted.”

  “Neat,” I respond, impassive. “Could you not fucking smile?”

  “Fine.” She shrugs. “Just trying to give credit where credit is due, but whatever. Oh,” she says, recalling something important. “By the by, Jackson’s on his way.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “Well,” Bree remains laser-focused on her current task of stitching Ari up. “Since you came into this ER the other night, dripping blood on my floors from the fight you got into at Club21 with some frat-brat, I’ve been given specific orders to report to him with ‘any and all matters concerning you,’” she does an impression of her brother. “Then I overheard Chris here when he made that call to you… Ariana is your woman-friend, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “No,” Ari answers right over me, finally speaking up.

  Bree snickers. “Alrighty, then. Either way, she concerns you. So, I report to the boss.”

  Another doctor joins us, and I eavesdrop when he leans in to whisper to Bree. “Are the cops here yet? I’m done with the asshole.”

  “Not yet,” she tells him.

  Good news for me.

  I turn, making it my mission to hunt down Stefan.

  “Shit,” Bree mutters. “No, don’t touch him. He’ll kill you,” I hear her tell her colleague. “Caleb!”

  I shove each curtain I pass.

  I get lucky on my fourth try.

  Stefan sits up but doesn’t get far with the restraints he has over his wrists. I throw the curtain back to shield us from the rest of the room. “Nurse!” he barely gets out before I grip him by the throat, slamming his head back down onto the pillow.

  I lean in close to his ear. “You laid your hand on the wrong fucking girl, motherfucker!” I squeeze my hand down, watching his face turn three different shades. “What exactly did you think would happen? Did you honestly think I’d let you live?” I tighten my grip, feeling his pulse slow against my fingers.

  All I see is red, I’m blinded by my rage, and I don’t care about the consequences. This man thought he could get away with trying to rape my girl. He will pay.

  The curtain slides open again from behind me. I don’t loosen my grip. I don’t turn to check.

  I. Don’t. Care.

  “Caleb, let him go!” Jackson barks his order from behind me.

  Although relieved that it isn’t a cop, I wouldn’t go as far as to say Jackson’s any better.

  “He hurt Ari.” I keep my hold around Stefan’s neck.

  “You’ll go to jail if you kill him,” he tries to reason with me. “Let him go. He’ll pay for what he’s done. Don’t make this worse than it has to be.”

  He makes a good point. But it’s not enough.

  Then I hear her.

  “Caleb,” Ari’s voice comes from behind me, pleading. “Caleb, let him go.”

  I release him, but not before cocking my fist back and knocking him out cold.

  Bree steps in, ready with a sterile cloth in her hand to clean the blood gushing from his nose, then she turns his head to the side. “I didn’t see anything,” she mutters. “But get the fuck out of here before someone does.”

  We leave Bree to handle the mess I made, and Jackson takes me off to the side. “What the hell happened?”

  “I only know what I’ve been told,” I say.

  “Which is?” Jackson clips impatiently.

  “What was supposed to be a friendly drink between friends ended badly when Stefan decided to try forcing himself on Ari.” My temper flares up again when having to say it all out loud.

  “Did he?”

  “Ari claims he didn’t. Not to me. To that guy with her, his name’s Chris. I didn’t get his last name.”

  Bree comes to join us again, and Jackson turns toward his sister. “How far did this get?”

  “Not very,” she answers promptly. “Ariana fought him off before it could get that far. I examined her myself as soon as they brought her in. There are no signs of trauma.”

  It’s the first ounce of relief I feel since walking through those doors today. He still hurt her, and I still want to kill him for it, but I try to focus on the fact that things could’ve been worlds worse than what I’m seeing now.

  My eyes scan the room to find Ari back on her cot, sitting and speaking to Chris. I still have no idea who he is. All I know is that he was in that photo wit
h Ari, and he was the one to call me to this hospital.

  I leave the conversation without saying a word to excuse myself from Jackson and Bree, and I don’t stop until I’m standing in front of Ari. “This is all my fault, Ari. I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

  “This had nothing to do with you, Caleb.”

  “It wouldn’t have happened if you found me alone in my home this morning, waiting for you like I should’ve been. You wouldn’t have had to check into that hotel if I hadn’t forced you to run,” I fully take blame.

  A sound so miserable leaves Ari’s mouth before she breaks down completely, crying into her hands. Before I can act to console her, Chris brings a hand down over Ari’s shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

  Blood boiling hot all over again at the sight of another man touching my girlfriend, I turn a threatening glare Chris’s way. “Do you mind?” I fight to rein in my temper.

  Bree draws the curtain back, entering the crowded space. “Ariana, the police are here to get a statement from you. Are you ready to speak to them?”

  “Yea.” Ari wipes her tears with the back of her hands. “Can you please ask them to give me five minutes?”

  “Of course.” Bree takes her leave, closing the curtain behind her.

  Chris still hasn’t gone.

  “Does he have to be here?” I ask Ari, my patience wearing thin.

  Turning toward him, she politely requests for privacy. “Please give us a minute. But don’t go far.” With a nod, Chris leaves me alone with Ari.

  “Who the hell is he, Ari?”

  Letting out a heavy breath, Ari’s eyes pull my way. “After you told me that story about your mom, I went and did some digging. This was about six months ago—”

  “Digging for what? Thea?”

  “I will tell you, let me finish,” she snaps. “I found nothing on you, at first. Then I realized that you weren’t born Caleb Carlisle, so I searched Dean Ericsson and Thea Thompson. It took me fucking forever to find anything.”

  “Ari,” I sigh. “I have zero interest in reuniting with that woman.”

  She nods. “A couple months back, when you thought we were drifting, it was because I’d been struggling with these lies. I hate lying to you, the guilt ate away at me, and I couldn’t take it.”