by Ann Grech
“Tristan found her. She’s okay. She’s okay, Timmy,” Claire cried. “She’s someplace they went camping one time. She’s less than an hour from you. I’m sending you the coordinates. It’s out in the middle of nowhere. I’ll meet you there.”
“Thank fucking Christ.” Timmy breath left him in a rush as his knees gave out and he dropped like a stone onto the polished porcelain tiles of the mall. He ended the call and took a breath in, held it then released it slowly. His entire body was shaking and he didn’t realize how ragged his breathing was until a lady kneeled in front of him, laying a hand on his arm.
“Excuse me, sir, I’m a doctor. Are you all right? I can help you.”
“She’s okay,” he whispered as he clenched his jaw closed tightly and blinked back the tears that threatened to escape down his cheeks. “She’s okay.”
“That’s really good. Take a few deep breaths for me. Nice and slow. You look like you’re about to pass out. Here, drink this,” she said as a man handed over a bottle of water and she cracked the lid. Timmy took a swig and pulled out his wallet to hand over a few dollar bills to the person who’d handed over the drink.
“It’s on me,” he said, waving Timmy’s money away. Timmy saw him smile and go back behind the counter of the nearby café. Timmy loved their coffee. He’d get a few bags of it next time he came to Crystal Springs.
“Thank you,” he croaked to the doctor. “I’ve been out riding all night, looking for her. I thought the worst. I’ve got to go to her.” Standing up, he shook out his knees. Now every part of him ached. He’d been riding all night and most of the day too. He was sweaty, probably smelt terrible and was exhausted.
The doctor looked him up and down disapprovingly. “You don’t look like you’re in any condition to hop on a bike. Why don’t you rest for a while? Maybe eat something?”
“No, my girl needs me. I’m okay, really.” Timmy smiled.
“Good luck then.”
“Hey, doc? Thank you.” Timmy extended his hand and shook the doctor’s, feeling lighter than he had in well over twenty-four hours. The funeral had taken it out of him, reminding him too much of the day he’d said goodbye to the only family who ever mattered to him. When he’d arrived home, he’d worked out until every muscle burned. Timmy had just had a shower and was about to fix himself some supper when he’d seen the security lights turn on and heard the creaks of someone on his veranda. Chloe. He’d pretty much made a mess of everything since then. The sex was the best he’d ever had, but he doubted whether he would ever have her again. He’d broken her trust. It was time to get it back. He couldn’t get to the camp site quick enough.
The hour on the winding roads between the Mall and the camp grounds was the longest in Timmy’s life. He finally pulled into what looked to have once been a gravel drive where the camp site was supposed to be. It had become overgrown with a tangle of weeds, as had the towering trees which were now heavy under the weight of the lantana. Between the long grass which, in some places stood as tall as Timmy was on his bike, and the shadows cast by the darkened canopy, the place had a creepy vibe. Surely this wasn’t where Chloe had stayed overnight. There were no signs and, at best, the place looked derelict. At worst, it was the perfect serial killer’s hideout. Apart from the fresh tire tracks through the grass, it didn’t look like anyone had been there in years.
Timmy checked his GPS again. It was where he was supposed to be. He continued up the hill along a winding path for a good quarter of a mile before he saw the cars parked there. A Mercedes that would be a classic by now, if it weren’t so ugly, was first in line. Behind it was Zane’s truck and Claire’s little hatchback. A guy dressed in jeans, a waistcoat and button down shirt sat on the hood of the Merc drawing. As he rode forward, Timmy spotted Chloe’s Jeep parked way too close to a rickety looking barn that had a serious lean to it. His girl was sitting sideways on the hood, sketchpad in hand drawing, her hands moving across the page, seemingly oblivious to Cleo and Claire standing off to her side. They were watching her; standing nearby. The stress was showing on both of them. Claire looked exhausted. Cleo looked green. Timmy needed to get close to Chloe, to check she was okay, that she wasn’t hurt.
Timmy didn’t hesitate. He eased the bike up behind Claire’s car, killed the engine and was pulling his matte black brain bucket off as he threw his leg over the wide body.
The guy in the tweed waistcoat intercepted him. He looked about Timmy’s age but the guy was soft. No that wasn’t right. He had an athletic build, like he kept in shape, but he wasn’t as grungy as Timmy felt right then. “Who are you?” tweed waistcoat asked.
“Timmy.” Timmy tried to push past him but he was met with an outstretched hand planted firmly, but not aggressively against his chest. Timmy raised his eyebrows at him and narrowed his eyes before growling, “Get your hands off me, man. Who the fuck are you?”
“Tristan.” Chloe’s friend from college. They sized each other up, both squaring off against the other. Tristan was actually quite tall, an inch or so taller than Timmy. He was far from imposing compared to the scum that Timmy was used to dealing with, but the guy had a quiet strength and sense of confidence about him. Timmy wasn’t interested in getting into a pissing match with him, he only wanted to get to Chloe. “So you’re the guy?” Tristan asked.
“Huh?”
“The one I’ve heard so much about even though Chloe insists that your relationship is strictly platonic, a working relationship only.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Yeah, my ass. She really enjoys working for you, but she also said you’re a great kisser.”
“Listen, I need to…” Timmy motioned to Chloe as he tried to push past Tristan again. Tristan’s words halted Timmy in his tracks.
“She won’t talk to any of us. We get close to her and she sends us away. All I know is that she’s hurting. I don’t know why but if you know how to fix it, please do it. She’s so precious to me. It kills me seeing her so broken.”
“What is she to you?” Timmy growled, taking a step closer to Tristan.
“My best friend. My kindred spirit, my soul mate in a non-sexual way. I’ve never been with her and I never will, but the look on your face tells me you already know that.”
Timmy nodded and resumed his walk toward Chloe. He hated doing this with an audience, but he would if he had to. He was about to ask for some privacy, when Claire tugged Cleo toward the overgrown field where Zane was walking back with Mo.
“Pretty girl, can we talk?” Timmy asked quietly. Chloe tossed the sketchpad at his feet but didn’t turn around to face him. Picking it up, he studied the drawing. Every line was precise and he recognized himself immediately. Do I really look like that? She’d captured the details of his tattoos perfectly, even though he’d rarely been without a shirt when he was with her. The look on his face was determined, possessive, hungry and smitten all at the same time. Chloe’s proportion and translation of human anatomy was second to none. The drawings that she’d done at the studio were amazing, but this was a whole new level.
“Is this how you see me?”
“It was,” she said softly as he took the remaining two steps to stand before her.
“I’m sorry…”
“I fucking hate you,” Chloe whispered, her despair shattering his heart.
“Chloe.” He wrapped his arms around her as gut wrenching sobs broke out of her. She leaned against him as he held her tightly and she cried. Timmy knew that she hadn’t been coping with her parents’ deaths well. She’d bottled everything inside and the dam had finally broken, the levies breached. Chloe was finally expressing the grief, anger, hurt, fear and pain that she was suffering under the weight of. She’d tried to find an outlet through her drawing, but it wasn’t enough. Timmy could see the stress mounting on her even though he’d only known her for a short time. He could see her crumbling under it. Rake saw it too. He’d mentioned as much to Timmy when he’d stopped by after the funeral.
Chloe had
every right to hate him. But for now, she needed his support and he’d do his damnedest to be there for her. She gripped the lapels of his jacket as she cried against his chest, shudders wracking her body for the longest time. Timmy didn’t talk, didn’t shush her. He just held tightly.
Slowly, very slowly, Chloe’s crying subsided into hiccups and sniffs. Claire handed him some tissues and retreated back to the foursome that had gathered around Tristan’s Mercedes. Mo, ever the protector, made his way back over to Chloe, sitting at Timmy’s feet as he waited to see whether she was okay. Timmy finally ran one hand down Chloe’s hair and kissed the top of her head.
“The way I treated you was unforgivable. I’m so sorry I hurt you.” The rasp in Timmy’s voice betrayed the calm he was struggling to maintain. Her anguish shattered him. Knowing that he was the cause of it made his self-disgust rear up at him like a spitting cobra.
She looked up at him, tears still tracking down her face, regret in her eyes. “I’m sorry that you thought I was manipulating you. I should have told you…”
“Hush.” He gave her a small smile and tenderly wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. His heart swelled knowing she was giving him a chance to make things up to her, but it was more than that; he needed Chloe to understand that none of this was her fault. His gaze was locked with hers as he continued. “You didn’t manipulate me into doing anything. Shit, I’ve wanted you since the second I laid eyes on you. I was so angry…”
“You were.” She nodded. Her words were quiet, but her eyes flashed at him.
Is it fear? Is Chloe scared of me? It was obvious that she was giving him a chance to explain, but he knew he was far from forgiven.
“I wasn’t angry at you. I was angry at myself. I still am. I was angry that I took you so roughly. It was so fucking unromantic. Your first time should have been special. You should have had a candlelit dinner and flowers. You should have been taken to bed and made love to, not fucked hard and fast against a wall. I put you at risk. Jesus, I didn’t even use protection. I never do that. It was my job to protect you and I failed. I’ve been tested and I haven’t gone bare since, but what if I picked something up anyway? Are you on the pill? Fuck, I have no idea. I could have gotten you pregnant. The two times it’s my job to protect someone and I fail.”
“Yeah, you fucked up. Big time.”
“Let me try to make it up to you. Come back with me.”
“Sorry, Timmy, no. You’ve hurt me too much already. I can’t risk it happening again. You should leave now, go back to your house. I’ll have Zane or one of my sisters’ drop off Mo to you later tonight.”
“Like hell. Zane told me that Blade threatened you yesterday. I’ve been frantic all fucking night and all fucking day thinking he’d gotten to you. Mo’s staying with you until we get rid of Blade one way or another.”
“I’m sorry about you worrying, but what I do isn’t your concern now. Goodbye, Timmy. You need to leave.”
“I’ll leave now because that’s what you need, but this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.” Timmy spun and strode back to his bike ignoring the others before turning over the engine and kicking up a trail of dirt and rocks as he flew out the drive. He was angry again, but he understood completely. Chloe had put a wall up around her heart to protect herself and in the process ripped out his. He’d done that to her so he had to live with the consequences. She may have made peace with her decision, but it was going to be hell on him. At least he’d suffer penance for his sins.
Chloe was in purgatory. A week had passed since her meltdown at the old farmhouse, resulting in walking away from the best opportunity she’d had in her life. Rake hadn’t wanted to accept her resignation via text message but had eventually caved when she’d handed him a signed letter, insisting that he take it. He’d shoved it in the closest drawer and stormed off. Now she was moping. She didn’t have a job. She didn’t even have any prospects. The tattoo studios in a two-hour radius were all no-goes. The ones who had heard along the grape vine that she’d started working with Rake were pretty upfront with her: if she couldn’t handle Rake, she wouldn’t cope working for them. So, she’d asked for work in every store in the mall in Crystal Springs. Unfortunately, unemployed students and graduates were a dime a dozen and, although she had a bachelor’s degree, it didn’t amount to much when a fine arts graduate was looking for retail work.
She’d sold some sketches online but the sale price for original art by a no-name artist wasn’t high. She barely covered the costs of producing the pieces, never mind making enough to live off. Claire had taken on another shift at work so they’d have some extra cash and once Chloe’s police checks and all the paperwork had been completed, Cleo’s boss had agreed to pay her for a few hours each week to help out as an art aide at the school. It was going to mean cleaning paintbrushes, closing paint lids and restocking supplies, but it was better than nothing at all.
Lacking a job wasn’t actually the worst of it. Chloe had tried to give Mo back, but the poor dog kept getting delivered back to their place with his bed, new stocks of food and a new chew toy. After the fifth time dropping him off, Chloe had given up. Timmy insisted that she needed Mo for protection and ignored her every time she used the argument that her safety wasn’t his concern. The last time she’d raised it with him, he’d threatened her with a spanking. She’d given in after that and took Mo home with her. Truth be told she loved Mo and he did make her feel safe and unconditionally loved, so Chloe was happy to have him. But she felt bad keeping the pooch when she was barely even talking to his owner. Even Claire had warmed to Mo in the time they’d had him, and that was saying something. Claire spoiled him rotten when she thought no one was looking, tossing him scraps of food and letting him curl up next to her on the sofa at night.
The frustration of going backwards and forth with Mo wasn’t the worst of it either. Timmy was. Chloe’s heart hurt every time she thought of him. And she thought of him a lot. He was a persistent bugger, sending over delivery after delivery of flowers: roses, lilies, orchids, wildflowers, you name it. Their perfume permeated every inch of their small house, which was nice, but seeing daily reminders of a tattered dream was like squeezing her heart in a vise. Every note that Timmy wrote was left unread, still sitting spiked out of the flowers, like every one of his calls went unanswered. She deleted every message before she’d even listened to them. Chloe didn’t care what he had to say, or at least, she didn’t want to care. It was hard enough keeping her walls up knowing that he wanted her back without hearing his voice. She’d never be able to resist him if she caved and listened to him or saw him again.
Cleo was siding with her on this saying that Timmy was a bastard and he should lose his nuts for treating Chloe the way he had. Surprisingly, fiercely protective Claire had been much more diplomatic. She’d told Chloe how sick with worry he was when she’d gone missing and that he’d made a promise to Claire that she’d believed with every fiber of her being. Claire wouldn’t tell her what the promise was, only that it was an important one. She was starting to encourage Chloe to give Timmy a second chance. Having one sister vying for blood and the other trying to talk sense into her was confusing as hell. The already rocky foundations of the fortress she’d built around her heart were crumbling. Chloe would never dream of anything bad happening to Timmy, despite Cleo’s gory description of what she’d like to do to him. That thought of Timmy hurt made her sick. No, what she wanted was a time machine. There were so many things that she would change since their move to Rock Springs.
Dragged back to her reality of being at home when she could have been working her dream job, Chloe sighed and figured taking Mo for a walk was at least the healthy thing to do. As tempting as it was to eat a tub of Ben & Jerry’s, Chloe couldn’t sit still any longer. She was better since her breakdown in Timmy’s arms a week earlier, but she still had a long way to go before she’d be able to sit still and enjoy the peace for any length of time without the need to keep moving. That meant she needed to get
out of the house. Cleo wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours and Claire was gone until the following day, having to pull a double shift at the hospital. She’d had enough of being on her own, but a lack of cash had put a limit on what she could do during those endless hours of spare time. Tristan had stopped over for a three or four hours twice through the week and she’d seen Jo a few times too, but what she could do with them was limited. Luckily, walking Mo was free and he was always up for exercise.
Exhausted from their two hours running in the park, Chloe walked up the drive to Claire’s little cottage. As soon as Mo’s front paws hit the timber stairs, the hair on his back stood up straight, his tail stopped wagging, his ears pricked up and he sniffed the ground. Weird. Mo’s growl had Chloe stiffening too. Something felt off. She unlocked the front door and Mo pushed in front of her, barking as soon as he could see in past the threshold. Chloe’s eyes bugged out and she sank to her knees in disbelief. Their place, which was anally retentive pristine when she left, was trashed. Furniture toppled over, sofa cushions shredded, the TV and family photos ripped off the wall. Someone had even pulled back the edge of the carpet where it was starting to come up. Zane had only stuck it back down with tape the day before, temporarily fixing the trip hazard until he could get to the hardware supply store in Crystal Springs. And that was only the den. Chloe could see that there was the same damage done to the kitchen even from where she knelt at the doorway. Tears formed a hot trail down her cheeks when she saw the photo of their parents. The waiter had snapped it at their wedding anniversary dinner. The photo had not only been ripped off the wall, but had been smashed, the photo ripped from the frame. Why? Why is this happening to us? What have we done to deserve this? Or maybe, what did Momma and Daddy do?