Instead he’d stumbled upon his biggest fear: a malicious and frankly, unwarranted attack on Lana’s character.
Turning onto Third Street he stomped on the accelerator after spotting her Corolla up ahead, whipping his Ford F150 recklessly into her narrow drive as she bounded from her car. “Damn it, Lana, quit running from me!” Leaping from his truck he raced across the yard, hurdling up the steps after her.
He finally caught up with her in the hallway, colliding into her body from behind, trapping her against his solid frame and the wall. “It’s okay, Sweetheart. It’s me”, he murmured softly. “It’s me…”
Lana stilled the moment his breath whispered over her ear, his low, soothing voice weakening her defenses. Scared and vulnerable and frail, a powerful sob worked its way up her trembling body, rising, gaining momentum until it inevitably fled her lips. Her body shook with it, her knees buckling as grief rippled through her small frame, but Randall was right there to catch her.
He held her like that, her back against his front, while she wept, whispering words of encouragement, supporting her languid body until the volume of her cries softened.
“I-I just don’t un-understand”, she uttered just above a whisper, turning in his arms to face him. “Why would sh-she do that?—in front of the whole t-town—in front of m-my son?”
“I don’t know.”
“I mean, I knew she was up-upset with me, but—”
Randall palmed her face, needing to feel her soft skin beneath his rough fingertips, needing her to listen to reason. “She’s bitter, Lana. Morally bankrupt. Angry about her marriage ending and looking for anyone to shoulder the blame instead of accepting responsibility for her actions.”
Sweeping his thumb across her sodden cheek, he wiped away the dark lines marring her pretty face. The wind howled as he pinned her with his gaze. Lana’s deep blue eyes were dull and listless, her long lashes matted together with mascara and fresh tears. And those full pink lips—lips he’d tirelessly tasted and nibbled—quivered with grief.
“We were friends”, she whispered. “Good friends…” Lana clenched her eyes shut, then opened them again. “How’d she find out about us? How’d she—”
“I don’t know”, he answered truthfully, because he honestly didn’t have a clue. They’d been so careful—dotted every i, crossed every t. “It was either a lucky guess or—”
“She saw us”, she finished.
The back of Lana’s head thumped against the wall, exposing her slender neck. He wanted to dip his head, run his tongue along her smooth skin, breathe in the arousing scent of vanilla and wanton woman.
What did that say about him? What kind of person could think about sex at a time like this?
A low, pathetic, soulless man, that’s who.
The urge to touch her, kiss her, love her was on a cellular level, deeply embedded in his make-up. He craved her every minute—every second—every day, which made what he knew he had to do all the more difficult to execute.
How did one begin to purge an essential part of themselves?—a part tightly knitted around every fiber, tainting every cell?
You could start by taking your hands off her pretty face.
Randall brushed the pad of his thumb over her cheek one last time, committing the silky texture to memory before placing his hands down by his sides.
“I can’t believe this is happening”, she muttered. “God, the look on Connor’s face… What am I supposed to tell him when he asks me what happened?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Tell me what you do know, then.”
Running quivering fingers through his thick black hair, Randall met her gaze and uttered the words he prayed he’d never have to say aloud. “This was a mistake.”
“This?” she questioned, her brows drawing together in confusion.
Randall shifted his weight, nodding feebly. “Us.” Damn it, why was this so hard?
Because you’re going to hurt her.
Because although it was the morally correct thing to say, it wasn’t how he really felt at all. Not even close. “The night you followed me home, I… I crossed the line, Lana. I should’ve…”
“Should have what?”
Randall blew a puff of air from his lungs and leaned his back against the opposite wall, the howling wind nearly muffled by the sound of his raging pulse. “I should’ve asked you to leave.”
His words had delivered a heavy, callous blow; he could tell by the way her breath hitched, by the way her body jerked. Her reaction was that of a woman that’d been slapped. Utterly stunned. And given the choice, he knew she’d have preferred physical pain over the emotional sting he’d just inflicted.
Sometimes words did hurt.
Because bruises would heal, fade, but acrid remarks stayed with you, eroding your insides, leaving scars too heavy and broad to heal. Sometimes cutting words were unforgivable. Unforgettable.
“When did you come to that conclusion, huh?”
“Does it really matter?”
“Matters to me”, she uttered softly.
Randall forced the words over his throat, steeling his spine for the pain he would inflict again. “I knew the moment I opened the door and found you on my front porch that night.”
“And yet you pursued this”—she gestured between them—“anyway. Not once, not twice, but over and over again…”
“I’m no saint, Lana—you of all people should know that.”
“You’re wrong”, she whispered.
“Am I? Think about everything’s that happened in the last year, Lana. I’m the common denominator”, he explained, placing his palm over his chest. “I’m responsible for everything bad that’s happened to you since—”
Lana shook her head. “No. What happened to Jimmy… it wasn’t your fault!”
Randall’s mouth stretched into a faint smile. “One of the things I admire most about you is your ability to see the good in people. You have every right to be jaded, empty, and yet you’re not. Don’t ever lose that.”
“I-I don’t understand, I—”
“I’m trying to do the right thing, here, Sweetheart”, he disclosed, wiping his palm down his face.
“Which is?”
His gaze lowered to her trembling hands, feverishly scraping the red polish from her nails. He hated himself for doing this, hated himself for dealing blow after agonizing blow. She deserved better. Lana deserved a worthy man. She deserved happiness—not misery and despair. He’d tried for months to become that man, and for a while he’d even convinced himself he was.
But that was nothing more than wishful thinking.
He loved her deep and hard, fierce and absolute. Christ, he wished things were different, wished he could right all the wrongs, undo all the damage he’d caused. Because standing in front of her now, he realized the truth.
He wasn’t worthy.
He never would be.
“End this. Walk away.”
A single tear trickled down her cheek as she inhaled a shaky breath. “So everything… the past two months… they meant nothing to you?”
“I don’t regret one minute I spent with you, Lana—just the parts that led up to it. The outcome.”
“So you’re just going to walk away?”
“It’s better this way”, he managed in a voice he barely recognized. Randall pushed off the wall, pointing his feet toward the front door. He didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know she was following him.
“Better for whom?”
“You. Connor. Everyone.”
Lana latched onto his elbow several paces from the door, digging her heels into the wood floor. “Please, Randall, don’t do this!” she pleaded desperately. “I’ve l-lost everything—I can’t lose y-you, too!”
Randall turned to face her, swallowing hard. This was it. He had to sever ties—before he lost his nerve. “Losing me is the best thing that’s ever happened to you, Sweetheart. In time, you’ll see.” Peeling her from his body he too
k a step back, watching as her small frame melted into a puddle of hopelessness.
“I Love you! Please, d-don’t leave m-me!”
Randall glanced over his shoulder, one foot already out the door. Lana sat on the floor, her legs tucked under her, a steady river of tears cascading down her angelic face. He’d lain awake many nights wondering what it’d be like to hear Lana utter those three simple words.
She loved him.
Part of him wanted to turn around, scoop her grieving body off the floor and show her just how much he loved her too.
But he didn’t deserve to be loved—especially by Lana Phillips.
“That’s impossible, Sweetheart; the person you think you fell in love with doesn’t exist—at least, not anymore.”
The screaming wind mixed with the sound of weeping woman as Randall hustled to his truck. Turning the ignition, he squealed out of her driveway in a mad dash to make it home before the heavens opened up.
Because he couldn’t be here.
He wasn’t sure where he was headed just yet—Steinhatchee, Jacksonville—hell, did it really matter? Where ever he ended up he’d still be the man solely responsible for destroying the best thing that’d ever happened to him.
Randall left the engine running while he went inside to pack an overnight bag. He’d be back in time for his shift on Wednesday, but in the mean time he’d seek shelter from the storm.
The one brewing over the Gulf of Mexico, as well as the imminent metaphorical one, likely spreading across the island at this very moment.
Chapter 30
“You were brilliant”, Mayor Cliffburg praised as the breakdown crew disassembled the small stage behind him. “Did you see the shock on the crowd’s faces?—the repulsion?”
“No, I—”
“If not for the approaching storm they’d have probably burned her at the stake!”
A deranged smile spread across the mayor’s lips. He was practically foaming at the mouth over Lana’s degradation. And while Jenny had taken great pleasure in her vengeful outburst at the time, the euphoria had quickly fizzled.
“What happened between the two of you, huh? What happened to make you hate her so much?” Jenny pressed, her long auburn locks whirling in the growing breeze. The mayor’s expression suddenly turned cold, intense. A shiver worked its way up her spine, causing the hair on the back of her neck to rise.
“She deceived me”, he answered through clenched teeth, stepping so close to Jenny she had to tilt her head back. “You’d be wise to remember that, Mrs. Carson.”
Jenny nodded feebly. What had she gotten herself into this time?
“Listen, I need you to lie low for a few days, all right?—allow the domino effect to continue. I’ll be in touch.”
And just like that he was gone, leaving Jenny alone with an uncomfortable bout of remorse. She hadn’t seen the crowd’s expressions, but she had seen Lana’s. Jenny feared she’d never be able to expunge the disturbing image from her mind.
Ever.
Turning on her heels, she hauled her purse over her shoulder and shuffled to her car. Particles of sand pelted her creamy skin, making the porcelain hue appear red and raw.
Jimmy’s casket was barely lowered into the ground when you started whoring around.
What?—th-that’s not true! You know how much I loved Jimmy!
Sliding into the driver’s seat she closed her eyes. “God, Jenny”, she muttered, “what have you done…?”
Pine needles writhed in the growing wind, synchronously thrashing and swaying, whispering and sighing a heavy warning. A storm, tropical and fierce, was quickly approaching.
Around these parts hurricane season was a double-edged sword, signifying the end to Florida’s treacherous dry season and the birth of atmospheric violence. Hot sultry days and clear blue skies transformed into something wild and feared. The possessed heavens turned angry and black like clockwork as fiery beams of jagged light leaped from dismal clouds, landing with a thunderous roar. Thunderstorms: as tried-and-true as the changing tides.
But tropical systems were different. Unpredictable.
Powerful winds demolished.
Unrelenting rain pummeled.
The swollen ocean devoured.
Here, along the Gulf Coast, it wasn’t a matter of if a tropical system would hit, but rather when. And when the demonic clouds cleared the cleanup would begin and soon the named storm would become nothing more than a distant memory…
But the debacle that’d just unfolded a short time ago on stage—the one that’d publicly outed Randall’s relationship with Lana, humiliating her in front of the entire town—wouldn’t be so lucky.
The shockwave of destruction would linger long after the powerful wind calmed, long after the heavy rain subsided.
Lana’s entire world was in shambles. Her character and reputation reduced to a heaping pile of tangled rubbish. Needless to say, the clean up efforts would take far longer than the physical damage left behind by the first tropical system of the season.
Merging onto the desolate, two-lane road that led to I-10, Randall turned on his wipers. Conditions were quickly deteriorating. Guess his last minute decision to flee the chaos back home had been a little… rash. But there’d been a method to his madness. Skipping town for a day or two would allow the dust to settle; give everyone time to digest the news.
As predicted, it hadn’t taken long for the backlash to unfurl. Randall had already received more than a dozen calls from Kendall and the guys he worked with. He hadn’t answered, of course. Navigating the slick asphalt in this weather required two hands, and besides, he didn’t need anyone to tell him what a worthless, despicable lowlife he was—that he already knew.
The winding road carved a path through the colossal forest, Longleaf and Slash Pines rising above droves of bushy Saw Palmettos. The canopies warped in the wind, swaying, thrashing, transporting Randall back in time to that fateful day one year ago.
He couldn’t help but wonder the course his life would have taken if he’d only paid attention to his environment that day. Maybe if he had he would’ve seen the definitive signs, maybe he could’ve steered everyone away from the arms of doom. Hell, Chief Handler had drilled the importance of constant assessment into his brain since day one: use your senses, never lose focus, analyze the clues in your surroundings, predict what might happen next…
He failed his fellow brothers that day. Failed his best friend.
But that’d only been the beginning.
A hearty gust of air slammed into the side of his truck. Randall gripped the wheel, fighting the groaning wind. He’d disappeared for five months, leaving Lana to fend for herself. Sure, she’d had friends, her parents, but that wasn’t the same. She’d needed him. And he’d failed her.
Randall had made it his mission to make up for his absence upon his return last fall, stepping in as the interim patriarch of the Phillips household. After five months of feverishly working to fill the void left behind by Jimmy’s death with eighty-proof whiskey, he’d welcomed the challenge. Amazingly, his presence seemed to lighten the load Lana carried, he’d even seen an improvement in Connor’s filthy mouth. Things were looking up…
Until the night he’d driven Lana home from The Saloon. That night had changed everything.
That night he’d seen Lana differently—not as his best friend’s grieving widow, but rather a beautiful woman. That night he’d set the stage for the ultimate betrayal, failing Jimmy yet again.
Failure seemed to be his mantra these days, seemed to be the only thing he was any good at.
Squeezing the steering wheel, Randall rounded a curve as the howling wind and pounding rain intensified, obscuring his visibility. The blanket of water falling from the heavens was nearly horizontal now. Squinting, Randall gently pressed on the brake, gradually reducing his speed to prevent his tires from skidding off the slick, narrow road.
Randall hadn’t overlooked the irony: this wasn’t the first time he’d skipped town, leavi
ng Lana desperate, pleading, and alone. He could still remember the shrill of her cries as he’d bounded from his seat during Jimmy’s funeral. She’d been hysterical, inconsolable. Hopeless.
Randall pressed on the brake until his wheels rolled to a stop, then ran his hands through his thick black hair. “Fuck”, he sighed, the back of his head thumping against the headrest in defeat.
He sat still for a stretch, watching as the slanting sheet of water pummeled the earth. He’d left her again. Left her to fend for herself, left her hopeless and broken on her living room floor, pleading for his love and support.
And he’d fucking left her!
“I’ve lost everything—I can’t lose you, too! I Love you! Please, don’t leave me!”
Chaos ensued around him: the growing wind roared, torrential rain hammered the roof of his truck. Mother Nature was exposing her almighty power. And yet in the midst of all the commotion and turbulence surrounding him, a whisper of calmness settled over his body…
He had to go back.
He wasn’t quite sure what the future held for the two of them, but there was one thing he was sure of: This time Lana wouldn’t be alone.
This time they would face the fury together.
Randall gently nudged the accelerator with the toe of his boot and yanked the wheel to the left, aiming his truck toward the coast. It was just after three o’clock when he began his journey home, although the emerging storm made the afternoon feel more like dusk.
It was slow-going now. Rain maliciously pelted his truck, resembling the sound of hail. It wasn’t, of course; hail rarely accompanied tropical systems. The robust wind bellowed as it collided into the side of his Ford, attempting to shove the two-ton pick-up over the double yellow lines painted on the middle of the winding road.
There was good reason why emergency officials drilled the importance of staying off the roads when wind gusts tipped the forty mile per hour mark. It was unsafe—which probably explained why he hadn’t seen another car since he’d crossed the Mainland Bridge roughly forty-five minutes ago.
Seems he was the only idiot crazy enough to impulsively leave town in the midst of a tropical cyclone. What was that old saying? Stupid is as stupid does…?
Rescue Me (Butler Island) Page 22