Start With Me: A Novel (Start Again Series Book 3)

by J. Saman

  “Okay. What can I do? Who is the prick? Do we have any info on him?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got info on him,” I snarl out, sitting on the edge of my bed, propping my elbow on my thigh and rubbing my forehead with my hand. “He’s spending the night in the hospital courtesy of Claire, but then he’s going to prison.”

  “I’m on it,” Luke says. It sounds like he’s moving around, his voice no longer laced with the sleep I woke him from. “I’m fucking on it. I just got home like two hours ago, so I can give this my full attention. And when dawn hits and it’s Ryan’s turn with the twins, I’ll get him on it too. We’ll get everything the prick never wanted anyone to know about. We’ll get it all,” he assures me.

  I had no doubts.

  “I need his name, phone number, and anything else you have that might be helpful. A social would be awesome.”

  God, this guy had no idea who he was fucking with when he attacked Claire. I’d hate to ever go up against Luke and Ryan. Luke does crazy black-op hacks for some branch of our government that he cannot tell me about. In fact, that’s what he was doing until two hours ago, apparently. Ryan may be clean now, but he wasn’t always. And if he desires, he can be as dangerous and elusive as they get when it comes to a computer. In fact, I know he still plays around with stuff to keep his skills at top level. You’d never see them coming. Never even know that they just fucked up your entire world until it all fell apart. And then, you’d still be clueless as to who did it.

  Simply put, they’re the best.

  “I’ll send you everything I have with an encrypted file to that special email address we use. I need you guys to come here in the morning. Ryan has a spare key to Claire’s apartment. It’s going to be a mess and he needs to clean it up. She’s also going to need clothes and shit. She’s not leaving my apartment,” I say a bit harsher than I intend, sitting up straight and staring at my now closed bedroom door.

  “Got it. Just take care of her.” I get the hang-up beeps, toss my phone down on my bed and continue to stare at the door. I can’t look away. I can’t see anything other than Claire’s bruised and broken body.

  After I send everything to Luke, I get in bed and my eyes stare unseeing up at the white ceiling. There is no way I can sleep tonight. I just keep hearing her story go through my head. Envisioning what that sick prick did to her.

  I’m antsy. Edgy. Agitated.

  I want to go down the hall and crawl in bed with her, wrap my arms around her body and tell her that I have her. Tell her that she’s not alone and that I don’t care about any of our bullshit. Tell her I’m sorry for ditching her these last five weeks.

  My world has been turned upside down so many times in the last six months I can hardly make sense of it all.

  I left New York because I was being stalked and threatened by the mob. Oh, and that Leukemia scare. Can’t forget that. I dropped my best friend because I was stupid enough to have sex with her, and she didn’t want me back the way I want her. I’m doing corporate law even though it bores the piss out of me.

  I love Ryan and I love Luke, but after walking into that police station tonight, I know that I’m not cut out to only be Grant Technologies lawyer. I miss the high. The rush of adrenaline that can only come from going toe to toe and head to head.

  So, I’m thinking I’m going to be doing some pro bono stuff in the near future.

  My phone vibrates on my nightstand and as I roll over to grab it, I see it’s Ryan.

  “What the hell are you doing awake this late? Or early, I should say.”

  Ryan laughs the laugh of a man who is blissfully happy with his existence. “I have infant twins. I’m up all the goddamn time.” I smile at that despite myself. “Actually I’m looking at Will, who’s finally fast asleep in my arms and I’m thinking he looks just like you.”

  Now I smile big. “Yeah?” I laugh a little, because Will is only six weeks old and looks like an alien with his bald head and big eyes. But I don’t say that to my brother about his son, my nephew.

  “Yeah. He’s got your eyes. The color is still all blue-gray and shit, but the shape is yours. And he definitely has your mouth and that cleft in his chin. In fact, I’m going to try and find some baby pictures of us and I’ll show you.”

  “Who are you right now?” I laugh again because I don’t even recognize this man. My brother was never this sentimental before.

  “I know,” he says in a quiet awed voice. “But man, it’s good shit. Leah is finally asleep in her crib and Will is now sacked out in my arms. I’m fucking exhausted. I smell like baby vomit, because my clothes are covered in spit up. But I’ve never been happier. Is it weird that I sort of want to eat them?”

  “Not if it’s in a sweet, loving way. Yes, if it’s in a cannibalistic way.” Ryan sighs heavily into the phone. “I spoke to Luke because, well . . . I’m awake.”

  “So, you’re taking care of some stuff?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been doing one-handed typing for the last twenty and let me tell you, that shit slows you down. Anyway, I got the email that you sent and so did Luke, and we’re coordinating.”

  “Will I be bailing you out of prison?” I ask with a smile, my arm resting behind my head against my pillow.

  “Nah, I’m straight. Why didn’t I wake you and why do you sound like I just killed your cat?”

  “I hate cats,” I say instead of anything real. I don’t even know why he’s asking me that question. And yet, I do. He wants to know how deep this is going for me.

  “I know that, asshole. It’s a fucking figure of speech. Talk to me.”

  “She’s hurt,” is all I can manage, because Ryan never wanted me to get as close to Claire as I was getting. And this is the exact reason why. I’m tortured over this. He knew it all along and even though I’ve hid it from him these last couple of months, I know he knew anyway. He’s just that sort of asshole.

  “Yeah. She is. But you don’t have to be a part of it. Luke and I can handle it—”

  “Fuck you,” I snap, interrupting him before he can say anything further.

  “Just checking,” he says casually with a smile to his voice.

  “If you keep being an asshole, I’m going to tell Kate about the time I broke your nose when you stole my X-Box and you cried like a pussy.”

  “She already knows that one.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll tell her about the time you threw up in school all over Marissa Shooster and everyone laughed.”

  “Yeah, that sucked. I doubt Katie will do anything other than laugh at me, but I get your point. I won’t say anything else. But just so you know, I’m sort of dying to.”

  Now it’s my turn to sigh.

  “I’m glad she has you. I know your shit with her is all kinds of fucked up. But I’m still glad she has you.”

  I blow out a long deep breath, my eyes still covered with my hands. “I know you are. And thanks for not giving me shit over her.”

  “I’m sorry for what it’s worth. To you. And Claire. She is just a messed-up creature when it comes to men. She’s got this thing, I don’t know. She doesn’t talk about it, but she wasn’t always like this,” Ryan pauses and silence ensues because I have no words to fill it after what he just said. “Do you want me to come over now?”

  “No. I’m going to sleep. Plus, you’re busy. I’ll see you in the morning, or in a few hours, I guess. Kiss the babies for me.”

  “I’ll bring breakfast. And those cookies from that bakery by your house.”

  “Rugelach?”

  “Yeah. Those are really freaking good. Claire likes them, too.”

  “She does.” I sigh again, feeling even more deflated over all sorts of things I have zero control over. “Later.”

  Then I hear baby Will cry and Ryan hisses, “Shit. See you later.” The phone disconnects and even though Ryan isn’t sleeping and is covered in baby vomit, I’m so fucking jealous.

  Because he has it all, and I just have memories.

  And like my memories conjured
her out of thin air, I hear Claire walking into my room.

  Chapter 30

  Claire

  “Was that Luke or Ryan?” I ask, pulling back the covers and slipping in next to Kyle. I don’t want to sleep alone tonight. I can’t. I tried. But the moment I close my eyes, I see that asshole’s dark looming ones. The ones that said he was going to kill me and hack me into a million tiny pieces, and stuff me into a box where no one would ever find me.

  It’s amazing the clarity that comes with nearly being murdered.

  I feel like I have a new image of life, and for the first time in the last three years, I fear death. I don’t want it to happen. At least not until I’m old with cosmetically dyed red hair and tits that sag around my knees. So yeah, I have some shit to figure out.

  “Ryan,” Kyle says, rolling over and taking me in. I wish he wouldn’t.

  I was hoping the darkness of his room would hide me, but I don’t think there is enough darkness in the world to hide what the fucker did to me. My face is a mess. I spent way too long in front of the mirror after my shower while Kyle was getting me clothes, just examining the aftermath. They had taken pictures of me at the police station. Evidence, they called it. Funny how that is not the word that comes to mind when I see them.

  I nod, settling my head on his pillow and staring at him. “What time are they coming over?”

  He just stares at me, almost like he’s surprised that I know that they will. I’m not. I can only imagine the dark world those two boys are crawling themselves into. I bet they didn’t even think twice about it, either. That makes me swallow hard.

  “For breakfast.”

  “Good. That means we can get some sleep before they come.” I snuggle in closer, unbelievably comforted by his warmth and size despite the way my body aches. But just being next to Kyle is the best thing ever.

  “I take it you’re doing that in here?”

  I shrug a shoulder, my eyes still locked on him. I can’t seem to stop that. “Yeah.” I give him a wry smile. “I’m too pissed off to sleep alone. I keep replaying it in my mind, and instead of getting all scared the way I feel like I should, I’m becoming enraged. I almost wish I could go back and finish the job. Make sure that dickface can never hurt anyone else again.”

  “I’m working on that, cupcake,” he says, and I smile at the name because he hasn’t used it on me in a while. “Just get some sleep.”

  I close my eyes on command, snuggling down and wiggling under the covers. My body aches. My bones hurt. My muscles scream with every single movement I make. But I find a comfort I’ve never known and refuse to question in this bed with this man. “Stop watching me,” I grin, my eyes still closed.

  He lets out a small husky laugh that gives me chills and oddly enough makes me want to grab onto him and kiss him senseless. I don’t, because, well, I was attacked tonight. Not exactly the hottest or most romantic of things.

  “Good night, sweetheart,” he says and I can’t stop my smile because he called me that earlier, and it’s not his normal pet name for me. But I think I secretly love it.

  I wake up to the sun shining bright in my face and my body tucked under Kyle’s arm, my head on his warm, hard chest. In the immortal words of Yogi Berra, it’s like déjà vu all over again.

  The urge to snuggle into him and kiss his soft, musky skin is real. Pulling even. But I won’t take him on this ride again. I hurt him. Twice. I need to know my reality before I can have a life with him. Now, I just have to pull up my big girl panties and grow some balls and stop being a pussy or whatever other expression there is, and do it.

  Amazing how differently I feel about that idea now. Getting knocked in the head makes you think. And gain perspective.

  I get up slowly, noting just how sore my body really is. My arms and thighs feel like I tortured them by lifting thousand pound weights. My ribs burn every time I take a step or a deep breath, and I don’t even want to acknowledge the way my face feels because I know it will translate into something superficially horrifying.

  But this pain is not all superficial, is it?

  I step into one of the guest bathrooms on the opposite side of the apartment from Kyle’s master and lock the door behind me. I shower again, taking my time to wash my hair and body, and allow the heat of the water to penetrate my stiff and overworked muscles.

  Once that’s done, I cry.

  Crying isn’t something I do all that often, or all that well.

  I’m not one of those people who feels better after a “good” cry. In fact, I usually feel like shit after and look ten times worse. It’s really the red hair and pale skin thing. But I already look like shit, so I figure it can’t get much worse. Plus, I’m overwhelmed by so many things I don’t even know how to begin to catalogue them in order of importance. And none of them want to be tucked back into their tightly lidded boxes.

  No, it’s like the stupid dam burst and every single emotion I’ve never allowed myself to feel are breaching all at once, vying for top of the heap. My childhood. My mother’s suicide. My father’s lack of love for me. The uncertainty of my future life. Being attacked. My loving friends. Kyle. They’re equally desperate to be the one to finally cut me to my knees. Everything seems to be intermingling and connecting into one ferocious circle of self-abhorrence.

  I sit on the warm tile floor, my ravaged body no longer able to stand. Drawing my knees up to my chest, I let it all go.

  I sob and wail and rock, and even bang my fists against the wall a time or two. I’ve never felt so many things all at once, and trying to manage them all is crippling. I’m sure I’m anything but quiet, but thankfully, Kyle never tries to come in to witness my disintegration.

  After an eternity, the water becomes tepid and it’s just enough of a shift in the atmosphere to bring me back to the present. I allow the water to cool the heat from my face for a moment before I step out onto the warm floor and wrap myself in a large, fluffy towel.

  I realize I have no clean clothes. No hairbrush, or deodorant—or even a toothbrush.

  I’ll have to go home.

  That thought brings me up short.

  In the meantime, I’ll use Kyle’s. I swap out the towel for a bathrobe I find hanging on the back of the door. Wrapping the towel around my hair Carmen Miranda style, I pad barefoot down the hall, but stop once I reach the traveling sound of voices. I sigh inwardly. God, they’re not going to make this easy.

  I plaster on my brightest smile, knowing full well it won’t fool them, and walk past the great room into the kitchen area to find Luke, Ryan, and Kyle talking in serious hushed tones while sipping coffee from plain black ceramic mugs. I really need to up the color factor around here.

  “Shhhh,” I hiss exaggeratedly, cupping my hands around my mouth. “Careful, or she’ll hear you talking about her.”

  All three heads simultaneously fly in my direction. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you that sneaking up on people is rude,” Luke chastises while his eyes glue themselves to the bruised right side of my face.

  “Obviously not,” I shrug, “which is why I’m constantly rude and have absolutely no manners to speak of.”

  “Are we going to pretend to ignore the swollen, purple half of your face, or am I allowed to growl out my anger?” Luke continues, turning to fully face me as he sets his coffee down on the hard stone countertop with a clink.

  I roll my eyes and instantly regret it. That freaking hurts.

  “Stop being a fuckstick,” Ryan says, setting his own coffee down and walking toward me. He pauses, maybe a couple of feet from me, and just stares at me. God, this is so much worse than I thought it would be. I expected yelling and a lot of swearing, maybe even having to make a few key promises, but this staring thing is killing me. It’s taking everything inside of me not to shift or look away.

  “How bad?” he asks after a quiet beat.

  “Could be worse.” I swallow hard.

  “You and I are going to talk later.” His voice is like ice and nails. Cold an
d sharp. But it’s the look in his green eyes that has my breath, and any potential snarky comeback, lodged in my throat. They’re unbelievably raw and vulnerable. I can practically taste his consternation.

  The idea of Ryan feeling this way over me guts me.

  I nod and tell him that I’m okay as best I can with my eyes. But he’s not satisfied, probably because I doubt I’m all that convincing. The way I look isn’t doing me any favors.

  “I brought you a bag of stuff,” Ryan says, and I can feel my eyes narrowing.

  “Why would you do that? I’m not a fucking child. I don’t need to be babied.” I blow past him, aiming for Kyle now, because I know he’s the reason there’s a bag of my things here. “I’m not a prisoner and I’m not staying here indefinitely.”

  Yeah, he’s not impressed with me and really, I should shut up instead of getting defensive. But it’s all I have right now. He’s got this cocky, you’re leaving over my dead body, stance going on. It would be oddly appealing if it wasn’t so condescending.

  “I don’t think you’re a child,” Kyle says calmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “But you’re not moving back into that apartment.”

  “The hell I’m not,” I roar.

  “It’s not safe,” he yells back, slamming his palms onto the marble of the counter with a slap. “You were fucking attacked in your own apartment. There isn’t even a motherfucking lock on the front of your building. Any psycho can walk in,” he pauses, “obviously.” The accusatory sneer in his voice is so unbelievably unwelcome, my hand actually twitches with the urge to slap his face.

  “Who the hell do you think you are to dictate what I do with my life?” Now it’s my turn to slam my hands down because if I don’t hit something, I’m going to hit him and it’s probably not a wise decision to hit your lawyer. The man you love, sure, but not your lawyer.

  Kyle’s eyes narrow, I notice Ryan and Luke move towards their chosen position on Team Kyle. I’m not exactly in a situation to storm out either. I’m wearing a goddamn bathrobe. It’s not even mine.

  Could I be anymore pathetic?