Red Nights

by Shari J. Ryan

  I don’t know where my head is right now, but it’s not where it should be.

  “I understand,” I say. This isn’t for fun. It’s for keeps. And I’m not sure I hate that.

  “I can’t control myself around you. My heart and my body are in a boxing match right now, but I need you to sleep on all of this. Okay?” He wants me to sleep on the fact that he has an ex-fiancé, and a daughter who died. I can only assume one has to do with the other. I’ve heard the unfortunate statistics of a relationship or marriage not surviving after the loss of a child. And I just lost Blake…he should probably sleep on that too, especially for the fact that my wounds are fresh and I haven’t even begun to heal. I can’t tell him I’m fine or that I’ll be okay. He’s the one who should be worried about getting involved with me. Maybe he is.

  “Of course.” I wonder if my smile looks fake? Because it is. God, I feel so dumb for coming over here.

  I make my way out of his bedroom, realizing I look more and more like something’s wrong, so I grab my purse from the couch and turn around to find his chest in my face.

  “You can’t leave like this.”

  “I’m not leaving like anything, Hayes. I’m doing as you asked. I completely understand where you’re coming from. I feel bad for making you uncomfortable tonight. It wasn’t my intention.” I hadn’t even planned on seeing him tonight.

  “Why are you making this your fault?” I shrug, not having a good answer. I feel bad for being the reason he had to rehash his past. “Here I am, thinking I ruined everything tonight and you aren’t going to call me tomorrow, and you’re blaming yourself.” He presses his fingers under my chin, forcing me to look up and into his eyes—they’re almost translucent from the lighting above. “The only things you can blame yourself for is being understanding and so damn perfect that I can’t stop fucking think about you. I want all of this, Felicity. I just want to do it the right way. It’s important to me.” He tilts his chin, moving in and brushing his lip over mine. When he pulls back a bit, I see worry glistening in his eyes. “Call me tomorrow after you’ve thought about things.”

  * * *

  I slept surprisingly well, even if it was for less than four hours. I open my eyes and immediately think of Hayes. And his lips. And his touch…and holy shit, a lot was said last night. I was supposed to sleep on it. I don’t really get why. I don’t feel any different about it. We both have baggage. It’ll make things easier.

  Aspen pokes her head into my room. Her hair is everywhere, her eyes heavy-lidded. She looks from side to side, then to me. “Dude, what time did you get home last night?”

  I scratch my fingers through the rat’s nest on my head too. “Three, maybe?” I laugh.

  “I want to meet this guy. Just so you know.” She pulls her head back out of my room, but then pokes it back in again. “Oh, Tanner texted me last night, wanting to know what your texts were about yesterday. I told him to talk to you.”

  Ugh. I’ll deal with him later. “Thanks. I’ll handle it.” She meanders back into her room and I hear her door close heavily then the springs in her mattress whine as she falls back into it. I glance at the clock, noting it’s almost ten.

  I reach for my phone and tap the display. I don’t recognize the number, but they left a voicemail. I press the phone up to my ear and rub under my eyes, wiping at the caked on mascara that probably makes me look like a raccoon.

  Caller: Miss Stone, this is Detective Louis with the Providence Police Department. Some things have come up during the investigation of your house fire that we’d like to discuss with you. Could you give us a call back here at: 401-423-7772 when you have a moment? Thank you.

  My stomach goes sour. I might throw up. I haven’t had to deal with anyone in regard to the fire, in an official capacity anyway…not since I left the hospital. I wasn’t even sure how this would all work, but I guess I’ll find out.

  I call back, each ring causing a minor heart attack. After asking to speak to Detective Louis, I’m on hold. There isn’t even any cheesy elevator music to distract me. It feels like an eternity. I just want to know what’s going on.

  “This is Detective Louis.”

  Oh God. “Hi…uh…Sir, this is Felicity Stone, returning your call about the house fire.”

  He clears his throat and pauses before saying anything. “Thank you for returning my call, Miss Stone. We have the initial reports back from the fire department. It’s a brief summary, really. A more detailed investigation is in progress and we’ll have more information in the coming days or weeks.”

  “Okay.”

  “Miss Stone, it’s been determined that the fire was arson.” Arson.

  As in, intentionally set…

  “I don’t…what do you mean?” I ask, my voice shaking with every word.

  “This is a very serious matter. And being that you’re the owner of the home and were present at the time of the fire, we need to ask you some questions.” My body goes cold, like I’ve been drained of all my blood. “What else do you need to know? I told Detective Earnst everything when I was in the hospital. “

  “Miss Stone, in situations like this, we have to look at everyone involved as a potential suspect.” Suspect? They think I could have purposely set my house on fire?

  “Why would I start a fire in my own home? A fire that killed my brother? My brother who I didn’t even know was home!” My anger is blatant, and I don’t care. I didn’t set my house on fire.

  “It’s a formality, I assure you. We just need you to come down to the station to answer a few questions. Detective Earnst, the lead detective on the case, will be following up with you to schedule a time to speak. Have a good day.”

  Have a good day? “Shit!” I yell a little too loud. I hear Aspen’s door fly open just before she reappears in my doorway, her eyes stretching open as she pulls her hair into a messy bun on the top of her head. “What’s wrong?”

  “They want to question me. They said I’m a suspect, Aspen.” I’m shaking and stunned. I think I’ve forgotten how to blink, watching the cracks in the walls sway from side to side.

  “Felicity,” her voice pulls me out of my gaze. She closes her eyes like she’s trying to comprehend everything I’m saying. “What are you talking about?”

  “They’re calling the fire arson, and they said I’ll be questioned as a suspect,” I cry out. Then I lose it entirely, with unstoppable tears and an ache in my stomach that won’t go away until this is all cleared up. Aspen hands me a bunch of tissues and sits down next to me on the bed. Her hand on my back and her quiet shushes in my ear don’t help. They make my heart beat harder and heavier.

  “It’s obviously going to be cleared up after they question you, hon. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “Aspen, it may not have been me, but someone set my house on fire. How can you say I have nothing to worry about?”

  Her hand stops moving up and down my back. I’m pretty sure she stops breathing for a second, too. “Who would do that?” She stands up, the tip of her thumb clamped between her teeth. She paces back and forth, like she’s thinking of possible suspects. “Were you drunk that night? Did you maybe do something you can’t remember?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I shout. “No, I wasn’t drunk that night. I worked all day, came home, made dinner and went to bed.”

  “Okay, okay. I was just running through ideas in my head. Calm down.” She stops pacing, focusing her attention on me, her eyes large and her mouth agape. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was probably a serial arsonist. I’ve heard of a few cases in the area.”

  “Really?” Sometimes it’s hard to tell if Aspen is pulling stuff out of her ass or she’s being factual.

  “Yeah, it’s been all over the news.” She watches the news? Whatever the case, I’m going with it. The thought of it being a serial arsonist comforts me more than focusing on the questions they’re going to pepper me with. I’m going to be a mess. What if I answer a question wrong? What if I do
n’t understand what they’re asking and my answers make me look guilty? Can I be guilty even if I really didn’t do anything? This is bad.

  I run out of my room, grab my keys, and head for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Aspen calls after me.

  “I…I don’t even know.” She must have darted out after me because she grabs me by the arm, swinging me around to face her.

  “Calm down. You didn’t do anything wrong, Felicity. They said they had to question you. That means it’s standard procedure…that’s all.”

  I pull my arm out of her grip. “I need to get out of here.”

  “Don’t you have work in a few hours?”

  She’s right. But I can’t work like this.

  * * *

  I’m in my car driving to Mom and Dad’s when my phone rings. I almost choke on my own breath reaching for the damn thing. I pull the phone out of the cup holder and glance at the caller ID. Another number I don’t recognize. For a split second, I consider letting it go to voicemail. But that would make me a chicken-shit, as Blake would’ve called me.

  “This is Felicity,” I say, answering.

  “Miss Stone, this is Detective Earnst. We met at the hospital a few weeks ago.”

  “Yes, I remember you.”

  “I believe Detective Louis reached out to you just a bit ago, and I’m following up to see when might be a good time for you to come down to the police station? I’ll be here until four today.”

  I’m breathing so hard my chest is beginning to ache. I don’t know how to respond. There’s a blatant pause between his statement and my lack of response. I have to agree. I have to tell him I’ll come down and voluntarily walk myself into the police station so I can be brought into one of those tiny dark rooms with a long table. The detective will hover over one side and I’ll be seated on the other, worried about every word I say, which may or may not incriminate me. “Miss Stone?” he prompts.

  “I can come down right now,” I tell him.

  “If it makes you more comfortable, you can bring an attorney with you. And of course if you need a little more time to retain one, we can set up a time later in the week that works for the both of us.” An attorney?

  I don’t know an attorney…

  “I’ll be down shortly.” The second I hang up I turn my attention to Google, praying it supplies me with a decent lawyer who can work on short notice. I scroll down the list and my eyes settle on a description that says “Available 24/7.” Maybe I should be concerned with the fact that this attorney picks his phone up on the first ring, or with the fact that he doesn’t have a receptionist picking it up for him, but I’m desperate right now.

  After a short introduction and description of my situation, my new attorney, Mr. Williams, offered to meet me at the police station in an hour.

  I drop my phone into my lap and practically strangle the steering wheel. I’m sweating, remembering the burning smell that stung my nose during the fire, waking me out of a sound sleep. I wonder how long it took me to smell the smoke. Maybe if I woke up sooner, things would be different.

  After driving around the city for the past forty-five minutes, the police department parking lot appears before me, and my racing heart to holds steady at a rate that might make me pass out.

  * * *

  I hardly remember walking from the car to the front door, but I’m in front of a glass window, trying to remember my name, which has now been asked of me three times. I finally spit it out, drawing out every syllable. The window closes, and I hear my name spoken behind me. I turn to face a man with thick yellow-tinted glasses and a droopy jaw. His eyes look half closed, to the point where I’m questioning whether or not he can actually see me. “Miss Stone?” he asks again.

  “Yes,” I respond. I walk toward him, assuming he is who I think he is. My new attorney, clearly dressed—or not so much—for the part. Great.

  He reaches his hand out to me. “I’m Attorney Dale Williams.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, subtly wiping my hand, now covered in sweat from his hand, on the back of my pants.

  “I’d like to advise you to keep all of your answers short.” That’s it?

  With only a two-minute wait, Mr. Williams and I are buzzed into another room and escorted into the small room I dreaded. I’m seated in a chair behind a black table. The woman says someone will be right with me. The door closes behind her, and I look around the space, finding nothing but a small mirror (two-way glass, most likely) and empty walls.

  It’s cold in here. It makes me wonder what it’s like for someone who actually has committed a crime. Are they nervous? Do they feel remorse? Maybe this is the easy part for them. Maybe they knew they’d get caught and didn’t care. Maybe doing it was worth the risk.

  It has to be at least ten minutes before the door opens. Detective Earnst with his stale eyes and flat expression walks in with a folder tucked under his arm. “Miss Stone. Thank you for coming down so quickly.” He reaches his hand out for me to shake. “Is this your attorney?” He eyeballs the loon next to me and then looks back to me.

  I nod. I should answer. Say something. Try not to look guilty. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Very well. I’m sorry we had to call you in like this, but since you were home during the time of the fire, I need to ask you some questions.” He sits down across from me—not the usual position the detectives on TV take. Maybe he’s trying to be amicable before he starts drilling me with uncomfortable questions. “From the statement you wrote at the hospital, I can see here you worked until eleven, came home, made yourself dinner and went to bed. Was there anything else you did between the time you came home and went to bed?”

  I think about the night, trying to recall every detail. My life has always been so simplistic, orderly, and predictable.

  Mr. Williams leans over and reminds me to keep it short and simple. Earnst rolls his eyes.

  “I made some pasta with grilled chicken,” I tell him. “I ate my dinner over the kitchen counter, read my mail, and then…um…” I hesitate, just like I was trying not to do.

  Detective Earnst catches this, of course. “Miss Stone? Is there something else?”

  There is. And I remember it now.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THIS MAY BE ONE REASON not to show me where you live, I think.

  I’ve rung the buzzer twice. Maybe he’s not home. I look down at my watch. It’s noon. I pull out my phone, thumbing over the letters, trying to configure words into a legible text.

  “Hello?” the voice echoes through the speaker.

  “Hayes?” My voice cracks. “It’s me, Felicity. Can I…” A buzz sounds from the door, followed by the clinking of metal as the lock releases. I pull the door open and jog up the stairs, finding the second-floor door open and Hayes waiting with worry in his eyes. I can’t say anything just yet. I run into him, needing his arms around me.

  That’s what he does; he holds me. He doesn’t know why I need him right now, but it doesn’t matter. He places a kiss on the top of my head and leads me inside. “What’s going on?” he asks, his voice trembling a bit. Maybe he thinks I’m here to tell him I can’t do this—us. I’m not. I look up at him, letting him see the pain and fear in my eyes. “You’ve been crying.” He brushes his thumb under my eye, sweeping it away, giving me instant relief.

  “Last night, you said I make your pain go away.”

  He nods uneasily. “Yeah, I did.”

  “You make me forget mine too,” I say, nearly in tears.

  I can’t help losing focus as he lowers his forehead against mine, forcing our noses to feather against one another’s. My senses jump into overdrive as the mint on his breath both cools and warms my lips at the same time. God, what is he doing to me? He drops his hands to my waist, lifting me up until my legs loop around his waist. I tighten my arms around his neck as he walks us down the hall and into his room where he pushes my back up against the wall, pressing into me as his hands splay across the wall above my head. I’m losin
g my breath or maybe skipping breaths as his lips part from mine, making a trail toward my ear. “Fuck it,” he grumbles.

  He turns us around, laying me down on his bed, letting me watch as he unbuttons his shirt, unveiling a masterpiece of thick muscles covered in an array of ink. A molten heat spreads through me while I watch him undo his belt. His jeans drop. I might be drooling and I have to bite down on my lip to keep my mouth from hanging open.

  He leans down, placing his hands on either side of me and putting his lips back where I want them. On mine. Now his hands are on the hem of my shirt, lifting the thin fabric up and over my head. My leggings go next.

  His hands are everywhere, or maybe I just feel him everywhere. They feel large against my small frame, like he can handle me however he wants with little effort. And he does. We’re spun around, my head near his headboard, my panties torn free and tossed to the ground. His boxer briefs follow, and I can see all of him…every gorgeous inch. He’s taking me all in, too, kissing each freckle on my neck, my breasts; my stomach.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asks, breathless. I’ve only been with one man, Tanner, and while I should feel experienced, this all feels brand new. But in the best kind of way.

  I nod. “I need you.” His hand skates down the center of my body, his finger slipping inside of me, driving me to a place where everything is draped in white—blank walls, no memories, no thoughts—just him. With each movement of his skilled finger, I breathe harder. “More. I need more,” I cry out. He slides his finger back out of me, his hands return to my hips, gripping tightly as he runs his lips up and down my core, driving me to the point where I might start begging him. Climbing back up to where his face is hovering over mine, his crooked grin pinches to one side as he slowly closes the gap between us.

  After a minute, he breaks his lips from mine briefly and leans over to his nightstand to retrieve a foil packet. Watching him rip it open with his teeth, I almost lose it. The seconds between that moment and this moment are a blur as he presses into me, which instantly makes me want to climb the wall. He’s slow, rhythmic, and skilled as he hits the right spot every time, making me cry out with each thrust. His hands are tight around my hips, using my body as leverage. The look on his face is driving me crazy—it turns me on like nothing else ever has. Bliss. Ecstasy. Need.