by Nikky Kaye
He snorted. “Yeah, I’ve seen the boys you’ve been hanging out with lately. I’m surprised you still have a job, but I guess they have to let you out of bed sometime.”
I gaped at him. Had I heard him right, or had the constant background noise screwed with my ears? “I’m sorry?”
Another server came up to us with panic on her face. I recognized the expression. So did my manager, who just sneered at me before steering her away to discuss whatever new catastrophe had occurred.
The clinking of dishes and hum of conversation floated around me as I replayed John’s snide comments.
Was he insinuating that I was sleeping with both Jake and Dom? If so, did he mean together, or at the same time? My stomach churned. Jesus Christ, what kind of impression was I giving people?
And had he threatened my job, because of it?
For the next half an hour, I was so distracted that I couldn’t even muster up my fifth-best customer service smile. John’s words echoed in my head, and I waited for the panic over potentially losing my job to paralyze me.
It didn’t.
Huh.
“Get it together, Annie!” John muttered at me when I brought back the second order I’d screwed up. One of the line guys sighed as he took the revised ticket from my hand.
John grabbed my arm. “Do you need to go home early?” It sounded more like a parental threat than a compassionate suggestion.
“No. I’m sorry.” I reddened, my face heating as I waited by the pass.
If I was stuck in a holding pattern, it might be good for me to break out of it. Right?
Without my realizing it, Jake had given me a safety net, psychologically and otherwise. After years of taking care of myself, I now found myself in a strange new family dynamic with Jake and Stella—and I liked it.
The new plate slid under the warmer, and I grabbed it. When I looked down at the pasta, my reflexive thought wasn’t relief that the order got fixed—it was “Stella would love this.”
Oh my god.
I was in love with him.
With both of them.
I dropped the plate.
Logically, I knew that not every single person in the restaurant froze in silence to stare at me—but it sure felt that way.
With my nose prickling, I tried to take a deep breath, but my chest squeezed painfully. My vision was blurry with the threat of tears as I fell to my knees to clean up.
“Annie!”
John squatted beside me, his face as red as mine felt—only his didn’t have big, hot tears rolling down it.
“I’m sorry,” I said dully. “I’ll fix it.”
“You’re kneeling in the sauce.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You need to go home,” he said softly.
With shaking hands, I tried to pick up it all up. The pasta slipped through my fingers. “It’s okay, I can—ah!” I hissed as the sharp edge of the broken plate slid over my thumb.
John swore. “Go to my office,” he ordered.
There was a lull in the ambient noise as I rose to my feet and plodded to the back. When I put out my hand to avoid running into a wall, I left an alfredo handprint.
Dammit, why was I still crying? I felt like something had burst inside me, and I couldn’t contain the flood of intense emotions.
Love.
Fear.
Confusion.
They came and came and came, washing over me until I was exhausted.
Even now, lying on my stomach and burying my head under my pillow like an ostrich, I felt drained.
And it still smelled odd. It niggled at my brain. What was it?
Pulling my head out, I propped myself up on my elbows to sniff the pillowcase. My hands curved over the bump of the neck support inside the pillow, squeezing the foam and feeling it rebound like a marshmallow under my fingers.
I opened my eyes, recognition penetrating my brain.
This was my pillow.
Mine. Not Jake’s.
I was in my apartment.
“Good, you’re awake. I knew that gown would suit you.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ANNIE
I felt like I’d just plunged through the icy crust of a winter pond. Dark. Cold. Suffocating. Swirling around me.
Slowly, I looked down and saw the gaping neckline of the white satin gown, like snow drifting over my body. It was all I wore; the fancy bridal lingerie was missing.
But then so were the bra, panties, and clothes I wore to work.
Shit fuck damn.
Instinctively I wriggled down under the blanket.
“Aww, don’t do that. You’ll wrinkle it. I spent a lot of money on that outfit.”
I froze as John stood up from the couch and stalked over to me. Think, Annie, think! “Um, thanks for bringing me home, but…” I bit my lip, unsure what to say.
My head spun as I began to process everything—the notes that came to me at work, the flowers, the chocolate.
Fast forward to the accident at work.
Going into John’s office, covered in pasta sauce and humiliation. He brought me something to drink and bandaged the cut on my thumb while I began to calm down. Then he said I should go home.
I remembered his hand on my lower back as he walked through the restaurant with me. I remembered being out on the street with him. But then that’s it—until now, as he stood over me with a strange smile on his face.
“Oh, that’s right. You don’t live here anymore, do you?” He shrugged, but his hands curled into fists at his sides. “My bad.”
“What? No, I still live here!” Didn’t I? Technically.
“You’ve been whoring yourself out to the Stone brothers.”
His knuckles were turning white. The sarcastic phrase “Well, that escalated quickly” came into my head. I needed to defuse this situation.
“No, no. Remember Evie, John? She’s engaged to one of them. I’ve been helping them with the wedding planning.”
Yeah, the wedding that I’d managed to completely put out of my mind. The one that—a million years ago—Jake had proposed surviving together.
I laughed weakly. “You really got the wrong impression. It’s kind of funny when you think about it.”
My manager didn’t look amused. Or convinced that he was wrong.
“Don’t lie to me, Annie. One of them talked to me about your ‘stalker.’” He sneered as he made air quotes.
Think. Think! “He found out that I had a secret admirer. Maybe I bragged to Evie; I was so flattered…”
John shook his head. “No, he said you were scared. Why were you scared?” He reached out to peel down the top of the blanket.
I couldn’t help it; I flinched when he touched my bare shoulder.
“Why, Annie? Why were you scared? I was only being nice to you. I’d never do anything to hurt you.” His expression—well, it drooped, his eyes and mouth turning down.
“I know.”
“I just wanted to show you that I appreciate you,” he said. The flat, casual tone of his words had the opposite effect that they probably intended.
I was petrified.
All my muscles tensed as he pulled the blanket down to my waist. I suspected that if I tried to tug it back up, it would anger him. Instinctively, I curled up on my side. My skin prickled all over, and my nipples pushed against the cool satin of the gown I was wearing. I crossed my arms over my front, folding in on myself like origami.
He yanked the blanket all the way down the bed, until it puddled on the floor at the end. I shivered.
“It does look nice on you.” He smiled indulgently, like he was admiring a piece of art by a preschooler.
Preschooler. Stella! Jesus, Jake must be out of his mind right now, I realized. What was he thinking? Was he looking for me?
Where was my goddamn phone? I looked around the room, but didn’t even see my clothes from earlier, much less my purse.
He cocked his head, stepping in front of me. “Are you looking for t
he rest? I can’t wait to see the bra and panties on you.”
No. No.
When he bent over to take some of the satin by my ankles between his fingers, my mouth went dry. “I nearly went with red, but I think the ivory suits you so much better.”
Lying on my side, my line of sight was nearly level with the bulge clearly forming in his dress pants. My stomach churned.
I pushed myself up to a sitting position on the bed, folding my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around myself. “Thank you for the gifts, John. They were very, um, thoughtful.”
“You threw them away.”
Well, no shit. I bit my lip. “I’m sorry the flowers died,” I said carefully. Should have gotten me a potted plant, asshole. “I still have all your beautiful notes. Did you pick out all those quotes yourself?”
“I love poetry,” he said. “There’s so much there that isn’t said. Just like you and me.”
I nodded. “Thank you.” What the hell was he talking about?
He reached his hand out toward my face. I shifted my position before he could touch me.
“I need to call Evie,” I told him. “She’s picking me up after wo—” I stopped. What time was it?
He shook his head. “It’s fine. I told her you went home early.”
But I didn’t! I didn’t go home!
My chest swelled with panic. If I were home right now, I wouldn’t be here! My arms tightened around my legs as words and ideas and pictures collided in my head.
Home was with Jake, in his arms. With Stella. Home wasn’t here anymore. It wasn’t a place; it was a person. A feeling. An after.
He would be looking for me. They would be looking for me. The sudden certainty of it brought a little relief.
I squirmed, realizing with dread that I was going to have to get off the bed. I was going to have to unfold myself and stand in front of John, covered only by the thin gown and my fear.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” I announced.
His eyes widened. “Oh.” Maybe he hadn’t considered that human need.
“May I?”
His gaze clung to me like the satin gown that I was trying to stop from riding up my thighs as I stretched my toes to the floor. He was still too close for comfort.
He watched me move in slow motion, watched me shiver. He’d watched me sleep.
“I really have to go,” I said, hoping he’d give me more space.
He stepped back. “Of course.”
My body relaxed a little, but when I stood up I felt dizzy. Cold. I stumbled, pitching forward until his hand wrapped around my wrist like a manacle.
“I’ll help you.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JAKE
At first I was confused and irritated. Now I was panicking.
Actually, panic was not the right word for what I was feeling. It was more like a bone-bleaching lightning strike of pure terror. The mix of fury and guilt helped whip the storm in my head up to paralyzing proportions.
Annie wasn’t at home.
My apartment was dark and silent. Everything looked exactly the way it had earlier when I left to spend the rest of the afternoon and evening at the office—even the row of exsanguinated juice boxes on the coffee table.
By the time we backtracked to the restaurant, it had just closed. One of the remaining staff said something about an accident, and the manager taking Annie to the hospital.
“What kind of accident?” Dom asked. My heart roared in my ears.
The guy—a dishwasher—hadn’t seen it happen, but rumor had it that there was lots of blood. Beyond implying that Annie’s arm needed to be sewed back on, he couldn’t give us much more.
But at least we knew where she was, now. Probably. Hopefully. There were only half a dozen hospitals within a twenty-mile radius—unless she’d gone to some kind of urgent care clinic. Shit.
She still wasn’t answering her phone, though, and the only result of my other calls was a dirty look from my brother when I chucked my phone at the dashboard.
“Goddamn hospitals won’t tell me anything, not even if she showed up in the ER. Bullshit privacy laws.”
“That’s why people get married,” Evie piped up from the back seat.
“What?”
The car swerved slightly as Dom and I both whipped our heads around to look at her. My phone slid across the dash and fell on my feet. I cursed as I reached down for it; Dom tightened his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Ignore me,” she said. “I’m delirious from hunger. I’m about ready to gnaw on the headrest.”
“Shit, baby, I’m sorry.” My pussy-whipped brother pulled into a drive-through and proceeded to order more food than anyone should eat at eleven o’clock at night.
“No salt on the fries, but extra pickles on the burger,” she reminded him.
Right. Evie was pregnant. “Maybe we should take you home,” I thought out loud.
“We could go home and wait for her there,” she suggested.
No way. I had every intention of driving to emergency rooms to physically see if Annie was there.
We decided to drop Evie off so she could stretch out on the couch at my place in case Annie came in, and then Dom and I split up to hit the hospitals. It was late—very late—when we got back to find Evie asleep in my guest bedroom.
“Just stay,” I told my brother, rubbing my eyes. “No point in waking her up now.” He was already stripping down to his boxer briefs and crawling into bed beside her. She sighed as he wrapped himself around her.
Watching Dom burrow his head into the honey-colored hair at the nape of Evie’s neck made my throat hurt. For the first time in a long time, I physically ached in envy. I wanted that—tonight, tomorrow night, every New Year’s Eve.
Where the fuck was Annie?
Staring at my phone, I shuffled back into the living room and fell onto the couch. The knot in my chest that had been pulling tighter and tighter all night now felt as though it was going to rise up my throat and choke me.
A second wave of panic made my hands shake as I punched out a rapid text to Sheila. As soon as I pressed Send, I said, “Fuck it,” and called instead.
“Jake? What is it?”
She sounded pretty awake for two in the morning.
“Is Stella okay?”
“Of course she is; she’s fast asleep.” Yawn.
“Can you just go check on her?” I winced, waiting for her to argue with me and complain.
The line was silent. Then I heard rustling noises, and Sheila sighed heavily into the phone. “Okay, I’ll call you right back.”
Time stretched out, thirty seconds feeling like thirty minutes. Even though I was waiting for it, I still jumped when the phone rang in my hand with an incoming video call.
“See?” Sheila whispered in the background as my screen filled with a dim image of Stella.
Only her head stuck out from under a blanket that looked like a star-filled night sky. A light shaped like a moon hung on the wall by her bed, casting enough of a glow for me to see the way she pouted in her sleep.
The knot in my chest loosened a fraction. “Okay. Thanks.”
The image bobbed and blurred, and I heard a door shutting. Sheila turned the camera back on her as she walked back to her own bedroom. “Everything okay with you?”
I swallowed carefully. “Yeah. Just had a bad dream and wanted to see her. Sorry for waking you.”
“She’s fine, Jake. Fast asleep in her bed.”
After apologizing again and ending the call, I went to my bedroom to think. As soon as I lay down Annie’s scent wafted up from the sheets.
Fuck.
The smell of her shampoo was on the pillowcase. If I were to be honest—and an asshole—I’d admit that it was mixed with stale drool from her sleeping with her mouth open. If I were an honest asshole in love, I’d admit that the verdant, musky scene made me hard as I lay there.
Where was she?
My mind went to all sorts of horrible
places. I’d seen a lot of shit over the years, and I didn’t need a vivid imagination to think of some sickening situation that Annie could be in.
I jumped out of bed, trying to escape my own restlessness and worry. I walked around the apartment, thinking.
Stared at the door to the guest bedroom, remembering her first night there. Our first night.
“I don’t fall in love.”
She’d been in my bed every night since.
Down the hall, I stood in the doorway of Stella’s room. The little string of LED lights roped around her bed glowed in the dark room like a constellation. At least she was safe in her own bed, if not this one.
Holy shit.
I pivoted so quickly that I stumbled and bounced off the wall. How could I have not thought of it?
Her own bed.
Her own bed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
JAKE
Annie still wasn’t answering her phone. Something had to be wrong.
I didn’t know where her other keys were. And for all that I’d reminded her that her stalker could get into her building, I was having a damn hard time of it. There weren’t as many people going in and out at dark o’clock to make it easy to slip through the doors.
I bounced on my toes by the front steps, considering what to do next. Fuck! I hated this.
If I started ringing buzzers of random apartments, there was a chance that someone would let me in. There was a greater chance that someone could call the police—which might not be the worst thing. When they showed up, I might be able to convince them to go upstairs and check the apartment.
I was on the verge of doing just that when a cab pulled up in front of the building and a drunken, amorous couple got out. They stumbled toward the concrete steps, holding on to each other as they climbed to the door.
Thank god for a late last call. Thank god for one night stands. Thank god they were too into each other to notice me, or how I shoved my foot in the door to stop it from closing after them.
I didn’t bother waiting for the elevator, instead taking the stairs two at a time. When I got to her floor, though, I hesitated. It was so damn quiet. If I banged on the door, I’d run the risk of waking the neighbors.