After a long period of absolute and almost eerie silence, my cell phone pings. Someone's left a message. A fresh wave of fear—along with a healthy dose of anxiety and concern—washes over me. Given the late hour and what I just saw, I suspect it's more of Colt's stalking.
After a few deep breaths, I square my shoulders and make the decision to see what he has to say and find out what his latest revenge tactic will be. I search the bed and floor for the phone without finding it. It occurs to me that he must have kicked it under the bed after dropping it.
I fall to my knees, then my belly. I spot its lighted face and curse under my breath when I realize it's so far underneath the bed that I have to stretch... scoot... stretch... and scoot before I can finally wrap my fingers around it and pull it toward me.
Normally, I consider my house meticulously clean, but the dust bunnies tickling my nose remind me that I need to move the bed and clean under it. Later.
After I have the phone in hand and I'm out from under the bed, I sit up—sneeze a few times—and look to see what Colt's latest assault on me will be. My hands are still shaking when I slide the button that brings the phone's operating system to life.
I'm beyond relieved when I see the message is not from Colt at all.
Ryker: Baylee... Are you up?
I stare at the phone and try to decide if I'm going to respond. I don't know if I can bring him into the dramatics of my life one more time. I can't afford for him or anyone to think I'm high maintenance or that I need someone to step in and rescue me. Besides, I'm embarrassed about the situation I've gotten myself into.
The last few days have reminded me how little I actually contribute to my day-to-day existence. The apartment was bought and paid for by Colt's father, making it Colt's. The car—and its insurance—I've driven for a year as if it were my own is registered in Colt's name, making it Colt's. The furniture we sat on, the appliances I used, and the utilities I enjoyed... all Colt's.
Every cent of the money I made over the last two years has been spent paying off student loans and living up to the expectations of Colt's father. Wyatt demands that his children and their significant others live at a standard that lets his friends, peers, and clients know he and his family are doing well. Going the cheap route is not now nor will it ever be an option for anyone in their family.
Ever since the day I moved in with Colt, almost four years ago, my hair has been cut and styled every other week at the most exclusive salons. I've gifted myself with elaborate spa days while bonding—or trying to bond—with Colt's sisters and his brothers' wives. I've spent embarrassing amounts of money on makeup, purses, costume jewelry, and watches. Every cent spent to keep Wyatt happy. To please him.
After two years of working fulltime, I don't have enough money saved to move out and away from Colt.
I sigh, and everything about it is as heavy as my heart.
Me: Yeah, I am.
Ryker: It's late. I was just taking a shot in the dark, hoping you'd be up for some sexting.
I'm instantly reminded of Colt and the way he read my earlier messages. Something about that memory dulls the excitement I had earlier when we sexted.
Me: Maybe some other time.
Ryker: What's wrong?
I sit waiting, trying to decide if I'm going to share anything about Colt's most recent temper tantrum with Ryker.
Me: Colt came by.
Ryker: I'm on my way.
Me: No. I'm fine.
I wait for several minutes, but he doesn't respond.
Me: I mean it. I'm not a damsel in distress who needs to be rescued. I'm a grown woman who's gotten herself into a big mess. That same grown woman needs to figure a way out of it. This really is something I have to work out myself. I just wanted to talk to you about anything but Colt.
No matter how long I stare at the phone, I get no notification that I have a new message.
Damn! Why won't he respond?
I put my back against the wall, slide down, and beat myself up even more for the position I've gotten myself into. Five minutes later, I hear the buzzer downstairs. I'm sure it's not Colt. He can come and go as he pleases. It's Ryker.
I open the bedroom door, poke my head out, and stare down the hall. I don't know for a fact that Colt left, and I'm worried that he's hiding out and waiting for me to leave the bedroom. I'm slow and careful as I make my way downstairs.
Every tiny sound stops me in my tracks and makes me want to bolt back to my room. I'm going entirely to slow for Ryker—I suspect—since I hear my phone's ringtone sounding in my room where I left it.
Even though I knew exactly what Colt was doing earlier, wrecking the place... again, I'm shocked to see he's taken his vandalism to a whole new level. There are holes in the walls, cracks in the windows, and appliances dented and overturned.
He's traveled to a realm that goes beyond a temper tantrum.
His anger is getting out of control, and I know deep down inside that I have every right to be afraid of him, that he'll hurt me physically—not just mentally—if he ever gets his hands on me.
I slink over to the monitor and see Ryker waiting for me to let him in. He's raking his hands through his hair and staring toward the elevator as if he might bolt toward it if it opens for any reason. With every ounce of helplessness I feel, I glance around at the destruction littering the room and decide to let him up. He's not going to be happy about anything Colt's done, and there's nothing I can do to change that.
I pick up the phone and say, "The night code is 4590."
He doesn't say a word. He just lets the phone drop and heads straight for the elevator. I hang up the phone and walk over to the door, opening it slightly and leaving it cracked.
I stand in the middle of the entryway, waiting for Ryker and dreading the moment when he sees the mess I've been left with and comprehends the assault I've been made to endure.
When he dashes through the door, he doesn't look at anything but me. His only concern is my safety and wellbeing. He takes the few strides necessary to make his way to me, wraps his arms around my trembling shoulders, and pulls me tightly into his chest.
When he does, when I finally feel safe for the first time since he left earlier, the tears that have been building up leak out. He doesn't say anything for the longest time. He just gives me a chance to calm down and put the last few hours in perspective.
Finally, Ryker quietly and angrily says, "I don't give a shit what he's done to this apartment. I do care what he's done to you. I need you to tell me everything he did and said to you tonight. I don't want you to tell me what you want me to hear, and I sure as hell don't want you to protect him by holding back."
I think about what Ryker's asking of me and decide he's the only person I can talk to about what's happened. He's watched the abrupt and unexpected downfall of my relationship with Colt, the relationship I thought to be strong enough to make it through marriage, kids, and old age.
Too ashamed to look him in the face, I stay hugged into his shoulder. "I woke up earlier and Colt was sitting on the side of the bed, crying."
I wait, letting that fact sink in and feeling every muscle in Ryker's back stiffen and spasm.
"He told me he's been tracking me through my phone's location device. Because of that, he knew I'd been in San Antonio this weekend. Once you and I arrived and because I wouldn't respond to his messages, he called the hotel to apologize. When he found out there was no one registered under my name, he assumed you and I were sharing a room... a bed."
In a consoling manner, Ryker begins mindlessly stroking my hair, pulling it behind my ears and tucking it in. I'm sure he's so deep in thought he has no idea what he's doing. I keep going.
"H-he read our messages and..." I stop, barely able to say the words he'd said to me. "He thinks I've become enough of a desperate whore and he's enough of a catch that I will jump at the slightest chance of becoming his kept mistress."
My quiet and reflective tone turns sarcastic when I say, "You kno
w... since he can't marry or have kids with a woman whose mother committed suicide... since he still wants to fuck me. Believe me, he tried his best to do just that tonight. After he'd told me all of this, he offered to keep taking care of me if I would become his fuck buddy." I laugh. "Fuck buddy. That was his eloquent way of telling me the only thing I've ever offered him in our four-year relationship was a good fuck."
In my peripheral vision, I see Ryker's mouth open and close several times. I feel his fury as it wafts up around us. I know he wants to say something, but he doesn't, and for now, I'm grateful.
After a long time but well before his sinuous, rolling, and rippling muscles have stopped moving, Ryker says, "You and I are going upstairs to pack a bag for you."
I shake my head. "Ryker, I'm in the position I'm in because I let a man give me too much... because I never took ownership of taking care of myself. I went straight from my father's house to Colt's bed. I can't do that again. I've got to learn how to stand on my own two feet... how to take care of myself before I can be anything to anybody."
Ryker says, "I know. I was going to take you to my mother's house. She used to be married to a man who beat her. I thought it would be good for you to talk to someone who understands what you're going through... who won't judge you for what he's done to you."
Shocked by what Ryker has just suggested, I pull back from him and stare up into his eyes. I have no idea what mine look like, but I'm sure they can't look any sadder than his.
Lightening the awkward silence between us, Ryker winks and says, "Besides... I can't wait to sext with you and that's hard to do if you're always with me."
I ignore his kidding. "Your mother doesn't have to take care of me. I do have to get away from this apartment because Colt made it clear he'll be back, but a hotel room is all I need," I say, pulling away from Ryker and turning toward the stairs.
As soon as I do, Ryker twists me back toward him. "Jesus, Bay, are you bleeding? Did he hit you?"
I glance back at Ryker again, studying him and trying to understand why he looks so frantic.
"No. I'm fine," I say, patting his chest, pulling away from him, and planning to head back toward the stairs. That's when I (for the first time) see what Ryker saw. There is blood streaking the walls and drips and splatters sprinkled across the floor.
It's not until that minute that I remember the way I defended myself. I walk through the living room while purposefully avoiding the blood drops.
"That's Colt's blood. Not mine. I had to head-butt him in order to get him off me. When I did, he was too stunned to do anything but hold his nose. I took advantage of his distraction and pushed him out of the room and locked the door. That's why he did all of this. I'm sure," I say, walking up the stairs and listening as Ryker follows closely behind me.
"Remind me not to get on your bad side," Ryker says, and I can hear the pride in his voice.
"Dr. Aaron made sure I could protect myself. He just never suspected I'd be protecting myself from the man I love," I say sadly, knowing I do still love Colt. If I didn't love him, all the things he did to me and said to me wouldn't hurt this bad.
Under normal circumstances, my love isn't something that gets turned on and off like a faucet. My love for Colt is no different. It will take time for me to process all that I know, all that he's done to me, before I'll be able to decide how I really feel about him and what our relationship's legacy will be.
In my room, I go to the closet and pull out a giant Dooney and Burke duffle bag. I stare back and forth between all of my new clothes and the duffle bag and realize there is no way for me to take all of them with me, which means Colt will unsalvageably ruin any left past tonight.
For my mental health, I stop worrying about that and grab enough clothes, pajamas, shoes, and underwear to last a few weeks.
"Ryker, I hate to leave all of the new clothes you bought me, but I can't carry all of them. Given the way he tore up the apartment downstairs, I'm sure he'll tear these to shreds the next time he comes by. I'm sorry. I'll pay you back for every last one of them. I promise."
Ryker says, "Don't worry about that, Bay. Grab anything you need out of the bathroom, and I'll take care of the rest."
I notice he's pulling his phone out when I go into the bathroom. I leave the door open so I can hear who he's calling and what he says to them.
"Dante. Sorry for calling so late. I need you to meet me right now at the Commerce Tower Condominiums at 914 Main Street," Ryker says before ending the call and without offering one ounce of explanation to the man he pays to wait on him hand and foot at the Hyatt.
I hear his phone chime with each new button he pushes.
He's calling someone else.
"Calm down, Mom! Everything's fine. Stop worrying about me. I'm sorry for calling so late, but I have another friend who needs a favor from you," Ryker says.
Another?
The tone he uses with his mother is not one I've heard him use with anyone. His every word is comfortable and easy, just the way people are when they talk to someone who knows them the best and they trust the most. It reminds me of the way Dr. Aaron and I are when we're on the phone together. We don't have to build up to tough conversations. We can get to the point right away and without any sort of preamble.
"That's what I thought you'd say. She and I'll be there in about an hour. If you don't mind, I'm going to stay the night there so I don't have to drive back downtown tonight. I'll get up and commute to the office in the morning," he says, pausing while she speaks. I can't see his face, but I hear him pacing the room.
"No... James isn't corrupting me any more than he ever has." Ryker laughs. "All right, Mom. I'll see you in a few." As an afterthought, he says, "You don't have to do anything special for us. I just wanted you to know I was coming to the house and I'd have someone with me."
Ryker ends his call and pops his head around the doorjamb. "Are you ready to go?"
Startled, I jump and begin frantically putting all of my basic beauty regimen products in a bright-pink case I got a few weeks ago when I bought a bottle of Gucci perfume at the Galleria.
I mentally chastise myself when I remember how much I spent on that day of shopping, lunching, and evening drinks with the wives of Colt's clients.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to rush you. I was just checking on you." Ryker apologizes.
I nod, throwing into the case my toothbrush and toothpaste.
"Do you have a key to the apartment that I could borrow? Dante's going to come by and pack everything that can be saved so you never have to come back here again. Are you okay with that?"
I think about it. "I don't want Dante to have to do something I should do."
Ryker shakes his head. "He doesn't mind. Don't worry about that. Where are the keys?"
I glance around and face him. "They were on the table next to the front door, but Colt picked it up and threw it so I'm not sure where everything is now. As soon as I finish up here, I'll go look for them."
Ryker puts his hands up. "Take your time. I'll go down and begin searching."
A few minutes later, I have all I can fit into my duffle bag and my makeup case is overflowing. I'm as ready to go as I'll ever be. I head downstairs and see Ryker walking around and taking pictures of the apartment. He has my keys in his hand.
When he glances my way, he darts toward me and grabs the duffle bag off my shoulder before putting it on his.
"Thanks," I whisper.
We leave the apartment—my home—hand in hand. After the last few days, I have no sort of nostalgic sentiments as I leave it for the last time in my life.
CHAPTER 13
ANOTHER SIDE
Baylee
Exiting the elevator, I see Dante standing near the front desk. Based on his demeanor, he is eagerly awaiting Ryker and is absolutely prepared to do whatever is asked of him.
Pleased by Dante's swift, middle-of-the-night appearance, Ryker grins and reaches out to shake his hand before issuing orders.
"Thanks for coming so quick, Dante. I need you to go up to apartment 2504 and pack up anything that's worth saving. If it's torn or broken, leave it. I'll have a van delivered here in the morning, and I'll text you later with the address of where I'd like you to bring Ms. Tart's belongings."
Even now, Ryker's found a clandestine way to let me know he still has no idea what my last name is. I make a mental note to tell him later.
Dante nods his head in acquiescence. "Yes, sir, Mr. Russell."
"The elevator code is 4590," Ryker yells over his shoulder before dragging me behind him and toward the condominium's valet parking bay.
Outside, he hands his ticket to the on-call female attendant. It's late, and I've been through a lot. Still, I'm extremely irritated when I see the way she flirts with Ryker, grabbing his bicep and laughing excessively. When she—believe it or not—indiscreetly slips him a piece of paper and mouths call me, my green-eyed monster rears her ugly head, and I want to claw out her eyes.
Jesus! Does every woman have the same response to him?
I'm even more annoyed when Ryker takes the note and, with more discretion than she showed, slides it into his front pocket. That simple act goes a long way in making her—me—think he may call her later.
If he wants to make a date with the JLo wannabe, he doesn't need to wait until I'm tucked safely away at his mother's house.
I snatch open the door to his Bugatti. The least of my concerns right now is the fact that I might scratch his precious car. I'm even less concerned when I slam the door closed.
Ryker is smirking when he slides into the driver's seat, and I assume it's because the offer he's just gotten has gone a long way toward stroking his ego. She is beautiful, after all. I turn my entire body away from him and watch out the window, ignoring him as completely as I possibly can.
After we take off and we've been driving for a few minutes, Ryker asks, "Is there something bothering you that you'd like to talk about?"
"No," I say shortly.
He chuckles quietly but doesn't say anything else as we drive through the downtown streets and make our way to the freeway. Soon, we're heading south. In a mindless kind of way, I wonder how far south we're going.
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