by Raven, Jo
“Man, this is….” I point with my spoon at the bowl, at a loss for words.
“Spectacular?” Pax supplies. We’re sitting on her bed with our bowls. She has a tray on her knees.
“Yeah. That.” I scowl at him. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
Corey smiles. “Me? Never.”
“Oh no,” Pax mutters in a false baritone. “Me? Never. Ever.”
“Pax.” Corey laughs. “She always does that.”
Yeah. I noticed. I snicker as I inhale my soup, feeling strangely...comfortable. At ease in my skin.
Happy. Yeah, that word again.
I let their banter flow over me, wind around me, warm me up to my soul. I need her. Have to find a way to tell her who I really am, who I was, without frightening her. My past is my past. I have put it behind me, and even though my present isn’t a huge improvement, well...At least my job’s not illegal. That counts for something, right?
And if I could...Christ, if I could, I’d leave the agency in a heartbeat. If the money wasn’t needed for Kyle, I’d never had joined in the first place.
“Riot? What do you think?”
“About what?” I blink, the spoon in my hand, halfway between my mouth and the bowl. The empty bowl.
Damn, spaced out.
“About cooking together next week. I should be fine by then.”
Meet with friends to cook. Like normal people do. Cook with my girl and my girl’s best friend.
Only she’s not mine.
She’s not mine, and I’m not hers. I belong to everyone. To anyone with some bucks to spend for the night.
I take my bowl and get up. “Have to go now. Thanks for the soup, Corey.”
“Riot, wait.” Pax is struggling to get up, and no matter how much I wanna go to her, kiss her and tell her everything will be all right, I can’t.
I fucking can’t. Can’t tell her about the past, can’t promise her the present. Can’t put my need for her over Kyle’s life, can’t be selfish when the last time it cost so much, so I turn around and get the hell out.
Because I also can’t say goodbye.
Chapter Seventeen
Paxtyn
He left. He just left, without another word.
Corey has taken away my tray, and has tried to make conversation but my heart’s not in it.
My heart’s broken.
I knew this would happen if I let myself feel things for Riot. Fall for him. Then I stopped fighting it, fell head over heels, and now…
This is my fault. Corey was right.
“You were right,” I tell him as he bustles around my bedroom, straightening my furniture, putting dirty clothes into the laundry basket.
“About?”
“Riot. About meeting with an escort, about thinking this was the answer.”
“But you did it, Pax. You got better.”
Leaning back on my pillows, I think about that. He’s right. Again.
“You should rest, girl.”
“Still. I shouldn’t have kept meeting him. That was a mistake. It’s just that he’s so...nice.”
“And handsome,” Corey helpfully adds.
“Thoughtful.”
“And damn hot.”
“Shut up, Corey.” I swallow hard. “Stop being right for a minute.”
He sighs. “What can I do?”
“I don’t know.” My eyes burn with unshed tears. “Sit with me and watch a movie. Eat chocolates. Talk about the weather.”
Talk about anything and anyone but Riot.
“Sure thing. Can we watch The Fringe?”
“Again?”
“We haven’t watched it in ages.”
“You mean two weeks.”
“What can I say? Peter Bishop is hot.”
That makes me snicker, and although the tears finally fall, sliding down my cheeks, I know it could have been worse. My best friend is here, and I have chocolate and warm blankets to hide under.
It will have to be enough.
***
The days pass. I get better. The pain in my heart, in my mind, doesn’t. Not yet. I guess it will take time. I find myself pulling up the agency’s number on my cell phone, time and again.
I don’t press it. I don’t call.
Why did he get up and leave like that? He’d been so nice to me that night and day. Always so gentle, so wonderful. What did I do to push him away?
Was it because I asked if he would like to cook with us? Did he realize how I felt about him? Was that why?
Screw him. If that’s all it took to drive him away from me, then I don’t care about him.
I shouldn’t care.
But I can’t stop. That’s why it hurts as if my heart is going through the shredder. Corey says time will make it better. Not sure what Corey knows about heartbreak. If he goes through this every time he breaks up a relationship, then he’s superhuman.
Or has no heart. Maybe that’s why he says he doesn’t do love.
God.
It doesn’t help that I have something of his. Riot’s.
He forgot something at my place. I put my hand into my pocket, touch the silver earring I found on my bathroom floor. One of his. I doubt it’s of any great value. Just a plain silver hoop, but it’s burning a hole through my pocket, through my thoughts. I need to return it to him, cut off the last tie, get rid of the last excuse to see him.
Kill the hope he might drop by to inquire about the earring, about me.
Meanwhile, I’ve thrown myself into my studies again. It’s almost Christmas. The shops are in full multicolor deco, the streets covered in snow and lights hanging from the lamp posts.
Normally I go to Corey’s parents’ house for the holidays. My parents will be off to a ski resort somewhere, as usual, or so their last message said.
No surprise there. We’re not close, not since that night two years ago. My fault, too. My silence, and my pain pushed them away. Then I moved here, and I rarely ever see them anymore.
Regret clogs my throat for the first time in a while. I could call them. Hear their voices. Tell them...Tell them I’m better. Maybe we could meet.
Or not.
Better I may be regarding the past, but I’m not okay, and not in the mood to rehash what happened years ago and make amends.
Not right now.
Studies, reading, TV marathons with ice-cream and hot chocolate. That’s my cure, and I’ll take as much of this medicine as necessary until I’m fine.
***
“Heading home?” Corey is finishing his coffee as we walk between buildings. He throws the empty paper cup into a trashcan without missing a beat. “Thinking of going out later?”
It’s Friday afternoon. Hordes of students will be spilling into the town in a few hours to overtake every bar and dance club.
“I’m not sure.” I shove my hands into the pockets of my coat, my finger caressing the silver earring.
“Why not? Come with me. Frank will be there. You remember Frank.”
“Frank is the one who likes quoting dead authors, right?”
Corey laughs like what Frank does is really funny. “See, you remember him.”
“Who could ever forget him?”
“Well, we’ll be at Quincy’s, where you first met Frank.”
And Gale. And then Riot.
So no, I can’t go there. Not if there’s any chance of meeting Riot, just when the pain is starting to get bearable.
Or maybe manageable. I’m learning to live with it, like with a wound that won’t close.
“I will see, Corey.”
“You’re lying to me. You won’t even consider it.”
Change of tactic. “Will Ethan be there?”
“No.”
“You dumped him already?”
“No. I haven’t dumped him.”
“Did he dump you?”
He’s uncharacteristically quiet, walking beside me toward the parking lot. I let him be for a while, but in the end guilt wins out.
“Sorry. That w
as bitchy of me. I just don’t know—”
“We didn’t dump each other, because nothing happened between us. Dumping implies something happened. A relationship. Sex. A budding emotion. Ethan and I are not involved.”
Ouch. I mean, I gathered as much, like I told Riot, but still...
And why am I thinking of Riot again? Crap.
“Give me a call if you change your mind and want to have a drink with us.” Corey veers toward the parking lot just as I slow down. “Good night, girl.”
I stop, watch him go. “Corey…”
Way to go, Pax. Why can’t you think before you open your big mouth? Corey has been holding my hand and spoon-feeding me soup and ice-cream since Riot walked out of my apartment, and this is how I repay him.
I’ll give him an hour to cool off, and then call and apologize.
So many calls to make, so many regrets to make up for.
Speaking of phone calls...I finger again the silver earring in my pocket. Time to end this cycle of hope and despair. Return the earring and move on.
Pulling my cell from my back pocket, I search for the agency’s number and hit call. One, two, three rings and a guy—Johnson—answers.
“Bad Boy Escorts, how may I—?”
“Paxtyn Page speaking. I have something belonging to one of your escorts, Riot Gallagher. I don’t suppose you could give me his phone number?”
“I’m sorry, Ms., Page, but we don’t hand out our escorts’ addresses or phone numbers.”
It was a long shot anyway, but I had to try. “I understand. I’ll just drive by the agency then and drop it off there.”
“Ms. Page…” Johnson hesitates and I wonder what this is about. “If I may ask. Riot Gallagher. When was the last time you saw him or talked to him?”
Ice slithers down my spine. “Three days. Why?”
Another hesitation. “We haven’t been able to contact him in the past two days. He missed an appointment yesterday and...” A pause. “Never mind. I just wanted to ask if you had talked to him. Goodbye, Ms. Page. I’ll be waiting for you to drive by.”
And hangs up.
Ass.
Why wouldn’t Riot answer the agency’s phone? Maybe he left town? He never mentioned anything like that to me. Then again, he also didn’t say goodbye when he left, and didn’t give me an explanation, so what do I know?
From what little he told me, I had the impression he couldn’t afford to leave the agency because he needed the money quite desperately for something.
My stomach is a hard knot of tension. Something’s off.
I need to see Riot. All of a sudden that need is drowning me, choking me. Who can reassure me he’s okay?
Or at least tell me where he lives so I can check on him myself?
The bar. Gale.
Of course.
Quickly I send Corey a text to let him know I’ll be meeting him later on, and head home to change and wait and bite my nails until it’s time to go out.
***
I’m at the bar ahead of the time I told Corey. A little early for hitting the bars, but hey. I’m here on a mission, and I just couldn’t sit on my butt any longer.
Not when fear is curdling my thoughts.
He’s fine, I keep telling myself. He’s just...what? Out of town visiting relatives? On a mini vacation he forgot to tell his employers about?
Jeez.
This makes no sense. Unless something happened to him. Something bad.
And here I go again, stressing until I think I might puke.
Corey’s late. It’s frigging cold, so I enter and wade through the early crowd, making my way to the bar. I don’t know where Gale could be, if he’ll even be here tonight.
This is crazy.
Only Riot did say this was Gale’s favorite bar, and that he comes here often. So, fingers crossed he won’t break that tradition tonight.
I order an alcohol-free beer, as I’ve been on a light diet for some days now and don’t want to wander around drunk, and yuck, now I know why Corey says it tastes like piss.
Grimacing, I put my bottle down, look around…and there he is. Gale. A flash of blond hair, a bearded face, icy eyes.
Abandoning my non-beer, I rush toward him, shoving my way between people—and girls. Many girls, buzzing around him like bees.
Ugh.
“Gale.” I try to get past a tall brunette whose tits are spilling out of her tight blouse, and she drags me behind her.
“Wait in line, bitch,” she hisses.
What the hell?
“I need to talk to Gale.” I struggle, slap her hand. “Get off me. Gale!”
“Stop it,” she mutters, still holding me back. There’s serious muscle hiding in that super thin body. “Jesus, just wait—”
“Paxtyn? Hey.” One second I’m held behind the brunette, the next Gale is right in front of me, disentangling me from the girl’s hold. “What’s up?”
See? I tell myself. He’s out, partying. Asks what’s up. If Riot was in trouble, he’d know, right?
“Hey Gale. Fancy meeting you here. Uh.” I lick my lips, my mouth dry. “I was just wondering if you’ve seen Riot around.”
“Ah.” He smiles broadly. “I knew you were gonna ask me about him.”
Well, that’s a relief at least, that he didn’t think I was here to throw myself at him like all these witches.
“I haven’t seen him around these past few days.” He frowns, scratches at his beard. “Our schedules aren’t set, you know. They constantly change.”
“I know.” I wish I didn’t.
“I heard he missed an appointment with Ellen yesterday, though.”
“Ellen?” Jealousy bites into my thoughts like a snake.
“Ellen Morris, an elder lady he’s fond of. She comes from an old, powerful family. She calls him every few weeks for dinner or a movie. One hundred percent platonic. I think he reminds her of her son.” He shrugs. “I was surprised he let her hang like that.”
And just like that, the worry is back, twisting my stomach.
“Listen, I’ll understand if you say no,” I say, “but I have something of Riot’s, something he left at my place the other day. Do you think you could tell me where he lives so I could drop it off?”
“Sure thing.” He waggles his brows at me. “Sending you his phone number, too, but I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”
Huh. Not entirely sure about that, but I smile back. “Thank you, Gale.”
He rattles off the address and I type it into my phone, while whispers weave all around us—“They’re friends?” “She knows Riot Gallagher.” “Oh my God, Riot’s hot.”
It makes my blood boil. Or simmer. Whatever. The thing is, Riot is hot, nothing can change that, and the awe in their voices as they wonder how well I know him gives me a tiny rush of pride.
Childish, I know. I want to yell at them that he’s mine, that with me it’s different. That what he and I share is more than just sex.
Sigh. Wishful thinking is a powerful thing.
“Thanks, Gale.” I shoot him a smile and wave as I turn to go. “You rock.”
“I know,” he calls after me, and the girls cheer.
The music is too loud, the smell of alcohol and perfume too strong. I cross the bar, elbowing people right and left, impatient to get outside now that I have what I need.
It’s not until I’m in my car and speeding toward the address Gale texted me that I remember Corey who must be waiting for me outside the bar.
Crap.
***
“Is everything okay?” Corey texts back after I message him to let him know I changed my mind again.
After I park in a dark street, I shoot him a smiley and a heart. Vague but hopefully enough to appease him and let him have a fun evening anyway.
Then I sit in my car and shiver. A street lamp flickers. The next one is off, leaving a big part of the street in shadow. I don’t like this neighborhood. I feel as if eyes are watching me from behind darkened windows an
d twitching curtains.
Get a grip, Pax.
Nothing bad will happen, and hey, I have my pepper spray in my bag and the police on speed dial. Can’t let fear cripple me, stop me.
Not again.
I get out of the car and lock it, and hurry down the sidewalk, checking the building numbers until I find the right one—then face a problem I hadn’t thought about.
The building entrance is locked. There’s a ring but no names for the apartments. I shouldn’t—
Oh screw this. I should, and I will.
I ring all the bells in the building, once, then again, and then again, until someone starts yelling something unintelligible through the inter-com.
“Riot Gallagher!” I yell back. “Let me in.”
He doesn’t.
So I ring again, leaving my finger on the button.
Suddenly the door clicks open. I wonder if it’s the guy who was yelling or someone else. The whole building is probably trying to stop me from ringing again.
Works for me.
The door swings inward and I step into the cold, dark lobby with its narrow flight of stairs and the smell of piss.
Lovely.
I tap on my phone to light it up and use it to illuminate the steps as I climb up. What a creepy place. Not horror movie material exactly, but Brick Mansions and The Wire definitely. Grimy, dark and spooky.
Then I’m standing in front of Riot’s door—if Gale’s right and isn’t pulling a prank on me—my hand raised to knock.
Doubt circles back around my thoughts. Is this a stupid idea? What if nothing happened and he’s just resting—or out—or with a woman?
Oh my God, that would be…
No. Remember how he held you, how he bathed you and fed you, Pax. It doesn’t matter what’s really going on. You need to check on him. You owe him that much and, well, if you interrupt anything you shouldn’t, then so be it.
Your heart might finally shatter into pieces so small the naked eye won’t see them, but you’ll know he’s safe and well and go on your way.
Somehow.
I knock. Then when that doesn’t seem to bring any results, I lift my phone again, searching for the doorbell. Ah, there. I ring and wait.
“Come on, Riot. Open up.” If he’s here. If he’s not screwing a girl right now. If he wants to see me. I bang again on the door. “Riot!”
Well, this is it.