Jarek's right behind me, holding me tight. He scoops me off the floor so that he's holding me in his arms, gazing into my eyes.
I don't want him to see me like this. He doesn't need to know what a mess I can be. However, there's something nice about being in his arms right now. I feel safe. I feel as if he's caring for me.
A wave of rage rushes through me, and I hit my fist against his shoulder. Not hard, but I'm so mad at him for leaving me all those years ago, and I have to do something.
“Whoa. What was that all about?”
I can't tell you, but you should know. I want to yell at him, to scream at him for what he did. How can he not know what that did to a young girl? How could he have not known me well enough to know how much that would hurt? And how can he stand here now still not comprehending how wounded he's left me?
I burst into tears. Get it together, Lana. But I'm not in control of my emotions anymore, and the tears keep coming. Stop it! Stop it! I can't, and that just makes me cry even more. Why did you leave me, Jarek? Why?
The pain of his rejection overwhelms me, and being in his arms confounds my logic and senses. How did we get to this? Wasn't I in control? Or was that just something I tried to convince myself of?
The more I try to keep it together, the more my face contorts and twitches in spasms as I continue to cry. He carries me into my bedroom, pulls back the sheets, and lays me across the mattress.
“I'm sorry,” I say, despite not actually having anything I should be sorry about. He's the one who should be sorry.
“What's wrong, Lana?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the mattress. You're the last person in the world I can share that with.
I consider giving up this ruse, telling him off as I should have told him off when I first saw him, as I thought about doing time and time again before he came back into my life. If I do, does that mean it's over? Does that mean I won't see him another time before he leaves once again?
“I'm fine,” I insist, wiping the back of my hands furiously across my face.
He sets his hand on my arm, suggesting his support in my moment of grief. But there's nothing he can do to soothe this pain. Daddy left me with a gaping hole, like the one Janet described, and Jarek made it even wider.
“Do you need anything?” he asks. “Water? A trash can to throw up in?” He says that playfully, like he's trying to cheer me up, and it makes me smile through the tears.
“I'm fine,” I insist. Although, considering how the room is spinning, I can't help but wonder if I shouldn't have been so quick to refuse the trash can.
He gazes into my eyes. “Are you sure everything's okay?”
I shake my head. “No.” He looks sad for me, but I can't help but wonder if he's reveling in my misery, pleased to know he was wise enough to keep away from me all these years.
He leans down and wraps his arms around me, embracing me in a supportive hug. It sends my mind through a confusing maze of thoughts. If he's here for me, then where was he back then? Where has he been all this time? Like everything we've shared this past week, this is just another lie—just like before. Why does he do this to me? Why does he give me this false hope when he knows he doesn't want me? Is he one of those guys who's so cruel to the people that like him? One who toys with the minds of women whom he knows he has an influence over? But his hold feels so honest, so sincere...but isn't that how it felt before? Jarek, why do you always do this to me?
He releases me and stands. “I guess I'd better head out,” he says. He starts for the door. I fixate on his ass, sculpted perfectly in his black suit pants.
“Wait!”
He stops and turns back to me, his eyes filled with concern.
“You don't have to go,” I say.
I don't know why I'm saying that. I'm sure as hell not in the mood to do anything with him. He returns to me, kicks his shoes off, steps around the bed, and slides onto the mattress. He crawls to me, urges me onto my side, and wraps his arm around me. He's so warm, and as I feel his breath on the back of my neck, I remember how he held me the night after Daddy passed.
My scrambled thoughts focus on that last day. I sat on the rock, watching my tears, which didn't feel like they'd ever end, leave scattered blotches across his jeans. His strong arms held me close as we shivered together. I felt so safe. And his hold gave me hope that maybe one day I'd make it through the nightmare.
Considering our past, it's sick how good lying together in this bed feels. It disturbs me how much I want to stay in this moment, even when I know how this ends. He was just as attentive back then, and it didn't keep him from leaving.
I tremble as my body convulses through another fit of tears. Even though this feels so good, it burns at a wound within me, one that's been there for so long, but feels so fresh.
I let him hold me close, because I need this, and I drift off.
Chapter Ten
The next morning, I'm drowning in paperwork, nearly too consumed to dwell on everything that happened last night. Nearly, but not entirely, because I can't help but reflect on that kindness, that generous nature of Jarek's spirit. Would he lie with any girl overnight without expecting intimacy? Or just me? And why do I care so much?
I attempt to distract myself with my work, particularly the necessary tasks to make sure the fundraiser this coming Saturday goes according to plan. If only I didn't have this painful headache nagging at me, then it might be easier to focus, but it's so painful that it's a struggle. I wonder if Janet always feels like this after a stupor or if it's easier for her since she's so used to getting trashed.
When I return home that afternoon, I continue my work, scattering files across the table as I sort them into appropriate stacks. After dedicating a few hours to that, I move on to cleaning, which I'm thinking is a nice break from work.
I guess this is what my life will be about: cleaning my damn house and being a spinster forever. Maybe I need to get a cat...or a dog. A pet would be good. Oh, God, what am I thinking? I don't want to deal with little hairs everywhere. No, no. I like having my space to myself. And I'd feel terrible about not having time to walk a dog.
My phone rings. I walk across the kitchen and look at the screen. Jarek. Another booty call, I'm guessing.
I answer. “Hey.”
“How's it going?”
“I'm having an amazing night cleaning out my kitchen.”
“What do you say we go out tonight?”
“Go out? I figured you'd be with my sister.”
“We have about as much in common as a lion and a gazelle.”
“So you just like playing the gazelle at parties?”
“Ha ha ha. Seriously, though. I want to do something tonight.”
I don't know if this is a good idea, but I can't help but think it'd be a nice break from having to clean my place. “What do you have in mind?” I ask.
“You know, the symphony...maybe an art gallery.”
“Oooh...exciting!” I jest.
He laughs. “I was thinking we could hit up a burger joint by the mall.”
I burst into laughter. I don't know why it's so hilarious. What's not hilarious about a millionaire eating at a shitty burger joint? “That sounds good to me.”
What am I going to do with you, Jarek? It's a question I seriously consider, because am I really going to let myself fall back in love with him? I guess I've given up, but I feel like I might need to fight...if only for my own sanity.
While I'm getting ready, putting on fresh clothes, my phone rings again. As I straighten my blouse, I glance at my phone and see that it's Janet. She might want to hang out, but as I recall, her husband's back in town, so I don't figure she needs me for anything.
“Hey, sis, what's up?”
I hear a soft whisper. “Lana, please get over here.”
My face drains as I realize she's in serious trouble. “Are you okay? Janet?” I check the screen, which assures me the call has ended. I try to call her as I grab my keys and race down the stairs to my
car.
On the way over, I quickly dial Jarek's number. “Hey—I have to cancel. Janet just called. I'm heading over to her place to make sure she's okay.”
“Do you need—”
“I'll call you when I find out what's going on.”
“Okay, okay. Thanks for letting me know.”
At a time like this, it would be nice to be with Jarek—or anyone—to share my worry. But right now, I'm on my own. I continue trying to call her on my way over. Still no response.
Is she hurt?
When I reach her building, I park and head up the stairwell, to her place. I hear shouting. I turn the knob. Locked.
I knock as loudly as I can. The shouting continues. It's clearly Kirk.
Are they having a fight? If that's what all this is about, then I'm going to put a stop to it right away. I continue knocking until I'm pounding and my fists hurt.
The door opens. Kirk stands in the entry. His face is red as if he's just returned from the gym, but I know better.
“Hey, Lana. How's it going?” he asks, taking a breath as if to soothe whatever rage I heard him releasing just moments ago. His words are friendly, sincere-sounding, but I know what I just heard, and I am not happy.
“Where's my sister?”
“She's just...she's...”
I push past him, through their living area. Through the entry to their kitchen, I see her on the other side of their dining table. She sits on the tile floor, her back against the entry to another hallway. Tears stream down her face as she holds her legs close.
“What the hell do you think you're doing barging in here like this?” Kirk asks. His tone isn't like anything I've heard from him before. He's aggressive, severe.
Janet's hair is disheveled, some of it pulled loose from the ponytail she has it in. Her mascara runs as she rubs her arm, as if it's where he was holding her before I barged in. As I spy a red mark on the arm she rubs, I know what he really is, and I'm not interested in discussions.
“Come on, Janet.” I say, kneeling and wrapping my arms around her.
“What do you think you're doing?” Kirk asks.
I stand tall, realizing that Kirk could effortlessly punch me to the floor. But like with a dog, I can't show fear. “I'm taking Janet home with me. She's not staying here.”
“Really? And you're just gonna come in here and take her? You don't know us. You don't know our lives. You don't get to judge what goes on in the fucking privacy of our home!”
He approaches me, his chest pushed forward and his hands balled into fists. I never realized how closely his face resembles that of a bulldog until this moment, as he stands there, round faced and droopy-cheeked. He’s scowling, his eyes cast in the shadows of the kitchen light.
“Lana,” Kirk says, “you don't have any business here, so why don't you just step out and let me tend to my business."
“My sister is my business, and she's coming with me. Come on, Janet.”
Kirk snatches me by the hair and yanks me back to my feet. He shoves me across the room. I trip over a chair at the end of the dining table and stumble past the stove. I throw my arms out to break my fall against the fridge, but the handle gets me right in the ribs.
As I recover, I turn sharply, and Kirk is heading for me. “You don't let me take her, and I swear to God I'll call the police!” I exclaim, hoping my threat will at least make him pause before deciding to tear off my head, which seems more than likely at this point.
However, he doesn't appear discouraged. He keeps heading for me, a wicked gleam in his eyes, as if he plans to do far worse to me than just break my arm. I leap to the side and grab a frying pan from the stove and swing at him.
He catches my wrist. “Naughty, bitch,” he says. It's eerie how calmly he speaks, and the look in his eyes assures me I should have been more prepared before I came over.
He twists my wrist and forces me back against the fridge. I struggle to break free when a loud crunching sound fills the room, and he releases me.
I turn and see Jarek throwing him against the kitchen counter on the other side of the stove. He lays blows into Kirk's torso.
“Fuck!” Kirk cries as he unleashes a series of expletives while Jarek continues his assault. Kirk swings about, but Jarek's blows are more precise and hit with a powerful impact. His face is red as his blows crack against Kirk's body.
Kirk collapses against the counter, and as I see that he's obviously delirious, incapable of fighting back, I work to soothe Jarek. “He's finished, Jarek. He's finished.”
Jarek snaps out of whatever rage compelled him and hurries to me. “Are you okay?” he asks, scanning me over. He checks my wrist. “What did he do? Where did he touch you?”
“I'm fine, I'm fine.” My insistence about my well-being doesn't relax his aggression. He turns back to Kirk, grabs him by his shirt collar, and throws him across the room so that he smashes into the pantry on the other side of the kitchen and collapses to the floor. I want to scream, “Enough fighting!” but Kirk deserves every bit of Jarek's aggression.
I hurry to Janet and help her to her feet. She's lost in a fit of tears, clearly overwhelmed by everything that’s going on.
Jarek hurries to our side and leads us out of the apartment. As we reach the car and I regain my composure, waking from those primal impulses that Kirk's behavior stirred, I'm filled with appreciation for Jarek's presence. “How did you know where we were?” I ask.
“I called Kelsey and asked—since someone,” he says severely, “wouldn't tell me what was going on.”
“I'm sorry.” I realize what a horribly moronic idea it was barging in like that without letting anyone know where I was, but I've dealt with Kirk on plenty of occasions, and I never believed he would become violent. At least everyone's fine now.
We head to the hospital, where Janet is tended to by physicians and police offers. Jarek and I offer our statements about the events that transpired, and after several hours, we're permitted to leave. We head back to my place. I tuck Janet into the guest bed and return to the living area, where Jarek awaits me, sitting on the couch.
“Thank you so much,” I say. “If you hadn't come...”
He rises from the sofa. “It's nothing,” he insists, as if he doesn't want my appreciation. It reminds me that there was a time not so long ago when I didn't believe I'd ever be appreciative of anything from him.
Glad as I am that he was there, it disturbs me, because it's so much easier when I don't see the good in him, when I believe he's a horrible, insensitive man. But I can't believe that. I've seen too much evidence to the contrary, and it leaves me feeling like he couldn't be with me back then because I wasn't worthy of his affection. Maybe I really wasn't.
He approaches me quickly. His swift movement alarms me, I suppose stirring some of the same instincts activated when Kirk attacked me. As I gaze into his eyes, I don't see the usual appreciation and gentleness I'm used to. I see something angry, furious.
“When I saw him doing that to you,” he says, “I thought I was going to kill him.” The tone in his voice convinces me he's serious, and I'm glad for everyone's sake it didn't come to that. He wraps his arms around me and holds me close, filling me with a sense of security that feels so good right now, after such a twisted moment. He shifts his face so his nose presses against my ear. His breath rushes against me as he whispers, “If something had happened to you, I don't know what I would've done.”
“You would've been fine,” I say curtly, because it's a painful truth—one I don't want to acknowledge, yet one I'll always be all-too-aware of.
“What?” he says, releasing me and pulling away. I wish I had kept my mouth shut, because right now, I really need his arms around me. I need him close. He's the only thing keeping me together.
He gazes at me as if I'm insane for suggesting he'd be fine. All I want to say is, “Look at you— you've managed this long without me. You ran off, lived a perfectly fulfilling life. You didn't need me back then and you sure as hell d
on't need me now.”
I keep quiet. I don't want an argument or to see him feign defense for his feelings. That won't do either of us any good.
“Don't you know how much I care about you?” he asks. “Can’t you feel it?”
I want to believe he feels for me the way I feel for him, but my feelings mislead me, as they did all those years ago. I can't tell him that, though. Maybe he believes he feels this way, as he believed he did back then, but I know how easily he can walk away from these feelings, and I'll never distance myself from that knowledge.
As he stands there, expressing these deep feelings, whether I believe them or not, I can't help but despise him. I want to demand an answer to why he left, but to keep myself from giving into this hate, I do the only thing I know will silence these impulses. I kiss him. His arms are soon back around me, making me feel as secure as I felt before. It's wonderful...it's delicious...it's as if I don't have to worry about anything ever again.
His kisses are frenzied, passionate, as if the encounter with Kirk left him realizing how quickly he could lose me. Wishful thinking.
He kneels, lifts me off the floor, and carries me into my bedroom. All I know in this moment is that I'm his.
He rests me on the bed, and as I remove my blouse and bra, he takes off my shoes and slides my jeans down my legs. Once again, I'm lying under him, vulnerable, exposed, knowing that I'm being offered one more night.
I wish I was stronger. I wish I could fight him. I wish I could scream, "Why don't you feel for me how I feel for you?" Gazing into his eyes only makes it worse. It's that same look I remember so long ago, that look of love and appreciation...or maybe that's just what I mistake it for. Maybe it's something else. As he rests his arms on either side of me, his face just inches from mine, his breath hitting my face, I can't help but think that surely what he feels is real. Still, that's what I thought back then!
He kisses me again, powerfully, allowing my thoughts to release all that pain once again. He strokes a hand up and down my side and as his lips release mine, he whispers against my cheek, “I care about you so much, Lana. Ever since we were kids. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy.”
Every Time He Leaves (The Raeven Sisters Book 1) Page 15