by Sybil Bartel
Black, black tinted windows, nice rims, leather, it’d do. Without getting in, I turned back to the salesman. “I’m in a hurry. I’ll take this on trade for the Infiniti. You have thirty minutes to make it happen or I walk.”
The salesman blinked. Twice. “You want to trade a brand-new Infiniti for a two-year-old Tahoe? The Infiniti’s worth more.” He looked confused and sounded incredulous.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and glanced at it. “Today’s your lucky day. Twenty-nine minutes.”
Mr. Salesman stood up straight. “Yes, ma’am, if you’ll come inside, I’ll get the paperwork going.”
Finally numb, I followed him.
Twenty-two minutes later Mr. Salesman had me signing away a part of Buck. My stomach turned over and cramped.
“Okay, Ms. Dellis, almost done. All I need is one more signature and the keys to the Infiniti. I’ll transfer the Tahoe’s warranty to you after I get you in your new ride.” He smiled.
I pulled the keys out and when I fingered the Infiniti’s key I froze. There was an extra key on the ring.
“Jesus,” I whispered.
“Ma’am?”
Gold, large square bow, it was distinctive and it hadn’t been on my key ring before I went to that hotel. It was Talon’s house key.
“Is there a problem?” The salesman sounded nervous.
“No...no problem.” I struggled to get the Infiniti key off as I kept blinking back tears. Biting my tongue to keep from crying, the irony wasn’t lost on me. I was purging one man only to have fate throw another in my face.
I finally got the key off and flung it at the salesman. “Here.”
He caught the key and sat there, looking at me. He blinked again and began to speak quietly. “Ma’am, if you don’t want to do this...”
When I forced my quivering jaw to still and swallowed back bile, I stood. “My new keys.” I held my hand out, not making eye contact. It took all my strength not to grip my somersaulting stomach. Keys were placed in my hand and I walked out.
Chapter Twenty
The Tahoe rode smooth and surprisingly quiet for a huge car. The salesman had filled the tank and I was already south of Key Largo. The pristine waters of the Keys did nothing for me. The midday sun beat down on the black SUV and despite the cranked AC, I was sweating. My stomach was getting worse by the hour. I knew I had to eat but just the thought of food was enough to make bile rise in the back of my throat.
By Marathon, the cramping in my stomach was so bad, I wondered if I’d caught the flu. Sweating, desperate, I pulled into a gas station with a convenience store. Intending to buy some Advil and water, I passed the sodas. Thinking twice, I grabbed a Coke. Back in the Tahoe, which was quickly becoming my favorite place, I popped two Advil and washed them down.
Twenty minutes later I was a little better but my stomach was growling, loudly. Fuck, I didn’t have time for this. It was getting late and I needed daylight for this to happen. But if I fainted from hunger—how many days had it been?—I wouldn’t be able to do shit. I stopped at another convenience store and bought the only thing that appealed, chocolate milk and Smartfood. Lunch of champions.
An hour later, stomach not threatening to heave anymore but cramping like mad, I drove into Key West proper. I went south all the way to Duval and circled a few times before finding a spot near the Hog’s Breath I could maneuver the Tahoe into.
I went inside, pulled out a twenty and set it on the bar in front of me. When the bartender came over, I was ready. I cut her off before she could ask what I wanted to drink.
“I’m looking for someone.”
“Aren’t we all, sweetheart, what can I get you?”
“His name is Roark and he’s a charter pilot. He has an amphibious plane. I want to hire him, but I don’t know his last name or his business’s name.”
The forty-something bartender cocked her bleached-blond head and looked at me for a moment. “What do you want to hire him for?”
She knew him. “A charter.” I was purposely vague.
“You don’t look like his type.” She eyed me critically.
“That’s because I’m not.” But now I wondered what “his type” was.
The bartender sighed. “What are you drinking?”
Was this a test? “Two shots of Patrón.” I fished out another twenty and set it by the first.
She poured the two shots, gave them to me, took one of the twenties and put it in the cash register. When she turned back around, she was holding a business card. “Don’t make me regret this. Roark is a good man, he doesn’t need any trouble.” She handed me the card.
“Thank you.” I threw back the shots and walked out, fighting the urge to vomit.
I made it back to the Tahoe, then hurled in the gutter. Cursing, I unlocked the SUV and scrambled in. I still had some Coke so I swished and opened the door to spit. The smell of my own vomit almost made me puke again. I slammed the door shut and peeled out of the parking spot, thankful it was midday. Key West didn’t come alive until sunset. Before then, the streets were oddly, post-apocalyptic deserted.
I drove to a drugstore and parked the SUV in a spot designed for a fucking Corolla. Welcome to Key West. I ran in, bought a few more Cokes, some breath mints, and went back to the Tahoe. In the comfort of air-conditioning, I made the call.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Fuck.
“Sea Ventures,” said a rough voice.
I sagged with relief. “Roark, it’s Layna.” I didn’t say my last name. I hadn’t been introduced to him with a last name. I had no idea if he would remember me. I waited but he didn’t say anything. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m...”
Roark interrupted. “I know who you are. I’m trying to figure out why you’re calling.”
It wasn’t the reception I was expecting but I should’ve known better. “I was hoping you remembered where you dropped us in the Gulf last spring.”
Pause. “I remember.”
My stomach clenched. “Can you take me there?”
Longer pause. “Now?”
I rubbed my stomach and leaned forward to put pressure on the cramping. “Yeah,” I said quietly.
“You okay?”
No, I wasn’t okay. I might never be okay. But if I didn’t do this, I knew okay wouldn’t ever be a possibility. “I’m great,” I lied.
Roark sighed. “It’ll take me at least an hour to get to Miami Beach.”
He was going to do it. Relief gave me a brief respite from the constant throb of pain. “I’m in Key West.”
“Then wouldn’t a boat be easier? Neil’s is docked in Marathon.”
I couldn’t involve Neil. Neil would tell Talon. “I don’t want a boat.” I hoped I put enough pouty female angst into it.
Roark sighed. “Do you know where the airport is?”
I exhaled. “Yes.”
“Meet me there in fifteen, in front of the terminal.”
This was almost too good to be true. “Thank you.”
“Welcome,” he said gruffly then hung up.
Twelve minutes later, I hopped out of the Tahoe and walked to the front of the terminal. Not surprising, Roark was already there. Pasting on a fake smile, I walked up to him and held my hand out. “Thanks for meeting me.”
Roark didn’t take my hand. Instead, his hands went to his hips and he sized me up. A beast of a man, he was six-five easy with as much muscle as Buck, maybe more. Never having seen him in a standing position before, I was slightly intimidated. Amping up my smile to hide my discomfort, I dropped my hand.
“You lied,” he said with an edge of anger to his voice.
My smile faltered and a thread of panic set in. “I didn’t lie.” I sounded like a littl
e girl.
“Your eyes are bloodshot, you reek of alcohol and you’re ten pounds thinner than the last time I saw you. That’s not someone who’s okay.”
I wavered between fear that he wouldn’t help me and complete and total indignation. The latter won out. “You have no right to judge me.”
Roark wasn’t impressed. “I just did.”
I was outraged—at him and the world and my fucked-up existence and at every other stupid alpha jerk of a man who thought they knew what was best. “You don’t know me.”
“Clean yourself up.” Roark started to walk away.
Panicked, I grabbed his arm and solid muscle tensed under me. “Wait.” But then I couldn’t think of a single thing to say to make him help me.
He looked pointedly at my hand then scowled. “I don’t know what’s going down, but I want no part of it. You can piss your own life away, lady, I’m outta here.” He shook off my grip.
“Please,” I begged. “Don’t walk away from me.”
Two strides and he stopped but he didn’t turn around.
I had to do what I’d set out to do or I felt like I was going to lose myself and never come back. “I lied. I’m not fine. But it’s too long and too boring of a story. I came here because I need to move on.” It was as much of the truth as I was willing to admit to him. “I was hoping you could help me. Just one ride and I won’t bother you again.”
Hands on his hips, head bent, Roark didn’t move.
“I can’t find that spot on my own and it’s important to me. That spot...it’s just, it’s important. Please, I need to go there, I need to do this.”
He sighed. “What exactly do you need to do?”
How could I explain? Full circle? Total purge? A big enough gesture to make me feel like I’d won? Throwing away a future where I gained my freedom? I couldn’t explain it because rationally, none of it made sense. I only knew I wanted to do this, I needed to do this. “It won’t take long, I just need a quick touchdown. Please.” It had to be this way. For me.
Roark turned. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his aviators but I knew he was staring me down.
I held my breath.
“You’re going to clean up, eat a meal and you’re done with the alcohol.”
Then he’d take me? Fine, I could do that. I nodded. “I can be back here in thirty minutes.” That should be long enough to find a hotel room, shower and chug a chocolate milk.
Roark shook his head. “I’m only doing this for Blaze. Let’s go.” He turned and strode across the parking lot.
Scrambling to catch up, my legs took two steps to his every one. “I have my car. I can meet you back here, twenty minutes if that’s better.” It’d be a stretch but I could skip the food part, he’d never know.
“I’m not letting you drive again smelling like that. You’re coming with me.” Roark walked up to a red Jeep. “Get in.” He got behind the wheel.
Pulling the passenger door open, I realized it wasn’t a Jeep but a late model Land Rover Defender 90. It was in mint condition. It either didn’t have air-conditioning or Roark preferred to drive with the windows down. Thank God I was in a tank top and shorts. I was a native Floridian but summer in Key West was hot as hell.
Roark drove over the bridge, leaving Key West proper, and took the first left into a neighborhood a half mile north. Driving through streets that all jutted out into the water, he pulled into a shared driveway and parked in front of a small shotgun-style house that was half a flight of stairs off grade. You could see straight through to the backyard and the Gulf. Roark got out and walked up the stairs to the front door.
“Missy may or may not like you, don’t take it personally, she takes her cues from me.” With no more warning than that, he opened the door and a gorgeous golden retriever danced with excitement.
The second she saw me, she went still. She looked up at Roark and back at me. Roark ruffled her ears and walked inside. Missy didn’t follow. She blocked the door.
I squatted and held my hand out. “Hey, Missy.”
She didn’t sniff my hand, she just stared at me like a jealous lover.
I smiled. “Good girl.” I reached to pet her head but she stepped back as a quick, sharp whistle came from somewhere inside the house.
Missy turned and went inside without a second glance. Yeah, I wouldn’t like me either. I walked in, shut the door and looked around in surprise. The place was gutted. Taken completely down to the studs. A pile of new hardwood flooring and another pile of Sheetrock was neatly stacked in a corner but otherwise it was bare. I walked down the hall and found Roark and Missy in a brand-new kitchen-living room combo that looked out over the backyard to a dock and the water beyond.
“Nice place, you doing the work yourself?” He seemed like the type and there wasn’t anyone else here doing work.
Roark filled a coffeemaker with water and pushed the Start button. He ignored my question and went to the fridge and started pulling stuff out. “The shower’s upstairs through the master bedroom. Towels are under the sink.”
Staring at me, Missy lay down at Roark’s feet.
“Okay...thanks.” I stood there a few seconds but when he didn’t say anything else, I went upstairs.
There was a master bedroom and an office across the hall and a small unfinished bathroom. The office was bare like the living room downstairs except for a desk with a computer and printer and paperwork. The master was like the kitchen, brand-new and modern and it had windows across the entire west wall looking out over the water. It was meticulously clean and I felt like a massive voyeur being in his bedroom. I hurried to the bathroom and the feeling only got worse.
I shut the door but it didn’t matter. With the same floor-to-ceiling windows as the bedroom, anyone in the backyard could look up and see everything. Screw it. I stripped and turned the shower on. The walk-in shower rivaled the one I had at home, with multiple showerheads and room for three. It felt good. I used Roark’s shampoo and soap and dried off with a thick towel big enough to be a beach towel. Since I was already imposing, I squirted some of his toothpaste on my finger and did my best to clean my teeth. I ran his comb through my hair then pulled it back in a twist. I neatly hung the towel and went back downstairs.
Roark was placing two plates with sandwiches on the table in the kitchen. There were already steaming mugs of coffee next to the plates. The smell turned my stomach.
“Thanks for the shower.” I breathed through my mouth.
“Sit,” Roark commanded, pulling out a chair for himself.
We both sat and Roark picked up his napkin and glanced at Missy. He gave a short nod and Missy gracefully got up, walked to her food bowl and began to eat. Roark picked up his sandwich.
I was sure this happened daily. Man and his dog, sharing a meal. One alpha, one worshipful lovesick puppy. “Thanks for...” It was three in the afternoon, I went with lunch, it sounded less formal. “Lunch.”
“Welcome,” Roark said between bites, still not looking at me.
I picked up the sandwich and fought a horrible wave of nausea. I tried to make myself take a bite but I couldn’t.
Roark looked up. “Problem?”
“Nope.” I pasted on a fake smile and took a bite. Whole grain bread, lettuce, tomato, sprouts, avocado, turkey, I almost vomited in my mouth. Fighting tears and the overwhelming urge to gag, I swallowed. “Mm mm.” I made the sound through tight lips. Fucking health food.
Roark sat back and picked up his coffee. He watched me in the same way Talon, Buck and Neil all did. Expressionless face, perfectly still, caged energy just waiting to spring—it had to be a military thing. I forced down the sandwich as fast as I could. By the last bite, I wasn’t nauseous anymore but I still hated it. Burger and fries, now there was a lunch. Or a bowl of Cap’n Crunch. Fuck sprouts.
“Why do
you want to go out on the water?” Roark set his coffee down.
I finished my bite and wiped my mouth, stalling till I could formulate an answer. I wasn’t sure how to respond. I wanted him to take me out there but I was worried if he knew why he wouldn’t do it. “Do I have to answer that?” I finally asked.
He stared at me.
I looked away. “I need to bury my past.”
“I thought it was already buried.” If Roark’s voice could be gentle, it was gentle.
I didn’t know how much he knew about me or what they’d told him, so I didn’t touch his comment. “Please, can you just take me? I only need a few minutes.”
“Alright.” Roark stood. “Let’s go, I have a sunset charter.” He glanced at the golden retriever. “Missy, clear your plate.”
Missy stood from where she was lying by Roark’s feet, grabbed her metal food bowl with her muzzle, went to the sink, jumped up and dropped the bowl. A loud metal clanging against metal sound echoed through the house.
Wow. Most people weren’t that well trained.
“Good girl. Missy, car.” Roark said the praise in the same tone of voice as the command and Missy ran to the front door.
“She’s well trained,” I commented, clearing my own plate.
Roark took the plate from me and put both plates and Missy’s bowl in the dishwasher. “She’s a good dog. I got lucky.”
Yeah, no, he trained the shit out of her. I followed Roark outside and when I opened the passenger door, Missy was already sitting in the front seat. She looked at me like she was saying not on your life.
“Backseat,” Roark commanded.
At first, I wasn’t sure which one of us he was talking to. Then with what I was sure was a dog version of a glare, Missy turned in the seat and slowly got in the back. I wondered if Roark had a girlfriend. If he did, I almost felt sorry for her. But then again, maybe Missy was only standoffish to me.
When we got to the airport, Roark gave the command plane and Missy pranced ahead of us across the tarmac. When she got to Roark’s plane, she sat obediently by the door. I waited with her while Roark performed his preflight checks. The sun beating down, the summer humidity turning me into a sweaty mess, I glanced down at Missy and felt bad for her in her fur coat.