Resist: Bad Boy Romantic Suspense

by Violet Paige

  The world fell away while we stood next to the cab, breathing each other in.

  Vaughn’s hands slipped from my face. He stole another kiss before breaking away completely.

  I fought to catch my breath as he shuttled me into the backseat. My lips were reeling. My head. My chest. I was on fire.

  “Nice to meet you, Elliot.” He smiled wickedly and closed the door.

  The cab pulled away from the sidewalk and I finally exhaled as I watched Vaughn fade from view.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning the alarm on my phone buzzed incessantly until I knocked it to the floor.

  I ran my fingers over my lips and smiled. It was an epic kiss. The kiss to beat all kisses. Maybe it was the romance of the city lights, or because Vaughn had defended me when we barely knew each other. Maybe it was just because he was hot as hell and anything from his lips was going to be amazing.

  I shuffled to the bathroom to start the shower.

  It didn’t appear as if Greer had come home last night. I peeked my head into the living room. Preston had been right. Things must have been serious at the capitol and she ended up staying at his place.

  We hadn’t come up with a system like we had in college. It wasn’t as if I had anywhere else to go, but maybe we could at least start texting each other if we weren’t going to sleep in the apartment.

  I brushed my teeth before stepping into the rush of hot water. I looked at my feet as the water trickled down to the drain. There was no way I could wear a pair of heels today even if I wanted to.

  I thought more about last night. I thought about meeting Vaughn. I wanted to talk to Greer. I didn’t know how I would describe him to her. Hot, cocky, mysterious, and … I tried to think of something that would explain the effect he had on me over a drink.

  There was an instant attraction I felt. The whole dizzy, reckless, trembling rush was there. I could picture his face. The way he stared into my eyes.

  This was crazy. One drink. One kiss. That was it and he was already taking up head space.

  I dried off and got dressed for work. I slid my feet into a pair of Keds and tucked my patent ballet flats into my messenger bag. I smiled, feeling as if I had accomplished a small victory before I even left the apartment. I swore to myself today was not going to suck.

  I searched the kitchen cabinets for a coffee cylinder and lid. I tested a few to make sure they didn’t leak. After I made a pot of coffee I poured it inside, sealing it tightly.

  I already felt better as I descended the stairs to the street. It was a quick walk to the Metro and only one stop to Tenleytown. The jitters from yesterday were gone. The helpless feeling of being lost had evaporated.

  I climbed onto the Metro, knowing I should stand close to the door.

  As soon as the train slowed I exited and headed for the escalators. The noise didn’t seem quite as deafening in the tunnel. I held my ground and secured a place on the steps. Today I wasn’t going to be knocked to the side.

  A few minutes later I was on campus and walking toward the clinic.

  I paused in front of the double doors as soon as I heard my phone buzz.

  I reached into the messenger bag. My stomach dropped.

  “Mom?”

  “Elliot, thank God.” I could hear the crack in her voice as if she had been crying.

  “What’s wrong? What happened?” I looked for a place to sit as people walked into the building.

  “I can’t find Garrett.”

  “Can’t find him? What do you mean? It’s early.”

  “Have you heard from him?” she asked. “Did he call you this morning?”

  I hadn’t spoken to my brother since I arrived in D.C. He was still angry I had left. He had threatened not to speak to me again.

  “No. Mom, tell me what’s going on? Why isn’t he at the house?” I pressed.

  She sighed. “We had an argument last night about his treatment. It ended when he locked himself in his room. When I knocked on the door this morning he wasn’t there.”

  “Maybe he went out for a run,” I suggested.

  My brother used to be an amazing runner. He’d won all-state in track when he was in high school. But now he used running as an escape from the constant therapy. It was his self-prescribed medication. This wasn’t the first time my mom hadn’t been able to find him.

  “He isn’t out for a run,” she snapped.

  “Did you call dad?”

  She sighed. “He doesn’t know anything. He never helps. Worthless.”

  I closed my eyes. The instinct was there. I could feel it tugging at me, urging me to do something. To jump back into the cycle that was my brother’s toxic pattern.

  He’d take his medication for a month or two and then think he was better and stop without telling anyone. That’s when he started doing erratic things. Hanging out with his ex-girlfriend again. Blowing through my mom’s money.

  I couldn’t stay and watch it happen over and over. I had been sucked into my brother’s problems our entire life. He needed more than weekly counseling and a doctor who doled out prescriptions every time one ran out.

  But my mom refused to do anything more proactive. My dad didn’t give a shit anymore. And I was emotionally exhausted watching his illness tear my family in half.

  I heard the bells chime from the clock tower. I had to get inside.

  “Mom, I’ll call him later. When I get a break at lunch I’ll check online and see if he’s posted anything. Okay?”

  “That’s it?” I could hear the hurt in her voice.

  I sighed. “I’m walking into a client meeting. It’s my first one. I can’t drop everything and try to help you find him. He’s okay. He always is.” But in the back of my head I knew there was no way to be sure. It’s what I told myself. It’s what I told Mom every time Garrett did this.

  “And what if he’s not?” she pleaded.

  “Then, there isn’t anything I can do.” I spoke quietly. I hated saying it, but it was true. What could I do to force my brother to take his meds? How could I make him keep his therapy appointments? How did I convince him that he had to face his illness?

  “Fine.” Her voice was clipped. The crying had stopped. “I’ll talk to you at lunch.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I hope you hear something. He’ll be back soon. Try not to worry.”

  I hung up the phone and took a deep breath. I walked inside, pausing at the doors to change shoes. My office was at the end of the hall. I had a few steps to collect myself and try not to think about what kind of trouble my brother had gotten into this time.

  I pushed open the wooden door. There was a woman sitting in the waiting room.

  “Hi.” I smiled at her.

  The clerk waved at me. “Your first appointment is here.”

  “Oh. All right. I need just a minute.” I shared an office with another resident. She hadn’t arrived.

  Yesterday during the orientation I received her name, but we hadn’t met.

  I walked through the waiting area and into my office. I settled behind one of the desks and turned on the laptop the university had given me. The fan churned inside and I felt the warm air blow over my fingers.

  I needed these few stolen seconds to remind myself why I was here. In the waiting room was a woman who needed my help. A woman who couldn’t afford legal help, but needed it. I was here to do something meaningful and rich with my life. I could help people. I couldn’t help Garrett, or my mom to see what he did to everyone, but there were people here who needed me. People who would listen. People who would respect my advice. Who sought it.

  I could do something here my family had stolen from me. Garrett had ruined too many things. My parents were divorced. They still argued. They couldn’t be in the same room together. There was no peace or calm.

  This was my chance to find something centered on my own. I needed this to work in a way they couldn’t understand. They thrived in chaos. It was drowning me.

  I used to panic like my mo
ther. I’d comb the streets. I’d call all his friends. I wouldn’t sleep. Sometimes I didn’t eat. If he was gone more than a day, I didn’t go to work. I was the only one who accepted the offer for family counseling sessions.

  Her name was Beth. My counselor was the same age I was. She said I didn’t have to call her Dr. Lane. I knew she didn’t have much experience, but I was desperate for a way to breathe. For a way out of the dark spiral that sucked me in to Garrett’s choices.

  I didn’t need sage wisdom, or years of advanced degrees. All I needed was someone to listen. Someone to steer my ship out of the storm. Beth encouraged me to pursue American and Greer’s offer.

  During our last session I sat across from her while she scribbled something on a clipboard.

  Beth looked at me. “Is there anything you want to discuss before you leave?”

  It was more open-ended than her usual questions. “No.”

  She smiled. “Are you sure? You seemed to hesitate.”

  “I-I don’t know if I’ll ever stop feeling guilty,” I admitted.

  “Guilty? Because you’re moving and have accepted a job?”

  I shook my head. “No. Because I’m leaving them.”

  She let her pen drop to the paper and leaned forward. “You have the right to be happy, Elliot. You deserve to be fulfilled in your life.” She paused. “And you can always come home to visit. You can call and text.” She eyed me. “But not too much.”

  I sighed. That was the catch. How did I set boundaries? How did I find balance when no one else but me wanted it?

  “And when that doesn’t work?” I asked.

  “I think it will. I think you’ll be surprised how a little distance will free you.”

  Beth had been partly right. I tried to use all of the relaxation techniques she taught me. I closed my eyes, expecting to see a picture of the beach, or a sunny green field, but instead I saw the sexy lust-filled smirk on Vaughn’s face.

  My eyes popped open. That was not a meditative thought. I scolded myself. What the hell? I returned to my breathing, but my focus was gone. Vaughn had invaded my quiet space.

  “Meg, send her in,” I called through the door to the clerk. I needed more than a distraction from my family drama.

  I dove into the one thing that always made my mind focus—the law.

  As promised I used my lunch break to check in with Garret. My call went to his voicemail. He hadn’t bothered to set up a message.

  “Hey, it’s your sister. Mom is worried about you. Call her, please.”

  I hung up and regretted not saying something about how I was worried too. That it mattered to me where he was. I started scrolling through all the social media sites I knew he used. When things were going well for him he liked to post pictures. He’d check in at a park, or upload a shot of a sunset. I didn’t see anything recent on his accounts. I tried not to let that worry me. It had happened before.

  I called my mother to let her know I didn’t have anything to report.

  The phone rang a few times before she answered. “Hey, honey.” She sounded calmer than before, casual.

  “Have you heard anything?” I asked. I was going to suggest she check with his friend Chris. He might have better luck locating him.

  “Oh, yes. He’s here. I just fixed him a sandwich.” I could hear the smile in her voice.

  “You what?” I felt the irritation crawl over my skin. “Garret’s there? Eating a sandwich?”

  “Mmmhmm. You were right. He was out for a walk. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Mom, you should have texted me or left me a voicemail,” I lectured. I felt the heat in my neck.

  She sighed. “I didn’t think about it I guess. And he needs lunch. He was hungry after all that exercise.”

  I gritted my teeth. “He’s not hungry. He’s bi-polar. He needs help, not food.”

  My mom hated the word. She hated the diagnosis. Dad wouldn’t even mention it. He pretended it wasn’t true.

  “Elliot,” she whispered, probably so my brother wouldn’t hear her scold me.

  “I’m glad he’s ok. I have to get back to clinic.” I couldn’t stomach it.

  “Okay, hon. Thanks for checking with us.”

  I didn’t have the patience to ask for any more details or bother talking to my brother. He was twenty-eight. At some point our mother had to stop treating him like a small child. He had to take responsibility for his life. I hadn’t been able to convince anyone of that yet.

  “Bye, Mom.”

  I hung up and shoved my phone in my bag. What was wrong with them? Why couldn’t they deal with it on their own? Why bring me into something that was a nothing?

  I decided to skip the rest of my lunch hour. I had lost my appetite. I turned for the clinic building and smiled at Meg when I walked toward her desk.

  The waiting room was full.

  “I’m back.” I nodded at her.

  From my brief introduction with the clerk I knew she was studying human rights law and was trying to get as many hours at the clinic as she could this semester.

  She had round glasses and a bob haircut that I wished I could pull off.

  “You cut your lunch short,” she observed.

  “Too many people here need me,” I answered. “Who’s next?”

  “I’ll send someone in.”

  “Good.” I walked into my shared office.

  The space was cramped. My officemate was still at lunch so it was a good time to try to see as many people as I could. Next week it would be even harder to work in here when we were assigned students to mentor.

  Her name was Addie Brownley, and she seemed nice enough. We didn’t have much time to trade backgrounds or war stories. As soon as she walked in she had a client and I was wrapping up with mine. I hoped she was someone I would enjoy working with.

  I opened my laptop. I had to forget about Garrett. I had to forget about the insane conversation I’d just had with my mother.

  I needed to focus on how I could help the women who were here with legitimate challenges in their lives.

  People came here seeking help. They were trying to make changes in their lives, or fight for justice. They were willing to do something about it. To take a stand. To challenge what was wrong.

  They needed me. And they were willing to listen to what I had to say. They took my advice. They heard what I said.

  The three women I had seen this morning had come here because there was nowhere else for them to go. One was being sexually harassed at work. Another was fighting for custody of her children, and the third client was fighting a wrongful eviction.

  I could make a difference here—something I hadn’t been able to do at home.

  I looked up from my computer when my first afternoon appointment walked in. She dabbed a tissue at the corner of her eyes before balling it into her fist.

  “Hi, I’m Elliot Charles. Please take a seat.”

  She shuffled into the chair. It squeaked as the legs slid along the hardwood floor.

  “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” I offered.

  She looked around the cramped office. “I don’t know if I should have come.”

  I had a gut reaction to her presence. To know what it felt like to think asking for help was a mistake. To question having vulnerability.

  I tried to reassure her with a smile. “Maybe you could talk me through your situation a little bit. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

  Her eyes misted again and I looked around for a tissue to offer her.

  “I-I’ve never done anything like this.”

  “It’s hard sometimes to ask for help.” I paused. “I don’t know what to tell you since I don’t know why you’re here, but I can’t help if you don’t at least share your story.”

  “My story?”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “Everyone has a story that brings them through those doors. I’ll do my best to help you. To fight for you. But you have to take that next step. Otherwise, I need to help one of those other
women sitting out there.” I looked over her shoulder to the waiting area.

  “I understand,” she whispered.

  I thought she was going to stand to leave, but instead she cleared her throat and

  started her story from the beginning.

  My second night after work the stairs to the rooftop apartment didn’t seem so treacherous. I credited the Keds.

  I turned the key in the lock and let myself in. It was quiet inside. It seemed unlikely Greer would be home early two nights in a row.

  I grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge, a glass, and walked onto the patio. It was nice out here. Greer had hung a few strands of lights overhead. I bent to plug them in, and noticed a radio splattered with paint in the back corner. It was under a small overhang. I turned it on and smiled when I heard the song.

  From what she’d told me, this apartment never officially went on the market. Greer found out from one of her analyst friends that it was available. That was how things worked in D.C. There was an unspoken real estate market where houses and apartments were traded among friends and co-workers.

  I sat under the twinkle of the lights and watched the sun set over Adams Morgan while I sipped my chilled glass of wine. I kicked one ankle over the other and relaxed into the chaise lounge.

  I was two sips in when my phone started to ring. I winced thinking it could be my mother again with another false emergency, or worse, my brother calling to rant about what happened today.

  I didn’t recognize the number and then I realized who it was. Vaughn. I had never added his name to my contacts.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this the pretty girl I met last night?” The deep timbre in his voice made me smile.

  “Depends on how many girls you met, I guess.”

  “Oh yeah, this is the one. The smartass.” He chuckled.

  I leaned into my chair. “Hey, there.”

  “It’s not Friday, and I know a lot of idiots wait for that three-day calling rule, but you’ll learn quickly I don’t play by those rules.”