Deeper In You (The Phoenix Series Book 2)

by David S. Scott

  Feeling more motivated than I had been in a long time, I headed for the door, ripping my phone from my pocket. I powered on the screen and scrolled through the contacts.

  “Xander?”

  Shit. I froze, grimacing. I slid my cell back into my pocket and turned slowly. “Faith.”

  She faltered, obviously confused at my expression. A frown creased her forehead. “You just got here. You’re leaving already?”

  “I told you. I don’t play games.”

  “Except poker?”

  “Rarely.” I clenched my jaw as the guy who had been manhandling her approached her from behind. Okay, he hadn’t really manhandled her, but he’d touched her far more than I was comfortable with. Too bad it wasn’t my call. “Yes, Faith, I’m leaving. No reason to stay.”

  “At least come and meet Jacob?

  “I–”

  “Everything okay, Faith?” The tall guy’s voice was smooth, confident. He wrapped his arms around her possessively. His eyes met mine, challenging me. I stared back, impassive, my expression betraying nothing.

  “Yes, Jacob. Everything is fine. This is my friend, Xander Phoenix.” She smiled at me. “Xander, Jacob Armistead.”

  On instinct, I extended my hand and gripped his, harder than necessary. “Jacob, good to meet you. Any friend of Faith’s–”

  “We’re a little more than friends, aren’t we, Faith?”

  “Even better, man. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was about to head out.”

  Faith fiddled with a pen, tangling it in her hair, looking nervous. “Where are you going?”

  “Due for a long overdue training session.”

  “What do you play?” Armistead asked, though his disinterest couldn’t be more obvious.

  I watched him a moment longer, my distrust and loathing obvious. Finally, I decided to put him out of his misery. “I don’t play anything. I’m an Olympic gymnast. The X-Wing. Google it. See you around.” I turned on my heel and left, self-righteous satisfaction making me feel invincible.

  I pulled out my phone and punched a couple of buttons.

  “Sam? Phoenix. Meet me at my place in an hour.” Without waiting for his reply, I disconnected.

  Chapter Eight

  Faith had continued to visit my dreams once or twice a week, though I did my best to block her out. I was like a recovering alcoholic and had sworn off women. In fact, I had sworn off most distractions, save for the poker game each Friday night that I masochistically refused to give up.

  She had continued to attend these games. I suspected John had had something to do with that. Fucker. He was a born meddler, worse than the little old women that considered themselves matchmakers. Regardless, I’d left alone each time, reluctant to take the risk of getting close to her, unwilling to be chased away from my friends. It had become a challenge.

  I admit that part of me looked forward to seeing her each week. I had gone that first time because Sam encouraged it, but he clearly hadn’t expected her. Nor approved. I’d been careful to avoid her gaze, even as I basked in her presence.

  Speaking of Sam, I had explained to him that I was ready to get my shit together and work to take back what I once was. He hadn’t seemed surprised, merely rubbed his hands together and told me to get started. My MRI had shown excellent progress with my back, so I had done two more weeks of physical therapy. Once finished, I had graduated to strenuous strength and flexibility training every single day with Sam.

  Four weeks of repetitive exercises and strength-building torture later, Faith called me.

  “Hello, Faith. This is a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?” My heart raced, and I clenched my fists to tamp down the unwelcome sensation.

  “I wanted to check if you still wanted to come see me in Sweeney Todd. I play Mrs. Lovett.”

  “I’ve never seen it, so I don’t know who that is.”

  She chuckled. “She’s an absolutely crazy woman who bakes people into pies. Come on, you’ll love it. Like horror, set to music, with funny British accents.”

  “When?” My facial muscles betrayed me in the form of a foolish grin.

  “How about this Saturday night? It’s at seven.”

  I thought for a minute. Sam was scheduled earlier that day, so it should work out. “Okay. I’ll be there.”

  “Great! I’ll have a ticket under your name at Will Call. It’s dinner theater, so come hungry.”

  “See you then, Faith.”

  “Bye. Good talking to you, Xander.”

  I disconnected, not trusting myself to say another word. Carefully I set my phone down, then changed clothes to stretch and start working out.

  Chapter Nine

  Flowers seemed the natural thing to bring for a dinner theater performance. Red roses, I thoought. Traditional. Timeless.

  In addition to colorful bouquets, the florist stocked all sorts of knick-knacks. Delicate fairy sculptures, dragon statuettes, and hideous looking gnomes. I flipped through their collection of greeting cards, but was unable to find anything appropriate for the occasion. I decided to just get the flowers.

  “Oh, my God. I know who you are!” exclaimed the blonde cashier. I smiled thinly at her, hoping she would refrain from squealing. She looked like she might be the excitable type.

  “You watch gymnastics?”

  “No. What are you talking about?” I stared at her, dumbfounded. How would she know who I was if she didn’t follow gymnastics? She was a teenager, so I knew we’d had no history together.

  “You’re on the cover of Celebrities and Sinners! I love that magazine!”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, it just came out today. Haven’t you seen it yet? Hang on, my copy is in the breakroom. I’ll go get it.”

  I gaped at her as she skipped into a closed-off room. Part of me didn’t want to know, wanted to leave before she came back. If she’d truly seen me on the cover of CaS, no good could come of it. On the other hand, I knew I needed to see how bad the damage was.

  Why was it always that shitty tabloid?

  In no time at all, she rushed back, proudly carrying her prize. She held it out to me and my heart plummeted.

  Former Olympic Champion Alexander Phoenix has Sketchy Drug Past by Guest Journalist Lily A. Campbell. I snatched the tabloid from the cashier’s hand.

  No. I couldn’t believe my own eyes. I kept reading, unable to look away, becoming more and more furious by the moment. She’d put everything out there. My sister’s love affair with cocaine and underage drinking. Her car accident. Her death and the subsequent death of her passenger.

  She had included quite a bit about my personal life, even going so far as to claim that I was a monster who used women as objects. The implication was that I was a hard-ass that had never gotten over the death of my sister, so I used that as an excuse to never let anyone near. My strict drug-free campaigns were called into question, suggesting that the author suspected I had an addictive personality, probably hereditary, and should be watched at all times.

  This shit was slander. Or was it libel? I always mixed those two up.

  There are pictures, I realized. A stock photo of me on rings graced the cover, but inside was one of me at the club, with a furious look on my face. I realized it had to have been taken the night I punched the guy who kissed Lily. Fortunately, whoever the photographer was, they hadn’t captured him in the shot. The other picture showed Faith and me outside the Mexican restaurant.

  The picture with Faith hit me like a punch in the gut. How had she gotten this picture? How had I not noticed it being taken? A cold chill raced up my spine.

  “Will you sign it for me?” the cashier asked, oblivious to my internal war.

  “I’m not the author.” I pointed to the name on the front. “You’ll have to ask her to sign it. She thinks she knows all about me, but all of this is complete bullshit.”

  “Please?”

  I looked up from the magazine to see her looking at me with a hopeful expression. “Maybe if it had at least
a shred of truth to it.”

  I tossed some bills down on the counter, grabbed the roses, and left. I called Sam from the car, hitting the button to send it through to the hands-free.

  “Hello?”

  “God fucking damn it, Sam. Lily wrote that fucking article, after all. It’s full of sensationalized bullshit about my sister, about how I treat women like shit, and how I probably do drugs myself.

  “What? Slow down. Run that by me, again.”

  “Did I stutter? Lily published an article in CaS, slamming me. I need to track down Murphy and have him force them to print a retraction.”

  “First of all, Murphy is out until Monday. Second of all, CaS is a tabloid. They aren’t going to print a retraction.”

  “Then I’ll fucking sue them. They had no right. Those records were sealed. How the hell did she sniff out the drug charges?” Damn it! What was the point of having a lawyer if I couldn’t even get him to fix things when fucking tabloids dragged my name through the mud?

  “Alexander. You need to calm dow–”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down! You haven’t even seen that bullshit yet.”

  “I’m looking it up on their website now, actually.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  Shit. I only had a couple of hours before I was supposed to be at the theater. This couldn’t have come up at a worse time. I needed to deal with it, but I didn’t want to stand Faith up.

  I needed a damned clone.

  “Okay, first of all, you realize the article following it is nonsense about how O.J. Simpson is really Khloe Kardashian’s father, right? And further in are several articles claiming various people are cheating on other people. One so-called reporter seems to have not even gotten it through his head that 9-11 conspiracy theories were out of style last decade. This thing is uninspired nonsense. All suing them or trying to make them print a retraction will do is lend credence. Make a big deal and people will notice.”

  “You’re suggesting I ignore it?” I couldn’t hide the disbelief and contempt from my voice.

  “Yes. Who cares what people think? Their opinions will not affect your ability to compete. The drug allegations are ridiculous, and they test you before every single competition, anyway. Negative’s negative.”

  I realized I had pulled into the parking lot of Celebrities and Sinners. The parking lot was mostly empty. I stared up at the building, my lip curling in disgust.

  “You know as well as I do that that’s not true. Lance Armstrong was probably the most tested athlete in history, and they always came up negative. Yes, he found loopholes and ways to cheat the tests, but people won’t be as trusting anymore.”

  “Be that as it may, you have nothing to hide. He did. This will blow over. Don’t give them attention. You don’t see any of the other people they wrote about demanding they remove the articles, do you? There’s no point.”

  I looked around as though I expected to see some of these people. No one was around. “Fine. But I think this is bullshit, Sam.”

  I disconnected the call and got out of the car. I didn’t give a shit what Sam said, I was not interested in becoming the next Lance Armstrong. The thought of that kind of notoriety made me feel physically sick. I’d never touched that shit. Never would.

  The automatic door didn’t move as I approached. The lights were off, leaving the interior dark and gloomy. No way was Lily here now.

  I didn’t even know if I’d be able to find her here. The article had called her a “Guest Journalist.” I didn’t have any idea where she could be. She didn’t work here, she didn’t live in the same apartment building, and she didn’t have the same phone number.

  Frustrated, I got back in my car and headed home to get ready for the theater.

  Chapter Ten

  The curtain opened again and all the actors and actresses filed out and bowed. I straightened my tie, which I had loosened early in the show, and brushed a few crumbs off the sleeves of my suit jacket. The crowd rose into a standing ovation, myself included, as Faith walked out on stage. Black smudges were artfully applied under her eyes, and a messy black wig concealed her long red hair. She wore a black turn-of-the-century English peasant’s dress. I was astonished how incredible her voice and acting skills were. I wouldn’t have recognized her if she hadn’t told me who she was playing. The actor who played the titular Demon Barber of Fleet Street came out next, and the cheers of the crowd reached a fever pitch. The actors all bowed a few more times, then the curtain closed and the crowd began to dissipate.

  I took my seat and regarded the bouquet of roses. I wasn’t sure this was such a good idea, but it was traditional, right? Bringing flowers for an actress seemed a normal and appropriate thing to do.

  I considered sending them backstage with one of the stagehands and just leaving but, truth be told, I wanted to see her. I had sworn off women, but that didn’t mean I had to turn into a complete hermit. I’d seen her at last night’s poker game, but we’d barely spoken a word to one another. Mostly because I didn’t want to hear Sam’s shit if he knew I’d planned to see her play. Now, with knowledge of that damned article hovering over my head, I wanted to do anything to make her not see me the way Lily had portrayed.

  I waited a while longer, watching the flurry of activity as the orchestra director issued notes about the evening’s performance, and various other people reset the stage back to the beginning. I was the only one left at the audience tables.

  She probably didn’t even know I had waited for her. I should go.

  “Excuse me?” I asked a passing stagehand. “These are for Miss Faith Richardson. Can you see that she gets them?”

  “Come on. I’m headed there. I’ll just show you where she is.”

  “I’m not sure I should, I mean…”

  “Look, buddy. I’m not a delivery boy. I have work to do. You want to give her those, I’ll show you where the backstage dressing area is on my way past. Come or don’t. I want to get home sometime tonight.” He took off at a fast walk.

  I followed him, feeling foolish. He banged on an unmarked door, not sparing a second glance at me before he hurried on. “In there.”

  One of the actresses opened the door, an unasked question in her expression. I held out the flowers. “These are for Miss Richardson.”

  She smiled. “Faith, you didn’t tell me Jacob was coming!” she yelled into the room. “Come in, come in.”

  “Um… he’s not. He hates musica–” I saw Faith standing in front of a mirror as I entered. She wore nothing but a black corset set and stockings. She’d taken off her wig, and makeup covered half her face. We both froze. “Xander!”

  “Yes. I, um, I brought you these.” I held the flowers out to her, beyond embarrassed. She ambled toward me, not bothering to cover up, and took the bouquet.

  “Thank you so much. They’re beautiful.” She put her nose to the petals and inhaled their aroma, closing her eyes.

  “You’re welcome. Well… I’ll just get out of your way. I can see you’re busy.” In fact, I was slowly becoming aware of the fact that there were many women in here, several dressed similarly to Faith. None of them seemed particularly shy, either. There was a time I would have milked this opportunity for all it was worth, but not now, not after Lily’s article. Not with Faith here. Definitely not with my new goal of staying focused. Well, I’d given her the flowers. Mission accomplished. I stepped back out the door.

  “Wait, Xander. Please.”

  I didn’t turn back around. “Yes?”

  “I’m starving. Debbie brought me here today, but she has to get home soon. Is there any chance I could talk you into grabbing a bite and giving me a lift home? My treat.”

  She wanted me to take her out? Unexpected. “Do you have anything in mind?” I tried my damnedest not to notice the bare skin peeking out between her stockings and her panties, or her ample cleavage. Shit! I was checking her out, and by the gleam in her eyes she had noticed.

  “Anything. I’m so hungry. I’ve barely ea
ten all day.” She licked her lips, and my pulse raced. “It’s already after eleven, so some sort of all-night thing, I guess. Maybe Denny’s?”

  “Denny’s… sure, if that’s what you want. My treat, though.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be out in ten minutes, okay?”

  “Okay.” I backed out of the room, pretending not to hear the giggling the second the door closed. “This is a bad idea,” I muttered to myself, trying to block out the mental image that I was positive would be in my dreams later. “That girl has a boyfriend, and you have to focus on getting your career back, asshole.”

  I leaned against a wall outside the dressing room, talking to myself. I said I’d take her, so I would, but that was it. We’d go eat, I’d take her home, then off to bed for me. I had another session with Sam in the morning.

  The door swung open and Faith came out, her face scrubbed, wearing black jeans and a black tank top. Her long auburn hair was messier than usual, having been freed from the braid under the wig. “Ready?”

  Placing my hand on the small of her back, I escorted her to my car.

  “So how was your day?” she asked.

  “Actually, we need to talk about that.”

  “Oh?”

  “My ex, Lily, published an article in today’s edition of Celebrities and Sinners. About me, us, and my sister.” She went silent, so I took that as a prompt to keep talking. “She accused me of being an asshole who treats women like objects, and wrote about how my sister did cocaine. She implied that I have an addictive personality and could easily go the same way Mandy did.”

  “Mandy was your sister?”

  I nodded. I tried not to ever speak her name. It always made it more real. She’d been gone for eight years, but I still missed her, still regretted not being able to save her.