His eyes soften as he looks at me, making me uncomfortable. He’s staring at me as if I’m a delicate flower. As if I might crumble into a heap if anyone says boo to me. I’ve had enough of those pitiful looks to last a lifetime. “I’ve got to go.” I offer him a feeble smile as I turn around and walk off.
“Go out with me.”
My eyes pop wide as I glance over my shoulder at him. “What?”
He steps up beside me. “Let’s walk and talk.” He doesn’t wait for me to agree, falling into step on my right-hand side. “Let me take you out to dinner.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to.”
“Why now?”
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“You couldn’t get away from me fast enough on Friday night.”
He winces. “Yeah, about that, I—”
“I’m not interested,” I say, cutting him off. “I don’t date, and even if I did, I would never go out with you.” He looks a little crestfallen, and I feel a twinge of guilt. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t come to the roof again.”
“It’s not safe for you to go there alone.”
“It’s none of your business!” I hiss. “And I can take care of myself.”
“That’s not how it seemed last night. I saw the look on your face. I know something’s happened to you, and maybe you’re trying to prove something to yourself, but that’s not the way to go about it.”
Anger is like molten lava flowing through my veins. “Who are you to dictate to me? And you know jack shit about me and my life, and that’s the way I want to keep it.” I glare at him, nostrils flaring. “Stay the hell away from me, Levi, and stay the hell away from my roof!”
Levi seems to have gotten my message loud and clear, and he goes out of his way to avoid me the rest of the week. Tabs tried to stage an intervention, but she gave up once she realized she was wasting her breath.
I’m still shaken over what happened on the roof.
I don’t really think Levi was there to harm me, but he scared the hell out of me, and I’ve been on edge all week. So much so that I still haven’t ventured back there.
As I head home to my parents on Friday night, my muscles are even tighter than usual, my lungs feeling more squeezed than normal. A storm is brewing inside me, and I’m wound so tight I’m on the verge of self-combustion.
Dad’s car is missing as I pull into the drive, but that’s no surprise. He works double the hours he worked before, anything to avoid coming home. Muriel, the lady who comes in a couple times a day to check on Mom, has left a dinner plate covered in saran wrap on the kitchen counter for me. My heart swells at her kind gesture. Gone are the days when I’d step foot in the house to be welcomed by tantalizing smells wafting from the kitchen.
What I wouldn’t give to see Mom back at the stove she so dearly loved. My heart aches every time I think of how she’s let her little bakery side business go, but, when your heart is ripped apart, and your soul is shattered, it takes enormous effort to just remember to breathe every day.
I tread up the stairs with a heavy heart, knowing what awaits me. Plastering a fake cheery smile on my face, I knock on my mother’s bedroom door, waiting the obligatory few seconds before I open the door and step inside.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, bending down to kiss her cheek. She’s propped up in the bed, staring at the wall-mounted TV in front of her, yet I know she’s seeing nothing, hearing nothing. Ignoring the sharp ache in my chest, I place the glass of water down on her bedside table and start counting out her pills. The table is littered in pill boxes of all shapes and sizes, and it kills me every Goddamned time to see a woman who used to be so full of life, so full of joy, reduced to this shell of a person.
“Open up, Mom,” I softly say, gently tapping her chin. Like a robot, she obeys. Opening and closing her mouth as I drop a tab inside, lift the glass to her lips, then rinse and repeat. Emotion clogs my throat, and it takes everything I have not to break down in front of her. I’m trying so hard to be strong for her, because she has always been there for me, but the longer she remains in this catatonic state, the harder it is to hold onto my strength.
I just want my mom back.
When Layla died, this family died along with her.
And then Cole left me.
And now I feel so very alone.
I’m glad I had the strength to go to college because it’s the only way I’m clinging to my sanity.
But I’m already starting to resent having to come back here every weekend.
And I hate myself for thinking such horrible thoughts.
Mom needs me.
And I won’t let her down.
Not when I’m all she has left.
“Coffee is in the pot,” I say in a detached tone the following morning when my father finally makes an appearance.
He grunts a weak “thanks,” fills his mug, grabs some pancakes from the heap I made, and then trots out to the sunroom to eat his breakfast and read his paper in peace.
“College is great, Dad,” I mumble to thin air. “I’m really loving my classes, and I so can’t wait to start my internship at your offices.” Sarcasm underscores my words as I continue talking to myself. I slam the skillet down in the sink and turn the faucet on. “Just think of how close we’ll be with all that father-daughter bonding.” I crank out a bitter laugh, seething inside as I go about cleaning up the kitchen and fixing a tray for Mom.
I count to ten outside her room, not wanting to haul my anger in with me. Drawing a deep breath, I knock and open the door. She’s awake, on her side in the bed, staring off into space.
“I brought you some breakfast, Mom.”
She doesn’t move a muscle or acknowledge me in any way.
“We still have some of that strawberry puree I made last weekend,” I tell her. “I know that’s your favorite.” I help her sit up, and then I start feeding her the food.
Her cotton nightgown hangs off her skeletal frame reminding me how much weight she’s lost this past year. Renewed anger bubbles to the surface again. I know Muriel is here to fix lunch and dinner, so either she’s slacking on the job—which I highly doubt—or Dad is the one not making her breakfast before he leaves for work or not feeding her the prepared dinner when he comes home at night.
I wonder what happened to those vows he made.
The ones that said he would love, cherish, and care for her in sickness and in health.
Thing is, Dad is one of those jerks who doesn’t believe that mental illness is a real illness. A serious illness. Even though he can see the effect it has on his wife, he still refuses to accept it. She’s here, right in front of his eyes, barely recognizable, and still he insists she’s just being weak or stubborn.
I force those thoughts aside, before I start spitting blood, and concentrate on my mother.
After she’s finished eating, I fill the tub and help her in, washing and drying her papery skin, and then dressing her in pants and a warm sweater. I insist on bringing her outside, to the back deck, for at least an hour a day while I’m here. Staying cooped up in her bedroom all the time isn’t good for her. She’s already got bedsores, and you can visibly see the muscle weakness in her limbs. The doctor encouraged me to ensure she got plenty of fresh air, so that’s what I’m trying to do.
Mom is sitting on the love seat on the deck, wrapped in a heavy blanket, staring blankly out at the backyard when the doorbell chimes. I put down the book I was reading to her and peck her on the cheek. “Someone’s at the front door, Mom. I’ll be back in a second.”
She doesn’t respond, and you’d think I’d be used to it by now, but I still hold out hope every time that she’ll acknowledge me. For now, I talk away to her as if she hears me. Hoping she does. Hoping she knows inside that I haven’t given up on her.
Even if my father has.
/> CHAPTER EIGHT
ShawnLevi
Dakota hasn’t returned to the roof since Tuesday night, and my muse has deserted me. I haven’t been able to compose a single sentence or write any sheet music all week. And I fucked up spectacularly. Now she looks at me like I’m two seconds away from attacking her with a machete.
Something has that girl spooked. I shouldn’t be concerned. It’s not my problem. And she’s made it very clear she wants me to leave her alone. But I can’t get her out of my head. She’s burrowed her way in, and now she won’t leave.
Which is a major problem.
Because she wants nothing to do with me.
It’s Saturday morning, and I’m getting ready to drive to Devin’s house when my cell rings. Padding across the hardwood floors in my bare feet, I snatch my phone from the kitchen table and groan as her names pops up on the screen. I rub a hand across my damp, bare chest, wondering if I’d get away without answering. Tucking my towel firmly around my hips, I decide to get it over and done with.
Calista redefines determination. If I don’t pick up, she’ll just harass the shit out of me all day.
“What?” I snap by way of greeting.
“Well, someone sure got out of the wrong side of bed today,” she purrs in a voice I know she thinks is sexy, but it’s just annoying as hell.
“I’m on my way out, so make it snappy.” I’m being rude, but I can’t help it. I’ve tried to fire her ass several times, but Luke insists she is one of the most efficient PAs around and that it’s worth putting up with her deliberate attempts to interfere in my personal life.
“Would it kill you to act professional?”
I snort. “You mean like you do?”
Calista is the epitome of professional with everyone but me. I made a mistake and slept with her once about two years ago. I was spaced out, and she came on to me. I can’t pretend I didn’t know what I was doing, but if I’d been of sound mind, I never would’ve gone there. She’s hot, but everyone knows not to mix business with pleasure. Now, she feels like she’s earned the right to act differently around me. Like it’s okay to hit on her boss, which it isn’t. Especially when said boss has rejected her repeatedly and told her it’s never happening again.
But it’s like my words go in one ear and out the next.
“You know our relationship is more than professional.”
And she’s just proving my point.
“I don’t have time to rehash old shit, Calista. Tell me what you need or I’m hanging up.”
“I have a bunch of paperwork you need to sign.”
I clench my jaw in frustration as I head to my bedroom. “And this warranted a call? Just scan the stuff to me, and I’ll sign and scan back. Or mail the damned stuff. Or give it to Luke next week.”
“Or I could come up there and personally deliver the documents. I don’t have plans for this weekend. Maybe when I’m there, I can help you unwind. You sound tense, baby. Let me take care of that for you.”
I bite the inside of my cheek in frustration. This is starting to become a major problem. “I’m not interested in you like that, Calista. How many times do I have to tell you? And don’t you dare attempt to come here. I’m laying low, as you well know, and your presence would not be welcome. Don’t annoy me with this shit again.” I hang up on her before she can reply.
I curse her repeatedly as I get dressed, pissed that she’s ruined my good mood. Although my visit to Devin’s isn’t purely social, I’m looking forward to getting out of my place and hitting the open road. I haven’t been out much because I don’t want to tempt fate—no one has figured out my real identity, and I intend to keep it that way, but I’m starting to go a little stir-crazy cooped up in this apartment all the time.
Grabbing my keys and my jacket, I set the alarm and leave, determined to chill out before I get to Devin’s house.
It takes a little over three and a half hours to reach his place, but I’m nicely chilled by the time I arrive. The weather is unseasonably warm today, and I drove with the window half down, listening to my favorite music to pass the time. Being able to do normal shit like this, and being able to walk around undetected, is even more exhilarating than I thought. The longer I’m away from my old lifestyle, the more relaxed I feel. The more I feel like I’m reconnecting with the real me.
Devin is waiting on the front porch of his house when I get out of my SUV. He shakes my hand. “Good to see you. Come on through.”
He gives me a quick guided tour of his impressive home, and I wave to Ange and Ayden who are playing in the backyard. Delicious smells linger in the kitchen, tempting me. “I thought we could attend to business before dinner,” Devin says, leading me to his large home office.
“What have you found?” I ask before I’ve even sat down. When he called a few days ago to invite me over, he implied he had discovered some stuff he wanted to discuss with me in person.
Devin removes a file from the top drawer of his desk, flipping it over. Extracting a photo, he slides it across to me. “Recognize anyone?”
The photo is crystal clear, and I immediately recognize the couple. “That’s Matt and Abigail.”
“Doesn’t it strike you as odd that your ex-best friend and your ex-girlfriend are now together? Especially considering she is from out of state.”
I sit forward, propping my elbows on my knees. “She was never my girlfriend, and both Matt and I fucked around with her before he left. It’s not a huge stretch that he might have kept in touch with her. I always thought he had a thing for her and that it pissed him off I was sleeping with her occasionally as well.”
“They only officially got together a year ago, and the timing seems a little coincidental to me.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw, trying to visualize it. “I get Matt having it in for me, but I didn’t do wrong by Abby. She knew it was a casual fuck-buddy arrangement, and she had no issue when I moved on, as did she.”
“Perhaps he was the instigator,” Devin suggests, and I shrug. Like I said before, I can’t pretend to know the dude anymore.
Devin passes another photo to me. This time I don’t recognize the girl. “She wasn’t on the list, but she’s been trying to shop intimate photos of the two of you together to the media. I’ve checked her finances, and she needs the cash.”
“You think my stalker is a girl?” I quirk a brow, highly dubious.
He scrunches his nose. “I think it’s unlikely, but I’m not ruling anything out.”
“Well, I haven’t a clue who she is. And who’s to say the photos are genuine? They could be photoshopped,” I suggest, even though it’s possible they are the real deal. I lost count of the amount of times I woke up after a night of savage partying to some random naked chick in my bed, with no recollection of how she got there.
Now that I’m clean and sober, I’m not proud of my behavior, but it’s a rite of passage, and if I start regretting everything I’ve done, I’ll never properly move forward. Can’t change the past. Can only make better choices from now on.
Then he hands me a picture of Nick standing outside the local gas station in my old home town, holding hands with a little dark-haired boy. I examine his face carefully, and my eyes pop wide. “Nick’s a dad?”
“You didn’t know?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t been in contact with anyone in my old town since I left, and most of my mom’s friends abandoned her after I made it. Once she remarried, she settled in L.A., so neither of us has kept up with shit in Camden.”
“He’s broke,” Devin adds. “And the ransom demand could take care of that problem for him.”
“Ransom demand?” I almost choke on the words.
Devin nods. “We’ve just received the first one. They are demanding two mill to go away quietly.”
“And if I don’t pay up?”
“They are claimin
g the first attempt on your life was just a warning and that they won’t miss next time.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Fuck.”
“They won’t get near you, Shawn. They have no clue where you are and once you continue to maintain a low profile then you’re safe.”
My chest tightens as I struggle to digest the latest news. I don’t want to think ill of my buddy, but this is my life at stake. I release a slow, agonized breath. “I really can’t see Nick as my stalker, but I can see him doing whatever is necessary for his son.” The thought he could be the one behind this doesn’t sit well with me at all.
“I want you to do something.” Devin tips forward in his chair. “I want you to call both Matt and Nick. We’re monitoring your cell, as you know, and we’ll listen in. I want to see how they react.”
I rub a tense spot between my brows. “Do I really need to do this? I already know it won’t go well.”
“You want to catch this guy and go home, don’t you?”
Actually, no. I’d much rather stay leading the life of a regular guy, at least for another few months. I’m enjoying the anonymity.
“Fine.” I sigh. “I’ll do it.”
Devin then proceeds to show me a list of other photos, including ones with a couple of guys I used to hang with until I figured out they were freeloaders and only hanging with me for what they could get. Others are a few drunken hookups, only some I remember.
“This one concerns me,” Devin says, sliding another pic to me and tapping his finger off the shiny paper.
My insides twist into knots as I’m forced to look at a face that occupied my nightmares at one time. This girl tried to claim I got her pregnant a couple years back. Looking at her face reminds me of the six months of sheer hell she put me through while I waited for her to give birth and get a paternity test. Turns out the kid wasn’t mine after all. The whole experience left a bitter taste in my mouth. It was also the final straw which led to Mom permanently bailing on me, and I can’t look at that girl without wanting to ram my fist through a wall.
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