Minute by Minute (Games & Diversions #3)
Page 12
She reaches for a suitcase and I block her hand, placing my body between hers and the bag.
I want an explanation.
No, fuck that—I demand an explanation.
I won’t let her leave until I have one.
“What’s not you?” I ask.
She sighs exasperatedly, meeting my eye—challenging me as always.
“All of it. Everything.
“The sneaking around. The romps in restaurant restrooms. Going off on these half-cocked schemes with a…”
She motions towards me.
“… wayward-cocked man. The… jealousy…”
“With you, I… I don’t even recognize myself anymore…” Elena hesitates, shaking her head.
“I’m not the woman you thought I was, Lukas. And I’m not the woman I thought I was.
“The Elena you know is an illusion. “
“We’re an illusion. And I’m tired of pretending we’re something we’re not.
“Enemies… friends… lovers…”
She laughs humorlessly.
“We’re none of those things, and yet somehow… we are all of them.”
She looks towards the ceiling, scoffing.
“God, you really had me thinking at one point that you and I could just… make up the rules as we went along—that we didn’t have to fit our situation into some category, some tiny little box.
“Because having no structure works for you.
“You contribute minimum input, receive maximum output… and when you’re done, you can just walk away without a second glance.”
Elena points a finger towards her chest.
“I’m not built that way.
“I’m not you.”
I step in closer to her.
“What do you want me to say?” I ask of her.
“I never pretended to be anything other than what I am. I never offered more than I was willing to give. You knew what this entailed.
“You knew me,” I conclude—staring.
She steps back from me, lengthening the distance once again, and I feel cold.
I feel colder than I have in a long fucking time.
Elena meets my eye.
“I wish it were that easy,” she remarks.
“I’m not walking away because I know you.
“I’m walking away because I don’t.”
She grows animated, gesturing more and more as she speaks.
“I accepted Whore Lukas, came to terms with… with Reckless Lukas, Stubborn Lukas, the Magical, Can-Do-Anything-With-His-Fingers Lukas…”
“But this newest one?
“The… self-sacrificing… self-effacing, considerate, observant, caring…”
She pauses.
“… suddenly self-aware and unintentionally soulful Lukas.
“This Lukas scares the hell out of me.
“How do I reconcile this version with everything else you’ve shown me?”
Elena holds her hands in the air with uncertainty, and I swallow a lump in my throat, knowing that I can’t fill her empty hands with the answers she needs—the answers she deserves.
I say nothing.
And at my lack of response, Elena begins to slowly pace.
She starts talking. Fast.
“One minute, you’re nothing but heat; the next, you’re ice-cold. You say one thing and do another—you tell me that you don’t care and then go out of your way to show that you do.
“Which is it?” she demands, stepping closer. “Which. Is. It?”
Her crystal blue eyes are desperate—pleading, and it makes me want to give her everything she’s begging for.
Everything that I’ve been begging for… but wouldn’t dare admit until tonight…
“Give me something, anything,” she says.
“Help me put the pieces together so that I can understand you.
“Show me who you are… so that I can make sense of the person that I’m becoming with you.”
Her last words deaden my racing heart, and I open my mouth, prepared to explain, rebut… anything…
But no words come out.
And it’s because of these damned twenty-eight years.
Twenty-eight years of damage, abuse, neglect, and self-loathing close the door on my momentarily open mind, and I do the only thing that I’ve learned how to do as a child—the only thing that came naturally to me growing up.
I shut down—withdraw.
I can literally feel the icy walls erecting themselves around my soul.
Part of me wishes I could stop it.
And a part of me doesn’t… because these walls are the only home I have ever truly known. And without them, I don’t know where Lukas Griffin belongs.
He certainly doesn’t belong anywhere else.
Trust me.
He’s tried.
And so I let Elena walk away.
I leave her without answers, without hope—without a shot in hell of getting the truth. And this time when she reaches for the bag, I don’t interfere.
I step aside, watching her gather her belongings, and it is almost an out-of-body experience. The version of me that Elena has coaxed out of hiding retreats, and in his place steps the bastard that I’ve presented to the world.
Coldly, I allow Elena to walk out of my house without another word.
I don’t even step towards my threshold to watch her go.
But it’s unnecessary… because she turns to me before disappearing.
“Not that you may even give a shit, but I thought you should know, anyway.
“Whatever you did to Chris… whatever secret you started to reveal on our cupcake-run at Ana’s party has come back to bite you in the ass.”
Elena grips the handle of her suitcase, pulling it closer.
“Chris is fucking your ex-girlfriend, Trina.”
***
“Come on…
“Pick up.”
I squeeze the IPhone in my hand, nearly bending the metal.
“Pick up the goddamned phone, Hank.”
The phone continues to ring for the fifth time, and just when I hear the beginnings of a “Hello” on the other end, my elation is deflated.
It’s Henry’s voicemail, and the artificial, recorded voice of my PI infuriates me more than a rejected call, the sound of his message’s banal introduction making me angrier than I’ve been all week.
It’s misguided—Henry’s not the real target here.
But I’ll settle for him.
I’ll settle for him until I can get to Chris.
Henry’s voicemail beeps.
“Hank,” I growl into the phone. “It’s Griff. Call me back when you get this…”
I hesitate, thinking even more clearly.
“As a matter of fact…” I reason aloud into the voicemail. “Don’t.”
“Start a case on Chris Johnson—yes, my Chris Johnson. I want a trace on all his calls, his e-mail, his whereabouts.
“I’ll text you with his addresses, his cell phone number… whatever you need. He’s not at his house, and he’s not answering his phone right now.
“I checked.
“And I want it all—whatever you can get on him, give it to me. Hit me back when you’ve gotten into his personals.”
I end the phone call, pressing the red button in the center of my phone. As soon as the voicemail finishes, I toss my phone into the passenger seat.
No less than two minutes later, I pull into Foxx’s driveway, the first time I’ve parked in front of his familiar white pillars since Ana’s party.
I hardly felt welcomed then…
I sure as hell don’t feel welcome now.
But I’ve got bigger fish to fry.
I climb the ivory polished steps to the front door, practically skipping them two at a time before I reach the entrance.
I stand there, disoriented for a full minute, before I realize that I actually have a key to the house.
I hope the locks haven’t been changed.
I step inside, taking in my surroundings.
Once I walk inside the foyer, I freeze.
There’s a quiet that I had forgotten existed in this house, an almost rustic serenity that undermines its suburban setting.
Foxx’s house is filled with the air of a countryside, a humble atmosphere tinged with the smell of home and simplicity—warmth.
It couldn’t be more opposite than mine, and I am ruefully reminded of it now every time I decide to visit…
Which I imagine will be less and less these days.
Especially after I commit homicide against one of Foxx’s closest friends.
I start to ascend the stairs when I realize that I’ve forgotten to knock, a habit that I never had to employ before, but might have to now that Foxx and I are on the outs.
I pause, calling up the stairs.
“Foxx!”
I wait.
“Kat! Is anybody home?”
A few seconds pass before an unexpected voice sounds from the upper level.
“Yes, somebody is home. And even if they weren’t, you’re loud enough for the neighbors to hear you.”
My foot almost slips off of a stair.
“Elena?”
“Wrong sister,” I hear from up above. “Ana.”
I tighten my grip on the railing, climbing further up.
“Ana? What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here? I live here, remember?”
Oh. Right.
“One crazy evening in your house was enough for me,” she continues.
“So, I’m guessing Foxx and Kat aren’t home?”
Ana finally appears at the top of the stairs, clad in a slender-strapped, royal blue jumper that matches the color of her cast, her fawn-colored hair sweeping at her back and shoulders.
She looks down at me with humor in her eyes and smiles; unfortunately, the facial expression falls quickly.
“Correct, but I’m not quite sure where either of them are. They left separately.”
Ana continues descending the staircase.
“Seems there is more than one feud happening in this family,” she finishes.
A rift between Foxx and Kat?
Shit.
“Too many to fucking count,” I comment softly.
“Come again?” Ana asks curiously.
“Nothing. It’s nothing.”
I turn around to step back down the stairs.
“I’ll be back later,” I throw over my shoulder.
My footsteps are heavy as I make my way back to the foyer. The steps behind me are in sync with mine, and they are lighter than a feather as they echo after me.
“She left you, huh?”
Ana’s words make me stutter-step as I march off the edge of the last stair onto the floor.
I barely catch myself.
I stop—motionless, never turning.
“And what would make you say that?”
Ana’s voice is closer than ever before.
“Because if she didn’t, you wouldn’t have assumed that I was her, your voice wouldn’t have hitched when you said her name, and your face wouldn’t have fallen the second that you saw mine.”
I don’t move, and Ana catches up to me, landing at the foot of the stairs with a flounce.
“Three weeks ago, I probably would have done unspeakable things to have you act that way with me,” she laments with an exaggerated pout. “But I had to come to terms with it.”
“With what?”
Ana circles me, stopping to stand face-to-face.
“The fact that you’re butt-fucking-crazy in love with Elena.”
I step around her, choosing to ignore her completely.
“Bye, Ana.”
Ana calls after me.
“Oh, come on! Don’t get your overpriced and reportedly deliciously-filled Calvin Kleins into a twist!”
“Good-bye, Ana.”
I open the front door, heading swiftly for the outside stairs, and when I look up, a black Navigator truck is thirty feet in front of me, the monster vehicle idling quietly by the front driveway.
Through the threshold, I look curiously back at Ana.
“It’s for me. It’s a Lyft car, not an Uber,” she explains without prompt, walking towards the doorway.
“I took Elena’s advice on car services,” she says.
Ana smiles again, and this time, the expression is wicked, darkly mischievous instead of her normal playful type.
“With as many secrets that are floating around in our little circle, I’m certain you didn’t think you were the only one that had any… did you?”
With that last cryptic question, Ana closes the door on me.
And even though I am dying to, I walk silently, determinedly—unhesitatingly—to my car without a single backward glance.
Luck of the Draw
All of us have bad luck and good luck.
The man who persists through the bad luck - who keeps right on going - is the man who is there when the good luck comes - and is ready to receive it.
–Robert Collier
DAY 4—9:07PM
Grand Hyatt Tampa Bay
ELENA
The lights of Tampa Bay’s Grand Hyatt aren’t as bright as they once were.
Just five short weeks ago, the black countertops in the lobby shone with a polished opal gleam that put the expensive leather pumps and soles of their wealthy guests to shame.
The cream and gold tones of the lobby were pharaoh-like in their exquisiteness, and the grand staircase leading up to the second level felt as if it were fashioned for royalty—as it were a marble-polished pathway en route to greater nirvana.
I loved it.
It was the perfect place for Foxx and Kat’s engagement party.
It was a dream to have orchestrated the party on my sister’s behalf—a dream to give her something she never had before.
Now, the recent reek of our current relationship only sullies the memory of that day, and the gorgeous amenities that were once the reason I was drawn to the Hyatt hotel have turned unsightly—dulled by the sourness that exists between Kat and me… as well as Griff and me.
I can’t believe I’m back in this hotel.
And if it weren’t for Linda’s generous offer after my desperate call to her from Lukas’s house, I’d be in some bed-bug-infested Super 8 right now.
And now that I’m here at the Hyatt after everything that’s happened…
I’d almost rather be sleeping with the critters…
Because I don’t want to be anywhere near the thirteenth story that Griff and I christened—or cursed—with our lovemaking.
That was the night when everything seemed to change.
At the reservation desk, I avoid that level and its hallway like the plague, purposely steering the receptionist from booking anything that will put me near that unlucky floor.
I retrieve my key card from the clerk for my eleventh floor room, and by the time I make it to its front door, I am totally exhausted—drained from a long day… and an even longer night.
I settle in with my suitcases, plopping down on the unadorned white bed as I dial my closest friend, Linda, on my cell phone.
“Lin,” I call out when she answers.
“Ellessss!” she exclaims.
“Thank you so much for the room. I don’t deserve this.”
“Of course you do,” she coos. “Only the bestest for my bestest. No way was I going to let you stay in some flea-bag motel.”
I laugh.
“Lin, the Marriott isn’t some flea-bag motel.”
“Might as well be compared to the Hyatt. I’ve seen the pictures from the engagement party. Fancy fucking digs.”
I scoff, pushing the sudden images of that night away.
“Yeah,” I say impassively. “Real fancy.”
“So, you want to tell me what happened
?” Linda asks.
“Happened with what?”
“Mr. Super-Cock.”
I say nothing in response.
“Oh, come on, Elle. You’ve been holding out on me ever since Kat’s party. Give.”
I sigh, slipping my shoes off of my feet.
I lie back on the hotel bed.
“There’s nothing to give. You know everything I know.”
Linda sighs even louder than I do, and I know that if she could step through the phone and smack me, she would.
“Yes,” she moans—exasperated. “I know about the party, about Ana’s accident, about the meeting with Mrs. Kittredge, but not much more!
“I know you stayed at Super-Cock’s house. I know you dealt with some crazy shit since you’ve been there. And I know that you left.
“But what I don’t know is why you left.”
I spread-eagle my legs and arms on the bed in a cross formation, wanting to talk about anything but this.
“I left… because I had to leave… because I shouldn’t have been staying there in first place… because… oh, hell, Lin! Aren’t you supposed to be worried about the sale of my house?”
“Your house is in great hands, Elle. Interested buyers. Awesome listing agent. I’ll send you some more info about the specifics.
“Now… about Super-Cock…”
“Can we forget Super-Cock…? I mean, Griff… and talk about something else, Linda? Like… how’s Hercules?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line.
“Hercules?”
“Yes, Hercules. My dog. Linda… my damn dog. Is he ok? Where is he?”
Linda changes her tune, her normally deepened tone brightening.
“Oh, yeahhhh, that Hercules… I thought you were maybe using a pseudonym for Super-Cock.”
She giggles nervously.
“Yes, your Hercules is fine.”
“He’s unusually quiet over there.”
“Well, that’s because…”
Linda hesitates.
“He’s not over here.”
“WHAT?!”
“Now, don’t panic,” she says soothingly. “He’s at your parents. They came by and picked him up.”
Linda starts to talk quickly.
“Elle, you know I’m no good with dogs, and you know that the walking and feeding and…”