All He Wants

by Anna Cruise

  I cried.

  TWENTY EIGHT

  “You can't ignore him forever,” Sheridan said in a voice laced with disapproval.

  I rolled over in my bed. “It hasn't been forever.”

  She made a noise. “It's been two days. Trust me—it feels like forever.”

  I didn't respond, just pulled the covers over my head.

  “You're acting like a child,” she told me. “Which I know is sort of SOP for you, but this is ridiculous.”

  My voice was muffled. “You don't know shit.”

  “Actually, I do,” Sheridan said. I felt the weight of her as she sat down on my bed. Two seconds later, she'd ripped the covers from my head. “Because you told me everything, remember?”

  I sighed. I remembered. I'd used some stranger's cell phone after my encounter with Ryder and called her. She and Kelly had just gotten home from Cabo and she had not been happy with having to come and rescue my ass from a bar in Mission Beach. I'd spilled the entire story—about Stuart and Kristen and my failed hook-up with surfer dude—on the ride back to the sorority house.

  “I can do whatever I want,” I said, sounding exactly like the spoiled child she was accusing me of being.

  Sheridan rolled her eyes. She had make-up on and her hair pulled back and I knew she was heading to work.

  “I hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but the world doesn't revolve around you.” She frowned and I noticed her eyebrows weren't evenly plucked. “There is a guy out there who wants to talk to you. Badly. And I'm pretty sure it's a guy who cares about you.”

  “What? Did my dad call, too?”

  She punched me in the arm. “Knock it off. You know who I'm taking about.”

  I didn't respond right away. “You're wrong,” I finally said. “He doesn't care about me.”

  “How do you know?” She let out an exasperated sigh. “You've assigned a story to him, an asinine interpretation of what you think is going on in New York. You won't let anyone talk you out of it, won't let anyone try to tell you that you might actually have it all wrong.”

  “I don't,” I said stubbornly.

  “How the hell do you know?” she practically yelled. “You won't talk to him!”

  I glared at her. “I just do.”

  I wanted her and her stupid logic to go away. I knew I was being irrational. Every single time my phone rang or a text box lit up my screen, I felt a momentary pang of doubt. Why was he trying so hard to get ahold of me? Maybe I didn't know what was going on.

  But as soon as I thought those things, I dismissed them. I wasn't going to let myself care. Not about him and not about anything. Life was easier that way.

  “Fine.” She stood. “I give up.”

  “Give up on what?”

  She gave me a long, hard look. “On you.”

  I bit my lip. “That's a little fucking harsh.”

  “No. It isn't. No harsher than you're being on Stuart. And no harsher than how you're being on yourself.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Save me the psychobabble.”

  “I will,” she said. To my surprise, I saw tears dot the corners of her eyes. “I'm done trying to save you.”

  “I don't need saving.”

  She laughed bitterly. “Yeah you do, Annika. More than you know.”

  “I don't need you to save me from Stuart Woodcock. Or from anything else.”

  “Oh, I know,” Sheridan said. She flung her purse over her shoulder and looked at me again. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. “I wasn't trying to save you from those things.” She shook her head. “I was trying to save you from yourself.”

  TWENTY NINE

  I didn't have anywhere to go.

  It was Friday night and I was alone. Sheridan wasn't speaking to me. Bars and clubs held zero appeal. And the last thing I wanted to do was sit by myself in the sorority house, where so many of the rooms held a memory of time I'd spent with the one person who I'd let myself believe cared about me.

  Stuart.

  I pulled up in front of my house and yanked the key from the ignition. The lights weren't on and I wondered if my parents were home. I didn't know if I wanted them to be or not. If they weren't, I could just slip inside and head to my old bedroom and pretend that the last few weeks hadn't happened. Propel myself back even further, to that place where I was blissfully unaware of anyone but myself. And if they were home...I could steer the conversation to safe things; things like their granddaughter and work and how remarkable Mom's recovery was going. Either way, it was the best option I had.

  I got out of the car and slammed the door shut and headed up the walk. I knocked before trying the door knob. It was locked. I felt a stab of disappointment. A locked door usually meant they weren't home.

  I used my key and let myself in. The house was quiet. Empty. I kicked off my sandals and, bypassing the living room, headed straight for my old bedroom. The door was closed and I pushed it open. I didn't turn on the light. I made my way to my bed and flopped down on it, letting the scent of stale perfume wash over me.

  My parents hadn't touched my room since I'd moved out but Abby's was another story. They'd converted that into a guest room. Actually, it was more like an Amanda room. They'd outfitted it with a toddler bed for sleepovers and had an entire closet stocked full of toys. Blocks and wooden puzzles, baby dolls and play food—I was pretty sure they'd bought every single toy suitable for a toddler. Abby hadn't minded the conversion at all, had actually encouraged our parents to do the room makeover.

  I wondered for a moment if my room would ever be converted to something like that. If there'd ever be a reason for them to do that. Or if I was forever going to be the screwed-up daughter and aunt who the rest of the family whispered about behind my back. I never thought it mattered to me, but lying there on the bed, staring at the ceiling, it mattered.

  My phone chimed, startling me. I glanced at the screen. Sheridan.

  I didn't swipe the message open right away. I stared at it, trying to decide what to do. We hadn't spoken in more than twenty-four hours, ever since she'd stormed out of the room we shared. I didn't know what to say to her. And I didn't know how to handle the things she'd said about me. Because they were all true.

  The screen blurred in front of my eyes and I blinked a few times. I needed to answer her. To make amends. I slid my thumb across the screen.

  Where are u?

  I tapped my thumbs on the screen.

  Home.

  At the sorority house?

  No. My house.

  OK.

  I hesitated, then typed:

  Why?

  I'm bringing Kelly home. Just wanted to make sure it was cool.

  I swallowed. She hadn't contacted me out of concern but to make sure she would have privacy with her girlfriend.

  It's cool.

  I tossed the phone next to me on the bed and closed my eyes. I didn't know what I'd expected her to say. She'd said everything she'd wanted to the day before. Accusing me of being childish. Telling me I was a wreck, that I needed someone to save me from myself. And that she wasn't going to be the one to keep trying to do it.

  I shifted on my bed, punching the pillow into a more comfortable position. I hated where I was at. Not just physically—what loser parked herself in her darkened childhood bedroom on a Friday night?—but where I was at emotionally, too.

  I sighed. I was glad I didn't have a picture of Stuart. I was glad there were nothing tangible to hold on to. No gifts, no mementos. I didn't want them. I wanted to erase that chapter in my life, pretend that it had never existed.

  I wanted to go back to being the old Annika. The Annika who didn't let anything wreck her. The Annika who was impervious to everything and everyone.

  But I didn't know how.

  THIRTY

  I fell asleep. At least, I thought I had. Because when I opened my eyes, the room was darker, full of shadows.

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes and glanced at the phone. It was almost nine. I'd been asleep for almost
an hour. I pulled myself into a sitting position, letting my legs dangle off the bed.

  I needed to go home, back to the sorority house. If my parents came home and found me sitting in my bedroom, there'd be questions. Tons of them. And I didn't feel like answering any.

  I heard the front door open, then close, and I groaned. It was too late. Quickly, I hopped out of bed, grabbing my phone. I smoothed the covers and flipped on the light at my desk and yanked open a dresser drawer. I'd tell them I was looking for something. And then leave.

  Heavy footsteps padded down the hall. My dad's. They approached my room and I spun around, plastering a smile on my face.

  Stuart Woodcock scowled back at me.

  My mouth dropped open. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you,” he growled.

  A spark ignited in me—relief?—but I doused it immediately. Anger bubbled up instead as I remembered all the things I'd mentally accused him of doing.

  “I don't want to be found,” I spat. “Especially by you.”

  He took a step toward me and I fired my phone at him. It bounced off his chest and clattered to the floor. His eyes narrowed and he reached for me and, before I could stop him, he grabbed my arms and pinned them behind my back.

  “Get off—” I shrieked.

  His mouth crushed down on mine. I twisted my head, trying to get away but his lips followed, pressing angrily into mine.

  “Stop,” I managed to gasp.

  He lifted his mouth from mine. “Then shut the fuck up and let me talk.”

  He released his grip on me and my arms fell limply to my sides.

  “I don't want to hear anything you have to say.”

  “No?” His expression was murderous. “Well, too fucking bad. Because you're gonna listen. Whether you want to or not.”

  I ignored him. “I could call the police. Have you charged with trespassing. Breaking and entering.” I glared at him. “And attempted rape.”

  “The door was unlocked,” he said curtly. “And I stopped when you asked me to.”

  “You're still trespassing. So leave.”

  A muscle in his jaw pulsed. “You asked me why I was here. I'm going to tell you. And then I'll leave.”

  “I don't care,” I said, folding my arms across my chest.

  “I think you do.” His expression softened and his eyes no longer looked like lethal weapons. “In fact, I know you do.”

  I made a face. “You don't know shit.”

  “Yeah. I do,” he countered. A grim smile crossed his face. “I know you've been avoiding my calls. My texts. I know my aunt called you and told you Kristen was with me.”

  I looked away, the knot of anger in my stomach tightening at the mention of her name.

  “And I know what you thought it meant. Because Sheridan told me.”

  My eyes shot back to his. “You talked to Sheridan?”

  He met my gaze full-on. “Yep.”

  The anger bubbled over. “You had no right to talk to her. None.”

  “No?” His mouth twisted, his smile almost menacing. “Not even when you repeatedly ignored me?”

  “No.”

  “Well, tough shit. I did it anyway.”

  I shook my head, too angry to speak.

  “Nothing to say?” He arched an eyebrow. “Wow. I've actually rendered Annika Sellers speechless.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Not now,” he said. He folded his own arms across his chest and glared at me. “Right now, I'm going to sit your ass down and I'm going to talk to you. And I'm going to tell you just how fucking wrong you've been. About everything.”

  THIRTY ONE

  “This is ridiculous,” Stuart said.

  I shifted the car into park and killed the engine. “No, it isn't. You wanted to talk. So talk.”

  “Why are we parked at the beach?”

  “Because we weren't going to talk at my house.”

  I'd somehow managed to convince Stuart to leave my parents house but he'd balked at getting into separate cars. Probably because he knew I'd peel out of there and lose him in the canyons on Mount Soledad. So he'd left his rental—a nondescript sedan—parked in front of my parents' house and climbed into the passenger seat of my car. And I'd driven straight to the beach.

  He sighed. “Fine. We'll do it here.”

  I stared out the windshield at the dark sky. The ocean was there, a mere feet away, but from our vantage point it remained out of sight, hidden by the cliffs.

  “I went to New York to find funding,” he began.

  “I'm aware.”

  “And I brought Kristen with me.”

  I flinched. “Also aware. Didn't know that at first, but am aware now.”

  “Not for the reasons you think,” he said.

  I glanced at him. He was watching me, his expression a mixture of irritation and frustration.

  “It doesn't matter what I think,” I said. “It's done. Over.” I looked him in the eye. “We are over.”

  “You're supposed to be listening, not talking.”

  “Yeah, well, you should know by now. I don't do what I'm supposed to. Not ever.”

  “I didn't sleep with her,” he said emphatically. “I didn't kiss her. I didn't do anything with her except give her a job.”

  The words hung between us.

  “Did you hear me?” he demanded.

  I didn't answer. I didn't want to talk about what had happened. I didn't want to address the fact that maybe I'd jumped to the wrong conclusions. Because doing so would just open me up again to all the things I wanted to close myself off from.

  He grabbed my shoulder and turned me to face him.

  “Did you hear me?” he repeated.

  “I heard you.”

  His fingers tightened on my arm. “And?”

  “And nothing.” I shrugged. “Fine. You didn't fuck her. You gave her a job. Good for you.”

  He muttered something under his breath.

  “Are we done?” I asked. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

  “Yeah,” he finally said. “That was all I wanted to tell you.”

  I reached for the key and turned it and the engine came alive. I put my hand on the gear shift, but I didn't pull down on yet. My foot rested on the brake pedal. I waited for him to say something.

  But he didn't.

  So I shifted the car into reverse, backed out of the space, then shifted into drive.

  We drove the entire way to my parents house in silence. I didn't know whether I believed him or not about Kristen. I had no idea why he'd give her a job and I sure as hell didn't know why he wouldn't tell me that she was going with him to New York. It bothered me that he'd never asked me to go with him and now I knew why there hadn't been an invitation. Whatever the reason was, he should've told me and I was both hurt and furious that he hadn't.

  I pulled my car into my parent's driveway and shut off the engine. The silence was awkward and heavy between us. I wanted to look at him, but refused to let myself turn my head.

  “No,” Stuart finally said.

  “No, what?”

  “At the beach,” he said. “I said that was all I wanted to tell you. But it wasn't. There's one more thing.”

  “Say it,” I said, my stomach knotting again. “Because we're here. And your car is right there. Waiting.”

  “I'm sorry I didn't tell you Kristen was coming to New York,” he said. “I'm sorry things got fucked up because of it.”

  I gripped the steering wheel harder.

  “But you would've flipped out if you'd known she was coming with me,” he said.

  “I deserved the chance to flip out.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “Probably. But you also might not have let me explain what the plan was.”

  He was right, but I wasn't going to tell him that.

  I kept my gaze straight ahead, focusing on the garage door so I wouldn't look at him. “So what exactly was your grand plan?”

  He hesitated, then spoke. “
I gave her my job.”

  My head whipped in his direction. “What??”

  “I gave her my job,” he repeated.

  I cocked my head, not sure if I'd heard him right. “You gave her your company?”

  “No.” He smiled thinly. “I gave her my position in my company.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “I know you don't,” he said, shaking his head. “Because you wouldn't listen. You had it in your head that she wanted me. That's part of the reason I knew I couldn't tell you about her coming to New York. That was never what she was after, Annika. She wanted a way out. And I gave it to her.”

  “I—”

  “Just listen, okay?” he said. “Let me talk. Let me tell you everything. So you know.” He looked down at his hands. “And you can do whatever you need to do with it.”

  I was utterly confused and I wasn't used to keeping my mouth shut. I was used to there being a problem or some sort of hurdle that would kill off the relationship before it begin. But I didn't want hurdles. I wanted him.

  So I said, “Okay.”

  He watched me for a few moments, probably wondering if I was actually going to shut up and listen. When he seemed satisfied that I was willing to keep my mouth shut and hear him out, he took a deep breath.

  “Kristen didn't see me as husband material,” he explained. “She saw me and what I did with my organization as her way out. And yeah, once upon a time, I think she had a crush on me. I think she fantasized about us getting married and running off and fulfilling our parents dreams of us being together. Because they had them, especially her mom. But I wasn't interested. Never have been. And I think she grew out of it, too. We've been more like brother and sister. And did she come off like that when you showed up?” He smiled. “No, but that's just her. I think she was surprised and protective of me. It was her way of vetting you. But we've never been a couple. Never. Despite everyone trying to push us together. One of the main reasons I got the hell out of San Francisco that one summer was so I could get away from her and from all of the expectations people had for us. That was the summer in Thailand.” He smiled. “Her dad paid for the trip.”