Blue Crush

by Barnard, Jules

  He angles toward me, careful not to come closer. “What happened earlier?”

  I wrap my arms around my waist. “We haven’t seen each other in several days. I went to check on you. I got your address from Nessa because you never told me where you live.”

  He actually appears confused by this. “I guess we’ve been busy … and I like coming here.”

  I look around. “You prefer my ten-by-ten shack the nineteen-seventies threw up on to your centerfold cabin in the woods?”

  He shrugs. “You’re here. I don’t notice much else. We’ll go to my place, I just—” He steps forward and I inch back. His brows furrow. “Gen, what’s going on? You seem upset. Earlier—why did you leave without coming inside?”

  Obviously, I made a racket tripping over the patio furniture. “And ruin your moment?”

  “What—Mira?” He glares at the sky. “She was visiting, that’s all. There’s never been anything there.”

  I sigh and soften my voice. “I know you’re not cheating. I mean, my first impression was a knee-jerk reaction in that direction, but that’s not really what I believe.”

  I attempt to put together the jumble of thoughts running through my mind. “You’re tethered to Mira, unable to do anything that might disrupt her peace of mind. You get a girlfriend for the first time in years and Mira self-destructs, then you drop everything to rescue her.”

  “Mira needs me.”

  I’m charging down a path that could sever things forever, but I can’t back down because the way things stand aren’t working for me—and because someone needs to tell Lewis. “She relies on you to the extent that you’re not really living. Think about it. At some point, Mira has to fight her own battles. We all do. I understand she has issues and you’ve been there for her. You are the best sort of guy for it. It’s actually this beautiful thing that she has someone like you in her life, only—I can’t—” I press my fingers to my mouth, and stifle a choke. “I can’t do … this.”

  Mira is troubled. She needs so much and I won’t ask him to choose between us. At the same time, I deserve more. I’ve always deserved more. With Lewis, I can’t stand the thought of settling for less.

  He shakes his head. “What do you mean you can’t do this?”

  “You’ve been distant and distracted. You didn’t share with me something huge you’ve been dealing with. It was about Mira, but it affected you. You should have told me. I need to know when things are bad for you, when you’ve got stress. I want to be a part of your life—your whole life.”

  He slams his hand at the post. “Genevieve, I’m committed. What more can I give you?”

  I flinch, surprised at the physical outburst; he normally keeps his emotions so contained. “Being monogamous is a big deal for you because you don’t date, but just saying you’re not seeing anyone else isn’t enough. I need more. I want to be a priority. I want everything …”

  He scrubs his face and doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

  “Lewis?”

  “Give me time.”

  What does that mean?

  He steps forward like he’s going to hug me, and I step back, shaking my head. I ease inside and quietly close the door. Silent sobs erupt as I slide down the wood and hold my face in my hands.

  Why doesn’t he know right now what he wants? What person needs to consider whether or not to make their girlfriend a priority? Either he does or he doesn’t.

  I freeze, waiting to hear what he’ll do next, but the sound of his footsteps crunching on the gravel grows distant, then his car starts.

  He’s leaving.

  I couldn’t stand there, begging to be a bigger part of his world—it’s fucking depressing—but now that he’s gone, my heart aches. Are things really over?

  My mom is in my room, Tyler is in the loft, Cali is in the backyard—I have no place to go with my grief. I huddle on the floor for what feels like an hour, long after Lewis’s Jeep pulls out of the driveway, my face damp with tears.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  This is my last night of work before the race in a few days. A part of me wonders why I’m putting myself through this torture, given everything that’s happened, but I wanted to step outside the narrow box I’ve made of my life, and I will finish the race if it kills me. To prove I’m strong enough physically, emotionally. On that thought, I triple hot cocoa my coffee in the Mont Belle Lounge.

  Without the celebrity tournament and its amped-up energy, the lounge is dead. I’ve wondered if Maryanne sticks me here to keep an eye on me—as if it’s better to keep the crying, passing-out chick off the main floor. Most waitresses get a choice of slots or lounge, but no matter how many times I request slots, I’m stuck here.

  Drake may also be to blame. For whatever reason, he frequents the lounge and it’s possible he’s making sure they put me here. The lounge is less busy, with fewer prying eyes. Not that prying eyes stopped him in the past, but he seems to put some thought into selecting a location to harass women. Darkened corners, the privacy of suites … I can’t wait to switch shifts. There’s gotta be one he doesn’t work.

  Sallee Construction guys mill around the floor this evening, which makes me think of Lewis, not that he wasn’t already constantly on my mind. This is just worse. The workers must be here for the project he bid on the night he found me in Drake’s suite. The evening he witnessed one of my lowest moments.

  I made the right decision to confront Lewis about Mira, but I’d like to be able to live with the aftermath. I feel miserable, like my insides are slowly dying. It hurts so badly. Most of the time I don’t regret my words. I love him, but if I’m giving all of myself, I deserve all of him in return.

  It’s only been a day since we spoke in the middle of the night, but that conversation felt final. It’s done. I told him I needed more and he didn’t say anything. He walked away. Obviously he can’t give me more. If I had stayed with Lewis, his relationship with Mira would have either slowly ruined what we have together or it would have broken me.

  I didn’t realize until I met him how little I gave of myself. It wasn’t until the walls and distance evaporated, broken down by other passions, that things became clear. No one had a chance before Lewis. I was myself with him, the good, the bad, the parts most tender—leave that stuff out there in a three-person relationship and it’ll get crushed.

  Cali says I’m acting like a nut, throwing the relationship away. She doesn’t get it. Whatever Lewis and I shared, nothing will surpass his commitment to Mira. Morally, it’s different than my ex having a girlfriend back home, but it feels the same. Lewis is distant and distracted … and like I told him, I can’t do this, not with him. I care too much.

  I may have been naïve in the past and discovered too late that I wasn’t the priority I thought I was to some guy, but this is the first time I’ve considered sticking around regardless. Just to be with Lewis. Just to be a part of his life. It’s totally fucked up. I have to force myself not to call him. Thinking of him is the worst torture, so I’m trying not to, but the bright yellow construction shirts aren’t helping.

  The workers are repairing electrical outlets, or some such; I’m not really sure. If I wasn’t so tuned in to the name of the company, I might not have noticed. Despite the eye-catching color of their attire, the workers have been stealthy, staying out of the way of customers and keeping a low profile. They arrived a couple of hours before the end of my shift, when the casino is less busy. I haven’t seen Lewis among them. He’s not one of the manual labor guys, but that hasn’t prevented me from searching for him.

  Huffing out a pained sigh, I rearrange the bills in my caddy, annoyed with myself.

  The bartender glances up. “Someone here for you.” He turns and unloads a rack of clean glasses from the dishwasher.

  I stuff the cash in my tray and spin around to help the customer. My shoulders stiffen.

  Drake’s gaze flickers around the room, as if to confirm its deserted state.

  My heart races. I�
��m not sure how to read his expression; calculating, smug—not good, that’s all I know. I hate working with Amber, but I almost wish she were here right now. Maryanne’s not at her station either. Is she on break? Dammit.

  I take a deep breath. I don’t need someone to rescue me, I can deal with this. I’ve proven my strength during training and by not reaching out to Lewis when every cell in my body insists on it. It’s late, but there are people and security guards about. As long as I stay within view, I should be safe.

  “Genevieve. Alone at last.” Drake’s gaze falls to my shorts. He’s staring as if reliving the time he touched me where no man is allowed to touch a woman without permission. His mouth pulls into a half-grin.

  I might hurl, or strike him. “What do you want?”

  He tsks. “Is that any way to address your boss?”

  He’s not my boss. He knows this. Drake’s position is well above mine. Maryanne supervises me. “Leave me alone, Drake.”

  His eyes narrow. “Don’t be difficult. I spoke to the bartender.” What’s he talking about? The bartender was with me when Drake walked up. “It’s a slow night. I only need you upstairs for twenty, maybe thirty minutes. This won’t take long.”

  Despite the positive affirmations I tell myself about my strength and my ability to handle personal battles, a cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. “No.”

  Drake inches forward, crowding me until his chest nearly bumps mine. “I’m in control here,” he growls and grabs my upper arm, squeezing.

  Shit, shit. I wince and glance around. The bartender has disappeared. He was here a minute ago. Where the hell did he go?

  Drake’s grip feels like a metal clamp, his fingers overlapping my limb. Squirming only increases the pain. He’s going to pop something important like a major artery if he doesn’t loosen his hold soon. It doesn’t help that my arms are thin—always the weakest part of my body, no matter how much muscle I build.

  “You’re coming.” He tugs me to the rear exit.

  I glimpse the bartender returning, smiling at a customer at the far end of the counter. He’s not looking my way. I call to him, “Crai—” but my voice cuts off on a whimper.

  Hot breath burns my ear. “Do it—” Drake shakes me. “He’s in my pocket. They all are.” My fingers go numb and I close my eyes against the pain. I’m convinced he’s ripped something important. Drake sighs through his nose. “I only want to talk to you. I won’t take you upstairs, deal? You know I can’t do anything fun down here.”

  Can’t he? I don’t trust him. What is it they say, never negotiate with terrorists? Does the same rule apply to abusive assholes?

  Yes. I drop my tray and pull at his fingers. He tightens his hold on my arm, white dots bursting behind my eyes as he jerks me past the exit.

  We’re in an interior hallway used by employees. Drake makes the mistake of loosening his fingers long enough for me to gather my senses. “Let go!” I yell. A passing busboy’s gaze darts to me, then Drake. The busboy glances away quickly and exits through a swinging door.

  What? I never heard anything from management about my sexual harassment claim. I understand why the management would support Drake. He’s one of them. But the others, the workers I rub shoulders with—what the hell? Suddenly, allowing Drake to drag me to a less crowded area, potential broken arm or not, seems like a very bad idea.

  Drake lets go of me and steps forward while I retreat in the opposite direction, my shoulders bumping the wall behind me. There’s no feeling in my fingers, not even a rush of heat to show he released me. His eyes are dark, his pupils large. “I love it when you fight. Please, don’t stop. It makes it so much better.”

  Fuck! I dart to the side and he grabs me around the waist so tight I can barely breathe. Just like in elementary school when the bully girl picked on me for being quiet, I drop to the floor and go limp. This reaction is all lower brain and totally ineffectual. The bully would pick me up and toss me around the playground like a rag doll. It never worked then.

  It doesn’t work now.

  Drake lifts me and before I can blink or scream, he shoves me through the wall behind my shoulders, which I realize now is a door. I land on my hip, a sharp pain shooting down my leg. The light disappears with the slamming of the door.

  A second later, Drake is on me, pinning my hands to the cold floor.

  “Get off!” I jerk my knee hard, aiming blindly for the part that’s most vulnerable. He blocks me as if expecting the move and grips both of my wrists in one hand. He covers my mouth and nose with his free one, a large ring cutting into my lip.

  I can’t breathe.

  He’s going to kill me!

  I buck and rip my head back and forth to force his hand free.

  “Shhh, I like the fight, but not the noise. Quiet and I’ll let you breathe.”

  I stop squirming because survival seems paramount. He uncovers my face and I gasp in air.

  Grip firming painfully on my wrists, Drake pulls me up halfway and flips on the light, locking the door. “I prefer the rooms upstairs, but we can do this here.”

  “No!” I try to knee him again. “Help! Help!” What have I done? How can this be happening?

  He grabs my throat and pushes me to the ground. “I said, shut up. Don’t be stupid, Genevieve. No one can hear you. The casino is built for noise control. Every room is insulated, even storage areas.”

  I thought I was being careful. He didn’t take me upstairs, but he didn’t need to.

  “Keep your voice down and I’ll be quick.” He fumbles with his pants.

  My throat convulses, legs quivering. “Stop, Drake. Don’t do this. I’ll go to the police.”

  He snickers. “Little Genevieve.” He yanks at my bustier, but the Houdini contraption is made to withstand tornados and it barely budges. “Like a dark-haired porcelain doll. I’m going to fuck you and break you. When I’m finished, you’ll be a docile, pretty pet, begging at my knee.”

  Fear clouds my vision, making my movements jerky and unreliable. I shake my head to clear it and feint a move to the side, then lurch in the opposite direction toward the door. But it’s a stupid move with Drake’s heavy body above mine. I make it an inch before I lose strength and collapse beneath him, panting.

  He chuckles, trailing his mouth down my neck, licking and biting. “Let me tell you a secret.” He nips the lobe of my ear, breaking the skin, stinging it with his tongue. “No one is going to do anything with that form you filled out upstairs except shred it. They already have. They have my back and I have theirs. I know people in this town.” He says this with so much pride, I almost feel sorry for him, as if the only way he obtains strength is by knocking others down.

  He can’t be right. There’s got to be someone with an ounce of morality in this place. But even if there is, they won’t help me down here, where no one can see what’s about to happen …

  God, someone help me!

  A strong, manicured hand clamps over my mouth, blocking my nose. “I said shut up.”

  My throat burns. From yelling? So the screaming isn’t only in my head. The rush of it released all the air from my lungs, though, and Drake isn’t letting me catch my breath.

  The room and its objects waver and fade … I’m dizzy, sick to my stomach …

  A sharp pain jabs my ribs and the overwhelming weight lifts from on top of me. Air rasps through my chest, a view of the circular fixture above my head … the sound of the casino. I look down my body at an unfamiliar man standing in the doorway, wearing a yellow Sallee Construction shirt, a set of keys dangling from his hand.

  “I’ll be needing this room. For the electrical.”

  “It can wait,” Drake grinds out from my side, one knee propped, his hand braced on the ground as if he rolled off me and froze. “Get out.”

  The Sallee worker stares at me, his lips pressed together. “No can do, boss.” He opens the door wider.

  Drake rises to his feet as someone passes, gawking at us. “You’ll be fired for
this.” He jerks me up and my head spins with the abruptness. The arm he crushed is swollen, weak, throbbing with every heartbeat. “Come along, Genevieve.”

  “Oh, she’ll be staying with me,” the worker says.

  My gaze wavers toward him like I’m on a rocky boat.

  “Excuse me?” Drake’s voice is tight, frigid.

  “That’s my buddy’s girlfriend you have there. He wouldn’t want you touching her. If he saw what I just witnessed, you wouldn’t be breathing right now. I suggest you let her go.”

  Drake thrusts me behind him like a dog fighting for a juicy steak. “You’re fired. Get out.”

  “Sure.” The worker tosses the keys on the ground, his meaty hands flexing at his sides in a threatening manner. He’s a couple of inches taller than Drake and twice as wide. “Taking the girl with me, though.”

  Drake’s breath hisses out low and angry. He releases me and storms out the door.

  I’m shaking, my hand supporting my injured arm.

  “Take a minute,” the Sallee worker says. “You can stay or go home, but I’m not leaving your side till you’re clear of the casino.” He pulls out his phone and types as if texting.

  I slump to the floor and try to control the shaking. My head hurts. I can’t concentrate and the room is spinning. I lie down and close my eyes.

  I sense the guy squat beside me. “You need a doctor?” He touches the inside of my wrist, then his hands fumble beneath my knees as if he’s going to lift me.

  I sit up abruptly, which doesn’t help the spinning. “I can walk. Can you take me to my house?” I cough, my throat scratchy and sore. I’ll go to the hospital, because I’m not letting Drake get away with this and I want proof of his violence, but I need my best friend with me.

  The Sallee worker follows me past a new waitress in the lounge. She’s pretty and fresh for her shift. The bartender looks away, but the waitress gapes. I change in the basement while the Sallee worker waits for me outside the employee entrance. I meet him upstairs and walk through the casino floor to the parking garage. When I’m in my street clothes, no one pays attention to the girl with messy hair and mascara smudges.