He fought for and protected himself. Throwing away what we built for some floozies that told him what he wanted to hear. Skanky girls that only cared about what spot he finished at his underground races.
I press a shaking hand on my beating heart, trying to calm myself down. Even after all this time, I’m still not over his betrayal.
How could I be? Arthur and I were the perfect couple. At least, that’s what I thought.
Growing up, everyone always knew that we would end up together. His foster parents and mine always thought the same. It was almost like it was destined to be.
I was the artistic and carefree person, while Arthur was grounded and tough. We complemented each other. The whole opposites attract mumbo jumbo that people in bad relationships tell themselves. Shakespeare couldn’t have written a better love story.
It wasn’t until high school that we made it official. There were bumps along the way, just like any normal relationship. Arthur got caught up in the wrong crowd and dropped out of school, concentrating on making a name for himself on the back streets of New York by racing. And I supported him all the way.
I still loved him and supported whatever he wanted to do with his life. I thought he felt the same for me when I went off to pursue my liberal arts degree.
I guess not.
Sometime in the four years I went to college, things changed.
And I got more artistic experience. So much so that I started gaining recognition for my art pieces. The local newspapers covered my work and Arthur distanced himself. Whenever I brought any of my shows up, he would get mad at me and leave our little apartment.
He’d spend all of his time racing, illegally, through the streets of New York while I stayed up nights wondering if he was dead or severely injured.
Every night he wasn’t next to me in bed was spent awake. In the end, he decided that cheating on me was the best thing to do for our relationship. I could have lived with him dropping out of high school, even getting involved with the wrong crowd. But the one thing I could not stand was cheating. And on top of it all, he did it just to spite me.
During the last semester, I had my suspicions.
The early mornings, he would sneak into bed, thinking that I was still asleep. When I brought up the different perfumes that covered his body, he lied and told me it was just my imagination. Toward the end of my semester, I grew tired of it all and ended it days before graduation.
In my mind, I wanted to get as far away as possible from him. When we broke up, I was still ailing of a broken heart. I knew that if I didn’t do something drastic, it would only be a matter of time before I forgave him. And then I would be back on square one.
So I got away from it all. The lies and hole he left in my heart.
Yet, here he, is standing in front of me. Only blocks away from where I live. Somehow, the thousands of miles between us wasn’t enough to keep Arthur “King” Stone away.
“You’re not an old friend. Friends don’t hurt those they love,” I spit back in his face, heels clacking on the concrete floor as I step back. I knock into something behind me, my ankles bend underneath me, and he’s quick to jump towards me. “Don’t you dare,” I yell, anger seeping out of every pore of my body.
I steady myself and kneel down. The concrete floor sends a cool shiver up my body as I hold the red heels in my hand. I pace backward, not taking my eyes off of him.
Part of me wants to run away and hope that this is the only time I ever see him again. The rational part convinces me that it’s only wishful thinking. This world isn’t big enough to get away from King and his bullshit lies. Deep inside of my stomach, something gnaws me.
It’s possibly a part of me that never got the explanation that I wanted. A sober explanation that laid out the reasons for his cheating. It’s the part of me that keeps my mind up at night wondering what could have been.
The one that remembers the good times King and I had, before we drifted far apart. The part that blames me for pushing him away and not giving him the attention that he needed.
I shake my head, pushing the thoughts out.
Fuck that!
I’m not the one to blame here.
He is.
I look up at him, the hairs on my forearms growing rigid. If I could breathe fire right now, he would be burned to a crisp. There’s so much anger smoldering inside of me that I could probably kill him. Anything to take away that gloating smile of his.
“Cami, don’t be like that. I was young and made a mistake. Let me show you that I’ve changed.” He saunters toward me like he didn’t have a care in the world. My hands shoot out, looking for something to grab.
Not taking my eyes off of him, I grab onto something hard and long. A tire wrench.
Perfect!
I wave it out in front , forcing him away. “Are you really going to hit me with that?” He steps back and holds his hands to his side, like he’s just been caught red-handed.
“I haven’t made up my mind yet. But if you keep coming toward me I just might have to.” I fling the pipe out in front of me, arm straining to keep the heavy metal from slipping from my grasp. It must be at least ten pounds. If I’m not careful, the only one who might get knocked out is me.
When I’m sure there’s enough distance between us, I throw the wrench to the ground and head for the door. I press my body against it. Sending it flying against the brick wall with a clatter. A chilly Portland winter breeze greets me.
Out of the corner of my eye, before the door swings shut, I see Arthur hold his spot. He hadn’t moved during my retreat, the tire iron at his feet.
I thrust my hand into my jacket, hand fumbling for the keys. With one eye on the garage door and the other on the van, I hurry inside. I need to get out of here before he changes his mind.
Before he tries to walk back into my life.
In the darkness of the night, the car key grazes the plastic of the steering column until I find the hole. Tears well in my eyes, but I swallow my feelings and turn the key.
At first, there’s no sound. When I’m about to give up hope, a small pop sounds from the exhaust pipe. The van roars to life like I’ve never heard it before. Or maybe that’s just how badly I’m feeling.
I slam my foot on the gas and marvel at the fact that it moves without a problem. It hasn’t started that fast in months. Something is finally going my way.
The needle struggles to pass the 30 mph mark all the way. I don’t stop. Not until I’m in front of my loft.
I must have blown through at least three stops signs on the way here. Somehow, I haven’t gotten pulled over. I slam the door behind me and look down the street, making sure that he hadn’t followed me home. The hinges on the front door squeak as I push inside.
I bound up the stairs two or three at a time. The faster I get inside, the sooner I can make sense of everything that just happened. The hallway light above my door flickers on and off before I get inside.
I let out a deep breath and lean against the door. None of this makes any sense. Everything about tonight was so perfect until I saw him. Just when I was getting my life together and making a name for myself he has to show up and ruin it all.
I run my hands up my face and slide down the door, concentrating on steadying my breathing. That’s when I notice that something is off.
On the living room table is a can of soda. I pick myself up and walk toward it.
This is not what I need right now.
Drops of dark, sugary water slowly slip down the side of the can, forming a brown stain at the base. When I pick it up, the pool of soda sticks to the can.
It’s been like this for at least a couple hours.
I know for a fact that I didn’t have any soda this morning. I’m on a strict diet that doesn’t allow any sugary treats.
I grab the TV remote off the couch and hold it over my head. “If anyone’s in here, I’m calling the police. I don’t want any trouble,” I say, my voice shaking and not giving off the sense of
confidence that I want.
It’s an empty threat. I don’t even have a phone in my apartment. And looking down to my pockets, there’s no bulging cell phone greeting me back. I must have left it in the van when I rushed inside.
“I’m calling the police right now,” I scream.
Silence.
I rush to the front door and turn on the lights. One by one, I go through each room and check it. By the time I’m done, I’m positive that anyone from outside can see me walking around the apartment with a flimsy remote in hand.
I don’t care at this rate, but I make a mental note to buy a baseball bat tomorrow.
I make my way to the back of the apartment toward my bedroom. It’s the only room left and my heart is beating so hard that I can hear the dull thump in my ears. I lick my lips for a moment and get myself ready, fingers clutching the doorknob. After a deep breath, I rush inside and yell. The lights flicker on.
Nothing.
Well, that isn’t entirely true. Scattered around the floor and all over my bed are all of my panties. The remote drops from my hand and I look at the drawers that have been flung across the room. There is no way to make any sense of it. There is no rhyme or reason to any of it, but whoever was here took their time.
I bend over and pick up every piece of underwear, taking note of the ones that I find. When I’m done, I figure there are at least two or three pairs that are missing. Ones that I had worn the last couple days.
I shut the window near my computer desk and sit down. A icon on the computer screen beeps to let me know there are waiting emails. I double click it. If my jaw could dislocate, it would be hitting the table right now and rolling on the floor.
There are three new emails from an address I don’t recognize. Someone that goes by the user name “ICU03051988”.
I bring a hand to my mouth, stifling a scream that I ‘m sure will come at any point. Those weren’t just random numbers.
That’s my birthday.
Instinctively, I look around the room. An uneasy feeling of being watched runs through me. I don’t feel safe in here.
Although, I know that there’s nobody in the apartment with me. I’ve checked every room. I open each of the emails and try to make sense of the ramblings.
Most of it is just gibberish about how he or she enjoys my artwork. The last line of the last email rocks me to my core. It makes me want to throw my monitor across the room.
“You looked lovely tonight in that black dress and red heels. I’m going to enjoy thinking of you now that I have your unmentionables. Can’t wait to visit again. Until next time. XOXO, ICU03051988”
I close the laptop and run to my bed, throwing the covers over my head like when I was a kid. Every breath that I take sends the loose fabric into the air. I lay there for what seems like hours, trying to remember every person that was at the gallery tonight.
There’s no use. I met too many people and the only person I remember seeing is Jean. Everyone else is just a blend of faces.
Nothing that could help me. Nobody notable that stood out. And that’s probably what scares me the most.
That’s when I remember him.
Arthur.
He is the only face that I can picture clearly inside of my head. He’s the one that had got a good look at my clothes. He’s the only one that could gain something from this.
Maybe, in some sic, perverted way, he’s trying to win me over with this.
I lower the bed sheets and look around the room, trying to take in everything I see.
Could King do something like this?
I hadn’t seen in him in years, and when I left Long Island he was getting himself involved with some shady people.
Could he have learned some new tricks from some of them? Some perverted way of trying to win me back?
Chapter 3
My fingers rush across the phone screen as I let the police officers out of the apartment. One of them turns around and holds out his card. “If you have any new information or remember anything else about last night, don’t hesitate to call.” He tilts his police cap and hustles down the stairs to his partner. I wait until they’re out the front door before dialing Marina, my sister.
The phone rings and I lay out on the sofa, massaging my temple. I just spent the last couple hours going through every excruciating detail of last night. The policemen assured me that it was vital to the investigation. Every face and name that I could remember they jotted down. I told them everything that I could recall, except the part about meeting my ex-boyfriend King at his garage.
I don’t know why I covered for him. He doesn’t deserve it, as far as I’m concerned. I flip the officer’s business card in my hand, running my finger along the etchings.
I could always call them back when I draw a line about King’s involvement in this. The idea that King could be involved in this is unsettling. Part of me wants to believe that he wouldn’t do something like this, the other remembers the hurt he brought me four years ago. Only time will tell at this point.
I’m not going to do anything about it for now. At least, not until I hear what my sister thinks.
“Cami!” Marina’s voice breaks through the silence. I bring the cell phone closer to my ear and listen to her shout at the kids in the background. “Long time no talk.”
Marina and I had just reopened lines of communication in the last year. When I left Long Island, we weren’t really on speaking terms.
At the time, she didn’t agree with me breaking up with King. Made me feel like I was making the biggest mistake of my life. Almost had me do a u-turn back home when I was halfway to Portland, her words in the back of my mind.
Lucky for me, I went through with it. And in the process of moving away from home, I lost a boyfriend and a sister. That is until Marian found out that her husband, Robert, had been cheating on her for the better part of their marriage.
When that happened, she saw the error in her ways. She was the one to break the three years of no communication. Not that I minded.
Portland was getting lonely without any friends. I welcomed having her voice of reason back in my life. The better part of the first month was her sending me care packages and apology letters, but I let bygones be bygones. There was no reason to hold a grudge on her. She had worse problems to deal with back home.
Last I heard, Robert was trying to get custody of the kids and the house she was living in. Marina had to hire a lawyer to get it all squared away, and even then she was barely pulling through. Raising twins and trying to get a full time career, after being a stay at home mom for the last eight years, was more than she could have ever bargained for.
“Sorry about that. Life’s been a little hectic lately.” I look down at the corner of the living room table, where the soda can had been the night before. The cops had taken it with them.
It was the only real evidence that they could find in the whole apartment. They had spent hours doing evidence work, combing every inch of the house with a fluorescent light and picking up strands of hair. Lucky for me, whoever was in my apartment wasn’t the brightest light bulb.
The cops managed to pull a DNA sample from the lip of the can, a bit of his saliva still on it. They’re hoping that with the DNA sample, they can get a hit within their database. The only bad thing is that it could take weeks to find out.
Something to do with the fact that I’m not in any imminent danger and there’s a backlog for testing DNA. All I could do was roll my eyes and try not to complain too much.
“Tyler, don’t you dare climb any higher,” Marina yells, and I can’t help but laugh. If it wasn’t for those two little boys, she would have been a total mess by now. That’s the only thing her husband Richard has done right with her as far as I’m concerned. “So, what’s up?”
“I don’t know if I should bother you. You seem to have your hands tied right now with the boys.” I flick the police card across the room and walk to the kitchen. I pour myself a cup of coffee with only two lumps of
sugar.
“This isn’t anything out of the ordinary. It’s just a little more busy since Robert’s moved out.” There’s hurt in her voice.
“How much longer before you get control of everything?”
“My lawyer says that it shouldn’t take much longer. Just need Robert to sign the divorce paper. Which of course he doesn’t want to. He wants to work it out and make it better.” I could practically see her roll her eyes. “But there’s no way that can ever happen. Not after all the women he fucked.”
“Mommy said a bad word,” the boys scream behind her.
“Yeah and Mommy’s going to have to donate to the curse jar now.” The boys hoot and holler on the other end. “So, what’s up with you?”
I bite my lip, knowing full well that once she finds out, Marina will go into full mom mode. Offers of coming to live with me until they catch the stalker and take care of me would fall from her lips. All things that I want to hear, but can’t handle right now. The idea of having Marina mixed up in all of this is not a good one. If anything ever happened to any of her kids, because of something I did, I would never be able to live with myself.
“Now don’t get angry with me, but something happened last night,” I stutter out, feeling like I’m just about to confess something to my parents.
So I tell her the whole story.
“And that’s why I think it might be King who was in my apartment last night.” I jump off the couch, rolling my head around my shoulders. It had taken a good two hours to get through everything about the last couple months.
The whole time, Marian played 21 questions with me. Acting more like the police officers that had left my house than my sister. Being a police officer might not be a bad route for her, it seems to come natural with her questioning behavior.
She’s short, and sturdy, and can be a real fireball when she wants to be. Hell, she managed to raise both her little boys by herself while her husband went on supposed business trips half the year.
I hold the cell phone up with my shoulder, needing her sisterly advice more than ever. Only there’s silence on the other end. Now that she’s gotten all the answers to her questions, she’s going through every possible scenario in her head. Probably even biting down on her nails thinking it through. .
Double Heat: Menage Firefighter Romance MFM Page 16