She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her blue eyes filled with mistrust. Today she wore her hair pulled back off her face with a hair band and stray locks fluttered around her temples.
“About us.”
“You made it clear there wasn’t an ‘us,’ Mevi.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for a lot of things. Too many things to list. And I’m sorry most of all that I hurt your feelings because I do love you as a friend.”
She didn’t move from the door, and she wouldn’t look him in the eyes, either. “Is that it?”
“No, but I won’t force my apology on you.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready to accept an apology from you yet.”
“That’s fair.”
“Are you really sober?”
“Yeah.”
“Even after losing Doyle?”
He nodded.
“Do you even remember that fucking night here? Or do you just know what happened because of the video?”
“I remember some of it.”
“You said you were going to fucking kill yourself, Mevi. That you were sick of the world and everyone and everything in it. Including me. You drove drunk to get here. You could have hurt or killed someone.”
His face heated. None of that had been on the video, but she hadn’t started taping as soon as he got there.
“I’m sorry. I can’t make any excuses except I was hurting and in pain. You deserved bet—”
“How do you think that made me feel, huh? That the man I loved didn’t give enough of a shit about me to want to fight to stay in this world?”
He didn’t know what to say, so he remained silent, waiting.
She suddenly stepped forward and shoved him, hard. “You fucker. Get out. I don’t want your fucking apology. You know what? Fuck you, fuck your recovery, and fuck all that bullshit you put me through all these years. I’ll see you in Europe, but right now, I’ve had it up to here with you and your fucking crap. Get the hell out.”
He nodded, giving her a wide berth as he left. He heard her lock the door behind him and for a moment he stood there, staring out at the darkening horizon. From where she lived, you could see the Pacific in the distance, like tonight, on a good night when smog and smoke levels were low.
He wondered if that night when he showed up here if he took any time to appreciate the gorgeous view she had, or if he’d been too blasted.
He hated that there was time missing in his brain.
He hated that he could have hurt or killed someone.
He hated who he’d become.
He hated that it had taken losing nearly everything to make him wake up and realize that he never had started living or escaped his father’s constricting views of life.
Staring at his wrist, he wondered where Doyle was right now, if he was okay.
If he was safe.
If he was happy, or at least healing.
No matter what, he’d never hold it against Doyle, never hate him for leaving.
All he wanted for his Master was for him to be happy and at peace.
Brushing the tears away, he headed for his car.
* * * *
Doyle lay awake in bed, hands laced behind his head, staring at the shadows cast on the ceiling by a nearby light outside his window. He kept his bedroom door open so he could hear if Pippa got up and tried to leave.
Fortunately, she had turned out to be a very motivated client, and had not given him a lick of trouble.
In fact, she’d eagerly, if not a little skeptically, tried everything he’d suggested to help with mitigating her remaining pain that the surgery hadn’t helped.
None of that mattered right now.
In the dark of the night, he couldn’t escape Mevi’s blue gaze as he stared up at him.
The feel of running his hands over the welts he’d left in the man’s ass.
The expression on his face the first time they’d made love.
Ironically, it was now other self-doubts and recriminations that crept into his mind in the silent hours filling the darkness.
Had he been so gullible as to be duped by a very skilled narcissist, or had Bonnie been lying to him in the hallway?
Had he overreacted due to his own pain and issues?
At this point, it really didn’t matter, even though doubt tried to creep in sometimes.
His old phone lay turned off and probably with a dead battery in his suitcase. He’d gone online and logged into his account to actually shut down his voice mail for now. Only the message played. He hadn’t even checked his work e-mail, for which he’d also set up an out-of-office auto-responder, giving the same message as on his voice mail. He called The Compound a couple of times a week to check in. Clark and Tilly had both called and left messages for Doyle to call. The Compound had been instructed to ask callers if it was an emergency and to note it if it was. In that case, they were to call his new phone and leave him a message, but under no circumstances were they to give the number out.
So far, no one had called him.
Any patients who were from The Compound were to be passed on to another counselor. Anyone calling and wanting his SC services, they were to take a message and get their number and give it to him when he checked in.
Again, no one had. And that wasn’t unusual.
In fact, Tate had another client who’d just been admitted to rehab a few days earlier and was looking at a minimum ninety-day stay in-patient before being discharged. He was supposed to start filming three weeks later, on location in Italy. By the time Doyle finished with Pippa, that man might be ready for his services.
Doyle hadn’t given Tate a firm answer yet, though.
It depended on how he was doing. What he really wanted to do was hibernate for about a month, away from people.
He missed his apartment.
Worse, he missed Florida.
He missed the dreams he’d foolishly allowed himself to indulge in.
Worst of all, he missed Mevi, and knew he needed to wipe the man from his heart no matter how difficult that was.
Only trouble with that was the fact the he didn’t want to be with anyone else, couldn’t imagine himself loving again. Unlike after his divorce to Kathy, when he’d known after a period of healing he’d be able to move on.
Mevi, despite his flaws, had been perfect for him. Mainly because of his flaws. Because Mevi’s flaws meshed perfectly with his own.
Maybe I was too stupid to know I was being played.
Still, that didn’t feel right.
Unfortunately he knew only an idiot would try to assume Bonnie was lying. Why did she have any reason to lie? She didn’t know he and Mevi were an item. Hell, she didn’t even know Mevi was gay.
Or, maybe Mevi wasn’t gay after all. Maybe he was bi, or had been playing Doyle.
Why shouldn’t he take Bonnie’s words at face value?
And Mevi’s nearly frantic scrambling to keep their relationship a secret, seen in that light, made perfect sense. Maybe it wasn’t so much about protecting Doyle’s anonymity but Mevi’s public image.
He didn’t cruise the Internet looking for information on Mevi or the band. That would be too masochistic for him, not to mention he didn’t want to rip his heart to shreds again.
And again.
And again.
He didn’t want to see if Mevi had gone back to dying his hair, letting it grow out.
He didn’t want to know.
He wanted to insulate himself from as much painful stimulus as he could so he could be there for Pippa.
Pippa—his job—was the only thing keeping him reasonably sane and sober at that moment.
And for the first time in years, he’d actually bought a bottle of alcohol. Fortunately, he’d gotten his head screwed on straight and poured it all down the sink without even tasting it, but the smell had driven through his brain like a sharpened corkscrew and sent nerves firing and screaming for a drink harder than they had since he was a kid and had just stop
ped drinking.
He’d spent an hour doing tai chi and meditating after that, Pippa fortunately asleep through all of it.
If she hadn’t been there…he likely would have drunk himself into oblivion to escape the pain inside him.
Rolling onto his side, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, hoping to eventually find sleep.
Unfortunately, he knew peace wasn’t yet on his mental horizon, and likely wouldn’t be for a long, long time.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Right?”
Doyle finally realized Pippa was talking to him. “I’m sorry. What was that?”
She smiled. “You really are rather out of sorts today, aren’t you?”
“Sorry. I’m tired. Didn’t sleep well last night.”
“I was saying that my pain levels are finally lessening. That’s good, right?”
“Oh. Absolutely.”
“To be quite frank, I thought those things you taught me in the beginning were pure bollocks. I had no idea they would work.”
“It’s only crazy if it doesn’t work.”
“Where did you learn about all of that? It’s bloody amazing.”
“I have made a lot of contacts throughout the years. Alternative and homeopathic techniques frequently help people. They aren’t a cure, but they can provide enough pain relief to help someone stay sober. Sometimes, that’s enough. Like in your case. I wasn’t sure they would work for you until we tried them.”
He didn’t need to tell her he’d learned about them in a dungeon.
He didn’t even want to think about dungeons right now. Even months later, that was still too raw and painful a subject.
“I know you’re not much of a hugger, but might you indulge me this time?”
He smiled. Pippa was a sweet person who’d had a shitty childhood. She’d overcome a lot of odds, including this.
“Sure.”
She hugged him. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. And I must confess something,” she added as she stepped away.
His heart fell. “What?” The last thing he wanted to do was deal with a messy one-sided entanglement. Right now, his heart was an emotional wasteland. If it hadn’t been for how much this gig paid, he would have taken time off, alone, where he could reset and try to find his own missing center.
“Tate contacted me. A friend of yours was trying to find you. They happened to spot us together in footage at the premier for Jarah’s film in Paris and—” A knock on the door interrupted her. She smiled. “A little early, actually.”
A cold chill settled in his stomach as she walked down the suite’s hall to answer the door.
Fuck.
He heard Pippa open it, and then closed his eyes, trying to tune out the familiar voice.
Footsteps approached.
“Well, well, well. There’s my psycho Do—dingbat buddy.”
He opened his eyes to see Tilly standing there, wearing a knowing smirk. Pippa stood behind her, looking hopeful and pleased.
“Hey, Tilly.”
“Gonna give me a hug? You’re a damn difficult man to track down, you know.”
He walked over and tightly hugged her, fighting the urge to break down in her arms—which shocked him.
She seemed to sense it, tightening her grip on him, saying nothing, stroking the back of his head.
“Are…are you all right, Doyle?” Pippa asked.
“Yeah,” he managed. “Can we have a few minutes alone, please?”
“Of course. I’m so sorry, where are my manners? I’ll pop downstairs and make sure we have early dinner reservations. For three, then?”
“Yes, please,” he managed. “Thank you.”
He waited until he heard the door shut to finally let go, choking, heavy sobs he’d never before in his life cried, not even when his mom died.
“Shh, it’s okay, dude.” Tilly didn’t let him go, steered him over to the settee and sank down onto it with him, holding him. “Let it go, man. Let it out.”
“I’m a fucking asshole,” he hoarsely said. “I’m a stupid idiot. I never should have fallen for him. I broke the rules and look what it got me.”
For the first time in months, he could be him.
And right now, he felt broken, destroyed inside, a sham.
In fact, perhaps Pippa had helped keep him sober even more than he’d helped keep her clean. He could be strong for her even when he knew he couldn’t be strong for himself.
“I don’t even know what happened,” she said. “No one’s telling me anything. Clark’s asking me every other damn day it seems like if I’ve heard from you, and won’t tell me why. When I said good-bye to you in Chicago, I thought everything was fine. But then I call two days later to check on you, can’t get hold of you. Your stupid voice mail’s off, FYI. Here I am, I’m calling in every goddamned favor I have with contacts all over the globe, and it’s like you ghosted. You dropped off the face of the fucking planet, man. I was seriously considering filing a missing person report on you, but I didn’t even know where the hell to start. Mevi won’t tell me shit, either. You had me fucking worried. What the hell happened?”
He admitted it to her.
All of it.
If he couldn’t admit it to her, a woman he’d seen at her emotional rock bottom, who could he admit it to?
She never let go of him even as he talked, stroking his hair, slowly rocking him as he choked it all out, finally.
Gave voice to it.
That made it real and while he’d thought he’d scraped the bottom of his well of pain, speaking it actually ripped the scab off a wound that reached far deeper than he ever knew possible.
“I think I need a meeting,” he finally admitted. “I can’t even get to one and focus on taking care of myself for a while because I need to be here for Pippa.” He sat up, wiping at his eyes with his hands. “I don’t even know if there’s a meeting close by. I mean, there probably is but…fuck.”
She stared at him. “You fucking scared me, disappearing like that. My friends aren’t allowed to scare me.”
“You flew over here just for me?”
“Yes and no. I was already over here when I saw the Paris footage after the fact. We’ve got a production filming here in the same studio Pippa’s filming in, and I finally got hold of Tate through Pippa’s people by calling in a couple of favors. I couldn’t get over to Paris, and you two were already on the move again by that point anyway. So I had to wait until you guys were back here. Tate asked Pippa to call me, and I talked with her and found out where you guys were.”
She cupped his cheeks with her hands. “If it’s any consolation, Tate wouldn’t confirm or deny you were working with her. I told him I was an old friend of yours, and that you just up and disappeared, and that Clark would vouch for me. I was able to tell him that I knew exactly what you did for a living, and who I was and worked with. He arranged a ‘surprise’ for me with Pippa to catch up with you. Told him I desperately needed to talk to you in person about another client we had in common from the past, and discretion was of the utmost importance, even from Pippa.”
He snorted. “You played the nurse card and lied your ass off and said you needed to compare notes on a client, didn’t you?”
“Fuckin’ A, I did. Duh. And technically not a lie, because Mevi was your client. What, you just fall off the turnip truck? I didn’t renew that license last year for nothing, you know.” She playfully smiled, pulling a ragged laugh from him.
“So you talked to…him?”
He couldn’t even say his name.
“Once, early on. He asked if I’d heard from you and I said no, last I knew, you were with him. He wouldn’t elaborate. Asked me to have you call him. When I tried to call him back, it just goes to voice mail. Now I know why he wouldn’t talk to me.”
“Yeah.”
“Have you actually tried, I don’t know, talking to the guy? Or did you just up and leave based on a snarky comment Bonnie made?”
“Bonn
ie made it perfectly clear that they were back together and I wasn’t needed anymore.”
“Didja think to, oh, ask the guy you’re in love with if he thought that before fucking going off half-cocked?”
Another unsettled, creeping feeling tried to claw its way in. “What?”
“I mean, it’s kind of weird that they’re all desperately trying to get hold of you, isn’t it? Seriously, no one will fucking talk to me, and of course I didn’t know who you’d told or not, so I couldn’t really say why I needed to find you. I even threatened Clark, and he told me to bring it, that he wasn’t completely scared of me because he’d seen me doing baby talk with KC, and he’d hide behind Landry. Which is totally a cowardly dick move on his part, but I do admire his chutzpah.”
That finally drew a laugh from Doyle.
She hugged him. “There ya go. Breathe, buddy. How about we sort this shit out?”
“I should call him, huh?”
“Well, Clark said Mevi accidentally flushed his latest phone a couple of weeks ago and lost all his contacts in the process because he’s an idiot. I swear I should beat that boy myself just for that. Clark won’t give me his new number, either. I was asked by Clark that, if I ever made contact with you, to pass Clark’s number to you if you didn’t have it and ask you to contact him immediately. I kinda got the feeling he’s in the dark, too, if you want to know the truth. I think Mevi’s so fucking scared of outing you he didn’t even tell Clark what’s going on now. I could be wrong, but I don’t think so.”
“Clark’s the only other person who knows he’s gay and that we were involved. I mean, besides us.”
“Yeah, this stupid omertà you dudes have is a little obsessive and fucking bit you all in the asses. Although you could give the fucking FBI lessons in secrecy, I suppose.”
“We can’t talk about this around Pippa.”
“No worries. We’re old friends from Sarasota.”
“Friends in common?”
She smirked. “Yeah.”
They heard the suite door open and Pippa call out. “Yoo hoo! We’re all set for dinner.”
Doyle headed for the bathroom and locked himself in to give himself time to wash his face. Meanwhile, he heard Tilly talking with Pippa, charming her, laying it on thick.
Time Out of Mind [Suncoast Society] (Siren Publishing Sensations ManLove) Page 22