The Vault Box Set

by Summers, Eden

  “They didn’t win. I needed a break from the Vault.” Not only the setting, the carnality, and the people. He needed a break from the reminder of what had driven him into this mind fuck. “And Ella couldn’t participate either. So, the cancellation worked for both of us.”

  “Did you refund her membership?” T.J. asked. “It would be a nice gesture of goodwill.”

  His hand paused in the middle of tearing open the second envelope. “I’m not kicking her out of the club. She can return whenever she wants.”

  “She’s not coming back,” Cassie spoke softly.

  He continued to open the envelope, his gaze focused on the shredding paper. A tight restriction took place behind his sternum, the pain intensifying with the need for answers to questions he didn’t want to voice. Tighter and tighter his lungs squeezed, until he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “You’ve spoken to her?”

  “I called her,” Shay answered.

  He emptied the invoice from the envelope, threw the rubbish to the counter, and then started the process all over again. “I didn’t realize the two of you were friends.”

  “We’re not. Not really. But I wanted to check on her.”

  “How’d you get her number?” He couldn’t hide the pathetic jealousy in his voice.

  “I looked in the Vault database.”

  His foot to tapped against the polished floorboards, the rampant beat out of his control. “You were on my computer?”

  “She was on our computer,” T.J. corrected.

  “Right.” He slashed another envelope and turned back to Shay. “And she said she isn’t coming back?”

  The nod and accompanying look of pity were enough to send his fingers tearing through the paper.

  “Did she say why?” He already knew her original reason—nobody interested her in the Vault. But he’d hoped her mind would change with time.

  “Are you asking because you hope we don’t know the answer?” Cassie rested her elbows on the bar, leaning forward, fully invested. “Or do you truly not know?”

  He shredded another envelope and kept his mouth shut, not wanting to admit he was to blame. He didn’t need to exacerbate his pathetic existence.

  Shay sighed.

  Leo crossed his arms over his chest.

  Cassie glanced at T.J., while her husband pinned him with a sympathetic stare.

  He opened three envelopes in quick succession and pulled out the accompanying information. “What’s next on the agenda?”

  Uncomfortable silence fell until T.J. had the balls to fill it. “We still haven’t resolved the current topic. Are you able to refund her membership? Maybe write a check and put it in the mail?”

  Another envelope died in his hands, the front half ripping in two. He didn’t want to think about her any more than he already did. He didn’t want to look up her details on his computer. Or scribble her name on a check. But taking this route and getting his friends off his back was the lesser of two evils. “Yeah. No problem. I’ll sort it out.”

  “Great. We can move on, then.” Cassie gave her co-conspirators a warning look, wordlessly reiterating how pathetic and temperamental he was. “Next on the list is the possibility of an under-age dance night.”

  That was his cue to zone out of the conversation. His field of fucks was well and truly barren. Everything felt raw and uncomfortable. Even answering the simplest of questions. All because of Ella—a woman who hadn’t called and evidently had no plans to see him again.

  She’d forgotten him.

  And with all his determination and focus, he still couldn’t seem to do the same with her.

  Turned out, his insurance policy was a piece of shit.

  He tore open the last envelope, this time slower, drawing out the need to keep his hands occupied. There were no folded pages this time. He parted the opening and sank his hand in to retrieve the tiny slip of paper buried inside.

  A newspaper clipping.

  He read the heading and wondered if he’d fallen into a momentary hallucination. He blinked, blinked again, and re-read the words. He stared for long moments, his chest tightening, bile rising in his throat.

  “Brute?” Shay’s voice was distant. A million miles away.

  “Bryan?” Cassie pleaded. “What is it?”

  He slid the paper back into the envelope and ran a hand over his beard, hoping to encourage his lunch to stay in his gut. “Nothing.” His response was static. “Can you finish up without me? I need to sort out this mail and get started on the refund for Ella.”

  Ella. Fucking Ella. At a time like this, she was still at the forefront of his mind.

  Pinched brows aimed at him. Worried eyes, too.

  “What’s going on?” Leo glanced at the envelopes in Bryan’s hand. “Is there something in the mail I need to know about?”

  “No.” He was on his own with this. Like he always had been. Like he’d always wanted to be. He never should’ve contemplated a deviation. “I’ll fill you in later if anything becomes important.”

  He made for the upstairs staircase. Once he was out of view, he ran, taking the steps two at a time, pounding out the motions until he was behind the closed door of the office and leaning against the hard wood.

  He was done. So fucking done with life and work and people.

  The mail crunched in his closing fist as devastation seared a scorching trail through his veins. Every inch of him was out of control—his mind, his pulse, his tingling limbs.

  He’d never needed something more than he did right now. And for the life of him, he didn’t know what that something was. He only knew there was a hole in his chest. A massive, gaping crater, screaming to be filled.

  He couldn’t breathe through it. Couldn’t think around the pain of it. Everything was closing in—his mistakes, his insecurities. Every little thing he hated about his existence bore down on him with enough force to crush him.

  Nothing gave him hope.

  Not. One. Thing.

  All he had was the dizzying punishment of all the mistakes he’d made.

  He rushed toward the desk, grabbed a fresh envelope from the drawer and scrawled Pamela across the front. Those six letters were a death sentence.

  No. They’d been a life sentence. Years upon years of unwanted sterile independence.

  He transferred the newspaper clipping into the unripped envelope, making sure not to read the words demanding his attention, then encapsulated the information by sealing the back. He stood staring at the name, hating it, his anger building, growing.

  He tore his attention away and scoured the perfect alignment on the desk. The pens, Post-Its, and stationery items all had their own place, their own function in the world. While he remained in limbo, stuck thinking about what he was good for.

  In one harsh swipe of his arm he sent everything flying, the symmetry transforming into a scattered mess on the floor. The destruction brought relief, the tiniest flicker of havoc sating his self-loathing.

  He did it again, this time pulling the drawer from the desk and throwing it across the room. And again, with the second drawer. And again, with the filing trays.

  His blood raced with dizzying speed, the lightheaded delirium righting some of his wrongs.

  Most, but not all.

  Ella still stared back at him from his mind. Taunting him. Reminding him of his biggest mistake. He never should’ve touched her. Never should’ve given a shit. Because now she was stuck in his head. Unable to get out.

  All he wanted was for her to get out.

  To leave him alone.

  To stop torturing him with the one thing he wanted but nobody could ever give him.

  “Fuck.” His shout echoed off the walls.

  He had to find a way out of this. To make his head stop pounding. He spun around, his gaze catching on the bookshelf, the parallel lines of immaculate book spines taunting him with their equilibrium.

  “Fuck you,” he spat.

  Fuck their easy existence and harmonious balance.

&nb
sp; Fuck their effortlessness and their calm.

  Fuck everything and everyone, because he couldn’t take it anymore.

  Breaths heaved from his lungs. His limbs ached. His forehead heated with sweat.

  “Fuck. You.” He stormed toward the bookshelf and gripped the heavy wood in his hands. Then in one effortless pull, he created more destruction.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Pamela raised her gaze to the person walking into the deserted cafe. “What can I get—” The words died on her lips, the familiar face bringing memories she eagerly tried to bury.

  “Hi, Pamela.” The blonde gave a half-hearted smile as she clutched a large wicker basket in her hand. “I’m Cassie from Shot of Sin.”

  “I know. We’ve met before.” The woman was T.J.’s wife and a regular participant at the Vault.

  “Sometimes we’re not easily recognizable with our clothes on.” The faux tilt of her lips increased.

  “I suppose so.” Pamela grabbed the portafilter from the coffee machine and dumped the used puck into the refuse chute. “What can I get for you?”

  “Actually, I’ve got something for you.” Cassie raised the basket and placed it on the counter. “This is yours.”

  “Why?” She paused the cleaning routine and scoped the contents of the basket from the corner of her eye. Inside lay an array of different items. Two bottles of wine. Chips. Bar nuts. A small bottle of vodka. Along with other things hidden beneath.

  “I hoped you might be able to tell me the answer to that. Bryan asked me to deliver it to you.”

  “Bryan?” She raised a disbelieving brow. “He asked you to deliver me a basket of goodies?” The same Bryan who had been nicknamed for his brutality? The same Bryan who told her their time together was over? “Sorry. I think you’ve got the wrong person.”

  The woman broke eye contact.

  “Why are you really here, Cassie?” She shoved the portafilter back into the machine and slid along the counter, meeting the woman face to face. “We both know he didn’t send you here.”

  There was a beat of silence while T.J.’s wife turned a bright shade of pink. “Wow.” She gave an awkward chuckle. “I thought this would’ve played out a little longer than five seconds.”

  “Bryan playing Santa is as far-fetched as it gets.” Pamela struggled to keep her tone friendly.

  “I guess. I just thought things between the two of you may have been different.”

  It was Pamela’s turn to crumple under the burn of reddening cheeks. “Nope. You’re wrong there, too.” She glanced away, meeting Kim’s gaze as she strode from the kitchen. “Bryan has no need to get back in contact with me.”

  “That’s not entirely true.” Cassie reached into the basket and pulled out a pristine envelope. “He wanted you to have this.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t bel—”

  “Look, it even has your name on it. It’s a refund for your membership. He wanted to make sure you were reimbursed.”

  Pamela crossed her arms over her chest, determined not to buy what she was selling, even though her heart wanted to. The only communication she’d had from Bryan was a lone, emotionless text. He hadn’t mentioned what they’d shared or how he felt. He’d only spoken about her books. The damn cancer reminders.

  “I promise he wanted you to have this.” Cassie handed it over. “He just may have planned to mail it to you. That’s all. The basket was an excuse for me to see you.”

  “And why would you want to do that?” She ignored the offering as Kim came up beside her, hovering close.

  Cassie eyed them both, appearing more fragile than deceptive. “Have you got time to talk?”

  “Not really. I’m working.” She ignored the empty cafe and the fact it was less than thirty minutes from closing.

  “Please.” It wasn’t a request. It was a plea. “It’s important.”

  “Hear her out.” Kim nudged her elbow. “You’re not going to sleep tonight if you send her away. Listen to what she has to say, and we’ll deal with it from there.”

  “It won’t take long,” Cassie added.

  Pamela closed her eyes, silently praying for strength. It wouldn’t need to take more than five seconds to cause mayhem. She’d already hovered on the precipice. The last few weeks had drained her. She constantly analyzed what they’d shared and what she could’ve done differently. She couldn’t stop thinking that there’d been more. More emotion and affection. More connection sizzling under the surface.

  Yes, she’d thought the same thing about Lucas, but once he’d passed, those feelings had, too. The reality of their marriage had bled into her memories, allowing her to see how wrong she’d been to expect anything more than friendship and sex from her husband. He’d been explicit. Not only in his words, but in his actions. He hadn’t wanted anything from her. Not love. Not affection. Just someone to care for him in his final months. And not once had he wavered.

  But with Bryan, she couldn’t let go.

  Everything between them was different. He contradicted the space he tried to place between them by selflessly pleasuring her, by listening to her past marriage problems, by taking the books that served as a painful reminder of Lucas and giving them away respectfully. He’d flirted with her, laughed, joked, bought wine and dinner. He’d taken her out. He’d desired her.

  And those kisses. Every brush and sweep of his tongue had told a story about something more than sex.

  “Whatever happened between you two, he’s not coping, Pamela.”

  That made her eyes open and her heart climb to her throat. “What do you mean?”

  “He had a scare today.” Cassie straightened to her full height. “A panic attack. A complete meltdown. Or something similar. And he won’t talk to any of us about it.”

  The heavy doses of affection for a man she’d tried to forget came rushing back in a torrential flood. “A panic attack?”

  Cassie sighed. “It might not seem like a big deal, but for Bryan—”

  “No. I get it.” He was bound by control. Entirely guarded. If he’d broken, she knew it must be due to something unfathomably horrible. “What happened?” She didn’t want to care, but she did. She cared so much her chest fractured a little.

  “He left a work meeting early, which wasn’t unexpected with his recent mood. He’s been grumpier than usual since he canceled the demonstration night.”

  He’d canceled? Her insides grated over exposed heartstrings.

  “You didn’t know?” Cassie scrutinized her.

  “No.” Pamela shook her head. “But I’m nobody to him. There’s no reason I should’ve known.”

  “I thought the two of you were close. Shay told me he had dinner at your apartment and took you to a bar. To him, that’s—”

  “Our time together was an effort to convince me to be his demo assistant. That’s all. Nothing more.”

  “Right…” Cassie straightened. “I just thought—”

  “Maybe something happened with his mother.” She was sick of the speculation. Each question only made her stupidity more apparent. “He had a lot on his mind about his family.”

  “He told you about them?” Cassie frowned.

  “Only about his mother’s cancer. Maybe she took a turn, and he isn’t taking it well.” She shrugged, becoming increasingly overwhelmed with the layers of confusion and annoyance beaming back at her.

  “He told you his mother has cancer?”

  “Yeah… Why?” She shot a glance at Kim, wordlessly asking for emotional backup. “Doesn’t she?”

  “I don’t know. Bryan has never spoken to me about his family. And from what T.J.'s mentioned, he hasn’t brought up his parents in years.”

  “Oh…” Her mouth formed a circle that cemented in place.

  “Yeah, oh. You seem to be the only person he’s opened up to in a really long time.”

  “He didn’t open up.” The tiny glimpse of insight hadn’t been anything remotely monumental. “It was a brief mention.”

  “A brief
mention that his mom has cancer?” Cassie raised her brows. “Pamela, believe me, if he even mentioned his parents, he was opening up. He doesn’t share information about his past. He barely shares anything at all.”

  The woman sighed and relaxed her worried expression. “Like I was saying, he left the meeting early and retreated to the office where he’s been hibernating for weeks. Five minutes later, we hear a huge crash and rush upstairs to find him tearing the place apart. There were books and files everywhere. The desk had been cleared with everything shoved to the floor. Including this.”

  Cassie handed over the envelope again, and this time Pamela took it.

  “Is he okay?”

  “Physically, yes. But mentally? Emotionally? No.” She shook her head. “I don’t think he is. Not at all. But he won’t talk to us. So, that’s why I’m here. While the two of you were spending time together, he was happy.”

  “He told you that?”

  Cassie released a huff of laughter. “No. Like I said, Bryan doesn’t open up. We have to watch and take subtle hints. He started smiling instead of bearing his usual scowl. He was joking around a lot more, too. Leo and T.J. tracked his unusual behavior, and you were their conclusion.” Cassie paused, probably waiting for a reaction Pamela wasn’t willing to give. “You’re the only one who’s been close with him lately. Which is why I thought, if I came here and begged, maybe you’d speak to him.”

  Kim cleared her throat, the noise a subtle warning not to take the bait.

  “Look, I understand your position and the concern.” Pamela shot a look at her sister, then returned her focus to Cassie. “But what Bryan wants is for me to stay away. He made that clear.”

  “Are you sure? Telling you about his mother is a huge move for him. It’s more than he’s ever given me, and I’ve been his friend for years.”

  “Cassie, he literally slept with me and five seconds later told me our association was over. Five seconds,” she repeated. “Maybe even two.”

  The woman winced.

  “See?” She slid back to the coffee machine to keep her hands busy. “I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

  “You won’t even try?”

  “Why is she obligated to?” Kim grated. “He discarded her like garbage.”