I close my eyes and take a step back. I have to get away. This can’t be happening.
Dr. Hinderland is at my side, his hand on my elbow, steadying me. "John is alive, as you can see. He's been incarcerated here for the last three months."
I look up, praying I was hallucinating and John—or this monstrous vision—is gone.
His eyes are locked on mine, commanding me to pay attention to only him.
"You're dead," I say again, desperate for the words to be true.
John doesn't speak. He just stands there, smiling at me. Mocking me. Making me feel small and insecure. I swore I would never give him that kind of control over me again.
But I wasn't prepared for this. Small pieces of reality are breaking away and floating to infinity. Nothing makes sense. I'm flailing in a sea of uncertainty. Do I admit the one truth which has saved my sanity these past couple of months is nothing but a vicious lie?
"Jake shot you."
"Yes, John did suffer from a gunshot wound, but he was taken into surgery and they were able to save his life."
I pull my arm from the doctor’s grasp and take a step toward John. "They should’ve let you die. They should’ve let you slowly bleed out until there was nothing left but your cold, dead heart."
I take a step towards the door. John shifts slightly, blocking my path. Dr. Hinderland is talking, but I can't hear what he's saying. All I can focus on is John. And how the hell I get out of here.
"Looks as if Alex wasn't completely honest with you, and greatly exaggerated my demise," he whispers, darts his eyes over to the doctor, and ensures he is preoccupied with whatever he is doing. "Alex probably wishes I was dead, but I'm alive and well."
"Get out of my way, John."
He grabs my wrist, yanks it until I fall against his chest. He lowers his head, his nose in my hair, and takes a deep inhale. "I told you I would never leave you, Kylie, and I never will. You will always be mine."
He releases me, and steps away from the door. I grab for the handle, yank the door open, and run through the waiting room. The door closes behind me and I walk quickly down the hallway to the reception desk. I have to get out of here. Out of this building. Away from John.
"Ms. Tate," the receptionist calls out. "Don't forget your copies."
My hands shake and I nearly drop the large envelope. I burst through the door and out into the bright sun. My only thought is to get in my car and get as far away from here as possible. The tires on the Porsche squeal as I punch it into first gear and speed down the long, winding driveway.
John's alive. Breathe. Alex lied. My heart seizes. I trusted him and he lied to me.
All the warmth from the sun evaporates, and I'm left with a chill I can't shake. My heart is aching. My soul is dying. My world is dark, scary—unknown. There are only three things I know for certain—John survived, Alex has been lying to me for months, and I will never be able to forgive him.
* * *
* * *
The Maserati is gone when I pull into the garage. I leave everything, including the keys, in the car and enter the kitchen. Maggie looks up from the stove and smiles at me.
A little more of my heart breaks, I'm going to miss her. She's the closest thing to a grandmother I've ever known.
"Do you know where Alex is?" I ask.
She continues to stir whatever she's making. "I think he said something about going into his office and thought he'd be back by mid-afternoon, so I expect him any time now."
"Thanks."
Not much time to get everything together. I’ll have to take only the essentials and come back for the rest. I pull the suitcase from the top of the closet, toss it onto the bed, and start emptying the dresser drawers. I shove as many of my suits into a hanging bag as I can, tossing in shoes without looking at them. The bathroom is last to get cleared out. I zip the hanging bag and suitcase. Getting them out without raising suspicion is the challenge. If Maggie thinks something is up, she'll call Alex.
Fuck it. I don't give a shit. The faster he gets home, the faster I can confront him and get the hell out of here. Thank God I can fit all this in the Porsche's trunk. I slam it closed, re-enter the house and head for the living room.
Christ, I need a drink. My hands shake as I pour scotch into the glass and lift it to my lips. I relish the burn as it slides down my throat and ignites my stomach.
The door to the kitchen opens. Alex is talking to Maggie. His footsteps echo on the tile. I drink the rest of the scotch in my glass and place it back on the bar.
"Hey, baby," Alex says. His eyes are bright, and he has a smile on his face that wraps around my heart and squeezes it. "I figured you'd be at your new office all day getting set up."
"I had a meeting."
He steps around me and pours himself a drink.
"And how'd it go?"
"It was…enlightening."
Alex's eyebrows raise. "Elaborate."
I take a deep breath. He's so calm, while every part of my body is quivering. It wasn't supposed to be like this. We were supposed to be happy forever. But he betrayed me in the worst way possible. He robbed me of my security. Trampled on my trust. And nothing will ever be the same again.
"Did I mention to you where I was going today?"
His eyes narrow. "No, I don't think so."
I chuckle, but there is absolutely no humor in it. "No, I'm sure I didn't. If I had, you would've tried to stop me."
"Where did you go?" he asks.
"I had a meeting with a psychiatrist involved in your father's case."
He bristles at the mention of his father.
"Dr. Hinderland. He's at the Cedar Grove State Hospital."
All the blood drains from Alex's face. The glass slips from his hand but he manages to catch it before it falls to the floor.
"Yeah, I thought I might get that reaction from you," I sneer.
He crosses the room, placing the glass on the table, and stops in front of me. Before he can say anything—before he can start another stream of lies—I lean in until my lips are next to his ear.
"You lied to me, Alex, and I'm done."
I pivot and start out the door. Alex is on my heels, grabs my wrist, and tugs on my arm. I yank my hand away, run into the garage, and drop behind the steering wheel. I catch a glimpse of Alex at the door as I speed away.
A wave of nausea hits me as I roll through the gates. Away from the one place I felt safe… from the one man I believed would never betray me. Perspiration covers my skin. I stop on the shoulder of the road, get out of the car—sure I'm going to be sick. My hand clutches my stomach, I bend at the waist, and heave. I haven't eaten anything, so the endless surges don't actually expel anything. I slump into the driver's seat and lean my head against the head rest.
My head is pounding, never-ending beats of John's alive and Alex betrayed me drumming rhythmically behind my eye sockets. "Why, Alex?" I sob, the pain in my heart unbearable. We were happy. We were back. We were strong again.
John—alive. I thought I was free of him. Never again would I have to worry about his sadistic threats against me. He knows the fear he evokes in me, and he uses it to his advantage. He'll come after me again. It's not even a matter of if—it's a matter of when.
"No!" I scream and pound my fists on the steering wheel until pain radiates through my fingers and up my arm. I lean my forehead against the leather-wrapped steering wheel, fatigue overtakes me, and I'm lost.
Now what? Where the hell do I go? I can't go to Paul and Ryan's—I'm just getting started on the Wells appeal. My row house in town is rented, so that's not an option.
I hit the speed dial for Paul's cell phone.
"Hey, K. What's up?"
Just hearing his voice opens the flood gates I have been holding in since I came eye-to-eye with John Sysco.
"I need a favor," I say through broken sobs.
"Are you crying? What's going on?"
"I need you to help me and not ask questions right now. I promise I’l
l tell you everything," I choke out, my voice so emotional it doesn't sound anything like me.
"Okay. What do you need?"
"Does your father's company still have a corporate suite here?"
There's a pause, and it feels like hours are passing before he responds again. "Yes, do you need it?"
"Yeah." Emptiness fills my chest, because I know this step takes me out of Alex's life, and starts me on a new path.
"When?"
"Now."
"I'll call and have the key waiting for you at the front desk."
"Thanks, Paul."
"It's no problem, K, you know that." He takes a deep breath and exhales. "But when you get in and get settled, you better call me and tell me what the hell is going on. I'm assuming this has something to do with you and Alex?"
"There is no more me and Alex." A fresh stream of tears run down my face and I end the call.
I can't talk about it now. I need to know if Paul and Ryan knew about John, and if they lied to me, too. Please, God, don't let that be true. I don't think I'll recover if all the people I love and trust the most in my life have kept John's survival a secret.
* * *
* * *
I manage to find a couple of bottles of wine in the kitchen, fill my glass, and take it and the bottle with me into the living room. My laptop is on the coffee table, and I log into my Skype account while sending Paul a text. Once his icon pops up and states he is available, I call him. He and Ryan crowd together so they are both on the screen.
"Jesus, K. You look like shit," Paul says. His brows furrow.
"Thanks," I answer, and take a large gulp of my wine.
"What's happened, darlin'?" Ryan asks, his voice softer.
"So much shit…I don't even know where to start." I take another drink. It hits my empty stomach and burns. I should probably eat something, but my appetite is gone. "Alex lied to me, and I will never be able to forgive him."
"Slow down, Kylie," Ryan says. "Tell us what's going on."
"John's alive."
"Uh, huh," Paul says.
"Did you hear me? He's alive…as in, not dead."
"Yeah, he took a plea deal and was sent to the state hospital. Why did you think he was dead?"
"Because that's what Alex told me!" I yell.
"What?" His eyes grow wide, he runs his hands through his hair, and lets out a long sigh.
"He's been lying to me since I came out of the coma." I rub my hands against my temples to stave off the migraine that's threatening. "So, he didn't ask you guys to help with this cover-up?"
"No. We never would've done that, K. I swear to God, I thought you knew. I never brought it up because I figured you didn't want to be reminded of that asshole."
Ryan is quiet. His face blank, pale, and he's no longer looking into the camera.
"Tell her." Paul elbows Ryan in the side. Ryan gazes over at Paul. Paul’s upper body slumps. "Oh, no. No fucking way. Tell me you didn't know about this? That you didn't help Alex keep this from her?"
"You have to understand," Ryan says. He turns his head to the camera. "Kylie, please listen to me. We never meant to hurt you."
"How could you do this?" Paul bellows.
"We did it for you, Kylie. We wanted you to feel safe when you came out of the coma. We were going to tell you—" He looks at Paul. "I swear, we were going to set it straight."
It feels as if someone has pulled the rug out from under my feet, and I’m tumbling into darkness. A void. Nothing I can grasp onto to stop my descent into hell.
"I have to go," I mumble, and end the call. I have no idea if they even heard me. Paul was yelling at Ryan, and Ryan was trying to defend his actions.
And now, I'm going to drink the remainder of this bottle of wine—and maybe the other one, too—and hope to God I wake up to discover this is all a horrendous nightmare.
And if it’s not, I hope I never wake up.
12
My phone is buzzing in my ear. I lift my head and instantly wish I hadn't. The pounding is excruciating, like someone gave the toddler inside my head a drum set and said, "go at it, kid!". I drop my head back onto the pillow and pull the phone toward my face.
Alex.
He called about ten times before I passed out last night. The buzzing stops, and the screen shows twenty-six missed calls—all from Alex.
I need water. And coffee. Every part of my body aches from sleeping on the couch. Sounds are amplified to unconscionable levels. Even the act of scooping coffee into the filter sounds as if I’m in the middle of a construction site.
The coffee slowly drips into the pot. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and head to the shower. Hopefully, the hot water will make me feel a little less like roadkill. If nothing else, it will pass the time while the coffee is brewing.
I have no idea what to do at the moment. The alcohol-induced haze is not helping with rational thought. I should probably go into the office, but I'm sure I look as bad as I feel, and I really don't need the inquisition. My life is too screwed up at the moment for me to explain it to others.
My phone goes off again. Might as well get this over with—if I don't answer, Alex will continue to call, or try to find me. And I can't see him right now.
I press the answer button. "Alex, I have nothing to say to you."
"Kylie, please, I just want to explain."
"No! You're not going to sweet talk your way out of this."
"Kylie, I'm not trying to—"
"Do you have any idea what I went through yesterday? After months of believing John was dead, he walks into Dr. Hinderland's office. I thought I was in the midst of another nightmare. Jokes on me, because the truth is so much worse. You betrayed me, Alex."
"I know, and I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, you have to believe me. I was—"
"—Trying to protect me. Yeah, that's your excuse for every deception. Here's the thing, though…I don't care what your reasons were. I don't care that you decided the truth would be detrimental to me. I trusted you when I was at my most vulnerable. When I needed help filling in the gaps. And you misled me."
"You're right. I should’ve told you from the very beginning, as soon as you woke up…I know I can never take back all the hurt you feel, and you may never feel the same about me again, but I hope you can forgive me someday. I truly had your best interests at heart, Kylie."
"I can't forgive you right now, Alex. And I don't want to talk about this anymore."
"Okay. I love you, baby. I will always love you."
I hang up, turn off the ringer, and drop the phone on the couch. The wine glass from the previous night is still on the table. I grab it, throw it as hard as I can, and watch as it shatters against the wall.
"Fuck you, Alex Stone!" I slump onto the couch, bury my head in my hands, and cry. After all this time—after everything we've been through—I thought we had moved past this. He convinced me he wouldn’t decide my life for me. That we would work together.
But Alex will never change. He will always try to control me. And that's just not something I'm willing to accept.
There's a knock at the door as I throw away the last pieces of the glass shards. My heart pounds, and my hands start to shake. Please, please don't let it be Alex. I'm not ready for round two of this fight, especially not face-to-face. I peer through the peephole and breathe a sigh of relief.
I swing open the door. "What are you doing here?" I ask Paul.
His shoulders slump and he sighs. His eyes have dark circles under them, and are rimmed with red. "Have room for another refugee?"
I grab his hand and pull him through the door, wrap my arms around his neck, and hug him. "For you, always."
There is a man standing behind him in the hallway holding a large gift basket, shifting from one foot to the other. He glances at his watch and then back at me, a forced smile on his face.
"Sorry," I say, "I didn't see you there."
"No problem. Are you Kylie Tate?" he asks.
"Yes."
He hands an electronic clipboard to me. "Sign here." He hands the basket off to Paul, retrieves his clipboard from me, and heads down the hallway to the elevators.
"Friendly," I murmur to Paul. He snickers, walks into the kitchen, and slides the basket onto the counter.
I pull the cellophane from around it, hunting for a card, and taking in the various items. There are a few bags of coffee, a large mug, and a new travel mug. The card reads:
Special coffee for a special woman.
Wish I was there,
You and Me Forever
Paul reads it over my shoulder. "Who's it from? Alex?"
"Most likely," I answer. "He didn't mention it when I talked to him this morning, although, we weren't exactly having a friendly chat." I pull out one of the coffee bags, find a pair of scissors, and slice open the top. I usually love the smell of fresh coffee, but this one is odd.
"Smells like a jock strap after a football game," Paul says, and follows up with gagging sounds.
"And here I thought you liked that musky male scent." I take another whiff of the coffee and decide to make a pot and see if it tastes better than it smells.
"If I wanted a jock, I wouldn't be with Ryan."
I chuckle. Ryan is in great shape, works out every day, but he is definitely a treadmill and elliptical kind of guy. Paul and I used to make fun of him for lettering in fencing in high school.
"So, what are you going to do about Ryan?" I ask and place the remaining bags of coffee in the cabinet.
"No idea. That's why I'm here. I needed some distance from him. I love him, but right now, I want to kick the living shit out of him."
"On top of being a really gross mental image, you know you could never do that to him."
Paul nods. "Yeah, I know. The little shit bruises like a peach."
Laughter spills out of both of us, and it feels so good to let go of the pain and hurt, even if it's just for a minute or two. Paul may need a safe place away from Ryan to get his bearings straight, but I doubt he realizes how much of an elixir he is to me. He is the only one who can make me laugh in a situation where all I want to do is cry.
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