From the Beginning

by Tracy Wolff

  No, Boston was out of the question. And though she had no idea if Atlanta was where she wanted to be in the long term, for now it was as good a place as any, she supposed. Besides, she was here, and she didn’t have the energy to go anywhere else.

  So what exactly was she going to do here? she wondered as she hit on a visitor site for Atlanta. Maybe it was time for her to figure out not just what she should do, but what she wanted to do.

  If there was such a thing.

  And if there wasn’t, well, she needed to know that, too. Because with all the uncertainties in her world, there was only one thing she was absolutely sure of. If she kept going on the path she was on, she would die. She would simply dry up and float away, until there was nothing left of her.

  And much as a part of her might wish for that very thing, for the cessation of pain that came with death, she couldn’t just give in to it.

  Her whole life, she’d been an overachiever. When Gabby got sick, Amanda had hunkered down for the fight of her life, a fight she swore that she wouldn’t lose. Only, she had, and nothing had made sense since. Her whole world had gone spinning wildly off the rails. If she gave in to the misery inside of her, it would be just one more thing in her life that she’d failed at. And that wasn’t an option.

  So she would spend the night learning about Atlanta, looking for she didn’t know what. At any rate, it was better than lying in bed and staring at the ceiling as she pretended to sleep.

  Anything was.

  SIMON SPENT AN ANXIOUS NIGHT worrying about Amanda. Was she okay? Was she sleeping or was she pacing the carpet at the Loews much as he was doing here? Was she even still at the hotel?

  More than once, he tried to sleep, but ended up tossing the covers back and climbing out of bed in frustration. Finally, around 3:00 a.m., he gave up. Acknowledged that there would be no sleep for him that night, no matter how jet-lagged he felt.

  He spent the time working instead. During the three weeks he’d spent in Asia last month, he hadn’t gotten all the info he wanted on the lives of orphaned and badly injured children in war-torn Afghanistan, but he had enough to make a hell of a story. While he’d been on-site, one of the orphanages had been firebombed. He’d been there when it happened and the coverage he and his team had gotten—the individual horror stories he’d been able to tell—was more powerful than he could have imagined.

  Which was a good thing, since he had no intention of leaving Atlanta anytime soon, story or no story. Amanda deserved better, and though he was years too late, he was determined not to leave her while she needed him. Not now. Not this time.

  The minutes crept by, until he finally deemed it late enough to call Amanda. It was seven-forty, and though he was afraid of waking her when she so desperately needed to sleep, the need to check on her was more overwhelming.

  But when the desk clerk put him through to her room, there was no answer. Maybe she was still sleeping, he told himself despite the uneasy feeling in his gut. Or in the shower. Or maybe she’d gotten hungry and gone downstairs for something to eat.

  His thoughts were meant to convince him that there was nothing to worry about, but they didn’t exactly do the job. Instead, by the time eight o’clock had rolled around and he’d called her room twice more to no avail, he was totally stressed-out.

  Screw it, he decided. Even if she hadn’t checked out of the hotel, that didn’t mean she wasn’t in trouble. With visions of Amanda lying injured on the bathroom floor, he slammed out of his apartment, barely remembering to yank on a pair of jeans before he went charging down to the parking garage and the car he rarely used but refused to give up.

  By the time he got to the hotel, the nervousness had ratchetted up a few notches to alarm, despite the reassurances he kept giving himself. Amanda was fine. She was still asleep. She was ignoring him because she was angry with him. Believing that was a lot better than believing she’d done something stupid because she couldn’t face life without Gabby.

  He called her room from the hotel lobby and still got no answer. He checked out the restaurants and coffee bar, all to no avail. There was nothing to say that she hadn’t left the hotel for breakfast at one of the nearby restaurants, but he doubted it. Still, it was worth a shot, so he settled on a bench near the elevators. He couldn’t miss her if she came back.

  At the same time, he continued to call her hotel room at ten-minute intervals, his concern growing. Part of him felt completely stupid for being this upset—Amanda was the most competent woman he’d ever met. She was fine, just angry at him for everything that had happened between them.

  He might have believed all of the assurances he was giving himself if he hadn’t seen her with his own eyes. But he had and he was worried—she had worked herself so close to exhaustion that an accident wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

  He gave her another half hour and two more phone calls before he headed to the front desk. He might not know what room she was in, but he was going to find out.

  After explaining the situation to a clearly skeptical hotel manager, who at once refused to do anything to help him, Simon got desperate and did something he’d always sworn he wouldn’t do.

  “Look, maybe we should start over,” he told the manager, an uptight little man in an expensive suit and constricting tie. He held a hand out to shake. “I’m Simon Hart.” He named the news network he worked for, then said, “I’m one of their foreign correspondents. Maybe you’ve seen one of my special reports…”

  The man’s eyes widened as he realized who Simon was—which was exactly what he’d been counting on. “Anyway,” he continued, “I know that Loews is one of the top hotels in Atlanta because of the individual care and attention that each guest receives. I can’t imagine how awful the publicity would be if it came to the public’s attention that one of your guests was lying injured in her room and you did nothing to help, despite being made aware of the situation.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed and he turned an unattractive shade of puce that made Simon feel dirty. He hated using his journalistic credentials to threaten the guy, but at this point, he didn’t know what else to do. Amanda’s safety came first, and if the manager wasn’t going to give him her room number, the least he could do was go check on her.

  “Don’t threaten me, Mr. Hart.” The manager’s voice had gone from understanding but firm to downright icy. “I am certain the Loews can withstand any dirt you might choose to throw at us.” His sniff told Simon exactly what he thought of him.

  “Please—”

  “However, I will go upstairs and check on Ms. Jacobs myself. Will that satisfy you?”

  “Yes. Absolutely. Thank you.” Simon was shocked to realize he was shaking, sweating. He had managed to keep his cool under fire, both in battle and on some of the most dangerous streets in the world, yet he was now one small step from losing it completely.

  Pulling back, he shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to get his too-fast heartbeat under control. But panic was a rampaging beast inside of him and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to calm down until he was certain Amanda was all right. If she had listened to him the night before, if she had let him take care of her, none of this would be happening.

  The manager started across the lobby and Simon followed him. But as soon as the man stopped at the elevators, he turned to Simon with a steely look in his eyes. “You don’t actually expect to come upstairs with me, do you?”

  Simon started to argue, again, but in the end figured it would be more expedient to wait in the lobby. He didn’t want to waste any more time, even if every instinct he had screamed at him to beat the bastard’s head against the wall until he began to see things Simon’s way.

  The ten minutes the man was out of his sight were some of the longest of his life. Guilt rose up, nearly suffocated him. What had he been thinking to let Amanda come here alone? Why hadn’t he argued with her more? Why hadn’t he forced her to listen to reason?

  Sure, he hadn’t wanted to upset her further,
not when she looked so exhausted she could barely stand. But that hadn’t been the only reason, he admitted to himself now. He hadn’t wanted to fight with her because he’d been tired, worn-down, more than a little vulnerable himself. He’d wanted to be alone for a little while to lick his wounds, to regain his perspective, to shore up the wall he kept between himself and so much of the world. His sense of control had been precarious at best and he’d been afraid that spending much more time with Amanda would shatter it completely. He couldn’t have dealt with that, not when she was so obviously out for his blood.

  Now his worries and objections seemed petty. Ridiculous. If something had happened to her, if she was lying up there, hurt or worse—he wouldn’t let himself even consider the possibility.

  He resumed pacing his little corner of the lobby, his eyes on the elevators. And when he saw the manager striding quickly out of a car, he was across the cavernous room in a flash.

  “Is she all right?” he demanded. “Did you talk to her?”

  The man’s expression had gone from icy to downright hostile. “Ms. Jacobs is, as I told you at the beginning of our conversation, not in her room. There is no sign of illness or foul play,” he continued before Simon could ask. “It appears she has simply gone out to enjoy the many attractions Atlanta has to offer.”

  He shot Simon a fulminating glare. “May I suggest that you do the same?”

  Simon bristled a little at the man’s tone, but in the end, all he said was, “Thank you for checking.” He had been the asshole who’d completely overreacted, after all.

  Still, knowing she wasn’t in her room freaked him out.

  Where was she?

  He highly doubted Amanda was doing the tourist thing. Not as jet-lagged and worn-down as she was. So where had she gone? He glanced at his watch for the thousandth time. It was already past noon—he’d been waiting for her for well over three hours.

  A flash of purple caught his eye as he was walking to the sofa he had pretty much taken up residence in, and he turned his head abruptly, trying to find it again. That shade of purple was Amanda’s favorite color.

  Sure enough, she was striding through the hotel lobby, a shopping bag in each of her hands. Completely unaware of the havoc her little shopping jaunt had caused.

  He was across the lobby in a shot, climbing onto her elevator car before she even realized he was behind her. Play it cool, he told himself. Don’t come on too strong or she’ll shut down completely. So much better to act as though her disappearance hadn’t taken fifteen years off his life.

  Almost convinced he could follow his own advice, Simon had turned to face her, when Amanda asked, all hostility and annoyance, “What are you doing here?”

  “Where have you been?” he demanded, his good intentions flying out the window like so much confetti. “I’ve been here for three hours, waiting on you.”

  “No one asked you to do that.” As she spoke, she raised one imperious eyebrow, and for a moment she looked so much like the Amanda he used to know, so much like the woman she was before life had beaten her down, that he felt himself respond instinctively to her. Felt his body come to life in the way it only ever did for her—heart racing, senses heightened, breathing quickened.

  In the old days, when they’d been together, she had accused him of being an adrenaline junkie. He’d denied it, but even as he did, he’d known she was right. He did his job because he believed people deserved to know the truth, but he also did it because there was nothing else in the world that made him feel as alive as pitting himself against unfavorable odds.

  Nothing, that was, except being near Amanda. Holding her, making love to her—

  He slammed the brakes on his thoughts and his libido. Though he was grateful it was back after months of being MIA, he also knew this was not exactly the time to have any feelings for Amanda, good or bad, come raring back to life.

  “I’ve been worried,” he told her through clenched teeth as the elevator stopped on the seventeenth floor and they both stepped out. “I thought—”

  “What?” she demanded as he trailed her down the hall like a puppy begging for attention. Which grated. A lot.

  “I thought you’d—” He had enough sense to stop before he blurted out the ugly suspicion that had grown in his mind with every unanswered ring of her telephone.

  But it was too late. The damage had already been done. “Committed suicide?” she asked, her voice low and furious now. “Twelve years and that’s what you think of me? Do you even know me at all?”

  She dropped her packages next to the door as she fished her key card out of her purse.

  “It wasn’t like that,” he told her, wondering when he had lost control of the situation. This was not their normal dynamic—he was usually the one rushing off and she was the one trying to get his attention, the one worrying about his safety.

  Not that he expected things to be the same between them, after all that had happened, but it would be nice if something felt familiar. Because right now, he had the shaky sensation of trying to find steady ground in quicksand.

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay. Between the sedative and how frail you are, I thought something could have happened.”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Simon knew he’d said the wrong thing. Again. And yet he didn’t regret it, because for the first time since he’d found her in Somalia, Amanda’s eyes blazed with life, with passion. The fact that it was anger driving her didn’t matter, not when the dead, haunted look was finally gone.

  “If you were so worried about me, perhaps you shouldn’t have drugged me to begin with.” She pushed the door open, thrust her packages inside and then walked in. The dismissive set of her shoulders told him that she was done with him. Conversation over.

  As anger began working its way through his own system, replacing the bewilderment, it was only his quick reflexes that kept him from having the door slammed in his face. Bracing his foot against it, he shoved the door gently but inexorably, forcing Amanda to let him in.

  For a second, he thought she was going to wrestle with him, but eventually she sighed and stepped farther into the room. “I did what I had to do,” he told her. “You weren’t going to come back to America on your own.”

  “It wasn’t your decision.”

  “Bullshit. Just because we aren’t together anymore doesn’t mean that I don’t still care about you. I couldn’t leave you there. Not like that. If I hadn’t come, what would you have done? Where would you have gone?”

  Her eyes widened incredulously. “Are you even listening to yourself? Do you really think I need you? After everything that’s happened, after all the things you’ve done, do you really believe that I will ever let myself depend on you again, for anything?”

  She might have been down, but she wasn’t out, and as usual, Amanda’s words cut straight to the heart of everything he didn’t want to discuss. Everything he didn’t want to deal with.

  Still, he couldn’t walk away. Not now. “You can push me away all you want, Amanda, but it’s not going to work. This time, I’m going to stick.”

  “Yeah, until the next story comes along. Isn’t that your modus operandi?”

  “Not this time. I’ll be here for as long as you need me.”

  “Need you?” she repeated with a laugh that was anything but humorous. “You’ll be here for as long as I need you? Don’t you think you have that backward?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, starting to sweat. “I’m not the one on the verge of a nervous breakdown here.”

  “No. You’re just the one hell-bent on atoning for his sins any way he can. You weren’t there for Gabby when she died, weren’t there for me after she was gone, and now you want to make up for it.

  “You want to help me because it assuages your conscience, not because you give a damn about what really happens to me. You’ve never given a damn what happened to me, Simon. Never given a damn about anyone who wasn’t involved in one of your precious
stories.

  “Need you? I’ll never need you. I’ll never let myself need you. Not ever again.” She gestured to the door. “Now get out.”

  Her words slammed into him like bullets, each one causing more damage than the one before. He gaped at her in shock. Was that how she saw him? Was that really what she thought he was doing? Trying to make up for his mistakes?

  As if that was even possible.

  He wanted to help her, because she needed help, because he cared about her, because she’d been the mother of his child and he couldn’t forget that any more than he could forget their long history. He wasn’t under any illusion that she would ever exonerate him from what he’d done.

  “I’m not looking for forgiveness,” he told her. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “Bullshit.” She threw the expletive back at him. “For once in your life, be honest, Simon. If not with me, then with yourself.”

  “What does that even mean?” None of this was going the way he’d planned it.

  She shook her head, the expression on her face almost pitying. “You’re more in need of redemption than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re desperate for it—why else would you have come to Africa? Why else would we even be having this conversation?

  “But I’m no one’s redemption. I won’t take that on, not even for you. Especially not for you. I have enough problems making it through the day without adding your guilt to the mix.”

  His head was whirling as he tried to comprehend all the accusations she’d hurled at him, and in desperation, he latched on to the last thing she’d said. “You think that’s all I feel for you? Guilt?”

  “What else is left?” she asked with a toss of her head. “It’s not like we ever had anything real between us, anyway.”