Mine: A Romantic Suspense Thriller (A Back to Me Series Book 2)

by Brittany Taylor

  I flex my fingers against the handle of the knife. It’s ridiculous really. I hadn’t noticed I grabbed a small paring knife, too nervous to pay attention to the size.

  “Lena?”

  I make it to the top of the stairs and hold my breath. My feet land against the carpet, slow and hushed.

  “Lena?” I hear Abby’s voice louder against my ear.

  “I’m still here.” I step inside our bedroom, then our bathroom. There’s no one here.

  “Good,” she sighs. “I thought I lost you there for a minute.”

  “No, I’m still here.” I sit down on my bed, setting the knife beside me.

  “So, what kind do you want me to bring over?”

  I wrap my hand around the back of my neck. There’s a thin film of moisture on the palm of my hand, sticking to my skin. “What kind of what?”

  Abby sighs. “Of wine. I asked you if you wanted red or white.”

  “Oh.” I swallow. “Whichever kind you want.”

  “Okay.” Her voice trails off. “What time do you want me to come over?”

  As I sit on the edge of my bed, I stare at the picture of me and Logan resting on top of our dresser. It was taken the day we got married outside the small little chapel in Missouri. The day plays through my mind, remembering the way the air smelled sweet and the taste of Logan’s kiss after he said ‘I do’.

  I cover my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut. A tears slides out and drips down my cheek, falling on the back of my hand.

  I inhale a deep breath and swipe my hand across my cheek, the warm liquid of my tears soaking into my skin.

  “Whenever you want,” I tell Abby. “The sooner, the better.”

  Fourteen

  Logan

  The dark used to never bother me. Growing up, I lived for summer nights in Boston. The air was warm, and humidity lingered in the air like a thick blanket. When the night was clear, a few clouds in the sky, I could camp out in my small back yard, using the stars as my only source of light.

  But now, after nearly dying at the hands of my wife’s ex-boyfriend and the feeling I had that he returned, I despised the dark. The dark was an infinite space of secrets, hiding the most dangerous to the most vulnerable. I felt exposed. There was a shadow hanging out in the darkness and I didn’t know how to chase it.

  I didn’t have any proof that Julian had found us. It was a mere feeling. My newfound sense of his presence didn’t allow me to argue with Lena when she suggested we change the password. I played it off, telling her it was probably a good idea to change it every now and then anyway.

  Lena and I were still in unknown territory as far as our marriage was concerned. Her behavior hadn’t changed since the night of the dinner. She was still distant, all while pretending everything was fine.

  Three days ago, the day she wanted to change the security code, she’d also told me about her new job. I was thrilled. Thrilled that Lena had found a job where she could thrive. A place where she was appreciated. She had worked hard, fighting tooth and nail to build her business and now it was finally paying off. I guess, in a sense, that was a silver lining. Despite the rockiness of our marriage, it was a slight reassurance to know we were putting down roots in Seattle.

  I’m in the kitchen, adding the finishing touches to one of the dishes that needs to go out when Natalie walks up to me from the other side of the counter. Tonight is the last night of her training to close and my job was to let her take control without interfering. It felt good to be in the kitchen cooking again. It felt like ages since I could be a chef versus a manager. I pass my finished dish to Natalie. I purposefully left out an ingredient, testing her to see if she notices.

  She studies the plate for a moment, twisting her mouth in thought. Her forehead creases as her eyebrows dip. “You forgot the side of pickled radishes.” She passes it back to me, grinning.

  “Great job.” I must hand it to Natalie. Every night this week, she's paid attention and stayed focused. It was a relief. She had shown me another side of her, sharing bits and pieces of her background. I understood her more and began to value having her work with us.

  “Honestly, I didn’t think she’d pull it off,” Paul, one of my line cooks, says glancing over his shoulder as he sears a filet of salmon.

  Natalie rolls her eyes and allows one of our waitresses to deliver the plate to the table. “Sure, laugh it up Paul.”

  Paul shrugs. “Hey, it comes with the territory. It’s a rite of passage around here.” Paul turns back to his filet, carefully placing it down on one of the last plates of the night.

  We’re on the final round of reservations for the night and I’m thankful my last training shift was coming to an end. Although, I wasn’t particularly looking forward to the drive home either. Every night brought on a new sense of paranoia I couldn’t shake. Constant checks through my rearview mirror, switching lanes every few miles. All to ensure I wasn’t being followed. I couldn’t shake the feeling I had the day Natalie and I were at the market. I knew I was being followed, even if I hadn’t seen him.

  The rest of the night passes in a flash. Once all the sections are closed and all the waitstaff and chefs have gone home, Natalie and I finish up the final paperwork in my office. I lean back in Max’s chair as Natalie finishes gathering all the data and inputting it into my computer.

  I’m holding my phone in my hands, switching between my Instagram feed and open conversation with Lena. She hasn’t messaged me since earlier in the day, only telling me she had made payments on some of the bills we owed for the month.

  Lately, our conversations had been much of the same. I scroll through our texts over the last several days, rereading them to see how we’ve changed. There were far less ‘miss yous’ and ‘see you when I get homes’. It was almost as if Lena and I were unwittingly shifted into autopilot mode. Only keeping our text exchanges to the bare minimum.

  My chest sinks and a lump forms in my throat. I swallow around it, struggling to figure out how Lena and I can get back to the way we used to be.

  “Okay,” Natalie says, twisting in her chair. “I compared our sales from last year and our profits are up twelve percent. That’s amazing.”

  “Yeah.” I nod. “Max has worked very hard to build this restaurant and make it what it is today. That’s why we run those reports. Tells us we must be doing something right.” I lean forward, resting my elbow on my knee and point. “Now the key is, how do we make sure that number goes up again next year, on the same day?”

  Natalie leans forward in her seat, mimicking me, resting her elbow on the desk. She’s closer to me now, her knees practically brushing against mine. I instinctively pull back.

  She shrugs one shoulder, staring at me with hooded eyes. The same feeling washes over me, bringing me back to the way she was when she first started. “I’m going to take a guess and say build a strong marketing strategy and improve on our food and service.”

  “Good guess,” I say. I close out my phone and stand. “Well, seems like my work here is done.”

  Natalie grins, turning to head toward her locker as she has every night we’ve closed together. I lock my office and meet her by the front door. She’s removed her chef jacket, wearing a simple tank top. I’m surprised she’s wearing it since the weather has now become cooler at night.

  She waits for me as I lock the front door. I glance over my shoulder as I turn the key. “Did you forget something?”

  “No,” she says, quietly. “I just figured I would wait for you and we could walk to our cars together. The streets are pretty dark this time of night.”

  I look down the street, toward the parking lot located off the side of the building where we’re parked. It isn’t far but Natalie is telling the truth about the lighting. Other than the glowing of the business signs and streetlights, it is quite dark. There aren’t many cars driving at this time of night. Not only are the restaurants closed, it’s also past the time when bars normally close. The street is eerily quiet.

  “S
ure,” I tell her, hoping the drive home won’t take long.

  We begin walking down the sidewalk and I feel the need to fill the silence with small talk. I’m glancing down alleyways and street corners, hoping not to find anyone following us. “Do you feel comfortable closing on your own now?”

  “Yeah," Natalie says, turning her head to face me. She keeps walking, her steps light and slow. “You’re a great mentor.”

  “Nah,” I scoff. “Sometimes I wonder what the hell I’m even doing.”

  “Stop it. You’re an incredible chef. You deserve to be where you are. You shouldn’t question your talent.”

  I smile, feeling my cheeks warm at her compliment. I’m not used to them and it feels foreign. I could be a chef for another forty years and never understand how people could say I’m that good. Like I said, most chefs are quick to brag, I’m not.

  Once we reach our cars, I stop in front of mine, only parked a few spots over from hers.

  I unlock my car, the lights bouncing off the brick wall of the building. “Well, drive safe tonight. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  “Thanks for walking with me.”

  “No problem.” I sigh.

  “Goodnight, Logan.” Natalie smiles, her white teeth reflecting in the shadow of the yellow light hanging over us. I return her smile then turn around to open my car door.

  I have it halfway open when a hand reaches out, stopping me. Natalie’s hand clutches on to the sleeve of my chef jacket, turning me around to face her. Before I have a chance to understand what she’s doing, her mouth is on mine. She pushes me back, pressing her hips against mine. The car door slams shut, and she opens her mouth, attempting to slide her tongue between my pressed lips. I lift my hands, pushing at her shoulders.

  She breaks away from me, stumbling backward. Her back lands against the car behind her.

  “What the fuck was that?” I ask her. The pulse in my neck quickens as the blood drains from my head. I clench my fists, anger brewing inside me.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you wanted me to kiss you.”

  “What in the hell gave you that idea?” I’m yelling. The street and parking lot are silent aside from my booming voice. I can’t help it. This was wrong on so many levels.

  Natalie looks down at the ground, pouting her lips. I feel sick.

  “Well,” she says, her chest moving rapidly. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together and you were clearly flirting with me. I thought you liked me.”

  “You think that I’ve been flirting with you?” I ask, knitting my eyebrows. “I was being nice because you’re new here. I’m fucking married, Natalie. You knew that. Not to mention, I’m your boss.” I point to my chest then wipe the back of my hand across my mouth. Her lipstick is smeared across my lips, the stickiness clinging to me like fresh glue. It tastes like cotton candy. Sickly sweet. I can’t get rid of it.

  I wipe the back of my hand against my pants, hoping it will somehow make it disappear. The gloss disappears but the color remains stained on my skin.

  My teeth grind against each other as I clench my jaw tighter.

  “I don’t understand,” Natalie says. “From what I’ve been able to tell, it doesn’t seem like you’re exactly happy in your marriage.”

  “How on earth would you know I’m not happy in my marriage?”

  Natalie twists her mouth, darting her eyes to the ground. “I could just tell.”

  I take a step backward, my back hitting the side of my car. I point to Natalie. “This was never going to happen, and my marriage is none of your business. From now on, stay away from me and stay away from my wife.” Natalie’s kiss has made me lose all faith in her and her intentions. Here I was, thinking she was a fresh out of college chef, hoping to bolster her career. Instead, she’s been spending her time thinking we had some kind of relationship outside our work.

  Natalie steps forward, her eyes spread wide. “Please don’t fire me over this. It was a misunderstanding.” She shifts her eyes to the side for a brief second, looking down at the ground.

  It doesn’t feel right. Natalie’s leaving a piece of her story out, but I’m too angry to care about her reasons.

  I rub my palms against my eyes, frustrated. They feel swollen and tired. My thoughts are all over the place, a mess of what to do. I lower my hands and stare at Natalie. “I don’t know.” I throw my hands up. “I don’t know how to deal with this right now.” I turn around, opening my car door once again. Her hand stops me, again.

  I jerk my arm back. “Don’t,” I grit out.

  “Please,” she begs, tears lining her eyes. “You really don’t understand. I didn’t expect to fall in love with this job. I need it.”

  I stare into her eyes, more confused than when she had kissed me. “What do you mean you didn’t expect to love it? This is your career.”

  She looks different now. Her face has transformed into a mixture of fear and innocence. I don’t buy it. “Just, please, Logan. Everything I told you about me was true. I can’t lose my job.”

  Anger boils inside me once again. I think about Lena and how it seems as if everything around me is falling apart.

  I steel my face and narrow my eyes, hoping she understands every single word. “You should have thought about that before you kissed me.”

  Natalie’s mouth falls open and she releases a small gasp of air. I don’t stay, jumping in my car, not wanting to give her another chance to stop me.

  I drive all the way home in silence, allowing it to swallow me whole. Guilt ebbs its way in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t ask for Natalie to kiss me and I certainly didn’t want her to. But her kiss also allows me to question every interaction I’ve had with her up to this point. What did I do that gave Natalie the impression that I liked her in any way other than our boss-employee relationship? I think back, nit-picking and scrutinizing every move.

  Had I given Natalie the wrong impression? Maybe I was somehow doing it subconsciously, too distracted by the problems I was having with my marriage.

  But I also think about the immediate regret pooling in her eyes. Natalie was young and just at the beginning of her career. What would make her jeopardize it so easily?

  Fifteen

  Lena

  The time on my phone reads just past two a.m. when I hear Logan walk into the bedroom. His footsteps are soft and muted on the carpet but he may as well be walking in with heavy lead boots pounding on hardwood.

  It’s as if every sound has been amplified, my ears picking up on even the smallest of sounds. Every sway of a tree branch and every creak of the hardwood floors downstairs, I hear. I’ve been lying in bed for the past two hours, staring at the door to the bedroom like I do every night. I lay here, under the blankets, staring at the bedroom door until Logan comes in.

  I always leave the light off, allowing the room to be engrossed in darkness. I lay in bed with my eyes open, Logan never knowing the difference, assuming I was already asleep. He usually crawled into bed after undressing, turning his back toward me and leaving a considerable distance between us. Only then did I feel comfortable closing my own eyes, feeling protected. A part of me felt at peace knowing tonight was the last night he’d be training Natalie.

  But tonight was different than all the nights before. Instead of undressing and climbing into bed, Logan makes a beeline for the bathroom. He shuts the door behind him, followed by a soft clicking of the doorknob. Light filters from underneath the door, pouring across the floor like a cloud of fog. I sit up, clutching the blankets to my chest. My stomach twists with an ache. Without noticing, I lift my hand to my mouth and press my thumbnail between my teeth, biting down. My nail bends under the pressure, my jaw clenching. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. A sign of some sort. An affirmation my worst fear isn’t happening before my eyes.

  I stay on the bed, still clutching on to the blanket and biting down on my nail as if it’s the only thing keeping me anchored to my reality. I’m afraid to move, afraid that if I do, I’ll shatter into a thou
sand pieces. My eyes sting from staring at the light flooding from under the door, tears springing in the corners as I blink. I listen as Logan turns on the shower, the rhythmic sound of the water echoing in the bedroom. A cloud of steam comes through the opening under the door.

  When the water turns off, I wait to hear the shower door opening before lying back down, burying myself under the blanket again. Logan turns off the bathroom light before he comes back into the bedroom.

  This time I’m facing the window, watching the tree branches sway with the breeze, their shadows dancing across the glass.

  The blanket shifts behind me and the mattress dips as Logan slides under the covers. I hold my breath, waiting to see what he does. I can tell he’s lying on his back because his arm is resting behind me. Goose bumps form along my spine, feeling his touch ghosting along my skin. My heart races and my back engulfs into flames. His heat radiates around me, the tension growing in the air. He doesn’t know I’m awake. I make sure to stay still. Mostly because I don’t want him to know I’m awake, but the other reason digs deep in my soul, tearing at my heart and pulling it apart. It’s the closest we’ve been these last few days and I’m afraid if I move, he’ll retreat.

  His slow breaths hang above us like heavy weights. I press my lips together and close my eyes, willing the tears not to spill. He’s so close, his arm nearly touching my skin, but I’ve never felt him as far away as he is now.

  I begin drifting away, the weight of sleep taking me over. But just before the sounds begin to silence and my mind shuts off, I hear Logan’s voice for the first time tonight.

  “I love you, Len.” His voice is a faint whisper and if I hadn’t been lying so still and teetering on the edge of sleep, I wouldn’t have heard him. “Goodnight,” he adds.

  I swallow as he shifts behind me, turning the opposite way, my back growing cold from his absence.