I hang up the phone and put my head between my legs. But it doesn’t help. My stomach retches and I quickly raise the lid of the toilet and lose my dinner.
My phone starts ringing. It’s Denver.
I wash my mouth out with a drink from the faucet and then answer.
“I’m going upstairs to confront him.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says.
“What would you have me do, Denver? Run away without my purse or my passport? They’re both upstairs in his room.”
“Shit.”
I can almost hear Denver thinking.
“Leave anyway,” he says. “Go to the police station. I’m sure they can help you retrieve your belongings.”
I look down at my bare feet. “I don’t even have shoes on. And I need answers,” I tell him. “You have no idea what’s going through my head right now. I have to know.”
“Sara—”
“I have to know, Denver.”
“Fuck!” he shouts, and I hear the sound of something hitting a wall. “Then take me with you. Leave me on the call, that way I can at least know if you’re in danger.”
“You think he’s dangerous?” I ask, horrified at the situation. “Oh, my God. Do you think he had something to do with my accident?”
“No. The report says it was a blown tire. There was no evidence of tampering. And I had my friend run a background check on him. He has a misdemeanor for some forged checks, but no history of violence that we know about. Still, you can’t be sure what he’ll do. Look at the lengths he’s gone to.”
“So, we didn’t live together?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“Nope. Oliver has lived in Brooklyn for the past four years. His landlord says Oliver has been trying to sub-lease his apartment for the past month. He said he was living there until mid-June, when he moved out some of his belongings and most of his clothes.”
“Mid-June.” My stomach turns again. “Oh, God, Denver. He’s been playing me this whole time. We broke up. I never agreed to marry him. As far as I know, he never even asked me. Why is he doing this?”
“My best guess is money,” he says. “Or maybe revenge. That’s why you have to be careful. In fact, I think you and Anna were on your way to see him when you had the accident.”
“What? But he was out of the country,” I say.
“Apparently not. There are some text messages between you and Anna. It looks like she found out that he was selling knock-offs of her paintings as well. She texted you to warn you about what he was doing. You told her about Benny, and you wanted to go to the police, but she talked you out of it. She was going to pick you up so you could confront him.”
My head slumps forward and my chin falls to my chest. “So he was never out of town after all? And he only showed up at the hospital after you told him I lost my memory. Oh, God, Denver. It all makes sense now.”
There’s a knock on the door. “Everything okay, hun?”
“He’s at the door,” I whisper into the phone.
“Stall,” Denver tells me.
“Just a minute!”
“You’re in a bathroom, right? Look through the medicine cabinets, see if there’s anything you could use as a weapon, just in case. Scissors. A sharp nail file. A razor, even.”
I look through some drawers and find a pair of shears. “I have something.”
“Good, put it in your pocket. Then put the phone in the other, but don’t hang up.”
“Okay.”
“Sara … be careful.”
I put the phone away and hesitantly open the bathroom door.
Chapter Twenty-nine
I push past Oliver and storm up the stairs to his room.
“What is it?” he asks, shutting the door behind him. “You’ve been crying. It’s okay if you’re not ready, luv.”
I take my engagement ring off and throw it at him. “You’re a liar.” I pace around next to the bed. “You’re a liar and a cheat and a thief.”
His face goes ashen. He rubs the back of his neck as he falls into a chair in the corner of the room. He shakes his head sadly and then looks up at me. He doesn’t look mad as I expected. He looks … scared.
“You got your memory back?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. They found my phone at the accident scene. The phone that still had the last text conversation between you and me.”
He runs his hands through his hair. “Fuck.”
“Is that all you have to say?” I ask, fuming.
“Let me explain.”
“Let you explain what? How we aren’t really engaged? How we don’t even live together? How you were fucking Anna and didn’t even shed a tear when she died? How you’re even in my life after I broke up with you? How you were never out of town but only bothered to show up at the hospital when you knew I’d lost my memory? Is this all some grand scheme to get revenge because I told Benny about the paintings?”
He scrubs a hand across his jaw. I can tell he’s scrambling for something to say. Something that won’t make him out to be the scum that he is.
“I just got off the phone with Benny,” I say. “He told me about your little deal.”
“I had no choice,” he says. “He was going to tell the police.”
I motion a finger between us. “And what about us? You had a choice there. Why have you been lying to me?” I laugh a disheartened laugh. “Do I even like cooking, Oliver? Or was that just another way to manipulate me? And why did I never meet your parents or your sister even though we came here often? Was it because we were just fuck buddies and not a real couple?”
“Damn it, Sara,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why did they have to find the bloody phone? Everything was perfect.”
“Perfect for who?”
“For us,” he says.
“You mean perfect for you,” I bite. “You were after my money, right?”
He still doesn’t look angry. He looks sad.
“The jig is up,” I say. “You might as well tell me everything, Oliver.”
He reaches out for me but I pull away. “Come on, Sara. I know you have feelings for me.”
“Feelings that were based on a lie,” I say. “How could you do that to me? I was hurt. I was comatose. I lost so much in that accident. How could you sit there and pretend we were in love when you knew I despised you for what you’d done?” I think about what we were about to do tonight. “You were going to let me sleep with you tonight. What kind of monster would do that?”
“I’m not a monster, Sara. It may have started off as revenge, but then I saw how much you changed. You weren’t the same person you were before the accident. I found myself liking the person you had become, and more, I liked myself when I was with you. And the hatred I felt for you soon turned into something else.” He stands up and crosses the room, reaching for me once again. “I’m in love with you, Sara. Can’t you see that? We’re good together.”
I slap his hand away. “Don’t touch me. Everything you feel is based on a lie.”
“Does it matter how we got here?” he asks. “You were going to sleep with me, Sara. In your world, you only met me a few months ago. You have feelings for me. You might even love me.”
“Love you?” I yell. “Oliver, do you know how many times I had to talk myself into letting you kiss me? Letting you touch me? I kept telling myself I was being ridiculous. That you were my fiancé and I needed to give it a chance. But deep down, I knew something wasn’t right. I should have listened to my gut. I should have followed my instincts when every time you touched me, I thought about—”
Suddenly, I remember who’s listening to this entire conversation.
“You thought about what?” Oliver asks. “You thought about him? Denver? That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? He’s been feeding you lies. I knew that motherfucker wanted you from the start.”
“Denver has been nothing but gracious and helpful. He’s encouraged me to be with you.”
Ol
iver laughs. “I’ll bet my right arm he’s the one who told you about the phone. Is that what you were doing down in the bathroom? Was he reading you our texts? And you believe him?”
“He showed them to me, Oliver. Of course I believe him. He has no reason to lie to me.”
“The hell he doesn’t. He wants to fuck you, Sara.”
Visions of our forbidden kisses flash through my mind. “He’s with Nora.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
I nod. “Right. Because in your world, it’s okay to cheat.”
“In your world, too, luv.”
“Don’t ever call me that again,” I say through gritted teeth. I walk to the closet and get out my suitcase, opening it on the bed. Then I pull an entire drawer from the dresser and dump out my clothes. “I don’t live in that world anymore.”
“You’re going back there for him?” he asks. “He’s no better than me, you know. Are you really willing to be his slut while he’s with another woman?” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Sara. Please stay. Give it another chance. No more lies, I promise.”
“I’m not going to be anyone’s slut. Least of all yours.” I rip my clothes off the hangers in the closet and throw them into my suitcase. Then I slip on my shoes, grab my purse, and head for the door, pulling my suitcase behind me. Before I walk out, I look back at him. He looks like a broken man. His eyes are filled with tears, making me wonder if what he said is true. Did he really fall in love with me? I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.
“If you try to contact me again, I’ll call the police and tell them everything. I’m quite sure you’ve broken some laws by deceiving me, not to mention the ones you broke with the paintings. I’ll have your stuff sent to your real apartment. You’ll have nothing to do with me, professionally or otherwise. Is that clear?”
“Sara …”
“Is that clear, Oliver?”
He backs up and sits on the bed, nodding over and over.
“I’m so sorry, Sara.”
Those are the last words I hear him say as I walk out of the room and race down the stairs. I don’t bother saying anything to his parents. What is there to say? They were just another part of his lies. And despite the fact that Oliver is a conniving bastard, his parents couldn’t have been nicer to me. I don’t want to hurt them. I’m sure he’ll do what he does best and make up more lies to explain my departure.
I walk to the corner and hail a taxi. Then I sit in the back seat and cry. Not only have I lost the past three years, but now, the past three months. I’m not even sure who I am anymore.
I hear a muffled voice and remember the call. I pull my phone out of my pocket. “Denver—I’m sorry, I forgot you were there.”
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
“What can I do?”
“I’m not sure there’s anything anyone can do.”
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “You didn’t deserve any of this.”
“Are you sure about that?” I ask. “I’m no better than he is, Denver. I was a lying cheat myself. I was sleeping with Benny when I was with Oliver. And Oliver and I were just using each other. Who knows what else I was doing. I was a horrible, horrible person.”
“That’s not you anymore, Sara.”
Hot tears roll down my cheeks. “That’s the problem. I don’t know who I am. Listen, I have to go. I’m headed to the airport.”
“Text me your flight details when you know them.”
“Okay. Bye, Denver.”
I don’t text him as promised. But I do buy a first-class ticket and then drink myself into a stupor, hoping I can sleep without dreaming. Without dreaming of deceitful pasts and fake futures. Without dreaming of grey eyes staring into those of another woman.
Chapter Thirty
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry when I see Denver waiting for me on the other side of customs. Our eyes lock, and all the reasons I had for not telling him my flight details just fade away.
I think about how he saved me—again. He saved me from sleeping with Oliver. He saved me from a future full of lies and deceit.
I’m exhausted from the flight. From the second time change in two days. From trying to wrap my head around everything.
And when he walks up to me, I fall into his arms. He doesn’t say a word. He just holds me. I don’t say a word. I just let him. I’ve never felt as safe as when I’m in his arms. I don’t want to let go.
But then I open my eyes and see all the people around us, reminding me of where we are.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “How did you know what flight I’d taken?”
“Based on the airline listed on the original itinerary you gave me before you left, I looked up all the flights from London to New York and picked the most plausible one.”
I smile at the thought of the lengths he’s gone to in order to help me. Not just now, but since day one. And I didn’t realize how much I needed to see him until I saw him waiting for me.
He grabs my suitcase. “Come on, you must be tired. Did you get any sleep on the plane?”
“A little.”
I don’t tell him that every time I fell asleep, I had awful dreams. Dreams of my life with Oliver. Dreams of Denver’s life with Nora. Dreams of the person I’m finding out I used to be.
We get into the back of a cab and then he hands me a phone. My old beat-up phone, presumably. “I figured you’d want this,” he says.
I look at it hesitantly before taking it from him.
“How much did you go through?” I ask.
“Enough to find out what Oliver had been doing.”
I look out the window at the skyline, mortified that Denver knows the kind of person I was before. And I know enough to know it was the kind of person Denver Andrews wouldn’t be caught dead with.
I turn on the phone and scroll through my pictures and texts, piecing together the last few years of my life. It takes me less than five minutes to be so disgusted with what I discover that I toss the phone onto the seat between us.
He puts a gentle hand on my arm. “You’re not the person you were before, Sara. You have to remember that. You can press charges, you know. What he did to you—deceiving you like that, moving into your apartment without your permission—he can go to jail for those things. Not to mention what he did with the paintings.”
I wipe a finger underneath my wet eyes. “For months, I’ve wanted nothing more than to remember who I was. But now … I just want to forget.” I look back out the window, staring at the other cars as they race by. “I knew I wasn’t the best or the nicest person in the world, but I never imagined it would be this bad. The way I treated people, Denver—it’s unforgivable.”
“It’s not that bad, Sara. So you were a bitch. So what? Lots of people are.”
“And a liar and a cheat,” I say. “I’m no better than Oliver. Maybe we deserve each other.”
Denver grabs my hand and holds it in his. “Stop it. You’re different now. The past is the past.”
I shake my head. “He was sleeping with Anna,” I say. “You know that as well as I do. You read the texts yourself. Anna—as in the girl who died in the accident. I knew he was sleeping with her, and apparently I didn’t care that much because I was with her that day. I know we were on our way to confront him with what he’d done. But still, based on the texts, it seemed like we were friends.” I cringe at the word, because based on the tone of my texts, I couldn’t have had any true friends. “Did I think so little of myself that I could turn the other cheek when he was cheating on me? Did I think so little of him that I thought it was okay to sleep with Benny?”
Denver rubs his thumb across my knuckles as he holds my hand. It’s a rhythmic motion that calms me. He doesn’t say anything else. I’m not sure there is anything he can say. I was who I was, and nothing he says can change it.
The cab pulls up to my building and I look up at it, thinking of how it’s just another reminder of a past I don’t want. “Wi
ll you help me get rid of his things? I know it’s a lot to ask.”
“Of course,” he says. “It’s not a lot to ask. I’m happy to help.” He motions across the street. “There’s a UPS store. Why don’t I get some boxes and meet you upstairs?”
When I walk into my apartment, I leave the door open for Denver. Then I look around and realize I have no idea what is Oliver’s and what is mine. I step into my studio and run my hand along the edge of my parents’ old door. This is the only room that truly feels like it belongs to me.
I sink down to the floor and put my head into my hands, wondering how I got here. After a few minutes of self-loathing, I look up at one of my paintings. It’s one of my mom and dad. “I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment,” I say. “I know you wanted better of me. I know you expected better of me.”
“Who are you talking to?” Denver asks from the living room.
I quickly get up and wipe my eyes before I join him. “No one.”
He’s got a dozen boxes under his arm. “Where should we start?” he asks. “His clothes?”
I shake my head. “No. We’ll start with my clothes.”
“Your clothes?”
He draws his brows at me.
“I realized when I walked into the apartment that I don’t know what’s his and what’s mine. The only things I know for sure that are mine is my studio and my clothes. I don’t want anything else. Even if we get rid of what we think was his, it won’t change the fact that I still don’t know this place. I hate it here, Denver.” I pick up the gold-rimmed wine glass that Oliver said was my favorite. I throw it against the wall, smashing it to pieces. “This place is everything I’m not. It’s part of a past I don’t want. Is that stupid of me? To want to leave everything behind and start fresh?”
He kicks a shard of glass out of the way. Then he smiles at me. He smiles at me and somehow, I know everything will be okay.
“It’s not stupid at all, Sara. Let’s get started,” he says, putting together one of the boxes.
I nod back to my studio. “There’s too much for the two of us to move,” I say.
“Let me take care of that,” he says. “We can go ahead and get your things packed, but we’ll just take the essentials for now.”
The Men On Fire: A Complete Romance Series (3-Book Box Set) Page 53
