by Franca Storm
I hear the shuffle of his clothes as he gets to his feet, followed by heavy footsteps pounding across the floor.
And then the door slams.
He’s gone.
That’s when I lose it.
I can’t stop it and I’m glad no one’s here to see it.
I break down, sobbing uncontrollably.
Chapter 16
~Daniel~
“Dan, you okay?” J calls as he rushes out onto the balcony. I’m standing with a smoke in one hand and a bottle of Jack in the other.
“Been better,” I answer.
“I saw the fucking footage. I’m sorry, man.”
“It’s all over the damn news, because of her.”
“Alexis?”
“Yeah, my fucking manipulative bitch of a mom.”
“Why the hell did she do this?”
“Why else? She wanted to see what Em looked like. You know what she gets like when she’s desperate. Fuck, the last time she was desperate for something, it was me settling down and churning out her damn grandkids. And voila, along came Isabella,” I mutter bitterly.
“I’m sorry, Dan.” He looks back into the apartment and then back at me, confusion blanketing his face. “Where’s Emma?”
“Hotel.”
He blinks in surprise. “I thought that was just a decoy for the press? I figured you’d made it look like you guys were gonna stay there and then you’d snuck her out the back door and brought her here.”
“Nope,” I say, taking another large swig from my bottle.
I watch him scrutinize me for a few seconds. “Are you drunk?”
“Not yet.”
“What’s going on? Something happen with Emma?”
“Yeah,” I say, taking an uneasy step back. Okay, maybe I am drunk then. “I told her I loved her.”
“And?” he asks. The bastard doesn’t seem to be shocked at all.
“I thought you’d have more of a reaction than that.”
He shrugs his shoulders. “It was pretty damn obvious to me how you already felt about her.”
“Well, it wasn’t obvious to me. I blurted it out and then freaked the fuck out. And now she’s pissed at me.”
“It’s only been a few hours. Give her some time, Dan.”
I nod and take another swig from the bottle. “Yeah.”
“Is she gonna be okay in the hotel? You know, given how she is?”
“Yeah. I paid off the manager and told him to make sure the staff accommodates her.”
He smiles. “Good. Good.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. “You really like her, don’t you?”
“She’s what you need, Dan.”
He’s spot on as usual. “Yeah, I know she is.”
This fight of ours has only been lingering for a few hours and already I’m sick with it. I hate that there is bad blood between us right now. I can’t get it out of my head. It’s a bitter pill to swallow. I know I need to take a step back, to give her some time, but it’s killing me. I just want her here now.
Hell, a few more drinks and I’ll be numb enough to put it out of my mind for a while. Maybe by then she’ll return my damn texts.
Christ, this woman owns me. Mind, body and soul.
I’m no longer just falling. I’ve fallen. Big time.
Chapter 17
~Emma~
I sigh with exasperation as I hear my phone vibrating yet again. It’s been the same for the last two days. Text after text after damn text. Every couple of hours. He completely ignored my text telling him to leave me alone. It’s times like this where his dominating, controlling streak really gets to me.
Babe, please talk to me.
I roll my eyes at it. Doesn’t he work? Or does he just pay people to work for him? How can someone send this many texts in a workday? My God.
I scroll down to the other four I’ve received already today, despite the fact that it’s barely even noon yet:
I’m sorry.
I was a complete dick. Forgive me, angel.
I miss you.
I handled it badly. Let me explain.
Shit. It’s hurting me to read his texts, seeing how desperate he is for us to resolve things. And it kills me that I just can’t bring myself to do it.
Because, over the last two days, while I’ve actually had time to think, it’s become clear to me what I need to do.
I have to end it.
I have to walk away.
What happened the other night was a major wakeup call.
I thought he and I lived in the same world. I thought we could make this work.
But now I see that I was wrong. So very wrong.
The paparazzi. The papers. His overbearing, manipulative mother. The fact that he’s recognized wherever the hell he goes. It’s all too much. It would be too much for someone normal, let alone for someone with my issues.
And he clearly has some demons himself, centering around the mysterious Isabella. He has a tendency to shut down suddenly without any warning. He does it a lot. He won’t talk to me. He won’t let me in. Instead, he keeps me at a distance, refusing to allow me any closer. What is he afraid of?
He told me he loves me, yeah. But the way he went about it was all wrong. He’d blurted it out in a fit of anger, like it was something he could only express under some sort of duress. That said it all. He’s not ready.
Also, everything is on his terms. He wants me to be submissive to him. To all of it. Sometimes I allow it, but not with everything. He’s not the only one who needs control. There has to be some give. But there isn’t. He won’t let go of whatever he’s holding onto. Whatever’s keeping him at a distance.
I knew it right away. That first day he’d come to my house, I knew something like this would happen. I knew that, no matter what, it would all fall apart. I should have stuck to my guns. We should never have started something up. Now I’m in so deep that I’m not going to be able to pull myself out of it without getting severely burned.
Every time I think about doing it, a painful ache in my chest stops me.
I keep second-guessing myself. But am I wrong here? Am I just battling the after-effects of the massive freak out I had the other night during the paparazzi incident? Is it clouding my judgment when it comes to him?
Shit. I’m not sure.
I hear a knock on the door. I hear the familiar sounds I’ve heard several times a day since I’ve been staying here in this hotel. Two light raps and then the sound of a tray being placed on the floor. It’s room service again. I’ve become used to it over the last couple of days. They knock, drop the tray and leave. I wonder how this happened. Don’t they usually wait there and come on in with the tray?
Oh well. I’m more than a little relieved that they’re doing it this way. The idea of answering the door to a different stranger every time I order a meal is too much for me to handle. It’s bad enough trying to psych myself up to call them with my order. The first couple of times, I hung up and they called right back. I pulled the plug out of the phone and stood there for God knows how long, before I stopped shaking.
I want to go home more than anything. But Jason’s guys are working on my roof. It would be worse than here with them all traipsing through my house. There would be so many strangers there passing through, gawking at me and making some sort of small talk.
I lift my laptop off my lap and haul myself out of the armchair. I cross to the door. I peer through the peephole to make sure the room service person has really gone and that there isn’t anyone else walking down the hall. Satisfied that the way is clear, I reach for the tray and quickly pull it inside, pushing the door closed with my foot. Phew. It’s okay. It’s over.
I carry the tray to the end table in the corner where I’ve been sitting and working on my manuscript. I set it down and lift off the silver lid to take a look at the tuna sandwich I ordered.
I don’t know what it is, but my stomach lurches.
Oh shit.
I’m gonna throw up.
Hastily covering the plate, I bolt across the room into the bathroom. I just barely manage to lift the toilet seat before I hurl, spilling my guts violently.
When the awful lurching finally subsides, I flush the toilet and get to my feet.
I’ve been feeling oddly nauseous all morning, so I know it’s not just the sandwich. I think it was just the catalyst. I blow out a soothing breath. I hate throwing up, but at least I no longer have that awful unsettling feeling in my stomach now.
I’m probably just stressed out. I just need to try to relax. No more thinking about Dan. I need to put him out of my head for a while. Although, I know it won’t be that easy. Even when I’m absorbed in my writing, he’s on my mind. I’m exhausted—physically and mentally. I need to sleep. At least that will give me a reprieve from thinking about him.
Yeah, sleep. I’ll feel better after I’ve rested.
Chapter 18
~Daniel~
“I’ll send someone around to assess the damage right away. Of course. You’re welcome, Frank.”
I tap my ear-piece, ending the call.
“Shit,” I mutter. I cross to my desk and tap the speaker phone, paging my assistant, Alison. It goes straight to voicemail. Glancing at the clock, I realize why. It’s already lunch time. Wow, where has the day gone? It’s been one thing after the other. One of the town residents called me about receiving a buyout offer from a condo developer on their home, which is a town landmark. Hell, if that’s going to happen. I’ll deal with that damn developer. On top of that, the post office is concerned about their new lease agreement. And then, to top it off, I just received a report about some vandalism down at Harlson Inn & Bar. Fuck me. The day is nowhere close to being over yet.
It doesn’t help that I’m not in the best of moods.
I still haven’t heard back from Em. It’s been over a week now.
She has no idea how much restraint it’s taken for me to not head down to that fucking hotel and bust my way in there to see her. At least J has been keeping me updated, so I know she’s okay. He’s been texting with her about the work he’s doing on her roof. He’ll be done in a couple of days. On some twisted level it bothers me that she’s texting with him and not me.
Why won’t she answer my texts? Argh! It’s making me crazy! I don’t like having things hanging like this.
Fuck. I want her with me. Now.
If I’d just handled my shit after I’d blurted out those words to her, we wouldn’t be in this mess now.
As soon as I’d said it, memories of me saying the same damn thing to Isabella years ago had assaulted me. I couldn’t cast it out. It’d overwhelmed me. It’d scared the shit out of me.
Admitting that I love Em had made me so damn vulnerable. The last time I’d been in such a powerless position was with Isabella. And it had almost destroyed me.
I need to find a way to deal with these demons. I can’t hold onto it any longer. Not if I want to be with Em. It’s not even a question anymore. I fucking want her. All of her. Everything.
I love her.
Jesus Christ. I have to tell her about Isabella. Everything. All of it.
Now. I have to tell her now.
Fuck this waiting shit.
***
After taking a nice, long nap and a hot shower I feel a hell of a lot better. I breathe a peaceful sigh as I pull on the hotel bathrobe. God, this has to be the softest robe I’ve ever had wrapped around me. Oh, no, the second softest. Dan’s was the best. Argh. Stop thinking about him.
As I step out of the bathroom, ready to fire up a smoke, a sudden knock at the door startles me. I know it’s not room service, because I haven’t ordered anything.
It sounds again, this time more aggressive. Shit, who the hell is it?
“Dan?” I call out hesitantly, as I approach the door.
There’s no answer.
I watch in horror as the doorknob starts to turn slowly. Oh my God!
“Dan?” I call again.
No answer.
The doorknob jerks violently and then I hear the frightful sound of something snapping, or cracking.
A second later, the door flies open.
“Fuck,” I gasp in complete shock, as he comes striding in.
My ex. Bryan.
“Not your best greeting, lover,” he says as he aggressively kicks the door shut.
“Bryan,” I rasp. I step back slowly as he glares at me. “What are you doing here?”
“I saw you all over the news. With him! With that millionaire playboy!” he spits out.
God, he’s in such a state. He’s wearing that awful rugby jersey I always used to hate. It’s even more worn now and sporting several holes. His sweatpants are tucked into a pair of steel-toe boots. I can smell the stale stench of alcohol on him from here. His once short dirty-blonde hair has now grown out into an unruly, shaggy mess that’s drenched in grease. His dark brown eyes are glazed over and as empty as ever. But the most shocking thing is the ugly scar on his left cheek, extending from just below his eye, all the way to his jawline. The scar that I put there.
I locate my phone in my peripheral vision. Without taking my eyes off Bryan, I slowly back away towards it. “That’s none of your business,” I tell him, summoning every ounce of calm at my disposal.
“Is that why you really left? To whore yourself out to that fucking rich guy?” he seethes, approaching me slowly.
His words spark something within me and a fierce rage transcends the fear that was crippling me at the sight of him standing in my hotel suite after all these months. How dare he come here? After what he did, he should be begging for my forgiveness, not berating me.
Always berating me. I’m so sick of allowing people to do that.
Until Dan, I’d always assumed that I’d deserved it, because of the way I am with my issues. But through treating me the way he has, Dan’s shown me that’s not the case. It’s them. Assholes like Bryan.
“You son of a bitch. Get the fuck out of my room!” I thunder.
He flinches at my tone, clearly not expecting such ferocity from me. Well, there’s much more where that came from.
He steps closer. “Oh, I will, Emma. After I extend you the same courtesy as you did to me,” he says, gesturing to the scar on his cheek.
I watch in horror as he lifts the right leg of his sweat pants to reveal a knife holstered at his ankle. He rips it out and grins maliciously. Holy shit. Things just became far too risky with the knife. I can’t handle this on my own now. Basic self-defense, sure. But a blade? The odds aren’t looking good.
I lunge for my phone, snatching it off the table.
But before I can even unlock the damned thing, Bryan is on me, driving me into the wall.
He wrestles me into submission. His left hand wraps around my neck, making me gag. His legs push into mine, so I can’t kick my way free.
“Once I’m done with you, he won’t want you. No one will. Then you’ll really belong in the dark.”
“No!” I scream, bucking against him frantically. “Don’t do this, Bryan! Think about it for a second. Think about what you’re doing.”
“What I’m doing?” he snarls. “Do you know what it’s like living with this scar? Do you know how difficult it is for me to get pussy now? The way people look at me? Do you know what it’s like waking up with this thing on my face every fucking day?”
“You were going to kill me! I had to stop you!”
“After I mark you, you’ll be begging me to kill you,” he says, holding the knife out in front of me, his eyes lighting up with satisfaction as he sees the fear in my eyes.
A loud thud startles both of us. I hear footsteps thundering quickly towards us.
Caught off guard, Bryan steps back and turns…right into a powerful fist.
It smacks into his face, the power behind it, knocking him to his knees. As he falls, my view is clear again and I can see behind him.
Dan.
He’s standing there, glaring down
at Bryan.
“Dan,” I choke out in relief.
His eyes are full of concern as his gaze snaps to mine. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” he blurts out in an anxious rush.
I shake my head. “I’m good.”
He smiles with relief and then he turns from me and stalks over to Bryan. He fists his hand in Bryan’s jersey and hauls him to his feet with one hand. I’m stunned, because Bryan is a big guy—pushing six-feet and well over two hundred pounds. But as I watch Dan slam him into the wall, I see that he towers over Bryan. He smashes his fist into Bryan’s stomach and the asshole groans in pain as he doubles over against the wall.
Dan steps back slightly and stands there calmly, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, before then removing his tie and tossing it on the floor. His eyes don’t leave Bryan’s as he calls to me, “Angel, turn around, please.”
I shake my head. “Dan, no.”
“Turn around. You don’t need to see this,” he says, a little firmer this time.
Shit. I know him too well to think that he’ll actually back down. I’ve seen that determined, stubborn look in his eyes before. I reluctantly turn around and brace myself.
I hear a bone-chilling crack followed by a howl of pain from Bryan.
“You fucking piece of shit! You put your hands on my girlfriend?” Dan roars. “Threatened her? Terrified her? You’re about to know terror, motherfucker!”
Another sharp crack. A shrill scream.
“Did it make you feel like a man, putting your hands on her? Marking her skin? Did it?”
A loud crash makes me jump.
“Fuck, I wish this was a glass table, then you could feel exactly what she did that night, asshole! You didn’t even think twice, did you? You used her issues against her, manipulated her. You knew she wouldn’t be able to put you away, knew she couldn’t walk into that cop shop! Answer me!”
“Yes!” Bryan screams. “Yes, I knew!”
A series of rapid thuds fill my ears. Punches?
“I’m here now, you sick fuck!” Dan thunders. “I’ll make damned sure you rot in a fucking cell!”
I can hear Bryan wheezing and whimpering. It sounds like his ribs are broken. If Dan keeps this up, he’s going to kill him. I spin around and see Bryan sprawled out on the floor in a wreckage of what used to be a coffee table. Dan is standing over him. Both his hands are bloodied. There are splatters on his shirt. And his eyes…they’re black.
