Good lord, did I have a death wish?
“What are you doing here?” Again—I should have been dialing the police or running away or hiding. Instead, I was asking inane questions and allowing him space in my new life that had been constructed around the entire idea that he didn’t belong in it.
He ignored my question. The answer was obvious. “I thought something happened to you. I called the cops. I filed a missing person’s report. I didn’t know where the fuck you went, Vera. You just up and left. Who does that? Who just fucking leaves like that?”
“I—”
“Shut up,” he snarled. “You made me look like an asshole. Everyone wanted to know where you went and I had nothing to fucking say because I didn’t fucking know.”
His eyes burned, pinning me in place with the intensity behind them. But it was nothing like Killian’s, it wasn’t the slow, delicious burn that licked its way up my legs and swarmed in my belly. No, Derrek’s was nothing but searing fire that wanted to scorch me to ash, blaze through me until I was nothing but dust.
I tried to swallow but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even breathe. Panic welled up inside me like an overflowing dam, spilling over my brittle walls of protection in a rush of total destruction.
His voice dropped, gentled. His gaze softened too. He stopped being the terrifying avenger and transformed into the master manipulator. “You could have told me you were unhappy, Vera. You could have talked to me. I would have listened. I would have changed. For you. If you would have just talked to me first, we could have figured everything out. I could have made everything better. For you.”
“How did you figure out I wasn’t missing?” I hadn’t intentionally misled him to believe that something had happened to me. But I also hadn’t done a whole lot to reassure him I was fine. When I said I just left, I meant it.
He went to work one day, and I packed up all that I could, took him off the one bank account I had and disappeared. I ran like the hounds of hell were chasing me.
And I didn’t stop running until Dad had called with the cancer news.
“Your dad returned my hundreds of calls. Apparently, you had enough time to let him know where you were going. He said you needed to ‘find yourself.’” He stepped closer to the window, wrapping his fingers around the ledge. I flinched at the sight of them, at the restrained strength that lay temporarily dormant inside them.
“I’m sorry I made you worry,” I told him honestly. “I didn’t mean for you to get the cops involved. I should have left a note.”
His lip curled. “You think I care about that now? I was worried about you! Of course I called the cops. I loved you, Vera. I would have done whatever it took to keep you. I would have changed. I would have bent over backward to make you happy. But you didn’t give me a chance. You didn’t even involve me in the conversation.” He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. Then he added, “How could you just leave like that? How could you walk away from everything we had without saying goodbye?”
The night was hot as hell, but my fingers were ice cold. I took another step back. I needed to close for the night. I needed to lock the windows and turn off the lights and curl up on the floor until he went away.
A sob caught in my throat and I started blinking rapidly to hold back the tears. What if he didn’t go away?
What if he didn’t leave?
He sounded so nice. He was the penitent boyfriend, heartbroken by the girl he thought he was going to spend the rest of his life with. But oh, how his selective memory could play tricks on us both.
He didn’t remember all the yelling, all the name-calling. He couldn’t recall the time he slapped me. Or yanked me to the ground by my hair. He didn’t remember the bruises on my arms I had to hide. Or the time he’d thrown a plate at me because he didn’t like something I’d made. He didn’t remember the days I spent walking on eggshells just to keep the peace or the nights spent curled in the fetal position trying not to shake the bed with my frightened sobs.
He only remembered what he wanted to. And he was going to use that idyllic history to paint a picture of our relationship that never existed. He’d done it a hundred times before.
The problem previously was that I always bought into the illusion. Everyone was flawed. He would try to change for me. He loved me. He didn’t hit me that hard, I just bruised really easily. I should know better than to talk back to him by now. I shouldn’t have made him so angry.
I should have kept my mouth shut.
I should have worn the dress he liked. Or made the food he wanted. Or remembered to record the show he’d asked me to.
It was always my fault. He always hurt me because of something I did. He didn’t want to. He never wanted to hurt me. But sometimes I pushed him too far.
God, what a sick game.
I knew better now. At least my head did. I’d spent the last year analyzing everything I did wrong. And then every single thing he did wrong. I forced myself to relive traumatizing memories so I could guard myself against it happening again.
But my heart hadn’t seemed to learn the lesson. Not that I still loved Derrek. I hadn’t loved him in a very long time. But I couldn’t stop from reacting when he laid on the guilt like this.
My instinctual reaction was to apologize. To him. For leaving him. See? This was why I couldn’t trust myself in a new relationship. I didn’t know how to stand up for myself. I didn’t know how to be anything but a doormat.
And if it hadn’t been for the past couple of months, I probably would have. But Killian had been good for something. He’d taught me how to fight. He’d taught me how to stand up for myself.
He hadn’t meant to teach me this particular lesson, but he’d done it without demeaning me, without stripping me of dignity and self-worth.
If anything, Killian had helped me restore some of my confidence; he’d helped me find myself again.
And it was for that reason alone, I held Derrek’s apologetic gaze and whispered as bravely as I could, “Do you really not know why I left you?”
A line of customers formed while he stood in front of me, wielding his sick magic. A few people had wandered out of Greenlight, the nearest bar. They laughed and chatted and didn’t notice that I was crumbling to pieces right in front of them.
I was immediately embarrassed, ashamed, afraid they could look at the two of us and know exactly how I gave him permission to abuse me. It was crazy and they kept their distance, but I just wanted Derrek gone. I never wanted to see him again, let alone have this conversation publically.
His eyes flashed with hurt like I’d wounded him. “I really don’t know, Vera. You were it for me. You were everything. And then you just disappeared. How can I move on when I don’t even know what happened?”
“I can’t do this right now,” I told him. “I’m working.” To the crowd, I said, “I’m sorry. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Two people at the back of the line wandered off, not interested in waiting around while I sorted out my relationship drama. Another guy threw his hands in the air, frustrated with the wait.
“Derrek, you have to go. I have a restaurant to run.”
“That’s another thing. This isn’t a restaurant. This is a trailer. You belong in a kitchen. You belong in one of the best kitchens. You’re too damn talented for food like this.”
I ignored his words, letting them bounce off me with little impact. At least for now. Later, when I was safely tucked in my bed with all the doors locked, I could fully absorb them. “Derrek, you need to leave. I mean it.”
“You don’t need this place, Vera. You probably haven’t heard. Telltale Heart launched. It’s getting great reviews. There has been some national buzz about it. About me. It’s everything we wanted. You belong in Charlotte with me. By my side.”
Fire seared through me, sparked by the original argument. I was good enough for a girlfriend, but not an employee. Not that I even wanted to work for him. But it was the principle. “By your side, but not in your
kitchen?”
“What do you mean by that? Vera, God, I need you. Don’t you hear what I’m saying? I need you with me. In my life, however I can have you. If that’s in the kitchen, then fine. But just come home.”
His words were like daggers in my gut. Or worse, letter openers- sharp enough to penetrate, but dull enough to hurt like hell. I threw all the steel I’d acquired over the last year into my tone and remained firm. “Derrek, I have to work. I need you to leave.”
“When can I see you again?”
“You can’t.”
“I still have all your stuff. I need to give it back to you. We can meet tomorrow to discuss the details.”
“Leave. Now.”
“Not until you agree to meet me, to talk this out. It’s a misunderstanding, Vera. You have to know I will do whatever it takes to get you back.”
“Vera, are you okay?”
Oh, thank God. I nearly sank to my knees at the sound of Wyatt’s voice. “Yes.” Now that someone familiar was here, the grit oozed out of me, leaving me trembling and teary-eyed. “I need help, Wyatt. Can you step inside for a second? Vann had a date.”
Wyatt glanced back at Lilou. For a second I was afraid he was going to tell me no. “Can you call Killian? Or text him. Tell him what’s going on and that I’m going to help you for the rest of the night. I left my cell in the kitchen.”
I nodded, afraid that if I spoke, I would crack.
Derrek’s eyes narrowed on Wyatt and then me while I unlocked the door with shaky fingers and let Wyatt in. “Thank you,” I whispered when he stepped inside. As soon as he closed it, I reached past him to lock it.
“That guy is bothering you?” he asked in a low voice.
“Yes. He won’t leave.”
“You text Killian. I’ll deal with him.”
Sending a quick message to Killian that explained I needed Wyatt’s help for a few minutes, I whispered a silent prayer of thanks that he’d intervened when he had. Derrek wouldn’t have listened to me. He would have stuck around until I gave in. Or called the cops.
I hovered in the corner of the brightly lit truck, wishing I could hide. Wyatt stepped up to the window, blocking Derrek from my sight. He was every inch of intimidating, huge male. Derrek might not have been intimidated, but he was forced to step back when Wyatt shoved the upper half of his body through the order window.
“Sir, you’re going to have to leave. This window is for paying customers only.”
“I have been trying to order something,” Derrek insisted. “I just needed to talk to Vera first. So, if you’d move out of the way—”
“Nope. Not an option. She has the right to refuse service to anyone, and unfortunately, she doesn’t like your face. You’re going to have to leave, or I’m going to call the cops and have you escorted from the premises.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I can and I will.”
Derrek’s voice turned to stone. “Do you know who I am? Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?” He must have noticed Wyatt’s chef’s coat because he changed his tone from arrogant accolades to vicious threats. “You’re finished in this industry. Done. From now on you’ll be lucky to get a job bussing tables.”
“Is there a problem?” I couldn’t see him, but I heard him. Killian.
“This guy won’t leave,” Wyatt explained.
Now I wanted to throw myself on the ground and curl into a ball. I didn’t need Killian involved. Or witnessing my humiliation. Wasn’t he needed in his own damn kitchen?
“This guy is Derrek Hanover,” Killian growled. “What are you doing here, Derrek? Why are you harassing a food truck three hours from your kitchen?”
“You’d be wise to stay out of my business, Quinn,” Derrek warned.
Oh, God, they knew each other. Could this night get any worse?
“Not going to happen,” Killian countered. “So, unless you want the cops called and this headline splashed all over every blog on the internet, I suggest you leave now.”
“You wouldn’t—”
“Have you forgotten who I work for? One tweet from Ezra and your shit is viral. Do you really want to push me?”
A heavy silence followed Killian’s threat. Eventually, Derrek gave into the threat of public humiliation. At least for tonight. “I’ll talk to you later, Vera,” Derrek shouted at me. “This isn’t over.”
I couldn’t see him, but he must have left, because Wyatt eventually stepped back. He stood in the middle of my galley, arms crossed over his chest like the bouncers that stood outside of Greenlight and Verve.
“Thank you,” I told him. My voice had yet to recover, but a tiny bit of the panic had receded.
Killian’s face appeared in the window. “How quickly can you close up?”
It took me several moments before I could answer him. I wanted to leave everything and lock the doors tonight. TBD if I would ever return. But I couldn’t do that. Food was everywhere. I had fryers to turn off and messes to clean up.
“An hour. I can come back for most of it in the morning.”
Killian’s glare swung to his sous chef. “Wyatt, help her shut it down.” To me he said, “I’ll be back in thirty minutes to take you home.”
My abrupt hysteria propelled me forward a step. “You don’t have to do that—”
“Vera, whatever that shit was with Hanover, was not cool. I’m taking you home. End of discussion.”
“What about your kitchen?”
“Fuck the kitchen.” He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to calm down. “Besides, why do I hire the best sous chefs in the city if I can’t count on them to handle one goddamn night for me? Clean up. I’ll be back.”
He didn’t wait for my reply. Which was fine since I didn’t have one to give him.
I looked to Wyatt with wide eyes, desperate for him to save me.
Instead of sympathy, he grinned like the cat that ate the canary. “Out of the frying pan and into the fire.”
I glared at him. “Well, you’re not helping.” But I was afraid he was right.
Eighteen
Killian came back a half hour later just like he promised. He stalked across the street like an angry lion about to pounce on some poor, unsuspecting gazelle.
And I was the gazelle.
“What’s Killian like to work with?” I asked Wyatt while Killian waited on cars to move out of his way.
Wyatt stood at my stove, scrubbing it until it looked better than when it had been brand new. He didn’t cut corners or tackle the easy jobs. He went straight for the cooktop. That said something about the standard of work he was used to.
He kept scrubbing when he answered my question. “He’s an absolute dictator. He requires nothing less than utter perfection all the time. He’s not afraid to get in your face and yell. And he refuses to send anything out that isn’t up to his insane standards.”
I glared at his back. “You love working for him.”
He shot me a playful smile over his shoulder. “He’s the best, Vera. Yeah, he knows it, which makes him an asshole. But he can also back it up. I might plot his death in my head sometimes, but what I’ve learned in his kitchen is invaluable. I couldn’t get that experience working for anyone else.”
“There are other great chefs.”
He tilted his head back and forth, deliberating. “Fine, I don’t want this experience from anybody else. He’s the kind of chef I want to grow into. His style, his food, his command of the kitchen. I think it would be hard to find anyone that can rival him.”
“God, just marry him already and get it over with.”
He laughed at my lame joke and turned back to the stove. “Not that you wouldn’t be fun to work with too, V. But I doubt you’d whip everyone into shape quite like Quinn. I swear there are handprints on my ass when I leave there every night.”
“First of all, you’re ridiculous. Second of all, I don’t have room in my itty bitty kitchen to do any whipping.” He grunted a laugh. I’d lost all will to
take care of my own stuff. It was so much easier to have Wyatt do it for me. “I didn’t mean to sound jealous by the way. I was so not comparing myself to Killian. I mean, there’s not even a comparison there. He’s, you know, him. And I’m just me.”
He didn’t look up. “Whatever you say, Vera.”
Killian approached the truck, so I stopped talking. I needed to open the door for him, but I couldn’t make myself move.
Nerves skittered through me. My belly flipped, and my feet refused to move.
He scared me. Granted, it wasn’t in the same way that Derrek did, not even close. But I still couldn’t let myself trust him. To trust him meant I had to be vulnerable, meant allowing him space in my life, giving him the ability to hurt me.
I knew, I just knew, that if I gave Killian that power, he wouldn’t take a little bit. He would take as much as he could. He would pull and pull and pull and demand everything I had.
And then when he hurt me? It wouldn’t be a small thing. It would be complete and total destruction.
His knuckles rapped against the door, punctuating the frantic beat of my heart with a harsh tap tap tap. When I didn’t move, Wyatt did. He flicked open the deadbolt and stepped back to make room for Killian.
The tiny kitchen felt even smaller with the two of them taking up so much space. Killian looked around like he’d never been here before, absorbing every detail with his sharp gaze.
“What do you have left to do?” he asked.
I spun around and grabbed the last of the food that needed to be taken to the commissary. It was a pain to haul the food back and forth every single day, but at least I could park the truck here without worrying about it. Vann was awesome for that.
“I just have these,” I pointed at the crates of food that needed to be carried to my car.
“This seems unnecessary,” Killian sighed. “Why don’t you just store everything at Lilou?”
I squinted at him, waiting for him to get all the conflicts of interest involved in that one question. When he didn’t figure it out on his own, I gave him my reasons. “Because that’s dumb.”
Opposites Attract: The complete box set Page 21
