Shatter

by Lola Taylor

  Amy’s heart squeezed. “Thank you.”

  He nodded gruffly. “Do you mind if I use your restroom?”

  She smiled. “Considering my apartment is the same layout as yours, you know where to find it.”

  He glanced down the hall and then back at her. A slow grin spread across his lips. “You know, we haven’t had sex in a shower yet. And since neither of us has showered…”

  Her sex tingled in anticipation. “No, we haven’t. We should change that.”

  He kissed her forehead and grinned. “I’m gonna grab a fresh change of clothes from my place. Be right back.”

  He left, and she hummed in excitement as she locked the door behind him. Sweet, thoughtful, sexy Scott. Always changing the subject to make her feel better, usually on one of her two favorite topics—art or sex.

  A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. “That was quick!” she yelled, practically bouncing to the door. It felt silly locking it, but she had to play it safe. Dark thoughts were far away, though, with the promise of Scott returning and doing sexy things to her. She felt so light, she could float away. She flipped the lock and opened the door. “You just couldn’t wait, could—”

  Her heart dropped into her stomach, and all the oxygen in the room evaporated.

  Her brain froze, as did her lungs.

  All she could do was stare at a face that haunted her nightmares, a face she thought she’d never see again.

  “Na-Nathan,” she whispered.

  NATHAN STARED BACK at her, his gray eyes just as cruel as she remembered. “Hey, doll. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by. Miss me?”

  Her brain was still frozen. No words would come out of her mouth.

  As she stared at those hardened eyes, the same eyes that stared back at her in her nightmares, she could feel the calluses along his palms, grating against her wrists as he pinned her to the bed…

  Ice-cold fear washed over her, and spots fired around the corner of her vision. Oh God, please don’t let me pass out, not here.

  Gripping the doorframe, she sucked in a deep breath. “Nathan, you should go.”

  He smiled. A few years ago, she would have thought it sexy. She had thought it sexy, back in college. Nathan was attractive, so she’d chosen to ignore the gleam to his smile that set her on edge. His smile, just like his eyes, was too hard, too plastic.

  Too fake. He was a predator, a wolf who’d learned to blend in among sheep so as to be able to pick them off easier.

  Nathan pouted. “Aw, don’t be that way, sweets. I just got here. Don’t you miss me?”

  “You asked me that,” she rasped. “And hell no, I don’t fucking miss you. Leave.”

  The smile dropped off as if a switch had been flipped, replaced with anger. He stepped forward. “I came all this way to see you, and you don’t even invite me in? What a bitch.”

  She backed up and grabbed the doorknob. Was she fast enough to shut the door and lock him out?

  “I want to hear you say you missed me.” Nathan’s voice went frigid.

  Amy bit down on her lip to keep from whimpering as he leaned in, towering over her as he placed his palms on either side of the doorframe.

  His face came closer. Those frosty eyes chilled her to the bone as they looked at her dead-on, without blinking. “Don’t make me ask again.”

  Her voice wouldn’t come. Neither would her breath. She struggled to form a sentence, to form a thought, anything, but she was paralyzed.

  “Hey!”

  Nathan’s jaw ticked. “Go away. This is none of your business,” he said without looking at the source of the voice.

  To Amy, it was the best sound in the world, practically sent from heaven.

  Apparently, Scott didn’t like Nathan’s answer, because he grabbed Nathan by the shoulders and yanked him backward so hard he stumbled and nearly fell into the opposite wall.

  Scott promptly put himself between a pissed-off Nathan and Amy.

  “Look,” Scott said, “I don’t know who the hell you are, but you stay away from her.”

  Nathan straightened and adjusted his hoodie with the casual grace of a cat. He raised a brow. “You got a badge?”

  Scott’s jaw ticked. “No.”

  “Then I don’t guess you can do anything to stop me, can you?”

  Looking at Amy, he winked and made a kissing motion before he strutted past them and knocked into Scott purposely before he went down the stairs, whistling the same tune he had when the cops had hauled him away two years ago.

  “Here’s your tea, miss.” The waitress set a darling, steaming teacup in front of Amy.

  She and Scott sat in a corner booth at the little diner he’d spoken of earlier. After half an hour of pleading with Nathan’s parole officer, who insisted he was there in New York, Amy was exhausted and hysterical. Which, in turn, had made Scott grab the phone and cuss the officer out for daring to hint Amy was crazy and “off her meds.”

  Both of them had needed to get away from the building for a while.

  Scott didn’t say anything, patiently sipping his coffee while Amy calmed down. He leaned forward on the table and restlessly toyed with a napkin. A pile of little paper pieces he’d torn off sat beside the silverware he wouldn’t be using.

  The tea helped her nerves; it was her go-to relaxation method. Nothing beat hot herbal tea with an extra shot of fresh lemon and honey.

  When she finally felt as though her heart wasn’t going to burst out of her chest, she said quietly, “His name is Nathan Hawke. I”—deep breaths—“went to college with him.” She swallowed and took a sip of tea to help ease the growing lump in her throat. “He was in the same band as Michael, so we hung out a lot.”

  “But he wanted it to be more?”

  Amy nodded and pressed her lips together, cradling the half-empty teacup so it would warm her clammy hands. “I’d always suspected Nathan liked me, but I was so over the moon for Michael I never gave it much thought. One night, we were at a party. I’d gone to the bathroom, and when I came out, Nathan was there. We were just talking, and then he started coming on to me. I was drunk, so I couldn’t do much to fend him off. Before I knew what had happened, he’d shoved me in a bedroom, pinned me to the bed, and started taking my clothes off.”

  Scott had gone still; his breaths were rushed. His fist was wrapped around the butter knife so hard that his skin stretched stark-white against his knuckles.

  “Michael was looking for me. I started screaming when I heard his voice outside the door. Michael about broke it down trying to get in. When he did…” She shook her head and squeezed her eyes closed. “I’d never seen him so angry. He and Nathan got in a fight, a bad one. I thought he was going to kill him.”

  “Too bad he didn’t,” Scott muttered darkly.

  Amy took a sip of her tea. “The police arrived. Michael urged me to confess, to press charges against him. The other band members didn’t want me to, because they knew they’d never find another killer drummer like him. Nathan is a lot of things, but the one thing he’s superior at is playing the drums.”

  “Did you press charges?”

  Amy nodded. “Yeah.” She sighed and stared glumly at the bottom of the teacup. “Nathan was carted off by the police, and there was a big…fuss over it. Michael couldn’t stand to look at him, so he kicked him out on the spot. Everyone blamed me for breaking up the band.”

  “What did Michael think?”

  Amy smiled sadly. “He supported me all the way.”

  Scott nodded and leaned back against the booth. He sighed hard and ran his hands down his face. “I can guess what happened next. The fucker went to jail and somehow got out on parole. Next came all the restraining order bullshit you told me about on your apartment application.”

  “More or less, yeah.” Amy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Wow. I haven’t told anyone about that but Becca and my therapist. Everyone else thought it was some love triangle gone wrong.” She’d tried to bring it up to her mothe
r, but with her mom’s anxiety attacks, it was hard to talk to her about difficult situations like this. So, she’d stopped bringing it up. As far as her mother knew, she’d been assaulted and it had traumatized her. That’s all there was to it.

  But there had been so much more. And the scars ran deeper than she’d ever let her mother know.

  Scott studied her.

  Amy smiled, though it was worn. “Go ahead, ask. You’re too quiet.”

  Scott chuckled and leaned forward again, crossing his arms over the table. His voice was gentle. “You mentioned being on meds back at the apartment…”

  Amy nodded. This, she was used to talking about by now. “Yes. Antidepressants. Well, I used to be. I’ve been off them for a few months now. My therapist felt I was ready to, you know, cut the cord.”

  Scott’s eyes softened. Standing up, he came over and sat beside Amy, wrapping her up in a fierce hug.

  It felt so good to be held by someone, to know that someone cared and didn’t blame her for what had happened.

  For once, she was what mattered. Not the band’s fame. Not Michael’s death. Just her.

  She hugged him back. They were quiet for a while, holding on to each other.

  “I swear it, Amy,” he breathed into her hair, “I’m never going to let that son of a bitch hurt you again.”

  She wanted to believe him. Really, she did. For so long, she’d yearned for a world where she’d finally be safe, a world where she could forget the past and move forward. But if she’d learned anything two years ago, it was that if Nathan wanted her, there was truly nothing capable of standing in his way.

  NOT EVEN A whiff of Nathan was seen or heard in the next week. Amy started to let her guard down around day four. Since Nathan had shown up on her doorstep, she’d been sleeping over at Scott’s. And by sleeping, she meant she’d practically moved in.

  Most of her pajamas, her toiletries, and other essential items were at Scott’s now. Her apartment was basically a studio. Not wanting to completely invade Scott’s space, Amy had left her painting items over at her own place. So far, there was no evidence of anyone having entered her apartment. The building owner had immediately shot down Scott’s suggestions for video surveillance of the building, so Scott had installed security cameras himself in her apartment. No one had been by, which set her nerves at ease, some.

  She’d tried calling Nathan’s parole officer one more time, but the woman wasn’t picking up. And she never returned the voice mail Amy had left her.

  Amy snapped her phone shut in agitation as they pulled up to the club. Scott had taken the night off to spend it with her. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Amy was worried it would set him back financially, but he insisted he had a lot of savings and that he’d be fine. The fact he cared so much to want to watch over her was touching.

  “No answer again?” Scott put his car into park.

  “No.” Amy growled a sigh as they got out of the car and walked up to the door. “It’s so weird. She used to be really good at keeping me posted and watching my back. Now, it’s like she’s turned against me or plain stopped caring. It’s frustrating.”

  Scott looped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. “It’ll be okay.” He kissed her temple. “If need be, I can call the chief again tomorrow.”

  Amy snorted. “As entertaining as it was listening to you berate him for half an hour straight, I don’t think that’s going to solve the problem. She’ll still be a bitch.”

  Scott’s eyes narrowed in thought. “You still sure you don’t want to get the local police involved? Or we can go back to the apartment and forget about this whole thing…”

  Anger, mixed with fear, surged up in her. “No,” Amy said firmly. “I won’t hide. I can’t. He can get me in the apartment just as easily as out in public if he really wants to. I think we’re safer here, anyway. The crowd should keep him from trying anything too stupid.” She pressed her lips together. “And no, thank you, I’m sure about the local authorities.”

  No press, no cops, no drama. She wasn’t getting them involved unless she absolutely had to. Maybe Nathan would get bored and leave on his own.

  If only she believed he would.

  Scott remained silent; his jaw tensed. He took her hand and squeezed, letting her know that though he doubted her decision, he would support it all the same.

  Being one of the hot social spots in town for people their age, the club—dubbed Midnight—was booming. Literally.

  The music was so loud that the floor shook as they walked in. Unlike the last social establishment they’d visited, Midnight didn’t have a dress code. Amy wore a simple red-and-white paisley-patterned dress, and Scott had on a striped button-down and nice jeans.

  Though she was apprehensive about the club, her nerves weren’t nearly as bad as last time, not with Scott there. His presence brought peace to her soul, wrapped her up in a sense of safety she’d missed all these years.

  Becca and her latest boy toy, Brad, were dressed about the same as Amy and Scott, only more chic. Becca somehow always managed to make casual look sophisticated.

  “Nice to see you again, Scott!” Becca said brightly, jumping up to give him an unexpected hug. Startled, he awkwardly hugged her back as Amy and Brad shook hands. “I’m so glad you guys decided to come. I thought, with all the drama, you two could use a night out on the town.”

  Amy did her best to smile. She’d wanted to go play putt-putt, but the club scene was more Becca’s style. Hell, anything that involved drinks, dirty dancing, and loud music was Becca’s style. And if Amy had learned anything, it was that Becca always got her way. Amy thought she could be a bit spoiled at times, but she didn’t judge her for it, not after everything Becca had done for her. If it weren’t for her unwavering, patient friendship, she wasn’t sure she’d have lived through the mess that became of her life after Michael died.

  “Thanks for inviting us,” Amy said politely as she and Scott crammed into the booth.

  A waitress came by and got their drinks, depositing a basket of tortilla chips and a cup of homemade artichoke dip on the glossy black table.

  They all promptly dug in.

  “So, you two have known each other since college?” Scott asked between mouthfuls of salty chips and gooey cheese.

  Becca nodded. “We ended up as roommates, via that whole dorm application thing. God bless Amy for putting up with my shit.”

  “Let’s just say our room was the party room.” Amy winked. “I’m glad I got paired with Becca, though. She brought me out of my shell.”

  Becca beamed. She reached across the table and squeezed Amy’s hand. “You were good for me, too. You made me want to try harder at school.”

  “Bookworm?” Brad seemed nice enough, with a soft-spoken voice, skin the color of chocolate, and a Ralph Lauren polo. He looked hot, and though he was polite, he actually seemed a little too nice, at least, for Becca’s tastes. She usually went for the party boys.

  “Yeah, a little,” Amy admitted. “I was in the studio a lot, painting.”

  “She was determined to take over the world with her art,” Becca said conspiratorially. “Said she had a message. It was all I could do to drag her out of the studio to go socialize.”

  Amy stuck her tongue out at her, flushing a little.

  Judging from the empty daiquiri glass beside Becca, they’d gotten here early. She pointed a finger at Amy. “Admit it. You owe me big. Without me, you never would have met Michael.”

  It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room. Dead silence followed as Scott swore and Amy grew quiet.

  Becca gasped and covered her mouth. Brad looked between them. “What?”

  “OhmyGod,” Becca breathed. Her shoulders deflated. “Amy, I’m so sorry. I never should have said—”

  “It’s okay.” Amy quickly flashed her a smile. “I’m fine. You’re right. I never would have met him if it hadn’t been for you, and I don’t regret that one bit.” She squeezed Becca’s hand. “So,
don’t worry about it, okay?”

  Becca continued to spew apologies for the next three minutes straight. Amy drummed her nails along the table. Sensing the conversation was killed at least for now, Amy stood and turned to Scott. “Mind if I get by? I have to go to the ladies’ room.”

  “Oh, um, yeah. Sure.” He stood up to let her out, and she rushed past him.

  People bumped into her, but she didn’t care. Her heart strummed at a rate of a million beats a minute.

  She never should have come. Why the hell did she always let Becca push her into situations she didn’t want to be in?

  Because she’s the only friend you have left who knows what really happened, and you don’t want to lose her.

  It was pathetic but true. She’d become very closed off from the world after dealing with a shit-storm of publicity. Even she wanted to forget who she was after most of her “friends” turned on her, telling her she was overreacting to Michael’s infidelity and blaming her for the band’s breakup. It became apparent the only way to forget about them was by burning bridges. And her life, though lonely at times, had been better without them to criticize and judge her.

  Amy thrust past the drunk girl who stumbled out of the bathroom. “Watch it, bitch!” the girl yelled, but Amy didn’t care.

  She shut the door and leaned over the sink, closing her eyes.

  Just breathe. It’ll be okay. Just breathe…

  The door started to open. She swore, realizing she’d forgotten to lock the door, when Scott stepped inside and locked it.

  Amy blinked. “What are you doing in here? This is the girl’s restroom.”

  “Actually, it looks like an anybody restroom, considering there isn’t a gender label by the door.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  She shrugged and shook her head, about to lie, but something stopped her. Finally, she turned around to face Scott, but she didn’t readily look at him. “When I told you earlier I didn’t want to go clubbing, it’s not that I don’t like it. I do—I think it’s fun, I mean. It’s just that I met Michael for the first time at a club. Becca was dating a guitar player in a band that was becoming pretty popular around campus, and she’d set me up on a blind double date with Michael.”