It was strangely personal, sitting side by side on a bed, eating breakfast. It was the kind of thing you did when you were dating not . . . whatever we were. It was too early to call ourselves friends. I hardly knew him, and Ash certainly didn’t know me.
After we’d drained the coffee pot, I handed over the bags stuffed with clothes.
“I forgot to ask your shirt size, so look forward to more clown clothes,” I said with a smile that I hope softened my words.
Ash pulled out a three-pack of dark gray briefs. He didn’t seem to know how to feel about them either, his dark eyes flashing with some quick emotion. But while I kept my back to him, he pulled on a pair without comment.
The jeans weren’t a bad fit—slightly too loose on the waist—but the long-sleeved Henley fit better. And there were two more in the bags: one navy and one pale blue.
I’d also bought him a heavy peacoat in black, with matching gloves and wool hat necessary for Chicago. And sneakers. With socks. And, a toothbrush. I’d forgotten to buy a razor. Oh well.
Ash finished dressing and turned to face me.
“How do I look?”
I withheld a sigh. Heartbreakingly handsome. That was the truth, but it wasn’t what I said.
“Not bad, although the towel made a statement.”
“You think?” he asked, going along with my teasing. “What did the towel say?”
There was no way I could tell him what that small towel around his waist had me thinking. I improvised quickly.
“Um, rule breaker, loafer . . .”
“A loaf? Like bread?”
I smiled. His English was so good, it was too easy to forget that there were some phrases that he didn’t always get.
“It means someone who’s lazy . . . a loser, I guess.”
Ash’s eyes flashed with anger.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said quickly. “It was a dumb joke. I’m sorry.”
He nodded stiffly but wouldn’t meet my gaze again. Instead he packed up my belongings silently, his face rigid in its blankness.
Kicking myself mentally, I watched him pace around the room, deliberately avoiding me. I deserved that: what a stupid thing to say.
Sighing, I picked up my phone and scrolled through the long list of texts and missed calls. I tapped out two quick messages to Jo and Vanessa to let them know that I was fine and would be home tonight. Well, very early tomorrow morning, even if Ash could keep going for the next 15 hours. I hoped that I’d be well enough to take a turn at driving later on.
I was surprised to see a number of texts from Collin that had started last night. He wanted to know if I was okay, but he didn’t comment on whether or not we were still a couple.
I sent a short message reassuring him that I was alright and that I’d be home after midnight.
Ash was still silent when he helped me into the car. Despite the fact that he was upset with me, the gentle, unobtrusive way he handled me hadn’t changed.
I wanted to apologize again for my clumsy remark, but I didn’t. It seemed best just to try and move past it.
Instead, I plugged in the phone and flipped through my contacts list to make the next call.
“Dad, it’s me.”
Laney
WITH A FRUSTRATED growl, I tossed my cell phone down and closed my eyes. The conversation with Dad had been difficult to say the least. According to him, I deserved to be arrested for fleeing the scene of a crime, was completely irresponsible, with a flagrant disregard for my civic duty etc. etc. I began to think that he’d arrest me himself when I arrived in Chicago.
And he wouldn’t listen when I said I’d come to the station with Ash tomorrow. He was going to send a cruiser to wait for us.
“That sounded hard.”
I glanced over at Ash and gave him a tired smile.
“You could say that. Dad’s going to meet us at my apartment tonight. I tried to put him off until tomorrow, but well, you know what parents are like.”
“Does he know what the police in Las Vegas are saying?” Ash asked cautiously.
I winced.
“Uh well, they wanted to question us,” I said carefully. “The theater usher reported seeing a man with a gun.
Ash’s eyes widened and he glanced away from the road to stare at me.
“They think that was me?”
“No! No, but they’re not happy we left the scene.”
Ash’s hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white, and his skin looked pale beneath his tan.
“If your dad sends me back there, they’ll kill me.”
I rested my hand on his bicep, hoping my touch would reassure him.
“That won’t happen. I promise.”
The look he gave me seemed to say he didn’t believe I had the power to keep my promise.
I was horribly afraid he might be right. But I’d do everything I could.
It was frustrating. Dad hadn’t listened to a word I’d said, which didn’t bode well. But I had an idea of how to handle my father: I’d been watching my mother do it for years, and I’d learned from the best. So instead of trying to change his mind while he ranted at me, I picked up my phone again and started typing out everything that I’d seen and heard, from arriving in Las Vegas to this moment. I asked Jo to send me the photo she’d taken of Ash’s back, and added it to my file. Then I emailed everything to Dad. Hopefully, given time, he’d see how wrong he was.
Ash was driving across the undulating foothills of Nebraska before we spoke again.
“I was wondering about your tattoo,” I began.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ash twitch, as if he’d been so lost in thought that he’d forgotten I was there.
“Does it mean anything?”
Ash looked affronted. “Of course! Why would I mark my body without meaning?”
My thoughts flew to his scarred back.
Ash sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . .”
His sentence trailed off and I shook my head.
“It’s okay. But people do get tattoos because they like the picture or the words. After all, you can go into a tattoo parlor and choose one out of a book.”
“Have you got a tattoo?” Ash asked, raising one eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Because it’s not on your legs or your arms. It’s not on your neck. Where would Laney put a tattoo?”
I threw him a warning look, but Ash just grinned. I liked this Ash: playful, sexy.
“Nope, no tattoos,” I answered. “I never found anything that meant so much that I’d want to get the ink. What’s yours about?”
Ash frowned, the playful expression disappearing.
“It’s a . . . map,” he said hesitantly, struggling to express his thoughts. “A map of my life. Things that happened, important things. When I have a new part of the story, I add to it.”
He shrugged.
“I got my first when I was 16 after my mama died.”
I kept the questions light after that. We talked about music and about dancing. Endlessly about dancing. I was fascinated by this brave new world that I’d never entered before. Ash’s eyes glowed, and I saw again the man who’d claimed his place center stage in Vegas.
We talked about my work, writing student guides for school texts, and we talked about Chicago. It was a little bit like a first date; one of those tell-me-about-yourself’ conversations. And unlike a lot of guys I’d met, Ash was as interested in finding out about me as I was about him.
He was eager to see the city too, but edged with nerves because the end of the journey meant . . . neither of us knew what it meant.
As dusk fell, we stopped somewhere in the middle of Iowa. Ash could barely keep his eyes open and we were both hungry.
He climbed wearily out of the driver’s door, stretching his tall frame with a grimace. As he went around to the trunk to get my wheelchair, I called out to him.
“I think I can manage. If you’ll help me.”
“Sure,” he said, changi
ng direction, walking around to my door and opening it.
Collin would have argued. He would have insisted on a complete and exhaustive questioning of my physical capacity, and then he’d have gotten the wheelchair for me anyway. Because he knew best.
I used to think of that as him caring, and it was, but it was controlling, too. Ash simply believed me when I said that I could walk.
His arm was warm as I held onto it. He steadied my elbow with his hand, and the distance between us was only a few inches. I could feel the heat of his body in the cool air.
Once I was standing upright, Ash slid his arm around my waist, and together, we walked toward the diner.
It occurred to me that we probably looked like a couple, so much in love we couldn’t bear to be apart for even a second.
I wondered again what would happen to us when we arrived in Chicago.
Ash
“We’re here.”
I felt Laney’s small hand on my thigh, shaking me awake.
“We’re here,” she said again.
My whole body felt drugged with sleep, but then a sharp shot of adrenaline made me sit up straighter.
Chicago!
We’d made it.
I glanced out of the window at the wide city street and the first thing I saw was a police car. The headlights flashed once, and I saw the strain on Laney’s face.
“It’s my dad.”
Her tone wasn’t reassuring.
Laney’s door was ripped open and a cold gust of wind wound around us, whipping her long hair into her face. It was forty-five degrees cooler than the heat of the desert, but I liked it. I didn’t ever want to spend time in parched, arid air again.
Laney was already in her father’s arms while he looked her up and down, as if checking that each arm and leg was still attached.
I climbed out of the car stiffly and pushed my hands into my pockets, watching Laney and her father.
He didn’t look anything like her. He was tall and heavy, with a thick neck like a bull, bright red hair and rugged skin; not small and pale like his daughter. His eyes turned to me.
“Is that him?”
His tone was less than friendly, and Laney whispered something angrily that made him scowl. Then he jerked his head at another police officer who stepped forward abruptly, making me jerk back, slamming my back against the car door.
My vision dipped with the pain, and I guess my sudden movement freaked him out, because a second later, I was face down on the hood of the car, my cheekbone pressed painfully against the freezing metal. I swore, but couldn’t move as pain radiated across my stretched skin.
“Stop that right now, Billy Jenkins!” Laney shouted.
“It’s okay, Billy,” said Laney’s dad, “he won’t be so stupid as to try anything.”
My arm was released as suddenly as it had been grabbed. I stood up slowly, my heart pounding in reaction. I was tired and pissed, but Laney made me want to smile. She was facing down two big policemen, her small hands balled into fists.
“I can’t believe you two,” Laney glared, her voice furious. “He is not a criminal!”
Then she grabbed hold of my hand and marched us toward a tall brownstone building.
“Just for that you can carry our bags and my wheelchair, Billy Jenkins,” she shouted over her shoulder. “And then you can take the car back to Hertz.”
She didn’t wait for a reply, but allowed me to help her into the building, slowing only slightly as she used the handrail to pull herself up the six steps at the front.
I couldn’t help wondering how she managed them on her flare-up days.
I glanced over my shoulder, but her father didn’t try to stop us. He looked annoyed and a little confused, but he wasn’t going to argue with her either. Shaking his head, he fixed me with a hard stare. It was clear what he meant: Fuck with my daughter and I’ll fuck with you.
“I’m sorry about that,” Laney said tightly as we waited for the elevator, ignoring her father’s angry snort. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, my eyes darting back to our police bodyguard.
“Have you been taking your meds?” Laney’s father asked in a gruff voice.
“Yes, Dad,” she said with a soft sigh.
We rode the elevator in silence, but I was surprised when Laney continued to hold my hand. Her father didn’t miss that detail either.
“Did you read my email?” she asked pointedly.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“We’ll talk inside.”
I glanced at Laney, wondering what was in the email, but she gave a small shake of her head.
Her apartment was small but not cluttered. A couch took up most of the room, although there was still enough space to navigate the area with a wheelchair. A heavy bookshelf was the other piece of furniture, lined with hardbacks and paperbacks, shot glasses and several framed photographs. I recognized a younger Laney with her two girlfriends; pictures that were probably of her family; and a heavy guy with his arm around her. I wondered why she kept a photo of her ex.
I turned toward the European-style French doors that led to a tiny balcony. The drapes were open, and the whole room was lit with the soft, orange glow of street lights below. But if you looked up, you could still see a patch of sky and a few scattered stars between the towering skyscrapers.
I understood about wanting to see more of life, wanting to see over the horizon.
Laney sank into an overstuffed easy chair, leaving me and her father to share the couch.
Instead, Laney’s father carried a hardback chair from the kitchen and placed it directly in front of me.
“Dad,” Laney said, her voice level and controlled. “He’s not a suspect, he’s my friend.”
I looked up quickly, meeting her eyes, and she gave me a conspiratorial smile that caused a vein to stand out on her father’s forehead.
“You don’t even know this man,” he objected strenuously.
“We’ve spent the last fifty-plus hours together in a very stressful situation,” Laney argued. “You’ve always said that you learn a lot about a person in extreme circumstances.”
Laney’s father looked annoyed to hear his own words thrown back at him. But he wasn’t giving up. In fact, I was certain he was only just starting.
“According to Immigration records, Aljaž Novak left the country a month ago. You have no idea who this man really is.”
“They took my passport,” I growled, starting to stand.
“Sit down!”
Laney’s dad barked out the command, but Laney stared angrily.
“Dad,” she said in a warning voice.
I glanced at her again before sitting on the edge of the couch, hot blood hammering through my body. Those fucking bastards! God knows who was using my passport. Hell, it could be anything, drugs, guns, people smuggling. I felt sick at the thought.
“He can’t prove who he is,” Laney’s father snapped.
“I can!” I spat out. “Go to the Slovene Dancesport Federation website—they’ll have my picture.”
Laney pulled out her phone and did a quick search, smiling when she immediately found my photograph, showing it to her father.
“Well,” he coughed. “That’s something. We can check the rest with your Embassy.”
“I’m not a liar,” I said angrily, staring right back at him.
Suddenly the front door swung open, making everyone jump.
The newcomer was the guy from the photograph. He was bigger than me, but whatever muscle he’d had was now lost in a large gut and two chins.
“Collin!” Laney’s mouth dropped open. “What are you doing here?”
He froze mid-step and glared at her.
“Are you serious?”
“I asked him to come,” said Laney’s father, a puzzled look on his face as he studied his daughter’s anger.
“I came because I care about you,” Collin said stiffly, his gaze shifting to me.
I tried to keep a neutr
al expression, but hell, after three seconds I could tell that the guy was a first class prick. Any man worthy of the name would have been on his knees with relief, telling Laney that he loved her and would kill anyone who hurt her, then move heaven and earth to be with her. Not standing there like he had a stick up his ass. Douche.
I liked swearing in American, and my vocabulary had grown since I’d roomed with Gary.
Assface. Dickwad. Douche canoe.
I leaned back and folded my arms, staring at Laney’s tool of a boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, or whatever the fuck he was.
Collin turned to look at Laney. “I thought I should be here after what you’ve been through. You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’m not,” she said coolly. “I have Ash.”
Laney’s father and the prick started shouting while I looked at Laney in surprise. Again.
“Well, where did you think he was going to stay?” she asked impatiently when the yelling had calmed a bit. “He can’t exactly check into a hotel.” Then she pinned her father with a fierce stare. “And please don’t tell me you were thinking of accommodating him in a cell for the night!”
“He’s not staying here!”
“He most certainly is!”
“But . . .”
“I’m not arguing about this, Dad.”
Her father jutted his chin out. “All the more reason for Collin to be here,” he grunted. “You’ve no idea what this man might . . .”
“We’ve just spent the last two days together,” Laney replied tersely. “Including sharing a hotel room last night. I think I know Ash pretty well by now.”
Collin was silent but his face turned bright red.
“Oh for goodness sake,” Laney sighed. “We didn’t sleep together!”
I shifted uncomfortably on the couch, drawing all eyes to me.
“Fine, we shared a bed because that was all the hotel had,” Laney confessed. “But that’s all!”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Collin ground out.
“Neither is Ash,” Laney replied.
Her father coughed and looked at his watch.
“You both need to come in and make a statement about the gun incident . . .”
I felt a flare of anxiety. I still wasn’t sure I trusted the police.
“And about what happened to Ash,” Laney said quickly.
Slave to the Rhythm (The Rhythm #1) Page 13
