Undeniable (Always Book 3)

by Lexxie Couper

“What is your problem?” he snarled. Although to be fair it was less a snarl and more a petulant whine. “I thought you wanted us to happen again. I’m willing to marry you, for Pete’s sake. I thought you came here so I could—”

  “Fuck me?” I finished for him.

  He sneered. An honest to goodness sneer. Wow. Where was the poised, cool – in both senses of the word – art history professor who’d seduced me with his suave charm? I will freely admit I’ve got some Daddy issues, but was this really the guy I’d tried to sort them out with?

  What the hell had been wrong with me?

  “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” he shot back. “For me to fuck you? I mean, it’s not like I wasn’t getting any without you. And you were all over me back at LAX. I figured you needed a good fuck.”

  “I was all over you?” I burst out laughing again.

  You know that sensation you get when you’ve spent the day bent over a desk, working or studying, and you stop and look up for some reason? That ethereal, indescribable sensation that the world is suddenly lighter, that with every little crack of the bones in your spine as you straighten in your chair, the fog falls from you and you can breathe?

  That. I was experiencing that.

  Right there, I got it. I understood it. Donald had been my poison. My fog. The pressure on my back as I bent at the desk, and the goddamn midterm paper sucking at my soul.

  All those things, wrapped up in a package that had awed me, left me star-struck and flattered to be the focus of his attention.

  I’d been greedy for that, craved it, but what I’d really craved was attention, the kind that validated who I really was. The kind a father gave his daughter. Dad hadn’t given me that, and I’d gone searching for it elsewhere. I’d gone searching for the kind of attention that said it was okay to be different, witty, sarcastic. The kind that said just because I couldn’t hear, didn’t mean I didn’t feel.

  Every time Donald screwed me in his car, every time he felt me up between classes, telling me how hot I was, how sexy, I’d been amazed anyone could think that of me. But what I should have been asking myself was, when had I decided hot and sexy was enough?

  It wasn’t. I was more than a walking pair of tits and a pussy. I was more than a desperate defective person just needing someone to take pity on me.

  I was Chase Sinclair. I was smart. I was talented. I was creative. And I didn’t need to be reduced to my body parts – those that worked and those that didn’t – to be Chase Sinclair.

  Throwing back my head, I laughed again. “Y’know,” I said, looking at Donald as I wiped at my wet cheeks, “this has been the most enlightening night of my life. I’m so glad I came here. But now I have to go.”

  Donald ran a slow gaze over me. Uncertainty lurked in his eyes like a sludge of oil. “Go where?”

  I didn’t answer. Instead, I started for the door again.

  “If I’d know you were going to be like this when I followed you to—”

  He stopped his angry snarl dead.

  I turned. Stared at him. “Followed me to where, Donald?”

  My body thrummed. My stomach clenched. Had he just admitted what I thought he’d admitted?

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he stared like a deer caught in headlights.

  “Followed me to where?” I repeated. “To LA? We didn’t just happen to bump into each other at LAX, did we?”

  His Adam’s apple jerked up and down his throat.

  I frowned. “And you didn’t just happen to think about going to Disneyland with me for no reason, did you? You were there. When Caden and I were. You were following me.”

  Disgust mingled with contempt in my stomach, before an emotion far stronger swelled through me: pity. Not for me, but for him.

  “Goodbye, Donald,” I said. “It’s been . . . fun.”

  I turned for the door, but once more he grabbed my upper arm. “Babe,” he crooned when I swung back to him. “This hasn’t gone the way I wanted. This is not . . . I mean . . .” He stepped closer, snaking his hand up the side of my face, to my ear.

  I knew his fingertips had encountered my hearing aid when he stiffened and jerked his hand away.

  I grinned. Donald had always hated my hearing aid. Whenever I wore it when we were together (huh!), he complained how unsexy it was, how it marred my beauty. By the time he dumped me, I was ashamed of the damn thing. Hated it.

  I don’t know why I’d put it on before coming here tonight, but perhaps on a subconscious level I was reclaiming the Chase I’d lost to his emotional and sexual manipulation of me. Maybe I was saying to the world, I remember who I am.

  Or maybe the real me knew it was going to piss him off.

  Maybe both.

  “Oh Donny,” I said, melodramatic sympathy lacing my voice. “Did you have trouble hearing me earlier?”

  He blinked.

  I smiled. I’m over you, I signed, moving my hands as slowly and obviously as I could.

  And with that, I walked past him.

  “What?” he called. “What?”

  I didn’t stop or turn back to him. I left his house, strode to the Speeding Dragon and dropped into the driver’s seat. He yelled things at me the whole way. Things I’m pretty certain I would have found hilarious if I could hear them.

  Starting the car, I reached up to my ear, removed my hearing aid and tossed it onto the passenger seat beside me. The battery was dead. Had been for the last three months.

  But damn, it had been the perfect piece of costume jewelry tonight.

  Ignoring the sight of Professor Douchebag’s silhouette in his open front door, I threw the car into gear and drove away. It would take me roughly ninety minutes to get to LA. I’d need to get gas on the way (the Dragon was thirsty) and swing by Amanda’s place first to tell her what was going on. As much as I am the annoying, irritating little sister, I’m not so horrible as to not fill her in on the awesomeness of what just happened.

  So a quick conversation with Amanda, a hug with Tanner, a pee break, and then on to LA.

  I was at the end of Donald’s street when it occurred to me I had no idea where Caden was. Was he still at the motel near Disneyland? Or would he have thought to relocate to a motel closer to the animal hospital? I would have. Damn it.

  Digging in my bag for my cell, I checked it for incoming messages. Nada.

  My stomach twisted. Surely he’d got a US SIM by now? So why hadn’t he texted? Was he pissed at me?

  If he was, why wasn’t I getting his patented I’m-a-smartass-joker responses? The kind that drove me mental but, strangely, made me want to smile at the same time?

  If he wasn’t texting me back, was it because he’d given up on me? On us?

  I couldn’t believe that. Caden didn’t do giving up. He’d told me as such. Of course, that was before I’d told him I didn’t need him, or want him and abandoned him in LA all alone with a dying dog.

  A raw sob tore at the back of my throat and I pressed my hand to my tummy. Oh fuck, I’d messed up.

  I’d messed up and I didn’t know what to do about it.

  How would I live without any more of his sock puppets? How would I function without his jokes and sense of humor and . . . and . . .

  A loud car horn blasting behind me made me jump. Shit, I’d stopped completely in the middle of the road. Face flooding with heat, I let out a yelp and slammed my foot to the pedal.

  It didn’t take me as long as it legally should have to get back to Amanda’s place. Brendon and Tanner had returned, and my family was sitting down eating supper when I barged into their apartment using my spare key.

  “Aunny Chase!” Tanner cheered as I sprinted across the living room to the dining table.

  I scooped him up from his booster-seat and squeezed him in a hug. “Hey, Superman,” I greeted him, jiggling him on my hip with a wide grin. “How’s dinner?”

  “Yummy,” he declared, whacking me on the head with his fork. Something warm dropped onto my cheek. Yep. Mashed potato.

>   Chuckling, I replaced him in his seat, wiped the mash from my cheek and then sucked my finger clean. “Oh, it is,” I said, smacking my lips.

  “Ice cream is better,” Tanner declared.

  I nodded. “Agreed.”

  Something small struck the side of my head. I turned to find Amanda and Brendon regarding me. In Amanda’s hand, pinched loosely between forefinger and thumb, was a green pea, primed and ready to fly.

  “Ahem?” she said.

  I dragged my hands through my hair and sighed.

  “Oh, stop being a drama queen,” she reproached. “I know you told Professor Perry to take a hike.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “How do you know that?”

  She grinned. “You get that exact same look on your face when you tell Dad he’s being an idiot.”

  “What look is that?” I asked, returning my attention to Amanda.

  She pulled a face at me. Part vindictive grin, part triumphant smirk. On her it looked ridiculous. Amanda is the nice Sinclair girl. On me, I bet it looks incredible. It felt incredible.

  What also felt incredible was seeing pride and happiness in her eyes as she smiled at me. My big sister was proud of me. Do you know what that feels like?

  Let me tell you, it feels like nothing else in this life.

  I crossed to where she sat on the other side of the table, dropped to a crouch and wrapped my arms around her. “I love you, Mandy.”

  Her chuckled hum vibrated through her chest into my cheek. That felt equally as incredible. “Love you too, Chase.”

  I’m not sure how long we stayed that way, but when I pulled away her eyes glistened with shimmering tears.

  “I’m quite fond of you myself,” Brendon declared. After launching a tiny green missile from his plate that completely missed me and landed in Amanda’s hair.

  I rolled my eyes at him and then grinned. “Thank you, oh Benign One. Now, is there any chance you could tell me where Caden is staying in LA and how I might go about making him talk to me?”

  Caden

  I can’t believe not a single Telco in LA had a 24-hour shopfront that I could stride into and buy a local SIM. Not one.

  I found a shop where I could get it changed tomorrow morning, although I was of the opinion its 10am opening time was a deliberate attempt to really push what little patience I had left. But patience was all I had. That and Buckley’s of finding a store to get a SIM before 10am. (Translation for the non-Aussies: “Buckley’s” means zero chance of it happening.)

  Instead of going back to my motel room, a depressing and frustrating thought even with the tropical pool and obscenely large bath and pristinely clean kitchenette, I walked the few blocks to the animal hospital to check on Doofus. I’d received an iMessage from Dr. Adams while I was still at Denny’s, to say Doofus was slowly – almost stubbornly – improving. He still wasn’t out of the woods yet, and his kidneys were still not functioning the way they were meant to, but the antibiotics finally seemed to be taking serious affect. I took that as a good sign.

  I also took it as an omen for my relationship with Chase. Lame, yes? But a bloke’s got to hang on to whatever hope he can. Until I had a bloody US SIM in my phone I couldn’t call her, text her . . .

  Fuck. I could message her on Facebook. Damn it, why hadn’t I thought of that before?

  I yanked my phone from my back pocket and checked the Wi-Fi indicator at the top of the screen. It was gray. I had no net access, unless I could hop onto someone’s unsecure network. Shit.

  Okay, maybe I could sweet talk whoever was on duty at the animal hospital into giving me the password again for their network? Who could refuse a charming, cheeky Aussie like me?

  Dr. Randolf Simmons, that’s who.

  When I got to Laguna Niguel, the last veterinarian on day shift was leaving. I’d met her earlier – a really nice woman who originally hailed from the UK. She let me in the building, told me Dr. Simmons was the vet on duty for the night, hollered out to an unseen Randolf that she’d let me in and that I was checking up on the Doberman-cross in recovery, and then stepped out the door.

  Randolf had appeared a few moments after that, just as I was heading around the empty reception counter. Our eyes met.

  “G’day,” I said, giving him a friendly nod and a smile. “I’m Caden O’Dae.”

  Randolf could have been Hagrid’s twin, from Harry Potter – sans beard and sunny disposition. He’d looked me over from head to toe, and then grunted and stomped his way to the bathroom.

  That was it. Nothing else was said to me. No other form of interaction.

  I watched the door swing shut behind his cliff-face back. “I’ll just go see Doofus, shall I?”

  Accompanied by the sounds of the menagerie, I made my way to Doofus’s cage, preparing myself for whatever I found.

  His ears pricked as I approached. A good sign.

  “G’day, mate,” I said, keeping my voice low and soothing and calm.

  I didn’t even get the chance to say How you going? before Doofus not only raised his head but stood in his cage.

  Stood.

  Sure, it was a wobbly stand, what with the plaster cast on his front right leg and shoulder, and his deformed back left leg, and it only lasted a couple of seconds before he laid back down again. But in those few seconds he’d looked at me, tongue lolling out in what could only be described as a happy doggy grin, tail wagging with equal canine happiness.

  Elation swept through me in a warm wave. A smile spread over my face. A big one.

  “That good, eh?” I murmured, unlatching his cage with gentle, slow movements.

  He barked at me, a low conversational woof. One of the best freaking sounds I’ve ever heard, trust me. He stretched his neck as I reached in to give him a pat, meeting my head with his muzzle. He licked my wrist, tail wagging faster, his tongue warm and wet. A happy tongue, to go with his happy tail and happy woof. A healthy tongue. Joy rushed through me, not a wave but a tsunami.

  I continued to pat and stroke his head, giving him a gentle scratch every now and again, checking out his stitches and wounds. The intravenous antibiotic drip, I noticed, was gone. An awesome sign, to be sure. Doofus kept wagging his tail, trying his best to inch as close to me as he could, giving another conversational woof as he did.

  “I reckon you’re going to be okay, mate,” I told him, kneading his ears as I examined the cast on his front leg. “Reckon we’ll be playing fetch before you know it.”

  He gave me another happy bark. His tail was wagging with such gusto now his whole body was wobbling. You know a dog is happy when the whole-body wags are happening.

  I let out a low chuckle, rubbing my forehead to his. “Chase is going to be so happy to see you like this.”

  He woofed. I chuckled again. “Yeah, she’s a prickly one, I know, but she’s deadset in love with you. Reckon that might be the way to get her to Australia. Tell her we need to do joint custody, and seeing as you’re coming back to Oz with me, she’ll have to come as well. What do you think? Plan?”

  Doofus woofed. His tail whacked the sides of his cage.

  “Plan,” I agreed.

  He strained his neck so he could lick my face. I laughed. And then jumped about twenty feet in the air, letting out a startled “shit” when a voice behind me said, “You know you shouldn’t let dogs lick your face.”

  I turned to see Randolf watching us. “Yeah. But this guy’s worth it.”

  He regarded me without expression before shrugging those massive shoulders of his. “Your funeral,” he muttered, pivoting on his heel and making his way through the recovery area.

  I watched him shuffle around, checking on the other animals in their cages – muttering the whole way about idiot Australians. If it weren’t plainly obvious he was tender and concerned about his charges, if it weren’t for the fact he lingered with each one longer than required, his voice as low and soft as he was hulking and imposing, I would have wondered what the hell he was doing here.

  I stayed
with Doofus at his cage, talking to him, massaging his ears, long enough my feet and lower back began to ache from standing. I told Doofus of all the incredible hiking trails we were going to do together back in Australia. Filled him in on all the games of rugby we were going to play in my mum’s backyard. Described in detail the expanse of Brighton Beach on the Victoria coastline, and how we’d leave our footprints and paw prints on its pristine white sand as we jogged along its length.

  By the time I realized I needed to go to the loo, I’d decided Doofus was going to be a permanent fixture in my own vet practice when I established it. After we returned to Australia and his stint in quarantine, he’d join me in my internship at Dr. Phillip’s clinic.

  He’d start out as a regular guest on her television show, no doubt wooing the audience with his doggy awesomeness and plucky nature, before his fame became too big for her show to contain. Then, with his Twitter followers numbering in the millions, he’d become the face of Dr. Caden O’Dae, Animal Doctor, a practice that would specialize in caring for rescued animals.

  Doofus listened to my grand plans as I relayed them to him, his head tilted, his ears pricked, the occasional encouraging woof thrown into the conversation, his tail wagging.

  “Of course,” I chuckled, giving the side of his neck a scratch, “Chase will no doubt feature you in all her art works. So you’ll be famous that way as well. Hey, maybe yours will be the first dog portrait to win the Archibald prize?”

  Doofus woofed, gaze fixed firmly on me.

  It was a moment of fantasy, my conversation, but it calmed me. I had no idea if I would be able to get Doofus into Australia. Our quarantine laws were infamously strict, even with domestic animals. I also had no idea if Chase would be remotely interested in moving there, even if we did get our . . . relationship sorted out. But sometimes a guy’s got to allow himself a fantasy, for his sanity’s sake. Or at least, for the sake of making it through the next few hours.

  “Okay,” I said, giving him one final neck scratch before closing the cage, “I gotta go take a leak.”

  His ears drooped. His wagging tail did the same.

  “Ah, don’t make me feel bad,” I scolded gently. “I’ll be back. Promise,” I added, before turning and heading for the door.