by Shandi Boyes
Her dainty chuckle warms my heart.
“Please come with me,” I beg, my words barely a whimper.
The corners of her mouth curve down, and the twinkle in her green eyes dampens. “I would if I could.” She squeezes my forearm before guiding me to the office door. “Be careful, the grounds are slippery.” She lean in to press a kiss on my cheek.
“I will.”
After giving her a tight squeeze, I glide out of the reception area of my office. Cold winds pelt through me when I emerge from the foyer of my office building to the concrete sidewalk. The chill of winter has arrived early.
An invigorating buzz of excitement dashes through me as I pace through a gathering of people eager for the start of the weekend. I’ve always loved the anticipation of waking up on a Friday morning and knowing I only have to make it through another eight hours before I have two days of freedom to do whatever my heart contends. Slow, lazy weekends doing as much or as little as I please, those are some of my greatest joys.
When my cell phone buzzing in my clutch purse sounds through my ears, I increase my already brisk pace. I don’t need to look at the screen to know who is calling; my five minute tardiness is all that’s required.
“I’m so sorry, my last patient’s crown took longer than expected,” I say, pressing my cell phone to my ear. “I'm arriving now.”
I hurry through the security turnstiles of the Belvedere Hotel, smiling a greeting to the elderly doorman welcoming me into the affluent foyer with a dip of his hat.
“We are in the west wing,” my caller replies, his tone clipped.
The beating of my heart kicks up a gear when he abruptly disconnects the call, not allowing me the chance to reply. Generally, his mood can be quite curt, but his agitation at my tardiness would have increased his annoyance. Removing my coat, scarf, and gloves, I hand them to the grinning coat clerk and gather my ticket. My quick dash to the west wing wanes when the flash of a breaking news banner catches my eye. I slow my fast stride and amble toward a color TV sitting on the reception counter of the Belvedere Hotel.
“Col Petretti, notorious businessman and suspected Mob Boss has been killed in an FBI targeted sting,” I read off the screen.
My throat painfully tightens as my eyes skim over the flickering screen, absorbing the snippets of information displayed. A female reporter is standing at the front of an old manufacturing warehouse, similar to the textile mill in Graham, North Carolina. The flashing of red and white lights bounce of the reporter’s rich auburn hair as she hustles other reporters also vying for a prime position.
My pupils widen when a picture of Col Petretti flashes up onto the screen. Even though I'm looking at him through a television screen, his evocative gaze still makes my skin crawl. I’ve never forgotten the devastation I felt the night I first laid my eyes on him……
My heart leaps out of my chest when I'm suddenly grabbed at the side and dragged deeper into my corridor.
“You need to come with me,” says a raspy voice I don’t immediately recognize.
My rapid heartbeat slows when my head cranks to the side and I'm met with the worldly eyes of Patty. He holds me close to his side, bombarding me with his feverish body heat. Remaining quiet, his eyes drift around our location, similar to the way Hugo’s did at the club months earlier.
Without speaking a peep, he guides me to an apartment at the end of the hall. He ushers me inside before securing a mass amount of deadlocks on his thick front door. The queasiness hampering my stomach earlier returns full pelt when Patty spins around to face me. His pupils are wide, and his face is gaunt.
“What’s going on, Patty?” I query, my voice trembling.
He places a steel baseball bat against the entranceway table and paces closer to me. Seizing the crook of my elbow, he steers me into his kitchen, which is an exact replica of mine. He pulls out a wooden stool from underneath the counter and gestures for me to sit. I shake my head, too shaken to take a seat. I cross my arms in front of my chest and keep my eyes on Patty, never losing sight of him as he moves through the kitchen, gathering sandwich supplies like I'm an invited guest for dinner, not ushered here against my will.
“Patty--”
Any further words preparing to leave my mouth entomb in my throat from the wry glare Patty directs at me. My heart thrashes against my chest when I see the edge of calamity in his normally gentle eyes. Noticing my frightened expression, his face softens before he once again gestures for me to sit. Not trusting my shaking legs to keep me upright, I plop onto the barstool and swivel to face Patty. He places a loaf of crusted bread onto the countertop and runs his hand along the edge of his jaw.
“The man who followed you to Hugo’s floor. Do you know who that man is?”
His voice is stern, but the concern in his eyes is causing my greatest worry.
I shake my head. “I’ve never seen him before.”
“His name is Col Petretti,” Patty advises, his tone deep and raspy.
My lips purse, certain I’ve heard his name before.
“He's a monster, Ava, a man who will decimate an entire family without a second thought.”
My pupils enlarge as an overpowering sense of dread grips my heart.
“A brutal, heartless man who destroys everything in his wake, not stopping for anyone or anything.”
“Hugo. He was at Hugo’s apartment,” I say through the tears clogging my words.
Patty steps closer to me. His face is set as hard as stone. “It is too late for Hugo. He made his bed; now he must sleep in it.”
I violently shake my head, sending tears flinging off my cheeks. I slip off the barstool and rush to the door, my frantic steps only impeded by the fear wreaking havoc on my body. I can barely breathe through my panic, but nothing can stop me. I need to get to Hugo, to protect him from the real life monster who has escaped his nightmares.
Before I can reach the door, Patty beats me to it.
Pressing his back against the door, Patty’s remorseful eyes dance between mine. “It is too late for Hugo, Ava. If he isn’t already dead, he soon will be.”
My eyes burn, unable to accommodate the rapid flow of moisture flooding them. My hand clutches my neck as I struggle to contain the emotions crippling me.
“He's gone, Ava. He can’t come back from this.”
Despair crashes into me when I see the candor in Patty’s eyes.
“That is why he said goodbye.” I hiccup through a stream of tears, incapable of catching a full breath. “He knew he was never coming back. He knew he was leaving forever.”
Patty’s glossed eyes stare into mine as he nods. My knees buckle as the fear paralyzing me becomes too much for me to inhibit. Patty catches me with his arms and cradles me close to his chest. Running his hand down my sweat-drenched hair, he whispers soothing words, encouraging me to breathe through the flood of tears flowing down my face……
“Ava,” shouts a voice across the room, breaking me from my memories.
I run my index finger under my eyes, removing any evidence of my tears before spinning toward the voice. My attempts at making myself look presentable are fruitless when his narrowed eyes zoom in on the glistening of tears shimmering on my rosy cheeks.
“She doesn’t need to sign in. She's with me,” he informs, peering over my shoulder at the receptionist standing behind me.
I smile warily at the receptionist, grateful she didn’t refute his inaccurate statement. My high altitude stilettos click along the marble floor as I quickly span the distance between us. His eyes slit as he roams them over my Misha Collection Leyana dress. I run my hands down the knee-length skirt, smoothing out the invisible creases he believes are in my dress.
“Out of all the days to be late, Ava, you have to choose today,” he grumbles, adjusting the neckline of my dress.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, my words weak.
After running the back of his hand roughly under my eyes, removing any traces of my smeared mascara, he clutches my hand in
his and paces into the opulent ballroom. Once we are surrounded by elegantly dressed men and woman, his stiffened posture softens and the mask he regularly wears in public slips into place. I play the role of devoted spouse to a T. I smile at important dignitaries, ignoring their depraved assessments of my body, and praise the pompous-looking ladies in their hideous ball gowns.
By the time we make it into the middle of the elegant room, my cheeks are burning nearly as much as my hip from his firm clutch on my body.
“I said to smile at the important men, not give them an open invitation to your bedroom,” he snarls, ensuring he's quiet enough only I can hear him.
“Believe me, no man in this room is getting an invitation to my bedroom tonight,” I gabble under my breath before snagging a wine glass off a waiter ambling by, balancing a silver tray on his palm.
“Sorry, what did you say?”
From his tone alone, I know he heard what I said. My pupils dilate as a surge of anxiety courses through me. Thankfully, the clinking of a wine glass interrupts his furious glare. He strengthens his clutch hold on my body before gliding his gaze to Mr. Gardner standing near a podium in the middle of the ballroom.
Mr. Gardner, work associate and boss, looks dashing in a dark blue tailored suit and polished dress shoes. The vibrancy of his red tie matches the hue Mrs. Gardner’s cheeks get when he bombards her with a flurry of compliments as he shares the story of how they met and married the day they attended a dental conference in Las Vegas twenty-five years ago today.
My heart warms when I see the love projecting out of Mr. Gardner’s eyes as he speaks of his fondness for his beloved wife. He has the same gleam in his eyes Hawke would always get when he was in Jorgie’s presence, the same gleam Hugo’s eyes had when he woke me every morning before Jorgie’s death. The sentimental tears Mr. Gardner’s speech elicit allow me to conceal my heart break for the loss of Hugo and Jorgie.
A smile curls on my lips when the clinking of wine glasses jingles through my ears at the end of Mr. Gardner’s speech. The color in Mrs. Gardner’s cheeks amplifies as she prepares to comply with her wedding anniversary guests’ request. A giggle bubbles up my chest when wolf whistles and cat calls bellow across the room as Mr. Gardner seals his lips over Mrs. Gardner’s. Even though they're in their mid-fifties and have been married for twenty-five years, their love for each other is still in that giddy newlywed phase.
The uproar of cheers and hollering only simmer when a deep voice rumbles over the excitement, requesting quiet. My heart hammers against my ribs when the procession of elegantly dressed party attendees swivel to face me. I can barely secure a full breath when my date releases his death clutch on my hip and kneels down in front of me.
My disbelieving eyes shoot around the room crammed with our work associates and important dignitaries as his hand delves into the breast pocket of his midnight black suit. My eyes rocket back to his when he produces a black velvet ring box from his pocket. The mad pulse raging through my body clusters in my ears as he cranks open the box to display the princess cut diamond engagement ring nestled inside.
“Marvin, what are you doing?”
My voice is low, ensuring the mass gathering of people surrounding us won’t hear the fear in my voice.
Marvin’s arduous eyes lift from the ring box to me. “Ava, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” His voice is as uneasy as the expression on his face.
Mrs. Gardner’s hand shoots up to her mouth, muffling her excited squeal. I swallow, relieving the dryness impinging my throat. The room goes deadly quiet as I stare at Marvin, unable to comprehend what is happening, let alone articulate a response. The longer I stay quiet, the more Marvin’s eyes glare into mine, reprimanding me for the delay. Tears pool in my eyes as I hesitantly nod, accepting his proposal.
The shake of my hand trembles my arm when he clasps my hand in his and slips the engagement ring onto my ring finger. The sternness in his eyes eases when he stands from his kneeled position and wraps his arms around my shoulders.
The crowd erupts into a loud cheer when he pulls me in and seals his lips over mine. The saltiness of the tears streaming down my face mixes with the whiskey lacing his tongue when he slips it inside my mouth, sealing our engagement with an emotion-packed kiss.
Three
Hugo
My back arches off the mattress as a tormented scream tears from my throat. I thrash against the sheets wrapped around my withering body, fighting to loosen their deathly tight grip.
When another painful howl rumbles through my lips, my eyes snap open. They drift around the unfamiliar darkness swamping me as I rein in the panic scorching my veins. My body is covered in a thick layer of sweat, and my heart is pounding fitfully as the dark shadows of a nightmare cling to my body.
With the mellow-toned walls and stark white sheets, it takes me several moments to gather my bases. For the past nearly five years, I’ve become accustomed to waking up in the bedroom of my apartment, not a hospital room.
Five hours on an operating table, four pints of blood and more stitches than I can count were the aftermath of once again failing to rationally consider the consequences, but thankfully, this time, my failure didn’t result in the harsh repercussions of my last debauched decision.
The relief I felt when I awoke to the remorse-filled eyes of Izzy staring down at me hit me like a ton of bricks. I should have known Isaac would have stopped at nothing to ensure she was safe. His protectiveness of Izzy is more vital to him than his next breath.
Ignoring my shoulder screaming in pain, I scoot across the hospital bed, desperately needing a shower to chase away the remnants of the nightmare still clinging to my sweat slicked-skin. The dull ache hampering my shoulder turns lethal when I raise my arm to clasp the silver lift dangling over my bed.
I need the pain, though. I want it as a somber reminder of what happens when I don’t take the time to evaluate my decisions before making them. My lack in judgment yesterday could have ended a lot worse than it did, adding another item to the exhaustive list of mistakes I’ve made in my lifetime.
I grit my teeth and hoist myself into an upright position. A rush of dizziness clusters in my head, amplifying the swirls of my stomach. I throw my legs over the side of the bed and stand on a pair of wobbly knees. My shaky steps to the attached bathroom are hindered by the heart rate monitor strapped to my chest.
Leaning on the wheeled side table to steady my swaying movements, I use my free hand to rip off the heart monitor and defibrillation pads from my chest. As soon as the first pad is removed, an alarm sounds from the monitor, shrilling in my ears.
My fingers frantically punch at the buttons on the unit, trying to shut up its irritating shrieks. The shake impeding my legs switches to my hands when a flood of memories pelt into me at once. You don’t realize the significance of a ripple in a pulse line until you see one vanish before your eyes.
Allowing my anger to get the better of me, I rip the cords off my chest and stalk into the bathroom, dragging the IV stand with me. The pain shredding through my body is nothing compared to the ache crippling my heart. I step into the tiled hob of the shower, not bothering to remove my hospital gown.
Cranking the water on full pelt, I step under the spray. The freezing temperature of the frigid water sends a jolt through my body, restarting my frozen heart. I lean my good arm on the sparkling marbled wall and use my spare hand to rip off the thin gown before stepping deeper into the spray. The chilly water blasts the nape of my neck, relieving my overheated skin and chasing away the remnants of my nightmare.
The subzero temps have only just cooled my feverish skin when the bathroom door swings open and Raquel zips into the room.
“What are you doing out of bed?!” she reprimands me, her high-pitched squeal bouncing off the tiled walls and jingling into my ears.
Raquel is the nurse Isaac hired to look after me during my recovery. When Izzy spotted her sauntering into the room yesterday afternoon, her eyes popped and her e
lbow landed in Isaac’s ribs, reacting the exact way any woman would when a girl with cock-twitching good looks like Raquel enters a room.
Raquel is the exact vision any man conjures when the term naughty nurse is mentioned. She has straight blonde hair, defined eyes, and curvy lips that accentuate her beautiful face. Although Izzy is fooled by Isaac’s reasoning in hiring Raquel as my nurse, I’m not. Isaac knows me well enough to know even though Raquel is gorgeous and has a body that would make most men fall to their knees, I’m not interested in purchasing what she's selling.
Although I'd never openly admit it, I have a slight fascination for a certain type of skin tone. It isn’t an absolute necessity when I’m looking for a bed companion, just like every guy out there, but instead of the favorable characteristics of my dates being determined by their hair or eye coloring, my interests lie in the smooth richness of their beautiful skin coloring.
Don’t construe my admission the wrong way, though. Although my preferences lean toward tanned skin, it isn’t the only feature required to gain my attention. Raquel is a prime example of that. Just watching her nibble on the end of her pen last night sent a mass injection of blood to the lower region of my body, and her complexion is as white as a hospital sheet. I don’t mean slightly pale. I mean, she doesn’t have a hint of a tan, whiter-than-Casper-the-Ghost white, but Raquel’s pasty skin coloring has nothing to do with why I’m not lining up to purchase the sweetness she's offering.
Although Raquel was hired as my nurse, I’ve known her for nearly two years, and I class her as a friend. Only once in my life have I crossed the fine line that separates friends from bed companions. I didn’t just cross the line with Ava, I smudged it out with my foot on the way over, permanently erasing it from our lives. Just like Ava is the only girl I’ve ever lusted over, asked out and fallen in love with, she will remain the only girl I’ll ever jump the friendship line for.
