Beneath the Sheets

by Shandi Boyes

  Marvin lifts his bloodshot eyes to mine. “There could be far worse options for you than marrying me. You're lucky I came into your life when I did. You should remember that.”

  With that, he pivots on his heels and ambles out of the room.

  I wait until I hear my front door slam shut before I call Marvin every curse name under the sun. I don’t hold back. Words I swore I'd never speak come out of my mouth in a tirade of cursing a sailor on shore leave would be proud of. My loud rant is highly inappropriate but one hundred percent accurate. Every curse word I’ve heard in my life could describe Marvin in some form. Asshole. Two-faced bastard. Motherfucker. Those are a small handful of the words spilling from my mouth right now. And they're the tame ones.

  After having a long, boiling hot shower, my annoyance at my exchange with Marvin is still firmly clutching my neck, asphyxiating me. I throw the frilly decorative pillows off my bed like they're missiles before diving under the thick down quilt.

  Even surrounded by softness greater than a cloud, the tension tightly coiling my muscles is making me restless. My eyes drift to the bedside table on my left. I stare at it, willing it to answer my silent questions of whether it’s able to calm the storm raging inside of me. There's only one way I can relieve this type of tension.

  I scoot across the bed and fling open the cherry oak drawer. My heartbeat quickens when I delve my hand inside, hunting through the drawer full to the brim with odd knickknacks and ornaments. My breath hitches when my fingertips brush past a smooth, cool surface. I grasp the item tightly in my hand, knowing it is what I'm seeking without needing to physically see it.

  I yank my hand out of the drawer, like I’ve been scorched by an ignited flame. My eyes dart around the room as I hold the article close to my chest. Once I'm sure the coast is clear of prying eyes, I slowly lower the shiny glass instrument from my heaving chest.

  I snap my eyes shut, urging my tears to stay at bay as I twist the lid on the bottle and inhale deeply. Hot, salty tears roll down my cheeks when the invigorating smell of Woods of Windsor aftershave fills the air surrounding me. Even though it doesn’t have the scent of his skin mixed with it, it is an energizing smell that sends a flurry of emotions coursing through my mind.

  After placing the smallest dab of the aftershave Hugo left sitting open on my bathroom sink nearly five years ago onto my pillow, I put the bottle back safely into the drawer and snuggle into the pillow. No matter how hard I try, no matter how many days, months or years pass, I can’t forget. My heart will never forget him.

  When my eyelids become as heavy as my heart, I allow my mind to drift. My very first thoughts go to him. Hugo.

  Five

  Hugo

  Five days later….

  “Hugo!” Izzy squeals at the top of her lungs when I wrap my good arm around her and hoist her off the ground.

  I’ve just arrived at the annual Christmas Eve party billionaire Cormack McGregor holds every year. Cormack is one of Isaac’s oldest and dearest friends. Even though he's filthy rich, he's one of the most stellar guys I’ve ever met.

  Just like Isaac, his heart is bigger than his bank account. Although Cormack’s Christmas Eve party isn’t as extravagant as his other numerous functions I’ve attended the past five years, it is my favorite. The atmosphere is always relaxed, focused more on guests having a good time than attempting to drain their pockets for the various charities Cormack and Isaac chair.

  When I place Izzy down onto the ground, she spins around to face me. Her jaw is hanging low and her eyes are opened wide. After running her eyes over my face, they drop to vigorously access every inch of my body. She has done the same thing every day for the past week. No matter how many times I assure her my injuries were a result of my lack of due diligence, Izzy still harbors guilt over what happened.

  “Is the sling a necessity, or are you trying to get sympathy points from the ladies?” she quips, her tone playful as she peers at the sling holding my injured shoulder up.

  I throw my head back and laugh. “A little bit of column A, a little bit of column B,” I retort, loving that the guilt plaguing her eyes the past week is diminishing as time passes.

  I drift my gaze from Izzy’s glistening chocolate eyes to Harlow, Izzy’s best friend. “Are you going to share one of those?” I ask, gesturing to the bottle of tequila she's clasping. “Since I’m officially not on duty and can’t get fired by Izzy misbehaving, I may as well have a little bit of fun.”

  My deep chuckle booms around the room when Izzy screws up her nose and sticks out her tongue. If I squint, I could pretend she was Jorgie. Harlow waggles her brows before pouring four shots of tequila into gold-flecked shot glasses.

  After handing me a shot glass, Harlow playfully winks. “Bottoms up.”

  Just as the scent of tequila hits my senses, the shot glass is snatched from my hand.

  “Or not.” Regan downs my nip of tequila.

  I balk, surprised when she doesn’t attempt to grab a wedge of lime sitting on the round bar table after she swallows the entire nip of tequila in one quick gulp.

  “Come on, Regan, one shot won’t kill me.”

  Regan is Raquel’s older sister. If that doesn’t already make her a ball crusher, she's also Isaac’s friend and lawyer.

  Regan quirks her lips. “No, but Raquel might if she finds out you were drinking alcohol after taking pain medication.”

  I scoff. “If she stopped ramming them down my throat, I wouldn’t have to worry.”

  Regan smiles a bright grin. As much as she would deny it, she loves that Raquel is following in her footsteps. Raquel’s hard ass, take-shit-from-no-one stance has been wearing my patience thin the past week, but in all honesty, even with her busting my chops at every opportunity, Raquel is good at her job. Without her pushing me, I'd most likely still be laid up in a hospital bed, stewing over my confrontation with Rhys.

  Only now, years after the incident do I realize I was in the wrong from the way I reacted when Rhys informed me Jorgie wasn’t going to pull through her injuries, but in my defense, part of me died the day Jorgie did. And no matter how hard I fight to piece back the shattered pieces of my heart, it never happens. It will never happen.

  My eyes float from the floor when Isaac asks, “How did you get out of Raquel’s clutches for the night?”

  “I didn’t,” I grumble, my mood balancing dangerously between somber and playful. “She sent her evil twin in her place.”

  My mood sways to playful when Regan throws her clutch into my chest, winding me from the power of her hit. I chuckle while ribbing her with my elbow. Although Regan acts like she hates me, the tears frequenting her eyes every time she visited me in the hospital tells me she likes me a little more than she's letting on, but just like Raquel, as much as taming the beast raging inside Regan would be a compelling feat, she’s too much of a friend to tread over that line.

  I cringe when a high-pitched voice shrieks through my ears. “Holy crap! What is that?”

  My eyes missile to Cormack’s little sister, Cate. Her bugging eyes are planted on a glistening of color sparkling on Izzy’s hand.

  Izzy’s teeth munch on her bottom lip. “We’re engaged.”

  I can’t hold in the grin that morphs across my face. Although Izzy and Isaac have only been a couple a few short months, time is no barrier when you find your other half. It shouldn’t matter if it is a week or a year, if they're who your heart desires, that’s all that matters. Oh god, would you listen to me? Maybe I did get shot in the cock instead of my shoulder.

  My brows furrow from the stern glare Isaac directs at me when I issue my congratulations to Izzy with a friendly hug. He knows me. I never cut another man’s turf. Shrugging off Isaac’s newly acquired second green head of envy, I slip away from the group and amble to the bar. I raise my chin in greeting to the bartender preparing a spritzer for a slightly overweight lady wearing a dress five sizes too big for the luscious curves of her body.

  “Can I grab a beer?”
I request, sitting on the barstool.

  The bartender places a coaster in front of me before setting an open bottle of beer on it.

  “Where have I seen you?” I ask, raising the beer to my parched mouth.

  He seems familiar to me, but his name has been misplaced, which is unusual for me. I have a stellar knack for matching names with faces.

  “Dante,” he introduces himself.

  After wiping his condensation-covered hand down a white tea towel hanging off his waist, he offers it in greeting.

  I accept his hand. “Hugo.”

  He tries to mask his surprise, but I didn’t miss his quick intake of breath that relays he knows who I am. Not the Hugo Jones everyone in Ravenshoe knows. The real Hugo. The Hugo Marshall who vanished from Rochdale nearly five years ago.

  The pulse thrumming in Dante’s neck increases when I squeeze his hand with more force than I was originally instilling. He tries to pry his hand out of my grasp, but his small frame is no match for a man of my size.

  “Please don’t break my hand. I’m starting my internship to be a surgeon next month,” he begs, his eyes pleading into mine.

  “How do you know me?” I query, my tone low as anger envelopes me.

  I’ve reached my quota of run-ins with people from my past. First, I had to deal with Col Petretti sniffing around Ravenshoe, then Rhys, now Dante.

  “My brother,” he stammers as the bones in his hand creak from my brutal pressure. “My brother is Rhys.”

  My eyes dance over his face. Same mocha skin coloring, hazel eyes, and prominent nose. I don’t know how I missed it. He's the spitting image of his older brother. The strain hampering Dante’s face eases when I release him from my grip. His hand shoots across the counter, ensuring it isn’t within my reach. I swig on my beer. Dante follows my every movement.

  “Why are you in Ravenshoe?” I ask, my voice low.

  I shift my eyes around the room, ensuring no one witnessed my small confrontation with Dante. Isaac is talking to Clara at the side, and Izzy is pacing toward the makeshift dance floor with Cormack’s younger brother, Colby, closely in pursuit. Happy no one is watching, I shift my eyes back to Dante.

  “Rhys is my guardian,” he mutters. “Until I finish my studies, I go where he goes.”

  My brows stitch together. “What happened to your parents?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Tagget have been members of the Rochdale community as long as my parents. Mrs. Tagget was my fifth grade teacher and Mr. Tagget was the local obstetrician.

  “They were killed in a traffic accident nearly five years ago,” Dante informs me.

  My eyes snap to Dante. The devastation of his loss still weighs heavily in his readable eyes. They're full of remorse and anguish.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Although my eyes issue my sympathies for the loss of his parents, they also deliver my repentance for my earlier overreaction. Dante nods, accepting my apology before moving down the bar to serve another patron.

  My attention lapses from perusing the dance floor when a flurry of red catches my eyes.

  “Hi,” Peta breathes out heavily, slipping into the space beside me.

  “Hey.” I swig on my beer to conceal my assessment of her face and body.

  Peta is Cormack’s secretary, and the second sexiest woman alive. She has flawless, rich, tan skin; unique light brownish-yellowish eyes; and a face hand-carved by sculptors. She's no doubt gorgeous, and even better than that, she's not a friend of mine.

  “Did you want to dance?”

  My lips purse, shocked by her request. Although we’ve openly flirted the past year, it’s never gone any further than a few corny one-liners. That may have something to do with the fact I refuse to ask anyone out. Not to a date, to the movies, or even to dance. No one has been asked out before Ava, and no one will be asked out after her.

  When Peta runs her shaking hand over the curve of her top lip, I realize I failed to answer her question.

  “Sure, I’d love to dance,” I say with a grin.

  I guzzle down the last of my beer before guiding Peta to the dance floor by placing my hand on the small of her back. My eyes scan the area as we approach, ensuring it is clear of any encumbrances. Screening the premises is as natural as breathing to me. It is a habit that was engrained in me years ago, way before Ava and I reunited. Although I’d always done it, it became more important after Ava was nearly attacked in a dance club right under my nose. Some may see my constant surveillance as an annoying practice. To me, it isn’t. Keeping an eye out for safety means I won’t get blinded by other people’s bad habits.

  After nearly an hour of dancing, my dress shirt is limp, weighed down by a mountain load of sweat, my throat is parched, and my shoulder is wailing in pain, though I’d never admit the latter to Raquel. I lean in to Peta’s side, ensuring she can hear me over the loud rumble of music booming out the speakers.

  “I’m going to grab a quick drink,” I shout in her ear. “Did you want anything?”

  She spins on her heels, revealing inches of skin on her luxurious thigh when the split in her dress gapes open. Spotting her mouth-watering legs has me wanting to reconsider what hankering I want to tackle first. My thirst, or another irrepressible hunger only a woman can quench.

  “A bottle of water?” Peta replies. Her unease makes her request come out as more of a question than a demand. “Then maybe we can get out of here?” she adds on, her voice trembling.

  My heads slants to the side and I peer into her famished eyes. The unsure grin curling her lips morphs into a full smile when I nod. Winking at the excitement crossing her face, I pivot on my heels and make my way to the bar. Dante’s throat works hard to swallow when he notices me approaching. If I weren’t in the midst of thinking with my lower head, I'd take the time to properly apologize for my previous reaction, but for now, that will have to wait. After gathering my beer and a glass of iced water, I amble back to the dance floor. My pace is fast, eager to wash off the funk I’ve been sporting the past week.

  My brisk strides only falter when a deep voice says, “If I squint, I can see the similarities.”

  I crank my head to the side faster than a rocket launching into space. Rhys is standing behind a round bar table. Unlike last week, he has forgone his surgical scrubs and stethoscope, choosing the classier look of a sleek black suit with pale green dress shirt.

  With the air saturated with mugginess from a large gathering of people in a small space, he’s removed his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing his vast collection of tattoos. Just like my arms, every inch of skin on Rhys’ forearms is covered in artwork. Just seeing Rhys floods my mind with memories I try to keep buried. Imagine what it would be like if I ever saw her again?

  After lifting my chin in greeting, I continue with my initial objective.

  “Poor girl. Does she even know you're looking at her as a doppelgänger?”

  I grit my teeth and continue walking, choosing to ignore Rhys’ taunt. I'm not the same man I was five years ago; I’ve learned to hide my spikes well.

  “She may look like Ava, but you sure as hell know even someone as beautiful as her can’t compete with a woman of Ava’s qualities. No one can compete with Ava’s sweetness.”

  I freeze halfway between the bar and the dance floor. I inhale quick, rapid-fired breaths to calm the anger bubbling in my veins, but no matter what I do, no matter how much I try to suffocate the jealousy building like an out-of-control wildfire, I can’t squash it. I’ve never been able to rein in my anger when it comes to Ava.

  Before I can contemplate what I'm doing, I spin on my heels and charge toward Rhys. He doesn’t balk. He doesn’t even blink an eye when he notices me storming his way. He just stands his ground, like a man who is on a mission to unravel me one thread at a time.

  “Even after all this time, she’s still under your skin.” His eyes bounce between mine. “She's right where you left her, Hugo. If you want her that much, why don’t yo
u go get her?”

  “I left for a reason.” My angry snarl booms over the blaring music.

  “Yeah and that reason is now dead.”

  I balk and take a step backward.

  “Come on, Hugo. Give me some credit. I'm a lot smarter than I look.” He takes a step closer to me. “The man who was charged with running down Jorgie goes missing the exact day the victim’s brother falls off the face of the earth, never to be seen again.”

  In the corner of my eye, I catch Hunter watching the exchange between Rhys and me. He runs his hand along the edge of his scruffy beard, signaling he's positioned to step in at any time. I crack my neck, advising that I’ve got this. Although Hunter moves deeper into the crowd, I can feel his eyes on me.

  “You may want to get your facts straight before you go running your mouth. This town isn’t Rochdale,” I warn.

  Rhys smirks, not the faintest bit intimidated by my threat. “Col Petretti wanted your blood. When he couldn’t get it, he went after the next closest thing.”

  “That is why I left!” I snap, incapable of inhibiting my anger any longer. “That is why I stayed away. To protect my family!” To protect Ava.

  Rhys’ strong stance weakens. “I know that, but you can’t use that excuse anymore. Col Petretti is dead. I saw his body myself. So if you want to keep hiding, pretending you're dead too, you’ll need to find another excuse, because your last one expired.”

  My nostrils flare as my lungs fight hard to cool my overheated body. Even though everything Rhys is saying is true, it doesn’t stop the anger pumping my veins with ferocious heat.

  Rhys rolls down the sleeves of his shirt and puts on his jacket. Once his suit coat is buttoned up, he lifts his penitent eyes to me. “It took courage to walk away like you did. To sacrifice everything to keep your family safe. To keep Ava safe, but a man who can admit he made a mistake would be even more courageous than that.”