Blue Velvet

by Linnea May

  What’s going on? Who is this guy? What’s wrong with Rowan?

  The questions are buzzing through my head, and I can tell in Rowan’s look that he hears them without me having to give voice to them.

  31

  Rowan

  “This is Dwight.” I introduce the bastard, answering Melina’s unspoken question.

  Why the hell is he here? Why tonight? Is this guy following me? Haven’t we seen enough of each other today?

  It was his urgent text message that pulled me away from her earlier, asking me to meet him at the office as soon as possible. He claimed there was news regarding the Mentor contract, speaking about it as if we’re still in talks with those guys, which we are not. Not officially, at least. It turned out that Dwight took matters into his own hands, making decisions over my head without even telling me, let alone consulting me. Not only does he not have the authority to do so, but his behavior is harmful to the company.

  I had to react as quickly as possible and rushed to the office as soon as I got his text, only to end up in a heated debate with him that left me agitated and unraveled with an aching head.

  Melina knows who Dwight is because I’ve mentioned him more than once, mostly as an excuse for my absent behavior. But she’s never officially met the guy before.

  Her eyes widen in realization, and she nods, pressing her lips together as she tries to hide her feelings toward him. I’ve only ever shared all the bad stuff about him, so there’s an easy explanation for her disdain. It’s comforting to know that I have her as an accomplice in this.

  “Nice to finally meet the young lady!” Dwight pipes, offering Melina a handshake that she accepts reluctantly. “I’ve heard so much about you!”

  My insides are burning with heated rage. But the angry turmoil is not as bad as the vertigo that’s been torturing me ever since this afternoon.

  I have no fucking clue what’s happening. The world has been a daze ever since I got home after meeting with Dwight this afternoon. I feel drunk, completely wasted even, but I’ve only had two drinks today. A scotch to calm my nerves as I debated with Dwight at the company earlier—he poured it for us in an unusual gesture to make peace between us—and then another one when I paced up and down my living room. I thought I was just distraught and drained from my encounter with Dwight, but my head has been spinning in a way that’s new to me.

  Dwight has been driving me up the walls for days with his stubbornness. Even after I told him that my decision is firmer than ever, he still insists on signing with Mentor—despite the numbers and despite the fact that this would be the worst deal in the history of the company.

  He must know that. He must fucking know that.

  Why is he being so unreasonable? I don’t fucking get it.

  I don’t get a lot of things today. I don’t get why I’m feeling like shit. I don’t get why I’m here, or even how I got here. It was instinct, really. I stumbled out of the office feeling so enraged, so fucking angry. My fists were clenching, and for the first time in years, I was fueled by the strong urge to punch someone—no, not just anyone, him—in the face.

  It didn’t help that my father was still in the hospital, having tests done that would tell us a more definite prospect for him in the very near future. Will it be months until I have to say goodbye to him? Weeks? Days even? There’s no definite telling at this point, and it’s gnawing at me. That and Dwight’s unwillingness to follow my leadership for the company is enough to drive me into a state that I haven’t been in for years.

  I fucking hate it.

  It was instinct that brought me here; a sudden urge to see Melina after I failed to calm myself down at home.

  The world is turning around me, faster and faster, striking at me with furious hits while I feel like a goddamn punching ball.

  I needed to see her. I needed to see Melina, touch her, kiss her, fuck her. But I know I’m in no condition to do the latter even if the situation presented itself tonight.

  She looks at me; her eyebrows curved with worry.

  “What’s wrong?” Her big eyes question me as she watches me reeling at the bar.

  “He’s just had a little too much,” Dwight answers in my place, lying.

  “No, I haven’t,” I insist, glaring at him furiously, but he waves me off. “I’m fine.”

  “You just keep telling yourself that,” he says, belittling me with the way he speaks. “Just like you keep telling yourself you only have the company’s best interest in mind.”

  My chest tightens, and I jerk up, causing him to shuffle back in surprise as I gain height on him even while I remain seated.

  “You know I’m right,” I hiss at him. “You can’t possibly be that stupid.”

  He regards me with a condescending smile, once again provoking the urge to hit him right in his ugly face.

  “No need to insult me,” he retorts. “Just because I’m not as easily manipulated as your sickened father.”

  He leans in closer, his eyes flickering with menace.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself,” he snarls at me. “Taking advantage of your old man’s weakened state like that.”

  I shoot up, ignoring the chair as it tips over behind me, noisily crashing to the ground and causing our few bystanders to jerk away.

  “What did you just say to me?” I yell at the guy, almost spitting the words as I raise my voice to a level that makes the women around us flinch.

  “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

  The girl in black lace who came to the bar in Dwight’s company hurries away from us, her fingers clenching around the Coke she just received while the other girl who has been keeping Melina company jumps to the side, putting distance between herself and us, but not fleeing as the other one did.

  I tower above Dwight by at least five inches, making use of my dominating height as I straighten before him.

  But my stance isn’t stable. I’m swaying like a straw in the wind, barely able to stand up straight.

  “Gentlemen.” I hear Melina’s voice from behind the bar. “Please.”

  She raises her hand in an appeasing manner, trying to catch our attention.

  A nasty grin spreads on Dwight’s aged face as he cocks his head to the side, pointing in Melina’s direction.

  “You’re scaring your little missy over there,” he says in a hiss so low that I can barely hear the words. His eyes trail over to Melina for a split second before he turns back to me, leaning in so close that our noses almost touch.

  “Man, she looks fucking terrified,” he whispers. “Almost like she knows what it’s like to feel your fists coming at her. Did you hit her, too?”

  “I never hit a woman,” I remind him, my voice trembling with fury. “Never.”

  Technically, that’s stretching the truth, and Melina knows that better than he does. I’ve never hit a woman, not like that, not like an abuser. But I’ve definitely lost my temper with them before, resulting in scenes that I’m anything but proud of.

  Dwight’s ugly eyes narrow as he fixates me, fueling the heated rage boiling inside me. If he doesn’t apologize to me—and Melina—right now, there’s no telling what I might do. If he dares to add on to his spiteful insults, I’m sure my fist will meet his despicable face too soon for him to duck away.

  We fixate each other, standing so close that I can smell his alcohol-tainted breath. All eyes are on us, and the club falls completely silent. But this silence isn’t sweet and comforting. It’s tense and dangerous, poisoning my mind even more as I fight the urge to punch this motherfucker right in his hideous face.

  Dwight doesn’t say a word but opts for something much, much worse.

  He smiles at me. A big fat fucking smile, a winning smile that challenges me to do it, to just fucking punch him.

  Then he leans in, getting even closer to me while I suppress the urge to shuffle away from him.

  “I knew it,” he whispers in a barely audible voice. “All bark and no bite.”

 
; Something snaps inside me at that moment. It’s almost like I can hear it; a bright flash, accompanied by a bang that overrides anything else inside my head as I step back, hauling off to finally ...

  “Rowan!”

  Her voice pierces through me, jarring and paralyzing, causing me to freeze mid-motion. My fist is still up in the air, our bystander’s shocked hush still echoing through the room, but not as loudly and unyielding as Melina’s horrified shriek as she cried out my name.

  I turn to her, still paused in a stance I never wanted to find myself in ever again, when our eyes meet.

  The look on her face tears me apart.

  Horror, anguish, and fright blend on her pretty features while she subtly shakes her head as if in denial. She’s clutching her arms around her belly, holding herself tightly like I know she must have done before a thousand times but never because of me. Her eyes are bulging, unable to blink as they water with tears she doesn’t want to shed.

  Tears she shouldn’t have to shed.

  And I did that to her.

  I did that.

  Again.

  32

  Melina

  He doesn’t hit him. Thank God, he doesn’t hit him.

  Rowan looks at me, his gaze still fogged with whatever influence he’s under, even though his fist remains lifted, ready to punch. I sigh with relief when he finally lowers it, a shadow of defeat darkening his handsome face.

  He backs off, turning around on his heel and heading for the exit just as our doorman walks through, accompanied by the girl who came downstairs with the Dwight guy and followed by the madam. Miss Barry carries an angry frown on her face, hissing something to Rowan as he hurries past her, raising his hand to ward her off. The doorman escorts him to the exit while Miss Barry moves to the bar in long angry strides.

  “I’m sorry if this gentleman bothered you,” she says to everybody around, her gaze pausing on each of us before it locks onto Dwight, the only client in proximity, and the person whose happiness she likely cares about.

  “I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” she says to him, adding a little bow while Sandy and I gasp with outrage.

  “He started it!” I blurt out, pointing at Dwight, who retorts my outburst with an angry glare while Sandy nods in the background.

  Miss Barry casts me a warning look.

  “Melina, please,” she says, lifting her hand to appease me.

  “It’s true.” Sandy comes to my rescue, catching the madam’s attention. “He said stuff to him, mean things. And he insulted Melina, too.”

  Miss Bass pinches the bridge of her nose as she lets out a deep sigh. I know how much she loathes situations like this. She’s always worried about any kind of trouble, any ruckus that might disturb her delicate business. Rowan’s yelling and his lifted fist were the last things she wants in here, and I’m not surprised to find her this agitated.

  But she should know that Rowan wasn’t the only one at fault here. Dwight provoked him, almost as if he wanted this to happen. He snarled ugly things at Rowan, aggravating him more and more, and then he just stood there, pretty much waiting for the punch.

  “Please, ladies,” she says. “Whatever was said in here, this gentleman is not the one who raised his voice and threatened to punch another customer. Isn’t that right?”

  She holds us in place with a hard stare, her eyebrows creasing while that idiot Dwight is standing next to her, beaming with a winning smile as he leans back with his hands shoved down in his suit pants’ pockets.

  “Again, I’m sorry,” Miss Barry repeats, scanning the room one of more time as if to search for any other troublemakers before she turns around and walks out the same direction that Rowan just walked through.

  Sandy and I exchange a look, my heart still racing with a blend of anger and sadness.

  What the hell just happened? What’s wrong with Rowan tonight? Why was he acting like this?

  “What did you do to him?” I probe, jutting my chin toward Dwight as he leans against the bar top.

  He looks at me with a grisly and patronizing smirk.

  “How about a drink for me?” he says, ignoring my question.

  I glance over at Sandy, who huffs in indignation next to him before my eyes journey to the door, making sure that Miss Barry has left the room.

  “I’m not serving you until you tell me what’s going on between you and Rowan,” I retort, supporting myself on the bar top as I lean in to him over the bar. “What’s wrong with him? I’ve never seen him like that.”

  Dwight lets out a foul chuckle, shaking his head as he looks at me.

  “Let’s just say your boyfriend is terribly bad at handling stress at the moment,” he says, fixating me. “Always has been, really. You know what he’s like. Unbearable when he’s not on his meds.”

  Angry heat flushes through my body, and my heart pounds in angry beats, speeding as I try to keep it together.

  “His meds?” I repeat.

  Dwight shrugs, adding an insolent laugh to his gesture.

  “You know, I told him he shouldn’t stop taking them. They really put him in his place, made him a person you could actually talk to, even though he was still unreasonable then,” he says, dragging the words as he speaks.

  I shuffle back, inhaling in shock as I try to make sense of his words.

  “He met with you today,” I recall. “This afternoon. You texted to see him, right?”

  Dwight shrugs again. “We had business to discuss. That’s what grownups do, little girl.”

  “Don’t call me that!” I hiss, disgusted. “What did you do to him when you guys met?”

  His eyebrows arch as he perks up, raising both hands in defense.

  “I didn’t do anything to him! We talked, that’s all,” he says. “Had a little drink. Thought I’d give him a little something to take the edge off, you know.”

  He chuckles coldly. “Made him mellow all right, but no less hard to argue with.”

  My breath catches as my hand flies up to my mouth, touching parted lips as a gruesome realization comes to mind.

  “What did you do to him?” I repeat. “Did you give him something? Did you put something in his drink?”

  “Hey!” he barks at me, throwing me an alarmed look. “Enough with the accusations!”

  He looks surprised for whatever reason. He just pretty much told me what he did, so why does it amaze him when I say it out loud?

  Maybe he really did want all of this to happen? What if he has planned this? I’ve never seen him around on the nights when Rowan was here, and it strikes me as an odd coincidence that he’s here tonight, coming right up to Rowan and saying all that nasty stuff. Somehow taking advantage of the state Rowan was in and just waiting for him to punch him. He was not only provoking it, but he also welcomed it.

  But why?

  Why would he do this? Why would he have any interest in reviving a person who Rowan no longer wants to be? And why am I still here, leaving Rowan on his own again as the monsters of his past make an unwelcome appearance. Last time, it was nothing but a tale, an unpleasant truth about the man I was about to fall in love with. Tonight, I got a glimpse of what that truth looks like in the flesh.

  But it was nothing but a threat, something—or someone—pushing Rowan to the edge as he tried to fight it.

  I can’t confirm that my suspicions are true, but Dwight does not deny it either. He just glares at me now, looking tense and waiting as if he’s almost afraid of my next move.

  I look over at Sandy, who’s still close to us, watching the scene with frightened fascination. She catches my gaze, nodding toward me as if she already knows what I’m about to say.

  “Tell them I had to leave!”

  She nods again, watching as I turn on my heel and jog toward the exit, ignoring the angry slurs that Dwight sends after me.

  33

  Rowan

  I need to get out of this place. Away from her, away from that look.

  That look she gave me.

&n
bsp; I swore I’d never do this to her, never hurt her like she’s been hurt before. I swore I’d never scare her and remind her of the ghosts she’s trying to leave behind as much as I am.

  I promised myself she would never see this side of me. And I failed her.

  My head is spinning, my heart racing with a speed that is almost painful, which only worsens the state my fucked-up head is in. I’m dizzy and nauseous, and it’s no longer just a physical thing. The thoughts running through my head now are almost as toxic as the feeling that’s spreading through me as I stumble out on the street.

  Luckily, the doorman who has been called to the ladies’ rescue has no interest in making this worse for me. Instead of grabbing me violently, shoving me forward, and reminding me never to step foot inside this club—or some other kind of bullshit he could be yelling at me—he just calmly walks next to me, not saying a word as he escorts me off the premises.

  The door closes behind me, setting a tragic and poetic end to the evening and possibly to whatever I had with Melina.

  It took her days to consider giving me a second chance after I opened up to her, telling her about the man I used to be, the man who drove me to make the mistakes that turned me into the broken person I am today.

  And that was just a tale. It was just a story to her; a tale about my past that frightened her enough to run away from me then.

  Tonight was more than that. Tonight wasn’t just a history lesson about me; it was the real thing. Tonight, she actually got an impression of the man she fears, the man I no longer want to be. And she knows that it was nothing but a taste. I erupted in front of her eyes. I yelled at a man, and I almost punched a man—but none of it depicts what is actually brewing inside me. I held back, just barely managing to control myself.

  It could have been so much worse, and she knows that.

  I didn’t call for my driver to get here but took a cab instead; my head already too dazed for any conversation I might be required to have otherwise. So, he’s not waiting for me outside, and I have to pick one of the cabs waiting on the driveway in front of the club at random. They begin lining up as the night progresses, and they know there’ll be an ample number of happy rich men who tip generously.