One to Save

by Tia Louise

  “This looks fun,” Stuart, quips, walking over to Mariska and kissing her.

  Cammie lifts her head and pats his face. “Scoot.”

  “Yes!” Mariska coos to the little girl. “Stuart!”

  I can’t help a laugh. “Sounds like she’s trying to get rid of you.”

  He grins, and the way his eyes glow at the two of them, I’m surprised he hasn’t already proposed. He’s clearly ready to procreate.

  “Did you look into transferring to Princeton like I asked you?” His voice is low, and Mariska’s brow lines.

  “I told you, I’m not letting you pay for my college. It’s not your place.”

  “How about I make it my place.” He catches her around the hips and pulls her to him, and I realize I’m not as recovered from the pain as I thought.

  Leaning forward, I read Star’s list. Toe, roast, leaf, leap, leer... “Doing okay?” I ask, and she shakes her head, holding up a hand.

  “I’ve got to win this time!”

  “It’s Boggle.”

  “Mariska’s won every time!”

  “Sorry, I didn’t know you were playing for blood. I’m stepping across to my place,” I say, heading to the door.

  Mariska looks over her shoulder. “We’re ordering Thai food tonight. You’ll come back and join us, okay?”

  I give her a little wave, unsure what I’ll do tonight. Now that I’m outside my office, back in the world of couples and families, I remember the gaping hole in my life where mine should be. I head to my bedroom, slip off my shoes, and loosen my tie. The picture of Melissa and Dex is on the dresser, and I lift it, enduring the pain radiating through my midsection and focusing on my love for them.

  “I’m not going anywhere, babe,” I say softly. “I’m waiting right here for you.”

  My phone buzzes, and I see Patrick’s face. Touching the screen, I lower the picture. “Hey, man, what’s up?”

  “Nothing,” he says, blowing air into my ear. “Abso-fuckin-lutely nothing. I swear, I feel like I’m beating my head against a brick wall. That fucker hid everything.”

  “You’re talking about Sloan?” Stepping over to my closet, I hit speaker on the phone and put it on the end table.

  “Who else? I’ve spent the last two days shaking every tree I can think of, and nothing falls out. That prick was tighter than Fort Knox.”

  Nodding, I know he’s running into the same thing I faced back when I first tried to investigate Sloan Reynolds. I realize my frustration probably fueled the rage I felt at not being able to keep him from Melissa. It’s probably why I killed him. My legitimate options had run out.

  “He was a piece of work,” I breathe, slipping into relaxed jeans and a navy tee. “Have you gotten anywhere with Star’s guy?”

  “Until he makes another move, we’re just waiting. Since he went directly to her, I don’t have a lot of background. She tossed all the envelopes, so I have no postmarks, no DNA, no potential fingerprints...”

  “Hang in there, partner. These assholes always screw up.” I scoop up my phone and head back to the kitchen. “They’re not as smart as they think they are.”

  “Fucking Sloan Reynolds was one smart motherfucker.”

  “He wasn’t so smart. He had money and great handlers.” Patrick and I’ve worked together a while, and I realize this is the first time I’ve seen him facing a dead end.

  The line is silent a beat before he speaks again. “How are you doing?”

  It’s a question I’m not ready to delve into. I take down the half-empty bottle of Belvedere from last night and grab a tumbler off the drying rack. “I’ve gone through everything I collected on him the last two years. Nothing stands out.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He pauses again. I know it wasn’t. “You going to be okay?”

  I’ve got a nice full glass of vodka, and I take a long drink. Pausing to let the burn pass, I nod. “I’ll make it one more day.”

  “I’m watching her for you. She’s safe.”

  Gratitude warms my chest. Or maybe it’s the alcohol. Either way, “Thanks, partner.”

  “She won’t talk to me either if that makes you feel any better. Apparently, I’m in the dog house, too.”

  Another sip and I rub my forehead with the back of my hand. “It doesn’t make me feel worse.”

  “I think it’s a good sign. She’s mad, and being mad means she loves you. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t give a shit.”

  It’s a good theory. Of course, then I remember her face at the birthday party, the tears in her eyes and the words she kept saying. Leaning back against the sink, I take another long pull. “I hope you’re right.”

  * * *

  The light of a few lamps casts a dim glow across my dark wood floors. My eyes trace the lines of my mahogany furniture. Stainless accents dot the interior, and an enormous flat screen television hangs dark on the wall in front of me.

  When I bought this place, I was alone. Allison had died, taking with her my dreams of a home and a family. I was broken and empty, dark and angry. I had plenty of money to buy the ultimate bachelor pad, yet I had no intention of doing anything with it. I chose to be alone.

  Then Melissa came. Then Dex. My life became so much more than I ever imagined when I moved in here. I had another chance at my dreams.

  Now I’m back in this elegant cave by myself. Dex’s cries are still in my ears, and the sight of Melissa refusing to look at me as she demands her key back...

  I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and even then, I didn’t have much. An empty bottle of vodka is beside me, and anger twists in my chest. My fingers tighten around the crystal tumbler I’m holding, and I want to break it. I’m ready to smash every piece of elegant glass in the whole goddamn place.

  The front door opens, momentarily interrupting my internal firestorm, and Star walks in with Cammie. The little girl is crashed out on her shoulder, and my thoughts travel to Dex. He’d be asleep on Melissa’s shoulder right now.

  Star deposits her daughter in Cammie’s sleeping quarters then goes to the kitchen. I hear her digging in a crinkly plastic bag, and she’s headed my way.

  “Mariska said Walt knows all the best take-out places in a ten-mile radius.” Her voice is too cheerful for how I feel. “I’m convinced. This is the best Thai I’ve had in... possibly ever!”

  She sits on the coffee table in front of me, a plate of noodles in her lap. “You need to eat something.”

  My head is heavy, and I take in her appearance. Tonight, she’s wearing tight jeans and a fitted, white long-sleeved sweater with thin black lines across it. Her long light-brown hair is loose and swept over one shoulder, and her face is more natural than I’ve ever seen it.

  “What made you stick with this?” I say, lifting my hand to gesture to her outfit. “I thought you preferred rocker chic.”

  “I don’t know,” she smiles and glances up through dark lashes. “I guess I feel prettier this way?”

  Nodding, I sit forward. “You look like Melissa.”

  She doesn’t reply. Instead, she takes the glass from my hand, replacing it with a plate. I lift the fork and take a bite of pad Thai. It’s good, so I take another.

  “You’ve been driving a lot. Do you feel stiff?” She stands in front of me.

  “I feel like shit.” Instead of going back across the hall this evening, I’d sent my full-disclosure text to Melissa. As per usual, she didn’t reply. All the vodka later, I’m twisted in my thoughts, trying to find any way back inside, through the wall she’s built around her heart. It’s killing me.

  Star is on her knees, climbing behind me on the couch. “Mariska knows massage therapy.” I feel her hands on my shoulders. “She showed me some touches. That’s what they call them. Touches.”

  She pushes and squeezes my muscles, and warm relaxation moves through my neck, into my arms. “Feels good,” I say, leaning forward to put the plate on the table, resting my elbows on my thighs.

  “It does, right?” Star climbs around m
e and scoots the plate aside, sitting in front of me. “Check this out.”

  Her voice is soft, but my insides are toast. All I want is one thing... one thing 850 miles away. My head is right at her chest, and she slides cool palms to my temples. Slim fingers go behind my ears into my hair. Gentle but intense pressure on my scalp, her thumbs move to my forehead, and the pain eases.

  Her voice is different, lower. “Like that?”

  “Mm. It’s nice.”

  My eyes blink open, and her slim torso is right in front of me, swaying gently. Long, chestnut waves move over her breasts, covered in that white sweater. She stops massaging my scalp and her hands move down to my cheeks, lifting my face gently.

  “Beautiful man.” Her thumb lightly touches my lips. “You’re tired and you’re hurting. Let me comfort you tonight.”

  For a whole half-second in the dim light, her lips are fuller, begging for a kiss. Her long, brown waves distract me with how much they look like Melissa’s. I imagine them falling around me as she straddles my lap. My hands grip her small waist, and as she leans forward, I catch the scent of honeysuckle.

  I’m on my feet as my brain’s still working out a response. “I’ll be across the hall,” is as good as it gets.

  The next moment, Stuart’s at his door in boxers and no shirt, squinting at me in the light of the hallway. “What the fuck?”

  “I’m sleeping here tonight.” I push past him into the dark condo when I realize I’ve brought nothing with me. “Can I borrow a shirt? And a toothbrush?”

  He stands for a moment, brow furrowed. A quick sweep of my appearance and he shrugs. “You should be able to find whatever you need in the guest room. Nobody ever sleeps there, but I use it for overflow.”

  “Thanks.” I start for the door, but Mariska’s with us, wrapped in a silk robe, her hair messy.

  “Are you spending the night?” she whispers. “Let me move my art supplies.”

  I step back and let her pass, catching Stuart’s eyes on her ass.

  “Art,” I say, since we’re momentarily stuck facing each other.

  “She’s taking a class in nudes this semester.” An expression flickers in his eyes.

  My brow lowers. “If I see you nude, I’ll kick your ass.”

  “Grow up.” But he can’t stop his grin. “It’s art.

  “As if your ego could get any bigger.”

  Mariska’s back with us. “It should be safe now.” She smiles up at me. “We almost never have overnight guests.”

  “Yeah,” I clear my throat. “Got a little crowded at my place. Cammie or something.”

  “But you have Dex...?” Her eyes crinkle.

  Stuart touches her back. “I figured this was coming. Let’s turn in.”

  Thankfully, they take off. I step into the room and close the door. In view of my new full-disclosure policy, I decide in my next text to note that Star has my place to herself while I crash with Stuart and Mariska.

  Stretching across the king-sized bed, I rub my forehead. I must’ve drunk more vodka than I realized. My body misses Melissa so much, it was ready to go for a cheap substitute to stop the pain. My stomach turns at the thought. Nothing is as good as Melissa. Closing my eyes, I picture her beautiful sapphire eyes, her long, dark waves over her ivory skin, her ocean-touched roses scent. I love her so much.

  Even if she’s thrown me out. Even if we’re in a place where she won’t talk to me. We’ll get it back. I have to believe that, and when we do, I’ll have no secrets from her, nothing to come between us. I won’t betray her trust.

  Chapter 9: Moving Forward

  Melissa

  Work... work... work. I’ve done everything to bury myself in my marketing business, fighting with all I have to escape the pain of this gaping hole in my chest. A local strip mall is hosting a spring promo event, and several of the businesses have combined forces to do an inflatable playground for children with a bounce house and games, balloons and a tiny petting “zoo,” consisting of rabbits, a few goats, a pot-bellied pig, and litter of kittens they hope to give away.

  It’s a solid week of work, collecting the various logos and nailing down exactly what type of promotion or event each shop will be hosting, locations and times, alternate arrangements for bad weather.

  Sitting at my laptop, typing out the various press releases and newsletter templates for the stores, my eyes drift to the pin board of wedding ideas still lurking on my desktop. One pin is an ivory satin dress with large lace panels forming the bodice. Another is a white, strapless chiffon with lots of layers and movement in the skirt. Perfect for a beach wedding...

  “I hadn’t chosen my dress.” Heat fills my eyes, and I lean my head heavily on my hand.

  The board also includes cake ideas, and I realize I’ve got to stop Aunt Bea working on the wedding cake. “Oh, god.” Another twist of pain.

  Our engagement photograph is there, and the sight of me in his arms, soft lips touching my cheek, his dark hair moving in the breeze is almost too much. He doesn’t want this, my mind shouts. You don’t want this.

  Standing I go to the kitchen for a glass of water. My mother has taken care of cancelling the roses, talking to the minister, the caterer, the musicians... Since we’d planned a beach wedding, we didn’t lose any deposits. All I lost was my heart.

  On the counter is a flier design I worked up for Aunt Bea. She wants to try decorated cake doughnuts in her shop. As old fashioned and out of touch with technology as she is, she still keeps up with the latest cooking trends. She’s also addicted to the cooking channel.

  Glancing at my calendar, I see it’s Thursday. Has it been a whole week since Dex’s party? Since that crushing day? Derek did not leave his key. He also did not take my necklace. It’s back around my neck, actually, and every night I get a lengthy text from him detailing everything he did that day.

  It’s pretty routine info, and the only one I found interesting was when he made a point of telling me he was crashing with Stuart and Mariska while Star and her daughter stayed in his condo alone.

  My hand instinctively moves to my midsection as I try to rub the cramp away. He knew I’d care about that. More heat in my eyes. All this information, all this thoughtful consideration... Why did it have to take such extremes to get us here?

  An idea filters through my mind, and I pick up my phone.

  Mom’s gentle voice greets me. “Are you doing okay, honey?”

  “Yeah, I need to go to Baltimore.” The flier is in my hand, and I turn it over, thinking about what I’m doing. “Aunt Bea is starting a new product line, and I want to take pictures for her website. I’d also like to tell her in person about the wedding cakes. She’s done so much, I feel like I owe her a visit.”

  “Oh, Melissa,” she sighs, and I want to hang up immediately. Every wedding detail has been reluctantly cancelled by my mother, and all with repeating “are you sures” the entire time.

  I power on. “I’ll only be gone overnight. Would you mind keeping Dex?”

  “You don’t even have to ask.” She’s smiling now. “I love keeping my grandson.”

  Nodding, I slide my laptop into its sleeve. “He has Mom’s Day Out in the morning. I’ll let Hannah know you’ll pick him up.”

  “Drive safe.”

  We disconnect, and I place a quick call to Bea. Of course, she’ll be in the shop tomorrow. It’s a fantastic idea for me to drive up and take pictures for the website. She can’t wait to see me and show me her ideas for the groom’s cake, and when is Derek going to make up his mind? I dodge that last question and tell her I’ll be there by early afternoon. All that’s left is getting through another night alone.

  Evening used to be my favorite time of day. Derek would be home, the three of us would be together. Now the prospect of sleeping in that king-sized bed, surrounded by his warm, lingering scent, with no strong arms to hold me... It’s become a little slice of hell for me to endure. Lately my endurance has moved to the couch.

  Tonight, at least, I have
something to focus on: packing.

  * * *

  Aunt Bea’s shop is located a block off the main foot-traffic route in downtown Baltimore. We’d had to work to get customers to make the detour for her pastries and gifts, but a few well-timed samples and surprise office freebies combined with her talent in the kitchen and my ability to spread the word paid off.

  Her shop is full of customers when I arrive, and parking in front of the store, I think of how different coming to the city from this angle feels compared to how it was when I lived alone in the Reynolds mansion.

  A dark thought tightens my stomach, the empty Reynolds mansion. Sloan is dead. Derek killed him, and somewhere, someone knows about it. Whoever that person is could be anywhere. Glancing over my shoulder, an involuntary shiver moves down my spine.

  Derek’s nightly check in said they’d had a breakthrough in the case. It was unexpected, and he wasn’t sure he believed it. Apparently, the harasser sent a letter to Star at the condo. He’d said it was too long to text, but he’d know more tonight.

  As much as I want to be indifferent, I’m on edge waiting to hear what’s happening, and hoping it doesn’t make his situation worse. My thoughts are distracted as I enter the store, and I make my way past the waiting customers to a side table.

  “I’ve got your special cupcake! ” Aunt Bea nods to a little pastry on a small plate. It’s a tradition she started before I moved home, and even after I was in Wilmington, she would still send me special deliveries at the holidays. “Drunken buttered rum.”

  Distractions vanish, my eyes widen as I check out the dark cake topped with white frosting and shaves of coconut flakes and pecans. “It looks amazing.”

  A male customer curiously inspects my treat as I peel back the wrapper.

  “It’s something new I’m trying,” she says, assembling a pink and white polka-dotted cardboard box. “Cooking channel.”

  I grin and take a small bite. Rich buttery rum and spicy cinnamon fill my mouth. A hint of nutmeg, and I have to work to suppress a groan.