by Aly Martinez
"I had to try."
My moment with Dave is gone and reality comes crashing back down on my shoulders. What Adam and I had may not have been some great whirlwind romance, but it was more than I’ve had in years. I’ve had plenty of boyfriends in the past, but I’ve not wanted to get close to anyone until Adam. Damn it. Now, just like everything else in my life, he’s gone too.
For two weeks, I avoided Adam at all costs. But that doesn’t mean he avoided me. He stopped by my apartment almost nightly. Dave always turned him away, and on more than one occasion, they had not-so-kind words about it. But I didn’t have any other choice. Spending time with Adam, even on a limited basis, just wasn’t an option.
I started leaving super early in the mornings and going to the gym after work just so I wouldn’t accidentally run into him in the hallway. I missed Adam more than I’d ever expected, but more than that, I missed the person I got to be when we were together. I got to laugh, smile, and feel sexy without fear. For a full seven days, I got to be Erica again.
I’m relaxing in bed when a sudden tap on my window scares the shit out of me. I scream and rush toward the door until I hear his voice.
"Riley. It’s just me. I didn’t mean to scare you," Adam says to my window.
The blinds are closed, but that doesn’t mean I don’t try to squint to get a glance at him. I don’t respond, but tears pool in my eyes. I stare at the window, willing it to open. I wish he would climb through, pull me into his strong arms, and tell me that it’s all going to be okay. Even while I’m wishing, I begin to pray he will just leave. I don’t know how much longer I can stay away from him.
"I’m leaving," he tells the window while apparently reading my mind. "I have to go back to LA. I just wanted to..." He pauses. "Look, when I first met you, all I wanted was to help you. Then I really met you and all I wanted was to get to know you. You’re hiding, Riley. Whether you know it or not, that is exactly what you are doing. Okay, fine. We can’t be together. And while I don’t completely understand your reasons, I accept them. But what I won’t accept is you locking yourself away from living a real life. If you won’t let me help you, promise me you’ll let someone else. You’re an amazing person, Riley Peterson, and you are doing the entire world a disservice by keeping all of it to yourself."
The tears steadily fall from my eyes. It takes every ounce of my willpower not to climb through the window myself at this point. But there is one emotion more powerful than any other—fear. And it’s the only reason my feet remain rooted in place.
"If you need anything, Riley, you have my number. Day or night, all you have to do is call. Take care of yourself. Bye, beautiful." With his final words, I hear his footsteps walking away.
I rush to the other window so I can catch a last glimpse of him as he leaves. His muscular body moves slowly towards the car. With a small bag thrown over his shoulder, he looks nearly identical to the day when I first met him. Just over three weeks ago, Slate Adam Andrews walked into my life. I thought I was scared that day, but as I watch him drive away, I’m suddenly more frightened than ever.
Six months later…
"Special Delivery!" Dave shouts from the den.
"Flowers or eggs?" I reply.
"Italian food."
"Shit!" I groan to myself.
"I’ll take care of it, Riley."
"Don’t you dare touch that gnocchi!" I yell as I head to the kitchen.
For six months, Slate Andrews has been sending me gifts. Every week. Every. Single. Fucking. Week. A box arrives at my door. It never comes on the same day, so I can predict it and avoid it. Nope, he keeps me guessing. It’s always something different too. But one thing always remains constant. Each week, there is a box of clear contacts of a different prescription.
It all started at Christmas, exactly a week after Adam moved back to LA.
"Oh, Dave. It’s perfect," I say, pulling the new jacket from the box.
"It’s got a secret little pocket I was thinking you could hide your phone in." He takes the jacket from my hands and begins to show me all the bells and whistles. I can’t help but giggle at his enthusiasm.
Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door and Dave’s head snaps to mine. The surprise in his eyes lets me know that he was definitely not expecting this one.
"Go to your room, babe." He orders.
"No," I defy, but I rise to my feet anyway, knowing that this is not something to be argued.
"Go," he whispers.
I move to my bedroom, preparing for the worst. I cover my ears in fear of what I might hear, but the disturbing sounds never come. I finally lift my head from my shaky hands as Dave walks into my room.
"It’s okay," he says, but he approaches me with apprehensive eyes.
"Dave, you’re scaring me."
"Slate sent you a present." He holds out a silver box with a bright-blue bow.
"Why?" I jump to my feet. I want to immediately rip the contents from the package and, at the same time, hide it for all of eternity.
"You know why, Riley."
"What is it?" I ask, knowing that Dave opened it, especially since I’m assuming it was addressed to me.
"Flowers."
"Okay." I breathe a sigh of relief. I can handle meaningless flowers.
"And new sweats. They’re pink," he says, and it makes my eyes water. Sweats may not be the most romantic gift, but the memory makes the tears appear. Though his final words are what make them fall freely. "And clear contacts."
"What?"
"I think you need to read this." He pushes a handwritten note toward me.
"What is wrong with him?" I put the note down on the bed beside me.
"Um, I think he’s a man who likes you."
"Asshole," I mumble under my breath.
For six long months, my weekly contacts arrive, unwelcome. They either wind up in the trash or sitting on top of my bed—depending on whether Dave or I get the mail that day. It never fails. They always come with some random accompaniment. At first, it was cliché flowers, but then I think he got serious. One day, I came home to a special delivery of three-dozen fresh, organic eggs. Don’t ask me why three dozen, but regardless, there they sat in a cooler on my doorstep. I had an overwhelming urge to throw them at his front door, but I knew I would be the one who had to clean them. Instead, we had omelets for dinner. After that, his gifts ranged from flowers and candy, a case of wine, and sometimes even mace. But today… Today, I got Italian food.
"Fuck," I hear Dave moan as I walk in the room. "Riley, this food is amazing!"
"Yeah, I know," I say, pulling two plates from the cabinet. "Why does he keep sending stuff? We barely knew each other. It’s been six freaking months."
"I don’t know, babe. Probably the same reason why, every time I open the computer, you’ve left open some article about him or why you secretly ordered the pay-per-view of his fight last night."
"What? How’d you know about that?"
"Because when I went to buy it, the cable company told me it had already been purchased." He gives me a big smile while popping a piece of garlic bread into his mouth.
"Yeah, well. At least I’m not being creepy and sending him gifts all the time."
"Ah, yes. Stalking him from afar is so much less creepy."
I roll my eyes and walk away, knowing that he’s right. I can’t seem to help myself when it comes to Slate.
For the first few weeks after he left, I was a mess. I missed him more than I ever would have thought. Slate was my escape. When I was with him, I wasn’t constantly reminded of my past or my current life on the run. I felt alive and happy. And most of all, I felt like a woman again. He desired me, and with him, that didn’t scare me. Slate was a completely separate facet for me. And then…he was gone.
"Riley, what are you going to do if he comes back?" Dave asks unexpectedly.
"Why would he come back?"
"You know this is where he runs to after fights."
I jump to my feet. "What?"
"Okay, so apparently this is new information for you." He sighs.
"Don’t fuck around. Is he coming here?" I yell, desperate to know if I need to prepare to face Slate—or better yet, start packing my bags.
"I have no idea. The way you two left things… I just don’t know."
"You know, if he comes back, we have to move, right?"
"So you don’t have to face him, or because it would be dangerous to stay?" It’s a real question, but I know he’s prodding me.
"All of the above!"
"Right." He shakes his head with a look of disappointment.
"Don’t bullshit me. Do you think he will come back?" I ask, nowhere near ready for his answer.
"Probably."
I put my untouched food in the sink and head directly to my room. I can’t handle seeing Slate. Even if it means moving again, I would pack up right this very second just to avoid him. At the same time, I would give up everything I have just to feel his touch again. Maybe feel the warmth and safety he gives me when he says my name—even if it is the wrong one.
"Riley," Dave calls as I walk away, but he doesn’t follow me.
I fall into bed with golden eyes blocking my every distraction. I miss Adam, but I’m terrified of Slate.
"Damn, I’m sorry!" Slate exclaims when I slam into his chest as I round the corner to my apartment.
"Shit!" I jump back, overreacting as usual.
Running into Slate Andrews is the realization of my every nightmare as well as the answer to my every prayer.
"It’s okay, Riley. It’s just me." He immediately tries to soothe me. Even after all these months, I know exactly who me is without even having to look into his face.
"Jesus," I gasp, trying to catch my breath.
"Hey, beautiful." I look up to catch a sweet smile on his gorgeous face. Damn if I don’t want to kiss it.
"What are you doing here?" I snap.
"Um, I live here?"
"Um, no, you don’t," I say with more attitude than I originally planned.
He laughs and gives me a knowing smirk. "I believe I own this place. That kind of makes me a resident." He shoves his muscular arms into the pockets of his jeans.
"Well, you need to leave, I live here and we can’t stay if you’re here."
"Riley. I’m not going to bother you. I’m not here to rekindle something with you if that’s what you’re worried about. I just want to lay low and enjoy some downtime." I’m sure he didn’t mean those words as an insult, but they punch me in the gut all the same.
"I’m sure you’re not here to bother me, Slate," I hiss, and he physically dodges the blow of his real name. "But that doesn’t mean I want to be your neighbor."
"Are you pissed?" he asks, clearly confused. Well, he is absolutely not the only one.
His huge, sexy body is muddling my head and screwing with my resolve. However, based on his last statement, whatever hope of being with him again is obviously one-sided. I let out a loud exhale and look up at him. His eye is slightly swollen and there is a small cut under his other from his fight, but beyond that, he is just as sexy as I remember. But I wish attraction were all I felt for him.
"No, I’m not pissed," I say while becoming, well…extremely pissed.
"Right. How about this? I’ll stay out of your way. You won’t even know I’m here."
"Your just being here is the problem. You’re the freaking heavyweight champion who just successfully defended his title for the fifth time. Every cable TV station would trip over their own dick just to cover the story of whether you like Coke or Pepsi."
"Neither. I’m not really a pop person." He smiles, which only serves to piss me off even more.
"You’re an ass."
"Because I don’t like pop?" He tosses his hands out to the side in frustration.
"No. Because I’m being serious and you’re joking around. I can’t live next to you. So either you go or I do."
"It’s a month, Riley. Twenty-nine days from now, you will be free of me. I’m pretty sure the world won’t come crashing at your feet in that time."
"You are assuming I’ll live to see the world crash at my feet!" I scream irrationally, way overstepping what I’m allowed to tell anyone.
"What is that supposed to mean? Has he threatened you again?" Slate takes a step forward, crowding me.
"Oh, sweet Jesus. No, he hasn’t done anything. Everything is fine. No one tried to threaten me. My life is all unicorns and puppy dogs."
"Stop fucking lying. You are always lying to me about something, Riley." He barely raises his voice, but his tone is angry nonetheless.
"Oh that’s rich, Slate. Last time we spoke was when you were telling me your name wasn’t Adam and that you were actually a millionaire recluse boxer with the whole world at your fingertips.
"Actually, I didn’t tell you any of that, beautiful. Have you been doing some research?" he says with a playful wink that makes me want to physically harm him—with my mouth.
"You’re impossible." I spin away and head back to my apartment.
"It was a real pleasure seeing you again," he calls behind me as I slam the door only seconds before the tears spring to my eyes.
"Riley!" Dave calls as I storm through the den and into my bedroom.
"Leave me alone," I say over my shoulder, desperate to escape his curiosity.
"Are you okay?" He finally catches up to me as I flop face-first on my bed.
"No. I’m a bitch and I hate him."
"So I see you ran into Slate?"
I dry my eyes only long enough to give him the death glare. "You knew he was back?"
"Yeah. I got a call from the big boys last night after you went to bed."
"You can’t keep this shit from me! Stop trying to run my fucking life!" I curse at him, but he doesn’t seem to acknowledge my attitude when he walks into my room and crawls into the bed next to me. He doesn’t touch me—he never does. Instead, he throws his arms behind his head and crosses his legs at the ankle.
"We’re leaving," he announces.
"What?"
"You’re right. We can’t stay here if he is going to be coming and going. We need to hit the road. I’ve already let everyone know it’s time." He turns to look at me. "I mean, that’s what you want, right?" I swallow past the lump in my throat and give him a silent nod. No, it is absolutely not what I want, but it’s the smart decision. "I’ll get the ball rolling. Seven days max and we’ll be heading somewhere new. You’ll need a new name, so start thinking." He pushes to his feet and strides to my door. "That is, unless you decide you want to take a chance with Andrews. You say the word and I’ll make it happen."
"I can’t even begin to tell you how bad you are at this. He’s going to get us both killed," I respond.
"Maybe," he says entirely too nonchalantly. "But maybe we are already gone. Maybe he’ll just save you." His voice is alarmingly sad.
I quickly flip over, trying to figure out what the hell he is talking about, but I can hear his bedroom door close before I even have a chance to ask.
Two days later…
It’s official. I have crossed the line. I’ve somehow turned into a stalker.
I haven’t spoken to Riley again since I literally ran into her in the breezeway, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t seen her. I’ve seen her plenty as she comes and goes to and from work. Okay, this is definitely not my finest hour.
Sure, I came back to Ohio looking for a getaway. But mainly I came back looking for Riley. I can’t figure out what she is hiding or, better yet, why is she hiding so desperately from me. That fact just doesn’t sit well with me. None of this does. My lifestyle sucks, but it’s nothing that can’t change. I’ve wanted to escape the spotlight for a long time now. It’s not like I’d be giving anything up by slipping into oblivion.
I have nothing left to prove. I haven’t needed the money in a long time. If it weren’t for the fact that I love the sport, I probably would have retired from boxing as soon as I won th
e title for the first time. I can honestly say that I don’t know that I will ever return to the ring, and that has nothing to do with a beautiful woman who wants absolutely nothing to do with me and everything to do with the fact that I think I’m finally done. It’s a liberating decision in and of itself.
Now, I just have to figure out what the hell I want to do with the rest of my life. The good news is I have a whole month to not think about it. I flip on my iPod and head over to my couch for a night of solitude.
"You son of a bitch!" I hear shouted from outside my apartment. I recognize Riley’s voice and immediately rush to the door, readying myself for whoever she is screaming at.
Just as I pull it open, a box sails past my head. It’s quickly followed by a bouquet of flowers that hits me directly in my chest.
"Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you?" I brush the stray petals off my shirt.
"Stop sending me crap!"
"You’re welcome?"
"I’m not thanking you," she says in the bitchiest tone I’ve ever heard outside of LA.
I can’t help but laugh at her. "So I’ve gathered." I smirk, and she narrows her eyes. "I can also see that your eyes are still brown, so apparently I haven’t gotten the right prescription yet. I’ll try again next week." I shrug and pick up the box off the ground.
"Call your little assistant or whoever you have sending me this shit and make them stop. I don’t want it. Damn it, Slate. I don’t want anything from you."
I toss the box back at her feet. "I don’t have an assistant. Well, I do, but I don’t even know her name. I sure as hell don’t have her out shopping for you. That’s my handwriting on that box. Now, if you just gave me your damn prescription, I’d stop sending you random contacts."
"Whatever. We’re moving, so send away. Maybe the next tenant has poor vision and your stupid contacts will finally get put to use."
"Where the hell are you going?" I step forward, fully expecting her to retreat. But she stands her ground and even squares her shoulders.
