by Aly Martinez
"Riley, are you telling me you think Vision Quest is a terrible movie? The night I met you, that was your movie of choice, and I have to say, even from my point of view, that was a really fucking shitty night for you."
"Um, I mean…" I stutter teasingly.
"I want you to consider this very carefully, because I’m not sure we can continue this relationship any longer if that is really the way you think." He looks at me in all seriousness, but I know he’s joking.
"It’s growing on me?" I question with a shrug.
"Oh hell no." He leans down and tosses me over his shoulder. He pushes the pan of bacon off the burner and strides to my room.
"Slate, stop!" I laugh.
"Say goodnight to Dave," he says, slapping my ass.
"No! We haven’t eaten yet! Fine. Vision Quest is pure cinematic genius. Matthew Modine is a God."
"Oh, thank the Lord. I’m fucking starving." He puts me down just outside my bedroom door.
"You are such an ass," I say with the same perma-grin I’ve been wearing for weeks.
"I can deal with that." He wraps a thick arm around my waist and tips me back for a heated kiss that leaves me wishing I hadn’t caved. I’d be more than happy with abandoning dinner and heading to bed at this point. "Actually, can we talk for a second anyway?" He tilts his head to my room.
"Yeah, sure." I move to my bed and plop down on my side, but Slate stands at the foot.
"I have to go back to LA in the morning," he announces.
My hands immediately knot. "Oh, um… Yeah. Of course."
"Don’t get all shy on me, Riley. I’m retiring."
"What? No, you are fucking not!" I jump to my feet and shout entirely too loud.
"Riley?" I hear Dave yell from the den.
"I’m fine!" I snap then level my eyes back at Slate. "You are not retiring!"
"Oh really? I’m not?" he asks with a smirk. Yep, a fucking cocky-ass, sexy-as-hell, panty-drenching smirk.
"You are not giving up your career for me! No fucking way. I know what it feels like to give up your life, and trust me, you will resent me. It’s not happening. We can figure it out long distance, but you are absolutely never, not one question about it, giving up your career for me."
"You ready?" he questions oddly.
"What?" I ask, but it’s too late.
Slate rushes me, lifting me off my feet once again and pushing me down to the bed. His huge body is careful to land beside me instead of on top of me, but with a hand in my hair, he gently tips my head back to look into his eyes.
"Who said I was giving it up for you?" He pops a questioning eyebrow before roughly taking my mouth.
"Well, this is embarrassing," I say against his lips while dragging my nails up his back.
"I’m done, Riley. And the only part of that that has anything to do with you is how you have made me feel over the last few weeks. I was still on the fence when I came back this time, but after spending numerous quiet nights with you…I have zero desire to go back to that life. I love the sport, but I hate pretty much everything else that comes along with it. That life? It’s not me, beautiful"—he tucks my hair behind my ears—"any more than this life is you," he finishes, surprising me.
I instantly freeze at his words, completely unsure of how to respond. His eyes search mine for an answer, but I have nothing to offer. He sees right through my lies—he has since the day I met him.
"Yeah. That’s what I thought." He pushes off me and to his feet.
"Slate, wait!" I call after his sudden departure. He didn’t leave the room, but he left me all the same.
I grab his waist and plant my head against his chest. His arms immediately wrap around me, and he lets out a resigned sigh.
"I’m not going anywhere, beautiful. But tell me something real. I think I know you, but I always feel like I’m missing something. It’s like you are some seven-billion-piece puzzle, and every time I find a corner tile, you change the entire picture."
I laugh, knowing exactly what he’s saying. I feel the exact same way too. I’ve lost so much of myself over the years that I don’t even know what the picture is anymore.
"What did you mean you know what it feels like to give up your life?"
"I just meant, I don’t want you to give up something for me," I lie. "We can make this work without you having to do that." I give him a fake smile, but once again, Slate calls my bluff.
He takes two giant steps forward, forcing me to fall back against the wall. Not because I’m scared but because I have nowhere else to go. "Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit." He leans closer with every word until his mouth is only a breath away from mine. "I won’t ask. But just so you know, I think you are full of bullshit."
"I gathered that by the excessive use of bullshit." I smart off while looking at his mouth.
He quickly closes the gap, mumbling against my lips, "Well, as long as we're clear." His tongue snakes into my mouth, claiming me as his own. He slides a hand under my shirt and over my breasts. I eagerly reach down to unbutton his pants, but his hands still me. "I’m starving. So unless you plan on feeding me something else"—he pointedly looks down at the button on my own jeans—"I need to eat."
"Tease," I mumble and head for the door.
It’s probably for the best that he stopped things from progressing. It’s light outside, and even with my curtains drawn, there is no way I could have hidden my scars from him. Dave and I developed a less than convincing story about how I got them in an accident, but Slate is already suspicious about my past. There is no way he would have believed some weak-ass story. That is just not a bridge I’m ready to cross yet.
"I don’t want you to go," I say, lying naked, wrapped in Slate’s arms.
"It’s only for a few days, beautiful."
"You know you are going to have to lay really low for a while. No more going to that gym at night anymore when you get back." I drag my fingers over his hard abs. "And you know I’m only using you for your body. How will we ever manage that if you can’t work out?"
He laughs, squeezing me hard against his chest. "I’ll have some equipment delivered while I’m gone. Make a little gym in the spare room. You want to start working out with me? Clothing is completely optional."
"Well as sexy as naked lunges sound, I’m going to say yes to working out but no to the naked part."
He suddenly rolls me over, hovering on his elbows above me. "When I get back, I will just be Slate Andrews. Not professional boxer or celebrity. Just Slate. Can you just be Riley? No more hiding or secrets. I need some truths, beautiful. I don’t want you to relive any details for me, but even the general idea of who you really are would be amazing."
"Slate," I whisper, swallowing around the newly formed lump in my throat.
"I want you. All of you. Not these little bits I hear echoing around the room. I just want you, Riley."
Tears well in my eyes because that’s exactly what I want to give him too. But I’m not totally sure that woman even exists anymore.
"I can try," I respond hesitantly, just to appease him.
"Mmm, good answer," he sighs.
Three days later…
"Pack your bags," Dave says, storming into my room.
"What?" I jump to my feet.
"First, I’m going to kill your fucking boyfriend. Then we have to move," he barks.
"Wait. What did Slate do?"
"He’s hired an entire fucking network of PIs to investigate you!" he roars.
"No," I barely breathe. I fall back onto the bed and my legs start shaking as my worst nightmare comes true. "How? I mean, did he find anything?"
"Well, one of his guys found Jessica Lynn and Chris Webb."
"Oh, God. No, no, no!" I begin to pace as my breath stills in my chest. "How is that even possible?"
"I have no fucking idea, but I guess, when you have unlimited resources, anything is possible. Point is, if Slate can do it, so can Wilkes. We have to go."
"I’m not leaving him."
/> "I’m sorry, babe. We don’t have any other options. We need to go."
"I’m not leaving him!" I scream.
"Riley, we don’t have any options. I’ll see what I can do in a few months about getting back in touch with him. But right now, the safest thing for everyone is to put some distance between you two. Let’s set up a new life, get settled, then maybe see if we can figure out how to bring him back into the picture."
Tears spring to my eyes at the very idea of going months without him. I just got him. "He can come with us. Please. I can’t. I just. I…" I begin to stumble out irrationally.
"I’m so sorry," Dave whispers, folding me into a hug.
I suck in a deep breath and try to collect my thoughts, but my mind is spinning. "Wait. Please just stop for a minute. I can’t think. How do you know this isn’t Wilkes? Maybe Slate has nothing to do with it?" I plead, looking for any possible way to keep him in my life.
"One of the big boys moved into our old apartment in Utah, hoping Wilkes would come looking for us there again. Well, lo and behold, a PI showed up at his fucking door yesterday with a picture of you and asking a million questions about Jessica Lynn, a.k.a. Riley Peterson. Feds brought him in, traced it all back to Jimmy Douglas, Slate’s trainer and owner of the apartment. Jimmy doesn’t have access to that kind of money, Riley, but I’ll give you one guess who does."
"No." I reject his theory. "Slate's not dangerous. He’s just curious. Maybe I can tell him to back off. He’ll listen to me. Please, just let me talk to him."
"We have to leave before he gets back."
"No!" I yell again. "I am not leaving him!"
"He’s going to get you killed!" he shouts back in a way Dave has never spoken to me. It startles me at first, but suddenly, it dawns on me that he’s actually scared this time too.
"Yeah, well. I told you that months ago. And you said we could make it work. Make. It. Work."
"Fine. I’ll take the blame. But pack your shit!" he snaps, stomping out of my room. I know he's not mad at me. He's pissed at the whole situation, but his tone still stings.
I sit on my bed, staring into space for over an hour. Shifting from tears to fear, but I finally just get really angry. I have zero control over my life, and I’m sick and tired of it. They want me to recover and live again. That's a joke. How can anyone be expected to truly live with the knowledge that they can lose everything with only a moments notice? Fuck that. I'm not losing Slate. I rush out of my room to find Dave sitting on the couch, whispering into the phone.
"Give me the phone." I snap my fingers at him and his eyebrows lift in surprise.
In all the years that we have been on the run, I have never once spoken to anyone at the US Marshal’s office. Dave handles everything when it comes to the Witness Protection Program, or "big boys" as he calls them. I’m so fucking done with hiding though.
I don’t wait for his response. I just snatch the phone from his hands.
"Who is this?" I bark into the phone.
"Miss Peterson, it’s so nice to finally talk to you." I can hear the smile in the woman’s voice on the other end of the line.
"Screw you. I’m not leaving."
"I’m sorry. You don’t have much of a choice in the matter. You have been compromised by Mr. Andrews."
"Nothing has happened. All we know is you didn’t do your job at covering our trail. So what if Slate found out we have a past. He’s not working for Wilkes. He’s not a fucking threat, so I’m not fucking leaving!"
"My, my. How you have changed since we last met." She almost laughs.
"You listen to me now. Do your fucking job. Erase the past and ensure our safety. If a couple of high-price PIs can find me, it seems to me you are failing. We can move across town, fine. But I am absolutely not leaving Slate, so figure it out."
Just as I begin to hand back the phone, she shouts across the line. "Miss Peterson, you are allowed to leave the program any time you would like. Your identity can be reinstated. But just know that comes with zero protection. You will be completely on your own."
I laugh at her. If there is one thing I have learned, it’s that they need me. They won’t let me go. "But then who would you use as bait?" I throw the phone at Dave and storm back to my room, slamming the door behind me.
I’m lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling when Dave casually opens the door to my room. "That was some serious attitude."
"I’m sick of it. I hate this fucking life. I finally found someone who makes me feel like me again and they want to take him away from me too." I don't even bother looking up.
"Damn it, Riley. I shouldn’t have let this happen. I should have taken you far away from here before you ever had the chance to get to know him, but the night that I walked in and saw you holding his arm, a part of me was freed."
"What?" I roll over, and the expression on his face shocks me. I always knew the events from that night had affected him too, but this? I never expected this level of devastation.
"When I walked in that first night, you were sound asleep but gripping his arm as if your life depended on it. Then, when he first got back, you ran right past me and into his arms. God, it was liberating watching you come alive again."
"Leo, I…" I fade off, and he painfully closes his eyes at the sound of his name.
He puts a finger to his mouth, signaling me to be quiet. "Erica, I have relived your screams while I stood outside your door all those years ago for too long. And when I saw just the tiniest flash of hope that you really could be a person again, I wanted you to take it. I told you once that I never thought you would be okay again, but that doesn’t mean I’ve ever stopped hoping you would." His voice catches in his throat and his brown eyes fill with tears as he tries to fight back the emotions.
He clears his throat and continues. "Then I found out who he was and realized that he not only had the time, money, and resources to protect you, but that he could give you something I never could. He could repair you from the inside out. I've always made sure you were safe, be he can truly fix things for you—give you back all the things I stole."
The tears are streaming down my face as I whimper, "You didn’t steal anything from me. You saved me."
"I love you, but I hope, one day, he fixes that mentality too."
"Leo, you did the best you could."
"I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I just wanted to tell you I’ll figure it out. You talk to Slate. Make him stop searching or we will have no choice but to leave. We may have to move. I’m not really sure what to do at this point, but I won’t make you give him up. Just make him stop asking questions." He gives me a weak smile.
"Okay."
He turns to walk away and pauses at the door. "When’s Slate getting back?"
"Couple of hours."
"Is it cool if I take off for a bit? I need a drink and I think you need some privacy."
"Yeah. Privacy sounds good." I try to dry my eyes, but the tears won’t stop flowing. Leo James is an amazing man. What I wouldn't give to have met him under different circumstances. I can only imagine how incredible it would be to have a friendship with him that wasn't based on guilt and pain.
"See ya later, babe."
"Night, Leo." I purposely use his name once again. He needs to hear it as much as I need to say it.
Fucking weather. My flight was delayed for two hours, and worse than that, Riley isn’t answering her phone. It’s killing me not being able to get back to her and away from the craziness of Slate The Silent Storm Andrews yet.
I announced my official retirement a few days ago, and you would have thought the world had imploded. I know it was unexpected. I was at the top of my game, and a rematch was already in the works, but I’m done. The media went nuts, and it took a lot longer than I’d thought it would to escape the attention. My plan is to see if I can convince Riley to go on an extended vacation with me. Get away for a while, somewhere we can escape until the attention dies down. Maybe even see if I can get her to open
up and stop hiding.
I learned quite a bit about Riley while I was gone. The biggest part being that her real name is Jessica Lynn. I had a sneaking suspicion for a while that Riley wasn’t really her name, mainly because she insists that I call her beautiful in bed. But also because, if she is reading late at night or watching TV, she never answers you immediately when you call her. And then there is the whole Dave/Leo thing from when I first met them. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that something is going on with them.
My guys have never found this ex of hers, and by all accounts, Jessica was a hermit, never leaving the house. If she did, she was always accompanied by her cousin. The good news is neither she nor Dave seems to have a criminal history. My agent, Mitch, spent hours trying to convince me she was some sort of con-woman. Obviously, they have never met Riley. She is a terrible liar.
"Riley, it’s me!" I shout when I get to her door. I don’t bother knocking. It will only scare her.
But as I swing open her door, it appears I’m too late for that. She’s standing with her hands knotted in front of her and her eyes are red and puffy as if she has been crying all day.
"Jesus, are you okay?" I quickly glance around the room, but nothing seems out of place.
"We can be together but only if you stop asking questions."
"What the hell are you talking about? What’s going on, Riley?" I drop my bags and slowly walk towards her, but for the first time in months, she backs away.
"I know you hired investigators to look into my past. You swore you wouldn’t ask, Slate. You promised me." Her face crumbles.
"I wasn’t trying to find out what happened to you. I was only searching for that asshole ex of yours who made you this way. But yeah, I found out a lot more than I bargained for, Jessica," I say, lifting my brows knowingly. I’m not trying to be a dick, but I want her to know that she can stop hiding.
