Entangled (A Tryst Novel)

by Alex Rosa

  “Skyler?”

  Just like that, I feel out of breath again.

  When I hear his voice, the dripping sweat down my back suddenly feels as chilly as the light drizzle falling from the sky, sending creeping dread down my spine, erasing the relief it provided only moments ago.

  “Jason?” I question, my breath just above a whisper, and for split second I hope that maybe I have overworked my body so much that I drove it to hallucinate. What is my abusive ex-boyfriend doing here? This is not good.

  “How are you?” His voice is almost timid-sounding, but still deep and heart-rattlingly familiar.

  I know that I’m going to have to look at him at some point, no matter how much I don’t want to. I clench my fists tight as I swivel around to see him standing against a lamppost on the corner, all trés cool.

  Why is he here? How is he here? Where am I right now?

  I gulp down air before I answer. “I’m great, actually.” At least that isn’t a lie. A slow shiver rolls through my body.

  He straightens out his damp black hoodie, not bothering to use the hood itself as he nods through the answer. He lets the silence hang for a moment. Is it just me, or is this incredibly awkward?

  “Aren’t you going to ask me how I am?” he asks boldly, and I find his cheeky smile all the more odd. It doesn’t feel right. He’s almost being likable, like I remember him. There was a time that Jason was sweet and caring. Although, that feels so long ago, like everything else.

  He runs a hand through his dark hair as he nibbles on what I once thought was a swoon-worthy lip ring. I now know the definition of swoon-worthy, and that comes in the form of my actor boyfriend currently filming somewhere across this city.

  Blake. I want Blake here.

  The drizzle falling from the sky remains consistent, and the well-mannered part of me considers suggesting we head inside a café or something to continue the conversation. However, I want this over as soon as possible, and I want him far away from me. I need to make this quick.

  “How are you?” I force out through a gritted smile.

  He takes a step toward me, closing the five feet between us, and I can’t help but admire the raindrops running down his tan, sculpted face. Jason, an asshole for sure, is still handsome in his own surfer-bum right.

  “I’m good. I saw that you’re dating that Blake guy?”

  I can’t tell if his tone reveals a bit of annoyance, but his choice of words is more concerning.

  “What do you mean by that?” Maybe he saw us out one night.

  “Don’t you read the magazines? I could have sworn I remember you devouring those cheapo-gossip magazines when we dated.”

  Are we really having a semi-nostalgic conversation right now? Should I remind him I hate him, or that the law requires him to keep his distance from me? My restraining order is still intact, and I have the battle scars to prove its legitimacy. I reflexively scratch at my chin that still holds the faint scar from being pushed into our dining room table all those months ago. Nausea rises like a flash flood from my gut.

  I want to reply that I read those magazines just to stay occupied and away from him, but I hold back.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, bewildered by the topic.

  He turns to his right while letting out a denigrating chuff, as if I’m the one lying.

  “Your face is in People magazine. I couldn’t believe it. I never figured you for the girl in the spotlight.”

  My face squirms with discomfort, and my own anger piques. I know that I should rein in my feelings, but it’s too hard when I suddenly starve to know his meaning.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Fuck, Skyler!” he shouts, seemingly losing his patience for reasons my trembling heart is trying to figure out. “The world is dubbing you this guy’s girlfriend. They know your name, where you go to school. People keep coming up to me to ask about it. It’s getting annoying.”

  I shake my head, baffled. “Am I supposed to apologize or something?”

  He tilts his head to the side, taking another deliberate step toward me, and my bones from within my flesh involuntarily shiver with imbedded fear, but I don’t budge, knowing I need to act confident, and then I will be confident.

  Fake it till you make it.

  “Seems Hollywood gave you an attitude problem there, Skye.”

  This time I take a step back, knowing my next words won’t go over as easily. “No, Jason. You’re what gives me an attitude problem. I think it’s better you go.”

  I didn’t realize my breathing is so heavy, or that my head is spinning, until I take a second to process the wave of information, and that it came from someone like Jason. Has the world turned upside-down?

  I need to deal with this bit by bit. Only twenty minutes ago I was trying to coordinate my brain through the avenues of graduation and med school, and dealing with missing my boyfriend. Now, here I am talking with my ex, and discussing how the whole world is watching me.

  I watch Jason’s jaw clench. “Why do you like to make me so mad? I don’t want to be mad at you. I want you . . . I want us to be okay.”

  I gulp down another breath, and the dread continues its chilling trail through my limbs. I wipe away a few drops forming from the drizzle on my face.

  I can do this.

  “We’ll never be okay, Jason. I wish it were different, too, but you took it too far. You’ve damaged, for lack of a better word, us.”

  I don’t know why I’ve become so verbose with the man who would teach me lessons of respect with his flying fists. He doesn’t deserve explanations, but I’m just so angry. My temper is colliding with fear, yet my toes wiggle in my confining sneakers, ready to make a run for it. My misplaced confidence is only there due to the public place, but my body’s default instinct is to remove itself from the situation. Both seem foolish at this point. Why can’t I just be that girl who I so desperately wish I could be? I could throw a punch, too, if I wanted . . . couldn’t I? If I needed to? That’s probably not the right thing to do either.

  “Is this something you want—that guy I mean? Your name in magazines? The Skyler I know wouldn’t want that.”

  I drag my tongue over my chapped bottom lip. “I want the guy. I can’t tell yet if I want the attention, but that isn’t something you need to worry about.”

  Petrifying me to the spot, he extends his arm out, placing his hand on my bare upper arm. I can’t remember the last time Jason and I had skin-to-skin contact. Regardless, the chill only amplifies. He feels like a ghost: icy and empty.

  “I know this is my fault and all, but I wish you weren’t so scared of me. Can I get you a coffee or something? Maybe we can sit down and catch up.”

  Cat’s got my tongue. All I can do is tense and shake my head.

  I feel his grip tighten on my arm. “Please?” he insists.

  Our clothes are now getting close to damp as the beads of water have gathered in the time we’ve stood here in the light, dreary weather.

  “Let go of me, Jason. If I could have it my way, I’d never see you again.”

  This time his hand turns into a vise grip, and I attempt to yank my arm away.

  “Jason, let go.” When I hear my voice out loud, it’s at least calmer than I thought it would be.

  “Give me a chance,” he pleads. His chocolate eyes bore into me, welling with sincerity, but I can’t give in. His grip on my arm only contradicts his look, and at this point, I don’t know what to trust, so I do the only thing I know: I trust my instincts.

  I look all around to find the high street empty. The rain drives people indoors, and I can’t blame them. As I try one more time to jerk my body away, full raindrops roll down the tip of my nose.

  “A chance?” I hiss. “Why would I do that? Would the last time I saw you serve as backup to your changed ways? You showe
d up at my place, got in my face, drunk and stumbling! Or how about your new girlfriend you sent with happy birthday messages to my own party! Jason, you have no redeeming qualities that would have me reconsider having you back in my life.”

  I can feel his fingertips digging into my arms, and I can’t help but let the corners of my mouth droop as I stare right back at him.

  “Jason, what are you doing? You’re hurting me.”

  “I don’t want to lose you. I want us to be friends.”

  “What are you even talking about? You’ve already lost me . . . long ago! Now, let go.”

  My words echo in the rain as we stand here alone, and I know he’s getting angry. I can see it brewing in his eyes’ melting caramel color, and he isn’t going to let go.

  My insides squirm, and the alarm bells go off. Now for plan B. “Fine, Jason. Let’s go get a coffee or something . . .”

  As I choke out the words, I doubt their conviction, but he quickly lets go triumphantly.

  “That’s all I ask,” he replies.

  With that single second of clearance, I shake my head, and he knows what I’m about to do. His hand quickly reaches out again for my arm, but I spring back, turn on my heels, and run for it. I run like my life depends on it, because on a bad day with Jason, it’s quite possible my life might actually depend on it.

  “Skyler, stop!”

  I can’t tell if he’s running after me. I think he is, but it’s hard to tell with the rushing wind and the rain muffling the sound of everything around me. I’m running too fast. All I can hear are my shoes hitting the wet concrete. I’m sprinting, pushing my body hard in the direction of a residential area. I don’t know what my plan is. I curse under my breath for not having my wallet. I wish I could take a cab, but instead all I have is my feet. I need to be sure Jason doesn’t find me. He always finds me.

  Tears I didn’t know I was holding back fall down my cheeks as I sprint forward with no destination. I want to call Blake, but I know he won’t be able to pick up. For once, I really am alone to deal with this issue. I wish I could deal with this one on my own, but I need him. I’m scared. I only cry more. I’m terrified of how this will end. Will I be strong enough to get away?

  My heart burns with each stride, and I take a quick moment to look behind me. I’ve made it at least seven blocks into a neighborhood, and I see no signs of Jason.

  Jason is the type to run after me. He doesn’t give up without a fight. I find it odd he isn’t there. Still unsatisfied with the sight, fear manages to course through my veins, and I know better not to assume he’d let me go. I try to deal with my overworked body and adrenaline rush of fight or flight. I need a plan.

  Where am I going? Where can I go? These are the questions I keep asking myself as I keep moving, jogging quickly, clutching my cramping ribs as the panic sets in that all I’m doing is getting lost.

  The rain gets more intense, dropping heavier drops from the sky as I make long strides down the road, now soaked to the bone and shivering.

  This city. Has it become too much?

  No, I tell myself as I look around a street that looks vaguely familiar, and then it hits me.

  The cement monolith that is Giovanni Vigilucci’s house is in the distance the next block over.

  I swear I hear my name shouted out into the thick rain behind me, and this time my tears become body-wracking sobs, which only amplifies the stitching pain I feel with every determined stride as I force my legs to pick up the pace. I need to get out of here. Somewhere safe.

  I use the last bit of my energy to reach Gio’s door, noting no car in the driveway. Someone like Gio could be anywhere in the world at this point, but I don’t have anything to lose by knocking.

  I try wiping away my tears, but it’s pointless when the rain above turns into a downpour. I’m not supposed to see Gio until our meeting next week, and we barely know each other. I wonder what he’ll do with me if he sees me on his doorstep like this. Surely he’d give me a ride home, wouldn’t he? Would I have to explain why?

  As I raise my hand to his door, I hesitate. I don’t want to have to tell him why. I’m embarrassed by this fear, and I’m ashamed of the history that lies behind it.

  I let out a choked-off sob, hand still ready to knock, but frozen in time. I just want to cry a little more before he sees me, that is, if he’s even home.

  The door suddenly swings open and Gio stands there, wide-eyed and handsomely unshaven. His bright, electric eyes analyze me. I open my mouth to explain, but he doesn’t wait for an answer as he grabs for my arm, pulling me inside and out of the rain, cutting off another rounding sob from my lips.

  I swear when his door shuts I can hear Jason rounding the corner. My chest begins to heave again at the realization of what I might’ve been seconds away from, and all Gio can do is watch me like I’m a ticking time bomb. He must think I’m insane. He’ll want me to leave, I know it. His silence says it all.

  I shouldn’t be here, but I’ve never been so happy to see another human being.

  I open my mouth to speak, and instead my bottom lip bobs incoherently as I try to fight my way through tears. I want to apologize, but I don’t want to explain. My anxiety gets the best of me as I sense my dotting vision and wavering knees.

  I’m thinking Gio is a busy man, and moments away from sending me back outside in the cold, but he instead peels his thick, gray, cable-knit sweater from his body, and puts it on me over my dripping clothes.

  “Skyler. Bella, ascoltami . . . It’s going to be okay. Please stop shaking.” I recognize that tone as honest concern. Gio doesn’t have to care, but he does.

  I try to smile, I really do, but my body is too tired now. It’s overworked and malfunctioning. My joints feel like wires short-circuiting. I look up at Gio, trying one more time to speak, but he cuts me off.

  “I’ve got you.”

  All I remember is collapsing into his arms, trying to concentrate on calming my trembling nerves, and remembering to breath.

  Chapter 10

  Skyler

  My body is being shuffled up straight as I come to, and the feeling of stable ground beneath my feet pulls me to my center as I get a grip on my limbs. Gio’s hands grasp my arms, but he keeps me at arm’s length as he stares at me.

  I gulp down the look in his eyes. They spark erratically, half in sympathy and half in fear, waking me up. His features are strikingly beautiful. I feel like an instant burden. I shouldn’t be here like this.

  I can feel the water beginning to well up in my eyes, and as if to tear myself away from the agony of staring at the silent Italian man, my eyes dart to the door, considering escape.

  “Skyler,” he says sharply, causing my eyes to be pulled to his. “I don’t want you going anywhere. It’s going to be okay. Let me get you some dry clothes.”

  He lets go of me, walking down the hall behind me, leaving me alone. I take a step into the expansive room that I remember from before, except this time it looks hospitable. What was once a studio workspace is now a home. My brows knit together as I take in the mismatched surroundings. The furniture is contemporary and bright in some areas, but also dark and antique in others. I get the sinking feeling Gio is more eccentric than I give him credit for.

  Gio returns, and I notice his feet are bare as he pads toward me, wearing linen pants that hang from his masculine hips. Since I am the one currently wearing his sweater, the white undershirt, formfitted to his broad chest, gives me the ability to just barely make out the toned physique underneath it, and it has me speechless. His features are wider and larger than the ones I’m so familiar with, so the sight is a bit bewildering, yet annoyingly body-squirming.

  With an embarrassingly knowing smile, he hands me a shirt and a pair of shorts.

  “I didn’t have much that would fit you. I make my assistants take all of the clothes with them after a shoot.”


  I shrug, not caring for an explanation, but feeling like I need to give my own. “Gio, I—”

  “No, no, bella. Relax. Go change, and then we’ll talk. I understand as much as I need to up to this point.”

  His kind smile, devoid of judgment, has me in awe. Such simple words that mean so much.

  I turn on my heel, mentally repeating back his words as I pretend to know where I’m going. I understand as much as I need to up to this point. I can’t get over that.

  Lucky for me an open door revealing a large modern bathroom catches my eye across the living room. I stride toward the door, feeling heavy with the wet clothes and my thoughts.

  With Gio’s clothes in my arms, and three steps in, I see a series of magazines on the coffee table. I stop dead in my tracks, spotting the newest issue of People magazine under the Vogue that lies on top.

  Jason’s irreversible words thrum through my mind like sharp notes on a piano, each cringe-worthy and abrupt.

  “They know your name, where you go to school . . . I never figured you for the girl in the spotlight . . .”

  Without permission, I grab for the magazine even though I know Gio is watching my every move, I don’t offer an excuse for my action, and instead scurry to the bathroom with it.

  When the door closes I turn around to lay the magazine on the counter. I’m not ready to face it so immediately, but I eye it as if it might bite. I want to believe that Jason was wrong. That he was just trying to get a rise out of me. However, my mind can’t rationalize why he would do that in the first place. Although he has misplaced wants and needs, I honestly believe that Jason was just speaking from his dark, irrational heart, as stupid as that might sound.

  I gulp at the thought, peeling Gio’s sweater and my soaked tank top from my body, looking at my arm in the reflection of the large oval mirror above the sink, thinking that Jason’s fingerprints will surely show up as faint bruises. The idea of having to explain the marks to Blake is staggering, and I know his freak-out is a guarantee. I want Blake to care, and that reaction would admittedly be preferable, but I don’t want to distract him from his already chaotic life.