by J. Dallas
There was something so confused, almost desperate in his voice.
I had him.
The knowledge bloomed inside me and I knew I’d done what I set out to do. I’d wanted him to suffer, as I had.
I’d hurt so badly after he left me, that foolish, naïve girl that I’d been. I’d set my hopes on a dream and it had smashed, but it was more than just the dream I’d lost. It was everything that happened after.
I had him.
The very thing I’d set out to do. And it hurt me more than I could even begin to describe. It made me feel dirty, small and evil. The thought of making him feel the way I’d felt was enough to make me want to vomit.
Swallowing back the nasty, bitter taste that rose in the back of my throat, I shook my head and disengaged myself from his arms. “Let me go,” I said, forcing the words out. I had to get away from here.
I had to get away from him.
Had to think.
“Damn it, Shan. We’re going to talk,” he said, taking a step and advancing on me.
“Not here.” I shook my head, looking around, my gaze bouncing off the headstones, the grave markers. Some of them were so old, they were starting to crumble. Slate didn’t hold up to the elements very well. Those older ones had stood here in the cemetery for hundreds of years and you couldn’t even read them anymore. One held a grinning skull and I stared at its morbid face, hunching my shoulders. “We can’t talk here.”
“Then where?” he snapped and the heat of his gaze all but scorched me. “In case you haven’t noticed, you aren’t exactly taking my calls. And you left. Is that how seriously you take a job? You just up and leave?”
A job. I wanted to laugh, but the jab had its effect. It was a slap to my pride and he likely knew it. “I left a list of qualified applicants with Mr. Coltrane,” I said woodenly. “As you probably know, that’s not the sort of job I’m cut out for. That fact was driven home once you left and I had time to think. I figured a clean break was best, and Mr. Coltrane had his own administrative assistant.”
He scoffed. “Tally doesn’t know my company. You do. It took nearly three weeks to get things back to where we needed and Mai had to help out. If your intention was to fuck with me, congratulations, you succeeded.”
I slid him a look, refused to let him see that his comment had been a direct hit. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I cost Gallagher Enterprises some money? How thoughtless of me.”
“Is that what this is about? You want to get back at me for how I handled everything before? Fine. You did. Slate is clean and we can start over.”
I fought the urge to look back over my shoulder. Slate is clean? Instead of glancing toward my father’s resting place, I shrugged. “If you want to call the slate clean, then we can do that. As to the rest of it?” I shook my head. I couldn’t even begin to think about the rest of that now. Not here, of all places.
The thought of starting over with Drake—even for the brief seconds I let myself consider it, had something fluttering to life inside me. It might have been hope, but I crushed it before it could start to grow.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have to go.”
He blocked my way, his hand coming up to touch my cheek. I averted my face and his hand fell away.
“No starting over?” he said, his voice quiet. “So what was going on between us in Philadelphia?”
“Drake, Philadelphia was…” I didn’t know how to answer that. I had to answer him, and if I was wise, if I had any sense of responsibility, I’d give him a real answer. But how did I explain that? “Look, this isn’t the place to talk about it.”
“Then where is? Name the place. The time. Convince me you’ll be there and you can walk away.”
His eyes were intent on my face.
Name the place. The time. My heart thudded so heavy and hard in my chest and I backed away as he took another step closer. Swallowing, I jerked my head around. “Drake, just…”
“You don’t plan on telling me anything,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Fine. Here it is. What in the hell happened in Philadelphia, Shan? Explain it to me and I’ll go.”
My hands shook. I tightened them into fists. Go? I didn’t know if I wanted him to do that, but I couldn’t think. Not here. Not now. “Philadelphia was…” I looked away. “Ten years.”
I was babbling, I knew it, but I couldn’t stop it. “I had you in my system for ten years and I needed it to stop. I’d always wondered and now I don’t have to—”
“That was just…” I paused, then shrugged. “Getting you out of my system. I can’t look forward when I’m always looking back and wondering. Now I can stop wondering.” I darted a look at him, saw the rigid set of his jaw.
What are you doing? my head screeched at me and my mouth continued to move and I found myself shrugging. “Maybe I should say thanks.”
Shut up, shut up, shut up, you idiot! I was horrified. What was I saying? Spinning away, I started to edge around him. I had to get out of there before I made this any worse. “Look, we can…I dunno. Talk. I’m staying at the—”
I glanced back, pausing by one of the obelisks, those strange memorials that jutted up into the sky. Such an odd way to memorialize the dead. I looked for Drake. He wasn’t there. I couldn’t see…
Oh.
Oh, no.
Nerves spurred me to move faster as the rain started to come down.
“Shannon.”
His voice soft, shaken, came from behind me, but I didn’t look back.
“For pity’s sake, would you—”
I slipped, my heel sliding off the wet stones.
Brilliant pain burst through me as my head struck one of the stones. I heard a shout. It might have been him. It could have been me.
Everything grayed around me and then I caught a glimpse of his face. It was the last thing I saw. Then it was just…darkness.
Lights, brilliant and blinding, were the first thing I saw…then again, his face.
I barely had a moment to focus on him before everything else assaulted me. The smell hit me first and it was like a fist around my throat.
It took me back, straight back into the hell of that day.
A nurse reached out to touch me and I flung out a fist. Somebody caught my hand and distantly, I heard him speaking, heard the shock in his voice, but nothing connected.
I was too busy hearing the voices from long ago. My mother, saying my name over and over, and my own voice. Screaming. Just screaming. They had just told me—
“Damn it, just back off for a fucking minute!”
Drake’s voice cut through everything else and then his hands cupped my face. Sucking in a breath, I stared into his face. His nose was just an inch from mine. My head pounded, throbbed horribly.
Hospital…
I was in a hospital.
I couldn’t stand hospitals.
“Why am I here?” I whispered, locking on his face so I didn’t have to see anything else.
For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He looked at me like I was a stranger and then, slowly, so very slowly, he eased back. “You fell,” he said, spacing each word out. “You hit your head.”
That might explain the pounding.
It didn’t matter. Unless I was in danger of losing a limb or ready to have a heart attack, I couldn’t stay here.
Deep inside, I started to tremble and soon, I was shaking so hard, I thought I might be ill. Carefully, I pulled back and Drake reluctantly let go. It took some fumbling but I managed to swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Whoa. Was the floor really that far down?
Doesn’t matter—
“Ms. Crosby, you need to—”
A hand went to touch my arm and I jerked my head. Immediately, a thousand slivers of pain sliced into me. I ignored them, focusing on the nurse in front of me. There were three of them, but since they all looked the same, I assumed it was because of whatever I’d done to my head. Focusing on the one in the middle, I waited until my vision settled a bit and then I said softly, �
��Do not touch me.”
“You shouldn’t get up,” she said, her gaze just as hard as I suspected mine was. “You have a concussion. You’re likely to experience some dizziness with the head wound so you need to be still until we’ve done the assessment. We need to—”
“I am leaving,” I said slowly, saying it with great care so she understood me. “I don’t care if the doctor wants to run tests or poke or prod. I am leaving and if you don’t like it, I don’t give a flying fuck.”
The lines around her eyes tightened and she inclined her head. “You understand it’s dangerous to leave without knowing how extensive your injury is.”
“Bite me.”
“I’ll notify the doctor that you wish to leave.”
“I’m not waiting.”
Her nostrils flared out a bit and I had a feeling she knew exactly what thoughts were running through my head. “There are forms you’ll have to sign if you leave against medical advice.”
Yeah. Right. She couldn’t make me sign them if I wasn’t here when she came back.
“Sure. You go dig them right up.” All I had to do was get my feet underneath me.
And figure out how to get Drake out of my way.
His hands caught my shoulders as I went to stand up. Glaring at him, I said, “I have to get out of here.”
The longer I stayed here, the harder the memories slammed into me and the worse the feeling of panic, helplessness hit me. A band constricted around my chest and I couldn’t breathe. “Shannon,” he said, his fingers hot against my icy flesh. “You’re hurt—”
“Listen to me.” I cut him off. He had to understand. Had to. “I can’t stay here. Please.” I reached up, touched his cheek.
His lashes flickered. Then he sighed and looked away. “I’m going to regret this.”
But he nodded, reaching up to cover my hand with his own. “Don’t leave. You got it? If you try to leave on your own, you’ll collapse and just end up back here.”
Well, there was that possibility. “Will you get me out of here?” I asked, panic swelling inside me.
“If you’ll wait for me. Just…just give me a few minutes.” His eyes all but begged me to trust him.
For some reason, I actually did. The band around my chest loosened. Oxygen rushed back into my lungs. The pain in my head started to cloud everything— including my ability to think— I heard his voice cutting through everything else.
“I want to talk to her doctor,” he said.
The nurse murmured something. I didn’t quite catch it.
“I don’t care. Get him in here.”
A hand shook my shoulder. I turned away from it and mumbled under my breath.
Drake persisted and I popped one eye open. Focusing on him hurt. “Go to hell.”
“Sure. After you tell me how many fingers.”
In response, I lifted one of mine.
A faint smile curved his lips. That smile made my heart flutter as he reached up to brush my hair back. “We did that. And then you disappeared. It took me this long to catch up to you and look how it’s turning out. I think we should get some stuff settled before we try it again.”
Despite everything, my belly went hot with hunger at the look in his eyes.
Averting mine, I stared at the wall. “Maybe there is no again. I told you I probably just needed to get you out of my system.”
“Is that a fact?” He touched my lip. “Lucky you, then.” His hand lifted again, showed me four fingers. “How many fingers?”
I made a face at him and then sighed. “Four. Now can I sleep?”
“Yes.” His hand cradled my cheek. That really shouldn’t feel so good. “Want anything while I’m in here?”
“Aspirin,” I muttered.
“Can’t. Head injury. The doctor ordered Motrin if you want it.”
I debated and then nodded. The bed shifted under him as he rose and the floor creaked as he moved away from me. Settling more comfortably into the bed, I stared at the exposed beams of the ceiling over my head. They were a soft, golden wood. Lovely, I had to admit.
I wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep, I realized, lying there waiting for him.
Vague memories of him coming to me in the night, waking me and insisting I count his fingers, tell him my name, surfaced and I turned my head wondering what time it was.
There was a lovely, ornate clock, surrounded by twisting iron scrollwork on one wall.
And the view…
My gut twisted and my heart stuttered.
Slowly, I sat up, staring outside.
I knew that view.
The door opened behind me.
Without turning to look at him, I continued to stare out over the pounding surf.
It was all I could see, the sky a slate gray, the waters churned up as they pounded onto the beach.
I’d seen that view, almost every day, for the nearly the first eighteen years of my life.
My heart slammed against my palm. Odd. I hadn’t even realized I reached up to cover my chest. Weird…so weird.
“Where are we?” I asked, my voice wooden, my eyes dry as stone.
“Winsome Cove.”
It was like a sledgehammer, right to the heart.
Winsome Cove.
That was the name I’d given this place, back when I’d thought it would be mine. Back when I could still dream about it. Silly daydreams about what I’d do when I inherited the hotel, if I happened to have a few million dollars and could do whatever I wanted.
Gallagher Enterprises had a different plan in mind.
They had sleek, sharp angles, shining glass and bold colors in mind, something sophisticated, to draw the tourists looking for something close to Boston. They weren’t looking for homey or quaint. I’d heard those very words as he spoke to my father, a meeting I wasn’t meant to hear.
It was our land they’d wanted, nothing else.
“You son of a bitch,” I said, rising from the bed and moving to the window.
Behind me, Drake was silent.
The pounding in my head increased and my knees were wobbly, almost weak.
It didn’t get any better. As I moved, my view improved. What I saw spoke nothing of sleek angles or bold colors. There was glass, though, and I could picture how it would gleam under the brilliant light of the sun. The windows ran from roof to floor, facing out over the beach so families could enjoy the view, early in the morning, late at night, whichever they chose.
My heart stuttered, clenched. Then it started to ache in a way that I couldn’t even describe.
What was this…?
To the left, there was a balcony and I turned toward it, almost mesmerized. Fumbling with the latch on the French doors, I moved through them and the scent of the saltwater breeze pulled at something deep inside me.
The little alcove had hidden this view from me and I realized we were tucked away, this cottage a little more private. The rest of them were closer together, but each cottage had its own balcony, with doors that opened to the beach, pretty little stone paths that ended at the edge of the sand.
Just as I’d imagined.
“What is this?” I asked, my voice rough.
He didn’t answer.
Turning, I stared at him.
He stood with his head bent, staring at the floor.
Wearing battered jeans and a faded T-shirt, he held an orange prescription bottle in his hand but he didn’t seem to remember it as he slowly lifted his head to stare at me.
But there was still no answer.
“Damn it, what in the hell is this!” I shouted it at him, the words ripping out of me while the agony inside my head kicked up.
“It’s what you wanted,” he said softly.
Then he put the bottle down on the little table sitting in front of the window.
Without saying anything else, he left me alone in that wide open room, the soft gray light coming in through the window.
Chapter Three
“Stupid bitch—”
Pain burst through me. Pain. Shock. I was on the ground. How?
Then hands, dragging me up.
“They’re dead. You know that?”
His eyes, narrowed to slits, full of hate and fear, glared down at me as his hand squeezed my face.
Panic burst inside me. I swung out, remembered something my dad had told me. Eyes, baby, he’d said. Go for the eyes.
Then he was screaming and I was running.
Down an alley and that was when I saw them.
Police.
“No!”
Sucking in a breath, I jerked into wakefulness.
I’d fallen asleep, slumped on the edge of the bed and staring outside.
Night was coming, sunset falling across the ocean like a curtain of gold and fire. The clouds had cleared and my heart burned at the familiar sight. It was almost enough to chase away the dark, heavy feel of the nightmare.
Part of me wanted to just hide in this room for a little while longer. A few hours. The rest of the night. A week at the most. That might let me get a grip, figure out just what was going on.
The nightmare continued to cling, ugly little wisps of it sticking to me like a spider’s web. Pushing my hair back, I rose from the bed and looked around. It was the first time I’d really looked around the room. Bright and open, the walls a soft ivory, the furnishings a pale gold. The focus of the room was the view, the splendid view of the Atlantic.
It’s what you wanted.
Closing my eyes, I fought to shove that out of my mind.
Easier said than done.
I wasn’t going to be able to quit thinking about it until I understood.
Which wasn’t going to happen if I stayed in this room. Not for a week, not for the rest of the night. Even a few more hours seemed like too much. The four walls threatened to close in around me and the gloom from the coming darkness was thick. Hitting a light pushed the shadows back, but it did nothing to dispel the weight that threatened to crush me.
