by Mari Madison
“If I don’t, well, you can always feel free to come and stalk me yourselves,” I told them. “You know where I work. You probably know where I live, too. I don’t think it would be too hard for you to make my life miserable.”
They laughed at this. “Okay, fine,” said the older guy. He turned to his friends. “This is old news anyway.” He reached into his pocket and handed me his card. Then three others followed suit. I collected the cards and put them in my purse.
“Bye-bye boys,” I said with a smile. “We’ll talk soon.”
They nodded and headed back to their cars. I stood in front of Troy’s apartment, watching them go. When they had finally all pulled out of the parking lot, I turned and knocked on the door.
thirty-one
TROY
I heard Sarah’s knock and stepped away from the window where I’d been watching the scene, trying to make sense of it all. How had she made those assholes just walk away? Seriously, she must have had some kind of crazy superpower against paparazzi. I was impressed to say the least.
But that didn’t mean I wanted her to come into my apartment now. I didn’t want her to see what a mess I’d made last night, when trying to build the barricades. The place looked like a crazy person had shacked up inside. And hey, maybe there was a reason for that.
But Sarah wasn’t going to make it easy for me to turn her away.
“Come on, Troy,” she called through the door. “I know you’re in there. I saw you peek out the window. Just open up. The reporters are gone, I promise.”
Sighing, I forced myself to walk over to the door. She wasn’t the enemy, I tried to remind myself. She was only trying to help. Not that I deserved any help. Especially not from her.
I pulled open the door, my heart aching in my chest as I found her on the other side. Despite my reluctance for her to see how far I’d fallen, I was happy to see her. I was always happy to see her.
She gave me a bright smile and pushed a box of donuts into my hands. “Hungry?” she asked.
“Not really.” But I took the donuts anyway, though I didn’t move from the doorway. My heart beat nervously in my chest. Please don’t ask to come in. Please don’t ask to come in.
“Uh, can I come in?”
“The place is kind of a mess,” I stammered. “I really don’t think . . .”
She pushed past me, grabbing the donuts out of my hand and heading to the kitchen. I sighed and closed the door behind her. I should have known I couldn’t keep her out. I glanced warily over to her, then to the mess I’d made, waiting for her to comment on it. But she just set about opening the box and grabbing a donut from inside.
“You may not be hungry,” she said. “But I’m freaking famished. I’m pretty sure I could eat the whole box.”
I watched as she put a donut to her mouth, her face morphing into pure joy as she bit into it. My stomach betrayed me with a growl. I bit my lower lip, watching her devour the donut, then gave in and joined her in the kitchen, taking one of my own. What the hell, right? It was just a donut. Everyone needed to eat.
“So,” she said, after swallowing. “Want to talk about what happened at work?”
“Not really.”
She sighed. “Then at least tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s the worst answer ever.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” I frowned, the donut dropping like dead weight into my stomach. I wondered if it would be rude to ask her to leave. Or if she’d agree to do so, even if I asked. It was crazy how much I wanted her here—yet didn’t want her here, all at the same time. Half of me wanted to kick her out the door and tell her to never come back. While the other half wanted to drag her into the bedroom and hold her all day long—like some kind of security blanket.
I really was going crazy, wasn’t I?
She closed the box of donuts. “Look, do you want to get out of here?”
“Excuse me?”
She glanced at the front door. “My guess is we have about a half hour to vacate the premises before new reporters show up.” Her eyes flashed with mischief. “Which gives us just enough time to run away from home.”
I raised my eyebrows. I didn’t want to be as curious as I was. “Don’t you have to be at work?”
“Ben’s got it covered.”
Right. “And where would we run away to, exactly?”
A smile played at her lips. “I’ll give you three guesses. And the first two don’t count.”
“Oh.” My heart thudded in my chest, a little too hard for comfort as I suddenly realized exactly where she was suggesting. The place we used to retreat to back in the day when things got stressful at school or with her dad. We’d jump in the car and “run away from home” as she liked to call it. Heading south of the border to Rosarito, a charming little beach city just south of Tijuana.
I bit my lower lip. “I don’t know,” I hedged. The idea sounded heavenly, to get away from it all. To leave all the stresses behind. But the idea of being alone with her—in a place we used to find so romantic. Would I be able to handle that?
“Come on,” she cajoled, clearly not willing to take no for an answer. “I mean, do you really want to be here when those guys come back?”
I shook my head, giving in. “I need five minutes to pack a bag.”
She glanced at her watch. “I’ll give you three. And don’t forget your bathing suit.”
I nodded, though the idea of going swimming—doing something so normal and innocuous—seemed half like an impossible dream. But I threw my trunks in the bag just in case. Then I added a couple of shirts and a pair of shorts and some sandals. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her in the kitchen, her eyes straying to the pile of stuff I’d used in the barricade. I felt my face heat.
“Sorry,” I said as I emerged. “Maid’s day off.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “You should see my place.”
I’d seen her place; it was immaculate. But I appreciated the sentiment anyway. She had to know this wasn’t a normal mess. But she’d made me feel a little bit more normal by accepting it as one.
“You ready?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at me.
I sighed. “As I’ll ever be.”
“Then let’s get the hell out of here.”
We jumped into her convertible and she opened up the top, allowing the warm San Diego air to ruffle my hair and tickle my neck. Soon we were driving down I-5 toward Mexico—officially on the lam, once more with feeling.
Rosarito was a bustling beach community, about ten miles south of the border. Home to restaurants, nightclubs, shops and waterfront hotels, it was a popular Southern California tourist destination. Random trivia? It was also the source for the rocks in the collectible Pet Rocks craze of the 1970s.
We had discovered the place back in college. Sarah had been complaining about her father micromanaging her life and how it made her want to run away from home. The idea that she could just leave the country, at the drop of a hat, with no plans and no destination, gave her the sense of power she needed to take back her life.
Something I wouldn’t mind doing right about now, if we were being honest.
She turned to me, the wind whipping through her hair, a big smile on her face. “Book us a room at the Rosarito Beach Hotel,” she instructed. “I can pay cash when we get there.” She winked at me as she said it and I remembered our old scheme. If she paid cash, her dad couldn’t track her down through her credit cards.
It really was, suddenly, feeling like old times. Better times.
I nodded, reaching into my pocket for my phone. While there were many hotels in Rosarito, none compared to the Rosarito Beach Hotel, so it wasn’t a surprise she wanted a room there. We’d spent many a night there, back in the day. Many of which we never ended up leaving the room. I swallowed hard as I remembered some of th
e adventures we’d had in those hotel rooms. And I couldn’t help but cross my fingers for a redo, even though that was probably the last thing we needed at this point. I needed to get myself back together before I could hope to share anything new with her.
I made the reservation and we crossed the border, heading past Tijuana, down Route One toward the beach. We didn’t talk a lot, but that was more of a relief than anything. I didn’t have a lot I wanted to say and I appreciated the fact she wasn’t pressing me. I had no idea if that would change once we reached our destination, but I decided not to borrow trouble for now.
Soon we had arrived at the hotel, driving through its magnificent archway entrance, welcoming guests to the beach. It was an old-style hotel, originally built in the 1920s, and still retained a sense of old-world glamour to this day. Over the years, it had played home to royalty and celebrity and more than its share of surf bums, looking to catch the perfect wave. In short, it was a perfect hideaway for two lovers trying to escape the world. Like we had been once upon a time.
She paid in cash, as promised, and I was surprised at first when the hostess didn’t call her by name. She used to be such a regular they’d recognize her instantly. Envelop her in a big hug and welcome her back. Guess she didn’t come around here very much anymore. Which made me both happy and sad. Sad that she’d abandoned her favorite place. Happy that she probably hadn’t brought any new men around to share it with her.
We went up to the room and she immediately walked out onto the balcony, as I knew she would, to gaze out onto the sea. It was funny; the more time I spent with her, the more the memories flooded back. I’d started to remember her small tics, the way her mind worked. The way she moved. Which made me remember what she’d always do next after the balcony thing. Take off her clothes and walk around in the nude.
That probably wasn’t going to happen this time.
I plopped down on the bed, suddenly feeling awkward. What were we doing here? What was on our agenda for the day? She had mentioned bathing suits . . . did she seriously want to go take a swim?
I cleared my throat as she walked back into the room. “Have you gotten any more threats from Ryan?” I asked.
She gave me a wry look. “Remember how I said you should see my place? I swung home this morning and found two broken windows. And the place was trashed on the inside.”
“Oh my God. Did you call the police?”
“Of course. But I can’t prove it was Ryan. I mean, it looked like your everyday break-in.”
“They should at least pick him up for questioning.”
“I’m sure they will.” She sighed deeply. “I just wish he would go away. With everything else going on, I so don’t have time to deal with this.”
I nodded. “I’m sorry,” I said simply.
“It’s not your fault.”
“Well, that’s not entirely true,” I reminded her. “In fact, in a way this is all my fault.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she replied quickly. Too quickly. And I could tell from her tone that it did matter. It mattered a lot.
“Sarah . . .” I tried. But before I could get the words out—the apology I so desperately wanted to repeat—she had crossed the room. Invaded my space. Pressed her body against mine.
“I don’t want to talk anymore,” she said.
And then, she kissed me. Wrapping her arms around me, pulling me close to her. Soft curves melting into hard flesh. For a moment, I couldn’t move. I was shocked into stasis by her unexpected advance. But that didn’t last long, and soon my body woke up as I grabbed her and pushed her down on the bed. A low growl escaped my lips as I climbed on top of her, kissing her hard on the mouth. My knee between her thighs. My hand on her breast.
The memories of before were still flooding back, but suddenly paled in comparison to this reality unfolding before me. In that moment, I didn’t want to think, I just wanted her. Just as I’d always wanted her. And so I pulled her shirt over her head, then unclasped her bra, tossing it to the side. Dropping down, I pulled one of her nipples into my mouth, rejoicing in the feel of her against my tongue. She writhed beneath me, her fingers grabbing fistfuls of the duvet, her body thrusting against my knee. I dropped my hand between her legs, finding the sweet spot and using my fingers to coax her to climax. The way she was moving under me now, I wasn’t sure I’d even have to take off my jeans to fall over the edge.
Then, suddenly, she stopped short. Jerked away from me, retreating to the far side of the bed, her arms crossed over her chest. I looked up, confused and dazed and stupid, feeling as if half my soul had unexpectedly been ripped away.
“What’s wrong?” I somehow managed to ask.
She winced, burying her face in her knees. “What are we doing?” she moaned.
My mouth dipped to a frown. “You tell me. You were the one who started this. Who brought me here to begin with.” I paused, then added, “Why did you bring me here, Sarah?”
She shrugged her thin shoulders, at first seeming unwilling to answer. Then, at last, she let out a heavy sigh. “I heard what happened at work. And I saw those reporters camping outside your house. I thought it would be good for you to get away. To get your mind off things for a bit.”
“So, what, this was supposed to be just a pity screw?” I demanded, anger rising through me now. I struggled to push it back down. I didn’t want to lose control again.
“No!” she cried. “Of course not! I didn’t even mean to—oh God.” She let out a small cry, grabbing her shirt and yanking it over her head. “I just wanted to help you. That’s all. But then we got here and all these memories started flooding back and . . . I just couldn’t help myself.”
I felt an unexpected tingle of pleasure at her reluctant confession. The realization that I wasn’t alone in any of this. That she’d also been taken by the moment, the memories of this hotel. I crawled toward her, up the bed, slowly, so as not to scare her. “Then don’t,” I said. I reached out a hand to stroke her leg with gentle fingers. “Don’t fight it.”
“You don’t understand,” she whimpered, though she didn’t, I noticed, pull her leg away. “I can’t do this to myself all over again. I can’t let myself care for you. I did that already and you broke my heart. I want to help you. But I have no wish to put myself in that situation ever again.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I thought I could control it. To make this just a physical thing—no strings attached. But I just can’t. Not with you.”
I fell back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. My heart shattered at the pain I could hear in her voice. Pain I had caused. Of course she didn’t want to be with me. Not after what I had done to her back then. Not to mention how little I had to offer her now.
“I care about you, Troy. I really do,” she continued. “But I have to protect myself, too. And you should be trying to do the same.” She gave me a rueful look. “I’m worried about you, Troy. I know you don’t want to hear this, but to be honest, at this point, I don’t really care. I can’t just sit back and watch you self-destruct. And I’m sorry if that makes you mad, but it’s true. I can’t help it. Like I said, I care about you. And I don’t like what I see happening to you. I don’t want to see you like this.”
My body stiffened and my eyes turned to the door. Every fiber in my body begged me to get up and walk away. To salvage what pride I had left. To prove to her I didn’t need her help or her pity. That I could fight this, I could get back what I’d lost. I could regain control.
But in my heart I knew that wasn’t true. She was right. I was cracking around the edges. I was falling apart. If I kept going, if I let myself get worse, I’d probably end up losing my job. My apartment. Any friends I had left. I’d seen those veterans on the streets, homeless and alone. Before now, I’d never understood how that could happen to someone.
Now I understood all too well.
&nb
sp; Everyone had tried to help me. And I had done nothing but push them away. Except for Sarah. Sarah, who kept coming back. Sarah, who had her own issues to deal with—a man stalking her, threatening her. And yet, she was still here. Still trying desperately to help me, even as I stubbornly refused that help.
I didn’t deserve her—that I knew. But she was here. Now. Ready to listen. And God did I suddenly have a lot to say.
I drew in a shaky breath, turning to her now.
“You know how they say if you think you’re going crazy you’re probably not?” I asked with a brittle laugh. “That’s been, like, my only reassuring thought since I’ve been back. But I don’t know how true it is anymore. My mind is a mess. My emotions are out of control. I can’t sleep at night—and when I do I have terrible dreams. Some days I feel so exhausted I can barely get out of bed. Walk out my front door and face reality.
“Like today? If you hadn’t come to drag me here? I don’t know when I would have been able to leave the house again. And not because of those reporters outside. Well, not just because of them anyway. But because I’m afraid of what I might do to them. When the anger rises I feel completely out of control. I’m afraid I’m going to hurt someone.”
I shook my head, the emotions raging through, hard and fast. “That’s why I had to leave Friday night. And I’m sorry—you didn’t deserve me to walk out that door. I know you were only trying to help. But I was scared. Scared that I was going to lose it again. And that you would see me crumble to pieces.”
I paused, daring to glance over at her, expecting to see horror, maybe disgust, and probably fear on her face. But instead of that, I saw only concern in her eyes. Not pity, either. Just . . . empathy. Kindness. Maybe even a little affection. Which was insane, of course. How could anyone feel affection for me after what I’d just admitted?
“Troy,” she said, after a pause. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been reading up on PTSD. And what you’re describing? It’s not crazy. It’s a completely normal reaction to what you went through. You were pushed to the limits of your sanity. You were forced to face things no person should ever have to face. Of course it’s not going to be easy to get back to where you were. Of course you’re going to be stressed out, amped up, emotional. Of course there are going to be times when you want to withdraw from life because it’s too hard. Or too scary or too stressful to deal with.” She gave me a rueful smile. “But the good news is? You’re not alone. There are literally millions of people out there going through what you’re going through now. And the even better news? There’s help available.”
