Beautiful Disaster

by Laura Spinella

  “What’s that, Rox?” she said, folding her arms. “Not like I could stop you.”

  “He’s going to end up hurting you—badly. Whatever he is, he’s not wired to deliver happily ever after. And that, Mia, is what you want more than anything.” She didn’t wait for a reply, closing the door as she left.

  Mia unfolded her arms, her steely resolve crumpling along with her body onto the bed. One hand reached out, fingering the silky blouse. The other brushed against the edge of the map. Mia pulled herself upright and reopened it. It’s not possible. There is no way Flynn is responsible for this. It’s true; there are things I don’t know about him. Whatever he’s keeping from me, he has his reasons. But I swear, I trust him with my life. Doesn’t that go against Roxanne’s entire argument? She thrust the map away and grabbed the blouse. It was far easier to paint Roxanne as controlling—resolute, if not rabid, about making sure that no one she loved ended up like Rory. A brilliant and beautiful second-year med student, Rory was a lot like her younger sister. And she would have had everything if it weren’t for Rob Valente. He got her hooked on prescription meds and ecstasy, moving on to riskier drugs that ultimately cost Rory everything. Now it was permanent history, altering both Rory’s and Roxanne’s views of the world. Roxanne’s tainted point of view was enough, Mia reasoned, to dismiss such an outrageous idea like Flynn and murder.

  A short time later, Mia found Roxanne in the living room, engrossed in a thick textbook—some cold topic that, for her, provided the warmth of a security blanket. Roxanne’s eyes shifted up from the book. “Ah, I see you decided to go with the skirt and blouse. Good choice. Dressed like that, you can always sell your body for a ride home.”

  “Oooh, clever, but I’m driving, remember?” Her voice dropped to a hushed tone. “Unless, of course, Flynn decides to steal my car. Grand theft auto probably comes before serial killer. I guess Flynn’s qualified.”

  “Excuse me for worrying. But I happen to care a great deal whether you end up in a ditch or just emotionally traumatized for the rest of your life.”

  “Flynn isn’t going to do either of those things to me. I know you don’t believe that.” Her tone softened, weakened by Roxanne’s overblown concern. “Listen, we’ll be back early tomorrow. Try not to dwell on this. Try not to spend the entire night turning Flynn into some kind of homicidal maniac. Try using that stellar brain to channel positive karma.”

  “Fine, fine, you don’t have to say any more. Like you said, you know him better than I do.” She flipped the book closed and tossed it aside. “Mia?”

  “Yeah?” she said, tucking a pair of flip-flops into the pocket of her overnight bag.

  “I’m sorry I can’t see what you see in Flynn. I’m sorry if I seem . . . overbearing,” she said, raising a brow, Mia returning the gesture. “But the kind of man who’ll deserve you—I mean the forever guy. Well, ask anybody, Lanie or Sara . . . It doesn’t conjure up someone like Flynn.”

  She nodded, seeing Roxanne’s vision. “Ah, the Prince Charming model, glass slipper, footman, glint on his tooth when he smiles.”

  “Okay, sure. In addition to anchored, safe, and a permanent address.”

  There was a pang of appreciation. Her father was gone, her mother disconnected at the very least. It was comforting to know that someone cared so much. Even so, Mia responded with the truth. “Maybe so, but anchored is predictable, safe is relative, and castles are drafty.”

  “Maybe,” Roxanne agreed, not sounding terribly convinced. “Well, have a good time.”

  “We will,” she said, heading out the door.

  “And Mia . . .” She stopped and turned. “Be careful,” Roxanne said, wishing more than safe travels.

  Chapter 15

  The folksy twang of the Chatter Blues Band filled the twilight sky, making concertgoers forget about sticky temperatures and the buggy blankets on which they sat. It made Mia forget the disconcerting conversation she’d had with Roxanne hours before. Her face was a perfect smile, looking down at Flynn, whose head rested peacefully in her lap, her tan legs lazily stretched out before her. A wavy thread of hair had strayed from the captured chestnut locks and she brushed it back, thinking he couldn’t possibly look more content. He seemed so happy, just to be there with her. It was reassuring, making Roxanne’s theory look as if it bordered on complete lunacy. Mia’s gaze drifted helplessly from the band back to Flynn. He grinned, catching her fingers in his.

  “Hey, you want another beer?” He sat up, kissing her before she could answer.

  “No, thanks, I’m driving. But you go ahead if you want.” Mia ran her fingers over his lips, erasing a smudge of lipstick, glancing toward the band as they left the stage for intermission.

  “Okay, I think I will. Line looks pretty long,” he said, squinting into the distance, back at her. “It’s so hot, don’t you want anything?”

  Mia shook her head, giving his hand a squeeze as he stood. “I’ve got everything I need.”

  He stretched the stiffness from his body and bent forward to kiss her again, hesitating as he glanced over her outfit, looking as if he wanted to say something, smiling instead. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Flynn?”

  “Yeah?”

  “The, um, lipstick,” she said with a giggle. He wiped his mouth, laughing as he walked away.

  Mia watched until the mane of hair and the sinewy body faded, the crowd thickening around him. It was bursting with clean-shaven men in pressed Dockers shorts and sockless loafers, and women vainly trying to fight off the last decade, momentarily removed from their suburban existence. It was no argument that Flynn stood out; the long-haired wild child sprouting in a field of ordinary people with nine-to-five jobs and pedestrian biographies. She couldn’t help but notice how women looked at him. Always the odd glance at first, then the double take. He was the dare they never took, the kind of handsome the eye needed time to absorb. Flynn was a perplexing mix of all-American good looks camouflaged by a veil of irreverent, untamed features. Mia would watch them stare, reading their unsolicited thoughts. They saw him as a project. Take him home, clean him up, give him a haircut and a collared shirt.

  She laughed softly to herself, knowing it would be like trying to tie down clouds or sitting a lion at the dining room table. He wasn’t about the kind of things to which you might pin a daydream or tuck into a hope chest. Maybe he couldn’t deliver picket fences or Sunday afternoon barbecues, but Mia was beginning to wonder if happily ever after was about something else entirely. Besides, those sounded more like her mother’s ideals than hers. Still, if she was being honest, there was something attractive about tradition. The idea caused a nervous shiver to run up her spine, so at odds with the heat. Mia reminded herself that he had never said a word about staying. He certainly never spoke in the future tense. It had been an implicit part of his terms since the beginning and she accepted it. Flynn vanishing—the idea edged its way back into her consciousness. Mia’s heart broke the agreement, fluttering a bit as she wrenched her neck to see if she could find him again.

  A droning voice, sharp in her ear, interrupted her thoughts. “Hey, aren’t you Mia Montgomery, from business law? Don’t you look super hot in that pretty little outfit?” he said, wiping the back of his hand across a damp brow.

  “Huh? What?” Immersed in thought, she hadn’t noticed the guy who had taken Flynn’s place on the blanket. Her focus was forced onto a red-faced young man she vaguely recognized. He was that clean-cut, suburban definition of handsome, a jokester from the back row of her business law class where he passed the time with a bunch of his fraternity brothers. “Oh, yeah. I’m Mia. How do you know . . .? I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

  One of his fraternity brothers leaned in and poked him hard in the shoulder. “I told you that was her, Justin. She goes from plain hot to sizzlin’ when she takes off her jeans.” He laughed, feigning a punch to the boy next to him. “This here’s Justin Tremont. Justin’s been wanting to meet you.”

  “Ah,
hell, he’d like to do a lot more than that,” noted the third fraternity brother, looking Mia over as if she were the three-for-a-dollar raffle prize. “Your ass, well, your ass in your jeans, it’s basically the reason he’s flunking the class. But in that outfit, you’ve just given him a whole new reason to fail.”

  Mia felt her face go red as she stiffened on the blanket. Past experience said someone else should handle this. But it was Flynn’s advice that led Mia down a different path, determined to stick up for herself. “Excuse me? Did you leave your manners at home? I really don’t appreciate your comments—”

  “That right?” he said, playfully grinning. “Let me work on that. I’m sure there’s something I can do that you’d appreciate. Have a beer with me—or whatever.”

  Her mind flashed to a similar invitation made by a much different man. If his breath had been any thicker with alcohol, she would have passed out from the stench, his sweaty body now a leering threat. Mia leaned back at a sharp angle just to clear the personal space he was rapidly invading. “Listen, I’m here with someone. He’ll be back any second and you might want to be gone by then.” She looked past his eager face, searching for Flynn. Even self-defense could use a little backup. While Flynn was strikingly passive, she figured his presence might be deterrent enough. But the boy’s grin didn’t ease, as if she were only playing hard to get.

  The two buddies stood at the edge of the blanket, intentionally or not, blocking her path. Justin’s stare was like a dirty book, all heat and anticipation, and, she realized, not on her face. Mia glanced down. The sexy blouse meant for Flynn exposed more than cleavage. Her position didn’t help, her back arched, arms splayed wide behind her. Mia hastily tried to correct it, jerking forward. At the same time she attempted to push the boy away. He took the physical contact as a sign of encouragement. Inches from his face, the boy’s breath hung on her neck like a filthy, wet rag. “Back off,” she said through gritted teeth.

  He laughed. “Hmm, feisty too. I saw your date. You go for the wild type, huh? Does he always dress you like this for public display?” Sticky fingers reached up and plucked at the blouse, stroking her arm. His hands continued on the uninvited scratch-and-sniff, tangling in her hair. “Bet it gets him off real good.”

  “Get the hell away from me!” she yelled in a voice she realized was lost in the buzz of people around her—not one person paid attention to her plight. Mia attempted to jump to her feet, but her heel caught on the hem of her skirt, tossing her hard onto her behind. It left her at a perplexing disadvantage.

  “Come on, Mia, I know what girls like you want. Something a little crazy, maybe a little rough. I’ve been watching you all semester. You could do a hell of a lot better than him.” Angry and humiliated, she tried once more to escape, but he nearly had her pinned to the blanket. “Give me a chance. I’ll show you a little bit of crazy like you’ve never seen.”

  A sucker’s bet, too much alcohol, frat boys egging one another on, no doubt an unfortunate combination of all three. Mia froze, horrified at the boy’s audacity, his friends tightly shrouding him. The boy rose up over her, a hand groping her nearly exposed breast.

  A lightning second later, cold beer splashed everywhere. Before Mia could regain enough composure to shove him away, his body flew up over her head like a Frisbee, landing hard on the empty blanket next to them. Gut-wrenching expletives escaped his mouth as he curled into a tight fetal position. Mia scrambled to her feet and her eyes locked with Flynn’s. A red-hot anger was anchored to his usually calm face and, she thought, not just directed at the intruders.

  Frat boys traveled in packs, always leaping to one another’s aid. The two standing jumped Flynn from behind, one locking an arm around Flynn’s throat, the other plowing into him waist high. His stance never wavered from the impact. Mia could swear he stared at her for one fiery second before bothering to react. The hesitation passed and his body became an effortless wave of precise movement. He detached himself from their collective clutch as if they posed no more threat than a swarm of pesky gnats. Flynn’s arm flew back, responding with a grab to the second boy’s groin, agilely flipping him overhead and drawing a woeful gasp from the gathering crowd. He lay there, stunned, as though Flynn had cut him in two.

  The third frat boy was undeterred. He exploded with a cache of high school wrestling maneuvers, a futile attempt to plow Flynn under. Punishment was swift. Flynn delivered a sharp elbow to the top of his head, then turned and dispensed a knee to his chest. More agitated than injured, the boy staggered a few steps back before retaliating. Mia winced. Terror spiked in every nerve as the glinting blade of something more than a pocketknife materialized in the boy’s hand. He hovered, eyes wild. Flynn’s head cocked to one side and his stare went glassy. Mia thought she saw the smallest hint of a coaxing smile.

  The boy paused, assuming he had the upper hand, maybe waiting for Flynn to back down. With an eagerness that was adrenaline pumped, booze inspired, the boy licked his sweaty lips, eyeballing his target. When Flynn didn’t retreat, the boy’s hold on the knife transformed from hostile to fatal. Gripping it hard, he lunged with lethal force, the heavy thrust bearing every intention of serious harm. Flynn was waiting. There was no detectable fear, as though the boy were coming at him with a Fourth of July sparkler. Practiced precision clearly took control of the knife-wielding arm. He twisted the boy around, and the two stood back-to-back as Flynn hyperextended the boy’s arm over his own shoulder. With the muscle strained to its limit, the hand was automatically forced open. The weapon broke free, landing with a thud on a grassy patch in between the blankets. The boy dove, but Flynn was steps ahead. In one fluid motion he grabbed up the knife, cutting back with his elbow into the boy’s oncoming jaw. His head bobbed like a jack-in-the-box as he stumbled over his own feet, dazed but not disabled. Flynn’s entire body spun around, almost a graceful dance, until the heel of his boot made hard contact with the boy’s stomach, ending any notion of another advance. He flopped around on the ground, struggling like a caught mackerel. Flynn pressed a dirty boot to his chest. “You will lose. Don’t be an asshole, don’t move.”

  “Flynn, look out!” Mia yelled as the second boy grabbed a lawn chair, swinging wildly for Flynn’s head. Never releasing his prisoner, Flynn blocked hard with an arm and the chair took flight into the crowd. Before the boy could retreat, Flynn had him by the wrist, twisting until he dropped to his knees, screaming obscenities. Bizarre wails of humiliation and agony were the only sound as all else fell eerily silent.

  Mia looked around, taking in the carnage, her heart beating so fast her breath had no hope of catching up. The instigator was on his hands and knees, spitting blood onto someone else’s blanket. The two others remained captive, each moaning in varying decibels of pain. Mia focused on the gawking crowd, staring in arrested amazement. Then she looked at Flynn. He was unaffected, his breath unlabored. Only the flexed muscles of his arms showed the slightest hint of tension, leaving her to wonder what he might not be impervious to: kryptonite, silver bullets?

  “What . . . what should I do now?”

  The question doused any superhero image. It was so disjointed, so out of place from what she had just witnessed, Mia felt compelled to help him out. “What do you usually do?”

  “Turn them over to security command.” An answer shot directly out of the past.

  “Oh, well, in this case, I think we should just run.”

  The knife was still tight in his fist. The boys lay around him in a writhing triangle of pain. Flynn jackknifed the weapon into the ground, where it landed sharply between their heads. Only then did he look startled, as if he suddenly recalled where he was. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” Flynn released both boys. In the same movement he grabbed Mia’s hand; they took off in a full charge toward the parking lot. Trying to keep up with his lanky stride, Mia hurried along. But her legs weren’t moving half as fast as her mind, guessing she’d just witnessed a huge piece of his secret past.

  Chapter 16

&
nbsp; MARYLAND

  Nurse Margaret had been vague on the phone, only saying that Mia needed to come back to the hospital. She didn’t take it as a good sign. She left the mock office in a mad rush to the ICU, running two lights and screeching to a stop in the ambulance bay. Inside, a languishing thirty-second wait for the elevator was too much and she charged up the stairs. Panicked and short of breath, she added startled to raw fear, finding Roxanne poised at the double doors of the ICU. Every hard line that defined Roxanne, from her pressed lab coat to her rigid posture to the humorless bend of her mouth, was even more pronounced as she waited, arms folded tightly. Whatever the news, Mia didn’t want to hear it. If it was the end, if he was dead, she especially didn’t want to hear it from Roxanne. “Just move,” she said, ready to push past her.

  “Dr. Martinez is with him.”

  “Who’s he? Where’s Dr. Logan?”

  “He’s a cardiologist. There was an irregularity in his heart rhythm—it’s nothing. Lord have mercy,” she said, glancing at her watch. “You must have broken the sound barrier to get here. I’m amazed you didn’t end up arriving by ambulance. Paging Dr. Martinez was a precaution; he’s fine.”

  “He’s not fine!” Mia insisted, trying to squeeze between Roxanne and the door. “I told the nurse two hours ago that something wasn’t right. Move, please.”

  Instead of allowing Mia to pass, Roxanne’s hand closed around her arm. “Would you calm down, catch your breath? You can’t go in right now. Just let Dr. Martinez examine him. Mia, this is out of control. We need to talk.”

  “What for? I’m well aware of your opinion on the subject,” she barked, drawing the stares of waiting visitors. “Not now!”

  “Yes, right now. There’s nothing you can do for him. But I am curious as to how long you can keep this up. This isn’t right—it isn’t you! Michael is going to find out and the whole thing will explode in your face. I don’t want that.”