Minute by Minute (Games & Diversions #3)

by Natalie E. Wrye

  God, if he only knew how much I do… but I’d give anything not to.

  I step back, away from him.

  “I’m fine,” I respond.

  “A lot of ‘I’m fine’s’ coming from you lately…”

  “Well, if I keep saying it, then just maybe it’s true.” I bite my lip, peering over at the front door. “The only thing that’s not fine are my accommodations—in that, I have none.”

  Lukas’s face falls into a serious scowl. I think he is going to scold me for not grabbing a taxi… maybe even chastise me for falling asleep, but then he speaks.

  He shakes a tousled head of hair. “Yes… you do.”

  I sigh with relief. Awesome. He found a hotel.

  And as long as it has a vending machine with candy and fewer roaches than the local Howard Johnson, then I should be just fine.

  Well… so long as I keep quiet, don’t touch Lukas… and run the second he parks the car outside the lobby.

  I nod anxiously at him, and he leans in, lifting my long-strapped purse off of the shoulder of my ruffled shirt.

  “You’ve got all the accommodation you need right here,” he comments casually, “because you’re staying with me.”

  The statement is like a kick to the chest, knocking all the air out of me. I try to open my mouth to say something, but all that emits is a gasp.

  What the hell did I just hear??

  He rotates calmly on his heel, walking back towards the kitchen, as if nothing is wrong—as if he didn’t just tell me to “stay put.” Stay here.

  Like I’m some dog or some... thing he can command.

  I storm after him, catching up to his side where I try to grab at my hijacked purse.

  Complete fail.

  Before I can even touch the bag, Lukas whisks it out of reach, holding it high above his head and turning towards me—unaffected.

  The look of indifference on his face infuriates me, and I huff heavily, feeling bolstered by my outrage.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I yell at him.

  His emerald eyes seem to glitter at me. “I’m taking your belongings… just in case you get any ideas.”

  My eyes skim the black purse in his hand. “Any ideas about what?”

  “About leaving.”

  “What are you talking about? I have to leave. The Marriott, remember?”

  Griff squints at me. “What the fuck, Elena? I’m not taking you to some two-bit hotel.”

  I scoff—exasperated. “You’re overthinking this.”

  He takes a step towards me—a defiant step. His towering presence overwhelms me.

  “Am I? Because if I was thinking at all, I would have nixed this idea from the jump. You don’t need to be by yourself while Ana’s in the hospital. You shouldn’t be alone while all of this… is happening.”

  I brush my blonde bangs out of my face, scrambling for a retort.

  “I’m a big girl, Lukas. I can take care of myself.”

  He moves in closer to me, and I nearly take a step backwards. He lowers his raised arm to his side, staring down at me.

  His lips are set firmly, and the dark hair surrounding them stands prominently. He’s tall enough to put his chin on the very tip of my head, and I have to incline my face to meet his.

  He glares down at my mouth before lifting his gaze to meet my eyes.

  I wait—breathlessly—wanting to see what Lukas will do next, what he will say, what he will do to make me stay.

  But he does nothing.

  Instead, his eyes go cold, and he hands my black handbag back to me.

  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed by his sudden concession.

  He walks past me into the living room, leaving me gaping at his back. He’s still holding the hand that held my purse into a fist as he heads towards the stairway.

  He speaks as he begins to climb.

  “You need to eat. I’m going to get dressed to take you to the hospital. Anything you want to use is yours. There are extra shirts in the drawers—extra towels in each bathroom.

  “All of your belongings have been delivered from Kat’s. They’re upstairs in the far guest bedroom along with the keys and codes to the house.”

  He hesitates on one step.

  “I won’t keep you here against your will, Elena… no matter how tempting the prospect is. Let me know when you’re ready to go.”

  “The Marshall Swindle”

  One of the objectives of opening play is to try to surprise your opponent.

  – Edmar Mednis

  DAY 2—6:37PM

  Channelside Bay Plaza

  ELENA

  Today was one for the books.

  After being taken from pillar to post—Lukas’s house to Tampa General to a shrimp-serving bistro on the water, I am almost too tired to complain.

  My parents’ sudden arrival at the hospital shook me up, and even though I was happy to see them, it wasn’t enough to lift my spirits.

  I couldn’t help but think that Nana would have known what to do.

  Nana would have known how to make it right.

  She would have helped me figure it out… and she would have never let me leave the hospital the way I had the day before.

  Even though I hate hospitals.

  Always have. Always will.

  From the first time I walked inside one at the ripe young age of five right up until the last time—the final time, seventeen years ago, when I walked through those damned automatic double doors.

  I swear I could smell it. I swear I could.

  Death was in the air.

  It floated through the hallways and past the vending machines—camped out in the fabric of the waiting room seats and at the nurses’ desks.

  It was everywhere.

  And seventeen years ago, it sat down in the beige corduroy chairs where three forlorn little girls watched their grandmother slip away.

  Nana Natalya. Miss Khvostova.

  Or, if you lived in her neighborhood, that mean old Russian bitch down the street.

  But we loved her ornery old ass.

  When she died, our family was shattered—most of all, the children. And as the oldest daughter, I… let’s just say, I was left to pick up the pieces.

  Life’s funny, isn’t it?

  How it can change in an instant? How one day you’re the babe sitting in someone’s lap and the next day, someone’s sitting in yours?

  I‘d become “the lap.” That’s what I was; that’s what I had to be—for my sisters.

  My mother was a mess; my dad was busy trying to keep our heads above water, and now, Nana… Nana was gone.

  I was ten.

  Well, almost ten. Katarina was eight, and Anastasia was only five.

  And to watch everything come full-circle…

  I went from watching my Nana slip away into nothingness in a stale-smelling hospital room to praying that my youngest sister didn’t follow suit.

  At one point in the hospital, Ana—the youngest of us—seemed to have followed the footsteps of the old matriarch, right onto death’s doorway.

  It felt unnatural. It felt wrong.

  So, when I rushed into that hospital, just yesterday, I felt a dam of emotion beat against my closed eyelids.

  But the dam wouldn’t burst; it just sat there—as always, letting a thunderous river of tears rage against its foundation—a foundation that I’d carefully built brick-by-brick for seventeen years.

  It seems now, even under these circumstances, that damned dam won’t yield. I’ve built it strong.

  Stronger than I ever could have imagined. Stronger than even I knew was possible.

  Outside in the rain at the Channelside Bay Plaza, I think of that dam; I brush the rain away from my cheeks as if they were tears, ducking my barely washed but stubborn head beneath my arm as I cross the damp streets outside the restaurant.

  I’m dirty. I’m tired.

  And the rain shower above my head is probably the most water that my hair has seen
in two days. Still…

  Every drop is worth it.

  Three hours of visiting Ana, four hours of playing tour guide in a stuffed rental with my overanxious parents, and one embarrassing hour with my realtor, Kathy, who I jilted two days ago, and somehow… after what could be deemed the longest day of my life… the rain is surprisingly welcomed.

  It’s a long-awaited disruption from my personal nightmare—a soothing cascade that helps to wash away the stigma of an exhausting day.

  Not to mention, it soothes the lashes from Kathy’s quick tongue.

  I can still feel the sting of her words from tonight’s dinner date; I can still sense the sharp barbs from the reprimands that she handed me in that snooty-assed, overpriced restaurant.

  The second I stepped out of the Uber to meet her, I was met with a wrecking ball in the form of five-foot, two inches of sudden fury.

  “Elena,” she snapped at me across the table as we sat. “Get it together. You signed that Purchase Agreement for the studio two days ago. The property is in escrow now, but you’ve got to let me know if you want to follow through.

  “Eight more days to make a decision… eight more days to back out…”

  The words pierced me with ice-cold terror.

  Because, unbeknownst to Kathy, I still don’t have a single client for the unfinished studio.

  Countless meeting after meeting after meeting with every dance company I can think of and nonetheless, the truth remains: I haven’t received one single offer for my services.

  The concept isn’t difficult to grasp: No dancers—NO studio.

  But the meeting with Kathy did help. She gave me a wake-up call—a chance to refocus my energy, a chance to actually do something that will take my mind off of everything else.

  Like my parents…. Ana… or even Lukas.

  I’m becoming attached to him again, leaning on him for support in the oddest ways.

  Before, it was with the engagement party. Now? It’s Ana’s accident.

  I’m getting too close to him, depending on him for far too much. Much more than I know he’s willing to give.

  And Lukas is right.

  Venturing out there while some psycho’s on the loose is dangerous, but being in his house with him—alone?

  Well, that just may be even more dangerous.

  The knots in my shoulders loosen as the thought enters my mind, the tension lessening as I take in my suburban surroundings.

  The restaurants nearby are bustling. The shopping center is packed with giggling college students and smiley faces.

  The rain outside is colder than it was just sixty minutes ago, and the former drizzle shifts into a downpour that starts to feel like ice.

  I step out of the rain and under a nearby awning, walking fast, my frozen fingers dialing for my mom’s new cell number.

  Shit, why didn’t I write it down?

  I should have saved it and saved myself the trouble. What good does having my cell phone do if I can’t use it?

  I don’t have much money for an Uber. Whatever change I had left in my pockets was eaten up by dinner and the ride here.

  Six, seven… seven, six.

  Dammit, which one was it?

  I feel the digits of the cell phone number on the tip of my tongue, fumbling towards the forefront of my mind, but I can’t remember them.

  Which combination of these numbers is right? I’m trying every single sequence I can think of.

  The rain continues to pour, and the faster it flows, the more uneasy I become.

  The passersby have morphed quickly into a panicked mob, and the formerly cheerful crowd has taken a turn—shifting into an anxious stampede that is desperate to find shelter from the torrents.

  Water splashes. Windbreakers flap.

  A couple to my left ducks into a store, and a little boy in red rain boots jumps a puddle.

  People push past me, herding impatiently for any cover they can find.

  They crowd their dampened bodies close to me under the awning, and the air around me becomes thick with heavy breathing, the simultaneous sighs of scores of people creating a gust that’s weightier than the wind.

  I glance behind me, feeling a prickling across my skin… and someone flanking the crowd appears to be watching me.

  I can’t be certain because there are so many people, but the half-hooded person leers in my direction, a grey poncho sitting heavily on their hunched frame.

  A man? Maybe a woman…?

  I can’t tell under the cover of the darkened dusk.

  The chaos in my periphery makes it too difficult to judge; buzzing people block my view, making it impossible to distinguish.

  And I can hardly breathe.

  The person is behind me, and yet I can feel their presence. The crowd shifts, and the hordes of people stir in the Channelside Bay promenade.

  I look backwards, and the person is almost right on my heels.

  I panic.

  I make a run for it.

  I crouch—attempting to shrink and disappear amidst the throngs of shoppers.

  I dip and dodge between them, trying to blend in among their umbrellas and heavy raincoats.

  The downpour overhead beats furiously as I dash.

  With another peek over my shoulder, I struggle to stay calm. I think I’ve lost the grey hood, but with the million more that trample between the sets of restaurants and stores, it’s almost as if I’m being taunted.

  The universe is playing tricks on my mind, and somehow I feel like I’m the butt of some cosmic joke.

  I try to pull myself together.

  I step apart from the suburban mob, finally separating myself from the sea of people.

  I glance backwards towards the awning I escaped… but the person in the grey hood is gone.

  The crowd continues moving without me, the throngs of people seemingly oblivious to my nervous plight.

  I smooth my humidified hair with shaky confidence. I laugh with nerves still simmering beneath the surface.

  I’m clearly losing it—seeing things that aren’t there. But when I reach back towards the cell phone I stashed, I feel the texture of something else beside it—some sort of paper. I take it out.

  It’s a handwritten note stuck in my back pocket.

  And the nervous chuckle gets caught in my throat.

  I stare at the note.

  It reads:

  Do I have everyone’s attention yet?

  ***

  DAY 2—7:02PM

  Tripping Out! Offices

  LUKAS

  The rain is falling harder than ever.

  Water falls over my head as I exit the office, turning a partly cloudy day into a dreary dusk.

  I watch the texture of the sky thicken like a gelatin, growing coagulated and clotted like a steely, open wound.

  Not only is the sky crying, it’s bleeding, and each drop of pale liquid is another symbol of pain—another sign of an injury gone unhealed.

  I stare upwards.

  It’s me; I’m the injury: the thorn in everyone’s side, leaking destruction on everything I touch.

  The entire day I felt like an unwelcomed sore—an impending infection that would only fuck up the party.

  Like this is new. Because come on… Who the fuck am I kidding?

  I always was some sort of sore thumb, sticking out in places that I didn’t belong.

  As a kid, I’d tried to just blend in… and with Foxx and Chris at my side, I was able to feel a little less sore—a little less odd.

  That hasn’t been the case today… or yesterday… or for the past four months.

  Foxx and I still haven’t talked since… Ana, and though we hadn’t said more than ten words to each other yesterday in the hospital, I could feel his anger—his rage.

  I’m surprised he didn’t try to beat the shit out of me.

  But I know why he didn’t take it further.

  Because of Kat. Because of Ana. Because of his family—a family that I’m sure does not inclu
de me anymore.

  Family. Hmph.

  Today, I actually got the chance to meet the rest of Elena’s family.

  I dropped Elena off at Tampa General today and practically into the hands of her recently arrived parents, a ragtag duo clad in tacky colorful clothing.

  Elena’s father is a tall, hunching man with a pervasive smile in his eyes, her mother a tiny pixie with a platinum pixie cut to match.

  A happy but odd pair, they seemed to be.

  They showered Ana with hugs and kisses, harangued Elena within an inch of her life about visiting more often and when they’d heard that Kat was apparently too sick to visit that morning, they clucked for half an hour on end, taking an opportunity away from Ana’s hospital room to buy “get well” souvenirs for Kat from the lobby gift shop as if Kat had never been to Tampa.

  I warmed to them immediately.

  They possessed a fondness that was ever-present, a strange but obvious parental warmth that was conspicuously absent from my own childhood, even at first glance.

  They wore it like a badge of honor.

  The awkward couple clearly cared about their three young daughters… but they were slightly aloof—wacky in this weird way that didn’t reflect the seriousness of Ana’s situation.

  For God’s sake, they had showed up to the hospital in Disney- embroidered clothing as if this were a vacation.

  Not that I ever knew what a “normal” family dynamic was in the first place.

  Foxx and Chris are all that remain of the family I once had, and with Ana’s accident and the Elena tryst, whatever I have left is dwindling fast—a fact that had become painfully clear when neither of my brothers showed up to work today.

  Foxx, I’d heard, decided to work from home. Kat—as I’d heard earlier at the office—was sick, and the usually diligent Chris was noticeably absent, out of the office touching base with Voyager, the travel magazine client we have an important meeting with in two days.

  Two fucking days—and we still haven’t recovered all of their files for the collaborative spread that’s been hacked.

  With thunder clapping overhead and the storm sweeping sideways, I duck into the safety of my car, soaking the leather seats as I retrieve my barely rescued cell phone from my black briefcase.