Crash Into Me

by Jill Sorenson

  “You think so?” Ben wasn’t surprised, exactly. JT thought most women were hot, and Summer certainly fit that description, but his friend’s tastes had always run more toward young, empty-headed, and easy.

  “Not like Olivia,” he amended. “Kind of scary hot. Like she might throw you down and slap you around first.” He shuddered a little, as if he had water in his ears. Then he gave Ben a sharp glance. “You didn’t get cold feet, did you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean, dude. Every time a good-looking chick walks by, you run the other way. It’s embarrassing.”

  Ben wished he hadn’t stopped to talk to JT. Even with a foggy head and bloodshot eyes, his friend saw him a little too clearly. He didn’t want to talk about Summer-Sonny, he corrected silently, gritting his teeth. He didn’t want to talk about anything. He just wanted to go out on the water and surf it all away.

  “Seriously, man. Isn’t it time you got back in the game?”

  “What do you know about it?” he returned, his frayed nerves snapping. “Sleeping with every woman you meet isn’t a game, it’s a cop-out. You’re the one who’s afraid to commit, not me. You’ve never even had a real relationship!”

  For a moment, JT actually looked offended. “You’re right,” he acknowledged with a stiff nod. “But we’re talking about your issues, not mine. You can’t live in the past, bro. Holding on to Olivia won’t bring her back.”

  “I’m living in the past?” Ben sputtered, annoyed by his friend’s sudden show of depth. “You haven’t matured a day since your dad died. You’ve got no job, no girlfriend, no goals…”

  JT’s eyes darkened with anger. “You don’t know shit about my goals,” he said. “So what if I surf all day? You do, too! And maybe I see a lot of different women because I haven’t found the right one yet.”

  Ben was struck speechless. He’d never seen JT this fired up before.

  “What you had with Olivia was special,” JT allowed, his tone quiet with intensity. “And you were lucky to find her. But she’s been dead for three years now. If you let Summer go because you’re still hung up on Olivia, then you’re a fool.”

  It was on the tip of Ben’s tongue to explain that the rift between Sonny and him was her fault, not his. She’d lied to him and used him, manipulated him and betrayed him. He kept his silence because the conversation was veering uncomfortably toward the chilling subject Nathan had brought up last night.

  He was not in love with her.

  “I’m not in love with her,” he said out loud, his voice rising with panic.

  A strange expression crossed JT’s face. Then he threw back his head and laughed. “Whatever you say, dude. Now, are we going to stand here like a couple of old-timers, lying to each other about how good the waves were yesterday, or are we going to get out there and show these young fuckers how it’s done?”

  Ben went along with him, relieved that the tension between them had dissolved, but growing increasingly disturbed by his feelings for Sonny. When JT headed toward the lineup, Ben went the opposite direction, paddling out to a promising section of break that would have been heavily populated on a Saturday afternoon. At this hour, the ocean was wide open, and he wanted to be alone.

  The Pacific was dishing out some of the same stuff he’d seen on Christmas Eve, chest-high sets with perfect form, just about the best you could get this time of year. During heavy storm conditions, Ben saw double overheads every once in a while, but those were few and far between, and sometimes so powerful even he got pounded.

  If he wanted big waves that were more or less manageable, he’d move to Hawaii. Days like this reminded him why he stayed in San Diego.

  The first reason had always been Carly. He couldn’t uproot her from the friends and family she’d known her entire life. When Olivia had been alive, he’d come and gone as he pleased, following where the surf (and the money) led him. As a single parent, he no longer had that luxury, and he was a better man for it.

  He also stayed because he liked San Diego. Even when the waves were unimpressive, they were there, every day, like clockwork, and he’d come to appreciate constancy, to draw strength from and find comfort in stability. Ben had been everywhere, and he could honestly say that La Jolla, California, was the most beautiful place in the world. The weather was awesome, the sky was endless, and the views were breathtaking. Windansea Beach wasn’t just ordinary surf-meets-turf, it boasted cliffs and tide pools, seals basking on rocks, waves crashing against the shore, and sand as smooth and soft as cream-colored silk.

  The final answer, if he was soul-searching, was that he could no longer live as if tomorrow would never come. It had been great while it lasted, he’d had a swell run, but he just wasn’t the same person. When Olivia died, mortality hit him like a forty-foot crusher. Tow-in surfing was exhilarating, it was amazing, it was epic, and it was all-time. But it wasn’t worth leaving Carly an orphan over.

  Long before he’d had his fill, he swam in, shaking the water from his hair like a wet dog, striding across the beach with his board under one arm. He was glad no one bothered him for an autograph or approached him to gush. Obscurity was welcome.

  Ben grabbed a shower in the poolroom and changed before making his way to the kitchen, stomach rumbling with hunger. When he saw his daughter, all of the restorative powers of exercise and ocean disappeared in the blink of an eye.

  Carly was crying.

  “What happened?” he asked, looking around for James. Blaming him was like second nature.

  She scrunched up her face and sobbed.

  He sat down and put his arm around her, feeling protective and paternal when she allowed the embrace.

  “Where were you?” she asked shakily, her voice high-pitched with emotion.

  Ben was at a complete loss. His whereabouts were never a mystery. When he was gone, he was always in the same place. “I went surfing. What’s wrong?”

  She shuddered, hiccuping against his chest. “I just thought…I don’t know what I thought. I was worried.”

  He patted her back reassuringly. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t even know you were awake.”

  Lifting her head, she focused her weepy, wet-lashed black eyes on him. “I couldn’t bear it if you died.”

  His throat tightened. “Why would I die?”

  “Mom did.” She looked out the window behind him forlornly. “So did James’ dad. And Lisette.”

  “Carly,” he began, cringing a little. “About Lisette-”

  She closed her eyes, as if anticipating a blow.

  Ben found that he couldn’t deal it. He couldn’t tell her what happened. There were some things a father and daughter weren’t meant to discuss, and this was one of them.

  Or so he thought.

  “You killed her,” Carly whispered.

  The words were so unexpected he wasn’t sure he’d heard them. “What? I did what?”

  Fresh tears squeezed out her eyes. “It’s okay, Dad. I won’t tell anyone. I’m sure it was an accident, and I know she, um, bothered you.”

  “You think I killed her?”

  She was afraid to meet his eyes, but she did. “You didn’t?”

  Suddenly, he threw back his head and laughed, feeling lighter than air. His daughter thought he was a murderer! What a relief.

  He hugged her so tight she squeaked in protest. “I thought you did.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Me? Why would I do it?”

  He laughed and hugged her again. “I don’t know. You have to admit you’ve been up and down lately. I thought you two got in a fight over what happened in my room, and you conked her over the head or something. Defending my honor.”

  “Defending your honor?” she sputtered. “I’ve been up and down? What, you think I’m a freaking psycho?”

  “Yes. But you’re my psycho.” He dropped a kiss on her adorable nose.

  “You didn’t kill her,” she said with a tentative smile.

  “And neither did you,” he returned
, smiling back.

  “So who did?” James asked with a yawn, standing at the doorway.

  CHAPTER 19

  James looked from father to daughter, uncomfortable to have interrupted a private moment. He’d woken to the sound of Carly crying, and could not pretend, in good conscience, that he hadn’t listened in on their conversation.

  His question about Lisette echoed across the kitchen. Once out, he couldn’t retract it. It just hung in the air, like a bad smell.

  “Do you mind if I use the phone?” he asked, leaving the previous query unanswered. “I promised I’d call Stephen.”

  “Go ahead,” Ben replied, pointing at the den. “There’s a phone in there.”

  There was also one in the kitchen, right next to him, but James appreciated the privacy. Carly was looking at him like she’d lost her puppy, so he winked at her over Ben’s shoulder as he walked by.

  She gave him a wobbly smile that made his empty stomach flop like fresh catch.

  Shivering with the memory of another arduous night, thinking about what she was doing in her bed upstairs, unable to sleep, unable to, er, relieve his tension, he ducked into the den and picked up the receiver, wondering if it was possible to die of acute horniness.

  He shifted from one foot to the other, willing the ache in his groin to go away as he dialed the number.

  “’Lo?” Stephen answered, his voice barely registering on the sound scale.

  Maybe it was James’ imagination, but every year it seemed Rhoda got louder and Stephen got quieter. If she sucked up any more of his life force, Stephen would just plain disappear. “It’s James,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “Uh…”

  “Any news about Dad?”

  “Yeah. Maybe you should come by.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know if I should say it over the phone-”

  “Tell me.”

  Stephen hesitated for a moment. “They found Mom.”

  Elation lifted him. James felt a silly grin break across his face. “Yeah? Where is she? When can I see her?”

  His brother made a strangled sound. At first, James couldn’t place it. When he realized Stephen was trying to smother a sob, his stomach dropped to his shoes. “No,” James said, denying the truth before it had even been spoken. “No,” he repeated, an emptiness spreading through him, invading his soul.

  “They found her in the backyard.”

  “No,” he whispered, shaking his head back and forth.

  Stephen’s voice was thin and strained, but audible. Horribly, frighteningly audible. “They dug her up from under the patio.”

  “No, Stephen,” he yelled into the phone, suddenly furious. “You’re lying! Why are you lying? Sober the fuck up for once and tell me the fucking truth!”

  Too wound up to listen to another word, James took the receiver from his ear and slammed it into the console, over and over again until the thing was smashed to bits.

  “James,” a quiet voice said from the doorway.

  He looked up from the black plastic shards, hearing the sound of his own ragged breathing along with the echo of the mayhem he’d just created.

  Ben was standing at the door, shielding Carly with his body. In James’ fractured state of mind, he couldn’t understand why Ben would do that. Then he saw the horrified expression on Carly’s face, and felt a wetness dripping from his hands.

  He glanced down stupidly, wondering where all the blood had come from.

  “Fuck,” he said, wrapping the tail of his shirt around his hand. Not only was he ruining their carpet, he was bleeding on borrowed clothes. “I’ll buy you another one,” he muttered, not sure if he was talking about the phone, the shirt, or the carpet.

  “James,” Carly said from behind Ben, her voice still raw from crying. “What’s wrong?”

  He stared at her, not remembering why she’d been upset. “It’s my mom,” he said. “They found her in the backyard.” He sounded so calm, like a stranger was speaking for him. “She was under the concrete slab. Stephen and I helped my dad pour it out.” He blinked, fragments of memory floating through his mind, pictures more vivid than the blood on his hands. “I still remember that day. My dad was in a weird mood. He was sober, for once, and didn’t hit me all day. I can’t remember another day like that. It was a nice day.

  “We all worked together,” he continued, “mixing the concrete, smoothing it over with trowels. Doing men’s work. He said we did a good job.” He laughed, looking from Ben to Carly, not really seeing them. “Can you believe that? We did a good fucking job, making my mother’s grave.”

  Carly slipped around Ben and rushed forward, hugging James. He held her woodenly, not sure how she could cry when he couldn’t.

  “We need to take you to the emergency room,” Ben said.

  James took the T-shirt away from his hand. The cut could use a few stitches, but he’d had worse. “No. I have to go to Stephen’s.”

  “James,” Carly protested, her pretty face streaked with tears.

  In that moment, he almost hated her. How dare she cry about anything, standing in her rich, perfect house, next to her handsome, perfect dad, wearing her expensive, perfect clothes, tears marring her lovely, perfect face? How dare she cry over his mother, when he felt nothing, had nothing, was nothing?

  He set her aside. “It’s fine, Carly. Just get away from me, okay?”

  Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. “James, you’re hurt. Why are you-”

  “Look at me,” he interrupted. “Look at my hands.” Holding them up for her, he said, “Can’t you see that I’m all fucked up? If I touch you, you’ll get fucked up, too.” To prove it, he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back, leaving bloody prints all over her pristine white T-shirt. “See?”

  Ben strode forward and pulled Carly away from James. “Go put some shoes on. And get my keys.”

  Carly went, hugging her arms around herself.

  James wanted to leave, too, but Ben was blocking the exit. “That’s not going to stop bleeding on its own,” he said. “Why don’t you put some pressure on it?”

  Annoyed, James put the bloody T-shirt back to his hand.

  “No,” Ben said. “Use your fingers. Like this.” Taking James by the hand, he placed his thumb over the vein that was pumping blood to the injury.

  James flinched, uncomfortable with Ben’s touch.

  Ben released him. “Put pressure on it with your fingers, like I showed you.”

  He complied, feeling the humiliating press of tears burning at the back of his eyelids. “I have to go,” he insisted. “I can’t be here right now. What if I had done that to Carly?” He jerked his chin at the demolished phone.

  “It’s a machine, James. It didn’t feel a thing.”

  “She can’t see me like this.”

  Ben assessed him with cool brown eyes. “She lost her mom, too. You think she’ll consider you less of a man if she sees you cry?”

  “I’m not a man,” he whispered, feeling very small and infinitely vulnerable.

  Ben put one hand on James’ shoulder and guided him toward the door. “You’ve got a pretty good right hook, for a kid.”

  Sonny trudged up the stairs to her upper-floor apartment, a sense of hopelessness dogging her every step.

  Stephen hadn’t taken the news of his mother’s death very well. She’d expected him to be more like James, stone-faced and silent, completely unable to show emotion. It wasn’t that he’d broken down and sobbed. He’d just sat there, his red-rimmed eyes filling with tears, a wealth of sadness on his gauntly beautiful face.

  She’d known better than to try to comfort him, or to ask any more questions. Leaving her card in his slack hand, she patted his shoulder once and walked away, fighting to hold her own tears at bay.

  Hopefully, Rhoda would be selfish with that twenty-dollar bill and stay gone for a while. The last thing Stephen needed was her company. Or more drugs.

  Sighing heavily, she turned the key i
n the lock and opened the door. As soon as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she went for her SIG, training it on the man sitting in her living room.

  Grant didn’t even flinch.

  She leaned against the door, returning her gun to its holster and willing her heart to slow, rather than arrest. “You scared the shit out of me.”

  “I could have done a lot more than scare you.”

  Biting back a caustic response, she pushed the door shut behind her and ventured farther into the room. He was right, of course, and having him get the drop on her for the second time in as many days didn’t bode well for her.

  Had she lost her touch, along with her objectivity?

  She trailed her fingertips along the island between the kitchen and living room, reluctant to start any difficult conversations. “You thirsty?”

  He grunted a maybe. “What have you got?”

  “Diet Coke,” she said coyly, knowing he watched his waistline.

  He shrugged, as if he wasn’t secretly jonesing for one, so she popped the top off two cans and brought them to the awful retro coffee table, taking a seat in the dreadful vinyl chair.

  “Who does your decorating?” he asked.

  “Design on a Dime.”

  Neither of them smiled at the halfhearted quip.

  Grant took a sip of his drink and set it aside, his manner turning brusque. “Arlen Matthews’ fingerprints are all over the duct tape and garbage bags he wrapped his wife in.”

  Sonny nodded, expecting as much.

  “We also found fibers from the pillow slipcover in his lungs, and broken lamp shards with your fingerprints on them in his trash can.”

  She choked on a mouthful of Diet Coke.

  Grant was only getting warmed up. “Yesterday, after interviewing your new boy toy, I discovered that his daughter is dating the son of our current prime suspect. Do you know how fucking stupid I looked, learning details like those from Paula DeGrassi?”

  “I’m sorry,” she croaked.

  “You’d better be. And you’d better start explaining now, before I haul your ass in for sexual misconduct, manipulating evidence, and who the fuck knows, maybe even murder!”