“Jesus, Paige! Are you defending him? Being drunk is not an excuse! Go look at yourself in the mirror. You took a beating from him. There are bruises all over you and a bite mark on your neck.”
As soon as he spoke the words my body reminded me of exactly what Blake did and how he did it. I ached where he hit me, but the fresh memories of how he acted assaulted me even more.
“You can’t let him get away with what he did. You have to press charges.” His voice was commanding, not suggestive.
“He was drunk, Fal. That’s not an excuse it’s a reason. You’re right. He should pay for what he did, but maybe he didn’t mean to do it. Criminal charges could cost him his career. He may be a giant pain in the ass, but I’ve got to, at least, give him the benefit of the doubt. I would hope that he wouldn’t have hurt me if he’d been thinking straight.”
“Do you hear yourself? Why are you defending him? He attacked you!” Falcon tore the sheets off of him and jumped out of bed. The look on his face was one of complete disgust and disbelief. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair.
“I’m not defending him! All I’m saying is that I don’t want to ruin the man’s life.” I spat. “It’s over. Let it go. I’ll probably never see him again once he realizes what he’s done.”
He flattened his knuckles at his temples and paced the floor.
“Paige. Listen to me. If he was drunk and killed someone he would still be responsible for the murder; he’d have to be held accountable. You can’t let him get away with this! That’s just nuts!”
I knew that no matter how I tried to explain it to Falcon he still wouldn’t understand. I’d been through this type of scenario too many times to count when I was a kid. I was the victim and they always got away with it. It was always my word against theirs and this was no different. Even though Falcon came to my rescue, what exactly could he say? What he saw? Blake could say it was consensual and that Falcon walked in at the wrong time. I was a nobody, but Blake…well, he wasn’t. The press would jump on this. They were always looking for a good tabloid story and nothing said Read Me more than an agent with a prestigious modeling agency having a Fifty Shades of Grey moment in Sin City. I could just see the headlines in the grocery store! I knew enough that, if I pressed charges against Blake, it would definitely make the gossip papers. And then what? He would tell them I was a freak who tried to get him into bed by playing sex games? No! He wouldn’t lose his job, but other people—my friends—would suffer. Some unwarranted guilt by association. Friendships would suffer. Declan would suffer. He and Blake had been friends for years. How could it not be awkward at holidays and cookouts if I did this? I couldn’t be responsible for hurting people just because Blake had been a drunken ass. It was just better for everyone to let him live with the one night he spent in jail. It probably scared the hell out of him. For a man like him, who was used to the best amenities, it would be a warning to leave me alone. Falcon would just have to live with it.
“I won’t do it. I can’t.”
“You’re making a mistake, Paige. He’s a son of a bitch with a misguided sense of entitlement. He thinks he can do whatever he wants and get away with it. And you’re letting him.” Falcon stared disbelieving at me. His fists were tight with anger.
I looked up at him with sad eyes and feeling like someone had sucked way all the oxygen in the room. Although I was afraid of him I wouldn’t give Blake the opportunity to hurt me again. If I ignored this, he’d be afraid that I would tell everyone what he did. I would have the power.
“I know what I’m doing, Fal. Please. Leave it alone.”
It was obvious that he was angry and upset. I didn’t expect him to recognize that, in a situation like this, I was the one with more experience. I hoped that would be the end of it, but my refusal to take action and his resulting anger were volatile. He exploded.
“How can you be so naïve? This is bullshit!” Defiantly, he stood before me. His chest was a heaving wall of muscle. The veins in his neck bulged with his controlled rage. He stepped toward me, his jaw set defiantly and I reacted by recoiling and taking a step back. He misunderstood my action and glared at me.
“What is wrong with you? I’d never hurt you!” He waited a moment and then shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” he muttered and finished putting the last piece of his clothing on by pulling his shirt over his head. I touched his shoulder and he hesitated.
“Fal, please trust me. I know how to handle this.”
“Yeah. It looked like it. You handled it so well that you pulled your hair out.”
Scenes of other hurtful words rattled me as the memories from Marisol’s, and now Blake’s, attacks played in my mind. The Band-Aid had ripped clean off leaving me raw and exposed; I followed him as he marched to the door.
“So run away! You don’t agree with me so you’re pissed off. I get it.” My hands were set defiantly on my hips and I got up in his face. “I know Blake can be a bastard and he’s clearly self-absorbed, but he’s a pathological flirt. He just went too far!”
He spun around and eyed me indignantly. “Really?” His head tilted to the side and his eyes were as dark as death. “It looked to me like he wanted to fuck more than flirt.”
I felt like I’d been slapped across the face. The weight of his words left an acrid taste in my mouth and the truth in his statement deflated me. My defiance evaporated just as quickly as his patience. He was right and I knew it, I just didn’t want to admit it. It was easier to kid myself into thinking I was taking the high road when, in reality, I was running away from confrontation. Appropriate action did need to be taken, but the argument I gave Falcon was the same one that had worked for me all my life. So how did he see through it and know that it was all bullshit? His way was absolute and final, but I had more experience in this area than he did. I had suffered more torture at the hands of childhood bullies than he probably had from enemies in war.
Devastation crumbled in on me like an avalanche as he stormed out the door and, once I was alone, I was buried in the darkness of my emotions. The scene played in a continuous loop over and over in my head. Here I was worried that my scars disgusted him and the truth was that my reasoning was the thing he found repulsive.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
I chastised myself. I sat on the bed fisting the covers while I fixated on the look on his face. He saw right through me and that made me nervous. My heart rate increased and I felt like I wanted to run, but honestly, if I did, I didn’t know where I’d go. Anxiety and panic crept in on me with icy fingers. Like a plague it crept up the back of my neck and I knew that if I didn’t get out of my room, I’d be an unwilling guest at my own pity party.
Frustrated, I ripped the bra from my shoulders and threw it to the floor. I did the same thing with my panties and stomped into the bathroom. I was angrier with myself than I was with him. I put the water on so hot that I prayed it would scald away my self-loathing. After I stood there so long my skin was red I began to gain perspective. The burning spray sorted my thoughts and washed away my conflicts. The inner debate between fact and speculation swirled away with the soapy water, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t wash away the fact that if Falcon hadn’t shown up when he did, I would have been raped.
As the filthy memories of Blake touching me was cleansed and clarified, an appetite for justice surfaced. I didn’t know how I would do it but, Falcon was right, it was time to confront my fears. He didn’t know everything I’d been through and in order for him to understand my reaction I had to tell him. I was apprehensive. My track record of dealing with vicious people was not the best. I had to find him and talk to him. His strong opinion about Blake’s accountability could be the strength and conviction that I needed to tap into in order to face Blake. I could only hope that he would help.
Elizabeth wasn’t smiling. She was staring. At least I had covered the bruises. I had one on my jaw from where Blake punched me but none had surfaced from the slap. If sh
e saw them, she would be interrogating. Instead she stared.
I nursed a cup of coffee to ease the ache in my head. Even contemplating a confrontation with Blake had opened a painful door inside of me. I was consumed by a cyclone of thoughts and, as my friend, Liz deserved some kind of explanation in exchange for her concern.
“What do you want to know?”
Furrowed brows and pursed lips etched her face with worry.
“I thought you were having such a good time. Was Falcon a jerk after I left?”
I stiffened and wrapped both hands around the warm cup like it was a security blanket.
“Falcon was great. I had a good time, in fact but…but it got very interesting when Blake showed up.” As I looked up Liz’s eyebrows raised and her mouth quirked. “I’m going to give you the short version. Blake came to my room, tried to rape me, and apparently, Falcon kicked his ass.”
Liz was no longer smiling. She looked like she was going to hit something. “Why would that guy ever think you were into him?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know or, at least, I don’t think I know. I’ve had to do this balancing act with him between being his friend and discouraging his advances. I’ve told him over and over again that we’re just friends. For the longest time, he either didn’t get the hint or ignored the blatant one. One time he went over the top and I told Aria. Of course she told Declan, who wasn’t happy about it, and he told Blake to back off. Since then I’ve kept my distance.”
“Apparently, he didn’t keep his,” she chimed in.
“Anyway, Falcon walked in when Blake was…” I fumbled for words. I didn’t want to say anymore until after I spoke with Falcon. “Blake was taken to the police station and Falcon stayed with me.”
“The police station? What happened?”
“I don’t want to go into it, Liz.” I inhaled deeply as another panic attack threatened. “Falcon took care of it…and then he took care of me.”
“That was nice, right?” She wore a hopeful expression.
“Sure, if you don’t mind a guy cleaning vomit off you…” My voice shook and I swallowed the lump tickling the back of my throat. “…And seeing your scars and other, horrible things.” Worthless and dejected tears watered my eyes and the fresh memories conjured an anxiety filled despair.
“Paige, it’s okay.” Liz’s voice was consoling like a soft piece of worn flannel.
I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so. He wanted me to press charges against Blake and I made every excuse I could think of not to. Between what he saw of my scars and how I acted I think he’s written me off.”
She placed her hand on top of mine and spoke in a reassuring tone. “I think you’re wrong. He doesn’t strike me as that shallow. Look at what he did for me? I was drunk last night too, but he made sure I got home okay—and he put up with us all night in every club and bar. Hell, we were crazier and sillier than we’ve been in a long time and he didn’t ditch us. That doesn’t sound shallow to me.”
“He’s really pissed off at me.”
“What the hell happened?”
My shoulders tensed as I retold what happened. There were a few times that I saw murder in her eyes but, even though I hadn’t planned to tell her, I felt better as I purged the details. When I’d finished, I saw concern and worry on her face.
“Paige, I’m afraid for you. What are you going to do?”
“I’ve decided to do what Falcon suggested. I’m going to press charges.”
“Wow!” Her eyes widened. “Did you tell him yet?”
I shook my head. “No. But I’m going over to his hotel to tell him—and ask him to help me to do it. I don’t think I can do it by myself.”
She nodded. On some level she understood my hesitation but no one could really know how I felt, but, in that moment, I just felt sad.
“You do realize you’re beautiful inside and out, right?” The hopeful expression she wore exposed the sincerity of her words. Unfortunately, my cynicism took over.
“That’s a crock, Liz, and you know it.” I opened my arms and emphasized our surroundings. “Look at where we are! Women are half naked at every hotel pool, at every casino. With how I’m mangled, I’m no competition.”
“Stop it, Paige! There are men—and Falcon may be one of them—who aren’t into just the flesh. Some guys think a woman is sexier by what she doesn’t show, and by what she has inside.”
“Whatever.” I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and composed myself. “I don’t think I can take on Blake by myself. I honestly don’t know if he’ll ever speak to me again.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. He’s got to talk to you sometime.” As she snickered, an impish grin appeared.
“What makes you so sure?” She tapped on my hand. When I looked down I saw a thin gold band. Suddenly, a scene replayed in my mind. A wicked trifecta—alcohol, a dare, and an Elvis impersonator. I groaned.
“Oh hell…”
Falcon thundered back to his room. Outrage poured off of him in sheets.
What was she thinking?
He remembered her crestfallen expression. It killed him that he’d hit her with such a low blow, but if he hadn’t gone when he did more wounding words would have followed. The last thing he wanted to do to Paige was hurt her, but it seemed impossible to him that she’d let Blake get away with what he did. Why wouldn’t she want to make him pay?
It was very black and white to him; break the law, pay a price. Blake was an overconfident, arrogant prick and to let him get away with hurting her only made it easier for him to attack her again. That’s bullshit!
He walked over to the bar and poured himself a stiff scotch. He knocked it back with such force that it numbed his throat on contact. He only wished it would numb his mind. It was bad enough that he had to see Matthews nearly naked and on top of her, but it was nothing compared to how broken she was when he returned to her room. The whole damn situation had thrown her into a tailspin.
Falcon considered himself a tough man. He’d been through a lot of shit and was so desensitized by war, and the inhumanness it bred, that not much bothered him anymore. But no matter how tough he thought he was, seeing her so wounded shook him. It was branded into his memory.
He thought she was in shock, especially when he saw her self-mutilating. When he saw the scars he realized that Blake’s attack might have triggered off some type of post-traumatic event. And he was certain it was some form of PTSD. Something horrific lingered below the marks on her body and, maybe, they would have mattered to another man, but all he wanted to do when he saw them was protect her. It made him curious to understand what caused her pain. Whatever it was, it made him want to protect her so that nothing ever hurt her again.
Because, admit it—you love her.
The realization fell on him so suddenly that it felt like a punch to the gut. He knew by their second date she was different. She made him feel something more than he ever had before. For too many years, women were the needles that provided his sexual high and he’d had so many hits that he was numb. Paige wasn’t like any of them. She was attractive and exciting—and now, complicated and challenging. With her, he was like a drug addict chasing the dragon. Time spent with her was never enough. She wasn’t the kind of drug that would kill you; she was the kind that healed. He was never bored when he was with her. No matter where they were, what they were doing, or how many times they’d done it, being with her was different. She made him see everything through different eyes.
So why couldn’t she see something through his eyes, just once?
He could see right through Blake Matthews. He was a leech. He bastardized his position, using it to get himself laid. There wasn’t anything honorable about him. His egotism made him as transparent as a bad vein, only his clients suffered the occlusion. He infused them with the buzzwords and gifts that would assure a good flow from their pockets to his. Maybe he was a good guy at one time but now he was different. He was an overconfident douchebag—and if he touched
Paige again he’d be dead.
It wasn’t unlikely that Blake wanted a woman like her, any man would. There were many things to admire about her but, after seeing her body, he saw her scars as a source of inner strength that he admired. That kind of power called out to a place inside him that marked her as a warrior. She might not see herself that way, but he felt that strength in her long before he ever saw her scars. So why was she so weak when it came to demanding the justice she deserved?
He banged his head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. No amount of scotch could quench his thirst for justice. What she needed was for someone to sit her ass down and educate her about where the line was drawn between someone being an asshole or a criminal. His gut raged contemplating whether or not he should be that person. She needed to know the truth about perfection—there was none—not in anything or any person. Perfectionism exposes hollow pride, while imperfection has room for love to fill the void.
Falcon took a deep breath as he fought the urge to march back over to her room, but he knew what she needed. Time. That was something he could give her because he was still too pissed off to trust what he would say. In his current state of mind he’d call her out and confront her with the truth of last night, and what she decided would determine how he would see her—friend or lover. There wasn’t any place in between. Until he calmed down enough to do that in the right way, all he could do was bide his time savoring the sweet memories of the evening, before and after Blake. He was convinced that they made a good match and, after his fifth scotch, he savored more pleasant memories from the mountains.
She leaned against the doorway. A dark-haired angel illuminated by the ethereal glow of candlelight. Her arms were crossed; one casually across her hip, the other holding a glass of wine. The twinkle in her eye invited him with a reason to celebrate a holiday he cynically took for granted. She changed all that because, the minute he saw her, she made him appreciate Christmas and the God who sent her for the holiday. When she looked at him he sucked in a breath. She made him as excited as when he was a kid and found a present he really wanted under the tree. Her eyes were soft, her expression warm, and her hair was pulled over one shoulder where it cascaded in thick waves. But it was her smile. Not pretentious or fake, but genuine. It was something so rare that it slayed him. Her lips were plump, but not too much. She was a perfect cocktail of adorable and sexy. He couldn’t help but wonder if she tasted as sweet as she looked and he desperately looked for mistletoe.
Same/Difference (The Depth of Emotion #4) Page 11
