After Midnight

by Grimm, Sarah

  The light click of the room door closing had her snapping her eyes open. She glanced over her shoulder, out into the part of the room someone would have to pass through upon entering. It was empty.

  “Noah?” she called, then shook her head when his name came out more of a croak than anything. Slipping out of the bathroom, she stepped into the main room. She froze.

  A man stood at the foot of the bed, muttering under his breath as he rifled through her leather tote. Confused she watched as he popped the snap on the back section, reached in and pulled out the sheet music she kept there—her music. The expression on his face shifted from frustration to rage as he clenched the papers so tightly they wrinkled. Then he turned and looked directly at her.

  Icy fear washed over her in waves as she noted the madness in the hardened green eyes that locked with hers. Not Noah’s eyes, but Gregory Howard’s.

  “You bitch! I knew you were at it again.”

  In the seconds it took to get her terrified body to turn for the door, Gregory was on her. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled, stopping her forward momentum and knocking her off balance. Her back slammed into his chest with enough force she cried out.

  His fingers twisted in her hair, tightened and she froze as memories of past abuse slammed into her like a fist. Gregory cupped his free hand around her throat, under her chin and pulled her head back painfully.

  “Don’t have much of a voice left after that fire, do you? That’s good.”

  His voice was lowered, his mouth pressed against her temple in such a sick facsimile of intimacy that she shuddered with revulsion as much as fear. A whimper crawled up the back of her throat, struggled to break free.

  Don’t give him the satisfaction. Never give them the satisfaction of knowing you’re scared.

  “You couldn’t stay dead, could you?”

  “What—” His fingers tightened around her throat, cutting off her words. She grabbed his wrist and pulled, but to no avail. His hold didn’t loosen. The ringing in her ears grew louder.

  “You always thought you were so much better than the rest of us, didn’t you?”

  He clenched his fingers tighter in her hair and yanked viciously. Her stomach rolled. The door. The door was so close, yet so far away. John Whitehorse’s insults swam through her mind, coalescing with Gregory’s.

  “Momma’s little girl, so perfect, the child prodigy. The world loved you, the stuck-up little bitch. You loved to make the rest of us look bad, didn’t you?”

  What?

  Gasping, she shifted her fingers from his wrist to his hand. She couldn’t breathe, she wasn’t getting enough oxygen, and it was starting to affect her ability to process speech. That had to be it; otherwise Gregory wanted her dead because she was a better pianist than he? It was so ridiculous that she started to laugh.

  Then, she began to cry.

  “I got rid of you once. Cutting off that taxi was a stroke of genius. Your mother wasn’t supposed to die, you were, but it worked anyway. It shut you up.”

  Her body bucked from the shock of his admission.

  “It was fate that brought you to me that night. I knew I had to get rid of you, I just didn’t know how. I was drunk and feeling sorry for myself. My fame, usurped by a child. A spoiled little brat. Then while sitting at the red light I glanced over, and like an answer to my prayers, there you were, in that taxi.”

  Bastard! She’d lost everything because of his petty jealousy?

  Lungs heaving, she began the struggle to break free. Her fingernails dug into his hand, clawing, tearing at his flesh. Her legs kicked at his shins, his knees, whatever she could hit even as pain shot up her heels.

  “Bitch!” His hand tightened on her neck purposefully, cutting off the rest of her air. “You’ve been lucky so far. Somehow, you survived the car accident and the fire. Well you won’t survive this. I can’t have you composing and performing again. I can’t have you taking the attention off me. I won’t.”

  And she wasn’t going to die without a fight. She was no longer a child, she didn’t have to stand there quietly and take the abuse. She had to do something. She had to get away from Gregory. He was insane. He wanted her dead because he was afraid she would begin performing again and take away his success? Because of some twisted obsession to be the best?

  Working her fingers beneath his, she pulled. She fisted her hand around two of his fingers and she pulled as hard as she could. Bending. Forcing them back at the knuckle. His scream was followed by the sickening snap of his fingers breaking.

  His hand fell away from her throat, his grip on her hair eased. She sucked air greedily into her lungs and took two stumbling steps toward the door.

  A heartbeat later pain exploded in her back as cursing and swearing, Gregory kicked her. She pitched forward, landed hard on her palms and knees. Gasping, whimpering, she reached for the door. Her fingers brushed the handle at the same moment he grabbed her hair and jerked her head back.

  “You’ll pay for that,” he spat out, bracing himself with his legs apart, his feet alongside her knees. “You’ll pay, and no one will hear you scream.”

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she fought back the panic, struggling to formulate her next move. Weak and exhausted, she slumped, dropping her hands back to the floor. When he refused to release her and instead followed her movement, bending down to spit obscenities in her ear, she reacted.

  Bucking, she drove her head back and smashed it into his face. Stars burst in front of her eyes and the room spun.

  Gregory groaned. His grip loosened.

  She drove her head back again, then once more. Another crack, this one not as loud and a little wetter, and she lurched out of his hold. Frantic, desperate to get away, she yanked open the door and bolted down the hall, her bare feet soundless against the carpet.

  She didn’t take the time to glance behind her until she was in front of the elevator, stabbing the call button over and over with her thumb. Air heaved in and out of her lungs. Terror clawed at her, and pain washed over her in waves.

  The stairs were off to her left, but she was too shaky. The chance of stumbling, falling down another flight of steps was too great. Unless he came out of that room, she was choosing the safer route. The one where his longer legs didn’t give him the advantage. Where she could face both the door and the threat, instead of risking it sneaking up behind her.

  The elevator chimed, marking its arrival. Eyes still on the room down the hall, she jumped for the doors. With no room to spare, she slipped through and collided with someone waiting to step out. Hands settled on her shoulders, and she screamed. She screamed louder when she realized she could barely hear herself over the pounding sound of her blood in her ears.

  “Bloody hell,” a familiar voice exclaimed.

  “Isa? Isabeau, what happened, what’s the matter?”

  Noah. Noah was holding her, his eyes full of confusion and fear. Dominic stood behind him.

  “In the room,” she croaked. “He’s in the room.”

  “I’ll go,” Dominic stated, his long strides carrying him down the hall. “You ring the police.”

  “Did he hurt you?” Noah asked. He pulled the phone off his belt and punched in the numbers. “Are you injured?”

  She pressed against him, buried her face in his neck as he cupped the back of her head with his free hand and held her tight. Her stomach turned. Her legs wobbled. And no matter how hard she tried, she wasn’t able to catch her breath.

  “Send an ambulance,” he barked into the phone after giving their location to the emergency dispatcher on the other end of the line.

  “No. I don’t need one.”

  “You’re bleeding.”

  The waver in his voice brought her head up. There was blood on his hand, the hand he’d been stroking her hair with. “It’s not mine.”

  “Whose is it?” he asked, still holding the phone to his ear. “Who did this to you?”

  Coursing, followed by a groan. Sputtering, then a deep, accented
voice saying he’d gotten off easy. They both turned as Dominic hauled Gregory out of the room by the scruff of his neck. Blood poured beneath the hands Gregory held to his nose, and even from this distance there was no mistaking that two of his fingers were broken and bent at an awkward angle.

  The hallway suddenly became too warm. Nausea surged up the back of her throat. “Gregory…did it all. He…ruined…my life.” She pressed her face back into Noah’s neck and closed her eyes. “He killed my mother.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Two days later, as Noah showered in preparation for their dinner out, Isabeau paced the floor of the hotel room. She’d already showered, piled her hair atop her head in an elegant sweep and applied her makeup. The choker that covered her fading bruises and matched the dress she’d bought specially for this occasion, was around her neck. The only problem—she was having second thoughts about going.

  Restlessly, she roamed around the room, the silk of her robe brushing against her legs with every step. Her body was healing, most of her pain gone, but it wasn’t a desire to keep her injuries hidden that had her pacing. It was the fact that over the last two days, Noah had never once brought up the future.

  Which could only mean one thing: there was no future for them.

  A knock sounded at the door. Spotting Dominic through the peephole only tightened the knot in her stomach. She turned the lock, undid the chain, and pulled the door open. Her feet rooted to the floor and her eyes burning, she stared at him, standing there in the hallway with his luggage clutched in his right hand.

  “Wow, don’t you look pretty,” he said, stepping into the room as she moved back.

  She forced a smile. “Thank you.” She looked at the luggage he placed on the floor near his feet. “On your way to the airport?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her stomach clenched tighter. If it was this difficult to see Dominic go, how was she ever going to be able to let Noah go?

  “You’re…” She cleared her throat. “You’re going to call Becca, right? Like we discussed?”

  “Sure.”

  She could tell by the look on his face he wouldn’t. “Dominic, what am I going to do with you?”

  “Give me a hug. My taxi’s waiting.”

  She put her arms around him, settling against him as he pulled her into his embrace. It was an odd feeling, being held by a man other than Noah or her father—not unpleasant, just different. “I’m going to miss you, Dom.”

  “You’ll see me again, soon.”

  She didn’t think so. She tightened her hold on him minutely. “No one makes me laugh like you.”

  “I’ll take that. The last woman I held in my arms I made cry.”

  She was pretty certain she was going to cry as well.

  A rush of humid air brushed over her as the bathroom door opened.

  “Uh-oh,” Dom stated. “It’s a good thing you’re wearing more than your knickers this time or I’d surely be in trouble.”

  He flashed her a grin as he eased away from her and she laughed as she knew he wanted her to. There’d be time for tears later.

  “Take care of yourself, luv,” he said then tipped his head at Noah, picked up his luggage, and walked out the door.

  She turned away before the door closed behind him, but that left her face-to-face with Noah. Standing outside of the bathroom, towel hanging low on his hips, as he watched her steadily.

  “I’ll go get dressed,” she whispered, then slipped past him.

  Once inside the bathroom with the door closed tightly behind her, she leaned against the sink and closed her eyes. She couldn’t do it. She wasn’t going to be able to sit across the table from him, in the nicest restaurant in town, and pretend she wasn’t falling apart.

  What was the point? She loved him and he was leaving. She didn’t need a romantic dinner to remember him by, she would never forget him.

  She was never going to get over Noah Clark.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered, as pain wrapped around her heart.

  Straightening away from the sink, she pulled the bathroom door open. Stepping out, she found him near the dresser. He was wearing his dress slacks and white shirt. The shirt hung open as he worked the buttons of the cuffs through their corresponding holes. As it did every time she looked at his body, her breath caught. Her hungry eyes drank in the smooth muscle of his chest, before dropping to the dark line of hair that trailed from his navel to the waistband of the slacks.

  She forced her gaze back to his handsome face. “I can’t do this.”

  His head came up. A tender smile curved his lips. “Do you need help with your dress?”

  “No…I...” She sighed. “Just say it.”

  Confusion wrinkled his brow. With his cuffs buttoned, he crossed to her. “What?”

  “Tell me,” she urged, wrapping her arms around her middle and holding herself. “Get it over with. I don’t want to have to pretend anymore.”

  “Isabeau, our reservation is—”

  “You can’t expect me to sit in that restaurant and pretend I don’t know what you’re planning to say to me.”

  His face registered surprise. “I can’t?”

  He looked so unaffected, perhaps a touch nervous, but nothing like she felt—like a hole was opening up inside of her.

  Until the first tear slipped free. Then he paled.

  “Say it.”

  “Isabeau—”

  “You know what, I’ll say it. You’re leaving. There, see, that wasn’t…” She turned her back on him before she embarrassed herself further by sobbing. But the move had her facing the bed. The bed they’d just gotten out of. The bed where he’d made love to her slowly, passionately. Never taking his eyes off her as if he wanted to memorize her face, imprint her on his memory so he never forgot her.

  She knew that was what he’d been doing, because she’d done the same thing.

  A cry of pain broke free and she crossed to the door. Shaking, she struggled to remove the chain and turn the lock.

  “Whoa.” He pressed his palm against the door to prevent her from opening it, trapping as he’d done in London.

  She closed her eyes as the memory burst to mind. It seemed like so long ago now, when she didn’t yet know him intimately, hadn’t experienced the way it felt when his body joined hers and their souls touched.

  “Where are you going, Isa?”

  She needed out of the room, away from him. Where every breath didn’t bring his scent into her lungs. “I need some air.”

  “You can’t leave,” he stated matter-of-factly. “For one thing, you’re not dressed.”

  She was panicking. She wasn’t being rational or fair or even remotely adult about this, but she didn’t care. She’d thought she was prepared for him to walk away.

  She wasn’t.

  “Please, Noah, I…let me go.”

  “I can’t, Isabeau.” His right hand still holding the door closed, he reached out with his left and ran the back of his fingers down her cheek. “I can’t let you go.”

  Her eyes drifted shut.

  “It tears me up inside, the thought of leaving you.”

  Dragging in a ragged breath, she slipped under his arm and away from him.

  He leaned against the door, blocking her only means of escape. “I wish I could stay here with you. I know how much you love this city. But my life is in California. My house. The band.”

  “Your future,” she supplied, closing her eyes against the pain.

  “I hope so,” he whispered, as his hand cupped her cheek.

  She hadn’t heard him approach. For her heart’s sake, she needed to back away. Instead, she pressed her cheek into his palm.

  “I hope you’ll come to California with me.” He took a deep breath. The fingers he held against her cheek trembled. “When I was in California, alone in my empty, colorless house, I knew then that I couldn’t live without you—that I didn’t want to live without you. Then Dominic called to tell me about the fire.”

  Pulse hitc
hing, she raised her hand and pressed it against his.

  “Not knowing if you were alive or dead…I’ve never known pain like that before. I kept wondering how I was supposed to live without you. I kept thinking how you had died upset with me. Hurt, and not knowing how much I love you.”

  “You…love me?”

  “You know I do.”

  “How would I?”

  He leaned down, narrowing the distance between them until his mouth hovered over hers. “I told you.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. The only way I knew how—in a song.”

  Her breath hitched as her heart rolled over. “The song you wrote for me?”

  “The song I wrote about you.”

  Her knees gave out, and she sank onto the edge of the bed. In no time at all, her world had shifted. She cupped her left hand in her right and stared down at the scars. She knew better than anyone that in one moment, one second, everything could change.

  Noah shifted, planting his knees on the floor and digging his right hand into his front pocket. After retrieving what he was looking for, he covered her hands with his. Between his thumb and forefinger, the ring glinted in a beam of sunlight. A princess cut diamond, set in a platinum band. It was beautiful. It was simple but elegant and absolutely the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

  Except for the man offering it to her.

  “Isabeau, you are my future. I can’t offer you much. You said it yourself, there’s nothing nine-to-five about the music industry. It’s long hours in the studio followed by months of touring, living out of buses and drab, institutional hotel rooms. It’s not an easy life. But if you agree to share it with me, I can promise to love you, every day for the rest of my life, and to hold you every night as you drift to sleep.”

  Her heart climbed up in her throat and stayed there, making it hard for her to draw her next breath. She’d wanted to talk about their future, but she’d never expected this. Not this.

  Trembling, she wrapped her arms tight around her middle and struggled to draw oxygen into her lungs.

  “Breathe,” he urged softly. “Breathe, Isabeau.”

  “I can’t…Noah, I can’t…”