I raised my eyebrows. “Ambitious.”
“With you? Realistic.”
“For the love of God, take your pants off.”
He grinned at me as he shucked off his jeans, followed by his surprisingly preppy boxers. I’d been expecting what, flannel? I wanted to tease him about it, but couldn’t. He was distractingly beautiful.
“Your turn,” Owen said. “Lose the dress. But not the tights.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, smiling, as I took off my necklaces, pulled the dress over my head, and unclipped my bra. I shimmied off the panties next, leaving just the thigh highs, like he’d said.
“Mmm. You look like a fucking pin-up girl.” He climbed onto the bed, caught my wrists in his hands, and pulled me in for a kiss. His cock pressed against my thigh, making me instantly wet again.
“Owen…” Once again, I was close to begging, but he wasn’t hesitating anymore. He reached for the box of condoms and pulled one free. Once he had it on, he eased me backwards onto the bed, pinning my arms above my head.
“Oh,” I gasped, as he started to push inside me. “A little at a time, I think. You are…very big.”
He didn’t respond except to groan into my hair, but he held back, waiting for me to accept him.
“Yes,” I moaned, as soon as I could. “More. All of you.”
He pressed the rest of the way inside me, and the breath I’d been holding escaped in a shaky sigh. Owen, mine, at last. I felt like I’d been waiting for him for years, and now I had him. Even if I didn’t have his heart, this was still so good. So right.
He switched his grip on my wrists to just one hand, and with his free hand he caressed my waist and hip, my tights, before moving back to where I wanted his touch most. He stroked me there gently while he thrust in and out. This time, it happened more slowly; instead of a tide, it was like honey, liquefying under his warmth. When I finally came, I cried out against Owen’s neck, trembling, my wrists twitching in his grip.
He held me tight through the final throes of my release, pressing his mouth to my temple. I felt his body tense over me, heard his breath catch hard. He shuddered, groaning, his hand clenching tighter around my wrists. Overwhelmed by his strength, his beauty, I kissed as much of him as I could reach.
After a few final spasms, his muscles relaxed. He sank down onto me, his face buried in my hair. I loved his full weight pressed against me, but he was so much bigger than me that it was already hard to breathe. Seeming to know that, he pulled out, took care of the condom, and sprawled beside me on the bed, turning my face towards his so he could kiss my temple again, my cheekbone, my eyelids.
“M., can I ask you something?” he murmured, moving on to my neck.
“Course.” I took one of his hands in my much smaller ones and brought it to my heart.
“Is this a dream?” His eyes were closed, his lips still pressed up against the curve of my neck. “Are you sure you’re real?”
I grinned, feeling like I could burst from happiness. “I’m pretty sure.”
“I’ve been wishing for you for so long,” he said softly.
“Such a hopeless romantic,” I said, trying to tease him, though my eyes stung with joy. “You didn’t even know I existed.”
“You’re right. I could never have imagined you.”
Chapter 13
I woke up breathing in Owen’s scent. I reached for him, but the bed was empty. A note rested on Owen’s cold pillow.
M., sorry I left. Had to go to work. Can we talk later? -Owen
I set the note on the nightstand next to my crystal quartz necklaces and told myself not to feel so upset. He owned his own business. I was sure he had to work odd hours sometimes, including Sundays.
Besides, it wasn’t like we’d discussed it. Maybe he’d expected a chaste kiss and goodbye promptly after dinner. Instead, I’d unzipped my dress on his kitchen counter. We’d only just met; we’d only gone on a few dates, if you could call them dates. And yet it had all felt so right. What he’d said to me afterwards had been so sweet… I’d thought he might be falling for me. Even though I knew better.
I slid out of bed and almost stepped on my dress, which was folded neatly on the floor, on top of my shoes. My handbag sat beside the little bundle. He must have gotten my things together before he left for work, so I wouldn’t have to go hunting around his house. He was being nice. He was definitely not trying to get rid of me.
Really.
I pulled on my clothes and tiptoed across Owen’s plushy beige carpet. On the landing, I hesitated, staring at the door to Suzanna’s room. The brass doorknob gleamed against the dark wood. Before I realized what I was doing, I’d turned the doorknob as hard as I could.
The door popped open, and I stumbled inside with a gasp. There was no way I could’ve broken it, and Owen was too careful to ever leave this room unlocked. I jiggled the knob, but it wouldn’t turn. It was locked…still? Again?
I shouldn’t go in. Even though he’d shown me what he kept in here, going into this room without him violated his trust. It was wrong. Beneath me.
Still, I stared into the empty room, biting my lip. The heavy curtain hid all signs of morning light. It was so cold in here I half-expected to see my breath, as if I’d opened a door to the night sky.
I set my handbag on the floor as a doorstop and edged into the room, shivering in my short dress. Instead of going straight to Suzanna’s portrait, some impulse drew me to the cello in the corner. Only a few specks of dust marred the striated, reddish-gold varnish. Unable to resist, I plucked a string. The warm, rich tone reverberated in my bones. I was not much of a musician, but even I could tell that Owen tuned this. I knew how meticulous he was; I shouldn’t be so surprised. But from the way he’d talked about it, I had thought that this was his cello’s final resting place.
I sat down on the floor, imagining Owen sitting behind the cello with his long legs stretched out to either side. He would make even a huge instrument like this look small. I could imagine him bowing his head, as he turned each peg, bit by bit, to tune each string—until it was perfect.
All the while, Suzanna’s hazel eyes would stare down at him.
I looked up at her, my hands curled in my lap. I could see her perfectly from here. Owen must have set the room up like this on purpose.
Three years. I absorbed Suzanna’s clear eyes and shining mouth. Even in the darkness, she was striking.
They had dated for three years.
Owen kept her portrait here, in this locked, cold room, because he had loved Suzanna while she was alive, and he still loved her.
I scrubbed my face with my hands. I knew that. I’d known that from the moment I first walked into this room. But I’d thought… I’d hoped he could find a way to care about me. He’d told me it was easy being with me, that he forgot himself around me. He had whispered into my skin at the beach: it is so good. And last night…
Last night was sex. Great sex, but nothing more than that, no matter how sweet Owen’s pillow talk was.
I glanced back up at Suzanna. Her cool eyes stared back at me. Nothing about her looked easy or simple. Her expression was all temper and brilliance—a brilliance I’d never have. I couldn’t compete with her. I knew that, sitting on her floor beside Owen’s cello. I’d always known it. If I wanted to be with him, I’d have to accept being second to her forever. My things would be stuffed into one neat little pile, while Suze got her own room.
Later that morning, I took a long drag off a cigarette and tried to sort out my thoughts. I’d bought a new pack on my drive home from Owen’s, but it wasn’t helping.
My phone rang. I flinched, the way I always did, only to suddenly realize that it might be Owen. I scrambled up from the breakfast bar to dig it out of my purse, spilling receipts and drink napkins all over the floor.
The caller was my old friend, Rosa. We’d grown up down the street from each other, but I hadn’t talked to her since I’d moved to Connecticut with Rhys.
Unless it was Rhy
s?
I dismissed that idea as quickly as it came. Unlike Stephanie at Annette’s café, Rosa had actually been my friend. She would never let Rhys trick me like that, no matter how much time had passed between us.
“You answered,” Rosa said. “Good. I have to tell you something.”
“Oh, okay,” I said, inexplicably hurt. “It’s been a long time—”
“I know. It’s about your boyfriend. He’s here, and he’s been going around, asking about you.”
“My boyfriend?”
“Rhys.”
“Oh, right.” How could I have thought, even for a second, that she meant Owen? “Rhys is where? In Florida?”
“Yeah, he’s got one of your old address books or something. He’s been driving around to everybody’s houses, talking to them or their parents or whoever is home.”
“He’s talking to who?”
“You know, everybody. The old group: Luz, Everett, Johnny, everybody.”
“Why is he talking to them?”
Rosa sighed impatiently. “Don’t you know, Miranda? He’s looking for you.”
I couldn’t speak, could do nothing but shudder with horror. He was hunting for me, as if I were a fugitive.
On the other side of the line, Rosa clicked her long fingernails. A small, overwhelmed part of me wondered what her manicure looked like. We used to be the Florida Fashionistas, rebelling against Florida’s obsession with flip-flops and sweatpants. I missed that. I missed her.
“You know I am not going to judge you for who you date, Miranda,” Rosa said, “but I am not going to lie to you, either, sabes? That man is one scary motherfucker. He got my mom to tell him where I live, and then he came to my apartment. He said he knew I would be hiding you. I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about, and you hadn’t even told me you left him. He said…”
She trailed off.
“He said what?” I asked, dreading the answer.
“He said he knew how to hurt me. If I didn’t tell him the truth.”
Oh, God.
I wasn’t sure if I said it out loud or not, but it didn’t seem to matter. Rosa’s voice was shaky when she spoke again. “Miranda, what is going on? Did you leave him or what?”
“Yeah…I left him.”
“And now what? You’re in Florida? Because if you are, you had better leave quick, or call the police, or something…”
“I’m not in Florida.”
“Oh. Okay.” I could feel her desire to ask me where I was, but she didn’t. She clicked her nails again instead. “I’m glad you’re not anywhere near that guy…but I’m still worried about you.”
I smiled sadly. “Thanks. That’s sweet.” I paused, then added impulsively, “I’ve missed you.”
“You’ve missed me? You’re the one who moved to Connecticut all of a sudden. It’s been a year. You haven’t called, you aren’t online anymore…”
“Rhys doesn’t like social media,” I said automatically.
Rosa was stonily silent.
“I’m sorry.” I winced. “I don’t know why I said that. I don’t know why I let any of this happen.”
“It’s not your fault. He’s a dirtbag. You didn’t know.”
I should have known from the moment I set eyes on him. “I’m sorry he said all that stuff to you.”
“You should tell the police, wherever you are, and get a restraining order against him. My brother Emilio is a lawyer now, you know. You want me to call him?”
I hesitated. I’d known Emilio forever—he was brash and loud and used to pinch my butt on the school bus. I couldn’t imagine telling him about Rhys.
“That’s okay,” I told her. “I’ll figure it out.”
I had to go to the police. I knew that. But when I tried to imagine going to the station and talking to Officer Not-Rhys or one of the other officers, I felt only wave after wave of sickening fear and dread. They would side with Rhys—they would tell me to go back, that I was exaggerating, that I should give him another chance.
“I have to go to class,” Rosa said. “You call me, okay? And be safe. Let me know if you change your mind about Emilio.”
“You’re going to class? I thought you graduated college.”
“I did. I’m in medical school at UF.”
“Oh, Rosa! You’re in medical school! I’m so happy for you!” It had always been her dream to be a doctor.
She chuckled. “Thanks, sweetie. I’ll tell you all about it next time you call me, all right?”
“All right.”
We hung up, and my brief joy faded as quickly as it had come, replaced by loneliness.
My head in my hands, I stared down at my phone’s dark screen. I’d been hoping, so much, that it was getting better. That he was forgetting about me. Some of his texts and voicemails were still scary—I will find you. I will make you come home—but others were normal, almost innocuous. Read a story in the paper about a painter and thought of you. Had to take your wreath down now that it’s getting warmer out.
I had never, in a million years, expected Rhys to threaten my old friends. I’d never seen him get angry at anyone but me, not even the valet who’d dinged his car. He’d always kept his rage tightly bottled up.
I had thought I could predict what he would do, but now I knew I couldn’t.
Chapter 14
“Everything okay, Miranda? You seem distracted tonight.”
“I’m sorry, Andy.” I looked up from punching in an order on the computer. “I’ll get it together.”
“I wasn’t reprimanding you,” he said, smiling.
“Of course. I’m sorry.”
Andy quirked a pierced eyebrow at me. “Need a break? I can watch your tables for a minute.”
“No, thanks.” I smiled weakly at him.
I printed out a check for a different table and headed back out onto the floor. I had to stop thinking about Rhys, and Owen. I had to stay focused so I could be good at my job. Now more than ever, it was all I had in the world.
“Miranda.” Bill’s daughter, Emily, who was one of the hostesses, had appeared in front of me. She was a petite girl a few years younger than me, with lots of black eyeliner and two long black braids over her shoulders. In the bar’s eerie blue and green lighting, her pale face was luminous. “Owen Larsen is here to see you.”
My heart contracted painfully. I suddenly, desperately wanted to tell him about Rhys—that I’d been wrong about being safe, that I would never be safe again. Then I remembered, with a pang of shame, the note Owen had left on his pillow this morning.
Maybe he’d been right to take a step back. We’d been moving so fast. We were both so burdened by our own problems.
I turned towards the door, biting my lip. Remnants of daylight fragmented around his worn-in hoodie and his big work boots, leaving his face in shadow. I handed the checkbook to Emily and walked slowly towards him. The restaurant had gone whisper-quiet. Everyone had turned to watch us.
“Hey.” He reached forwards as if he were going to tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear, but he glanced over the top of my head at the people staring at us and dropped his hand to his side.
I swallowed hard. “What are you doing here?”
“I have to talk to you.”
“I’m working…”
His jaw tightened, and I knew I had hurt him. I sighed. “Okay. Let’s go outside.”
I signaled to Emily that I’d be right back and slipped past Owen into the parking lot. He followed me out, letting the door close behind us.
Twilight settled along the horizon in wispy violet strands. A chilly breeze blew in the scent of the ocean. I rubbed my hands over my bare arms, but Owen, as usual, didn’t seem to notice the cold. He looked lost in his own thoughts, his brow furrowed.
“This was a mistake,” he said. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t stop thinking about Rosa: he said he knew how to hurt me.
“Look, I’m sorry about this morning
,” he continued. “It’s—I have to tell you something. You weren’t answering your phone, so I… Obviously, this isn’t a good time.”
“I turned my phone off.” I knew I shouldn’t have. Without it, I couldn’t even begin to keep tabs on what Rhys was doing or thinking. But I couldn’t bear to leave it on.
I was such a coward.
“You look upset.” Owen said, glancing over at me for the first time.
“I—I can’t do this right now.” My voice hitched. “I’m sorry.” I’d been a fool to get involved with someone so soon—to think I could start over, or that I could ever be happy, when Rhys was still such a presence in my life.
His mouth opened, but he didn’t speak. Slowly, all emotion vanished from his face. “‘Do this,’” he echoed. “Do what?”
“Us,” I said. “Not yet. I’m sorry. Last night was great, but I—I need some time to—to deal with some things first, and then we…”
I trailed off, unnerved by his icy expression. In the twilight, his eyes were more black than cobalt blue, like the sea at night.
“I thought… Never mind,” he said, turning away. “I knew it would happen. It doesn’t matter.”
“What doesn’t matter?” I asked, but he was already walking away from me, across the parking lot. “Owen, wait! What doesn’t matter?”
But he didn’t wait. He crossed the empty street and disappeared into the forest. I hugged my arms to my chest, shivering.
For the rest of my shift, I thought about texting Owen. I wanted to sit him down, away from the curious stares of the townies at the Widow’s Walk, and find out what he’d meant to tell me. And, no matter how foolish it made me, I still wanted to tell him about Rhys.
“You’re going to wear out that table,” the busboy said, watching me scrub table seven with disinfectant.
I kept scrubbing and didn’t respond, thinking about the way Owen’s expression had turned to ice. The way he had said: It doesn’t matter.
“Everyone else is leaving already.” The busboy leaned on his broom with a cheeky smile.
“I just have some silverware to fold—”
Set Me Free Page 11
