by Reese Rivers
Reese Rivers Presents
Time After Time
Book 1 - Catch Me
Copyright © 2021 Reese Rivers
Time After Time, Book 1 – Catch Me
Ebook Edition
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover Art by:
Carol Marques Cover Designs
Fair Warning Dear Reader
Dear readers, this book contains references to assault, suicidal thoughts, detailed sex scenes with multiple partners and A LOT of swearing.
Eden
A red haze of rage slides over my vision as I block, counter, and hit with the Bo I’m fighting with. My Bo-Jitsu sparring partner fades and is replaced by the attackers who taunted, laughed, and beat me after they killed my partner. I’m so consumed by the rage and memories that I have no awareness of the damage I’m doing to my opponent until a brutal shove sends me back across the ring and my trainer, Diesel barks harshly at me.
“That’s enough, Eden!”
The red haze clears and I look down at the poor guy I have just annihilated on the mat of the fighting ring. I take in the arm he’s clutching to his stomach in pain and the blood streaming from his nose and mouth. I can already see the swelling around one of his eyes. I wince at the damage I did to him and take a step towards him with a contrite expression but the way he flitches back and the look in his eyes tells me he already thinks I’m a psycho and no amount of apologizing will make any difference. Diesel steps between us blocking my view of the guy with a hard look on his face before sighing and shaking his head.
“You’re done. Go hit the bag for twenty but after that, we need to talk.” He tells me sternly.
I open my mouth to try and defend myself but the look on his face tells me I’ve finally pushed him too far after multiple warnings so I just give him a small nod and lean to one side to see the guy still on the mat nursing his arm.
“Sorry, man. It got away from me.”
I tell him with as much contrition as I can manage in my tone. The guy’s face turns into a glare of hate so with my shoulders slumped I turn away and climb out of the ring, heading towards the punching bags.
As I wrap my hands up to go to work on the bag my mind tracks through all the options I have to convince Diesel not to drop me as a client and ban me from the gym for my latest infraction of the rules but come up empty. It’s been ten months since the attack that killed my EMT partner and left me ravaged with PTSD. The easy way the gang members who attacked us had taken my partner out and beaten me had driven me to learn how to defend myself in all ways.
When first I came to Diesel and asked for help, I hadn’t even known how to make a proper fist for a punch. With his teaching and encouragement, I had single-mindedly dedicated most of my waking hours since the attack to training and now could confidently go up against any sized man who wished me harm. I learned how to fight hand to hand, with a knife, a bo fighting staff and I was a dead shot with a handgun.
I beat all of my frustrations into the leather punching bag as I worry about the red haze that takes me over when I’m sparring with an opponent. On the one hand, it helps get the job done but on the other, I’m going to end up killing someone who doesn’t deserve it if I can’t get myself under control. By the time my trainer comes over to deal with me, I have a fine sheen of sweat coating my body from the savage work I’m doing and he has to call my name twice to break through the fighting zone I’m in. With a final roundhouse kick to the bag, I turn to him knowing that this is it, I’m out.
I stand silently as he steps forward and uses his huge hands to bring the bag to a stop from its wide-swinging before pinning me with a frustrated look.
“Eden, you could have seriously hurt or killed that guy.” When I just nod miserably, he huffs out a breath and rubs a hand over his shaved and tatted head. “Look, you know you’re my favorite student and I’m so proud of how far you’ve come but you have no control. You’re dangerous and I can’t risk you hurting someone here under my watch.” When I still only nod, his face fills with sympathy. “You need to see someone, a counselor or therapist. You need to work through everything that happened to you and find a way to get yourself under control. I’m sorry, Eden, until you do, I can’t let you train here anymore. I could lose my license if you seriously hurt someone.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat and blink back the burning of tears that threaten before nodding again. “I get it. I understand where you’re coming from. I’ll clean out my locker.” I can’t handle the pity I see shining in his eyes so I look down as I work at unwrapping my hands. “I just want to make sure you know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You took a fucked up hot mess and made me strong enough to be a functioning fucked up mess. Thank you, Diesel.”
A groan from him has me glancing up to see the look of exasperation on his face. “Come on, kid, do us both a favor and get some therapy and then get your ass back here so we can get back to work.”
My lips twitch with a smile at hearing him call me kid considering he is all of two years older than my twenty-nine, fast approaching thirty but I just nod and slide past him with a small wave. I hit the locker room and when I open the metal door of my locker just stand clutching it with a white-knuckled grip. Fuck, what am I going to do now? With a shaky breath, I swipe all the contents of my locker into my gym bag before throwing an oversized hoodie over my sweaty tank and black workout capris. As a rule, I don’t shower at the gym but wait until I get home because I still don’t feel safe enough to be so vulnerable in a public place. I rearrange my bag so that my handgun is resting on the top within easy reach before zipping it closed. The switchblade I carry everywhere with me is in my front hoodie pocket ready to be flicked out if needed. Am I paranoid? Fuck yes. I’ve learned the hard way that they really are out to get you so I’m good with being prepared for whatever.
I keep my head down as I thread my way out of the gym, not wanting anyone to see the devastation I feel at losing the last thing in my life that gives me any peace. As I step out into the overcast Seattle evening the glass door behind me closes in a whisper that feels like a slam. With my head still down I turn away to walk down the busy street in search of a taxi, too drained to consider walking the few miles home. I only make it ten steps when a hand lands lightly on my shoulder. The terror that floods me is automatic and a rushing noise fills my head so that I don’t hear my name being called. The reaction is automatic as I spin with my fist raised only to check it at the last second before I make contact with the surprised face in front of me that I recognize.
“Jesus, Eden! I’m sorry. I called your name twice!” Kevin sputters as he throws his hands up in defense and takes a step back from my threatening stance.
I feel heat rush to my cheeks in embarrassment at almost clocking a former co-worker. Swallowing down the shame I feel at the crazy reaction, I send him a tight smile.
“Kevin, sorry about that. I was lost in thought. How are you? It’s been a while.”
He nods cautiously as he studies my face. “Good, good. It has been a while. We miss you down at the station. How are you? We thought you’d be back at work by now.”
My eyes dart away from him at the sympathy that I see in his eyes. It was him and his partner’s rig that had responded to the call in the aftermath of the attack. He saw first-hand what the gang had done to my partner and me. Kevin had worked on my injuries to stabilize me as the ambulance had careened through the night to get me to the hospital. He knew exactly what I had suffered through and seeing him tonight h
as vivid images of the attack flashing through my mind. I have to clear my throat twice before I’m able to answer him as I ruthlessly shove the panic rising in my chest back down.
“I’m fine, thanks. Super busy with life. I’m not sure when I’ll be back on shift.”
He nods slowly. “Soon, I hope. We could really use you. You were one of the best EMTs we had, even as a rookie.” When I just reply with another tight smile, he sighs. “Eden, have you talked to anyone? About what happened? You know the station covers counseling sessions after a traumatic event. It’s helped a lot of our guys to work through the aftermath of things from on the job.”
I grit my teeth against the sharp retort I want to spew. It’s like the gods decided today was intervention day. This is the second person in the last hour to tell me to get some therapy. Instead of telling him to shove his therapy up his ass, I fake a smile.
“Yeah, I have a private service I use. It really helps. Anyway, it was great to see you.” I lie. “Tell everyone at the station I miss them too. I’ll try and stop by soon to catch up.”
He knows I’m lying, I can see it in his eyes but he does me a solid by just lifting a hand in a wave goodbye with a sad smile on his face as I turn away. I pick up the pace as I flee down the block no longer searching for a taxi. I need to move, to pound at the pavement to try and get my emotions under control. The three-mile walk home is just what I need to keep it together. I try to blank my thoughts as I go wanting the mindless zone of pushing my body but the wreckage of my life is a relentless deluge in my mind.
The attack I lived through was just the latest hell that has consumed my life over the last three years. I might be coming up to thirty but my soul feels as tired as an eighty-year-old’s from the pain it’s lived through. Three years ago, I lost my parents and little sitter to a horrific car accident that had sent me into a tailspin of grief. My soon-to-be ex-husband had taken that time to show his true colors. I had no defenses against his vicious emotional abuse as I tried to make my way through the waves of grief that swamped me from losing almost my entire family in one go. He had gleefully taken control of my weakness by isolating me even further from the world and spending my inheritance on whatever he wanted. It finally took my great aunt Adera’s intervention to pull me from the marriage and depression I was lost to. She was my last blood relative and even though I didn’t know her well, I let her yank me from the carnage of my world like a life raft.
I walked away from my marriage with nothing but the clothes on my back, a greatly reduced inheritance, and a glimmer of hope that I could get back who I once dreamed to be. I worked so hard to create a home in the tiny apartment I found to live in and took the EMT courses I needed to have a job where I could help others. I was just edging into happy and finally feeling like my sassy self again with a year on the job and my divorce from Troy on the books when the attack happened. When I woke in the hospital three days later, it was to an estate lawyer informing me of Adera’s death and that she had left everything to me.
Physically and mentally broken and now completely alone in the world I could barely function for a month. I hid in my tiny apartment afraid of every noise in the night. The mail stacked up and all calls went unanswered until a knock on my door finally pulled me out of it enough to turn the corner. Adera’s lawyer wouldn’t take no for an answer until I caved and let him in. He handed me the keys to what I later found out was an old Victorian home packed to the eaves with a hoarders paradise and bank and investment accounts with balances that had more zeros than I’d ever seen in my life. The shock of it all had me trying once again to get my life back on track. The PTSD I suffered from decided otherwise.
My long walk home ends in front of the Victorian monstrosity of a house that I equally love and hate but choose to live in. When I close the door behind me and flip the three heavy locks, I just lean against it and take a slow scan of the rooms I can see from there. It had taken me long, work-filled months to clear and sort the piles of belongings Adera had crammed into the house but the main and second floor was finally clear. All that remained was the third-floor turret and then I had to decide if I wanted to gut and reno the place or sell it.
None of that matters at the moment as I feel tears burning behind my eyes. The one thing, the one anchor I clung to against the trauma I lived with had just been taken from me. Not being able to work out and train with Diesel was tripping me back towards the hole I had worked so hard to crawl out of these last few months.
Swiping at my eyes in anger, I fish out the gun and my cell phone before I drop my gym bag and shove away from the door. I need a shower and something to eat before I can let myself think about what comes next. I make a quick stop in my room to plug in my phone before I strip off my sweat-soaked workout clothes and leave them on the floor as I wait for the ancient pipes to heat up, refusing to look at myself in the mirror above the sink. I don’t think I can handle the lost devastated look in my shadow-filled green eyes. With steam finally beginning to build from the showerhead, I ruthlessly yank the bands that hold my waist-length hair in its tightly braided bun and step under the flow of near scalding water.
I stand with my eyes closed as the water beats down on me trying to hold back the flood of pain but the water’s warm embrace weakens me until a sob escapes and throws open the door. It’s not just all the awful events that have happened to me over the last few years, it’s the crushing loneliness that brings me to my knees in the claw-footed tub. The pain is a physical ache in my chest that I clutch at while gasping sobs spill from my mouth. I’m so tired of being alone. I just want someone to lean on. Someone I can love and be loved by in return. Without the gym and Diesel to look forward to, I can’t think of a single reason to get out of bed in the morning. I don’t want to do this anymore.
The water begins to cool before I finally beat back my emotions and push to my feet to get on with shampooing and conditioning my hair and washing my body. The flow is borderline icy before I close the taps and step out, completely drained and feeling hollow. By the time I’ve dried myself and combed out my hair, I’m ready to skip the meal and climb into bed to end this day. I force myself to turn away from the bed, afraid I won’t ever get out of it again if I crawl in and dress instead. I slide on soft black leggings and a black tank top over a matching set of black lace underwear and bra. I ignore the fact that black seems to be the only color I wear anymore as I reach into the closet to pull out my favorite piece of comfort clothing. The robe cost me more than I’ve spent on any item of clothing, including my favorite tall black leather boots with the red soles but as soon as I touched it in the store I was helpless not to buy it. Thick, plush, and soft as silk, the black fabric swings out at the waist to reach down to my ankles making it perfect to curl my legs up into on the couch. The wide double-breasted collar just looks cool as shit as it tapers down to a fitted waist and the wide hood makes me think of medieval maidens wandering in a forest. I like that there are two ties, one inside and the belt outside to keep the robe securely closed. Shrugging it on feels like a warm hug and it’s just what I need right now.
I snag my phone back from the charger and my favorite brand of cherry lip balm and drop them into one of the deep pockets of the robe before picking up my gun and head to the kitchen. After warming up leftover Thai takeout from the night before, I eat standing over the sink, looking out at the overgrown backyard, and try to decide what to do with the rest of the night. I could curl up and binge something on Netflix or try and read one of the paranormal romances I have stacked up on my e-reader but I know I’m not in the right headspace to engage in any storyline so instead I drop the empty carton of takeout in the trash and head up to the third-floor turret to get to work cleaning it out. Mindless work is what I need right now.
I stop at the front door first to double-check the locks and slide my feet into a pair of soft, black TOMS canvas slip-ons. The floorboards on the third level are in rough shape and the last thing I need is wood splinters in my toes. I feel saf
e enough inside this house that I’m not compelled to carry my switchblade or gun with me everywhere so I leave the gun on a small landing table to free my hands up to carry a stack of folded boxes and a roll of packing tape up to the top level. My body feels fresh and clean from the shower but I know I’ll need another one after sorting through the dusty mess on the final floor to be cleared.
At the top of the stairs, I dump the packing supplies and pull open the double doors to the turret before waving my hand inside to find the light switch. When I finally locate it, the lights come on with a pop of noise as two burn out leaving the large circular room half in shadows. Great, I’ll just add that to the shit sandwich my day has become.
I sigh at the stacks of junk in front of me. Aunt Adera was so kind to me when I desperately needed it but I didn’t know her very well. She was that weird aunt that flit into our lives randomly between long absents as she traveled the world. Cleaning out a lifetime's worth of belongings has been eye-opening. The woman was obsessed with history. I’ve sorted through stacks of old - like hundreds of years old - newspapers, research books, thick historical tomes, and documents all wedged in between the most beautiful antique furniture. There was so much crammed into the house that I had to rent two storage units, one for the papers and books and one for the furniture. Once I finish clearing out the turret, I plan on having a few different assessors go through the storage units to see what should be donated to historical societies and museums and to evaluate the antique furniture for auction. Before that can be done though, I need to clean out this final room.
I pause just inside the doorway and imagine the stacks toppling over me, trapping me under the piles of history until I smother. Shaking my head at the dreary image, I slide sideways between stacks and work my way deeper into the room to see just how bad it is before I start sorting. I suck in my stomach as I squeeze through another passage and find a pleasant surprise on the other side. I judge I’m halfway through the room when it opens up into a cleared space. Turning to look back I can see the boxes and stacks of books and papers creates a sort of wall that hid the second half of the room. Shaking my head at Adera’s eccentricities I turn back and take in the space.
