And now I’ve ruined Keith’s evening, as well. Good job, Tori.
“I’m so sorry. If this is a bad time, I can go,” Tori apologized. “I didn't realize you had company.”
“It's fine, Vic,” Keith chimed. “Vic, this is Jonathan. Jonathan, this is my good friend, Victoria.” Tori shifted her cane to her left, extending her shaky right hand in anticipation for a shake. Jonathan’s hand slipped into hers gently.
“Nice to meet you,” Jonathan said in a soft, soothing tone. He had a warm, deep, buttery voice. “Can I get you a drink, Victoria?”
“Yes, vodka tonic would be fantastic.” Tori knew Keith always kept that on hand.
“Coming right up.” Jonathan shuffled out of the room.
Keith took her cane and ushered her over to the sofa.
“Also, a charge would be appreciated.” Tori pulled her phone out of her pocket.
“You got it, sweetheart.” Keith took the phone from her grasp. He grabbed her hand for a moment. “Good grief, Vic. You’re trembling…”
“My nerves are shot.” Tori bit her lip.
“You look like something the cat drug in.” She was so angry when she left, she didn’t even care what she was wearing. She probably appeared as if she rolled out of bed. Her hair was pulled back into a messy, little ponytail, and she was wearing a pair of cropped sweatpants, a T-shirt, and converse. God only knew if the colors even coordinated.
“Oh, you haven't even seen the half of it.” Tori pulled off her sunglasses.
A gasp came from Keith as he eased onto the sofa next to her. “Holy shitballs, Vicky. That looks painful.” He paused for a moment. “Scott didn’t. He wouldn’t—”
“No, no, no,” Tori cut him off at the pass, "not intentionally, anyway."
“How rough of sex did you all have this weekend?” He lifted her chin and turned her head toward him. “I mean, I know you're kinky, Vic, but this is a whole sadistic level.”
She let out a feeble laugh. “It wasn't rough sex, although that would be a much better story.” She filled Keith in on the details as Jonathan entered with her drink.
“Here is your vodka tonic.” Tori extended her shaky hand as the cold glass slipped into it. “Keith, I'll be in the kitchen.”
Tori felt rude intruding on their date. “No, you can stay. It's fine. I won't be long. Please, sit.”
“I need to clear the table anyway. You two have your privacy.”
Well, at least they’d finished dinner.
“Anyhow,” Tori continued. “After the whole TSA nightmare, I didn't think the day could get much worse, but as we were getting off the plane, I stood up behind Scott while he was pulling the bag out of the overhead compartment, and that’s when his arm came back. It hit me square in the face.”
“Oh my God. I can’t even imagine how much Scott’s big arm hurt.” Tori knew he was cringing from his tone. “That's embarrassing.” Keith giggled a bit.
“It's not funny!”
Keith stifled another snicker, and patted her hand. “I’m sorry, I'm terrible.”
“You are!” she exclaimed. “Poor, little blind girl gets hit in the face, and you laugh at her.” Tori thought about it for a moment and started laughing herself, imagining the scenario in her head. “Ok, so it's a little funny.”
“So, why aren't you at home laughing about it with Scott?” Keith questioned.
She took a sip of her drink and waved her hand. “Scott feels terrible. He blames himself. He’s making it his sole mission in life to protect me from myself. I warned him about days like this, about what life would be like with me.”
“Oh God. Are we back to this again?” Keith huffed in annoyance. “What, pray tell me, did you say to him?”
“That life with me could be pretty unbearable.”
“Honey. Oh, honey…you’re unbearable, but not because you’re blind.” Keith chuckled. “You're so crazy. You are really to blind to see it.”
“See what?”
The leather sofa squeaked as he settled in further. Tori imagined him crossing his legs and sprawling his arm on the back in his normal Keith pose. “You have an amazingly gorgeous man who’s attentive to your needs, sexually and emotionally. He is willing to navigate through this life with you, and you’re sitting here sulking on my sofa. Why?”
Tori pondered it for a moment. “I don’t want him with me because he needs to be the hero. I don’t want him to give up his life for me. I want him to be happy. I don't want him to always be on the lookout for me, and the type of guy that Scott is, he’ll do just that. I care for him too much to do that to him.”
“Is that your decision to make?” Keith asked. “I know you. There’s more to this than just that. This is your thing, Vic. It has nothing to do with you being blind. You’re scared of anyone that gets too close. You’re so afraid of losing control that you self-sabotage to try and stay in control.”
She groaned, knowing Keith was right. “If I push him away, he can't hurt me,” she confessed. “Keith, I’m terrified to let him in. All he sees right now is my blindness. What happens when he really sees me?”
“Oh, honey, he’s always seen you, exactly for the wonderful creature you are.” Keith rubbed her cheek.
“I’m scared of losing him, Keith.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “I don’t know if my heart can handle any more loss in this lifetime.”
“Without risk, there’s no reward. You have to determine is Scott worth the risk?”
She was quiet for a moment.
“Come here. I want to show you something.” Keith pulled her off the sofa and led her upstairs. She knew this house about as well as her own and knew he was taking her into the third bedroom that was mainly full of storage and junk.
“Why are you taking me to your room of shame?” Tori chuckled. It was the one area of his entire house that was unkempt, and Keith banned anyone from ever entering it, thus dubbing the name.
“Don’t move.” Keith firmly planted her in a spot. He rustled around for a few minutes as things clanked around. Tori stood there, growing impatient.
“Ah ha! Got it!” Keith pulled her over toward him. He placed her hand on what felt like a canvas.
“A painting?” Her nose curled. “Are you trying to make me feel worse?”
“You’ve seen this one, because you painted it.” He moved her hand to another canvas, then another. Tori counted five canvases in all. Her heart started pounding, and she dropped to her knees. She ran her fingers delicately over the raised lines of impasto she’d applied with a palette knife. She remembered every curve, every color, every stroke.
It was her and Scott. The one she sold years ago in her exhibition to an anonymous bidder right after Scott left DC.
Tears began spilling down her cheeks. “H-how…” she choked on her words, unable to even speak. “You were the bidder?” she choked.
“I couldn’t bear to see it go to someone else.”
She couldn’t believe that Keith kept it hidden all these years. She was overwhelmed with gratitude.
“I was saving it for a wedding gift, because, well…I knew.” Keith knelt next to her and put his arms around her shaking shoulders. “I think you know, as well, Vic. I think you’ve always known.”
Tori thought about Scott, and all the years they’d shared. She called to mind his smile, his scent, the feel of his arms around her, and the passion and friendship. He. Was. Everything. She wanted to spend her life with him, and to be honest, it’s what she always wanted. I can’t lose that. She knew if she kept behaving this way, she would push him away. Her heart needed him, and she was tired of pretending she didn’t.
“I’ve got to go.” She stood.
“I think you do.” Keith gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. They walked outside the room and down the stairs.
Jonathan’s footsteps grew near.
“Would you like a ride home?” Jonathan asked.
“No, I've intruded enough on you two for this evening. I'll grab an Uber
.”
“Not in those clothes, smelling like a wino, you won’t. They’ll take one look at your pitiful blind ass and drop you off at the homeless shelter,” Keith insisted. “We’re taking you home.”
Tori locked her front door and placed her items in their familiar spot. It was eerily quiet. It was just past nine, and she'd been gone several hours, but she assumed Scott would still be awake.
“Scott?” Tori called out for him as she slipped off her shoes but was only met with silence.
She walked into the bedroom. “Scott, are you in here?” She ran hand across the smooth sheets. The bed was still perfectly made.
She wandered back into the living room, checking the sofa, which was empty. There was a faint scent of cigarette smoke. Did he smoke? I’ll murder him. She ran her hands across the coffee table, nearly knocking over his empty glass of whiskey. She palmed it. It was still cold to the touch, wet on the outside from condensation.
She checked her phone. There were no messages or calls from Scott. She dialed him, and there was no answer. She put her phone in the pocket of her joggers.
She went back into the bedroom and sunk onto the bed, trying to collect her thoughts. Her own words echoed in her head “I need you to consider it all. If it becomes too much, I understand. I’m giving you a get out of jail free card. I want you to realize what you’re getting into with me.”
Tori's heart pounded in her ears. Did he leave? Was this all too much for him?
She went to the corner where she knew he kept his bag out of the way. She kicked her foot and hit the wall. She fell to the floor, rubbing her hands across, searching.
“No, Scott. You wouldn’t…” a whimper escaped her lips. He wouldn't do this to her. Her throat tightened, and she gasped for air.
She stumbled to her desk, groping, searching for any sign that would tell her differently. Yanking a pair of jeans off her chair, she lifted them to her nose hoping to smell his cologne. The scent of copper filled her nostrils. Those were her bloodied ones from earlier.
She clutched them to her chest, fighting tears, sinking to the ground. She’d done it. She’d pushed him away, to protect herself from the very pain she was feeling right now. Hot tears flowed down her cheeks.
She sat there for some time before getting up. She walked to the closet to put her pants in the laundry. Something soft hit her bare foot. She reached down and grabbed the fallen item.
She ran her fingers over the cotton fabric with elastic waistband. Underwear? His underwear? What in the hell? Tori pulled her phone out of her pocket and tried calling Scott again, but there was no answer.
Scott got up off the sofa to pour himself another whiskey and coke and realized he’d tapped out the bottle. He checked his watch. The store around the corner closed at six. He had just a few minutes to get there. He could use another drink after the day he and Tori had.
He was trying his best not to worry that his blind girlfriend was out there alone, wandering the streets, but it was impossible. His stomach teetered somewhere between nauseous terror and gut-wrenching anger. Tori had that effect on him.
Every fiber of his being wanted to run after her. His mind swam. Where did she go? Is she safe? She’d taken location services off her phone, and it enraged him knowing she did that purposely so he wouldn’t look for her. That woman was too smart and too stupid at the same time. She was a constant contradiction and stubborn. So. Fucking. Stubborn.
He considered calling Keith to look for her, but she was already pissed off at him for being too overprotective. Keith would start blowing up her phone. That would just set her off even more. She needed her space, and he’d give it to her, even though it was eating him up inside.
“Evening, sir.” The doorman greeted Scott with a nod.
“Evening. If Miss Johnson returns, please let her know I just stepped out for a moment.” Scott nodded at the attendant at the front desk as he walked out the door.
He walked to the liquor store and purchased his alcohol right before they closed, and in a moment of weakness, he grabbed a pack of smokes and headed back to the building. He asked security if she’d come back in yet, and the guard shook his head no. Scott thanked him and went upstairs.
Scott poured himself another drink and went on the balcony and had a smoke. The cigarette calmed his nerves but left a film on his tongue and he was pissed at himself for succumbing to a moment of weakness. He debated tossing the pack, but instead, he buried them in the potted plant in the corner. Not like she’d find them there. She never waters her damn plants anyway.
He brushed his teeth and scrubbed his hands, trying to get the scent of the smoke off him. He flopped onto the sofa and tried to watch some TV to get his mind off things. Eventually, the whiskey started to work its magic and he dozed off.
When he awoke, he checked the time on the phone. It was getting late, and enough was enough. He tried calling Tori to check on her, and it went straight to voicemail. Either she was ignoring his calls, or her phone was dead. His brow went into a deep crease. He didn’t like the second option. He leaned his head back and ran his fingers through his hair that he wanted to yank out in frustration.
His eye caught the silver painting above her sofa, and he stood up, turned around, and admired it. He remembered her painting that thing. It was back when she was living with Keith and they had just returned from Amsterdam. She hadn’t worked in months, but something in Amsterdam had inspired her, and the minute they got home, she started on it.
The entire canvas was covered in metallic silver paint, and she’d raised the texture on all the flowers and used some sort of black glaze for the shading around it. The day he came in to tell her he’d found his own place, she was covered up to her elbows in paint in Keith’s garage. He hoped Tori would have been disappointed that he was moving out, but Tori had a great poker face. She laughed and said, “Good thing, because I’m damn tired of sleeping with such a bed hog.” He’d almost asked her to move in with him—almost—but he feared she’d say no and his head was still far too much of a mess.
The painting looked like it was made of bright, harsh metal, but there was a fragile beauty woven into the darkness of the delicate black flowers. Everything about it was a contradiction.
It was just like her.
He wanted her. Every piece of her, not just now, but forever. Every curve and every rough edge. He wanted her from the moment he first laid eyes on her in that dive bar, and he’d been fooling himself all these years to try and convince himself otherwise.
Her sticking those damn panties in his pocket had been the best thing that ever happened to him, and he was done playing hide-and-seek with her. He was done letting her bolt when shit got too real. She still didn’t understand just how much he loved her. He needed to show her exactly how much that first night meant.
He walked into the bedroom, pulled a pair of underwear out of his backpack, and shoved it in the pocket of her pants. He laughed at how not-sexy his were in comparison to hers. He looked up a phone number, programmed it in, and set the ringtone appropriately with a wide grin across his face. He also set it to ignore her calls. He slung his bag over his shoulder and placed his phone on her kitchen counter and walked out the door.
One final game. One big, romantic gesture.
She walked into the living room with his underwear clasped in her grasp.
It was her own damn fault for starting this silly game to begin with. She smiled fondly, thinking about the first time she ever stuck her panties in his pocket. No sooner did that thought cross her mind then she was jolted by the sound of a lonely guitar. “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaac began playing in the apartment. She followed the sound to the kitchen. She swiped her hands across the counter. His phone?
Cheeky bastard.
A slow, sly smile passed across her lips. She answered, knowing full well who would be on the other line. “Asshole’s phone, blind chick speaking.” She stifled her giggle.
“Miss me yet?” Scott’s deep, smooth
voice bellowed through the line.
“Scott Harris, what kind of game are you up to?”
“A very, very wicked one.” He laughed. God, that laugh.
“You know I suck at hide-and-seek. I lose every damn time.”
“Hey, you went hiding first.” That low, gravely chuckle of his warmed her from head to toe. “Come find me, baby. You have all the clues you need.” The line went dead.
Tori waited a few moments then pressed the home button on his phone. “Siri turn voice over on.”
Voice over on, it blared back.
She called the number back. She had a good hunch where he was, but she wasn’t about to go back across town this late without double-checking. The line picked up and she could hear the music and the noise of the crowd blaring through the line. The bartender rattled off the name of the bar. Their bar. Gotcha.
“Yes, I have a favor to ask you. I believe a friend of mine at that bar, and I’d like to buy him a drink.” Tori described Scott to the man in detail. She knew Scott was wearing shorts that day, so that helped narrow down the search.
The bartender was quiet for a moment as she assumed he scanned the bar. “You two are nuts. You know that, right?” He only sounded mildly annoyed. “Yeah, he’s here and just asked to use my phone. What kind of person doesn’t carry a cell phone?”
Tori laughed. “The kind that’s trying to be sneaky. So, he’s there?”
The bartender sighed reluctantly. “Yeah, I see him, unless there’s another tattooed hulk of a man with a prosthetic sipping whiskey at my bar.” He let out a chuckle.
That’s my Scott.
“Take my card number and pay his bill, then give him the best whiskey you’ve got.” Tori rattled off her card number from memory. It was time for her to settle that tab of his she’d racked up years ago. “Keep him there for me—don’t you dare let him leave—and there’s a big tip in it for you when I arrive.”
“And how will I know it’s you he’s leaving with and not some other chick?” The bartender flirted. “He’s had a few ladies hitting on him already tonight.”
Chasing Fire: (Fire and Fury Book One) Page 30
