He chuckles and pulls from the bottle again. “Bu’ you know what? You probly won’t believe this, bu’ I think I had a harder time dealin’ with tha’ dinner than you. I know I played it off good, bu’ why d’ you think I had t’ drink th’ whole time? You think it was random me havin’ Red get th’ alc’hol? I knew I’d need it fo’ what I had in mind. An’ then you went an’ made tha’ big fancy dinner. An’ you didn’ have to. I didn’ say you had t’ make somethin’ nice like that. But you did it anyway. An’ no one’s e’er made me a meal like that b’fore. No one. An’ what I do? I hurt you, anyway I could, cuz it’s all I know how t’ do…it’s all I’ve e’er known how t’ do. Bu’ all I ended up doin’ was hurtin’ myself, cuz I can’t get th’ fuckin’ image of you an’ Red outta m’ head. I keep tryin’ to drink it ‘way, but it’s not goin’ anywhere.”
He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “See, it’s still there. An’ feels like it’s rippin’ m’ apart from th’ inside out. And I doubt Red’ll e’er talk t’ me again, cuz I know what I made him do ’ll tear him up way more than killin’ that guy did. An’ I know, I know, he got into it, bu’ that’s cuz I pushed him, and had him drinkin’. An’ he knew I’d sen’ those other guys up, an’ they woulda been much worse on you. An’ I’m so messed up I’d a probly let ‘em. An’ he knew that. Bu’ he’s probly off right now cryin’ his eyes out o’er what he did t’ you, because he’s been hurtin’ for you all these years too. Not like me, bu’ close. And here I am, tryin’ to drink myself under ‘cause it all hurts s’ damn much. An’ there you are, still got tha’ fire in your eyes, sparkly an’ blue like tha’ necklace your wearin’. There’s other stuff in your eyes now too, like th’ pity o’er all I jus’ told you an’ th’ hurt from everythin’ I done t’ you, bu’ th’ fire’s still there. Has been e’er since you threw tha’ rock at me. An’ thas why I love you, Ava. Thas why I’ve always loved you.” He chuckles. “You know whas funny? I think it’s you who’s breakin’ me. Ain’t that a laugh? Cuz you’re jus so strong. So damn strong. In fact…”
Shayne scrambles to his feet, and I swallow down the lump in my throat and shove away the tears with my good hand so I can see. When he stands and sways, I crunch up tighter in the corner, but keep my eye on the staircase.
“I see you lookin’ up there, but it’s locked so take it easy. But don’ worry. Don’ worry, Ava. I jus’ wanna see somethin’.” He staggers towards me, his hair falling over his forehead, his arms out to his side, the gun still in his hand. He comes to the edge of the mattress and falls to his knees. His eyes drop to my wrapped up hand and he stares at it. “I didn’ mean t’ do tha’,” he mutters, then sways and looks up, and hands me the gun. “Here, take it.”
I shake my head, without thinking, and a drunken smile spreads across his face. Then I realize what I’ve done. “S’okay,” he whispers. “I’ll le’ that one slide. Here, though. Wan’ you t’ take it.”
Slowly, I reach out with my good hand, knowing he’ll get angry if I don’t. Angry and sloppy drunk. So bad.
Shayne places the gun in my hand and clumsily wraps my fingers around it. It’s heavy, and warm from where he’s been holding it. “’Kay, now, pu’ your li’l fingers like that, an’ yeah, righ’ there. Then cock th’ lever back, like so. But b’ careful, don’ pull th’ trigger yet. ‘Kay good.” He rocks back so he’s kneeling in front of me, swaying, then takes my wrist and aims the gun at his chest, right over the carved up tattoo covering his heart. “‘Kay, now pull.”
I blink, the tears ripping down my face while the gun shakes in my hand.
“Com’ on, com’ on. ‘S’okay. I know I’m askin’ lot, bu’ you got this. You’re so strong. Stronger tha’ me. And I need you t’ do this. Cause I couldn’ do it back when I was eight. An’ this’ll set you free. Me too. So com’ on. Or hey, look a’ it this way. It’s me ‘r him. Cause if you don’t do this, you know wha’ it means right? I get t’ kill him. An’ I know you don’ wan that. So com’ on.”
Shayne closes his eyes and he’s no longer a beast. Just a man. A damaged man, with a damaged face to match. A man who got a shittier deal in life than I did. And all he’s ever wanted is me, the one who never wanted him back.
The gun shakes in my hand, so hard, I move my finger off the trigger so it won’t go off by accident. I try to think. Maybe if I can string him along somehow, keep him sidetracked until he passes out, there’s a chance he won’t remember any of this tomorrow. But I’ve never seen him drunk before, so I don’t know. I only know how my father was when he got drunk. Sometimes he would remember, sometimes he wouldn’t.
There is one thing I do know though.
I can’t kill him.
I can’t.
Maybe I’m being weak. Maybe it’s the way I’m bound to him now. Maybe it’s all he’s revealed.
But I can’t kill him.
I can’t.
It’s not the way I’m made.
I set the gun down on the mattress, feeling like I’m playing a game of Russian Roulette. What’s going to happen now? Will he really follow through on Gavin? Maybe I can reason with him. Maybe I can get through to him. Maybe I can give him something else to trade for Gavin’s life.
Shayne opens his eyes—eyes that have the look of a helpless child who’s hurting so bad and doesn’t know how to stop it.
More tears fall down my cheeks, and I huddle there, trembling.
He smiles, and I watch the beast creep back into his eyes. “Had your chance, baby. Bu’ you blew it. Now I get t’ kill him.”
“No, pl—”
I choke on the words when he staggers to his feet, faster than I thought he could move for being so drunk. He lurches forward, grabs me by the wrist of my good hand, and drags me up the stairs, thankfully leaving the gun behind. Through the door, I see the black dually sleeping in the garage, then we’re back in the house and he’s staggering down the hall, still holding me tightly by the wrist. When we come to the door with the deadbolt—my door—he opens it and tosses me inside, where I fall on the cement.
He stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame to keep from swaying. “Don’ think I want t’ let you wander for a while. ‘Specially as I gotta leave for a few days. You should have enough bread t’ last you.”
I scramble to my knees at his feet, knowing what he’s really saying, and the words stumble out of me. “Please, Shayne! I’m beg—”
“I gave you a chance, baby. All you had t’ do was kill me. But you couldn’t do it. Now I gotta keep m’ word, don’t I? Cause I got nothin’ else left. Nothin’.
“No! Please! Tell me what I can do!”
He stares down at me, his hair falling down around his face, and I wonder if perhaps my pleas are working, but he shakes his head. “It’s all fo’ him, isn’t it? Everythin’ you do. Everythin’! It’ll always be fo’ him!!!”
He staggers back and slams the door in my face and locks it.
I crumple into a heap, certain of two things. He’s going to kill Gavin. And I should’ve pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Gavin
It’s always an odd feeling when I step into my house after being gone for so long, filming. It feels like someone else’s home. In truth though, it never really felt like mine. It belongs to the movie star, not Gavin West. In some ways, it’s just an empty shell, sort of like me, but now for some reason, it feels more empty than usual.
A soft giggle floats through my ears and I wince, just like I always do when I think of her. Four months have passed, and I’m still reeling from what happened as though it was just yesterday. Doesn’t matter how fast I drive, how hard I punch, how reckless I am—how much I toy with that line—I can’t seem to shake her.
I make my way past the living room and up the stairs. In the bedroom, I drop my bags on the floor and fall back onto the bed. The bed I shared with her. The bed we stained with our blood. I couldn’t even bring myself to wash those sheets. They’re not on the bed now, but I s
till have them. Folded up and tucked away in my closet. It’s the only thing I have to remember her by. That and my Metallica shirt. I’m glad she took my sweats though. I think something in me would’ve been disappointed if she hadn’t. At least I know I meant something to her, too. But then the words she screamed at me that night come tearing through me and I’m not so sure anymore.
I scrub my face with my hands, then stare at my left wrist. I’ve got three more marks since I walked away from her. Not good. Not good at all.
The first I got for trying to kill that guy, for what he did to Ava. And I would’ve too, if she hadn’t stopped me. I’d have done the time for her, without a doubt. Hell, it already feels like I’m serving some kind of sentence.
The second mark was for a fight in a pub in Dublin. Some cocky punk was dumb enough to challenge me when the demon was raging. Stupid fuck. All these guys talk big, wanting a piece of the big shot action star, but when it comes down to it, they don’t stand a chance. Normally I just put my head down and walk away, but this asshole—he picked the wrong guy on the wrong day. Good thing some guys from the crew pulled me off. And I know the studio wasn’t too pleased about it all, but I’m past caring.
The third, well, that’s a bit embarrassing. Simple but extreme case of road rage. Some douche in a Porsche cut me off on the Audubon in Germany, after I’d just blown close to a couple million on a Bugatti Veyron, trying to ease the hurt. So I chased him down, till I had him cornered in the parking lot of a grocery store. That’s when I got out, picked up a grocery cart, and sent it flying through his front windshield. Yeah, not too proud of that one. Someone even got that one on camera, posted it online and it went viral. The guy was greedy though, and didn’t want to tangle with me, so just settled.
But if I keep going at this rate, I won’t have much room on my arm left. My buddy Damian’s been trying to get me over to his place again, for one of his get togethers. There are always girls there that like the hard stuff. He knows it’s good for me, to feed the demon a little so it doesn’t get crazy. But hell, I can’t even bring myself to fuck another woman, my dick just won’t have it—like it’s saving itself for Ava, as if it’ll ever have the chance to be with her again. And not being with someone, not getting that side out of me, just makes me feel like a ticking time bomb. It’s only a matter of time before I go and do something really bad, like kill someone, most likely myself. I know it. Damian knows it.
Fuck.
I need to get her out of my head, but I have no fucking clue how to do that. I’ve never had this problem with a woman before. There are times when I wish I had just left her there, stranded on the side of the freeway—my tragic beauty—but most times, I’m so grateful that I didn’t. That night with her was the best night of my life.
My saving grace, all this time, is that work has kept me busy, most times. All of the movie was shot on location, in six different countries, which kept me moving. And being the last movie in the series, it was good and violent, so lots of action scenes. Only downside was Candace. Remind me never to fuck a co-star, especially one I have to do sex scenes with. Got them done, but I know she was getting a sick pleasure knowing I didn’t want to touch her. Guess it added to the character though, cause she’d been the traitor all along. But when we weren’t filming, she was still at me, trying to lure me back to her. She liked us being a couple, or ‘power couple’ as she called it. But we were never really a couple, we were just two people working together who figured out we both liked the same kind of sex. Nothing more. And that’s something I’ve always made clear to her, but she’s so high on herself, she doesn’t think any man can resist her. And the more I brush her off, the more determined she gets, even after all that stuff with Ava. Like she’s out to prove that no man could want someone else over her. Already got a couple missed calls from her since getting off the plane, both of us being back home now. But I’m done with her. Fucking done. I know our paths will cross again, doing whatever finishing work is needed on the movie, and then there’s the publicity tour, but after that I won’t have to see her again. Still, I’m dreading it. I’m dreading all of it.
I roll onto my stomach and rake my hands through my hair. That’s when I smell the jetlag on me. That’s also when I think of Ava, smelling my arm pits. I laugh on the outside, but want to howl at the moon on the inside. Instead, I get up and go take a shower.
Half hour later, I’m clean, dressed in jeans and the Metallica shirt, and wondering what the hell to do with my Sunday afternoon. Normally I’d do laps or something, but I haven’t been able to go in the pool since that night. I think of visiting my mom, but remember she has her Bridge games on Sunday. I think of hitting the bag, or going to spar at the gym, but I feel more sad than angry.
But I know one thing. I can’t fucking be here.
Every damn thing I see reminds me of her.
I head back downstairs and pass the living room. Something dark flashes out the patio sliders, but when I stop, I see nothing. I walk over to the glass and look around the backyard, then find myself staring at the pool. That memory comes back, of wrapping her in a bear hug, and hearing her laugh. I close my eyes, remembering the feel of her body against mine, when a noise sounds. I look to see a couple crows land by one of the recliners. I watch them for a long minute, take one last glance around, then turn and head to the garage. A minute later, I’m behind the wheel of the car I picked up Ava in, and backing out the garage and heading down the driveway.
It isn’t me that drives to Los Ramos, it’s the car I tell myself. I have no idea what I’m doing. Maybe I have it in my head that I might see her on the sidewalk, see her beautiful, blue eyes and maybe she’ll give me one of her rare smiles, and tell me in her soft voice it was all just a joke. But when I pull into the parking lot at Bucks, it all comes back to me.
Fuck.
I close my eyes, picturing my last moments with her, and hearing her words. They rip into my chest, making it feel like my heart’s laying wide open. I’ve often wondered how things would’ve turned out if I’d simply thrown her over my shoulder and taken her with me. I could’ve justified it by those marks on her wrists, and that fear in her eyes—both as good a reasons as any to get her out of there. But I know that fucker had a hold on her, somehow, some way, and as soon as I wasn’t looking, she’d have gone right back to him. My mom did the same thing when I was a kid, after her sister finally convinced her to take me and leave my dad. She lasted a week, then went running back to him, bruises and all. I know she regrets it now, but at the time, she was still so hooked on him, she hadn’t been ready to leave. But by the time she was, it was too late. I forgave her for it a long time ago, but the anger is something I’ve never been able to let go of.
Just like I can’t seem to let go of Ava.
I yank the door open and walk into the bar.
Inside, it’s dark and quiet, except for the mellow twang of country music. Seems empty for a Sunday afternoon. Only a few bodies hunched over their drinks and Buck standing at the bar polishing glasses.
He looks up, eyes narrowing to make me out, then smiles. “Hoped I’d see you again.”
I make my way to the same spot at the far end of the bar while he grabs the Jack and makes my drink, then brings it over.
“How ya been?” he asks.
“Better,” I say, and take a swig.
“Yeah, I hear ya.”
When I catch sight of the boxes behind the bar, I realize he’s not polishing glasses, but packing them.
I turn to him. “What’s all that about?”
He shrugs. “Closing down. I lease the place, and the rent got doubled. Again.”
“Ah, fuck. He owns it, doesn’t he?”
Buck nods and wipes down a spot on the bar that was already clean. “Wouldn’t change a thing, though. I still go to sleep every night with a smile on my face ‘cause of what you did.”
I sigh and shake my head. “Sorry, man.”
“Don’t be. Got some other things lined up. C
hange is good sometimes.” He’s trying to make light of it, but I can see the hurt in his face. I know right then and there I’m going to help him out. Just need to figure out how. Man like him won’t take a handout.
“Holler when you want another,” Buck says, and leaves to tend to a thirsty face.
I take another sip and see a man get up from a table and walk towards me. Well, kind of a man. He’s lean and barely looks of drinking age. His red hair catches my eye, making him look familiar, but I can’t place him.
I set the glass on the bar and keep my eyes down when he sits a couple stools over. Wish I’d worn a hat or something.
From the corner of my eye, I see him motion to Buck, who comes over with a bottle of scotch. He fills the glass, eyeing us both warily, then goes back to packing.
“Wondered if you’d ever come back around,” the man says.
I keep drinking, doing my best to ignore him, but I feel his eyes on me. They just keep looking…and looking…and looking…until…
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