Mind (Trinity Trilogy Book 2)

by Audrey Carlan

  Making my way into the kitchen, all I can think about is the sweet cup of heaven I’m about to drink. Bentley, our chef, sets up the machine so it will make coffee for me each morning. He adds some special spices in the coffee and leaves me creamer that he made fresh in the fridge. It’s the closest thing to a Starbucks vanilla latte as I can get without having to go to a physical location.

  When I enter the kitchen, I’m bombarded by my fiancé’s assistant. “There you are, Gigi. I’ve been waiting for you!” Dana says happily while sitting on one of the barstools. In front of her is a huge, three-ringed binder with multiple colored tabs sticking out the edges. I glance at the clock on the microwave.

  “It’s seven thirty, Dana.” Why the hell does she have a key to our private quarters? That reminds me that I need to have a chat with my hubby-to-be about his over-achieving assistant and her instant access to our home at all hours.

  “And there’s not a moment to spare!” She nods happily, her pretty blonde hair bobbing right along with her. She’s dressed in a fierce black suit with a jewel toned satin blouse. The gold of her hair lies in perfect curls around her shoulders. I cringe and look down at my bare feet. The edges of my toenails have chipped paint and have seen better days. I need a pedicure, but can’t bring myself to worry about trivial things when my best friend is laid up in the hospital. “Now, I’ve got tons of things to run by you,” she starts by pulling open the first section and opening it to one of the tabs. I pad around the kitchen and pull out a coffee cup.

  “Do you want coffee?” I ask.

  “No, I’ve already had some.” She has? It’s seven thirty in the morning. How the hell can she be so damned chipper? “Now Gigi, look at these tablecloths and tell me which one you like best.”

  Tablecloths. Is she fucking insane? Who cares about tablecloths? “You pick one.” I say and pull out my favorite mug. It’s one of the only things I’ve unpacked. It’s a fairy with giant expanded wings that Bree bought me for Christmas a few years ago. It’s been my staple mug ever since.

  Her eyebrows rise and then she pinches her lips together. “Okay. What type of font do you want on the invitations? We should have sent them out two weeks ago but under the circumstances…” she means, because my best friend exploded, but has the good sense to not bring it up further.

  “Don’t care about that either, Dana,” I warn. Tingles of irritation start to curl and slither along my spine. I can feel my inner temperature heating up.

  She flips to the next section completely unfettered. “How about the ceremony? Let’s talk flowers. I know you like daisies, because Chase had me ensure the florist put them in the vases in the foyer and around his office, but what other flowers…” she starts speaking, but I tune her out. There have been perfect bundles of daisies in our foyer each week. It’s the first thing I see when I open the elevator and it’s so welcoming. Something I’ve come to look forward to. I also noticed that my office on the fiftieth floor has had a new batch of them each week and several more placed around our home. I can’t believe I’ve taken for granted something Chase did to make me happy and comfortable in this new environment.

  The man owns my soul.

  “…so do you want all daisies at the wedding or would something more traditional like roses be better?” she asks. A shiver runs through me.

  “No roses. I hate roses!” My voice comes out scathing and downright mean.

  Dana’s eyes widen, but she continues anyway. Wow. She could get work done in the middle of an earthquake and look perfect doing it. “Let’s talk food. Chase’s favorite is seafood, and I’m sure Cancun will have the freshest fish possible.”

  “No seafood.”

  “Sorry?” Her eyes narrow. “I really think you need to take advantage of the location, and the seafood will be so…”

  I roll my eyes. “Look Dana, I know you’re trying to be nice, and you are…nice that is. I don’t care for seafood, and I don’t want to smell stinky fish on the best day of my life. We’re going to Mexico, why not have Mexican food?” I hold out my hands and realize I’ve been swinging them around like a deranged crazy person. Gripping the cool slab of marble at the counter top centers me, momentarily.

  “Uh, I had no idea about the food. Chase didn’t mention that…” she scribbles something in the binder, circles it and then puts a giant slash through it.

  Something she said spikes my interest. I grab my cup and calm my tone. “Have you been talking to Chase about the wedding?”

  Dana shrugs and flips to another section of the book. “He likes to be informed of the decisions we’ve made. He’s not happy with how little we’ve gotten done. We’re really behind.”

  I laugh and shake my head. Who can think about a wedding when so much in my life is up in the air? The iPhone I put in the back pocket of my jeans rings loudly. I hold up a pointed finger at Dana. “Just a moment.”

  “Hello,” I turn around and lean my back against the counter on a sigh. What now?

  “Gigi, he left a fucking note…here! I cannot believe this shit!” Bree is screaming and crying at the same time.

  Gripping the phone tightly to my ear, “Whoa whoa, what are you talking about, Bree? Calm down.”

  “I’m not going to fucking calm down! Your goddamned stalker did this to Phillip!” she roars, her tone so high-pitched I hold the phone back several inches so I don’t lose an eardrum.

  “Bree, I don’t understand. What do you mean?” Fear locks its evil grip around my heart and squeezes as Bree explains.

  I can hear shuffling and a door closing then the noises from the hospital. “I swear to God, Gillian, if he dies…” she lets her words fall off as she sucks in a breath. Her tone was something I’ve never heard from her. It’s gut-wrenching, filled with fire and ice and dipped in poison. Hatred. It’s what hatred sounds like. “I came into the room. I was late today and just got in. Right on the foot of the bed was a note. For you,” she seethes.

  “What does it say?” I ask, tears clouding my vision. It’s my worst nightmare come to life.

  Her voice cracks as she clears her throat. “It says…

  Gillian,

  Phillip was a blast. Too bad he made it.

  Perhaps next time he won’t. Who’s next?

  You’re mine…Bitch!

  “I’ll be right there, I’m sorry Bree, I’m so sorry. You can’t know how much,” I try to finish but she cuts me off.

  “Save it for Phillip. He’s the one lying in a coma,” she says and then abruptly hangs up. My heart sinks as my knees weaken. I slump to the floor in a heap of tears. I grip my knees tight and sob into them.

  “Gigi, what’s the matter?” Dana comes around and puts a cool hand on mine. “Are you okay?”

  I shake my head over and over. “I’ll never be okay again,” I barely say through my tears. Guilt, fear, and sadness rip through me, tearing my insides apart.

  “I’m going to get Chase!” The last thing I hear is her heels clicking on the tile floor.

  X

  My work here is done. I’m standing in the room next to that stupid comatose fucker listening to his hysterical woman as she calls the love of my life on the phone. She’s giving an Oscar-worthy performance. Knowing my Princess the way I do, she’s rife with guilt. And now she knows just how far I’m capable of going to get to her. There will be no roadblocks.

  It was easy enough to slip into Phillip’s hospital room. That stupid bastard Chase Davis didn’t even post a guard. Idiot. Thanks to his carelessness, I’m even closer than ever to finishing my plan to get my girl back. Eventually, I’m going to remove each and every last one of those bitches. Soul sisters she calls them. More like brainless twits, if you ask me. No one has cottoned on to me being the stalker. Not even her so called “best friends in the whole world” what’s that term? Oh yeah BFFs. Ridiculously stupid. They make it so easy. Rubbing my hand through my hair, I put the surgical cap on concealing my hair fully.

  I slip out of the room looking left and right, ma
king sure I don’t recognize anyone. The scrubs were a nice touch, pilfered out of the open supply closet. I got in and out of Phillip’s room without so much as a look my way. Medical personnel are always too busy to really pay attention to anything around them besides the patient in front of them. Walking zombies for the most part. Completely worked in my favor today. It was so easy to walk in there. Phillip was still as a statue when I placed the note on the bed for my girl. I was actually shocked there wasn’t a horde of his admirers hanging around like usual. Looks like I timed it perfectly.

  I barely make it out of his room and into the room next to his when his “girlfriend” shows up in her trendy yoga gear. At least she’s something to look at. I don’t prefer the petite types, I’m more of a long, lean, with curves and red hair type man, but I can see why men go to yoga. It’s not for the exercise that’s for sure. It’s for the hot, flexible little bitch they somehow think they have a chance with. I’ll bet she gets hit on by more of her male students than not. Regardless, I’m done looking at her, and, most of all, I’m done hearing her whiney voice. The bug I planted under Phillip’s bed last week in the middle of the night has given me a keen perspective on their relationship.

  The chick is head over heels for the dumb ass. I might actually take a knife to my throat if I have to listen to one more of her cry sessions where she begs him to wake up, for her, for his punk kid and on and on. She never, fucking, stops. It’s a broken record or a TV commercial jingle that you can’t shake. Something has to cut through the monotony. Well, just as soon as the time is right, I’ll be cutting through something. Her pretty little throat. If I don’t get my girl, I’m picking off the weakest link for the hell of it.

  Time’s up Yoga Barbie.

  Gillian

  “Breathe, baby. In two, three, four, five and out, two three four five. In again,” Chase inhales audibly. “And out,” he exhales. I watch his face in a daze, mimicking him breathing in and out. I’m not sure where I am or what I’m doing. All I know is Chase is here, and I am safe. “Again,” he instructs me to inhale then out for another five beats.

  Chase’s hands are warm as they cup my neck. His forehead leans against mine. He continues to breathe deep, and I synchronize with him, not knowing what else to do. I’m bobbing in a sea of calm, open water, no land in sight. Only Chase, my life raft.

  “Come back to me, Gillian,” his voice feels like it’s being shoved through a panel of wool, thick, scratchy and muffled. “Come on, Gorgeous. Give me those green eyes. Focus on me. Only me. It’s just you and me, here in our home.”

  Home.

  Chase.

  Focus.

  The tingle throughout my body starts to ebb, my heart rate losing its erratic rhythm against my chest. Moments ago it was a sledgehammer pounding me into the ground, so deep down I couldn’t breathe, lost my vision. Now all I see is blue…endless blue. Chase’s eyes blink and a slight curve tips his lips.

  “There’s my girl, just focus on me. Look into my eyes. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.” Chase’s voice is quiet and steady. Slowly, I start to feel the space around me. The air is no longer pressing me into the hole. Chase’s hands slide up and down my back in long, unhurried sweeps. I grip my fingers into the flesh of his back and start to pull him tighter against me, fear still burning the edges of consciousness. Burying my face into his neck, sandalwood and citrus fill the air forcing me into the present. I come to slowly, bit by bit, realizing where I am.

  On the floor, in the kitchen, wrapped around Chase. He’s sitting cross-legged with me in his lap, my legs wrapped around his waist. I’m clinging to him so hard I’ve lost all feeling in my hands. After a few more breaths, I pull my head out of the comfort of his neck and blink a few times.

  “What happened?” I ask, my voice sounds scratchy and crackles on each syllable.

  Chase pets my hair and pushes the loose strands behind my ear. “You had a panic attack. Worse than any I’ve ever seen. Much scarier than your flashbacks. What the hell triggered it?”

  It all comes flooding back like a tsunami wave breaking against shore. Tears well and spill over my cheeks. “The stalker left another note,” comes out in a garbled whisper.

  “A note?” I nod. “Where?”

  The fissure in my heart breaks open allowing the pain to enter once more. “Phillip!” I cry into Chase’s neck unable to stop the bone-crushing guilt.

  Chase pulls me back and cups my cheeks. “You’re not making sense. Phillip? A note?” I nod. “You mean the stalker left a note with Phillip at the hospital?”

  My lip trembles, and I can feel the muscles around my face contorting and crumbling inward as the sadness crushes me. “Bree found it this morning.”

  “Okay. We’ll deal with this.” He hugs me tighter and lifts me up, then stands. I cling to him, not ever wanting to let go. “Dana!” Chase yells over my shoulder. The heel clacking starts again.

  “Chase?”

  “Get Jack down to the hospital now. There’s been another message. Tell him to call me the minute he gets it.”

  “Yes, sir.” I hear her voice answer as if far away.

  We’re moving. Chase is walking me through the penthouse back into our room. Once there, he sets me on the bed. He pulls off my tunic and then gently pushes against my chest suggesting I lay back. He undoes my jeans and pulls them off leaving me in my tank and panties. Then he removes his t-shirt and pajama bottoms, clad only in his underwear. I’m so brokenhearted I can’t even appreciate his beauty.

  Tears slip down my cheeks and wet the pillow under my head. Chase maneuvers me into the middle of the bed under our down comforter. He pulls me into his chest facing one another. He holds me while I cry. With other men, like Danny, and even Justin, they always wanted me to tell them how they could fix my problems. Would hound me until finally I just pretended nothing was wrong. So much so, I built up giant walls around my heart that no one could penetrate. Over the past few years and through therapy, I learned that it’s okay to cry. It’s okay to hurt, and let myself feel that hurt.

  Chase slides his hands all over me. Up my bare thigh, over my arm and down to my hand, back up, then down my back and into my hair, where he pulls the ponytail holder out, letting the hair tumble down my back. When I’ve quieted, he finally says, “Talk to me.”

  I close my eyes and bring his hands up to my lips. I kiss each and every knuckle and the center of each palm. Over the past six months, I was certain I could never love this man more, but that isn’t true. Right now, he is taking care of me the way I need to be taken care of...not judging. Simply, being with me. Letting me have my moment, even though I know what happened in that kitchen is killing him. Not knowing what that note said is probably digging a giant crater into his psyche, yet he tends to me. I come first.

  “No man will ever love me the way you do.” I whisper the epiphany.

  Chase’s blue gaze meets mine. It’s probably the most open and honest I’ve seen them. “I was put on this earth to love and protect you.”

  “To infinity?”

  He blinks slowly and gifts me with his small, secretive smile. “Yes. Forever, baby.” He nudges my nose with his and kisses me briefly. It’s not a romantic kiss but it’s just as grounding, solidifying our love. “Tell me, Gillian.”

  The words spill out like a too full bowl of cereal. “The stalker left a note, insinuating that he was responsible for the explosion, that he wishes Phillip was dead, and that he might get him next time. Then he said something about who was going to be next.” I suck in a harsh breath trying not to let the emotions overwhelm me again.

  Chase brings a hand to my cheek. “Honey, we’re going to find him. I will find him if it’s the last thing I do. I promise,” he assures me.

  I pull Chase closer and kiss him hard. He returns the kiss, holding me close. Our faces are so close to one another I can feel his breath against my lips. “Gillian, you need to see someone. A therapist. These flashbacks and panic attacks scare me beyond reason.”<
br />
  Slowly I inhale a breath and then nuzzle into his skin. “Okay, I will.”

  Chase’s arms tighten. “Right away. Not next week, not a month from now, not after the wedding. This week. If you don’t make an appointment, I will.” The tone he uses is his, “Non-negotiable” one that I usually like to rally against. Not this time.

  The wedding. I can’t even be happy about the most exciting day of my life. It feels as if everything is falling apart around me.

  “Chase…the wedding…it’s too much,” I finally admit what’s been plaguing me the last couple weeks.

  He takes a heavy breath, turns onto his back and pulls me over the top of him. I lean both arms on top of his warm chest and set my chin on them. His eyes scan the ceiling looking everywhere but at me. Finally, he looks down, one hand burrows into the hair at my nape, the other holds me close at the waist. His eyes are sad, more so than ever before. “I know. I hate waiting, but with everything that’s going on…I can no longer watch what the stress is doing to you.”

  I kiss his chest right over his heart. “You know I want nothing more than to be your wife,” I swallow the giant lump of sadness clogging my words. “But, Chase, the stalker, Phil still in a coma, Anabelle fatherless.” I shake my head trying not to dig too deep into those thoughts. “Bree is a mess and hates me right now. I have to fix my life, or I’m not going to be any good for you…” My voice trembles, and I bite my lip to hold back from falling into a fit of tears again.

  “You’re the only thing that’s ever been good for me,” Chase cups my chin, his thumb petting along the cheekbone. “I don’t deserve you, but I’m too selfish to let you go.”