“It’s a hard sell, dude,” he mumbles.
Burning rage flares in my gut. “I don’t f**king believe this shit.” I punch his dashboard hard. A crack slices through the plastic.
“Damn, dude. Chill out. I believe you. I’m just saying it’s going to be hard to prove.” He eyes the damage to his dash. “You know what that shit’s gonna cost me? Raven’s going to make that” —he points to the crack— “an excuse to redo my entire interior.” He groans and slams his hand against the steering wheel. “Shit. I swear if I get hot pink seats, I’m going to beat your ass.”
I stare at him for a few silent seconds before I roar with laughter. What he said was funny as shit. And so true. I’d have broken the thing weeks ago just to watch it all go down. But the relief of knowing that he believes me is what makes me feel lighter.
“Glad you find it funny, a**hole.” He glares through the windshield while I catch my breath.
We pull up to my place, and I sit in the passenger seat, dreading getting out. How can I walk through my condo when everything about it reminds me of her? Of what I had. The only room that she hasn’t touched is the guest room. I make a note to spend all my time there. Until I move. I make another mental note to put my pad on the market first thing in the morning.
“Oh, Braeden asked that you give him a call. Said your cell goes straight to voicemail.”
“Yeah, I need to charge it. Thanks for the bail out and for bringing me home.” I push open the door.
“You’d do it for me.”
“I’m looking forward to the day when there’s no need to save each other’s asses.”
He chuckles. “Get some sleep. We’ll figure out how to prove you’re innocent in the morning.”
I move through the parking lot to the stairs. Each step that brings me closer to my door creates a memory that attacks with vicious potency. Key in the lock, I squeeze my eyes closed and push past the vision of her there in her socks and shining smile. Hurrying inside, I hope to dash the echo of the past that threatens to drop me to my knees.
“Fuck, don’t be such a p**sy.” I throw my shit on the floor in the foyer, and my gaze snags on the wall where I pressed her body before that first time we… made love. My throat swells, and for a minute, I can’t drag my eyes away.
Forcing myself to walk away, I head to the kitchen. I need to stay focused on my case. I’ve lost her, but I might be able to save my career. Pulling all the bottles and powders from the cupboards, I scan the labels. Memories of Layla in my kitchen doing the same thing push for dominance. I shove them back to the recesses of my thoughts and focus.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” There’s not a word on any of the labels that hints to a prescribing doctor.
What would be his motive for pumping me with steroids? Did Gibbs doubt my ability to win the fight and think juicing me would give me an advantage? I rub my face. That makes no sense. Gibbs benefits no matter who wins. Not to mention that the Gaming Commission tests all fighters before a fight, and I would have been caught then. That rules out Doc Z placing money on the fight, juicing me up so I’d win and he’d get a huge payout.
My head thumps with an oncoming headache. Jonah’s right. I haven’t slept. I need to think this through with a clear mind. I grab my phone charger from the kitchen drawer and head toward my spare bedroom. My eyes slam closed as I pass the music room, and my chest tightens with an unbearable cramp.
The guest room hasn’t been used in years. The stale smell of dust and abandonment fit perfectly with my mood. I plug in my phone and punch out a quick text to Brae telling him I’m out and headed for bed. I strip down nak*d, hit the lights, and crawl between the sheets. My head is foggy, exhaustion making it impossible to string together a coherent thought.
And even still, her memory floods my senses. The smell of her hair, the feel of it as it runs between my fingers. Her pleasured whimpers and moans when I’m inside her. The softness of her skin as my lips run along her cheek and down her neck.
Her neck.
My chest hollows out. Crippling emptiness crashes over me in waves. I close my eyes and beg for sleep. And pray that dreams won’t come.
Layla
It’s taken me three days. The decision didn’t come lightly, but after a lot of thought, I know it’s my only choice.
I finally had to let my phone die to keep from answering the calls from concerned friends. I knew if I took even one call, I’d be begging them to tell me about Blake. Just the thought of his name makes my eyes burn.
I need to get over that.
No more sitting in my apartment with Axelle, going over and over all of our options. In the end, we decided together that the best choice would also be the hardest.
But everything good comes with a price.
We don’t want to live in fear of what’s waiting around the corner. Or grow old and grow up with a list of regrets weighing us down. So we made our choice.
It’s time to see if he’ll take us back.
My hand trembles against the door handle as I push into the hospital room. Machines beep in sequence and seem to match the pace of my steps. Stewart’s head lolls toward me at the sound of my entrance.
“Hey.” I’m tentative, nervous about how he’ll react seeing me.
A lot was said the night he was brought here. There’s so much we need to talk about. I can only hope he’ll give me a chance to say what I need to say, and pray he doesn’t kick me out.
“What are you doing here?” His words are garbled through what looks like a few dozen stitches and a broken nose.
I make no move to get closer. “I was hoping we could talk.”
“Said everything I had to say.” He turns his face away.
I swallow my nerves and move deeper into the room. “Then, do you mind if I talk?”
He doesn’t answer.
“I’m sorry about happened to you. I tried to get Blake to leave, but…” Sadness cuts through my words. Determination moves my feet toward his bed. “He’s in a lot of trouble. Steroids, his career is over, and he’ll be in jail for a while.”
Stewart’s head jerks back around. “As he should be.” His words are spit through swollen lips.
“Yes.” It’s all I can say with my heart in my throat.
“So you’re not in love with him?”
I’m pinned to the floor by the power of his glare.
“He seemed to think you two had something special.”
I shake my head. “I want to go home.” My stomach revolts, twisting in disappointment. “Back to Seattle with you and Elle.”
Wide eyes push against his bruised lids. “This is a surprise. You’d said back at the apartment—”
“Forget what I said. The fact is, you took care of me when I had no one. I was alone and pregnant and… you took us in.”
“I thought I loved you back then.” He shrugs. “You were the hottest thing on two legs.”
That’s not love. Anger boils in my veins, but I douse the fire and concentrate on my end goal. “I think, if you give me another chance, I could learn to love you.” I grip my hands behind my back to keep them from trembling. “I owe you my life.”
“You’d come back?” he whispers.
“If you’ll have us.”
His hand reaches out for me, and I hold my breath before taking it. He tugs me to sit at his side. “You’ll never be rid of me, Lay. I’ve worked too hard to make you mine.”
“So you were just testing me? When you let us leave Seattle, you had every intention of bringing us back?” There’s too much anger in my voice.
He turns away from me again. Shutting me out. But I need him to tell me the truth.
“Stewart.” I calm the pounding rage in my head. “I want things to work out between us. But you need to be honest with me. I’ll tell you the truth about anything you want to know, just please, let me in.” I stroke his arm until he gives me his eyes. “Please.”
“I saw you were looking for jobs. Made a phone call. That’s it.”
My heart skips at his honesty. I wondered how I got hired so quickly when I had no work experience. “You’re the one responsible for getting me a job with the UFL.”
He shrugs one shoulder.
I give him what I hope is a flirty smile and pull his hand into my lap. “Is that all I owe to you?”
He grins and then hisses in pain.
“Ouch, be careful.” I run my fingertip lightly across his lips, and my stomach rolls.
Even surrounded with deep purple bruises, there’s a flicker of desire in his eyes. “You’re really mine?”
I bob my head a couple times in answer, not trusting my voice.
“Come here.” His demand is heavy with want.
Mustering my strength, I think about all I’m sacrificing and shove it away. I lean forward. His hands stab into my hair and he brings his lips to my ear. “We need to get out of town.”
“Mmm, yeah. That’s what I want.”
“There could be fallout, and I need to be home to make sure your little detour doesn’t lose me my license.”
My stomach pitches, and a chill races up my spine. “What do you mean?” My question sounds relaxed, even though my heart feels like it’ll pound out of my chest.
He releases me enough to see his eyes, but keeps me close. “Gibbs and I made a deal. He hired you, and I sent him a little publicity package wrapped in a tainted doctor and some very specific drugs.”
“What does that have to do with us?”
“Nothing you need to worry about. Let’s just say Gibbs got the publicity he wanted.” He pulls me in for a kiss, but to avoid using his destroyed lips, he uses his tongue and teeth, releasing me with a bite.
I swallow a gag, then lick the metallic flavor of his blood from my mouth and pretend that his act of possession turns me on. Running my hands down his torso, his h*ps flex in response.
“I want to f**k you so badly right now.” He groans and pulls my hand to his erection.
Lightheaded with disgust, I struggle to get more information. “How’d you find a doctor who’d agree to sacrifice his reputation?” I grip him tightly and stroke, with a non-verbal promise of reward if he answers my question.
“Yeah, you missed that, didn’t you, Laylay?”
I let go, threatening to stop. He presses my hand down and rolls his hips. Talk, Stew.
“The MD had charges filed against him for selling OxyContin. Turns out he also had a nasty habit of videotaping himself with patients after he’d put them to sleep.”
I recoil, finding it impossible to keep my expression indifferent. To think I was alone in the same room with that sick fuck.
“I approached him, explained that I needed an MD who had nothing to lose. If he agreed, I’d give him a fake passport and enough money to leave the country. He jumped all over it.”
“I don’t get it. You did all that just to get me a job?”
He has the decency to look embarrassed. “Not exactly.”
“Stewart, I’m your wife.” I’m surprised the words flow as naturally as they do. Years of practicing have made me an expert liar. “You can trust me.” Those four words, the same one’s I used to get to Blake to share his secrets with me, sour and wash me in shame.