Beast (11 page)

I can’t get her out of my head.

My attention weaves in and out of the conversation taking place in the room. My therapist is saying something about taking responsibility and accepting consequences.

But all I can think about is Jasmine and the things she’d said last night, the way she had moved. I could never have imagined that this beautiful girl was carrying around so much baggage on her narrow shoulders. Now, all I want to do is take all her burdens away so that she can find peace.

But how the hell are you supposed to give her peace when you’re living your very own slice of hell, asshole?
That’s my inner voice talking. He’s not a very nice guy.

Still, he’s right. I have nothing good to offer Jasmine. And though I’m thrilled that she showed up at my doorstep last night in search of a shoulder to lean on, I can’t be anything more than a friend to her. I already know this. I’m way too broken to try to love her back to wholeness.

But, god – I wish I was man enough. I wish I was good enough for her.

I glance up at the screen. “You haven’t heard a word I just said, have you?” Dr. Andrews asks peering at me from above the frame of her glasses.

“I – I’m sorry. A bit preoccupied,” I say leaning my skull against the headrest of my chair.

She shakes her head and smiles. “I asked about the nightmares.”

“Didn’t have one last night.”

When Jasmine fell asleep in my bed last night, I sat on the far side of the mattress and stared at her, both in awe of her beauty and terrified to fall asleep. Because I was terrified that if I fell asleep, the demons would come. I was afraid that I would start thrashing and groaning and scare her half to death. But when I finally sunk into sleep, it had been dreamless nothingness. I had slept well and undisturbed until my natural timer woke me up at 5:59, one minute before my alarm clock was set to go off. I guess that my subconscious shut my dreams down so that I wouldn’t scare Jasmine away.

Dr. Andrews looks at me expectantly for a beat, hoping that I elaborate. I don’t.

Finally, she heaves a sigh and says, “Good.” She glances at her watch. “We’ll have to pick this up next week.”

I nod and we exchange goodbyes right before I log out of our session.

I rise from my chair and round my desk. I slide a finger between the slats of my blind and peer across into her office. Her door is open just a crack. She’s on the phone, speaking and nodding, taking notes with a pen and pad.

I turn back to my desk and snatch up my phone. “Luce?”

“Yes, Mr. Cartwright?” my secretary responds with a slight tremor in her voice. Dammit, she’s still scared of me.

I’ve tried to be as nice as possible with Luce, speaking in a calm tone and being extra generous. But she can’t move past the burns marring my skin. And she’s not the only one. My wounds terrify people. Maybe they remind them of the cost of freedom paid everyday by the servicemen and women who fight to keep our country safe. Or maybe they’re just plain ugly.

Either way, I can’t coddle my secretary right now. Especially since…well…

“Luce – please call down and order lunch for me and Jasmine.”

“Yes sir.”

“And when it comes, don’t deliver it to her. Just knock on my door. I’m having lunch with Ms. Santiago today.”

There’s a knock at my door at 12:15.

Finally.

I’ve come to expect Liam’s secretary to deliver my lunch everyday. Hell – I’ve come to look forward to it.

I snap my laptop shut and push it aside. “Come in,” I yell as I make space on my desk.

But today, it isn’t Luce, with her short blond bob and her knee-length pencil skirt standing in my doorway.

“Liam?”

“Hello Jasmine,” he says in his gravely baritone as he approaches my desk, two large takeout boxes in hand.

I discreetly smooth my hands over my hair and adjust the collar of my light blue blouse. I wish I had known to expect him; I would have retouched my lip-gloss.

Wait – just friends. Just friends
. This is going to take some getting used to.

He sets a box in front of me before dropping into a chair opposite my desk. “Wanted to make sure you were okay after last night.”

I shrug. “Yeah – I’m good, I guess.” I peep into my takeout box. Chicken fried noodles and vegetables. “I love Chinese food,” I mumble as I unwrap my chopsticks.

Liam sits in silence, watching as I dig in, twirling the noodles around the chopsticks. Only after I take the first bite, does he follow suit. The tension in the room is thick as we both eat our way through our meal.

Liam clears his throat. “You’re quiet today.”

I give him a bashful glance. “Well, I am a bit surprised that you’re here, in my office, having lunch with me today.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners and his lips curve for a fraction of a second.

Wow – that might have been a smile.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” he says quietly, his gaze fixed on the movements of his chopsticks as they scoop up a piece of chicken.

Heat wraps around my pounding heart. “Even after I talked your head off last night? I’m still a bit embarrassed about that.”

“I like when you talk. I like listening to you,” he mumbles.

“You do?” My eyebrows furrow.

He nods, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“I felt bad. I just barged into your night and ordered you to hang out with me. I didn’t even ask if you were busy or in the middle of something when I called. I just demanded your time.”

“You needed a friend. I’m your friend.” He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Still, I feel bad. “I haven’t been very nice to you over the past few weeks.”

He shrugs. “I deserved it.”

I stare at him. This man refuses to give me more than one five-word sentence at a time. “Y’know – talking
to
you is easy. Having
a conversation
with you, that’s damn hard.”

“I don’t talk much.” It’s a statement.

I chuckle. “You do realize that you’re gonna have to talk to me if this friendship thing is gonna work. The sharing has to be mutual.”

He sighs deeply, looking uneasy. “What do you want to know?”

Well, that’s a loaded question.
What do I want to know?

I want to know what happened to him when he was deployed to Afghanistan and how he got the scars that he tries so hard to hide. I want to know why he came to New York to run an entire law firm when all he wants to do is hide out in his office and avoid all human interaction. I want to know why the hell he didn’t call me like he said he would two years ago.

Instead I say, “I want to know anything, really. I hardly know anything about you.”

Liam looks away, his thick fingers trailing along his scar. He looks deep in thought, like he’s trying to decide what morsel of information to gift me with.

And just then, my smartphone rings, shattering the moment. I glance at it sitting atop a sheaf of documents on the corner of my desk. Chess’s name flashes on the caller id. A wave of annoyance crashes through me, followed by a pang of guilt.

Chess is a great guy. He likes me, he’s interested in more than just friendship. Not to mention that, according to the polls, he’s the front-runner to be the next president of the United States. So, why am I irritated that he would take time out of his busy day to call me when I’m having lunch with Mr. Three-Word-Answers over here?

I turn to Liam with a quick, sympathetic smile. “Excuse me.”

He nods and looks away.

“Hi Chess,” I say into the phone.

“Hello there, beautiful,” Chess hums. I can almost hear the smile in his voice. And that causes me to smile, too.

“How are you doing? How’s the campaign?”

“Well, I’m in Detroit right now but I’m taking two days off and I’ll be in New York City. I was wondering if I could convince you to come spend the weekend with me in Scarsdale.”

I think my bottom jaw just hit my desk. “Me? The weekend? In Scarsdale?”

He laughs, warm and thick like good whiskey. “Yes. You. The weekend. In Scarsdale. What do you say?”

My mouth hangs open as I try to decide on how to respond to this invitation.

My eyes dart over to Liam. He gives me a look. If we weren’t ‘just friends’, I’d assume that it was jealousy that I see in his eyes. But then, his gaze darts away from me and he trains his attention on gathering up our empty lunch utensils and garbage.

“Jasmine – are you there?”

“Uh –”

Liam rises from his chair, garbage in hand. “See you later,” he mouths to me as he heads to the door. His demeanor is aloof and nonchalant. I guess he really doesn’t care that Chess wants to take me out of town. He doesn’t like me
that way
and I can’t keep hoping that one day he will.

So, I say ‘yes’ to the Senator from the great state of New York. I say ‘yes’ to a weekend in Scarsdale with Chess.

My attention is fixed on the door. Shadow is always fucking late.

The blond bartender struts over to me with a wide smile. “What are you drinking tonight?” When she leans over the counter, her freckled cleavage threatens to roll over the plunging neckline of her red top.

“Get me another whiskey,” I say gruffly as I slide my empty tumbler across the counter to her. Some women, as beautiful as they are, they’re repulsive. Willing to offer up their bodies for just a few dollars. The fact that this woman is pretending to be attracted
to me
just so she can earn a big tip is disgusting. I know that if we had met under different circumstances, she would have gaped in horror at my scars and then looked away, never to give me a second glance.

She’s still wearing that grin when she places the drink in front of me. “Here you go.” Her fingers brush her bangs aside flirtatiously and her eyes linger on mine for a while before she sashays to the patrons at the other end of the bar.

I glance up at the clock on the wall. It’s inching towards midnight. When I look back in the direction of the door, I see a tall, broad figure moving into the pub. His hair is buzzed tight to his scalp, his jaw is tense, his expression is stone-cold. He wears a black V-neck sweater under his leather jacket even though it’s the middle of July. His jeans and shoes are black, too. His dog tags hang around his neck.

He spots me sitting at the bar and tips his head in acknowledgement. I stand to greet him as he approaches.

“Cartwright,” he growls as he grabs me for a quick hug, patting my back hard.

“It’s been a while, brother.”

It has indeed been a while. I haven’t seen Jacob “Shadow” Collins since Afghanistan. He’s the only man from my platoon who’d survived the blast without any physical scars but I’d bet that he’s emotionally maimed like the rest of us. No one comes back from the war zone unbroken in some way.

He’d tried reaching out to me for about two years after I was sent back stateside, burned and disfigured. I never returned his calls or emails. I never felt compelled to.

Until now.

Shadow and I catch up a bit while the bartender tends to other patrons. When I gesture to her, she swaggers over wearing that flirtatious grin as she takes Shadow’s order.

“Damn,” he says, craning his neck to follow her movements as she walks away. “Did you see the ass on that girl? And those legs.” He shakes his head. “Too bad she’s interested in you. She can’t take her eyes off of you.” He claps me on the shoulder. “You’ve still got it, you ugly beast.”

That statement doesn’t merit a reply and this conversation is veering way off course. Time to cut to the chase. “So, I heard that you’ve been doing some
private work
…” I lift my eyebrow suggestively.

He gives me a wary expression before glancing around and leaning in closer. “What? There’s something you need me to look into? Cheating wife? Gambling business partner?”

I swipe my tumbler off of the bar and take a quick gulp. “Something along those lines.”

His eyes narrow at me. “What’s the deal, Cartwright?”

“Ever heard of Chester Davidson?” I stare straight ahead as I speak.

“Yeah – pretentious son-of-a-bitch. He’s running for president. I’ve seen his speeches on the news.” Restrained excitement sparkles in Shadow’s dark eyes.

No. Davidson isn’t a
pretentious son-of-a-bitch.
He can’t be. I can’t lose my Jasmine to a
pretentious son-of-a-bitch
. “Davidson’s a good guy. I just need you to prove it to me.”

I’m giving up the only woman I can’t get enough of and I’ll be damned if I concede to a man who doesn’t deserve her.