Being Me (31 page)

I wrap my arms around Chris. My broken, beautiful man. “Why didn’t you come to me? Why?”

His chest heaves against mine, his words heavy, pained. “You were never supposed to see me like this.”

One of his arms goes slack and then the next and we sink together to the ground, where Chris buries his face in my neck and whispers, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I belong with you.”

“No, Sara. You don’t. I was wrong. We were wrong.”

His words are like a hand plunging into my chest and ripping out my heart. This is the moment I’ve feared. The moment when his secrets destroy us if I let them. I press my lips to his. “I
love
you, damn it. We can get through this!”

He cups my head and his breath is hot on my skin. “No. We can’t.” He pushes to his feet and takes me with him. “Come with me.” He leads me to a doorway to our left, directly into a private room. Chris immediately releases me. Reeling, I barely process the hotel-like bedroom, much like the one we’d visited on my prior trip to the club.

He grabs his shirt from I don’t know where and yanks it over his head, and I hear the hiss of pain he tries to suppress. He turns away from me, spiking his fingers into his hair and just holding them there.

I walk to him and reach out to touch him but pull back, afraid of hurting him. “Chris—”

He turns to stare down at me, his eyes bloodshot, haunted. “I tried to warn you away,” he whispers. “Over and over, I tried.”

“I’m still here, Chris.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

I flinch at the venomous tone he’s used, but I remind myself this is the pain speaking. “Yes, I should. I
love
you.”

His jaw clenches and unclenches and his reply is agonizingly slow. “I’m going to fly out and help Dylan’s family.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No.” The word is as sharp as the whip that is tearing us apart. “I need to do this alone.”

“Don’t shut me out.” My voice quakes.

“I’m protecting you.”

“By shoving me away? By using everything but me to get through this?”

“I’m going to destroy you, Sara, and I can’t live with that.”

I can almost hear a locked door closing between us. “Shutting me
out
will destroy me.”

“You’ll thank me later for this, I promise you. I’m going to have Jacob and Blake look out for you and get you through this Rebecca thing.”

Like he has some obligation to
protect
me. “I don’t need anyone to get me through anything. Just like you, right, Chris? If we’re over, we’re over. I’ll get a mover to take my things back to my apartment.”

“No.” He grabs my arm and pulls me to him. “Don’t make me fucking worry about you on top of dealing with Dylan. You’re staying in the apartment and you’re accepting protection until Blake says you are safe, or I swear to God, Sara, I’ll lock you in a room and keep you there.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, and try to find some cold comfort in the fact that he doesn’t want me to leave. That maybe, just maybe, he’s clinging to me and us, and this tonight is all his pain talking. “Just go do what you have to do.”

“You’re staying at the apartment.”

“Fine. Yes. I’ll stay.”

Slowly, his grip on my arm eases and he lets me go. “I’ll have a driver take you to the apartment. I’m going straight to the airport.”

I fight the pain that makes me want to turn and dart away. He’s hurting. He’s not himself. “I’ll fly up for the funeral.”

“No. That’s not necessary, and it won’t be in L.A. anyway.”

“I’m coming to the funeral,” I insist, and walk up to him and press a kiss to his mouth. “I love you, Chris. Nothing about tonight changes that.” Slowly, I pull back, but he won’t look at me. With extreme effort, I turn and blindly walk to the door. I reach for the knob and hesitate, waiting for him to stop me, but he doesn’t.

He lets me leave.

•   •   •

I have no memory of how I make it to the front of the mansion. Suddenly I am walking down the steps, and a guy in a suit is watching me expectantly. I don’t stop at the bottom. I don’t stop for him. I keep walking, and I reach for my cell phone as I tell him, “Open the gate.” I dial information. “Connect me to a cab company.”

“What address do you need?” the woman on the other line asks.

I grimace as I realize I have no clue and I’m halfway down the winding path approaching the exit. Not knowing where I am is yet again another brilliant move on my part. “I’ll call back when I get to a street sign,” I say and hang up, noting the closed gate before me.

It doesn’t open when I finally reach it and I wrap my hands
around the steel bars and drop my forehead to the metal. It’s icy cold beneath my palms. How appropriate, since I’m freezing to death in every possible way.

The sound of a car behind me gives me hope the gates will open and I step aside to find the Jaguar beside me. The window slides down. “Get in,” Mark orders.

I consider declining but I just want out of here. I just want out. I climb into the car.

“Where do you want to go?” Mark asks, leaving the car idling.

I don’t look at him. I stare blindly out of the window and give him my apartment address. I don’t care that I have no furniture. Chris has his way of dealing with things and I have mine. The idea of returning to Chris’s place, which was supposed to be our place, is unbearable tonight. I’ll face it tomorrow.

“Sara,” Mark says softly and I turn to him. “Are you okay?”

“Not yet. But I’ll find a way to survive. I always do.”

“You don’t need to be alone. I have a spare bedroom and I live a few blocks from here.”

“No. I’m not going to your place. Thank you, but I need to be alone.”

He considers me for a moment and puts the car into drive. Numbness begins to form within me. I remember this sensation when my mother died. The absolute nothingness of what I felt, and I welcome it, recognizing it as my mind’s way of surviving.

Twenty minutes later, I break the silence and direct Mark to my building. “You can just let me out here.”

“I’m walking you to your door.”

I sigh inwardly. I won’t win this battle and I don’t have a fight left in me anyway.

He parks and we walk to my door. I turn to him. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Let me have your phone.”

I don’t ask him why. I just hand it to him. He punches something into it and returns it to me. “My address is in your contacts. My offer stands indefinitely. If you need me, my door is open.”

I don’t question his motives because I am not in a state of mind to judge much of anything. “I appreciate that.”

He studies me. “I’m waiting on you to go inside safely.”

I dig into my purse and drop my head to the door. “I don’t have my key.”

Mark leans on the door to face me, his jacket unbuttoned, and I’m struck by how proper he is even now. How in control, and I envy that in him. “Come home with me,” he says. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

I lift my head and stare into his silvery gray eyes, and part of me wants just to feed off that control he has, to make it my own. But no. If Chris knew I’d gone home with Mark, even to stay in a spare bedroom, it would destroy him. Or maybe it wouldn’t. I choose to believe he loves me enough that it would. “I won’t do that to Chris.”

He studies me a long moment and his expression is as unreadable as ever. “Where to, then?” he asks, pushing off the door.

“To Chris’s—” Realization hits me and I push off the door and dig into my purse, and jackpot. I have Ella’s key. I hold it up. “My neighbor’s apartment. She’s out of the country.” I motion toward her door and slide the key inside, and thankfully, it opens. I flip on the light and I turn to Mark. “Thank you again.”

“You’re sure you’re okay here?”

“Yes. Very.”

He hesitates. “Call me if you need me.”

“I will.”

I watch him round the corner before I enter Ella’s apartment and shut the door. I lean against it, taking in the fluffy blue couch and oversized chairs to match, remembering wine and pizza and long talks with Ella. She should be home next week, if she plans to teach this semester. No “should” about it. She has to be back home. She has to be all right.

Something inside me snaps. I shrug off my purse and start searching for anything that might tell me she is okay. I dig through papers, drawers, cabinets. I find nothing. Not even photos of her and David. Not a mention of him or Paris or a wedding. Nothing.

I end up in her bedroom, and I sink onto the soft white down comforter of Ella’s bed. My mother is dead. My father is an asshole who wouldn’t care if I was dead. Dylan is dead. Ella is lost. Chris is lost. Everyone I dare to love disappears.

I tuck a pillow under my head and curl into myself. Alone is the only safe place to be. Alone hurts so much less.

I told him I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be what he needs me to be. He told me to let him do the thinking. Let him decide what
I can be. He then yanked my skirt up and buried himself inside me. Once that man is inside me, I am lost. But maybe that is the problem. I am lost
.

I jerk awake out of a dream of one of Rebecca’s journal entries, my gaze sweeping Ella’s small bedroom, the shadow of the deep night hour surrounding me. The sound of pounding jolts me again and I scramble to the end of the bed. Door. Someone’s knocking on the door. Hope flares inside me that it might be Chris.

I rush to the door and start to open it but common sense finds me at the last second. “Who is it?”

“Blake.”

I drop my head to the door. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

“You gonna let me in?” he asks after several seconds.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Mark thought this would be a good place to look for you.”

Of course. Mark told him. Sighing in resignation, I open the door and find him leaning on the jamb, hand over his head, his long dark hair falling haphazardly from the tie at his nape. “Chris sent me looking for you. He’s worried because you’re not at his place.”

“Is he here?”

His lips thin and he shakes his head. “He’s in L.A.”

“Right,” I squeeze out. “What time is it?”

“Two in the morning.”

“I don’t want to go back there tonight.”

“You’re safer there.”

“Right,” I say again. “Because I’m in danger from some unknown someone who might have killed Rebecca. Only we can’t find her, or Ella, or any proof of any of this.”

He studies me, his brown eyes sharp before softening. “Let’s go back to Chris’s, Sara. It’ll give us all peace of mind.”

I consider arguing, but what’s the point? At least Chris cared enough to find out I wasn’t home. At his place, I silently correct myself. Chris made it clear I was to stay there only
until
the Rebecca mystery was solved. In other words, his place was never my place.

“Fine,” I concede, and I grab my purse and close up Ella’s apartment.

After we get into his car and pull onto the road, I ask, “Where do we stand on Rebecca?”

He fills me in, and when we pull up to Chris’s building, I am comforted and disturbed by how thorough Blake is in his work and how absent Rebecca remains.

The doorman opens the passenger door for me. “Sara,” Blake calls, halting my exit.

“Yes?”

“My wife is coming in for the weekend. She works with Walker Security. You could do whatever women do together and talk through things. Maybe you’ll remember something helpful.”

In other words, I’ll have a bodyguard I don’t want. “I’m working. You enjoy being with your wife.” I step out of the car and walk past the night security guard, glad Jacob is gone. I don’t want to see the concern in his expression that might send me back over the edge.

I take the elevator to Chris’s floor and when the doors open
to his apartment, I don’t move. Only when the doors start to close do I catch them and enter the apartment. The familiar earthy scent of Chris is everywhere, yet he is nowhere.

•   •   •

I sleep on the couch and wake up to walk through my morning routine like a zombie. I wear a solid black dress with black hose and heels. The safe in the bottom of the closet catches my eye and I sink to my knees and tug on the door. It’s still locked, of course, and I don’t have the combination.

A few minutes later, I stand in the kitchen, unsure what to do with myself, and dare to try to call Chris. Each ring is like a blade stabbing me in the heart until his voice mail sounds. I don’t leave a message this time, either. I dial Brandy and get her husband. The funeral won’t be until next week, because of some kind of research testing. It’s in North Carolina. He’ll have Chris get me the details.

In the lobby, I find Jacob. “I want my car.”

“Ms. Mc—”

“I want my car, Jacob.”

His eyes narrow sharply. “Mr. Merit—”

“Isn’t here.”

“You do know you have to remain cautious.”

“Yes. I’m aware, but I still want my car.”

He gets my car and I settle into the seat, wishing I’d never left the safety of what I knew behind. Everything is broken. I am broken.

I don’t even remember the drive.

The first thing I find when I arrive at work is a white envelope with my name scribbled on it in what I think is Mark’s
handwriting. I sit down and tear it open to find my commission due of fifty thousand dollars, signed by Mark. There’s a note attached.