Broken Course (28 page)

"Look who’s lying now." I smirk and can almost see her fuse disappear.

"Get the fuck out of my house." She races forward, grabs my keys and phone off the coffee table, and heads for the door.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"Goddamn it, Leo. Leave me alone."

"I’m not here to bother you,
ángel
," I reply with a sweet smile.

The vein on her neck begins to show, and I have a sudden and irrational urge to lick it. However, I have a stronger desire to keep my nuts intact.

"Get out!" she shrieks, throwing my keys and phone into the breezeway.

"Hey! That was a new phone." I rush out the door after it.

She slams the door behind me and I hear the deadbolt click as I pick up my belongings. I count to thirty before using my key to let myself back in.

I walk in and find Sarah leaning over her kitchen sink, crying. It all but breaks me. But I’m not willing to show her that.

"We need to get you a chain or something for this door."

She stares at me for a minute and I swear I see something flash through her eyes. Humor, maybe?

"You’re hurting me," she cries.
Nope, definitely not humor.
"Just you being here physically hurts."

"I’m not trying to hurt you, Sarah. But you should know it’s excruciating for me to stay away."

Her shoulders fall and she drops her chin to her chest as tears once again begin to flow from her eyes. "I hate you so much," she chokes out.

"Well, I love you enough to supersede that," I respond more honestly than I have ever been in my life.

"No, you don’t. If you loved me, you wouldn’t have played me for the last two months. Lying and filling my head with bullshit at every turn."

"I omitted. I never lied to you,
ángel
. Well, maybe once. I hated
Vanilla Sky
." I grin. It’s lost even on me why I’m making jokes right now, but I can’t seem to stop. If I can just lighten the mood, maybe she will come around. And I desperately need her to come around right now.

"Is this a fucking joke to you? Are you getting off on watching me fall apart? You enjoying the show, Leo?" She grabs the plate on the counter and hurls it across the room, shattering it against the wall. "There! Is that better for you? Is this what you wanted all along—a front-row seat to see Crazy Sarah Erickson firsthand? Well, here she is!" She moves to the cabinet and pulls out another plate, which quickly joins its mate broken on the floor.

"You’re not crazy, Sarah. You’re mad. I get it. I really fucking do. I’m sorry I wasn’t more up-front with you. But—"

"But what? Waiting for me to lose it was more entertaining?" She throws another plate at the wall and finally…
fucking finally
, I lose it too.

"You want crazy, Sarah?" I walk to the kitchen to join her, grabbing a mug from the open cabinets. "I’ve found coffee cups to be more gratifying." I throw it as hard as I can against the wall. "You are not the only person in the fucking world who has issues. If you want to talk crazy, let me tell you a little fucking story."

I grab another coffee cup and send it flying. "I know Erica because, while I was working undercover for the DEA, I stood outside her door and allowed over eight men to rape her."

Sarah stumbles back a step, her look of horror matching the way I feel inside. I snatch up another cup and throw it.

"I was so riddled with guilt that I couldn’t breathe at night. I became obsessed with making it up to her, even despite the fact that it was in her best interest to remove myself from the situation. She was scared of
everything
back then, and in some sick way, I loved it because it gave me a purpose and silenced her screams that were constantly ringing in my ears."

Sarah throws her hand to cover her mouth.

"Yeah. Crazy, right?"

The last two coffee cups go flying across the room.

"Oh, but wait. I’m just getting to the good part. When she and Slate got married, I was devastated. I was never in love with Erica, but I
needed
her. We spent three years in the Witness Protection Program together. And the moment she moved in with Slate, all the shit I had done came storming back into my head. It was too much. I decided to kill myself—the day before her wedding."

Sarah’s eyebrows pop up.

"One hell of a way to say sorry, huh? But I was too fucked up to even realize it."

Tears stream down her face. My heart is racing, but the dam has been opened. I can’t stop now. I move to her bowls, slinging one over my shoulder into the pile of broken dishes on the floor.

"Slate found me before I had the opportunity to follow through with my plan. Johnson drove me straight to Building Foundations and forced me inside. It just so happens that it was the day you gave your goodbye speech. You remember that one, right? When you bared your soul to a room full of strangers just to give them hope. You don’t know this, but there’s a reason why I call you
ángel
. Sarah, your words saved my life."

"Oh my God," she breathes.

"That’s it. That’s all I’ve got." I shrug and throw one last plate at the wall. "Oh, wait. And I love you. I love you despite it all, and now, I’m standing here, begging you to love me despite it all too." I run my hands through my hair and wait for her to respond.

However, she doesn’t move a muscle. Her eyes stay glued to me, but I’m not completely sure she’s even breathing. It becomes unnerving.

"Please say something," I whisper.

Her silence wounds me deeper than her words ever could.

"I SHOULDN’T have come here," Leo mumbles as he turns to walk away.

How the hell am I supposed to respond to something like that? So much of what he said doesn’t even make sense. He allowed men to rape Erica? No way. He and Erica are close. There has to be more to that story, and as much as I want to run to avoid any further discussion, I need the answers more.

"Leo, wait. Just give me a minute. That was a lot for me to process. I’m going to need you to explain a little more about the part where you allowed Erica to be raped," I call out, and he blows out a relieved breath.

"Anything." He takes step toward me, but I immediately back away. I can’t let Leo touch me—not until I get some answers.

"So start talking," I urge.

"Yeah, so, about five years ago, I was hand-chosen for an undercover position in the DEA. The dark complexion and Spanish really came in handy. For ten months, I worked as the right-hand man to one of the biggest drug dealers in Miami. One night, everything got shot to shit. Literally. My boss flipped on his family and merged with another crime family—one that did not trust me. I didn’t know Erica before that night. She was just an innocent witness in all of it. They kidnapped her and I was tasked to kill her."

"Holy shit," I cuss. Leo is either telling the truth or he’s a hardcore pathological liar. This isn’t your everyday type of drama. However, the anguish on his face makes it easy to believe him.

"I never would have let that happen to her," he rushes out to clarify. "Under new leadership, my weapon was taken from me. I knew if I didn’t play along, they would kill me—and ultimately Erica too if I wasn’t there to protect her. When it was my turn"—he pauses and nods, not willing to say the words—"I convinced them that she might fight back, so they momentarily returned my gun. I ended up killing three men and wounding another to get the two of us out of there."

"Oh my God!" I throw my hands over my face as my heart dips in my chest.

"Sarah, listen to me. I don’t feel a single ounce of remorse for killing them. They were bad fucking men. They deserved far worse than just death. There are a lot of things I have done wrong, but that is
not
one of them."

I take in a deep breath and try to picture Leo as a cop, defending an innocent woman. And as a vision of him swooping in and saving the day flashes behind my eyes, I begin to relax. It’s easy to imagine Leo doing that. Truth be told, Leo always makes things right.

"Leo, that’s a far cry from ‘allowing Erica to be raped.’"

"I was there. I could have stopped it. End of story."

I nod knowing there is no talking him out of feeling that way. It would be wrong of me to even try. Telling people that they shouldn’t feel guilty about something is useless. It’s showing them that they aren’t defined by those actions that usually gets them to come around. At least that’s the way it worked for me.

"So you heard me speak that day. It triggered something for you. Then what?"

"Erica and Slate dragged me to a doctor. They tried to put me on anti-depressants, but I refused and agreed to start seeing someone several times a week and going to group therapy with Johnson."

"Were you seeking me out after that?"

"Absolutely not. It was pure coincidence when we ran into each other. I didn’t recognize you until you started talking and I heard your accent. You looked a lot different a few months back."

"So once you did recognize me…is that why you asked me out?"

"I want to say no. I’ve told everyone else no, but if you want total honesty, I’m not sure." He lets out a loud sigh and runs a hand through his hair.

"Great. I never thought my mental history would be an alluring quality for a man, so you’ll have to forgive me for trying to figure out how the hell this isn’t just another sick obsession for you." I quickly clarify with, "Your words. Not mine."

"Please, God, tell me you don’t believe that. Have I ever once made you feel that way? This is not an obsession. Well, maybe it is, but really isn’t that all love ever is?" He takes a step forward, and I once again retreat.

"Leo, we shouldn’t be together," I rush out even though my mind is screaming otherwise.

"Why the hell not? We were fucking perfect together. Nothing has changed."

Suddenly, my pulse begins to quicken and I have an overwhelming urge to spew everything I’ve wanted to tell him since day one. However, I do it selfishly because I know deep down he’ll make it all right. Leo makes everything right—even something as fucked up as me.

"Because I’m shit for a person!" I scream manically then start pacing. "I’m the worst fucking kind, because I actually think I’m reformed. I hurt people, Leo. I ruined lives."

"Who, Sarah? Whose life did you ruin? Because from where I’m standing, everyone made it out of that tragedy okay. I get that you didn’t make it out unscathed. You have issues besides loss and guilt, but damn it, Sarah, you’re not crazy! You struggled and then you
overcame
. Focus on the right fucking part of this scenario. You didn’t kill anyone—and that includes yourself." He pauses. "God damn it. You saved me!" he roars.

"I tried to shoot my husband." I quickly inform him because he obviously doesn’t have all the facts. "Is that the kind of woman you want to be with? Is that the person you fell in love with?"

"No, you didn’t try to shoot him. Don’t pull that bullshit. But yes, the woman who struggled and got better is absolutely the woman I fell in love with."

"I did. I pulled the trigger."

"Oh for fuck’s sake. Sarah, the only person who believes that you were trying to kill Brett is you."

"Leo, you deserve better than me."

"I’m sorry. Did you hear what I just said about myself?" he asks, popping an eyebrow.

"I don’t care about your past," I whisper.

"Then why do I have to care about yours?"

"I don’t know," I respond, defeated, as his words begin to sink in. "I know it’s been years, but I still just feel like a mental case in a sea of sane people."

"Sarah, we’re both crazy. That’s the best fucking part about this relationship. Together, we’re just normal."

"We can’t do this, Leo. It’s a recipe for disaster." I begin to pace again.

"I need you to shut down for a minute."

"What?" I ask.

"Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Hell, maybe even let me hold you. But stop spinning this into something it’s not." He once again steps forward.

This time, I stay still. "I don’t know how," I whimper.

"Then let me show you." He takes two giant steps forward, pulling me into his arms. "We’re going to be okay. I refuse to accept it any other way," he tells my hair before kissing the top of my head.