Burn (L.A. Untamed #2) (2 page)

She holds her index finger across her lips to quiet me. “He’s here.”

“Mike?” I say between gritted teeth. My inner battle begins whether to go after him with something more threatening than a crystal vase, or to hide and trust that my brothers will make sure he leaves less gracefully than he entered.

“Paul has the scissors?” I ask, a spark of evil surging through me.

Elle nods. She leans toward the door and then turns back to me. “He’s telling him to leave.”

“I hope he kicks his ass,” I whisper.

“Me too,” she agrees.

There’s a flurry of sounds from the hallway. My stomach tightens as I cross my arms across my chest protectively.

“Trish!” Mike yells out as he lunges out of Paul’s grip and into our bedroom—or what used to be
our
bedroom. Now it’s the tomb of shame.

“Get the hell out of here,” I growl, not even recognizing my own voice. I can’t help but notice that his face is red as a beet and his eyes are bugging out like a crazy man.

Patrick starts jabbing his finger at Dickwad, and his eyes narrow and his jaw locks. “Do you have any idea how punitive cheating is in divorce proceedings? Before you dropped your drawers did you even consider the tax implications and lifestyle adjustments that will occur when your assets are split?”

Dickwad looks at Patrick like he’s crazy and then focuses back on me.

“Trish, we need to talk!” His voice is raspy and breathless, possibly due to the fact that Paul is trying to drag him out of the room by the back of his shirt, and the collar is hiked so high on his throat that it’s choking him.

“Talk about what? That our entire marriage is a sham and you’re a cheating bastard?”

“It’s not a sham, Trish. You know I love you.”

“Do you know what I know? I know the look on your face when you were taking it up the ass.”

Elle gasps, and Patrick sputters something between a cough and a gag. I can’t blame him, I want to gag too.

“Can we please talk privately?” His begging tone is pissing me off. He finally looks down at the pile of pants strewn all around me, and his mouth drops open. “Hey, what are you doing to my pants?”

“I’m altering them.” I hold up the pair of jeans I just hacked up with the scissors. “Look, they’re chaps! I hear you gay guys like to wear chaps.”

“Oh for the love of God, Trisha,” he moans. “Please, can we just talk privately?”

“Anything you have to say, my family can hear.”

“What you saw was a mistake. A horrible mistake.”

Paul eye’s narrow, his hands clenched into fists. “So you’re saying that was the first and only time you and Stanley—”

“No, I’m not saying that. I’m saying it’s a mistake!”

“Well infidelity is more than a mistake, it’s a violation,” Patrick states.

I shake a fist at Mike. “Yes, I’ve been violated!”

“And your vague statements are making me think you’ve done this repeatedly,” Elle says to him, her fists pressed down on her hips.

It’s a good thing I’m not still holding the scissors because as soon as I see the sheepish look on Mike’s face, I know the truth and the truth makes me want to cut more than the crotches out of his pants.

The calm serene stage of my rage is over. As I scramble to get up to find another weapon, I let out a feral howl the likes of which I’ve never heard. It scares everyone including me, and my legs get tangled in the web of ravaged pants. I fall back down on my ass, but before I hit the floor my head clips the corner of the dresser.

“Get out . . . Out . . .
Out!”
I scream. The last thing I see before the room goes black is Paul and Patrick dragging Mike down the hall.

Chapter 2:
Thin Walls & Swedish Meatballs

When you have no problems, you’re dead. ~ Zelda Werner

Three weeks later . . .

The muffled moans from down the hall are killing me. I’m pretty sure Elle and Paul have no idea how the paper thin walls and shared heating vents provide stereo sound for their impressive marathons between the sheets. I flip over in bed and pull the pillow up on the sides to cover my ears.
Do these two ever stop fucking? They’re like a couple of amped up rabbits.

When they brought me to their place to stay the night my marriage ended, I should’ve realized that a sex-addict and nymphomaniac wouldn’t make ideal housemates. All I knew was that I couldn’t stay another moment in the house I had shared with my cheating husband.

I hear a squeal that even the pillow can’t muffle. What the hell? Sitting up, I glance at the clock—4 a.m. And to think I heard them going at midnight when I slipped into bed.

One time Paul told me that he steadfastly refused to sleep with Elle for months, until he knew they were in a committed relationship. I didn’t honestly think the former man-whore had that kind of restraint in him, but he proved me wrong. So apparently now they will forever be making up for lost time between the sheets.

The next morning I’m slow getting up. I rub my eyes, wander into the kitchen to grab some coffee, and search out Elle. I know Paul’s at work already, but I find Elle typing away in her office. She’s dressed up like she’s going to work, with her long hair pulled back with a fancy barrette and make-up on.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” she says, then waves to the chair. “Have a seat, I’m almost done with this email.”

I settle down and sip my coffee as my gaze wanders across the walls of the den. There’s a striking framed black-and-white print of Elle and Paul on a bridge I hadn’t noticed before. “Where’s that?”

Elle glances up to where I’m pointing. “Huntington Garden in Pasadena. Paul had it done for Valentine’s Day.”

I shake my head. “Who knew that the big lug was such a romantic?’

She smiles. “He’s pretty great.”

“Can I ask you something personal?”

“Sure, anything,” Elle replies, scooting her desk chair closer to me.

“How important do you think sex is in a relationship?”

“Sex?” she asks with wide eyes.

I guess she wasn’t expecting that from me first thing in the morning.

“Yeah, sex . . . well like great sex. After sleeping in the room down the hall from you guys for three weeks, it’s apparent to me that it’s pretty important to the two of you.”

“Oh God,” she moans, slapping her hand over her eyes.

“But do you think it’s critical to a relationship working?”

She sits up straight like she’s at a business meeting. “Are you asking because of what happened with Mike?”

“That’s part of it. He left me a message last night begging me to give him another chance. It broke my heart, and on the third listen I almost caved and called him, but all I could think of was why would he want that if he desires men? And why would I want that? I don’t want a cheater. As it is, I’d never want to sleep with him again.”

“I understand. It’s hard for me to imagine you taking him back, honestly.”

“I don’t even trust my instincts anymore. Do you know that I’ve only slept with two guys, and the experiences with both of them were messed up?”

“Paul told me about your college boyfriend, Sam. He said he turned out to be an asshole.”

I nod. “He did. But Paul only knows the half of it. Sam was abusive.”

Elle’s expression falls. “Oh, Trisha, I had no idea.”

“He was a real hot-head and so am I, so we used to argue a lot. As time went on, when we’d fight, if it got heated enough, he’d shove me against a wall, or pin me down. He even hit me a few times.”

“Asshole,” Elle snaps with gritted teeth.

“Oh believe me, I hit him back but that only made things worse. It was crazy. Three times I broke up with him, and he promised he’d change. It was my first real relationship, and I thought maybe I was doing something wrong . . . I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with. So I’d give him another chance.”

“Paul said that he also left you when you thought you were pregnant. Is that right?”

“Yes, and the asshole asked me to take him back after he found out I wasn’t pregnant after all, but I’d finally come to my senses and was completely done.”

“Good for you,” Elle says.

“But then one night he showed up on my doorstep to pick up something he’d left at my place. I was an idiot to let him in. He’d been drinking and he kept trying to pick a fight and I refused to take the bait. So then he . . .” Pausing, I fold my arms over my chest and look down.

“Oh no,” Elle whispers.

I nod and when the memory hits me I close my eyes for a moment to regain my focus. “He didn’t just hit me that time. . . .”

“He raped you?” Elle says. Even though I’m not looking at her I can hear the rage in her voice.

“He did. And I didn’t think that could happen with someone you had once loved. It wrecked me. It took me a long time to get back on my feet.”

“Of course.”

“At the end of that year I met Mike and he ended up being my savior—he made me feel protected. It was healing for me at first after what Sam did to me, but then after a while having a passive sex partner, who wanted me to take the lead in the bedroom, got old. It was so confusing to me. Truth be told, I’d like a man to be a man. Is that too much to ask?”

Elle leans forward with a determined look. “No it’s not too much to ask. You deserve that kind of passion.”

“So you can see that in my only two relationships, sex was a failure. How can I help but think it’s me? What if it never gets better? Maybe I just bring out the worst in men.”

“That’s not it, Trisha. It’s about finding the right person. For most of my first marriage, the sex with my ex-husband wasn’t good at all. So it makes me appreciate what Paul and I have all the more.”

“I guess, but how will I meet the right guy? I’ve been told that I’m attractive, but I’ve never dated much. I think I scare a lot of guys. And frankly if they can’t handle a strong woman, what would I want with them?”

“You need a real man, Trish. You’ve gotten through two wrong relationships and now you know what you need. So what I want is for you to start believing you deserve it. Okay?”

I study Elle and it hits me that she genuinely wants what’s best for me. And although she and I are pretty different, she’s become the sister I never had.

I give her a confident nod. “I promise I’ll try.”

The next morning at breakfast, I let Paul and Elle know I’m feeling more grounded and I’m ready to move back home.

“Are you sure?” Paul asks, trying to hide the relief he must be feeling. Watching his sister crying into her soup every night is probably getting old.

“I can stay there with you tonight, if it’d help,” Elle offers.

I shake my head. “That’s really nice of you, Elle, but I’ve got to face it and move on. I already told Mike to take his crap out of the house, so being there is going to feel different anyway, and that’s probably good.”

Paul scratches the back of his neck. “Wasn’t
all
that fancy furniture and stuff Mike’s?”

I nod. “And good riddance to it. I never liked his stuff. I don’t really need much furniture. Just a bed, and maybe a table and chair.”

Elle glances over at Paul alarmed.

She puts her hands on her hips. “I’m coming by after my morning meeting. Will you be there?”

“Yeah, I’m not scheduled back at the station until Thursday.”

The minute I walk into the house, I realize that Mike took my direction to get his stuff out of the house, and apparently he ran with it. I know I threatened to drag all his stuff out to the driveway for a deeply discounted yard sale, but this is ridiculous.

Asshole.
Maybe he was afraid I’d cut holes in everything.

The place is cleaned out. The living room is empty other than a side table, desk chair without the desk, and a small landscape painting on the far wall that belonged to my namesake, Nanna Pat.

The fragmented room is so ridiculous looking that I laugh out loud.

The rest of the house isn’t much better. The dining room is empty and all that’s left in the bedroom is the new firm mattress I bought last year when I couldn’t take his old soft one any more. I peek in the closet to see if he altered my clothes but everything appears untouched and sad. Seeing his side of the closet and his bathroom drawers empty stings.