From Yesterday (11 page)

"Oh, no, Paige. Please sit. You're my guest."

"It's no big deal, Elyse. I want to help."

Garrett puts a hand on her arm. "Love, while I would never suggest that dishes are a woman's job, if you and Paige want to take care of it, Brady and I can set up for some more drinks on the balcony until you join us."

It's his insincerity, I notice right then. Everything he does
is
over the top; almost to the point of being disingenuous. I shrug it off because I have a habit of being naturally suspicious of anyone's motives. Plus, he seems to love Elyse as much as she loves him, even if he does expect her to wait on him hand and foot. Brady tosses me a look over his shoulder as the guys retreat to the balcony.

I stack a few plates on my arms, waitress-style, and follow Elyse into the kitchen.

"I'm so glad you two could make it tonight, Paige. It's tough being here alone so often. Garrett travels for work at least a two times every month, sometimes more."

I take the dishes she has already rinsed and load them into the dishwasher. "I am sure that is incredibly lonely. Miami isn't exactly a mecca for friendly faces, either."

"That's very true. I grew up in a small town and I knew everyone. It wasn't until college that I got to see what it was like having some anonymity. As much as I enjoy having my privacy, the small town girl in me really misses having a large extended family nearby."

I cannot relate, for obvious reasons, but I fake it to the best of my abilities. "I get it. It's nice to have a built-in support system if you are used to that. I suppose I just love my independence. That's why I chose such a large school."

Elyse nods. "One of the first things I noticed about you was that you tend to be a bit... well... separate. You like to keep your distance from everything around you. I guess I'm just a bit too pushy, and I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable when I practically forced my friendship upon you."

"Actually, I may have been resistant initially, but I'm glad you are here. I've been warming up to the idea of having someone to talk to other than myself lately."

I put the last of the dishes into the washer as Elyse dries the last pot. "Thanks for the help with this, Paige. Let's go join the guys outside."

She grabs my hand and we walk out to the sliding glass door off of the living room. One of my favorite features of this building is the size of the balconies. There is enough room on the main balcony for each unit to house a table and chairs and various other items. The second balcony off of the master bedroom is smaller, but still quite spacious. Because Elyse lives in an end unit, her apartment has a view of Oleta river and the ocean. At night, with all of the city lights, it is absolutely breathtaking. I settle into the seat next to Brady as Elyse sits on the lip on the chair Garrett is in. A bottle of scotch and two tumblers sit half full on the table.

Garrett reaches for his glass. "Would you like a drink, Paige?"

"No, thank you. I'm pretty set from the wine we had."

"Brady and I were just talking about his life in Boston. He says you are from Ohio. I have some family there, about an hour or so away from Cleveland, in Mansfield."

I give Brady the side-eye. He is impassive. "Oh, yes. I've been there. It's a nice little town."

Garrett laughs. "No, it's not. It is boring as can be, but it's nice of you to pretend otherwise. Is your family still in Cleveland, or did you move here with them?"

I shift in my seat. "They are still in Ohio."

"You must miss them very much, then. It isn't easy being away from home."

Garrett glances meaningfully at Elyse when he says this, but his gaze holds more annoyance than compassion.

"I've adjusted pretty well. Listen, I hate to take off so early, but I have a morning class. Thank you so much for dinner."

Elyse looks disappointed, and Garrett is a bit put off. "That's a shame, but we certainly remember what it was like to hit those eight AM courses."

Garrett laughs. "Maybe you do, Love, but I learned my lesson after my first semester not to schedule a course before noon."

Brady gets up. "Well, I would agree with you, but not all the courses are offered at various times here. Paige's early class is the one we share, so I think I'll head out as well. It was a pleasure meeting you both. Thanks again for an amazing meal."

Brady places a hand at the small of my back to guide me off of the balcony and into the living room. "I'll walk you home."

I wait until we are in the hallway before I respond. "I live right there. I think I'll manage."

"Yeah, but you've been drinking. Wouldn't want you to get lost. And I should come in and check for sharp corners you could hit yourself on."

I poke a finger into this chest as we reach my door. "I had a glass of wine. You, my friend, are the one who has been drinking. How much scotch did you have, anyway? You sound a bit slurred."

"Nah, I'm just barely tipsy. I'm good. You're right, though. Tonight is definitely not the night for me to be alone with you in your apartment. Goodnight, Paige."

He leaves me standing there with my mouth gaping slightly. I don't have to be a genius to figure out what he meant. Sighing, I unlock my front door and step inside.

And then I stop moving; stop breathing.

The floor in my apartment, all of it, is covered in dead sterling roses.

The sterling rose was Nicole's favorite. It was the flower we used when we buried her.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I cannot pretend that I'm imagining this stuff any longer. I'm forced to admit this as I sweep up the dead flowers and toss them into a garbage bag. Three garbage bags full, actually, by the time I finish. I take everything to the trash room and chuck it through the chute as quickly as possible.

When I get back to my unit, I pause in the hall before going back inside. Brady is downstairs. I don't want to be alone. I could just...

No.

I don't need to be a poor little distressed girl and throw myself at someone who had the self-control to back off when he knew he'd had too much to drink. I'd be playing with fire, and in my heightened emotional state, I would either say too much or sleep with him and ruin our friendship.

I go inside.

My cell phone has almost no battery left, so I connect it to the wall charger and pick up the land line. I hit the asterisk key, then six and seven before dialing an all to familiar number. It rings three times before a heavily accented male voice comes on the line. "Yah."

I try not to breathe.

"Hello? Someone is there? Hello?"

I hang up and stare at the phone. It is painful to hear my father's voice and not beg him for forgiveness. Or scream at him to beg for mine, because I am still waiting for an apology from both my parents. But we are not there yet, not one of us. Too much Russian pride.

The question I really have to ask myself is why I should feel the least bit of comfort from hearing the voice of a man who condemned me rot in that hospital room? Why do I call the people that I have worked so very hard to keep from finding out where I am for so long? I have done this to hear my mother's voice before, too. I don't know how these things work, but I'm sure if they really wanted to, my parents could trace the calls even though I blocked them. Technology is far too advanced for me to believe otherwise.

Yet, they haven't tried. I'm sure they know who is on the other line.

I could be totally off, though. Even with all the financial resources my parents have, maybe tracing a call like that is only available to the police or something. Still, they could absolutely have hired someone to look for me. It's not like I haven't left little clues here and there, whether I meant to or not.

The truth is, as tough as I pretend to be, I don't think I'll ever be able to completely forget about what it's like to feel safe and secure in my parent's arms. It's a childish impulse, but there have been days where all I wanted was to cry to my mother and ask her to take my pain away.

Not that she would ever be able to. Especially not with all the hurt my sister and I have caused her in the last few years.

I push this futile conversation I'm having with myself out of my head What matters right now is figuring out why someone is sneaking into my home, in a building with security that the secret service would approve of, and leaving me little "gifts" that I suspect are meant to scare the hell out of me, which is a success so far, because the next thing I do is to go grab my gun and make sure it is loaded. I keep it with me in the bathroom as I shower, setting it down where I can see it from the tub. After I've put on a t-shirt and shorts to sleep in, I set it on the nightstand next to me, making sure to aim the gun towards the balcony and not at the wall where an unsuspecting neighbor might be sleeping in case of accidental discharge.

The gun is the only reason I am able to sleep at all.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Between the stressful evening I had and the shallow sleep, it's no surprising that I look terrible this morning. And of course the first person that I'll see when I get to class is Brady. Rather, the only person that I'll care about seeing, anyway.

I spend a little extra time getting ready, especially on the makeup since I can use concealer to look less strung out. I even shave my legs and put a cute little sun dress on, and it isn't even black. This shade of lilac makes my hazel eyes appear just a little bit brighter and my gloss makes my lips look a bit fuller. I'm good to go.

The weather has been cooling off considerably for late September. I didn't expect that until early November, but I can't say that I mind. It's nice enough, and I plenty of time so I walk to campus. By the time I get there, my mood has improved and I think I'll be able to avoid scrutiny from a certain overly perceptive friend.

As I turns out, I'm wrong.

"Man, I feel like I got run over."

These are Brady's first words to me when he stumbles into class a few minutes after me.

"I guess you shouldn't have had that last glass of scotch, huh?"

He looks at me with half-slit eyes. "You look like you drank a bit too much yourself. No, actually, I take that back. You look as great as always, but you put effort into it. Suspicious effort."

"Shut up."

Okay, not a great comeback by far, but class begins and he can't say anything back during the lecture. And it is a long lecture. Dr. Reyes is one of those professors that teaches with great enjoyment, but he goes off on tangents and spends 20 minutes on one section. And even though this is my major, it's not always very interesting material.

After class, I wait for Brady instead of darting off as quickly as I can. He wouldn't have been able to catch up with me today; I've seen molasses move faster than Brady with a hangover.

"Need me to carry your books for you, Lush?" I quip.

He gives me the fakest laugh I have ever heard, then immediately scowls at me. "You're funny. And no thank you. I would love it if you would teach my Spinning class for me later, though."

I wince in sympathy. "Oh, wow. That's going to really suck for you."

He nods. "Yes, it is. I'm just lucky I have several hours to sleep it off before then. And a really good friend who is going to take the class and lend me moral support."

He swats my butt.

"Yes, so long as you leave my butt alone."

"Okay, but it's a really nice-"

"Brady."

He holds his hands up in surrender. "Sorry. No ass slapping. See you at five?"

"I'll be there."

He turns to the parking lot, then pauses and flips around back to me. "Is your arm okay? Have you been taking the anti-biotic?"

"Yes," I say. "Why?"

"Don't take this the wrong way because you look beautiful, you always do, but you also look stressed. And a little bit upset. I thought maybe your arm was bothering you."

I wave my hand. "No, I just didn't sleep enough. I'm good. Get some rest."

We go our separate ways.

Why is it getting so hard to lie to him? I had a moment there where I desperately wanted to tell him everything about me, about my sister, about the strange things that have been happening lately. It's selfish, though. It would be nothing more than an unburdening for me; for him it would serve no purpose other than admitting to him that he made a huge mistake befriending me. These past few weeks are evidence that trouble follows me, no matter how far I try to run.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

"That was impressive, Brady. You barely looked hungover at all during the whole class."

Brady passes me a water bottle as the rest of the students file out of the little cycling classroom. Dehydrated from the intense exercise, I drink the whole thing down in one shot. Brady looks impressed.

"Wow. You're thirsty. That was an entire liter of water."

"Yes, thanks. It was nice and cold."

I wink at him and then pick up my bag. I get to the door before I notice he's not following me. Turning around, I catch him staring at me in the mirror. "Are you coming, or are you just going to stand there and stare at my ass?"

Brady's mouth opens for a second; I obviously caught him off guard. Finally, he shrugs and starts to walk. "Sorry, Paige. I'm usually better at that."

"Better at what?"

"Better at not getting caught staring at your ass."

I toss the empty water bottle at him, but he catches it. "Obviously some of your reflexes are still intact."

"I'm not completely useless. You still up for getting some work done? We can work on he project at my place. I'll order pizza."

I think about it for a moment. The right thing to do for Brady would be to cut this friendship off now, while I can still manage to save
some
hurt feelings. I'm a danger to him; I firmly believe that.

But I can't. I would miss him too much. How selfish am I?

Very, as it turns out. "Yes, that's perfect. I'll just run home and shower first. You're on the twenty-second floor, right?"

He nods. "Yes, unit 2205. I'll leave the door unlocked for you. Just come in when you're ready."

I wave to him and go to the women's locker room. There are very few students in the gym today; not one other girl in the locker room. It is eerily quiet.