Hell on Heels (9 page)

“Okay.” I waited for him to continue.

“We need to get into all units on the third floor, so workers can assess the damage. The crew onsite seems to think some of the water has leaked into the units on your floor, as well as possibly even the second.”

“Am I the unit directly under the burst pipe?” I asked, just as Kevin appeared in my doorway.

He mouthed, “Your 11:00 is here,” and I held up a finger, indicating I needed a minute.

I waited until I made sure he nodded before listening again.

“No,” Dave said. “You’re the unit directly across, but with the configuration of the old structure, they think the water has carried. I need your permission to enter your unit, so the workers can assess the damage.”

This was definitely not something I planned on dealing with today.

“Listen, I’m swamped here. Do you need me to be there while you assess?”

“I can let the workers in with the master key, but the foreman onsite will likely need to speak with you at some point today so they can show you what they’ve found.” Dave was sympathetic. He knew I worked late most days.

Looking at the open calendar on my desktop, I scanned through the day’s appointments, mentally doing an inventory of what could be cancelled or moved to tomorrow. “I’m swamped, but I can be out of here by four. Will that work?”

“I’ll let him know. I’m real sorry about this, Charleston,” Dave apologized.

Scribbling a note down on a sticky, I positioned it at the edge of my screen.

LEAVE BY FOUR.

“Things happen, Dave.” And they did. It wasn’t his fault the building was old. “Thank you for letting them in, and give my love to Susan.”

“Will do,” he said before hanging up.

Sighing, I leaned back in my chair and pinched the bridge of my nose. I prayed my unit hadn’t been damaged that much.

My cellphone buzzed on the desk and I got the pick-me-up I needed.

Beau: I’m choosing to take that as a compliment. Looking forward to seeing you next week. Campaign food sucks.

“Everything good?” Kevin asked, resting a hip against my doorjamb.

I looked back down at the text message from Beau, still engaged in the mini high.

“Pipe burst in my building.”

He whistled low. “Yikes.”

The screen on my phone went black. “Can you reschedule my afternoon appointments to make sure I’m out of here by four?”

“Sure thing, boss. Want me to bring her back?”

“Please.”

Kevin left and returned a minute later with Caroline Clarke, the newest Housewife of Vancouver, and also my eleven o’clock.

I was early.

Somehow the heavens had aligned and I was climbing the stairwell of my apartment building at three fifteen in the afternoon on a weekday.

This was almost as much of an accomplishment as the contract I’d just signed to host Caroline Clarke’s private party for the viewing of her first episode on
The Real Housewives of Vancouver
. Truthfully, I’d never seen the show, nor did I care to, but I did care that her budget was big and she was giving Smith & Co Productions carte blanche over the entire event.

Lifting my purse higher on my shoulder, I ascended quickly due to the fact that I was, once again, barefoot and carrying my heels.

The street outside the building had been completely overran with construction vehicles, and thus I’d inevitably been forced to park underground. That being said, it was a good excuse to take the stairs, which included an extra flight, seeing as I hadn’t joined Leighton at the gym…well, ever.

Opening the door marked
3
rd
Floor
, I balked at the sight of the hallway.

It was a disaster.

Tarps were strewn every which way, and there was a massive hole in the ceiling, which had been blocked off by warning tape. It was horrible.

My perfect, pretty building looked like Jason Bourne had used up the entire arsenal of the Vancouver Police Department destroying it to protect his identity.

“Ma’am, you might want to put some shoes on.” A younger man in a reflective vest and hardhat stepped out of my neighbour’s unit. Which, from what I could tell, was completely destroyed.

He gestured to my ensemble and smirked.

“Oh.” I looked down. “Right.”

Leaning against the wall, I hopped awkwardly on one foot and then the other, while I slid back into my pastel pumps. Not that I really thought they were going to protect me should the floor give way, but hey, why not see what happens?

I gawked at the damage and sidestepped the debris as I fumbled awkwardly to the end of the hall.

The door to my apartment was ajar, and I bumped it closed with my hip after I entered.

“Hello?” I called out, dumping my keys on the entry table.

No answer.

As I walked, I looked everywhere for any signs of disaster, the walls, the ceiling, the floors, but nothing seemed disturbed in the entryway, as far as my eyes could see anyway. I could only pray the rest of my apartment looked equally as untouched.

My heels clicked along the hardwood and stopped at the mouth of the living area.

There was a man standing with his back to me, and he was writing on a clipboard whilst looking up at my ceiling. I followed his line of vision, but couldn’t see what it was he seemed to be inspecting so closely. He was wearing a worn out plaid shirt with the cuffs rolled up his forearms and faded blue jeans tucked into steel-toe boots. Tucked under his arm was a black hardhat.

He also had an ass I knew at least one man on this planet would appreciate, namely Kevin.

He also hadn’t noticed me.

“Um. Hello?” I fidgeted awkwardly.

The man still didn’t turn around, and it was only then I realized he was wearing earplugs.

Taking a step forward, I yelled louder, “Hello!”

Still nothing.

“Okay,” I huffed, and took another step into the room. “Hello!” I shouted.

He turned in what seemed like slow motion.

No.

His face came into view.

No.

It couldn’t be.

No.

My heart arrested in my chest and my body started to shake uncontrollably.

Hope’s ugly sister Fate was a cruel bitch.

And she was about to have her way with me.

My airways constricted.

Clawing at the material of my shirt, I stumbled towards the breakfast bar in the kitchen. My purse crashed to the floor as I lunged for one of the chairs, but I was off balance.

I couldn’t breathe.

The flooding sensation snaked around my pulse like an ambush from the past. My aim was way off and missing my target. I fell knees first and then elbows onto the hardwood floors. If I could have felt anything other than the emotional pain searing my chest, the fall probably would have hurt. Every sensory part of my body was assaulted with memories like rapid-fire, each stab going deeper than the last as my forehead made contact with the ground.

I heard him call my name, over and over again, and like a nightmare, I was falling in the dark with no way to wake up.

No.

I felt weightless, hovering over the ground.

“Come fly with me, let’s fly, let’s fly away…”

I wasn’t sure if I actually heard it or if it was only a memory, but my consciousness seized and I stopped fighting.

I let go.

The day went black.

“I can’t.”

There was a familiar voice in my head.

“Tell her I’m sorry.”

It was deeper than I’d remembered, but still the same, and it was getting louder as I came to.

“Listen, it’s work. I’ll be home soon.”

I blinked once, then twice, opening my eyes slowly. I registered that I was lying on my sofa with a blanket laid over the lower half of my body, and my forehead had a cool cloth on it.

A man was pacing in front of the windows. Not a boy, but a man.

I would have recognized that voice anywhere.

It was burned into my brain.

We all have that one person, the one that explodes into your life and roots themselves in the depths of your world and soul. You never know it then, that your completely and utterly fucked, but you are.

There’s no coming back from that.

It was like a club. Once you’re in, you’re in, and no one gets out, no matter who you are or how hard you tried. You were a member for life.

Frankly, it was a miracle if you managed to survive at all.

I had barely survived.

My past was still on crutches, and my soul had wounds that would never heal.

We were wounded because of him.

“You’ll be okay,” Henry promised.

Lifting my cheek from my bedroom floor, I shook my head. “What if it never heals?”

“What if what never heals, Charlie?” He lifted me into his lap.

“My heart.”

What makes a man want to break a heart with ease? I wish I knew.

Just seeing his profile in the light made my insides bleed.

“Get out.” My voice came out quieter than I meant it, so I tried it again, and this time it was like a low growl. “Get out.”

I’d caught him off guard and he spun around to face me, sliding the phone into the front pocket of his jeans. “Charlie, let me explain.”

“You have
no
right to call me that,” I hissed.

He took a step towards me, and I recoiled like I’d been shot with a hollow point bullet.

“I didn’t know.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know you live here. I wouldn’t have…”

Rising from the sofa on shaky legs, I pointed towards the door. “Get the
fuck
out.”

My pulse was pounding in my neck and I could barely see the outline of his body now. My vision came and went with my equilibrium in its pocket.

I was grateful.

Seeing him up close would probably make me pass out again.

“Let me explain.” He stepped towards me again and I put the length of the sofa between us.

My knees threatened to buckle and I gripped onto the back of my armchair. I would hold myself up if my life depended on it.

“Explain what?” I snapped. My voice had reached a pitch so high I didn’t even recognize it.

He held his hands out in surrender, taking caution at my tone and stopping his pursuit. “You need to let me explain why I left. You owe me that.”

I scoffed.

I owed him shit.

I could hear everything like I was underwater. The way my heart beat like the echo of a foot drum. The way my eyes closed like the white noise of an old television set. The erratic way air pushed out of my lungs like the extinguishing of a fire.

I could hear it all.

“I will call the police if you don’t leave right now!” I shouted at him.

He took a step towards me and then stopped again, sizing up my intentions.

I looked at my purse on the ground.

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

He looked at my purse on the ground.

I ran and so did he.

Tripping over my own feet, I dove. My fingers reached the straps of my purse first, but before I could grab my phone, he hauled me upwards by the armpits.

The skin under where his hands touched burned through my sweater and I screamed, “I hate you!”

I did.

I hated him so much.

“Charlie, please,” he begged, but I fought him like a woman possessed.

I elbowed him and hit him like a woman scorned.

His arms wrapped around mine from behind, securing them like a vice to my sides, so I kicked hard and connected with his shin.

He cursed.

I didn’t let up. I shook and flailed as years of suppression ignited in my veins.

Oh, how the wounded did burn.

He moved us, pushing my front up against the wall, so close my forehead touched it and I was trapped. Breathing so hard against the drywall that my lungs burned.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” he scolded, and I bucked aggressively. “Jesus. Stop it.”

His body was bigger than mine, like it had been back then, and he didn’t move.

“Get. Out,” I demanded.

“We need to talk.”

I laughed and it was bitter.

So ugly, even I winced.

“Charlie.” He changed tactics abruptly. “I’ve missed you.”