If I Could Do It Again (18 page)

Have you ever woken up from a dream and felt unsettled, like that dream was trying to tell you something that you just really didn’t want to know? And then there’s that moment, the shattering moment when the sleepy fog clears and you realize that what you thought was a dream really wasn’t a dream at all.

I’ve been stuck in that moment for what feels like days.

I’m on my back, lying in bed, staring up at the off-white popcorn ceiling. Becca is beside me, her hand twined in mine. She’s been lying here with me since I opened that damn bag yesterday and had a little freak-out.

I should be happy right now. It’s only been twenty-six hours since Joshua and I connected on a whole new level. Shit. I should still be riding the wave of post-sex bliss, but I’m not.

Not even close.

That wave crashed into the shoreline like a goddamn tsunami the moment I opened that stupid bag.

It’s fifteen minutes after four, and aside from the odd bathroom break, I haven’t left my bed in a little under twenty-four hours.

My phone starts ringing again and my gaze goes back to it, back to his blinking name on the screen. I should answer it, I know I should, but it’s been ringing non-stop for nearly ten minutes now, and I haven’t been able to do it yet.

“You should answer it,” Becca whispers, squeezing my hand. “If you don’t do it soon, his guys are going to start showing up here.”

“I know.”

“Maybe if you just talk to him about it,” she says, then hesitates. “Maybe there’s a reason.”

“Of course there’s a reason,” I say, when the phone quiets, then dings with another missed call notification. I shift my head, looking at her. “It’s money. It has to be money. But couldn’t he have just asked for money? He shouldn’t have asked me to …”

I let my words fall short and they hang in the air.

Becca gives me a sad smile. “Has he been asking you for money?”

“No. Never.”

My phone starts ringing again, but I don’t look at it, my gaze stuck on Becca’s face. I can tell by her expression that she’s not sure if she believes me, but it’s the truth. Joshua Larson has never asked me for a single penny.

Never.

On the third ring, Becca lets go of my hand, popping up and reaching over me to grab my phone from the nightstand, and before I even realize what she’s doing, she swipes the screen, putting the call on speaker.

“Becca, no,” I protest, sitting up and reaching for the phone.

She holds it out of my reach, giving me a pointed look. “You’re going to have to talk to him at some point. Might as well get it over with.”

I flop back down on my bed, listening to the recording. The pause where his name is announced seems exaggerated, but when I finally hear the sound of his voice stating his name, a chill runs over my skin, twisting my stomach into knots.

The recording plays and plays, and when Becca has the chance to accept it, she does instantly. There’s a long pause of silence that feels as though it lasts a whole freakin’ day, before his anxious voice breaks through. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.”

Silence.

“Then where the fuck were you today?”

There’s a bite to his voice that makes me cringe. I glance at Becca, sitting beside me holding the phone, seeing the deep frown creasing her forehead. She opens her mouth, as though she’s about to speak, but I quickly shake my head, quieting her.

I take a breath, and then, “I was at home. I, uh …” I stall. “Becca’s here with me and you’re on speaker. I, uh … I looked in the bag.”

“Shit, baby, stop right there,” he says. “This call is being recorded. You know we can’t talk about this now.”

Frowning, on the verge of tears from stress, I suck in a breath. “You asked. I’m just answering your damn question!”

“Watch your fucking tone,” he says, his voice full of warning. He pauses for a beat, and I can hear him take a deep breath as though trying to calm himself. It doesn’t work. “Come to a visit tonight.”

“Jesus,” Becca mutters. “You’re an ass.”

“Bitch, shut the fuck up,” Joshua growls instantly. “This is between me and my woman. Keep your mouth shut or get the fuck out. You hear me?”

Silence.

I cut Becca a look, mouthing an
I’m sorry
. She merely shrugs, winks at me, and then flips off the screen before saying, “I hear you.”

“Good,” he says, then sighs. When he continues, his voice is softer. “Look, I’ve got to grab a shower, Victoria. Why don’t you be here around five. We can talk then.”

“I thought you were done with this shit,” I say softly. “I thought you were—”

He lets out another sigh, cutting me off, but this time, it’s long and gusty. “Baby, we can do this tonight
if
I decide I’m going to answer your questions.”

I blink a few times. “If you decide?”

“Yes.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that there are certain things I’m just not going to talk to you about,” he says. “That’s it. Plain and simple.”

I sit up straight, my eyes narrowing at the phone. “I moved out here for you, got a tattoo on my ass telling everyone I’m your property … I think I have a right to know what’s going on, especially if you’re going to drag me into it.”

“I’m done with this conversation.”

“No, you’re not done,” I snap, anger and something that feels a hell of a lot like regret tinting my voice. “We need to talk about this. What am I supposed to do—”

“Enough,” he growls, cutting me short. “I expect you to be here at five o’clock. We’ll discuss this shit then, but just so you know, they could be recording us at the visit just like they’re recording this phone call. So don’t push—”

It’s my turn to cut him off. “They don’t record visits.”

“Oh, they most certainly do. One of my lawyer’s clients caught a Feds case because he said something at a visit. Do you want me to say the wrong thing and get more time in prison?”

I grit my teeth. “Of course not.”

“Then you need to be mature about this and realize that there’s just some things I can’t talk about,” he says. “I expect you here at five.”

Joshua doesn’t give me a chance to respond, the recording telling me that he’s already hung up. Becca laughs, shaking her head as she tosses the phone down and gets up. She goes straight to my closet, sliding the door open, and rooting around and calling out, “What do you want to wear?”

“I’m not going.”

She pulls her head out of the closet and rolls her eyes. “Babe.”

“I’m serious,” I say, pulling the blankets up to my neck. “I’m not going. He can send someone to pick up his damn drugs, but I don’t want to—”

“After everything you’ve been through with Richard, you’re just going to throw it all away without even talking to him?” she asks, interrupting me. “Oh, no. No, that’s not going to happen.”

Her words take me back ten months to that first letter. To the excitement and the nerves. I was so happy when I received his first response. So giddy with joy.

How the hell did we go from excited and so lust-filled that we fucked in a restroom to this in twenty-four hours?

I just can’t even wrap my head around it.

****

Forty-five minutes later, I’m sitting at table fourteen, watching for Joshua to walk through the doors. I’ve got our drinks on the table, along with a bacon cheeseburger heated up waiting for him.

When I see him, the look on his face nearly knocks the wind out of me.

It’s blank.

Completely and utterly blank.

I don’t stand up when he approaches the table, too nervous to even try, and he doesn’t ask me to, simply leaning down and placing a quick kiss on my cheek, before taking a seat across from me. He doesn’t reach for his drink, doesn’t even look at his burger. Instead, he folds his arms over his chest and just stares at me.

It’s … unnerving, that stare. So very different from the warm look he usually gives me. This look … it chills me right down to the bones.

“You should eat,” I say eventually, trying hard to hold his stare. It’s a struggle. “It’s going to get cold.”

“I’m not hungry.”

More silence.

Then, “Sometimes you’re too nosey for your own good, you know that?”

“I told you I was nosey,” I whisper, dropping my head because I can’t stand another second of looking into those hard blank eyes. “You’ve always known that.”

“You’re right, I did,” he says, matter-of-factly. “But it shouldn’t matter. You say you love me, you say you’ll do anything for me, and I ask you to do one fucking thing and you can’t even do that for me. You’re supposed to be my ol’ lady, but you can’t even do what you’re fucking told.”

“You asked me to pick up drugs,” I whisper, my damn voice shaking. “You asked me to bring them—”

“I’m not talking about this here,” he says abruptly, his tone hinting at the anger I can see brewing in his eyes. “They could be recording these tables.”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“Maybe,” he agrees. He leans forward then, plucking my hands off my knees and holding them tight, his touch sending tingles shooting through my body. “But maybe I’m not. How would you feel if you leave here and find out I got more time because you wouldn’t let it go?”

I’d feel like an asshole.
Even so …

“How could you ask me to do that?”

“What do you want me to say?” he asks, the hard edge in his voice turning sharp. “That I thought you were down for me? That I fucking believed you when you said you’d do anything. Is that what you’re looking for? You fucking knew who I was when you sent me that letter. You knew the kind of life I lived. And you fucking knew I’ve got no intention of leaving the club. I don’t understand why you’re making such a big thing out of this.”

I look at him.

Really
look at him.

And what I see there makes my entire body shake. The man I know is gone, replaced by the man who was able to pull the trigger.

“Who are you?” I whisper. I try to pull my hands away, but he holds on tight, his fingers wrapping around my wrist, keeping me still.

“Baby,” he says. A quick flash of pain passes across his eyes, but it’s gone in a blink, the anger burning bright once more. “This is my life. Always has been, and always fucking will.”

But this isn’t my life!
I want to scream it at him and I want him to let go of my hands.

No. Scratch that. I need him to let go.

“Let go,” I whisper. “I need to leave.”

“You’re not leaving,” he says, his voice gritty with emotion. “You moved here for me. You’ve got my property tattoo on your ass. You’re here to stay. You’re not going anywhere. You belong to me.”

“Let me go,” I say again, this time a bit louder. “I’m serious, Joshua. Let me go or I swear I’ll call one of the COs over here.”

That grabs his attention. Slowly, he pulls his hands away, his hold on me loosening until it’s gone altogether. I don’t move. I can’t. For a second I can’t even breathe, too terrified of the man sitting before me, before I’m finally able to make my wobbly legs work, standing up.

“Baby,” he says. He looks as though he’s about to get to his feet, but he doesn’t, his eyes darting over to the CO’s desk, then back to me. “Don’t do this, baby.”

“I … I … I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Please send someone to pick up your stuff.”

And then, before I can change my mind, I turn and walk out the door. I make it to my car before the tears begin to streak down my face.

Joshua hasn’t called.

It’s been nine days since I walked out on him and my phone hasn’t rung once.

I don’t know what to do about it.

I don’t know if I want anything to be done about it.

My knight in shining armor turned out to be everything Richard told me he was: a criminal, a killer, a goddamn biker.

True, I knew all of that. Joshua never hid who he was from me, never really sugarcoated it, but as illogical as it is, I never thought I’d see it. Never thought my sheltered existence would cross paths with the darker side of his life.

I guess Richard was right on something else, too. I am naïve.

I spend the days alternating between hiding in my room and wandering around my new apartment, randomly unpacking a box here and there as I slip back into my normal routine of working too much.

I write.

I mope.

I call my parents and pretend everything’s okay.

I stress.

And I judge.

It’s the judgment that’s killing me the most, I think. I don’t like what it’s doing to me. Don’t like the way it’s twisting me up and crushing my soul.

I don’t want to be a cynical person.

But as it turns out, I am and I can’t stop it.

I think about him constantly. I wonder how he’s doing or how he’s feeling. I can’t get his voice out of my head. Can’t get my body to stop craving his touch.

It’s so goddamn lonely without him it makes my chest ache.

I wonder if he’s thinking about me, too.

Obviously not.

Chow stopped by to pick up Joshua’s stuff on day two, and I tried, oh God, did I try to find out how he was doing, if he was okay. I got nothing. I asked at least a million questions and every single one was met with stony silence.

He gave me absolutely nothing.

Not even a hint if Joshua was okay.

It was … frustrating.
Heartbreaking.

Joshua came into my life when I needed him the most and he saved me. Saved me from myself. Saved me from the pain and the heartache I lived with daily.

He saved me from my life.

For the first time in years, I was happy and now … it’s gone.

He’s gone.

I glance at my phone at least a hundred times a day, hoping that the thing will ring. But it doesn’t. I wish I could call him, wish he had a goddamn phone, but he doesn’t. So I just keep waiting for him to call me.

The sun rose hours ago, but the apartment is quiet. Becca’s probably still sleeping, though I haven’t ventured out of my room yet today to check. I should be sleeping, too. Inspiration hit the moment I got into bed last night, and I’ve been writing ever since.

I’m exhausted.

Glancing at my phone one last time, I save my work, and then close my laptop, setting it on the nightstand right beside my phone. I make sure the ringer is on, adjust and fluff my pillows, and then I lay back in bed, squeezing my eyes shut, hoping that maybe sleep will ease the ache in my chest. No sooner do I close my eyes and there’s a knocking on my door. I glare at it, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Come in.”

Becca opens the door and walks in, her eyes fixed on the small box in her hands. “This just came for you. I think it’s from—” She stalls, frowning as she glances up at me, her eyes widening when they land on me. “Jesus, Vickie, have you been up all night again?”

“Yup,” I say, eyeing the box. “Who’s it from?”

“Joshua’s family, I think,” she says, dropping down on the bed beside me. “The name on the return address just says Larson.”

I sit up straight, blinking at her. My stomach flip-flops and I move to grab the box from her, but hesitate. “What is it?”

She rolls her eyes, laughing at me as she tosses it over, the box landing on my lap. “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

I stare at it.

The box is light and fairly small. It’s the length of a letter-size envelope and maybe three inches in height. I read the return address, see the Larson name there, but I don’t touch it.

I can’t.

I’m too terrified of what the box might hold.

“Well,” she says, nudging me with her elbow. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

I swallow thickly, shaking my head. “I can’t,” I whisper. “I just … can’t. What if it’s …” I swallow again. “I don’t want a goodbye.”

And I really, truly don’t. I know I’m the one that walked out, but …

Becca laughs at me, rolling her eyes again. “Pretty sure goodbyes don’t come by couriers.”

Plucking the package off my lap, she grasps the easy-open strip and tears into it. Peeling the flaps back, she pulls out an envelope, glancing at it. “It says, ‘Read me first.’” And then, without looking up at me, she opens it.

I’m instantly grateful for my best friend.

Becca doesn’t look at the letter. She simply unfolds it, handing it over to me. And then, she waits.

May 21, 2016

Victoria,

I haven’t heard from you for a week now and I must say it feels like a part of my heart is missing. I keep thinking that any day now you’re going to show up at the prison, but you don’t, and I’m starting to think that you never will.

I know that the conversation the last time we spoke shocked you or maybe showed you that I have a darker side to my life. I know you realized that I’m far from perfect, but it’s our imperfections that make us who we are.

I need you to know that I’m sorry, beautiful. I thought trying to shelter you from my world was a mistake. Actually, I was scared you’d resent me for it, but I now realize trying to involve you was the mistake.

I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but all of those mistakes lead me to you. Because of you, I’ve become a better man. You’ve showed me unconditional love and I’m afraid that my mistakes have ruined a lifetime of pure happiness we could have together.

Through your letters and kind words, I fell in love with you. The moment I laid eyes on you I knew you were the woman for me and when our lips touched, my heart melted.

From that moment on, I knew I wanted to marry you. You truly are perfect in my eyes, the woman of my dreams.

Please don’t give up because you’re scared of the unknown. All you need to know is that I’ll love you until the day I die. I’ll cherish every moment we share together. I’ll forever hold you in my heart, a place only you can touch.

Victoria, I can’t quit you, baby, so I hope you will give us a chance. Please, my beautiful angel, marry me.

All of my love now and forever,

Joshua

My hands are shaking.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t think.

“Vickie,” Becca shouts, snapping her fingers in my face. “Vickie, are you listening to me?”

“No.” My voice is a hoarse whisper and my eyes are burning. I lift a hand, scrubbing at them. It’s then that I realize tears are streaking down my face. I blink up at Becca. “What did you say?”

“He sent you a ring,” she screeches, shoving a small velvet box in my face. “Joshua sent you a ring.”

I stare at the ring, taking the box from her and biting my bottom lip as I say, “He wants to marry me.”

Becca pulls the note from my hand and I let it go without a fight, all my attention on the simple princess-cut diamond.

He wants to marry me.

Oh my God, he really wants to marry me.

As crazy as it is, I feel a bit better, because Joshua is still thinking about me.

He’s not saying goodbye.