Redemption (22 page)

“I won’t hurt her, Nick. I won’t use her. I won’t leave her damaged. Is that enough for you?” Bryan opened the Jeep door and got in. “Don’t worry; I won’t rub off on her, either.” He slammed the door and started the engine.

Nick took a step back and crossed his arms. Maybe he should’ve listened to Carrie and let it go. Something still wasn’t sitting right with him, though, and he couldn’t ignore the feeling that crept up his spine like the tendrils of a vine, weaving, and winding its way upward. As Bryan backed out of the driveway and sped down the street, Nick stuffed his hands into his pockets and made his way back to the house.

 

Bryan punched the steering wheel. Nick was always butting in; it was like the guy felt it was his sacred duty to protect women from Bryan’s infectious influence. He swore and turned up the radio. He’d still call Cassidy later, but right now, he really needed a drink. Part of his frustration came out of the feeling that Nick’s assessment was probably exactly the way Cassidy felt. There was no way she could know that for Bryan it wasn’t just a charade. For him, it was desperately real.

Maybe Nick was right about him. Maybe the best thing he could do for Cassidy was forget the stupid game they were playing and leave her alone. None of it mattered anyway. He could go back to the way his life was before her. Maybe.

And maybe he’d step out into oncoming traffic.

Bryan stormed into the hotel, heading straight for the bar. His short conversation with Nick had stirred up enough turmoil that his insides were churning, and he needed to dull the pain. He sat on a stool and ordered a beer. As he tipped the bottle back and the first drops of liquid hit his tongue, a familiar voice spoke, interrupting his thoughts.

“Hello, Bryan.”

He closed his eyes and took a large swig of beer before spinning around on the stool. “Miranda,” he said and turned back to the bar.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she continued.

“How did you know where to find me?” Bryan asked.

Miranda bit her lip before answering. “You passed us on your way to Carrie’s, so I texted her and told her to let me know when you left and where you were staying.”

“What did you do? Wait here for me?”

“Well, yes. I want to talk to you.”

“What could we possibly have to say to each other, Miranda?” He was tired of her and the drama that inevitably followed. “Just let me sit here, drink my beer, and leave me alone.”

He heard her take a breath. He refused to look at her. Looking at her meant acknowledging her, interacting with her, admitting that there was a part of him that wanted to hear whatever she had to say, wanted to be near her again. It wasn’t fair, the way she could still command his heart that way. Even though it wanted to be somewhere else, with someone else, Miranda managed to close her fist around it, squeeze tightly enough, and bring him back. It really pissed him off.

“I’ve started having dreams again,” she began nervously. “I hadn’t had one since last summer and the whole thing with Jerry.”

“Why tell me?” Bryan asked. “Go talk to your Super Cop. Derek can handle your dreams, not my job anymore. Remember?” He tipped the bottle back and emptied it, afterward signaling the bartender for another.

“You’re impossible,” Miranda said, exhaling sharply and sitting next to him. “Stop being such a jerk and listen.”

Slowly, Bryan turned his head to look at her. He didn’t really enjoy being cruel to her; it just came naturally these days. She seemed worried, frightened; and she looked very tired.

Crap, this is Miranda you’re treating like dirt.
Only a part of him really cared.

She sniffled a bit, obviously upset. He supposed that his behavior only added to that. So now he was pissed off, exhausted, and feeling guilty. Fantastic.

“Go ahead, tell me,” he said. “I’ll give you five minutes.”

Miranda groaned and leaned forward on the bar. “I know it’s about you this time,” she began. “I can see you in it. Someone with dark hair and red eyes is following you.” She hesitated, considering if she should mention the demonic element of the other person in the dream. Considering Bryan’s dislike for religion, she opted for leaving that part out for now.

“Someone with dark hair is following me. That’s what has you so concerned?” he asked, unimpressed.

“It’s clear to me that who - or what - ever it is wants to harm you, possibly even kill you. The feeling I get from him or her is one of anger and destruction,” Miranda answered. “You shouldn’t blow this off, Bryan. I’m worried for you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah? Like you did for the past six months?” she snapped. “Carrie told me what a wreck you were when you landed. Seriously, Bryan. Do not be your typical stubborn self.”

Bryan finished his second beer and turned to look at her. “I’m guessing that you didn’t tell Derek you were coming here.” He motioned for a third.

“He knows about the dream, and he agrees that you need to be careful,” Miranda said. “And me coming to tell you isn’t me sneaking around, Bryan. I told you, you don’t seem to care at all, and now I’m leaving.”

She pushed herself up and stood to leave, but Bryan put his hand on hers to stop her. For a long time, they just stared at one another. Miranda pulled her arm away and folded it under her other one. She scowled.

“I don’t mean to be a jerk,” Bryan began, “but seeing you brings out the worst in me these days.” He studied her face. “You don’t get it, though, do you?”

“Get what?” she asked.

“You don’t get why that is,” he answered, immediately angry with her.

“Maybe I should ask your new girlfriend,” Miranda said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

Bryan’s jaw dropped. He felt like she’d slapped him. What right did she possibly have to sound like a jealous ex-girlfriend?

“I was a wreck when I got here because of the Hell you put me through. So now, when you show up acting concerned about me, telling me about some dream that spells disaster for me, well, Miranda, I’ve seen the darkness - I’ve lived in there - and survived it.” Such typical Miranda, swooping in with some vague vision of impending doom, nothing really useful about it at all.

She narrowed her eyes. “Whatever is coming, Bryan, it’s more than just darkness. It’s demonic, and it is after you.”

“Demonic? As in Satan and his minions?” Bryan shook his head and laughed. “Okay, Miranda. I’ll be on the lookout for that.”

“I tried,” she said, throwing her hands in the air. “If you choose to be stupid, that’s on you.”

“Wipe your conscience clean, Miranda,” he snarled. “I’m not your problem anymore.”

B
ryan leaned against the bar. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since Miranda left him there, but he was sure that he wasn’t in any great hurry to leave. If he measured time in the number of beers he’d consumed, it had been at least five more and a little over an hour. He snorted. She’d stormed away, in classic Miranda fashion, her hair bouncing in time with each carefully planted stomp of her foot. Bryan shook his head. Those freaking dreams of hers would be the end of them all.

She’d rambled on about dark hair and red eyes. Logically, and in some space in his brain, he knew he should pay more attention to what the dreams told her. Miranda’s dreams always meant something. So, who did he know with dark hair and red eyes? No one came to mind. The word demonic floated through his brain before he quickly dismissed it. There was nothing supernatural that was the slightest bit interested in his pathetic, lonely life. Miranda was overreacting. She probably saw him with Mara in her dream and freaked out because she finally came to the realization that he was moving on. He didn’t need her anymore. She was out of his life.

He put the bottle to his lips.
Gone,
he thought, brows furrowed.
Done.

“Hey,” said the man who sat down next to him.

Bryan nodded in his direction. He didn’t feel very conversational.

“Chicks...” the man continued, shaking his head as if in disbelief. He seemed oblivious to Bryan’s leave-me-the-heck alone posture.

“Yeah?” Bryan snarked. He cast him a sideways glance and slowly resigned himself to the fact that this guy was not going to leave him alone.

“Name’s Bastion,” the man said. He blew out sharply. “What a day. Ran into my ex. Reminded me why I got rid of that one.” He flagged down the bartender and ordered a drink.

“Women, huh?” Bryan shrugged and lifted his beer. “Here’s to the whole pain in the neck bunch of ‘em.”

Bastion nodded in agreement. “Sounds like you’ve had some troubles of your own.”

Bryan paused before answering. He didn’t know this guy, and nothing seemed familiar about him. After sizing him up and shooting him a questioning look, Bryan shook his head in bewilderment. Who exactly was this guy, and why did he think they needed to have some heart-to-heart talk?

“Whatever, man,” Bryan mumbled. He threw some money on the bar, downed the remainder of his beer, and clapped Bastion on the back. “Good luck with your girl.”

“Yeah,” Bastion replied. “Mara can be a real handful. Has a hard time accepting the word no.” He raised his glass to his lips.

Bryan froze mid-step. How common a name was Mara? In his entire life, he’d only met one person with the name. Therefore, reasoned his beer-buzzed brain, it was not very common at all.

“Mara?” he asked, blinking, his words slightly slurred. “Funny, I know a Mara.”

“What a coincidence,” Bastion began, pulling a photo from his wallet. “Here’s a picture of my nightmare, though you wouldn’t be able to tell from the looks of her. Easy on the eyes but a demon when she doesn’t get her way.”

It felt as though someone had sucker-punched him. Bryan gasped for air. The woman smiling back at him was the very same woman who had occupied his days and nights for the past six months.

“I -” he found it difficult to speak. “This can’t be possible. How do we know the
same
woman?”

“Listen, brother,” Bastion said. “I don’t know how you’re involved with this one.” He tapped the photograph. “But my advice to you is to cut her loose while you can.”

“Is this a set-up?” Bryan asked, looking over his shoulder. Someone was hiding with a camera, that had to be it. This was a joke, and he was being played as the fool. “You just happen to come into
this
bar and sit
right
next to me?”

“Call it luck. I got thirsty, and the stool next to you was open.”

“You said you just ran into her.” Bryan was still trying make sense of this while scanning for the idiot with the camera. “But I left her in California.”

“Well, my friend, I guess she decided not to stay put. She never was any good at it,” Bastion replied, taking another sip of his drink. He pointed at Bryan with his glass. “I suppose it’s you she came to see, then.”

Bryan stood up and backed away from Bastion. “I’m not buying this as coincidence one bit. I think someone put you up to this, and it’s not funny. Who was it? Nick? Did he find out about Mara and send you here to try to keep me away from Cassidy?” His face creased in anger.

Shaking his head, Bastion said, “It wasn’t Nick, whoever he is. And I don’t know why he’d want to keep you away from this Cassidy. Like I said, Brother, just got thirsty and fortune placed me next to you.”

“We’ll see,” Bryan said, eyes narrowed.

Still, as he walked from the bar and put greater distance between himself and the unsettling stranger, he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that this meeting was more than chance. If it hadn’t been Nick’s idea of a prank, then meeting Bastion was even more unnerving. Life had taught Bryan that circumstances occurred for specific reasons, and the fact that some completely unknown man ended up in the same bar, on the stool next to his, the same day that Miranda visited him to deliver her creepy dream warning, with a connection to the same Mara had to mean something. There were simply too many variables for it to be random.

 

Bastion watched Bryan walk away, knowing that he’d definitely taken a huge risk by appearing to him the way he did. He looked at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Close-cut blonde hair and hazel eyes quickly morphed back into his actual shaggy black hair and blue eyes. The fabricated picture of Mara crumbled in his fingers, turning to dust and vanishing. He finished his drink and pushed off the stool. Only time would tell if the risk would pay off.