Show Me How (It's Kind Of Personal Book 2) (6 page)

“Your life?” I repeat, dumbfounded. “Care to elaborate on that? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, it doesn’t seem like you’re passing through and need a place to crash for the night.”

She blows out a big breath and sits on the bed, crossing her legs. “I don’t want to talk about it. I just want you to leave.”

This woman is driving me crazy already. She always has. A snotty attitude with the face of an angel and the body of a wet dream. Hell, she looks almost the exact same as the last time I saw her. I don’t know whether to spank her or kiss her.

I’m not able to keep my hands off her any longer, so I decide on the latter. Not giving her time to process, I lean down, grab her face, and press my mouth to hers. She doesn’t move. Not her body or her lips. I nip at her bottom lip then soothe it by sliding my tongue across it. Asking, begging her to let me in. Her body melts into me for a second, and I take the opportunity to lift her up and slide my hands down her back to rest on her hips. She kneels on the bed and snakes her arms around my neck then parts her mouth ever so slightly, allowing me to caress her tongue with my own. She’s nervous, so I go slow. The softness of her lips and the feel of her tits pressed against my chest make me hold her tighter, never wanting to let go.

Christ, she’s beautiful. Everything about her is. She whimpers, and I immediately pull back to find tears rolling down her cheeks.
World’s biggest asshole, right here.
“Fuck, Mary. Did I hurt you? I’m sorry, I just—”

“You didn’t hurt me. Can you please leave? Please?” she pleads, curling into a ball on the bed. It’s the right thing to do, to let her have some time. I don’t want to, but I will. Honestly, I could use a minute to think and to calm the hell down myself. But only if she stays.

“You can’t leave, Mary. Please don’t do that to me again. Promise me when I come back you’ll be here.”

Her head bobs up and down, but she doesn’t answer, defeat written all over her. The pull to lift her in my arms and take her home with me is so strong it’s almost magnetic. Instead of doing what my body is demanding, I force myself to walk to the door. I take stock of the multiple chain locks and deadbolts then make a mental note to ask her about it. I quietly shut the door and lean against it for a second. Then I go home to grab a change of clothes and feed my cat. Now that I found my Mary, there’s no fucking way I’m letting her out of my sight.

* * *

Brandon,

It’s better and safer for everyone if I leave. I hope you know how much I love you. Please tell your family how sorry I am.

~Mary

P.S. Don’t look for me.

I fold the faded piece of paper up as carefully as I can and put it back in my wallet. I remember my mom giving me the note when we came home from the hospital with my dad. She stood there with a hand on my shoulder while I read it and cried, clenching my chest from the slice right through it. I didn’t understand then and still don’t, really. Mary thought her absence made us safer.
Why?
I’ve stared at that piece of paper for hours at a time, trying to find a meaning that I was missing—a hint, a fucking clue—but always came up empty.

The four words at the bottom are what twisted the knife in my heart. She didn’t want me to find her. Didn’t want to be with me. But I know it’s a lie. Deep down, in the bottom of my gut, I know it’s a lie. She loves me . . . just not as much as I love her.

I’m sitting in my car at the motel. It goes against every instinct in my law enforcement blood not to do something about the hookers who are clearly working in and out of these rooms. But I’m not here for them, and I’m not on the clock. I’m only here for one person, and right now, she’s walking out of her door with a tight-ass tank top, leggings, and bright pink Nikes.

She doesn’t see me approach her from behind. “Hell. No.” I growl.

“Jesus! You scared the shit out of me! What are you doing?” She leans on the side of the brick motel with a hand to her heart.

“What the hell are
you
doing? It’s four in the morning.”

“Oh, my God. You’re following me!”

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her, but I still know her. And right now, she’s scared. Her act of annoyance is fake. This anger bullshit is a cover-up for fear. Of what, I’m not sure yet. But I’m going to find out.

“Damn straight, I am. You ran once. It’s not happening again.” After finding her last night, I took care of some stuff at home then came back to the motel and hid out in the parking lot. My tinted windows prevented her from seeing me through the glass, but as soon as I saw her come out of her room, I couldn’t sit in my car anymore.

“I don’t even know what to say to you. Go home, Brandon. It’s pointless.” She leans down to stretch, and my eyes take in all the beauty that is Mary. Always more of a tomboy, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in a dress or skirt. Her body twists and turns, and I bite back a groan.

When she takes off in a jog, I quickly catch up. Glad I changed into track pants last night, I keep pace next to her. I know what she’s doing. Well, I know she’s avoiding me. Seeing her in one piece last night—safe, healthy, alive—I knew from taking one look into her troubled eyes that she
ran.
The one truth I was unwilling to face. I made up scenarios in my head about her writing that note against her will or that it was fake. My initial reaction was that somebody took her. I refused to believe that she left me. That shit hurt. I thought I meant something to her.

We’re jogging at a fairly fast rate through an old park, the sun is barely up, and I’m not quick enough to grab her before she trips on a branch and falls. Her hands brace the majority of the impact on her body, but one hip slams on a rock and she yells out in pain.

“Shit. You all right?” I kneel down next to her and try to help her up. She pushes me away and scoots back until she’s sitting against a tree.

Her tears fall onto the dry soil while she catches her breath. Seeing her in pain, any kind of pain—emotional or physical—brings me to my knees. I sit on an old tree trunk a few feet away and wait. I’ve waited twelve years. A few more minutes won’t hurt.

“I was fine,” she whispers. “I forced myself to be okay. I accepted it.”

“Accepted what?”

“It was my fault.”

“I’m not following. What was your fault?”

The glazed-over look she shoots me makes her almost unrecognizable.

“Everything.”

Frustration takes hold, and I move to squat down next to her. I wipe away the tears with my thumbs and lift her head so she’s looking at me.

“I’m clueless here, babe. Fill me in.”

Her sad eyes blink another tear out, and she says, “Your dad.”

No.
“Please tell me that you don’t blame yourself.”

She nods.

“God, Mary. Is that why you ran?”

Her body is a blur as she abruptly stands. “Yes. Okay? I did it because there’s no way I could ever be around you again. You or your family.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“It’s my fucking fault your dad can’t walk, and I’ll live with it for the rest of my life. Not only that, but Scott Smith told me that I’d pay for getting him shot. And I couldn’t risk hurting you or your family anymore. I had to disappear.” Inhaling a huge breath, she continues, “You have your answer now. You see I’m fine. So please, stop trying whatever it is you’re doing. Just go home and leave me alone. It’s better for everyone.”

I shake my head and rub the back of my neck in frustration. This is fucking unbelievable. She gets a few feet away, when I say, “He can walk.” Her knees weaken, but she manages to stay upright. I walk until my lips are next to her ear. “And Scott Smith is in jail. He was caught a week after he shot my dad. He’s not getting out anytime soon.”

She twirls around and her ponytail hits me in the face. “But . . . how?”

I pull her closer and leave one hand around her waist while the other twirls the long brown strands that are still so soft they feel fake. The fragments of myself that I’ve been missing piece back together when I touch her. “How what?”

“How can he walk? The nurse in the hospital said . . .”

“She was wrong. He’s not entering a marathon or anything, but after many sessions of physical therapy and his notorious determination, he’s able to take a couple of steps with a cane.”

Small hands push me away. “Don’t patronize me!”

Before she gets any further, I grab her wrists and pull her to me then press her against a tree. She can’t get away from me again; I won’t let her. “I’m not patronizing you. He’s fine. He’s happy. Nobody blames you. The only thing anyone is angry at is that you left us. You fucking left me!” I would never hurt her, ever, but I step back and take a deep breath, needing to distance myself to collect my thoughts. I wished for her every day, but now that she’s in front of me, I don’t know how to react.

“Didn’t you care at all what you were doing to me? Did you ever think that maybe talking to me would have been a good fucking idea? ”

“I was keeping you safe.”

“That’s not your job! It was
my
job to keep
you
safe, to protect you . . . and I fucked that up.” I look at her scar, and she rubs her arm. “I should have been there.”

“I can’t do this right now, Brandon. I just can’t.” She places her hands on my face. “I’m here. I’m alive. Now go. Live your life and be happy. It’s better without me in it.” Then she presses her lips to mine and jogs off.

Chapter 6

Mary

He can walk.

A few steps with a cane is not the same as walking, though. Brandon can say Steve’s fine, but he’ll never be able to dance with his wife, go for a run, or play basketball with his grandkids.

I need to get away from Brandon. I need to think. My hip is throbbing in pain from when I fell, but I push on and practically sprint back to the motel. His shoes echo behind me, close enough for me to know he’s there, but far enough away to give me space.

One of the things I’ve always loved about him—he gave me what I wanted. And I don’t mean materialistic things. When I asked him to keep a secret, he did. If I didn’t want to tell him something, he backed off instead of pressing me for details. Open arms welcomed me if I was sad and offered comfort in the most sincere form.

And God, do I want that right now. His strong hold squeezing out all the torment I’ve lived with. Even if Steve is happy and safe, it doesn’t change the fact that he was shot. Because of me, because of my parents.

I used to run for exercise. But after being stuffed up in a motel room, I’ve found it helps clear my mind. It’s a necessity. I always go early in the morning just before sunrise, usually because I can’t sleep . . . because a nightmare of the past has somehow crept into my dreams. And at four in the morning, it’s practically desolate. It may have been a risk, but I had to take it for my sanity. I needed an hour a few times a week with just my feet pounding the pavement.

I slow to a walk, go into my room, and shut the door behind me. When I peek through the flowered curtain, Brandon waves at me. I don’t know how, but he’s gotten even hotter. His dark hair is now buzzed short, and his tall frame is surrounded by the perfect amount of muscle. He’s not too bulky, but his arms stretch the sleeves of his t-shirt in that sexy way and I know the kind of power that must be behind them.

I shake my head to rid it of the dirty thoughts taking shape and go shower to get ready for the day of cleaning gross motel rooms. If I stay busy and distracted, I won’t think about him.

* * *

Betty sits at the front desk and my mouth curves up in a smile at her as I carry a load of dirty laundry to the washer. I quickly throw the towels in, and when I pass her again on my way out, she grabs my arm.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks.

“Hmm?”

“You look upset.” She pats my arm and leans back in her chair.

“How is that?” I cross my arms and squint my eyes at her.

“I can’t put a finger on it.” Her unpolished fingernail taps her lip. “It’s your cheeks.”

I laugh. “My cheeks?”

“Yes. They look pale.”

“Umm, I’m tired. After last night, I didn’t sleep well.”

She tilts her head. “Oh, yeah. Did the cops wake you? I forgot to ask.”

“You knew they were here?” How could she? She knows I’m hiding. She’s the one who lied to them and said she hadn’t seen me when they came looking after I disappeared. It’s not like her to be so careless.

Her eyes widen, and she covers her mouth. “Oh, Mary. I’m so sorry. They came looking for someone, and I told them to ask you if you’d seen her. Did something happen?”

“Oh, Betty. No. It’s fine.” She’s helped me so much; now I feel horrible that she feels bad. She doesn’t even know what happened last night, and already she’s about to cry. If it wasn’t for her, I would probably be dead. The only constant and safety I’ve felt in the past twelve years has been from the woman in front of me, and I refuse to let her feel guilty. “Nothing happened; I was just sleeping when they came by. It woke me up, that’s all.”

“I didn’t even think they might recognize you or take your name. It didn’t cross my mind. It was late, and they caught me off guard. God, what was I thinking?”

I pat her hand and help her back into her seat. “Nobody recognized me,” I lie. “It’s fine.”

“Okay, dear.”

I finish cleaning for the day, and my mind wanders to Charlotte. I wonder what happened with her and Travis. I really hope everything works out okay. The last time I saw him, he was just a kid. My eyes focused on Brandon last night, so I didn’t get a good look at Travis. I’m sure he’s attractive. Good looks run in that family.

When I’m finished with my work for the day, I set a bowl of microwavable soup in the worn-out microwave and wait. As I’m sitting on my bed, I reach under it and pull out an old shoebox. Staring at the cardboard, I contemplate for the hundredth time whether to open it or not. I haven’t looked inside of it since the day I dumped everything into this rectangle. The bright orange shoebox stares back at me. All my memories with Brandon are firmly tucked inside. I take a deep breath and flip the top.

The first thing I see makes me smile. I pick up the tattered baseball and roll it in my hand, his first homerun ball on the varsity team. Brandon’s autograph is still there but slightly faded. He told me it’d be worth millions someday so I needed to keep it safe.