Things Remembered (Accidentally On Purpose Companion Novel #3) (13 page)

I was pretty sure I could spray pepper spray in some perp’s face, but I wasn’t sure if I could stab anyone—even in defense of my life. There was a higher probability of someone stabbing me with my own knife, but I felt better with it in my pocket anyway.

By the time we set off on our usual route, my nausea had passed, but not my paranoia. I was hyper-aware of every sound, every movement, and anyone near me. Maybe I was irrational, but one could never be too safe. There is danger in the places we sometimes least expect it, whether it be in your own neighborhood, at a coffee shop, or in the home of a friend…

When we were on our way back to the apartment, my phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and narrowed my eyes when Grant’s name flashed across the screen. Despite myself, I smiled and answered.

We only talked for a few minutes, but by the time we hung up, I had forgotten about my heebie-jeebies. My mind was back on Grant and the “how the hell did we get here” question on repeat in my head. I was so distracted by my thoughts surrounding my old flame that I almost missed him as I neared my building.

As I crossed the street, only steps away from my apartment building, I shifted out of a daydream and looked directly into the face of the man crossing from the other direction. He smiled and winked.

I don’t know how I made it inside and back up to my apartment, but once inside with the door locked again, I dashed for the bathroom and vomited.

I woke in the early morning hours shaking violently and drenched in perspiration. Disoriented in the dark, my hands pushed at air, frantically trying to push someone away from me that wasn’t actually there. My breathing was quick and frantic.

Even though the nightmare had begun to fade and reality started to set in, I still sat up in my bed and looked around my room with a pounding heart. I was petrified of finding someone besides my dog occupying the room with me. There was no one, but I scrambled out of bed. I swiped the pepper spray and knife off of the bedside table as I went and cautiously stepped out of my bedroom and into the main room. My apartment was an open space, with no walls between the kitchen, dining room, and living room. No one could hide out there. I turned to the bathroom and found that empty as well.

Before going back into my bedroom, I double-checked the lock on the door. Inside my room, I went to the window and swept the curtains aside to peer down into the street. The light outside was gray in the moments between darkness and sunrise. A couple cars went by, but no one moved on the sidewalks.

After a couple minutes of making sure that no one lurked outside, I closed the curtains and went back to my bed. I swiped away the origami I had made late into the night onto the floor. Dusky lifted his head from his paws and looked at me with worried eyes, but he didn’t move from his position at the foot of the bed. I turned my head away from him, curled into a ball, and cried.

Chapter Eleven

Monday morning, I found Grant waiting for me at the usual spot. He was dressed in a black T-shirt, black cargo pants, and black boots. At another time, I would have probably taken a moment to appreciate how sexy he looked, but the thought was fleeting. I was still reeling from my encounter with the creepy man, and nausea had been my constant companion ever since. Along with my nausea and anxiety, I felt unheralded anger. I hated having the lapses in my memory that prevented me from knowing who the hell he was. I hated how the site of him made me feel weak and powerless. As I marched down the street toward Grant, I irrationally hated just about everything and everyone.

“Good morning,” he said with a tired smile and leaned in to kiss my forehead. It was meant to be one of those lingering, sweet kisses, but I turned my head sharply and quickly disengaged him.

He looked at me wearily and sighed. Judging by the tension in his jaw and the crease between his eyes, he wasn’t in the best of moods, either, but I didn’t care.

When he tried to hand me my breakfast, I eyed the items with disgust. My voice was so cold, it was hard to believe that I had been all soft and warm in his hands two nights ago.

“I don’t want it.”

“What do you mean you don’t want it? It’s the same thing you get every day.”

“Yes, I get it every day. So, maybe I’m tired of it.”

He paused and studied my face intently for a few seconds. Then without a word he walked over to a trashcan and tossed the food and drink inside.

“I didn’t need you to buy it for me anyway,” I snapped as he came back to me. “I told you I can afford my own damn coffee. I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he snapped back as he loomed over me. “You’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t fucking need anyone,
ever.
Maybe if you could stop being selfish for two whole minutes, you would realize that
I’m
the one who needs
you
this morning.”

“Oh, I am quite selfish,” I readily agreed. “Add that to your list of reasons why you don’t need me in your life.”

“The only one of us with a list here is you.”

“Oh, I have a list all right. Right at the top of my list of men that disgust me are men who are sensitive and
needy
. I don’t have anything to give you, Grant. So, whatever it is you ‘need’ you should go find it somewhere else.”

For a moment, he looked like he was about to lose it. He
expanded
with anger. He stood to his full height and straightened his shoulders. He glared at me like he wanted to throttle me, but he took a couple deep, quelling breaths and took a step back.

As if he had a stress headache, he closed his eyes and caressed his forehead with his fingers. I realized that he looked exhausted like he hadn’t slept at all.

In a voice that held great patience, he said, “I had a long damn night working. I haven’t slept for over twenty-four hours. I apprehended three different guys last night and one of them decided he wanted to take a few shots at me.”

I was really, truly, without a doubt the biggest bitch that I knew, because even though I was inwardly startled to hear that Grant was shot at by some criminal, I still said what I said next with cold calculation.

“They missed.”

Grant froze for several seconds before dropping his hand and opening his eyes. He gazed at me blankly for a moment.

“What did you say?” he asked, his voice quiet.

I could have kept my mouth closed, but I couldn’t help it. I said the cruel words again as I hated myself for saying them, yet reveled in the pain I knew it would cause him.

“I
said
…they missed.”

His eyes widened and his mouth fell open as he took a bewildered step backward. Maybe he didn’t think that his little butterfly could be so mean, but sometimes that is the case with beautiful things in nature. Sometimes they cause pain. Sometimes they’re deadly.

“Well,” he said with finality. “I’m sure at least my kids will be glad to know that.”

To my astonishment, he kissed my forehead again before leaving, but all of the sweetness was gone.

“These were just sent up for you,” my secretary Angela said excitedly as she breezed into my office later in the afternoon. She carried a large vase of roses in various colors. There must have been three dozen or more.

I stared stupidly at the arrangement as she set it down on my desk.

“There must be some mistake.” I sighed. “They’re probably for Jen. Her husband sends her flowers all the time. Can you take them to her, please?”

“Oh, no.” Angela grinned as she plucked a white envelope from the midst of the flowers. “This has
your
name on it, and Jen’s husband never sent her flowers like
these
.”

I gawked at the envelope that
did
have my name written on it, believing that it had to be some kind of mistake.

“Oh! Look!” Angela squealed and clapped her hands with delight. “There are little butterflies all over!”

My eyes widened as I looked at the flowers again. Angela was right, there were butterflies. Not real butterflies, but little decorative things, put here and there throughout the bouquet.

I knew who the flowers were from without having to open the card. Only one person would have thought to send me flowers decked out with butterflies.

“Are you going to open the card?” Angela seemed more eager than I was.

I put my boss face back on and gave her a firm look. “Not with you here.”

She stood there for a moment longer before sighing despondently and then leaving me alone.

I hesitated before opening the card, thinking maybe I should send the flowers back without reading it. I didn’t deserve them.

The nightmare in combination with the man from the coffee shop had set me on edge. All day yesterday sick, blurry, and broken memories tried to knit themselves together in my head. I came to the one conclusion I always came to without fail: I was a damaged person.

I hadn’t dated anyone seriously in many years. I knew that once they’d realized how messed up I was, they would have been gone, or I would have damaged them as I had damaged Grant long ago. I wasn’t just a messed up person, but I had done messed up things throughout my life. How could I drag anyone else into my pile-of-manure life?

I hadn’t meant to go off on Grant like that, but seeing him in front of the coffee shop made me think of the man, which made me think of my reaction to the man, and then the nightmare that followed. I only meant to decline the food and drink, but since he wasn’t in the best of moods himself, things just escalated. However, when it was over, and he was gone, I knew it was for the best. I wasn’t good for him thirteen years ago, and I wasn’t good for him
and
his kids thirteen years later.

I stared at the unopened envelope for a moment longer before deciding to open it. I thought I’d, at least, see what he had to say before I sent the flowers back—if that was something I could actually do.

Mayson,

Nice try, my little butterfly,

but I’m not going anywhere.

Grant

I walked to the door, poised my finger over the button for the buzzer, and then changed my mind and turned away. I made it a few feet before grumbling to myself and turning back around and letting my finger hover over the button again. I had gone back and forth for a good five minutes. Stubborn, with a strong distaste for humble pie, I toggled between pushing the button and going home without pushing the button.

“Make up your mind. Push the damn button or go home. Go home, and be a pussy. You're already a pussy because you can’t push the damn button,” I muttered to myself.

A few people walking by glanced at me briefly, but they were used to seeing crazy people on the streets, and that’s all I was. Another crazy woman talking to herself.

After a little more muttering, and walking away and returning once more, I pushed the button.

Ten seconds dripped by without any response. I knew because I counted. I decided that if there were no response by fifteen seconds, I would call it a good try and go home, but I didn’t make it to fifteen.

Grant’s voice came through a small speaker, and I automatically looked up at the small camera mounted just above the door. Walking away was no longer an option. He had most likely seen me already. With some horror, I wondered if he had seen me walking back and forth and talking to myself.

“I’ll be right down,” he said.

I wasn’t sure, but he sounded surprised. That would make two of us because I was still surprised to find myself standing at his door.

A half a minute later, the door opened. Grant stood on the other side of the threshold, and he did, indeed, look surprised—pleasantly so. He didn’t appear to be as sleepy as he had in the morning, but there were still signs of fatigue in his brown eyes.

He reached for my arm and drew me in. “I have to admit, I was not expecting this.”

“I’m still not sure how I got here from work,” I confessed as he closed the door.

He smiled and kissed me softly on the corner of my mouth. Taking my hand, he began to lead me up the stairs.