Wet: Part 2 (31 page)

The Tow’d
had done it again. They were dead in the water.  

Chapter 25

C
laire stood in the doorway of the office and watched Paul jump ship. He swam the last two hundred feet to the shop, making it faster than the tow boat could get
The Tow’d
to dock. She stepped inside, anticipating his arrival. He ran into the office, dripping wet.

“Where is she?” he huffed, still breathing hard.

Claire had been waiting for him, crying. She turned on him.

“You bloody wanker! What did you do to her?”

“Where is she?” he yelled this time.

Claire backed away a step, recognizing his anger. “I don’t know where she is
now
. She’s leaving. I don’t know if she made the last plane or not.” Claire watched the blood drain from his face.

“She’s leaving?” He ran his hand through his hair, looking unsure all of a sudden. Claire remembered the day he’d called her from Costa Rica. This time, she witnessed him falling apart in person. She put her hand on his arm.

“Paul. What happened?” she whispered.

“She’s leaving?” he said again, in a daze. He slumped against the wall and put his hands to his face.

“
Why
is she leaving? Paul?” He didn’t answer. “Paul! Damn it. Why is she leaving?” Claire used her stern, motherly tone.

Paul finally moved his hands and looked down at her like he’d only just noticed her there. He puckered his mouth. “She wanted me to have her.”

“And . . .?”

“I said no. I couldn’t do that to her—she doesn’t really want me to do that. She wants to wait for the man who’ll marry her. I made a promise.” He scrubbed his hand over his face and then rubbed the back of his neck. “She said she loves me,” he said dismissively, believing it couldn’t possibly be true.

“Of course she does. And you love her.”

He stared at Claire, blankly.

“It’s not a secret.” She snorted, amused at how she seemed to be the only person who knew. “You’ve been in love with her since the day she came rolling her gigantic duffle bag down the Plank. I still remember the look on your face as you stood right there.” Claire pointed to the spot in front of the window. “You were in awe, and you told me, ‘We have a visitor from the royal family’. I’d never seen you look at anyone like that before.”

He looked lost, confused.  

“Paul. You love her. She loves you.”

“Love.” Paul closed his eyes and let his mouth twitch.

“Yesss,” Claire said slowly. “Keep up Paul. She wants a grown-up relationship. Give her one.”

“I can’t do that,” he barked as his eyes popped open. He took a second to calm himself and his voice turned accepting. “I don’t deserve her.”

“Of course you don’t.” He shot her a confused but acknowledging glance. “But she doesn’t agree. She loves you—the barmy lass actually loves you, and I don’t get to tell her heart what to feel—neither do you.”

“Pfft.”

“You’d rather watch her walk away?”

His eyes grew wide, and then narrowed just as fast. “I can’t let her compromise herself for me.”

“Good.” Claire almost smiled. “She’ll be just fine without you.”

The look on his face . . .

“She collects nurturers. It’s a talent. She’s got me—
me
, the anti-nurture woman—looking after her like she’s my own kid—I hate kids. I hate needy people. And yet, she’s got me
so
looking out for her. She’ll be fine. She’ll leave here, with a broken heart, but she’ll find someone else to look after her—of course,
you
can take care of her better than anyone else—”

He met her eyes, challenging her statement.

“Oh, come on. You know what I’m talking about. You have the means, the whole alpha male thing going for you—the killer instinct. And you love her enough to use it all if she needs it, no holds barred.” Claire checked the effect she had on him. “She’d be better off with
you
, but she’ll be fine—eventually.”

“She will, won’t she,” he said.

“She’ll be married in less than two years.”

“Jesus!” He leaned over, rested his elbows on his own knees, overwhelmed. He wondered if he’d cry, again. He hadn’t cried since preschool, but this would be twice in one day. “I don’t know how I’ll breathe without her.”

“Are you afraid you’re going to stop loving her—is that it?”

He glared at her like she was crazy. “Stop loving her.” He humphed and shook his head. “My God, I can’t imagine not loving her—ever.” He took a second to backtrack. “But she needs someone who can marry her. It’s that simple.”

“Hmm,” Claire said. “You love her, but you want her to find someone who’ll marry her, even though you know you’ll love her forever and you don’t want to live without her. She’s always been in love with the idea of marriage, but now she loves
you
even more. She wants to be with you for as long as you’ll have her.”

It took him a minute, but— “
Aww . . . shit
.”

They both froze, staring at each other as they heard the drone of the afternoon plane take off from the middle of the island.

“Rhees!” they both said at the same time.

Paul jerked up straight and ran out the door, but his hand grabbed hold of the jamb at the last second. He used the leverage to pull himself back into the office where he proceeded to give Claire a long, grateful kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you. I love you! You know that, right?”

Dobbs came through the tunnel at that moment. “What the . . . get your hands . . . and your
mouth
off my wife!”

Paul let go of Claire and pointed his fingers at Dobbs with both hands, animated with anticipation. “I freakin’ love your wife, man!” And he was gone.

oOo

Paul ran next door to Randy’s and didn’t stop to knock. “Randy, I need your bike.” He ran straight through the house and out the back door as Randy and his wife sat on the couch, shaking their heads.

Paul pushed the motorcycle to the street, started the motor, and was on his way toward Rhees’ place, full throttle. When he reached Oceanside, he killed the motor, jumped off at a run and leaned the bike against the fence before it stopped sputtering. He ran around the yard and up the stairs three at a time, yelling Rhees’ name.

Rhees lay folded into a ball on her bed, weeping. Her windows were open, so she was careful not to cry so loud the other tenants would hear. She managed to keep the sound down, but she couldn’t control the convulsions as the tears flowed freely.

She’d made it home, and it was all she could do to get packed before she buckled onto her bed, sobbing into Paul’s pillow, hugging it and breathing in his scent, knowing it would be the last time.

“Rhees!”

“Oh no! Paul.” She couldn’t believe it. She looked at the clock and noticed more time had passed than she’d realized. Panic set in. She should have known, but she wasn’t ready. She’d wanted to make a clean get-away. No more confrontations, no more talking. She wanted to walk away and get started on the miserable rest of her life. She should have known Paul wasn’t the type of man to let her do this her way.

“Crap!”

She jumped up and scurried around the room in a panic. She double-checked. The padlock hung on her bedroom door, not locked, but it hung, holding the lock hinge in place. She thought about hiding behind the door, but Paul would know she had to be home by the fact the lock was on the inside. It would be stupid to pretend she wasn’t home.

“Rhees!” he called, sounding closer than before. She heard him on the stairs. He was coming. She did the only thing she could think of. She bolted for the bathroom and threw the shower on. She waited, huddled in the bathroom. Her heart pounded. She thought she’d be sick.

“Rhees!” he called, from just outside her window.

She held her breath, as if he’d be able to hear it if she didn’t.

“Rhees, open the door. We need to talk.”

She ignored him and planned to wait him out.

“Come on, Rhees.” His voice grew louder. “I’m coming in.”

“Crap!” She panicked again. Two doors with locks stood between them. She took comfort. He couldn’t get in. She relaxed a little, feeling safe, until she heard a loud crack. “Shit!” she mouthed. He’d just forced his way through the screen door.
He’s coming.

She tore her swimming suit off, tossed it onto her bed and jumped into the shower just as she felt the building shake and she heard a thunderous boom. She turned her back to the bathroom door, giving herself a fantasy impression that if she couldn’t see him, he wouldn’t see her. She slipped her head back into the water.

“Arrgh!” The sound slipped out as the cold water hit her back, stunning her the way it always did. She thought she heard Paul chuckle, but couldn’t be completely sure it wasn’t just her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest.

oOo

The screen door didn’t give Paul much of a fight. He’d always suspected it wouldn’t do much to keep a determined intruder out. Rhees’ door was another story. He knocked to give her a chance to open it. He thought he heard the shower.

“Rhees, open the door. I swear I’ll break it down.” He waited three more seconds. “If you’re there, please move, I’m coming in and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

He took a second to study the door, calculating where the weakest point would be. He exhaled a deeply rooted growl and drove his foot near the hinge of the lock. Hyped up on nerves and adrenaline, he intended to talk to her and wasn’t about to let an insignificant slab of wood stand in his way. The door swung open wildly, taking a big chunk of the doorjamb with it, slamming with a thud on the wall behind it. He stood looking for her, but found only an empty room as splinters fell around him.

He heard water running, and then he heard her gasp the way she always did when she stepped into the cold shower. It made him chuckle, in spite of his ever building exasperation.

He looked around on his way to the bathroom. She’d stripped the room of all her personal possessions. Her suitcase and backpack sat on the twin bed, packed and ready to go. He winced and reminded himself to feel lucky she’d missed the three o’clock plane.

A few T-shirts, two e-readers, and an assortment of things,
his
things, lay neatly piled on the desk. The velvet jewelry box with the necklace he’d given her sat on top of the pile, next to a folded piece of paper bearing his name. He opened it up and read.

As much as I love the necklace

(DO NOT TRY TO TELL ME I DON’T!!!)

Wearing it will only make me think of you.

I know how much you hate when women cry,

so keep it.

He sighed, letting his shoulders drop as he looked up at the ceiling, thinking of what a mess the whole thing had become. He looked around the room again, wondering how he was going to smooth this over. He noticed the other bed, their bed. She’d been lying on it, he could tell by the indent in the sheets, and then he saw the wet spot. She’d been crying, crying on
his
pillow. He touched it and frowned. 

It stabbed at his heart to know he’d caused her so much pain. It devastated him to know he was the reason she’d cried, the reason she’d risked her life—He deadpanned as the memory of her stupid stunt hit him in the face. Every swear word he could think of coursed through his mind.

How the hell could she do that to him? She wasn’t the only one aching from the crushing emotions their conversation had triggered. She’d admitted she loved him. Some love—if she really believed she could just walk away. He looked at the tear stain again. He knew it was selfish to feel a little satisfaction at seeing it, but it meant she didn’t want to leave any more than he wanted her to, at least, he clung to that hope, but he wasn’t letting her off the hook so easily.

He turned and looked into the bathroom. He slowly reached and moved the shower curtain, just far enough to see her inside. She stood very still, her back turned to him, shampoo rolling out of her hair and down her back. She didn’t give any indication she knew he was there.

He closed his eyes, and using every bit of self-control he barely had left, he stepped away. Seeing her like that tempted him to watch and wait for her to turn around. He wanted to see her face, her eyes, her reaction when she saw him, but he decided against it. He was angry, and she was beautiful, and naked, and he wasn’t sure at the moment that he could keep himself from joining her and giving her what she’d asked for.

That’s when it hit him just how much he
really
did love her, no more reluctance, wavering, or confusion. Instead of fostering the anger, the way he usually did about everything, he’d already started making excuses for her. Her dreams now felt like his, and he planned to do everything in his power to make them all come true.

oOo

Rhees trembled, half expecting Paul to drag her out of the shower any second. If he was angry, he wouldn’t care about discretion. She knew he’d forced his way into her apartment. He was there, somewhere. She kept her back turned to the opening between the bedroom and bathroom, pretending as though, as long as she didn’t turn to look, nothing could happen. She hated not knowing what to expect.

She imagined him ripping the shower curtain open, leaving her standing naked and exposed—vulnerable—while he gaped at her, demanding an explanation of her stupid stunt. She still couldn’t believe she hadn’t killed herself earlier by swimming the channel. When she’d first set out to do it, part of her believed she would die.

Miraculously, she didn’t. No, she’d lived and now she’d missed the last plane of the day. After all her effort, her attempts to get away, she’d still have to deal with Paul. How did she end up naked in the shower while her, what she’d always considered her very own time bomb, lurked right outside? She loved that about him, his ability to do whatever it took, no matter the situation. But she didn’t like it right now. That quality about him that had always made her feel safe had now become her worst nightmare.

That’s what she got for being a coward. If she hadn’t panicked, if she’d just had the courage to face him, she wouldn’t be in this predicament. She wished she could turn the clock back. She should have just met him at the screen door and stood her ground.

Nothing happened. No yelling, no ripping the shower curtain open. She couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t like him to show so much patience in such charged circumstances. He was a doer. Why didn’t he do something? The thought occurred to her—he didn’t care enough about her to do anything. She stifled the sob trying to squeeze its way out. She didn’t want him to hear it. Maybe he’d given up and left.