What's Left Of Me (The Firebird Trilogy Book 2) (6 page)

She drained half her latte before she considered doing anything more significant than browsing sports blogs and Twitter accounts. That Alex was a trending story came as no surprise, but seeing her own name curdled her stomach. Tweets and blog posts dissecting her motives for staying with him, whom a number of bloggers had already condemned in the court of public opinion. The extremists who believed no woman ever lied about rape and all men were potential predators, an equally insane counterbalance for the whack jobs who claimed rape didn’t exist at all.

Hartwell needs to stop living in denial. She knows his past. The only reason you marry someone like that is for his looks.

How do you sleep next to a rapist? It’s degrading to every woman who’s ever been assaulted.

She should stop calling herself a feminist if she’s going to “stand by her man”.

And now he has a
daughter
. Can you imagine what her life will be like?

Stephanie crushed the empty cup in her fist. They had no fucking
idea
what she had endured. How very well acquainted she was with a rapist, and it was not her husband. But the entire goddamned office must know; they’d reacted to her entrance as though she had caught them masturbating. Meanwhile, the internet had decreed, because she shared her words on a website and her face on TV for a living, she was fair game. She’d married Alex, after all. Had asked him to marry her. Two public figures that, in the minds of everyone else, had revoked their rights as private individuals and normal human beings. But she had never consented to this incursion into her personal life, not when all she had done was love someone.

***

Alex’s phone lay on the kitchen counter. Stephanie peered into the great room. No Alex, no Anya, no baby monitor. Upstairs, then. Good.

She picked up the phone. So heavy in her hand, laden with secrets she did not want to carry. And yet, if she didn’t become its unwilling vector, she would drive herself insane with imagined scenarios. She tried to convince herself it was different from Joe’s invasion of her privacy. Necessary, even. Stephanie tapped the Phone icon, then Recents.
Courtney Evans.
A Buffalo number. Incoming call from last week, the day before he met with her. Stephanie input the name and number into her Notes app, and returned the phone to what she hoped was the exact position in which he’d left it.

She ascended the stairs. The unstructured anger, the hurt, her unspeakable doubt in Alex, had compounded by the hour, her already dubious ability to trust others reduced to radioactive remnants. Another painful lesson imparted by her ghostly instructor: Trust no one. Their private pain had become public spectacle, his jury the general public, and her feelings—even about her right to love her husband—collateral damage. Perfect strangers felt justified to weigh in not only on Alex’s guilt or innocence but also on their marriage, their parenting, literally any and every facet of their lives the media could drag into the light.

Alex was lying in bed in the master suite, Anya on his chest as they watched an animated show on BabyFirst TV. “Hey.” A kind but unenthusiastic greeting. “How was the first day back?”

Her pulse in her ears, intrusive and foreboding, a reminder of how quickly time was ticking away no matter how she grasped at it, clinging to the last plank of a ship capsized in a dark and merciless ocean. She had played out the conversation in her head on the way home, cautiously analyzed all potential arguments and comebacks, plugged in all possible scenarios to what appeared insurmountable except by one path. In her head, Alex grasped the importance of her conclusion and agreed with it, however half-heartedly. He was different now.

“Things didn’t go so well. There’s so much crap about me—us—on the internet, and everyone was talking behind my back.”

“I’m sorry.” Guilt coated his words. He patted the comforter. “Sit. I think we need to talk.”

“Yeah. We do.” But she didn’t sit. She couldn’t be close to him, or she’d lose what little faith in her convictions she had.

The lines in his forehead deepened.

“Until some of this blows over, I think I need to be somewhere else for a little while.”
Leave it at that. Don’t overcomplicate it.
Tears sliced down her cheeks nevertheless. She retreated to the walk-in closet where she stored her travel bag.

“I was going to suggest we go to couples’ counseling to help us deal with everything.” Alex, carrying Anya, followed her. “What are you saying? You’re leaving?”

“No, I just…need some space from all of this.”

“From me, you mean. That sounds like leaving.”

She tossed clothes into the bag, heedless of what they were or whether they matched anything else. She could go shopping later. “I’m not trying to push you away. But I need to be
me
again, separate from you.”

“Right. Good thing you
didn’t
change your name,
da
? Makes it that much easier to disconnect from me.” Unshed tears saturated his eyes, a deep, verdant forest in which she longed to lose herself.

“I thought we could have a mature discussion about this.”

“We’ve been married eight months, and you’re telling me you already need space. What do you want me to say? How do you expect me to react?”

She looked away from the pain that was hers to abide as much as it was Alex’s. She’d never told him the truth, why this particular tribulation hurt so much more than any other had. How could she possibly expect him to understand why she had to get away? And yet the right words, the necessary ones, refused to come. “Not from you, Alex. From everything else. It’s affecting my job. The fact that you won’t tell me what’s on the video isn’t helping, you know? And this lung thing—”

“I get it, Steph. But we should be facing all of this together. A united front.”

She strapped the baby carrier to her chest. “Give her to me.”

“
Nyet.
” Alex bundled his arms around Anya and held her to his chest. “You’re making this choice, fine. But you don’t get to drag Anya into it. You don’t get to uproot her. She should be at home, where she belongs.” He glared at her, the veins in his neck standing out, though he maintained a peculiar calm. A medicated calm.

Anya wailed and flailed her limbs. Alex curled his arm under her and with his free hand smoothed her hair, but he did not take his fiery stare from Stephanie. A forest aflame. His breath hissed in and out of his flaring nostrils despite his stony expression.

Her nails bit into her palms as she attempted to control her shaking. “I’ll see if Jacob and Nicole have room, and you can come over any time to see her, but she needs to be with me.”

“You think I did it, don’t you? Because I won’t tell you what’s on the video.” He blinked away the liquid sheen in his eyes only for them to refill immediately.

“No. I don’t.” Stephanie hoisted the travel bag and plodded down the stairs. She felt him behind her, the commanding presence of such a large body looming like a hurricane. She’d come back for Anya later, when cooler heads prevailed. Reason with him. To believe Alex would relinquish his baby girl to her, especially under current circumstances, had been idiotic at best. “I will never think that.”

“When do you start to trust anyone? Me, especially?”

“Not everything is about you, Alex. And this isn’t. I’m asking you to give me something I need right now. To trust
me
.” She opened the door and stepped outside. “You need it too, whether you realize it or not. I’m not disconnecting from you or shutting you out.”

“Bullshit,” he muttered.

“I have to reconnect with myself. People need to see me as more than just your wife. I need to see myself as more than that.”

“What’s wrong with being my wife?”

“Nothing.” Stephanie reached for his hand; he yanked it away and moved back, increasing the space between them. “I love being your wife. But I have to be more than that.
You
need me to be more than that.”

“How long will you be gone? Are you planning to see other people? Am I allowed to contact you?” The color had bled from his face; her leaving was in itself an act of emotional violence, a knife plunged into the heart she had pledged to protect. Anger was so much easier to handle than his sadness. He deserved answers, what little comfort she could give him, the reassurance that she was coming home eventually.

Alex smeared his forearm over his eyes. He didn’t allow her to respond. “If this is your answer when things get tough, then maybe you
should
leave.”

He hurled the door shut.

Chapter Six

“I’m sorry for the imposition,” Stephanie said as Jacob led her to the guest room.

“No imposition at all. You guys are the only people we know here. Nice to have company.” He opened the door to a room devoid of any decorations on its gray walls, and housing only a full-sized bed, a nightstand with a ceramic table lamp, and a dresser. “Not quite finished in here, but make yourself at home. So, uh, it’s not my business, but Sasha’s a good friend, and…”

“There’s a lot coming at us right now. And you know how the media is. Suddenly I’m the biggest idiot in the world for marrying him. We need space right now.”

“He loves you more than anything. You know that, right?”

“Yeah.” She sighed and opened the travel bag, then folded her haphazardly packed clothes before setting them in dresser drawers. “Jake, did he ever tell you about a video?”

“A video? Like…”

“A sex video.”

“No. I take it that’s part of the problem.”

“He won’t tell me what’s on it. If it’s just sex, I mean, who cares, right? But he broke down telling me it even existed.” She looked up at him, hoping he possessed the words to dissuade her from her quest.

“Steph, I don’t think that’s a path you want to go down.”

She already knew that. Not good enough. “I thought we were past keeping things from each other. And that’s not even all of it.” On cue, she coughed into her fist. “They found a spot on my lung.”

His eyebrows shot up. He stroked his chin and stared at the floor. “God. I don’t even know what to say. Is it serious?”

“I had a biopsy last week. When I get the results, don’t tell Alex. Please.”

“If you think that’s best.” But he was shaking his head and looking away. “Do you have everything?”

“I think so. Thank you.”

Several minutes later, a soft knock sounded on the door. Nicole had just arrived home from work, judging by her sapphire blue suit and matching heels.

“Jacob called me a little while ago. Everything all right, sweetie?”

“No.” Stephanie collapsed onto the bed. It was that last day of school all over again, the afternoon she and Alex had said goodbye. Already too jaded to believe she’d ever see him again. She disintegrated into a flood of tears as Nicole put her arms around her.

“It’s all going to work out, Steph. The first year is always the hardest, but you two love each other too much not to get through this.”

“Everything is falling apart. I know he needs me, but I can’t right now. I’m not strong enough for him.”

Nicole smoothed Stephanie’s hair. “You stay as long as you like. Jacob will keep an eye on Sasha. I’m assuming Anya is still at the house.”

“He refused to give her to me. Which of course he wouldn’t; she’s the love of his life. But now I’m alone, and it’s my fault for—”

“No one should have to be in this situation, especially not with a new baby. Stop beating yourself up. I’m sure Sasha is upset, but give him some time. He’ll understand. That’s why you’re here, right? So you can both get some perspective.”

“I keep hurting him. It’s as if I can’t even help it. He’s always been afraid that I don’t love him as much as he loves me, and here I am, doing everything to prove him right.”

“You both just need to cool off. Sasha’s smart; in time, he’ll see that this was the right thing to do.” Nicole gave her another squeeze and rose from the bed. “I’ll let you finish settling in. You’re more than welcome to join us for dinner.”

“Thank you.”

Nicole closed the door behind her. Stephanie pulled out her phone and stared at it, gnawing on her lip. Her strained muscles twitched. She drew up her knees and clasped them tightly together. Her fingers had gone cold. Her mouth tasted of buttermilk. She opened the Notes app and pressed the hyperlinked phone number.

“Hello?” said a young woman’s voice.

“Courtney Evans?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

Stephanie faltered. Her heart slammed against her breastbone.

“Hello?”

“Yeah. Sorry. My name is Stephanie. I’m Aleksandr’s wife.”

A long, charged pause. “Oh.”

“I’d like to talk to you. About the video.”

“Look—”

“I need to know what’s on it. I have to see it.” She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder so she could pick at a cuticle.

“I don’t think—”

“Please. Can we meet somewhere this week?”

Courtney blew a loud, perturbed sigh into the phone. “Fine. Okay. I’ll give you my address. I’m free on Wednesday afternoon.”

“Thank you.” Stephanie mentally recited the address until she’d memorized it. “I’ll see you then.” Her insides roiled as she ended the call.

She lay sleepless that night, every conceivable horror pecking at her brain until a meaty pulp incapable of forming a coherent thought remained. A train whistle fractured the night’s suburban silence, a sound so desolate and yet an enticement to escape. If not for Anya, maybe. Once she’d left her parents’ house nine years ago, running from pain of any kind had become almost instinctual. She was all out of fight, and that left one option.

Which meant Alex was right.

***

Alex

“She’s fine. We’ll take good care of her.”

“She won’t answer my calls.” Alex stared at the glimmering shards where he’d slung an empty vodka bottle at the fireplace. It hadn’t woken Anya, but he had instantly hated himself for succumbing to temptation with his daughter asleep upstairs. “She said she wasn’t trying to push me away, but I can’t even talk to her.”

“She’s dealing with a lot right now. You both are. Give her a couple days.”

He rotated his wedding ring back and forth. Jacob laid a hand on his shoulder. A last lifeline before the undertow dragged him beneath the waves. Already the pressure was crushing his chest, stealing his breath. Attempts to focus on his wife’s more annoying quirks—Stephanie’s refusal to put things back where they belonged, her hypersensitivity, her morning breath—somehow circled back to their fabled future reunion and his aching determination to fuck her senseless. His cock twitched just thinking about it.

“Why are you drinking again? What’s this video she mentioned?”

“
Blya
,” he mumbled. “I’m not telling anyone what’s on that video.”

“Jesus, what did you do? It must be as bad as she thinks.”

Alex shrugged him off. He slid the patio door open and lit a cigarette. “Yes, it’s as bad as she thinks.” He blew out a curl of smoke. “We’ve only been married eight months, you know.”

“She doesn’t want to leave you, Sasha. She’s not giving up on you. You’re not, uh, thinking about hurting yourself, are you?”

“That’s the first thing people are going to assume from now on, isn’t it? That I’m suicidal. For whatever it’s worth, I’m seeing my psychiatrist in the morning.”

“Good. You okay for tonight?”

“It’s not as if I have somewhere else to go. Besides, Anya needs me.” Alex rubbed his eyes. “Please tell her I love her. Maybe it’ll mean more coming from you.”

Jacob started to say something else but switched tracks. “Yeah. Of course. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Alex nodded. The front door closed.

The void haunted the edges of his mind, a welcoming black nothing that promised sweet release from all his troubles. He’d always want to die a little bit, if only because the idea that everyone would be better off was so damned persuasive once he inventoried the pros and cons. A flimsy chemical barrier held it at bay, and even now, it had begun to leak through the cracks. One more downpour before the crest, surging over the walls, engulfing him once and for all—

No. He’d never let Anya see that happen. He’d never leave her behind to wonder why her father hadn’t loved her enough to fight. He would not disappoint her as he had Stephanie.

His PSA came on, as it often did during this playoff season. Maybe an attempt on the league’s part, certainly the Earthquakes’, to reinforce their standing behind him during his latest trial. It was strange, watching himself, though he’d seen the spot many times since they shot it last fall. They’d seated him on a stool in front of a black backdrop, in his Earthquakes jersey. That had been the hardest part, putting on a sweater he was never again going to wear. “My name is Aleksandr Volynsky. Maybe you know me as Sasha. You definitely know me as this.ˮ A quick jump to some of his goals and hits, the crowd roaring. “What you don’t know is that, like nearly one in five people in the United States, I suffer from mental illness.”

He slid further into the couch.

“I’m not the first mentally ill hockey player. I’m not the first to try to commit suicide. But I’m here to tell you that there’s help. It doesn’t mean you’re weak; this is a sickness, and the only difference is that it affects your mind instead of your body. But you don’t have to go through it alone. The more we talk about it, the more lives we’ll save.” A slideshow of hockey players dead by their own hand flashed across the screen.

“I’m Aleksandr Volynsky. I played seven seasons in the NHL. And I have bipolar type two disorder. Don’t let mental illness silence you. Speak up. Ask for help. Your life does mean something.”

Too bad his brain was still waiting to receive that message.

***

Alex never knew how to dress for these meetings with his attorney, so he typically showed up in a suit and spent the first five minutes re-examining the law degrees and family photos adorning the walls. This time, however, it was with Anya in tow, and she’d spit up on his jacket as soon as they entered the building. Alex had scrubbed at the stain in the men’s bathroom to no avail; the stuff discolored fabric like bleach. Then he’d discovered the note. Who knew how long it had been there? If he’d found it any day before yesterday, he’d have been jumping into the car, already hard, the Mercedes’ 197-mile-per-hour top speed not fast enough to get him home.

Just sitting here thinking about your gorgeous cock and wishing I was riding it.

Today, it made him wish he were dead.

He squirmed out of the jacket before Ed could notice the stain. He’d have to swing by the dry cleaner on the way home. The note remained crumpled in a pocket.

Ed Waggoner was sitting at his cluttered desk, staring at an open file and talking on the phone. He waved Alex in, then hung up. “Your turn to take care of the baby today?”

“Something like that.”

“All right, I need to know everything you remember about the morning after.” Ed waited, pen poised over a legal pad. Old school, as many attorneys were. Late adopters to the technologies that made their jobs a hell of a lot easier, distrusting even when they did accept the modern office’s status quo.

“I woke up in my bed. I heard someone singing in my kitchen. It was awful. Off-key. I smelled coffee brewing. I felt hung over, worse than I ever had, and I couldn’t even remember how I got home.” Alex curled his fingers around a large, triple-shot black espresso. The heat through the paper cup singed his hand. “I felt nauseated and lightheaded. My arms and legs were heavy. All I wanted to do was go back to sleep.”

“Was there any indication you’d had sex?”

“I was naked. There was…the smell of it, you know?” He crinkled his nose. Everyone recognized the distinctive, combined fragrance of sweat, spunk, and pussy. He did not intend to regale his attorney with the details. “And there was dried semen on my penis.”

“Anything else?”

“She came into the room with two cups of coffee, and she was still singing. I just looked at her for a minute. I’d have never taken her home. Not my type. I wasn’t attracted to her.” He dragged from the recesses of his mind what he could recall of her that morning after, with the slutty club dress and makeup shed. Plain. Unassuming. A different sort of modesty from Stephanie. He’d sensed her entire personality was an act from the beginning, that if he peeled away her disguise, he’d find nothing beneath it at all.

“She smiled at me, and it was like a mask. I rolled over and threw up on the floor. She actually cleaned it up. Who does any of that if they’ve been raped? I mean, wouldn’t she have just left?”

“You hadn’t done any drugs that night?”

“Just drinking.”

Ed clacked the end of the pen against his teeth. His cell phone burbled its default ringtone, and he let it go to voicemail. “All right. I’m going to do a little research and dig into our girl’s history. Something sounds way off here.”

“What do you mean, ‘off’?”

“I don’t want to jump to any conclusions yet. Let me see where the cops are on interviewing potential witnesses, I’ll get some more intel on her, and I’ll call you in a couple of days. Oh, I may need your wife to come in, give us her perspective of you as a family man.”

A metal cilice girdled his heart, sank its tines into each chamber. He stared at his black alligator-leather derbies. Women paid attention to details like a man’s shoes. Even married, he never wore his workout sneakers in public. Too many people became complacent about their appearance after they exchanged rings. He’d never give Stephanie’s eyes a reason to wander.