Who I Am With You (6 page)

K
eeping an eye on Duncan, Olivia returned to Natalie on trembling legs. He was real. Her thoughts spun, unable to settle. His presence dug up every single one of her nightmares, but with the trepidation came a healthy dose of excitement too, the kind that came from meeting a good-looking guy.

Nat caught sight of her approaching and excused herself from Alex and his buddies.

“I can’t believe it,” she gushed, drawing Olivia into a shadowed corner.

“I know. I mean, I’ve always been curious when it came to him.” Olivia’s fluttering fingers combed through her hair. “Has Alex told you anything?” The words sounded foolish, reminding her of life as a freshmen and how they used to giggle over the upperclassmen, but it was too late to take them back.

“Divorced, or in the process of, two kids.”

“That much I know.”

“He’s a legend with the department. A hero with no limits, no fear. Be careful. though. According to Alex, Duncan has some pretty nasty demons—drugs, temper, kind of a lone wolf.”

“Things I can understand.”

“I just don’t want you adding more to your plate right now.”

“But what are the odds of seeing him again? That he works with your boyfriend?” Natalie opened her mouth, ready with more concerns, but Olivia cut her off. “He’s taking me home.”

“Olivia!”

“That’s all, Nat. Relax.”

Studying Duncan across the bar as he chatted with one of his friends, she tried to be subjective. He intrigued her. His restless, brooding energy called to her and she wondered if his hands were calloused, what they would feel like on her skin. Her loins twitched to attention and, next to her, Nat snorted.

“What?”

“I take it back. Judging from the look on your face taking him home might be exactly what you need.”

“Nat!” A blush crept into her cheeks and the tingle intensified. Interesting, she observed as desire wrapped its claws around her stomach, and a bad idea.

Besides, he probably didn’t go for train wrecks like her.

Shaking her head to clear away the thoughts, she cursed her lack of self-confidence. She turned to Natalie and hugged her.

“I plan on being a good girl. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Her friend squeezed tight before letting go. “It’s nice to have you back.”

Olivia wound through the crowd to where Duncan waited. In his presence, the shock returned. It really was him. When her gaze met his a flare of anxiety shot through her body. The last time she looked into them she was frightened for her life, trapped in a tiny room. Forcing herself to breathe, she clung to her purse for support.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded and he led her outside to where a couple taxis were waiting at the curb. They got into the first one and, after she told the driver where to go, rode to Seventh in complete silence. Olivia fought to relax into the seat, aware of Duncan beside her, his leg bouncing up and down in rapid fire. His close proximity unnerved her. It’d been years since she had felt attracted to someone. It turned her into a teenager again, her hands straightened her clothes restlessly and she wished she had a breath mint, or a chance to check her mascara. Raccoon eyes were not attractive. Not that she wanted to be. Well, maybe a little.

They were dropped off on the edge of Central Park, five blocks from her building on Fifth Avenue, not far from where she’d wandered earlier before the meeting. Trees, heavy with spring blossoms, arched over the low stone wall, and their fresh scent invigorated her, loosened the knots in her neck. Duncan strolled beside her, his long strides matching hers.

Half a block later, she asked, “Why a firefighter?”

“That’s easy.” He smirked. “Ever since I was a kid, I dreamed of rescuing people, of being a hero, like my dad.”

“So it runs in the family?”

“Yep. You’d be surprised how many of us are second, third, even fourth generation firefighters. I used to toddle around in my dad’s gear.” His voice sobered. “He died on the job, thirteen years ago, a week from retirement, and Mom followed a couple months after.”

“We’ve got that in common then, unfortunately. We’re both orphans.” She tried to swallow the bitterness the word left on her tongue. “Family, as much as I miss it, can be draining. My grandmother ran our business after my parents died and I skipped town. Now she’s sick and expects me to step in and take over.”

“You don’t want to?” he asked, his voice soft.

“I’m not sure I can, you know?” She sighed. “I’m not the person they need. It’s hard enough getting through the day sometimes. Me and the stress of running a business would not play well together. They’d all watch, waiting for me to self-destruct, not understanding what I’m freaking out about.”

A soft chuckle filled the space between them. “Let me guess. Even though you’re clean, you always expect the next episode to come crashing down, for everything to unravel and pull you over the ledge again?”

Olivia flashed back to the bottle of pills he showed her. How bad was it for him?

“It gets better.” She bumped his shoulder with hers playfully to keep the shadows at bay. “These days, instead of reaching for a needle, I hustle to a meeting. Much better reaction.”

He gazed at her, unvoiced questions swirling through his green eyes. “I can’t imagine sitting in a room full of strangers and sharing my problems. Life is hard for everyone. Why bore them with the demons keeping me up at night? The pills aren’t really a problem anyway. I only need them on the crappy days.”

She recognized the denial and her heart reached out for him. She used to be in his shoes, thinking her addiction was manageable, going through life feeling like an accident looking for a crash site. No one should live that way. With Duncan, she had an opportunity to help.

But he changed the subject. “Why L.A.?”

“It was the farthest I could get from here, both in distance and lifestyle.” They crossed Fifth, drawing closer to the green awning of her building. She paused, nearly smelling the salty air, the scent of caramel popcorn and hotdogs from the Santa Monica pier. “In the beginning, I used to go to the beach every day or drive into the mountains. Unfortunately, the city is also full of temptations. There’s a reason L.A.’s called the City of Lost Angels. It stopped being an escape pretty quick.”

“Do you ever wonder if the same thing would have happened if you stayed here?”

“Constantly. School and work might have kept me centered for a while or fueled the emptiness more, made me turn to drugs regardless. I’ll never know.”

“And are you married?”

“No. My love affair was with whatever fit into a syringe. I’ve gone on a couple dates the last few months, but I get the feeling I’m a little high maintenance. Once they find out about the recovery thing, they see a truckload of baggage.”

“Their loss,” he said with a grin. “Siblings?”

“My parents tried to have more children after me, but it didn’t happen.”

“Same here. I was enough trouble on my own.”

She stopped next to a spectacular flower pot on the sidewalk, steps from the door to her lobby. Duncan stared up, as if noticing their surroundings for the first time, and scowled. “This is where you live?”

The growl in his voice startled her. Chills snaked up her arms and she hugged herself. Her good mood soured as she gazed at the hard lines of his face.

“Technically, I live in California. I’m staying here. It used to be my parents’ home, but now it’s a company apartment for clients and associates. My grandmother’s place is a couple blocks over, so it’s convenient.” She cocked her head. “Is it a problem?”

“Nope. Just never pegged you as a rich girl, then or now.”

“I’m not.”

He shot a disbelieving look at the doorman with his uniform and white gloves. “Sure.”

“I’m not,” she repeated. “You’re the one acting like a snob.”

“How do you figure?” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her.

“Judging me by a piece of real estate.”

“Easy assumption to make. Any idiot knows what the rent is like in this part of town.”

“You got the idiot part right,” she mumbled, opening her purse and pulling out a pen and paper. “Look, this is my number. I’d like to see you again, if you can get over yourself.”

Nothing flickered in his unreadable expression as he snatched the slip of paper from her. Glancing at it, he muttered, “Jesus. You’re a Van den Berg? As in THE Van den Bergs?”

“Yes. I’m guessing it’s another mark against me?”

Shaking his head and shoving the paper deep in his pocket, he strode away without another word, spine stiff, fists tight at his sides. Olivia sighed. She didn’t know what caused his hesitation or why he seemed offended by her address and name, but she genuinely hoped he got over it.

M
oving onto the balcony, a cup of green tea in hand, Olivia watched the rising sun as it illuminated Central Park and mulled over why Duncan had clammed up when they arrived at her building the night before. She was anxious to see him again, but doubted he’d call after his reaction. Scratch that. His
over
reaction. Did he really have such a strong prejudice towards her name? Surely he could tell by looking at her and spending time with her she wasn’t some rich snob.

It was unfortunate, really, because she found him intriguing as well as good-looking. His wavy black hair and broad shoulders had remained the same over the years, but the lines around his mouth had deepened and his moss colored eyes spoke of hardships. Her attraction might be inappropriate or ill-timed, but Olivia couldn’t deny the connection between them. Despite their shared history, she was still a woman with a pulse and he made it spike. A lot.

She hummed to herself as she got ready to visit Catherine and, while applying eyeliner, a random thought paused her hand.

What if she tried working at VDB?

Her heart skipped, not in fear, but anticipation. The company
was
her legacy. Should she walk away from it completely? Didn’t she owe it to her parents to try? She wouldn’t have to start with anything serious, a small project to re-familiarize herself.

Blood thrummed through her veins and she caught her reflection smiling, hope lighting her brown eyes. It’d been so long since she felt challenged in a positive way. Of course, Nona would object, saying it was too much, too soon.

The idea picked up steam and, eager to speak with Catherine, Olivia rushed to finish applying her makeup. Standing in front of the closet in her bra and panties, she remembered the awkward confrontation with Simon. Whether she liked him or not, they would have to interact on some level if she returned. So, she’d learn to deal with it. In case she went to the office later, and hoping it sent the message that she was there to work, she slipped into a slim pencil skirt and wrap-around blouse. After yesterday’s outfit, these were the nicest pieces of clothing she had brought. Might be time for a quick shopping trip.

She ironed out her plan as she wrapped a loaf of zucchini bread. The previous night, she’d been too amped up to sleep, her mind busy with fate and the past, so she chose to spend some time in the kitchen. The familiar actions of measuring and baking helped her process her thoughts, allowing sleep to finally come. She left for her grandmother’s, loaf nestled in her arms and flashing a grin at the doorman, sauntered from the lobby, for once not trailed by ghosts.

Anna answered the door, ever-present smile plastered on her face. “Morning, Olivia.”

“Good morning. I made this late last night. It’s not much, but I wanted to show you I appreciate all you’ve done.”

The nurse closed her eyes and breathed deep. “Oh my, this smells amazing. How long have you been baking?”

“For the last two years I worked at a bakery in Santa Monica. The owner, Autumn, was kind enough to teach me all about breads and pastries, but I love to experiment on my own.” She patted the loaf, neglecting to mention Autumn’s patience when Olivia went to rehab or the many days she didn’t show up at all. “It’s organic. You said Catherine doesn’t eat many solids, so I hope you enjoy it.”

“She might be able to try a nibble. I’ll slice some up.” She smiled wide, revealing a gap between her front teeth. “You’re in luck. Today’s a good day for your grandmother.”

Curious as to what a ‘good’ day consisted of, Olivia stepped cautiously into Catherine’s bedroom. Her heart soared at the sight of her grandmother sitting up in bed with color in her cheeks. Granted, the oxygen tube remained in her nose, but her hair was combed into a chignon and she wore an elegant set of pearls.

“You look wonderful, Grandmother.” Olivia couldn’t help herself, she leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry I didn’t stop by yesterday. I needed a meeting.”

Delighted surprise flashed through the woman’s eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. “And you are too happy. Have you been snorting your drugs again?”

“Trust me, you’d know if I were. I simply had a good, sober evening.”

“No doubt you met up with that liberal friend of yours.”

“Be nice, and yes, I was with Natalie. I met her and her new boyfriend for drinks. Don’t worry, I had water,” she teased. “Also, I ran into someone I never expected to see again.”

Olivia wasn’t sure why she let the part about Duncan slip. For so long, he’d been a secret she held close to her heart. She hadn’t told Catherine what happened that day, never had a chance to. They were both too grief-stricken to do anything other than argue.

“A character from your sordid past?” A tiny smirk slipped and Olivia suddenly realized the older woman was enjoying their banter. Well, that’s new, she mused.

“I saw the man who saved my life on September 11
th
.” Olivia’s good mood evaporated when the woman flinched.

“Who? And what do you mean, ‘saved you’?”

“Do you want to hear this? It ventures into forbidden territory and it’s unpleasant, but I’d like to share it with you.” Catherine gave a dainty shrug, so Olivia continued, “When the first building collapsed, I was standing right at the base, in its shadow. Out of nowhere, a firefighter ran towards me and pulled me into a deli. We were trapped there until after the second building fell and shook loose the debris blocking the door.”

“You saw this man last night? This same firefighter?”

“Yes.” She paused, rubbing a thumb across her wrist. “Such a random, unexpected encounter.”

“I, I had no idea you were there, too,” Catherine said softly as the significance of the story sank in. “I assumed you were in class and ran down to the towers when you heard. You came home covered in dust and ash, with that broken arm, but you looked the same as everyone else on the news. And I ordered you to a board meeting of all things. A board meeting. How cold of me.” Her last words faded into a strangled whisper.

Determined, Olivia straightened in her chair. A familiar ache flared to life in her gut, spreading into her limbs and weighing them down. She touched her grandmother’s arm. “We were both hurting.”

“And my Anderson? Melinda?”

“Mom and Dad were in the tower the entire time, the second one that was hit. Up until it fell, I believed they’d make it out.” Olivia’s throat closed, but she had to get through this. Catherine deserved to finally hear everything. “After the first plane, I tried Mom on her cell and, after a couple tries, connected. A minor, blessed miracle. They were okay, had no power or working elevators, and were still on the 91
st
floor. They headed down with everyone else after a lot of indecision, but their progress was very slow. At one point, they were even told to wait, that there was no danger to their building, their evacuation would come as soon as the situation on the ground was safe. Can you believe it?”

“You talked to them?” Disbelief caused Catherine’s voice to wobble.

“Just Mom. Dad was busy.”

“Doing what?”

“I heard him in the background, encouraging people not to give up. Mom said they were stopping at each floor, checking for stragglers. Dad wouldn’t leave anyone behind.” Olivia paused, wiped at her damp cheeks and avoided eye contact with Catherine.

“And then?”

“They were gone. I lost connection when the second plane crashed. I’ve thought about it a million times and they must have been there, in the stairwells, in the area the plane hit. I mean, at least then they wouldn’t have suffered.”

She glanced at Catherine, her body was immobile and tears ran down her face. It was the first time she had ever witnessed her grandmother cry, not even at her grandfather’s funeral, and Olivia shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The act, while completely natural, disturbed her. This woman had always been a rock.

“Countless families never learned what happened to their loved ones, didn’t know where they were, the circumstances. I assumed I was one of them. I had no idea how my son died. It didn’t occur to me that you were right in the middle of this catastrophe and I was terrible to you when you’d been through hell.” Catherine’s lips quivered.

“No one acted reasonably during that time. I wasn’t exactly warm to you, either.”

“Why did it take you so long to come home? I was frantic.”

“For some reason, I couldn’t leave.” Olivia fussed with the hem of her skirt, swallowing multiple times to dislodge the taste of ash and concrete appearing from nowhere, the guilt for not letting anyone know she was alive. “There was this desperate part of me that assumed once they started pulling people from the rubble they’d find Mom and Dad, that they were in an air pocket and survived, trapped like I’d been. The police chased me off more than once, but I found ways to stick around. Eventually, I helped hand out water, awkwardly I might add with the cast. I think I slept in a door stoop one night. Most of it’s a blur.”

“My poor Olivia. No wonder you have suffered so much.”

Catherine’s quiet statement pierced her to the core, but she was too mired in the past to acknowledge it. Releasing a shuddering sigh, Olivia’s vision filled with the memory of twisted metal and smoke.

“One thing I do remember, and I’ll always remember, is approaching one side of the burning ruin that first afternoon, after the paramedics patched me up. There was this chirping. Constant. Coming right from the pile. I asked a police officer nearby what it was and he told me it was the PASS units for the firefighters, Personal Alert Safety System, or something similar.”

Seeing the confusion on her grandmother’s face, Olivia explained, “When a firefighter goes into a fire they have a device attached to their jacket. If one goes down, passes out from smoke inhalation or is in distress, this thing senses the lack of movement and sends a signal, a beeping sound.” She shivered. “Hundreds of these devices were going off from inside the rubble, beneath tons of burning debris. So loud and eerie. Occasionally, I still hear it.”

“Chilling,” the older woman murmured. “I doubt anyone was the same after witnessing such horrors, civilian and firefighter alike.”

“I know I’m not the only one who carries the weight of 9/11 with me, which helps. This fireman, the one I saw last night, he gets my demons in ways no one else can.”

“I wondered countless times what drove you to leave and now I have a tiny understanding of why. I lost my entire family, including you.”

Catherine’s face paled, losing what little color it had when they began the conversation, and her breathing grew labored. Guilt slammed into Olivia.

“I acted selfishly, too. I did the most selfish thing imaginable. I turned to drugs to numb the hurt instead of leaning on the family I had left. I can’t imagine how my actions hurt you. Hundreds of people were able to move on, so why not me? Why was I different?”

“Have you learned the answers?”

“Some.” Olivia stared at her hands fisted in her lap. “Drugs wiped my mind clean, swept away the nightmares and let me sleep peacefully. I realize now I suffered severely from PTSD, but without the help I needed, it spiraled out of control. The only way to stop it, and in a very strange way, keep myself alive, was to rely on chemicals. Of course, it nearly killed me anyway.” Olivia blinked away more tears threatening to fall from her lashes. “I was a coward. Drove myself to California, stopping only when my eyes refused to stay open. It’s a parade of shabby hotels and nights where I felt the floor shaking underneath me, dust clogging my nostrils. Most times, I was too scared to sleep.”

Catherine’s tears returned and with them, a coughing fit violent enough to lift her off the bed. Olivia flew into action, offering water and napkins, her heart dancing a terrified rhythm. Slowly, her grandmother got herself under control.

“I can stop,” Olivia said.

“Nonsense. Today I feel decent, so I plan on taking advantage and speaking with my granddaughter. I’ll survive. For now. As hard as this is to hear, I need to, before it’s too late.” Catherine drew in a rattling breath. “I just have to ask, have you given up your addiction, once and for all?”

“Grandmother,” she took Catherine’s frail hand in hers, “I’ll always be an addict. I struggle with it every single day, regardless of how much time has passed. I wanted to get high so bad yesterday I literally tasted it, felt it, but I found a meeting instead. Some days are easier than others. Being in New York again is difficult, as is facing everything I ran from, but I’m taking it one step at a time. It’s all I can do.”

A determined spark manifested in the woman’s eyes, chasing away the dark clouds. “If you have a goal, such as returning to VDB, it’ll help you focus.”

“I’m not sure what I can offer the company. And before you say anything else, let me explain. I discovered yesterday that many of the employees have heard what I was up to the last nine years. Maybe you were trying to be honest with the board when they asked or it filtered in through outside gossip, but you have to realize it negatively affects any chance I have of walking in there and being an authority figure.”

“Nonsense, you are a Van den Berg.” Her voice dripped with arrogance. “You need Simon Greene’s support. Did you meet him?”