It’s time I bury the past and move forward. And leaving that door open is the first step.
“Fuckin’ perfect, Mouse.” I smile and continue to move down the hallway.
“Oh wait. My phone.” She pats her hips, searching. “Axelle’s supposed to call when she’s back at her friend’s house for the night. I was so wound up when I got here, I forgot to get it out of the car.” She wiggles to get loose from my grip, but I hold her tight.
“I’ll grab it.”
I place her on the couch with the remote only to have her hop back up. “No, it’s cool. I got it.” She pushes past me toward the door.
Stubborn.
I grab her around the waist from behind and growl in her ear. “Not letting you walk to your car alone at night.” I kiss her head, breathing in the scent of her soft hair. “Got it?”
One hand reaches up and back to hook around my neck. “Ten-four, Snake.”
I release her with a firm smack to her sweet ass, and she jumps with a squeak.
She settles into the couch and flips on the TV. Snagging my tee off the barstool, I head out to her truck.
The cool night air does little to sober my love-drunk thoughts. Not love, but… intense like. It’s my experience that when something seems too good to be true, it usually is. And having Layla up at my place making herself at home, the door to my music room wide open, and me grabbing her phone from her truck feels really fucking good.
Phone in hand, I notice she has three missed calls. I fight the urge to spy. I’ve never been in a serious relationship, but I know enough about women to know they don’t like you snooping in their shit. I shove the phone into my pocket and hit the stairs to head up when something catches my attention. Across the lot is a silver sedan. The parking lights are on, engine running.
I look around to see if there’s anyone walking out to meet the idling guest. Nope, not a soul. Even though I can’t make out a driver, I send a glare in that direction. You’re on my radar now, bitch.
They’ve backed into the spot, windshield aimed directly at the windows of my place. Are they spying on us?
Blood torpedoes through my veins. My heart hammers in my chest. Aggravation pricks beneath my skin, and my muscles flex at the sudden stimulation. Pushing my rational mind aside, I move toward the vehicle. A whisper of possible overreaction ghosts through my head, but it’s quickly destroyed by my urge to protect.
With my fight in a few weeks, it could be paparazzi. But they usually only hound the title fighters. I’ve never had this kind of attention. Either way, I’ll protect Layla and our privacy. At any cost.
Stalking across the lot, I keep my glare locked on the driver side. I close in on the car when the engine roars. I pick up my pace. The car rips from the spot, nearly hitting me on its rush to exit the complex.
I knew it. I fucking knew it.
They were watching us, got caught, and ran scared. The red taillights blur as the car speeds around the corner onto the main road. Shit, it all happened so fast I didn’t get the license plate.
Scanning every car in the lot, I make sure my little visitor was working alone. Everything looks clear, but I can’t shake the fact that I’m being watched. The back of my neck prickles with the feeling of eyes on me from every direction.
I jog up to my place and lock the door behind me. Feeling uneasy, I head down the hall, shut off the lights to my music room, and lock it up. Is this what having a woman does? Makes you fuckin’ nuts?
Taking a deep breath, I head down the hall and to the couch. I drop down next to Layla, pull her to my side, and hand her the cell phone. She mumbles thanks, punches a few buttons, and puts the phone to her ear.
I stare out the big windows that span the entire length of my condo. I’ve never been private about who I have in my place. Some of my female guests enjoyed the window and got off on a little exhibitionism. But now, here with Mouse, I’m seeing floor-to-ceiling curtains in my future.
“…all right, sweetie. I love you.” Layla’s soft words drag my attention away from interior decoration. “Goodnight.” She ends the call and places the phone on the coffee table.
“Everything cool with Axelle?” I run my fingers through her hair.
She flips the channel on the TV once, twice, and one more time. “Yeah, she’s having fun. This new girl she’s hanging out with seems to be a good influence on her.” The channels continue to flip until an image of Julia Roberts flashes on the screen. Layla’s body tenses at my side.
What the hell?
Julia Roberts’s character is racing around an old house, being chased by some psycho guy.
“I hate this movie.” She flips the channel again.
“What was it?”
“Sleeping with the Enemy.” Her voice sounds hollow. “It’s about a woman who fakes her own death to escape her abusive husband.” She laughs, but there isn’t a drop of humor in the sound. “Art imitating life.”
I’m so curious, but not completely comfortable talking about her past. I suppose this is what a boyfriend is supposed to do though. His woman is hurting, he asks, listens, and then fixes. Right?
“How long ago did you leave?” Seems like a good place to start.
She drops her head to my thigh, rolls to her back, and looks up at me. “Hard to say. Mentally, I checked out about twelve years ago. Physically, it’s been forty-seven days.”
I lean back and spread my arms against the back of the couch, my muscles beginning to twitch at the very mention of her past. “How’d you get out? I mean, you didn’t fake your own death, or—”
A sweet smile curves her lips. “Nope, didn’t have to go that far.” The familiar dark shadows in her eyes move in. “But I would’ve if that’s what it took.”
“What happened?” I want her to continue because I know it’s good for her, but I’m terrified of how I’ll react if she opens up more. It’s taking everything in me not to put my fist through my coffee table as it is.
“I stopped… feeling.” She pulls at the ends of her hair and twirls a strand around her finger. “He was pissed at me for something stupid I can’t even remember. It was raining. He dragged me from my room in my pajamas and threw me into the backyard. Locked me out. I remember being wet, hearing my teeth chatter, seeing my bare legs tremble, but I couldn’t feel anything.”
I school my features so that she doesn’t see the rage boiling just beneath the surface. My hands fist into the couch, and I welcome the burn in my joints.
She shrugs. “I knew then that I had to get out. That if I was numb, it was only a matter of time before Axelle would go numb too.” She blows out a deep breath. “I filled out an online application on a career site the very next day, told myself I’d take the first job I was offered. Taylor contacted me three days later, hired me a few weeks after that.”
“Hm.” I nod and hope I’m succeeding in my SNL Church Lady “Well, isn’t that special” tone.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
“I’d been saving money for years, hoping that one day I could take my daughter to start a new life somewhere warm. A place where it never rained.” Her thoughtful silence is heavy. “I filed for divorce, told Stewart we were leaving and, you know?” Her face crinkles up. “He wasn’t as upset as I thought he’d be. He must’ve seen that I was done. He let us go, no questions asked.”
My fury is overshadowed by my curiosity. Seems he let her go a little too easily. Dick like him goes to all that trouble to get the girl that doesn’t want him, and one day he just cuts her loose? Fishy.