The Way Back to Us Page 11

  I shook my head, trying to force the thought out. No way. There was no way she could do that. Not the girl who sat at the table yesterday and defended Bianca, the one who had a soft spot for Elvis—shit, where was Elvis?—and fearlessly stood up to Ben. But she wasn’t just that girl. She was a riddle, a walking contradiction. She was the girl who took down the guy at the bar who touched her wrong, the girl who’d pinned me to the bed just to prove she could take care of herself. She was the girl with the bullet wound who’d almost died.

  Gentle and fierce, caring yet ruthless.

  There was no reason I needed to theorize and concoct worst case scenarios. All I needed to do was find her and ask her. The odds of me getting the entire story were slim, but I’d settle for the slightest sliver of information about what the fuck happened last night.

  I practically sleepwalked down to the kitchen, my feet following the urges of my nose. Coffee and bacon lured me forward until I spied Rachel bustling around the kitchen. There wasn’t a flash of red hair in sight. I slumped onto the stool at the kitchen counter. “Morning, Rach.”

  “Good morning.” Her lips quirked to the side as she looked at me. “Nice hair.”

  “It’s fabulous, I know.” I covered a yawn with the back of my hand and then let it drift to the epic bird’s nest that was my hair. “You seen Dani around?”

  Her gaze dropped to the French toast sizzling in the cast iron skillet. “She’s . . . not here.”

  “Like she went for a walk on the beach?”

  “Like she took off in your Jeep about two hours ago.” She still wouldn’t look at me.

  “Oh.” My heart dropped, settling like a weight in my stomach. “Did she have her bag with her?”

  She nodded, gently cracking an egg against the side of a ceramic bowl. “Can’t you just . . . call her?”

  “I don’t have her number.” Saying it out loud made it sound even more ridiculous. I’d never asked, she’d never offered. Other than her vague reference to needing to be places on short notice which I took to mean she owned a phone, I’d never even seen her with one.

  Was that it then? Was it over? Would I go home and find her behind Mick’s bar or was last night the last time I’d ever see her? Was that how the story of us was going to end?

  I swallowed, tried to twist my lips into a smile and failed. “Should I bother to ask why you were up at the ass crack of dawn to catch Dani’s exit?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.” Her cheeks pinkened.

  There was a story there, I was sure of it, but I couldn’t muster my usual wit to try and charm it out of her. My heart just wasn’t in it. I sighed. “You haven’t seen Elvis anywhere, have you?”

  Rachel swiped the spatula to the right. And hell if the damned dog wasn’t sitting in a chair of his own, tongue lolling, ears perked, just waiting for someone to set his breakfast in front of him. “Beggar,” I muttered.

  Grabbing an overdone piece of bacon from the counter, Rachel snapped off a small chunk and tossed it to him. He snatched it out of the air, swallowed it whole, and went right back to his begging pose.

  The French doors slammed closed and voices drifted our way.

  “How long has he been calling you?”

  “Weeks. Almost a month.” That was Bianca.

  “And you didn’t think to mention it?” Ian’s words were tinged with anger.

  “Why?” She stomped—well not stomped, she was too sophisticated for something like that—into the kitchen. “It’s not like anything’s going to come of it.” She took the two of us in with a quick sweep of our gaze and added for our benefit, “My father, repeatedly asking me to join him during the last few months before the election.” Then back to Ian, “Like after everything that happened I’d just crawl back to them and do them a favor.” She spun back to us. “Do I look like some pliant political pawn?”

  “No,” Rachel and I said in unison.

  “Definitely not,” Ian added.

  Something approaching a growl rumbled through her lips as she slammed the refrigerator door shut, yogurt in hand. Well, no, not slammed—closed the refrigerator enthusiastically. Her spoon clattered across the granite, and I swore I could feel the rage emanating from Bianca as she sat next to me, hitting me like a heat wave.

  “Someone change the subject. Distract me.” Her spoon slashed through the air, luckily without any yogurt on it.

  “Dani left,” I said and immediately regretted it.

  “What?” Bianca gaped. “Why? What happened?”

  “Beats the hell out of me. Clock struck midnight and pfft she turned into a pumpkin.”

  She stuck the spoon in her mouth backwards and licked the yogurt off it. “Man, she was great. I was so looking forward to hanging out with her today.”

  Ian widened his eyes at her.

  “Oh no, I mean good. What a bitch. Good riddance.”

  Felix rolled into the kitchen. “Who’s a bitch?”

  “Dani,” Bianca said. “We hate her.”

  “She’s gone?” Felix asked me. “Like for the weekend or . . . ?”

  Wasn’t that just the million dollar question? I shrugged and leaned my head into my hand. I knew I’d spend the rest of the weekend pondering that exactly. The suspense was going to kill me. And if this was really it, how could she have just left without a fucking word? I wasn’t even worth a damn note this time?

  Felix gave me a once-over. “Let’s get some food in you.”

  Food. Just the thought of it made my stomach turn. All the feelings I’d been swallowing down were like a pure acid bath in my gut, churning violently. “I’m not hungry.”

  Ben chose that moment to saunter into the kitchen. “You’re not hungry?” His eyes flared, jaw hardening. “What happened?”

  I stood. I couldn’t talk about it anymore. “Someone else can recap it for you.” My feet paused on my way out of the kitchen, re-directing me to one of the cabinets. I reached inside and plucked out a bottle of bourbon—it was the only company I could stand at the moment.

  Chapter 22: Dani

  My sneakers splashed through patches of dappled sunlight, the crisscrossed shadows climbing up my bare legs as I walked. Someone had a magnifying glass over the Earth today. The sun was baking everything it touched to a crisp, including me. Sweat dribbled down my back, soaking into my tank top. Strands of hair clung to my face and neck, but as hot as I should have been, inside I was freezing, the chill from my nightmare turning my marrow to ice. No matter how hard I tried, how many different ways I attempted to distract myself, I couldn’t shake it.

  I crossed my arms over my chest while I meandered through Central Park. I’d entered the park on the wrong side, taking a circuitous route to our meeting spot, pausing every few minutes to make sure I wasn’t being tailed.

  Stooping to retie my shoelace, I glanced up and casually took inventory. A jogger hustled passed, a couple walking their dogs strolled by in the opposite direction, and the old man I’d passed several yards back was still safely ensconced on his bench doing the weekend crossword.

  Standing, I brushed my hands over my shorts and walked the last fifty feet to the bench my father was sitting on. He had one end, I sat on the other. Neither of us immediately acknowledged the other.

  He held a newspaper in front of him, his gaze hidden behind his sunglasses. “Any trouble getting here?”

  “No.” I riffled through the bag I’d brought with me, unearthing my sketchbook and a pencil. Without thought I started to transfer an image to the page, letting my mind stay on full alert. The base of a tree appeared, the branches spreading toward the top of the page. “Is something going on? We weren’t supposed to meet again until next week.”

  Which was one of the reasons I’d even considered going to the Hamptons with Gavin. God, Gavin. I tried not to cringe. My stomach curled in on itself as I relived the early hours of this morning. The things he’d seen . . . not only was the embarrassment unbearable, but I knew without question he’d never be able to let what happe
ned go. He’d want answers, and who wouldn’t? But the answers lay deep and buried. Unearthing them and sharing them meant I’d be giving him another piece of the puzzle. Too many more pieces and he’d be able to put them all together. And that wasn’t an option.

  Besides, if just the flash of a memory had completely unraveled me and brought back a nightmare I’d managed not to relieve for years, I could only imagine what opening the door to that vault would actually do.

  All that didn’t even take into consideration that I’d abandoned him without a word.

  Again.

  “Dani.” Dad’s voice was harsh, annoyed. “Are you listening to me?”

  I rubbed a hand over my eyes. “Sorry. It was a long night.”

  He didn’t say anything; he just let the silence stretch between us. It was a technique he was a master at, one he’d taught me as well—nothing made people more uncomfortable than an awkward slice of silence. And when people were uneasy with the quiet, they liked to fill it.

  I tipped my head back. Overhead the tree branches hung limply, not a breath of breeze to stir them. “The nightmare came back.” The statement didn’t need any more elaboration than that. He’d experienced firsthand the repercussions from that particular dream—the cold sweats, the screams that could wake the dead, the tight ball I’d curl myself into, completely unable to move.

  He grunted. “Visiting the past likely stirred it up.”

  He meant the city, of course, but it didn’t make it any less true.

  A sigh rushed through his lips as he scratched his fingers over the stubble coating his cheeks. “Maybe it’s time we say goodbye to New York.”

  For a second my entire façade slipped and I nearly dropped my pencil. It took every ounce of effort I had to keep from looking at him. “What? Just because of a nightmare?”

  “Because of this.” Without diverting his attention from his newspaper, he gently placed a photograph down between us.

  My heart jerked like it’d been electrocuted as my fingers closed over the edge of the picture. I knew without even looking what it was. He’d found out about Gavin. He knew I lied to him. He—

  I finally focused on the picture and my racing thoughts screeched to a halt.

  My forehead crinkled, my frown deepening. The picture was a little grainy, like someone’d taken a quick snap with their cell phone. A man in jeans and a polo glanced back over his shoulder. Judging by the windows at his side it was easy to peg him as tall. Hair dark, nose long and pointed, jaw wide.

  The newspaper crinkled as he flipped the page and shook it out. “You seen him around?”

  “Never.” I set the photo back on the bench. “Who is he?”

  “A nuisance. He’s popped up a bit too frequently for my liking.”

  “You think he’s tailing you?”

  “There’s nothing to suggest it’s anything more than a coincidence.” The picture disappeared back behind the paper. “Yet.”

  My pencil scratched across the page, hard enough it left an indent in the paper. “You don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “Neither do you.” Finally, his gaze met mine, almost like he was trying to make a point. “I’ll let you make the call. Do we leave or let it play out a little longer?”

  “You want me to decide?” I nearly dropped my entire sketchbook right on the ground. My opinion was always considered, my voice always heard, but never, ever, had he put the full weight of the decision on me.

  His answer was a heavy dose of silence that made me squirm.

  Slowly, I let the anxiety flow out from me as I went back to my drawing. It was already ruined by the inconsistent line weights—the delicate tracery of the bark too dark, the leaves a garbled mess of line thicknesses—but even if it was garbage it still helped ground me. Think, Dani.

  I blew out a breath. I’d been on the receiving end of this conversation so many times, surely I could take the lead. “Do you think your apartment’s been compromised?”

  He lifted his foot to rest it on his opposite knee. “The apartment’s clean.”

  “Work, then?”

  A nod. “We’ve crossed paths several times en route.”

  I ran my tongue out over my lip. “The risk seems low. Is it possible you’re both just heading in the same direction?”

  The corners of his mouth tightened. “Anything’s possible, Doodle.”

  Internally, my heart was doing its best to make an argument for staying. We’d barely been here a month, and the thought of leaving made my throat close up tight. As much as I wanted to take in the Gavin factor, add it to the equation, I absolutely couldn’t. There couldn’t be a hint of him in my decision-making process.

  I grit my teeth together. Ignoring that aspect, the risk really did seem fairly negligible. If this man, whoever he was, wasn’t trailing him to work or loitering outside his apartment, maybe they really were just headed in the same direction. Two parallel lines that never really intersected.

  I watched two guys carrying a football walk by, waiting until they were out of earshot to say, “I want you to take a different route to work. See if he’s still showing up on your radar. If he is . . .” I hesitated, not wanting to say the words I knew were necessary. “If he is, send the message and we’ll put this place behind us.” To mask the ache, I tried to inject some humor. “You remember what it is, right?”

  A smile flashed across his mouth, a momentary burst of amusement. “You do a half good impersonation of your old man, Doodle.” He stood, stretched. “You’re still protecting yourself?” A glance toward my bag.

  I tilted the top slightly toward him, just enough for a flash of cool metal to peek through. “Assuming there aren’t any further complications, we’ll meet again two weeks from today. The first spot.”

  He folded the newspaper, tucking it underneath his arm.

  I stood, offering him my back while I packed up my sketchbook. “So, did I pass the test?”

  Even though I couldn’t see him, I heard his sigh. “It wasn’t a test, but it’s beyond time I start really preparing you for a certain eventuality.”

  Unease drifted over me. “And what eventuality is that?”

  “One day, Doodle, I’m not going to be around anymore.” His hand landed on my shoulder, warm and comforting while his words were the exact opposite. “More than anything I just want to make sure you’re going to be okay.”

  I lifted my hand to cover his, to prolong that rare moment of affection, but by the time I’d managed it my fingers met nothing but the echo of his. My throat felt tight and warmth pricked my eyes. By the time I finally managed to swallow past the lump clogging it and turn around, he was gone like he’d never even been there in the first place.

  Chapter 23: Gavin

  Someone was knocking on my door. I knew it even through the fog of sleep. And just as soon as I got up the energy to move I was going to fucking kill them. Who the hell did they think they were showing up here at—I lifted my head just enough to search out the time—eleven o’clock in the morning . . .

  Shit.

  I rolled onto my back and kicked off the covers. My eyes were sandy, my mouth drier than Ben’s sense of humor. For some reason I was still wearing my jeans, which made absolutely zero sense. Sleeping with pants on was one of my biggest no-nos. It ranked right up there with having sex with socks on and squeezing toothpaste from the middle of the tube.

  Another knock, softer this time.

  A groan slipped through my lips, and holy hell. My nostrils flared. That wasn’t just morning breath, it was death encapsulated in a scent. Door first, then toothbrush. I forced myself out of bed and almost immediately tripped over an empty bottle of bourbon. It spun, the hints of morning sunlight creeping through the curtain reflecting off it.

  The spinning bottle was like the damn loading circle on the computer and when it stopped revolving, the memories filtered back into place—going to The Blackbird, the absence of Dani there, my heart annihilated, the bourbon. I must’ve eventually pass
ed out.

  My heart gave a painful throb, but I brushed it off. Door, toothpaste, then wallowing.

  Scuffing my feet across the floor, I ran a hand over my hair quickly, trying to at least tame the rioting curls on top of my head. Good enough. I yanked the door open, half-expecting to find Felix on the other side waiting to reprimand me, but instead there was Dani.

  I rubbed my eyes again, hard. Clearly I was hallucinating.

  “Gav, are you okay?” Cool fingers brushed my arm. “You look . . . not good.”

  “That’s probably because I’m not good,” I snapped. “Where the hell did you go? You just left? You couldn’t even bother to be like, hey Gav, the Bat-Signal just went off and I’ve gotta run, I’ll catch up with you later?”

  Her cheeks flushed a light shade of pink and her gaze dipped to the floor. “I’m sorry. Really sorry. It wasn’t intentional. I was just so frazzled after everything that happened that night that when I got the message . . .” She shrugged.

  I held the door open for her. I might’ve been mad but I knew for sure I wasn’t sending her away. And I was absolutely positive this wasn’t a conversation we needed to have in the hall. “Where were you last night?”

  “Last night?” She set a plastic bag down on the counter, filled with what looked like groceries.

  “The Blackbird.”

  I saw the moment the pieces all fell together and her eyes filled with understanding. “I was off, remember? We weren’t supposed to be back yet.”

  Motherfucker. I leaned my elbows on the kitchen counter so I could support my pounding head in my hands. The only person I had to blame for this shitty hangover was myself. Well, maybe I could still share the blame with Dani. Fifteen percent her, eighty-five for me.

  Her fingers gently brushed back my hair. “I am so sorry.” She cupped my cheek in her palm. “Gavin, I want to make you a promise. And I don’t make promises lightly. I’m not a big fan of them honestly, but this one I need to make.”