Текст книги "Back To Back"

Автор книги: Chelsea M. Cameron

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

 

Twenty-Five

 

This time when I wake from the nightmare, I know.

“I was there,” I gasp into Sylas as he holds me. The nightmares don’t always strike at the same time, but he’s always there with me when my eyes snap open.

“You were where, Saige?” he says in a soothing voice.

“The floor. The floor in the picture.” I can’t get the words coming from my mouth to come out right and explain what’s going on in my head. Everything is happening too fast, the images and thoughts bursting like too many fireworks.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it right now,” he says, but I need to make him understand.

“I saw her. I saw her bleeding on the floor, Sylas. Your mother.” His entire body stiffens, his muscles locking up and he’s holding me so tight it hurts.

“You need to tell me what you mean, right now, Saige.” His voice has a dangerous edge to it, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

“I was there when she was killed. At least after. I can see it all now. Her body on the ground, the blood everywhere. I was outside in the rosebushes under the kitchen window.” He makes a sound that doesn’t seem human.

That’s what was bothering me about the linoleum floor. I’d seen it before. Now that I’ve uncovered the memory, it all rushes forward.

I was fourteen and angry with my dad for not letting me work more for him. He’d only give me simple jobs. Play jobs, really. I knew they weren’t real and it drove me crazy. So I did what I could to find out what he was doing. I’d hide in his office, in his closet, anywhere. I was small and limber enough from dance I could get myself in tight spaces and stay there for hours.

I would also hide in the trunk of his car whenever he’d go somewhere and lie to me about it. It was easy to pull the trunk release and let myself out when he got wherever he was going. Then I’d sneak around and find out what he was doing. In my brain, I justified it and I loved doing it. Yet another facet of my stupid teenage rebellion.

I’d been to Sylas’ house once before that afternoon. I didn’t know why Dad came here. He’d park and then I’d wait for him to get out of the car, but he would just sit with the engine off and then drive away. He stopped once and got out, but he was back so fast I barely had time to hop back in the trunk and pull it shut.

That day I’d pretended I was sick so I could stay home from school. I did that a lot and my mother never questioned it. She was far too busy shopping and getting her nails done and gossiping on the phone all the time. Dad was home for most of the day, but I heard him on the phone and knew he was going somewhere in the afternoon.

I got in the trunk and rode until the car stopped. I waited for the sound of Dad getting out and it happened a few minutes later.

Popping the trunk, I slipped out and shut it as quietly as I could. I was in a residential neighborhood, but parked in the driveway of what looked like an abandoned house.

I searched and found Dad walking between the houses. He’d taught me how to follow someone without being seen and I employed all of those skills, darting behind cars and bushes to make sure he didn’t see me.

Finally, he stopped just beyond one house. It looked like all the others and I wondered what my dad was doing here. Who was he following?

I crept closer and closer and watched as Dad looked into the one of the windows. He froze and then he was running, yanking open a side door. I rushed to see what was going on and pulled myself up on a windowsill.

Blood. A woman. My father.

Dad, cradling a woman who was covered in blood.

I was frozen until there was the sound of a beeping school bus. Dad kissed the dead woman’s forehead, in a place clean of blood and then bolted out the door again.

His front was covered in blood. It was so bright against his white shirt. Like paint.

I nearly tripped over myself to run back to the car. And then I did, falling. I wasn’t thinking about getting caught. Just getting away from the horrible scene. The woman’s eyes were blue and open and staring off into space. Something horrible happened in that house to that beautiful woman.

Someone picked me up and carried me back to the car and put me in. And then I blacked out.

I’m violently sucked back into the present by Sylas shaking me so hard my teeth knock against each other.

“What the hell are you talking about?!” He’s screaming at me and I don’t know what to say.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” I say, over and over and over. He finally stops shaking me and gets out of bed, shoving me aside.

“What the fuck are you telling me right now?” he yells, raging around the room like he’s a trapped beast and needs to get out.

“I’m telling you that I was there. My father was there. And that’s all I know.” How is it possible we were all there on that day? And how is it possible that my brain locked up that memory for this long and I’m only now remembering it?

“I can’t fucking believe this. Can’t fucking believe it,” he says and the leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

I’m unable to move. My lungs are hesitant to draw breath. It’s just too much work. I hear the front door slam again and I know I should chase after him, but moving is definitely not in the cards right now.

I’m absolutely still. Now I know what Sylas went through. My brain is still working, but my body refuses to respond. I struggle to flex my fingers and finally get them to wiggle. Then I work on my toes, legs and then arms. What seems like hours later, I slide my feet over the edge of the bed and stand. I need to find him.

I ignore the fact that I’m barely dressed in a pair of thin shorts, a tank top and no bra. I don’t even grab shoes as I leave the bedroom and walk out of the front door. He can’t have gone far, because the keys to the cars are still in the skull by the door.

My bare feet slap against the wooden floor of the hallway then down the stairs and out to the street. It’s the middle of the night and everything is quiet. Not even a car alarm. I look left and right and listen hard. Nothing.

I have to find him. I choose to go left and start walking as fast as I can. The uneven sidewalk bites into my bare feet and I know they’re going to be bloody soon. I go fast, running, and I start calling his name.

“Sylas!” I scream. Someone is probably going to call the cops, but I don’t give a shit. I have to find him. I get to the end of the street and look right and left again. Maybe I should try another direction.

And then I see him. He’s standing against the corner of a building, head bowed and his shoulders shaking. Oh thank God.

“Sylas!” I scream, running across the road and reaching him.

“Go the fuck away, Saige. Go away,” he says, but there’s no strength in his words. He’s breaking again. We both are.

“Come home, Sylas. Come home with me. We don’t have to talk about anymore. Come home with me, babe.” The endearment comes out without me even thinking about it. He lifts his head and swallows before nodding.

I throw myself at him, putting my arms around his neck. He hesitates for a moment before he hugs me back. Thank God. Thank God.

We walk back together and I realize how cut up my feet are. He’s also barefoot and just in a pair of boxer briefs. We’re lucky it’s the middle of the night so no one can see us like this.

We don’t exchange any words as we enter the apartment building again and go back upstairs. I shut and lock the door behind me and turn to face Sylas.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rough. “I shouldn’t have hurt you like that. I just… you brought it all back to me and I got lost in that day for a moment. I just can’t believe you were there.” So was my father. And he never told me. I know he probably did it to protect me, but it didn’t work. The memory surfaced anyway and now I have to deal with something from my past that now feels as fresh as a knife wound.

Sylas wipes his eyes and then holds out his arms.

“I’m sorry I freaked out. I’m so sorry,” I hold him tight and then we go back to the bedroom. He sets me on the bed and then sees my feet.

“Hold on,” he says, going to the bathroom. With gentle care, he gets a washcloth and carefully wipes my feet before slathering them with antibiotic cream and putting a clean pair of socks on them.

“Talk to me,” he says, sitting back on the bed. “Or don’t. Whatever you want to do.” He seems to be overcompensating now for running out earlier. I want to tell him he doesn’t need to, but my words are stuck in my mouth.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” I say. I’m trying to put the pieces together and I have so many questions I can’t answer. Why was Dad at the house? Why did he run away? Why wouldn’t he call the police? Why would he let Sylas discover the body? Why, why, why?

My father is the only one who can answer these questions and tomorrow (technically today) I’m getting answers. Once and for all.

“I know,” Sylas says. “What are the chances?”

“Shitty chances,” I say and he chuckles half-heartedly. Nothing is funny right now.

“I don’t know what to say.” He wraps me in his arms again.

“Me neither,” he says. “I don’t think there is anything we can say.”

So we sit in silence and hold one another until there’s light in the sky and the start of a new day.

 

Twenty-Six

 

Neither of us gets any sleep and we finally get out of bed around six. Without even asking, Sylas goes to the kitchen and makes coffee for both of us. I consider taking a shower, but don’t feel like it. Sylas comes back with the coffee as I’m trying to get dressed.

“What are you going to do now?” he asks as he hands me the cup and sips from his own.

“There’s only one thing to do. My father kept this from me. I want to know why. And I want to know how he could keep this from me for so long. And you deserve to know, too.” He sets his cup down and looks out the window, splitting the blinds.

I finish my coffee and go to the kitchen for more, wincing as I walk on my cut feet.

“You should have let me do that,” he says, coming up behind me.

“It’s okay,” I say and top him off while I have the pot in my hand.

“I don’t want to put you through something that’s going to hurt you,” I say, trying to give him an out.

He steps behind me and starts massaging my shoulders. It almost hurts because my muscles are so incredibly tense.

“A part of me wants to confront him too. I want to see him explain himself. I think it will be good for both of us.” Good.

Sylas keeps massaging my shoulders and I wish we could just go back to bed and spend the day naked and sweating together. For the thousandth time, I wish we were a normal couple with normal problems.

I can’t deal with sitting around the house, so we both get dressed and head over to my parents’ before eight. My father is a morning person and my mother will still be too drugged out on sleeping pills and wine to know what the hell is going on.

Dad’s car is in the driveway and Martha seems thrilled to see me. She even gives me a little hug.

“Let me get your father. Would you like some breakfast?” I shake my head as she walks briskly to the dining room where I know Dad’s eating his breakfast and reading the paper. He does the same thing every morning. Like clockwork.

He comes out, still wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“Saige?” he asks and I can tell he’s wary, but happy that I’m here.

I take a breath and squeeze Sylas’ hand.

“Why didn’t you tell me I was there when Marina was killed?” The napkin drops to the floor and Dad goes completely white.

“When did you remember?”

“Last night.” He brings his hand to his mouth and I’ve never seen him look so spooked. So scared.

Sylas clears his throat.

“I think you owe her an explanation,” he says. Dad looks at Sylas as if it’s the first time he’s ever seen him before.

Dad blinks and then stutters as he says “Let’s go to my office.” He robotically walks back to the door and then holds it open for Sylas and me.

He locks it behind us and everyone sits down.

Dad looks a little better, but he’s still rattled.

“I never thought you were going to remember. That it was too much for you,” he says and I want to interrupt him, but I don’t. I need to hear his entire explanation.

“When I found you, your eyes were totally glazed over. I called your name, but you didn’t answer. I got you home and tucked in your bed, and then took a shower so I wouldn’t be covered in blood when you came back around. By the time I went to check on you, you were asleep. The next morning you acted like nothing had happened. As if the event had been erased from your brain. I asked you leading questions and… nothing. You never said anything. Never asked. I thought you had repressed the memory. I was so angry that you had seen that.” He closes his eyes and takes a breath, as if he needs a moment.

“Over the years, I waited for the memory to come back and then when it didn’t, I thought you were out of the woods. That your brain had protected you from something too awful. Too terrible to be real. I thought it was for the best.”

I can understand where he’s coming from, but I still need answers.

“What were you doing there?” I ask.

He leans on his desk, as if he needs the support.

“I had people watching the house. Watching her. I knew that husband of hers was up to something and sooner or later, she was probably going to be collateral damage. I was trying to protect her that day. But I was too late.” His eyes are wet and red with unshed tears. I look at Sylas beside me and he’s rigid in his chair. His face unmoving.

“I… I thought I could save her but I was too late. It was already done.” He’s looking at Sylas as he speaks.

Sylas breathes in a jerky manner, as if it’s not easy. His hands are shaking and I reach out to hold one of them.

“Is there anything you want to say to me, Sylas?” Dad says.

“No,” he says. “No. I don’t want to hear anything from you. I’m sorry, Saige, I need a moment.” I tell him it’s okay, and he gets up and leaves the room. I let him go, giving him time with his grief.

“This is really fucked up,” I say, but Dad doesn’t reprimand me for cursing.

“Yes. It is.”

We’re both silent for a while.

“Is this the last secret?” I ask.

“Yes. This is the last secret. I promise. And I’ll tell you the details about anything else you want to know. No censoring.” I shake my head.

“I don’t need it. I just want to make sure this is the last secret about me that you’re keeping from me.” I need to hear him say it again.

“Yes. It is the last one.”

“Do you feel better now that you’ve killed him?” I ask. I’ve been wanting to know the answer to this question ever since he got back.

“Yes and no. It doesn’t solve anything, but it was still the right thing to do. For her.” Marina. I wonder what she thinks. If she’s looking down on all of us and watching us make mistake after mistake.

“I know what you did and why you did it. I’m not angry at you for hiding it from me. I just… I just wish I hadn’t hopped in the trunk that day,” I say.

“I know. I wish that too. I wish I hadn’t gotten in my car and driven that day. Seeing her like that… it’s an image I will never get out of my head. When I close my eyes at night and when I wake from nightmares, that’s what I see. If I could take that image from your mind, I would.”

He falls silent and we’re both lost in our thoughts for a few minutes.

“I should go find him,” I say.

Dad gets up from his desk.

“Can I give you a hug?” He’s never asked me that before. It seems strange.

“Yes,” I say and he comes around the desk. I put my arms around his waist, lightly at first and then tighter. I don’t remember the last time he hugged me like this. He kisses the top of my head.

“I’ll eat you up, I love you so,” he whispers and I look up at him.

“What was that?” A small smile lifts his lips and his eyes glitter.

“Marina used to say that. It’s from a children’s book, Where the Wild Things Are.”

“I know,” I say.

I find Sylas in the garden, sitting on the bench swing in the gazebo. He gives me a tight smile as I walk up the steps and sit down next to him.

“I want to ask you if you’re okay, but I know you hate it,” I say. My feet don’t touch the floor of the gazebo, so Sylas rocks us back and forth.

“I’m more okay that I was, I suppose. Just more material for therapy, right?” He turns his head and gives me a wry smile. I’m shocked he’s being calm about it.

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I still feel like I should say it.” He slides over and puts his arm around me.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. We’re all victims in this circumstance. I’m sorry you had to see that. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. I’m sorry your father saw it as well.” I rest my hand on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat.

“Where do we go from here?” I ask. He puts his hand under my chin and tilts my head up.

“I don’t know. But I know I want to go wherever it is with you. I want to marry you, Saige. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next year, but someday. I want to marry you and have children with you and call you my wife.” All of my breath leaves my body.

“I don’t know what to say.” Sylas does not seem like the marriage/children/picket fence kind of guy.

“You don’t have to say anything right now. I’m not asking. Just letting you know it’s coming. I want a life with you.” I want to cry again, but this time it’s happy tears.

“I want a life with you, too. I just never thought I would want this. Want normal things.” He laughs.

“Well, it won’t be normal. It will be our kind of normal. You’ll have skulls on your wedding dress and we’ll have weapons in the closet and we’ll spend our nights fucking in alleys and dancing in restaurants.” I like the sound of all of that.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says and then seals his mouth over mine.

 

Twenty-Seven

 

No longer crippled by my nightmare, but still having problems dealing with its implications, I take Sylas’ advice and go and see his therapist. She’s middle-aged, mild-mannered and I find myself spilling my guts to her. Well, almost all of my guts. I’m able to keep my illegal activities to myself, but everything else is open.

I come away from my first session feeling light and at peace. I enjoyed it much more than I thought I would.

Sylas moves the rest of his stuff into my place and I decide we need some new furniture items, so we go to a store and pick out a new couch and some more art pieces for the wall. He demands that we frame the drawing I made of his naked back and hang it in our bedroom, over my protestations.

As payback, I call Cash and invite the rest of the guys over for dinner and don’t tell Sylas. He’s been spending his days trying to figure out what he wants to do. He’ll spend some time at the library checking out new books, or on the computer researching college classes and he’s also signed up at the local learning annex for a few classes on different things. I’m so proud of him taking control of his life like this and I can tell he’s happy doing it.

But when he walks into the house and his friends are sitting around my dining table as I dish out slabs of lasagna, the smile fades. His eyes narrow.

“You are in so much trouble, Redhead,” he says and I know it’s the kind of trouble that means I’m going to be very satisfied in bed tonight. He can never seem to stay mad at me for very long. Our relationship is far from perfect, and we’re still working on our trust issues, but we’re getting there.

It takes until dessert before I finally win over Row and Hardy, but the chocolate cream pie I make from scratch finally does it.

“If you break his heart, we’ll break everything you own,” Row says, pointing at me with his fork. Hardy just nods in agreement because his mouth is full.

“Fair enough,” I say and Sylas jumps into defend me. The evening devolves into a lot of cursing and male posturing. I just sit back and watch. It’s a good thing I have a big (and sturdy) table and enough chairs for them all.

The night turns out well and we plan another one. Somehow, it turns into a weekly event and soon Lo joins us. It’s awkward introducing the guys and they have to be careful what they talk about when she’s around, but I see Cash watching her and she’s definitely giving him the eye.

I get a text from her about five minutes after she walks out the door begging me to tell her anything I can about him.

“It’s obvious when you think about it,” Sylas says, as if he knew they were going to get together all along. He says he did, but I think he’s a liar.

My relationship with my father is still on shaky ground. It’s going to take time to build it back to where it was. He’s kept his word about having the guys legitimately working for him and it’s turned out better than I think he expected. He’s had two more visits with Lizzy and someday we’re going to tell her that he’s her father. She definitely likes him, but then again, she likes everyone.

Now that I’m not working for Dad anymore, I can concentrate more on school. I decide I want to spend a few weeks abroad in Italy studying and Sylas is fully supportive of it and I want him to come with me.

I still have the nightmare, and now it’s in full color, with all the details intact. But Sylas is there when I wake up and I’m getting better at dealing with it. Therapy helps. Talking helps. I’ve accepted that I’ll probably always deal with this memory, but Sylas has to deal with the same thing and there’s comfort in that.

The two of us have been through so much in a few short months. From conning each other, to pretending to be in love, to actually being in love, to becoming a couple. It’s fast and it’s confusing and it’s so, so right.

I never question whether I belong with Sylas. We were meant to find each other, one way or another. Our path was littered with pain and blood, but somehow we got to the good part. The happy.

“Luck,” he’ll say when we talk about how we got together.

“Fate,” I argue back. It’s something we’ll never agree on, but fighting about it is fun and always ends up with the two of us being naked.

I start looking at apartments and I definitely want one with at least two bedrooms. I would love for Lizzy to come and stay with us overnight since Sylas doesn’t have to protect her like he used to. He’s considering moving her to a facility that’s closer, but she’s settled there, so he’s going to wait and see how she feels about it.

I’m clicking on a new listing when Sylas walks through the door. I minimize the window and get up to give him a hello kiss.

“So, I’ve decided.”

“Decided?” I ask, rubbing my palm along his newly growing beard. I’ve begged him to grow one just to see what it looks like and he’s humoring me, at least for now.

“What I’m going to do with my life.”

“And?” He’s been very cagey about what his interests are and I find it amusing that he doesn’t want to tell me.

He holds up a hand.

“Wait here.” He goes back out the door and comes back, something behind his back. I can see what it is before he shows it to me.

“A guitar?” I ask.

“A guitar. My mother played and I always wanted to. So I’ve been taking classes and it just feels… right.” I’m getting emotional and I bite my lip to stop myself from falling over the edge and losing it.

“Like fate,” I say and he rolls his eyes.

“Like I have a talent and I’m lucky to have it and I should be using it.” I sigh and he goes to the couch and takes out the guitar. He strums a few chords with so much ease, I’m suspicious.

“Are you sure you’ve only been learning for a few weeks?” I ask. He starts to play a little tune I don’t recognize.

“Yes, but I used to watch my mother play and maybe some of that just stuck with me. I don’t know. Anyway, I was wondering what you were doing tonight.” I narrow my eyes, but he just gives me a smile that says he’s got something up his sleeve.

“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me what I’m doing?” I ask with a sweet smile.

“You’re coming to see me play at the coffee house. Our coffee house.” I squeal with glee and throw myself at him, but the guitar is in the way. He puts it aside as I kiss him all over his face.

“I’m so proud of you. So proud. And your mother would be. Is.” He holds my face and raises his eyebrows.

“You think? That she’s watching me? Us?” I nod.

“I have no doubt. She wouldn’t have left you alone in this world. You or Lizzy. She loved you too much.” I don’t need to have known her to know that’s true.

“I think so too.”

Sylas is mesmerizing. There are only about three people (including me) who are actually listening when he starts to play, but soon every head in the coffee shop is turned to watch him and before I know it, the place is packed with people who are just as entranced with him as I am. I have to fight to get close to him when he finishes. He gives me an embarrassed smile, as if he has no idea the effect he has on people. The effect his unbelievable voice has. Ten minutes later he’s booked for the next week and at two other venues.

“It’s fate,” I say. “Fate, fate, fate.” He gathers me in his arms after he puts his guitar in the case. He recently had it painted red and the word “Marina” carved into it. It makes me smile whenever I see it.

“Luck,” he counters. “Luck, luck, luck.” He gives me a kiss each time he says it. I pull back and hold his face so he can’t kiss me again.

“Fate.”

He just shakes his head.

“Whatever you say, Redhead.”