Once the door closed behind him, I called it a night. I had the first shift tomorrow, which meant I'd be off whenshearrived.
I hadno clue how long I had been out when I jolted upright in bed. My heart was hammering against my ribs. I couldn't draw in the air I needed to feed oxygen to my lungs. My chest burned, and my hand automatically reached to the side, finding its target. As soon as my skin connected with the cool metal of my H&K, the pounding of my heart slowed. I curled my fingers around the grip and inhaled slow, deep breaths.
It was just a dream.
I repeated the exercise, a.k.a. breathing, as I studied the ceiling above me. This was not my room. Every other person would panic from waking up in an unfamiliar place. Not me. I was trained to remain in control. Without moving, my gaze scanned its surroundings, and I recognized my location. I was in the guesthouse—my temporary home.
Every inch of my body was covered in a sheen of cold sweat, my white shirt clinging to my skin. Strands of my hair stuck to the side of my face, and I regretted not tying it back last night. I was gonna have to shower before my shift started in—I peered at the red digits on the alarm clock—two hours.
It was three in the fucking morning.
With my pulse returned to a normal rhythm, I clasped the corner of the comforter with my opposite, not-armed hand and threw it back. Sliding my legs out of bed, I sat hunched forward, forearms resting on my thighs, my gun ready.
Despite my steady beating heart, my mind was anything but. With my eyes flicking over the objects in the room, I recalled my dream. Nightmare.Memory. Bits and pieces fell into place, and with every new picture forming in my mind, the sweat started coating my skin anew. It hurt to inhale.
I could smell the coppery scent of her blood. Saw her contorted body. Her eyes were closed. I fell on the hot asphalt next to her. No, no, no. The pain receptors in my body screamed at me to get up. I could sense the gravel biting into my bare knees, the heat from the day still lingering on the surface. My hands were trembling. I was scared to touch her, but at the same time, I needed confirmation that she was alive. Her chest. Was she breathing? Please breathe. More screaming in the background. It was all a blur of sound. Tilting too far forward, I caught myself, my palm landing in something sticky. I tuned it all out. She needed to breathe. I couldn't lose her. I couldn't lose her. I couldn't—
Dropping the H&Knext to me on the mattress, I shoved my fingers into my hair. I fought the urge to yank on the strands, making the pain overshadow the memory. I hadn't had that dream in years. I spent hours upon hours working through the suffocating torture of reliving the last time I saw her chest move.
This washerfault. Denielle showing up here indefinitely had caused a crack in my carefully constructed armor. I would not let her ruin my life a second time.
I pushed upright and grabbed my sweatpants from the bottom of the bed. There was no going back to sleep. I might as well get my workout in early today.
CHAPTERTHREE
DENIELLE
I haveno idea how I've avoided him for the better part of two weeks.
Every corner I round, I expect Marcus to intercept me and finally follow through with his hate. We've evaded each other for years, but now I'minvadinghis life—and job.
The first time I ran into him, the second day after I arrived in LA, my stomach plummeted, as if I were bungee jumping—without the cord. On cue, he glowered at me, his lips parted, and I expected one of his verbal barbs. Instead, his focus shifted, and I no longer existed. I caught myself, on several occasions, seeking out his eyes simply because confusion knotted my insides. I had no idea how to handle the change. I was torn between wobbly legs, a dry throat, and insomnia—relief, paranoia,andsuspicion about what game he was playing.
Ethan was around more than during any of my previous stays at the mansion. I didn't complain, yet I wondered if the adjustment in Lilly's security was caused by my residency in her house. That followed a whole rabbit hole of questions: Who initiated the change? Marcus rarely left her side since he took over for George. Did Marcus request to be spared my presence? Was my secret no longer hidden in the dark? Did my best friend dig into my past? Or did he fill in the gaps to his animosity? Was I imagining it all? If Lilly knew, why wouldn't she tell me?
I needed to find a job and a place of my own ASAP.
The few times we ventured out, Marcus went back to being glued to Lilly's heels, but again, he ignored me. He did tense up whenever I would say something, and, one time, I caught him curling his fingers into fists until the whites of his knuckles showed, but that was it. He didn't throw his usual disdain at me. At times, he seemed almost distracted. Lilly said this was a hard time for him.
I knew.
Since I changed my number, Collin switched to email. His desperately ridiculous attempts to explain himself started to grate on my nerves. How do you justify cheating? Continuous cheating with some chick thatworksthe club scene, as I found out from a mutual friend. When Phyllis Liberman's name popped up in my inbox, I had reached my limit. I deleted all five unread messages and blocked everyone associated with Collin or Liberman Fashion.
I didn't want to get a new account—yet. I had had that email since high school, and all my professional connections reached me through it. This was my fresh start. Unfortunately, from scratch since I wouldn't receive a reference from my previous employer, but…fuck it. I could do it. Marcus Baxter may be able to intimidate me, but not this sex-crazed excuse of a man who couldn't even use protection when he cheated on his future wife.
Wife. God. What was I thinking?
When Wes found out, he all but ripped me a new one. King had to take the phone away from him when he got so loud he was about to wake Haddie up. He was right, though. Being away from my friends, immersed into my world in New York, part of me believed this was the right decision. It was not. Being around them for the past fourteen days had opened my eyes.
We've finishedAudrey's birthday lunch and are waiting for the little ones to wake up from their nap before we have cake. After helping clean up the kitchen, I make my way to the heart of the estate. I love coming to the vineyard. Despite what happened here, it always gives me a sense of peace—seclusion from the world.
My gaze is out the floor-to-ceiling windows in the first-floor great room. Lilly called it the big sitting room when she first described this place—big being about as accurate as referring to February in Montana asmildly chilly. (I've vowed never to visit Wes during that time again.)
The windows face the back of the property. From my spot, I observe the guys being their obnoxious, childlike selves. A laugh bubbles up, and I shake my head as Rhys climbs on Wes's shoulders. This is not going to end well. Movement to the side pulls my attention away from the boys. I follow King as she drops into Marcus's lap. A hollowness settles in my chest. They have a bond only two people who've experienced similar trauma can understand. Before King took her place at Wes's side, Wes and I were those two people. We were there for each other when everything else had fallen apart around us.Butdespite him being my rock, I never confided in him about what revelation turned my already broken world to rubble six years ago. At times, I wanted to tell him—anyone—but then I remembered that this would ultimately not just change my life. It would unravel a string of carefully woven lies.
"What are you doing in here?" I jerk around as Lilly steps to my side. The magnitude of the room caused her question to echo.
I plaster the smile on my face that has become a permanent fixture there. My mind struggles between the pull of happiness for being here with my friends and dodging the knife threatening to cut the string tethering me to my future—dangling in front of me how I ruined someone else's.