Chapter 34

Three pictures. That's all I have to remember my mother. Remember isn't the right word ... Maybe it's to memorialize the fact that I had one, but I never knew her. I stare at the way she smiled at my dad, and the way she looked so happy in her makeshift wedding dress, The Las Vegas Chapel in the background and the champagne bottle in her hand. I always thought it was cheap and impulsive, but after spending so much time and seeing the money poured into the weddings I plan, I wonder if they got it right. Love each other and make a promise. She couldn't keep her side of it, but my dad would tell me the best part of loving my mother was that he got me. Wiping away my tears, I think about him and how disgusted I am at myself for what just happened.

I put the photos back into the wooden box and run my fingers over the magnet from Disney World, the photo strip of us that we took on the boardwalk after celebrating the last day of 7th grade, and the tiny Buddha he said would bring me luck when we spent the day in Chinatown, wandering and eating our way down Pell Street. Tiny trinkets and pieces of paper are the only things in the entire storage unit that mean anything to me.

"Somebody—"

It's the only word I hear before the gut-wrenching scream that carries and echoes down the hall. I didn't know that I was this kind of person. That if it came down to something or someone in danger, if I would fight or flight. But I don't think. I run out of the unit so fast, but instead of away, I run toward the screaming. I leave my phone behind. My purse and wallet. I simply run to help with whatever's happening and to whom. When I turn the brightly lit corner and see the blood dripping down her neck, the torn, mutilated skin, and the way tears streak down her dirty face, I stop with my heart in my throat, but she doesn't. I don't panic. An instant need to help, find the problem, and fix it takes over me.

"Please! Oh god, please get me out of here. We need to leave!"

I glance behind her and see nothing. When I turn, I catch sight of the fire alarm. I lift the plastic cover and pull down. But nothing happens. There isn't a blaring alarm or ringing, only a light that flashes above the exits. Why is there no alarm?

That's when I hear it. Hear him. "You're mine, pretty thief."

I suck in a breath, and it feels like a weight sitting heavy on my chest. I start coughing as soon as my eyes open. My back, underneath my boobs, and along my upper lip are all damp with sweat. It's the warm hand on my forearm that grounds me. It's the one that helped wake me. I blink away the remnants of the nightmare. Small pieces of it are different from the reality of what happened, but it still amplifies my anxiety. I know that's not what he said, but hearing that voice has my stomach in knots.

Maybe it was seeing Phillip again that stirred things up. Even though Grant made sure Phillip wouldn"t be a problem. If I had to guess, it didn't take much convincing if Grant threatened to blow up the inflated life that Phillip had built in Manhattan. It would be enough to keep him away and quiet.

But my dreams aren't about Phillip. They're about everything that happened in that storage facility after Phillip. I've woken up sweating and unsettled, remembering pieces of a nightmare, every night for the last week. And I've had enough. I'm not even upset anymore; I'm just pissed. I hate having to relive these feelings, the anxiousness, the adrenaline of being chased, the seemingly endless what ifs. I look around the room. The drapes are drawn closed, the low hum of central air keeping the temperature cool despite my overheated body.

"You're okay. It was just a bad dream," Grant says softly, rubbing small circles along the top of my hand. He doesn't know what they're about, but he still comforts me.

I sit up and scrub my hands over my face. The bed shifts and Julep jumps up, sitting on alert at the foot of the bed. "I'm okay, sweet girl," I say and wiggle my fingers for her to come closer.

Grant leans up from lying on his stomach and kisses my arm. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really. I'm—" I don't know what I am. My body buzzes with something that doesn't feel right. An uneasiness that I'd like to ignore.

In his morning low gravel, he answers for me. "Not okay?"

I shake my head no. He kisses where he was just soothing on my hand.

"How about I show you what I do when I'm not okay?" He gets up before I can respond, his black boxer briefs molded to his delicious ass.

I roll my lips to hold back a smile as I check out just how handsome this man is, especially in the morning. Bite-my-fist level attractive. "Does it involve you being naked in your kitchen?"

He throws a t-shirt at my face. "Get dressed and meet me down in my workspace."

"Hit it again."

Almost an hour later, and I'm out of breath. It feels good to throw my amped-up energy at a heavy bag. After I brushed my teeth and opted for a sports bra and shorts instead of one of his t-shirts, he had hand wraps and a pair of boxing gloves waiting for me.

I hit the bag again.

I'm still in a mood. Pissed off and working through it, but pissed off nonetheless. I had helped someone, and any good feelings associated with that were washed out by having to leave everything I had known. And I still haven't told Grant all of it. Maybe it's more about keeping this from him than Phillip showing up.

I hit the bag again.

Relocating, and running away, no matter how smart or safe of a move it was, made me feel like I didn't have control. Those nightmares just remind me that things are still unfinished. Unanswered. I don't know the whole story. And it's my fucking story.

I throw three punches in succession and then lean against the bag, glancing up at him.

"Why are you just watching me?"

"Keep going. Same combination, but add a knee at the end of it."

"You keep going," I snap back, out of breath.

"I'm watching you because you look fucking good hitting that bag."

I don't want him to flirt with me. I'm sweating and working my ass off and he's just watching. Julep too.

"That's all I am, here for your viewing pleasure, then?" I throw two jabs and a left hook.

When he smirks, it has me stopping.

"This isn't working." I yank off the gloves.

"Tell me what you need." He tilts his head to the side, sizing me up.

"Fantastic question. Why don't you tell me."

My eyes narrow as he bites his lower lip, trying to hold back from smiling. "You want someone who's going to challenge that smart-ass mouth of yours?"

"You didn't think it was a smart-ass mouth when it was choking on your cock."

He barks out a laugh, and I swallow mine down. I hadn't planned on saying that.

I can imagine what I look like right now. My hair has escaped from its sagging ponytail, with a series of wet sweat spots spanning from between my boobs and down to the crease where my ass meets my thighs. I'm sweating in places I hadn't realized would sweat. And I'm picking a fight.

"You've been too sweet to me lately. Is that it? All that fire you have is trying to figure out where to go?"

Even as my belly swoops, I hit the heavy bag again with a huff. "What does that even mean, Grant?"

Every minute that passes, the cloud of truth hangs heavier over my head. Each punch is like a fight I'm having with myself at this point. We said no more lies, but my secret is one that has to be kept, no matter what. No matter what happens with us. It's one that could put him in as much danger for knowing as I am for living it. How can I do that to him?

"I'm telling you that whatever you need, I'm right here." He steps closer, and just his proximity softens me. "If you want to punch that bag for the rest of the morning to work through some shit, then fine. If you want to take a walk down to the stables, those horses can always help me forget the things that are too loud. If you need me to leave you alone because you need space, then I can do that too."

My chest tightens, and I grab his forearm to nudge him to come closer. "Not that one." Out of all the things I was racking my mind about what I needed to do or stop feeling in order to get out of this slump, distance from him wasn't one of them.

No more lies.

I clear my throat and close my eyes briefly before looking up at him. "You already know I'm not from Colorado."

He lets out a low hum and leans against the heavy bag. "I know."

"I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe it was the wrong place at the right time. I told you about that night in the storage unit with Phillip."

Nodding, he loops his finger with my pinky. He wants to touch me, but he's giving me space. "Keep going, baby."

And just those words are enough to let me exhale that breath I've been holding for so long. "I was upset about what had just happened. But then, I heard a scream..."

I tell him the whole story. How I helped another woman escape a nightmare and the chaotic hours afterwards that led me to Ace's front porch.

"I don't know what's going to happen next. I can't even say for sure if I'm safe." I shake my head. "I just know that I trust you with my story."

"I understand what it means to hold on to a secret like yours. The kind of trust you need to feel and have with me in order to share it." He curls a piece of hair that fell from behind my ear, cupping my cheek in his palm. With his eyes locked onto mine, he promises, "It's safe with me. You're safe with me."

With eyes blurred with unshed tears, I breathe out, "I know."

Wrapping his arms around my middle, he pulls me into him.

"I'm sweaty," I laugh, trying to pull back. But he won't let me.

"Shut up," he says, holding me tighter. Then he licks the side of my neck. An exaggerated lick, right up the side where sweat drips, and I swear I feel it between my legs. "You think a little sweat could scare me off?" Lifting me so that my feet are just centimeters off the ground, he kisses my lips and drags his teeth along the bottom. "Which candy is your favorite?"

I laugh out, "What?"

"Tell me which one is your favorite."

"That's not an easy answer."

"Tell me anyway." He smiles and gives my side a little pinch.

"Red Vines and sour gummy bears, and maybe those Modjeska things. Tied for first. Oh, and the chocolate-covered gummy bears, too."

He paid attention. He already knows that sour gummy bears are a top choice. Last week, I found unopened bags in his snack cupboard and bedside table. He told me they were "in case of an emergency."

"You're all of those to me. My favorite tastes." He kisses my lips once more. "Your mouth." He kisses my neck. "Sweat. Tears." He rubs his lips along my jaw. "Your pussy. The way she gets wet for me. How she tastes when she wants me. The way she tastes after she's had me. All of it."

I can't help but smile, giggling at his words. My body instantly warms, ready for him, as he lowers me to the ground and kneels before me.

"Thank you," he says softly.

I search his expression for what he means, but he looks back at me with such adoration that my eyes water. "For what, baby?" I smile.

He raises my hand up, placing a kiss on my wrist, and simply says, "For you."

Out of all the shit that brought me here, even if I need to be reminded every once in a while, the moral of it all is that...I'm here. In front of a man who wants to be the reason I stay.

A man who is now quite literally on his knees to make me feel so damn good.