And then the night was shattered by Leighton's screams.
Chapter 12
Leighton
I was wound too tight to sleep, and it wasn't just because things were going so well with the pool house. Haze's compliment kept repeating itself in my head. He thought I had talent. Now I had to show him that I was going to use that talent for more than decorating the homes of the rich and famous. It'd be easy to use my friends, and even my grandfather's colleagues, to start an interior design business, but I wanted my work to help people who needed it.
I just needed to figure out how to do it. So I did what anyone in my generation would've done. I went to the internet to research.
Since I was already thinking pools because of my current project, I started there. I'd been thinking about maybe a children's pool, but then I stumbled across an article that stopped me. A veterans' rehabilitation center connected to Cedar-Sinai was trying to raise funds for a physical therapy pool.
My heart twisted at the thought of all those injured men and women who'd given so much for their country. Men like my brother who would fight tooth and nail to be able to continue. Men like Haze who had lost that part of their life forever.
This was it. This was what I had to do. For Ian. For Haze. For all of those soldiers and officers who were someone else's brother, sister. Husband, wife. Father. Mother. These were the people I needed to do this for.
I wrote down all the contact numbers I could find, and then got ready for bed even though I doubted I'd be able to sleep. My heart raced as I thought of all the possibilities, my mind going even faster. Finally, after a couple hours of just lying there, I decided to take one of the homeopathic sleeping pills Doc Bellamy had suggested after my ordeal.
I snuggled deeper into my bed and, after a few minutes, felt the first floating effects of the sleeping pill. The deeper the sleeping pill pulled me under, the harder it was to hang on to my hopeful plans, but that was okay. I needed to rest. Sleep overtook me, and with it, a dream that swept me right back to the nightclub.
The bartender watched me across the VIP Lounge. I was used to creepy stares and unwanted attention, but something about him made me shiver. The same feeling swept over me on the stairs. Paris was gone, so was my bodyguard, and all I wanted to do was get to the car where I knew I'd be safe. It'd been foolish of me to go out without Haze.
The door opened, and everything went black.
When I woke, the darkness was still there, coiled around me, and I couldn't breathe. There was no relief from the black void, and no way to escape the electronically altered voice that haunted me.
“He'll never really want you. No one ever really wants you. They think you're a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kinda girl. And I'm going to make sure what they see is a wreck.”
I tried to push it away. I tried to crawl out from the fear suffocating me, but I couldn't escape.
“Why me?” I finally asked. I didn't expect an answer.
But I got one.
“Because you think you're better than me. You think just because people hand you whatever you want that you deserve it.”
“I'm going to deserve it,” I insisted. “I'm going to do good.”
“You're going to do what you always do. You'll try on charity like a pretty dress, and then throw it away when it's out of fashion,” the voice sneered. “You can't be good. You're spoiled rotten. Spoiled clean through.”
“I can change,” I said, unshed tears burning my eyes.
“That's what I'm here for,” the voice said. “I'm going to change you, make sure you come out of this dark room a different girl.”
I clawed against the darkness and the world shifted. Now I was in the concrete basement room, dim, dirty sunlight seeping through the narrow window. I had no blindfold on, but it didn't matter. I would hurt just the same.
The man with the ski mask came inside and slammed the door behind him. I barely saw him move before he back-handed me and the room spun. It didn't stop spinning as he hit me again, and again.
After what felt like forever, the man dropped to the floor and untied my legs from the chair. Hot breath panted against my skin, and my throat filled with bile.
He wasn't out of breath.
He was...excited.
“Just let me go,” I begged. “I can pay whatever you want.”
He hauled me to my feet and slammed me against the brick wall. He pressed against me, whispering in my ear, “I told you this job came with certain benefits. Benefits I'm sure you won’t provide willingly.”
I struggled, but he laughed as he spun me around so my face cracked against the wall. I felt his erection grow harder against my ass, and I gagged. I was frozen, too frightened to move, afraid of how much he'd like it. He shoved his boot between my feet, and pushed my legs farther apart. I tried to scream, but he ground my face into the bricks.
The door swung open, and for one moment, hope flooded me. I was rescued. Haze had come for me.
But it wasn't Haze.
I knew it wasn't him.
He wasn't coming for me.
No one was coming for me.
The man in the ski mask shoved me to the ground. I fell hard, the metallic tang of blood filling my mouth.
“I see I'm just in time,” the figure in the doorway said in its garbled voice.
I couldn't see the person because the light from the hallway was too bright, but something about them was familiar.
“I was just getting started,” the man in the ski mask said.
“Good,” the voice said. “Because I want to watch.”
As the figure started toward me, the man in the ski mask reached for me again. This time, I knew there'd be no respite, no one to stop him from what he was about to do to me...
“Leighton! It's me, sweetheart.”
Haze's voice cut through the nightmare.
“You're alright,” he continued. “I've got you.”
My eyes flew open, and for one terrible second, I thought his voice had been a dream and that the nightmare was real. Then it hit me, the sound of him. The feel of his arms around me. His scent. Everything about him told me I was safe.
Even as my body relaxed against his, I realized how awkwardly we were sitting. He'd placed me on the bed next to him, his arms around my shoulders. I'd apparently tried to get as close as possible, and was clinging to his side. Instead of turning his torso to hug me, however, he sat squarely forward, preventing me from tucking myself comfortably under his arm.
“Why are you here?” I asked softly, half-afraid of his answer.
“It's my job, remember?” His voice was quiet, but there was nothing soft about it.
I pulled back, wrapping my arms around my chest. So much for changing the way he saw me. “It's not your job to save me from nightmares.”
“You were screaming, Leighton. I had to make sure you were okay.” He looked over at me, his expression impossible to read in the dim light. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”
There were several things I wanted to talk to him about, but I couldn't. Maybe not ever, but certainly not now. I needed to have my emotions under better control before I talked about anything having to do with him and me.
“I already told you everything,” I said, keeping my words clipped. “The boss didn't know how to hit, so the man in the ski mask did it.” I tried not to shiver. “He enjoyed it...a lot. I remembered how excited it made him.”
Haze's fists clenched, a mixture of anger and disgust crossing his face.
“Nothing else happened,” I said quickly. I knew that no matter how Haze saw me, he didn't want me hurt. “The boss made him leave. I think, I think he jerked off in the hall or something.” I gagged at the mental image my words produced.
Haze stood up, the sudden movement nearly knocking me off the bed.
“This time, when I find him, I'm going to kill him.” His tone was flat, matter-of-fact.
I didn't doubt for a moment that he'd do exactly what he said. Then I bl
inked. “This time?”
“Sorry,” he said with a shake of his head. “I just wish I shot the sick bastard when I had the chance.” His voice softened. “Are you sure you're okay? Do you want me to get your grandfather?”
“It was just a dream,” I said, wishing my voice was steadier. “I'm okay.”
“Memories of trauma come back like that,” he said. His face was blank, the words kind, but unemotional. “Don't be afraid to ask for help when you need it. Your grandfather loves you very much. You don't have to go through it alone.”
An eon of silence stretched out between us, and I waited for him to say something, anything, that would indicate that he would be with me too.
Except he didn't. Instead, he walked toward the door.
Something inside me cracked at the thought of being left alone here, even with the light from my bathroom keeping me from total darkness.
“Please. Please don't go.” I fought to keep down the panic threatening to overtake me. “I know it's not your job, but could you please stay with me?”
My teeth began to chatter and I pulled up the covers I'd thrown off at some point during my nightmare. I was wearing a pair of boy shorts and a t-shirt, not exactly the warmest of attire to begin with.
“Of course.” He didn't sound happy about it, but he didn't sound upset or put out either. “I'll stay as long as you need.”
I moved over to make room in my bed. The thought of Haze's strong arms around me was already unwinding the tight knots in my stomach and calming my tremors. He wore nothing but pajama pants, and I knew that the warmth of his body would chase away the chill that had settled in my bones.
Instead of coming to me, however, he pulled a faux fur blanket from the foot of my bed and made his way over to my overstuffed armchair in the corner of the room. There he settled in, sitting up so he could watch over me.
“You don't have to sit up in the chair all night,” I said, hoping I didn't sound as needy as I felt. “Come and get some rest yourself.”
“That would be...inappropriate.”
My cheeks blazed as hurt and anger flared. I'd seduced him once into comforting me. I could do it again.
But I didn't.
I wrapped the blankets more tightly around me.
I didn't want to seduce Haze. I wanted him to ache to hold me just as much as I longed to be held. I wanted him to want me the way I wanted him.
But he didn't.
Chapter 13
Haze
I was warm despite the fact I'd left the guest house in nothing but pajama pants. Part of it was the room itself, but I knew more of it was her. Being near her. Seeing her. The scent of her shampoo and soap.
Holding her in my arms.
The armchair was comfortable, but the adrenaline that had flooded my body the moment I'd heard her scream was still there. I wouldn't be falling asleep any time soon. Instead, I sat, watching Leighton's form shudder under her thick duvet.
I knew those shivers had nothing to do with temperature, but were, rather, the body's attempt to shake off memories so vivid they hurt. The intense chemical reaction of a person who survived. It was shock, essentially. Her dream had brought it all back, and it would have to play through.
I wanted to go to her, wrap her in my arms, soothe the shaking. I wanted to tell her how brave she was, how proud I was of her for how well she was doing. I wanted to tell her that it was okay to let go now because I was there for her.
Except I couldn't do any of that.
So I stayed in my corner and tried not to think about her. My tired mind started to wander, and I found myself thinking about King Arthur and Guinevere and Lancelot. I wondered if this was how Lancelot felt when he'd been tasked to guard the queen. The hard shield of duty and what was right, versus temptation wrapped up in compassion and need.
It wasn't hard to tell that Leighton wasn't asleep. Her breathing was ragged as the shivers still racked her body, and she periodically dragged the duvet tighter around her. I had no doubt she didn't see me as Lancelot, a noble knight trying to do what was right. At the moment, she probably hated me, thought I was some monster enjoying her discomfort.
But I wasn't enjoying it. It was tearing me up. I couldn't just sit here and not do anything. The least I could do was talk to her, try to distract her. Stories from back home. Anything. I almost stood up, but stopped before I'd really moved.
I couldn't do it. Not the storytelling part. That I could do. What I couldn't do was be that close to Leighton without touching her. And if I touched her, I wouldn't be able to stop.
So I stayed, reminding myself that she was strong, that she wanted to be independent, needed to be.
Somewhere in all that, I dozed, memories coming forward to shift into a dream.
We ran from the paparazzi down into a basement, panic and anger mixing. I wanted to stop and fight, but for her sake, I had to run. I had to get her to safety. We ran along looking to the water pipes, searching for the emergency exit. I disarmed the alarm, broke open the door, and helped Leighton inside.
A heavy hand grabbed her and pulled her through the door, screaming. I followed immediately, but she wasn't on the other side of the door. The basement stretched out into infinity and I ran. She was gone, but I could hear her still screaming. I chased the echoing sound through endless turns until, finally, she was in front of me.
On the ground.
Silent.
Unmoving.
I dropped to the ground in front of her, gathering her in my arms. Her beautiful curls were matted with blood, her body cold.
She was gone.
I'd failed her.
She was gone.
I jolted awake, my breathing ragged. Reality hit me and I realized I was clutching the blanket.
Had I called out? Her name still felt ragged in my throat.
I told myself I needed to make sure I hadn't woken her up, but really I just wanted to see her breathing. I needed to. The image of her limp and bloodied wouldn't leave until I saw for myself that she was alive and well.
I tiptoed to the bed and felt the air seep back into my lungs. Leighton had finally fallen asleep. I reached out to brush a curl from her cheek, but stopped myself before I touched her. I couldn't believe how much that dream had fueled my need to touch her, be with her. My entire body was crying out to crawl into bed with her, take her in my arms.
We had only slept together once – literally sleeping – and that deep, dreamless sleep called to me, so tempting that I couldn't turn back to the armchair. As I continued to look at her, it suddenly hit me. The gray dimness of night was gone, and the sun was inching over her picture window sill. I felt like I hadn't slept at all, but the sight of the sun gave me a second wind. If the sun was up, that meant the early shift at Silverlake Java would be starting soon. I had just enough time to change and drive there before it got crowded.
Looking down at Leighton, I whispered, “I promise you will never have to be afraid again. I'm going to find who did this.” She didn't even stir and I turned toward the door, then paused. I let myself add to the previous statement. “I'm going to find who did this and make sure they pay.”
Chapter 14
Leighton
I woke up slowly, amazed that I'd slept at all. Warm sunlight was already reaching across my bed and the realization I had slept deeply without any more disturbing dreams was so sweet it took me a while to notice my aching muscles. I may have done my fair share of time at the gym, but I'd never worked as hard as I had in the past two days.
I rolled over and stretched, testing my ribs and the persisting pain I’ve tried to ignore. Then I pushed back the duvet. Last night, I'd been freezing, the fear from my dream turning my blood and body to ice. I remembered shivering uncontrollably, my muscles too tense from the nightmare to let go. My heart had been hammering, but I'd forced myself to breathe slowly, repeated to myself how it had been a natural reaction to what I'd been through.
The stretching felt great, and in the bright sun
light of my room, I felt wonderful. Not only had I survived a horrible ordeal, but I'd lived through the nightmare aftershocks of it, and gotten myself back under control. I'd asked Haze to stay, but when he'd chosen the chair in the corner instead of the bed, I'd calmed myself.
I turned over and looked at my empty overstuffed chair. My muscles twinged as I moved, and I immediately considered taking aspirin and going back to sleep. I wasn't upset that Haze was gone already. After all, I'd fallen asleep again and he'd been sitting in that chair. As I'd pointed out to him last night, protecting me from nightmares wasn't his job.
My cheeks still burned at the thought of Haze turning to the chair when I'd clearly been offering him my bed. I got up and kicked the chair as I walked by. I needed a distraction. Then I remembered my idea.
I crossed to my desk and found the list of numbers I'd written down. I picked up the paper and started toward the door, remembering only at the last minute that I was still in my pajamas. Since I wasn't about to take a leisurely breakfast and a slow morning, I needed to change into something else that would fit what I planned to do.
Once I'd pulled on jeans and the plainest t-shirt I could find, I flew out of my bedroom, determined to finish the pool house and use it to illustrate my pitch to the veterans’ hospital. I was so deep in thought about it that I didn't know my grandfather was there until he called out to me.
“Leighton, come join me on the patio,” Grandfather said.
I crossed over to the garden patio, shocked to see my grandfather sitting in the bright morning sun. A newspaper was spread out on the table in front of him, but his laptop wasn't there. As I gaped at him, Shandra brought a tray with a French press of coffee and two mugs.
Grandfather leaned back in his chair as I took a seat, fully expecting him to bury himself in the news while I drank coffee with him and admired the garden. Except he joined me in looking at the garden. Wisteria hung over the pergola while darker purple morning glories wrapped around the posts. Bright red geraniums held impossible amounts of blooms, and bright yellow roses gave a sweet scent to the morning breeze. It truly was amazing.