Lea arches her brows in surprise. “That’s pretty heavy, Link.”
I nod in agreement. “I don’t know what she’s looking for and I’m probably not capable of giving it to her, but I need her. I’ll always be around if you need to talk, but you and I can’t—I can’t—”
She holds her hand up, palm out, quieting me. “I know. I get it.”
“I’m sorry,” I utter. And I am. I feel like I’m abandoning her. She deserves better. More.
“You shouldn’t be. This is good. I’m happy for you.” She smiles softly. “She’s one hell of a lucky girl.”
***
I walk Lea out. She turns, embracing me in a firm hug. It feels like goodbye. A part of me doesn’t want to give her up. She’s been a constant form of support in my life these past few years when I needed it most. My go-to when I needed someone. My friend.
“Take care of yourself,” she whispers.
“You too.” I kiss the top of her head and release her. She turns away without another word and I watch her walk to her car. I keep watching until she’s drives away, and then I go back inside to Rocky.
The bathroom door is ajar and I tap my knuckles against it lightly. She doesn’t respond and I don’t know if I should leave her alone or go in. I hesitate, weighing my options. The thought of her just a few feet away, laying naked in my bathtub is too tempting. I did promise to bathe her.
I push the door open, surprised to find an empty room. The bath is full, but doesn’t look like it’s been used. I pivot on my heel and move to the next door, checking the bedroom. And then the living room and kitchen. I bound down the stairs to the basement and come up empty once again.
Dread fills my chest. I take the steps two at a time. “Rocky?” I yank the backdoor open and check the yard. “FUCK.”
Fuck.
FUCK.
What the hell is she doing, leaving by herself at night? What the fuck is she thinking? I grab my phone to call her and realize I don’t even have her number. Why wouldn’t I get her number? As my employee alone, I should have her number, but especially since…
I yank the keys from my pocket and slam the door behind me. My hands are shaking—I can’t tell if it’s from anger or worry. Both are battling in my head while visions of Livie flash through my mind. Things I know happened but never witnessed—Bates defiling her, and then shoving a knife through her chest.
And then it’s Rocky’s face I see in my mind’s eye. Her eyes fading of life.
My heart is pounding as I back out of the driveway. The tires squeal as I throw the gear into drive and take off down the road.
I pull into Bo’s and don’t bother to cut the engine. With the way I feel right now, if she’s in there, she won’t be for long. I shove the door open and let my gaze shift over each face. And then I head straight for the bathrooms.
It’s no longer concern plaguing me. It’s fear. Fear that she’ll be in there. Fear that she won’t be. Fear of what I’ll do to whatever asshole she dragged in there.
I knock the door open with so much force it slams into the wall and sticks there. The room’s empty, but I feel no sense of relief.
My fist slams into the wall with a sickening crack. I feel the bones in my hand shift with the blow, but I relish the pain. It’s like a jolt, helping to focus my twisting thoughts. As I make my way back to my car, I make a list of possible places she might be.
It’s too late for her to be at the gym.
Maybe she’s with her brother. But he wouldn’t have had time to come pick her up.
And then it occurs to me where she went. The same place I would have gone.
Home.
I pull out of the parking lot and head straight for her apartment. I crush the steering wheel in my grasp, causing my hand to throb. Now that I’m fairly certain where she’s at, my anger is beginning to boil over.
Ten
Rocky
There’s only about three sips left in the bottom of my bottle and that’s just depressing.
I need to numb myself.
I miss the old me. The me I was before Link. The me who didn’t give a shit about anything. The lifeless me who felt nothing. Who just existed, waiting for her time to end.
I laugh at myself because I know I’m lying. That bitch felt everything—she just didn’t know what to do with it. All she could do was try to hide. Terrified of everyone and everything. Too scared to kill herself, but too frightened to live.
I really don’t miss her at all.
When you can no longer lie to yourself, it’s a pretty safe assumption you’ve hit rock bottom. And damn is it lonely down here.
And dirty. I seriously need to mop my floor.
I brace myself on the cabinet door and push to my feet. I sway a little as the alcohol hits me. That makes me smile, but it feels strange on my face. I set my bottle on the countertop, and pull the bucket out from under the sink, filling it with hot water and floor cleaner.
It might be too late to clean up my life, but I can at least clean my floor.
The mop hits the floor, slopping water everywhere as someone bangs on my door. I don’t need to look to know it’s Link. His knock of authority is recognizable even in my drunken state.
I let the mop handle fall, clapping against the tile, and answer the door. Link’s eyes narrow as they meet mine. I can see the fury rolling off him. He’s visibly seething and the first thought that comes to mind is how incredibly sexy anger looks on him. My second thought involves him getting the fuck out of my doorway and going back to Lea. My third thought regards dragging him inside by his shirt collar and licking certain sweet spots on his body.
My fourth thought is that I’m way too drunk to think properly, and not nearly drunk enough to deal with him. I leave him standing there and walk back to my kitchen, to my mop, and more importantly, to the last few swigs in my bottle.
Link follows, swinging the door shut behind him. It slams loudly, making me jump. I shoot him a look as I tip the bottle to my lips, swallowing the last few drops.
“You left,” he states through gritted teeth. “By yourself. At night.”
I raise a brow, but choose not to reply. That’s exactly what I did. I can’t argue. And he hasn’t asked me why.
“Bates is out there somewhere—possibly still gunning for you—and you just walk home. What the hell were you thinking?”
I start mopping my floor aggressively. “I was thinking,” I hiss, “that you wanted privacy.”
“It wasn’t like that,” he says, his voice softening.
“You’re allowed to fuck whoever you want, but it’s just common courtesy to make sure the last woman you slept with isn’t still in your house when the next one comes around.” I dunk the mop in the bucket again, not bothering to ring it out. I’m shaking with anger, and jealousy, and more anger because I don’t want to be jealous.
“I didn’t fuck Lea,” Link says. He sighs and shakes his head. “I did—I have, but I didn’t tonight.” He steps into my personal space, taking the mop from my hand and leaning it against the counter.
“She and I had an arrangement, but I ended that tonight. Because the only woman I can even think about fucking is you.”
Hearing the word fuck roll off his tongue has a direct effect on my girly parts. I meet his heated gaze. “You should think less and do more.”
His solid chest pushes into me, wedging me between his body and the sink. “You’ve been drinking.”
It’s not a question, but I nod as I grasp the sides of his shirt, attempting to pull him even closer.
His expression is almost pained as he takes a step back. “Come back to my house. I owe you a bath.”
***
I fully expected Link to join me when he mentioned the bath, but he refused. He stripped me of my clothing, his fingertips creating goose bumps as they caressed my bare skin. He took my hand and watched me submerge my body in the water. And then he sat on the closed toilet, his elbows on his knees, and watched me.
&n
bsp; Now he’s kneeling on the floor, running his fingers through my hair, making sure he didn’t miss any bubbles. Sometimes I wonder if that’s the draw for him. My hair. Is he attracted to me because my hair looks so similar to his dead girlfriend’s? I try not to let that bother me—she died—but I can’t ignore the unease I feel.
Link pushes my hair over my shoulder, his hand skimming down my spine. He soaps a washcloth and drags it across my back, down my arms, across my chest, and over my breasts. He pays extra attention there, kneading my skin gently before he lowers the rag, moving down my stomach. His hand disappears under the water, his lips lifting into a grin as he washes between my legs.
He releases the washcloth, letting it float away. His fingers splay against me, spreading me open. One finger brushes against my clit in a circular motion. I lean back, widening my legs for him. He hums something inaudible, the sound full of approval.
I close my hand over his, my fingers tracing every bend of his fingers. Every callus, every scrape, every imperfection that feels so good when it touches me.
He applies more pressure, moving a little faster, and I arch into our hands. He knows how to play my body and I can’t get enough. I love his mouth—his lips, his tongue, his teeth. I love his hands—every single finger, every fingertip, every touch. I love his cock—each and every silky inch. I love how he uses them. How he brings me pleasure with them.
The water splashes over the side of the tub as I thrust against his hand. His clothes are soaked, but he doesn’t appear to mind. His eyes flick over my face, watching my enjoyment, and I come hard, moaning his name.
I look at him, at his profile I’m slowly memorizing and the smile I’ve quickly come to worship. And I can’t help thinking if someone makes me feel this good, maybe he’s supposed to be in my life. Maybe I need him there. Maybe I want him to stay.
Eleven
Link
Rocky lies on the couch, her knees tucked to her chest, watching me as I sit at the opposite end with some paperwork from the gym. I’m paying little attention to my work, stealing glances at her just to verify she’s still here. Her hair hangs off the edge of the cushion, falling in damp curls. Her hands are tucked under her cheek and her dark eyes follow my movements. She doesn’t say a word, content in the silence.
I toss the file onto the coffee table and grab my laptop. The images on my screen surprise me when I open it. I read over the suggested links, my eyes trailing over the pictures before I go back to the name in the search bar. I look over at Rocky. My gaze meets hers and she must read my expression because she lifts her head inquisitively.
I turn the laptop so she can see what I see.
She adverts her eyes immediately. “When you were out searching for your guy, I was here, searching for mine.”
She rests her head back on her hands and closes her eyes, ending the discussion before I have the chance to question her. I return to the screen and click a link, pulling up an article about the assault. It’s vague, no substantial details, but it’s enough to make me sick to my stomach. She was a year younger than Liv. Only eighteen. Not even out of high school.
Clicking on another site, I pull up a profile for Garrett Marshall on a dating site. I’m not sure if this is the right guy, so I open another link, and another, trying to use a process of elimination. It would be easier to ask Rocky, but I don’t even consider it. I keep going with obsessive determination.
I’m able to exclude a couple on age alone, and then another based on his hometown. That leaves me with two Garrett Marshalls, and one happens to have a local restaurant listed as his current employment.
I fucking love the internet.
After exiting out of everything, I grab my phone and keys, and slide the blanket off the back of the couch. I drape it over Rocky and head for the door.
“Where are you going?” she calls quietly.
I pause, my hand on the doorknob and my back to her. I press my forehead into the wood. Shit.
“Link?” I hear the rustle of the blanket and creak of the couch. I know she’s coming over to me. I know I need to tell her something. And I also know if I don’t take her with me there’s a damn good chance she’ll take off again.
I shut the door and lock it before facing her. “Nowhere.”
She cocks her head to the side, arching one dark brow, unconvinced.
I sigh. It’s been a long-ass time since I’ve had to answer to anyone. Even longer since someone has called me out with nothing more than a look. It’s crazy how you can miss something so minor. Even crazier how you don’t notice you miss it until it’s in front of your face.
“I was going to Gillian’s,” I say honestly. “To find Garrett.”
“What? Why?”
“You know why.”
“How do you know he’ll be at Gillian’s?” She bites down on her lip, the skin turning white from the pressure.
“I don’t.”
Rocky glances back at my laptop, sitting closed on the table. “But how did you know to look there? What’d you find?” She walks over to the couch, perching on the edge, and slides the computer towards her. I take a seat beside her and when she pulls the search back up, I direct her to the link. I watch her reaction as his profile picture fills the screen.
Her eyes narrow, then close. She inhales a shaky breath, and when she opens her eyes again, they shine with unshed tears. Her fingers shake as she scrolls down the page, reading Garrett’s bio.
“Is it him?” I ask, my voice low, slow.
She nods and snaps the lid closed. “What were you going to do?”
I don’t answer her because we both know what I was going to do. I would have talked to him, and if he was the right guy, I would have done what needs to be done.
“He’s gotten fat,” she whispers. “He used to be built. Strong. Playing football kept him in shape.” Her voice fades, her fingers pressing against her lips. “He used to be popular—he had a lot of friends, girlfriends. Now he works in a small, twenty-four hour restaurant and needs dating sites to find women.”
She keeps working through her thoughts. I wrap my arm around her waist and tuck her into my side, quietly offering her support. I don’t know what else to do—other than murder that fucker, but that’s obviously not happening tonight.
“I’ve spent so much time, terrified of a person that doesn’t even exist anymore. That isn’t the image inside my head—the monster in my dreams. I was so scared he’d come back for me and hurt me all over again. I was angry because I assumed he had a good life. Lots of friends. Maybe a family. But he’s as pathetic as I am.”
“You’re not pathetic,” I say instantly, irritation clear in my tone. That is one of the things I hate most. Watching the women come in for the self-defense classes and seeing the way some of them have no self-esteem left. Part of my job is helping them rebuild it.
“Stand up,” I demand. I grab her hands and haul her to her feet. I pull her to the middle of the living room and cup her cheeks. “You’re not pathetic,” I say again. I straighten and wiggle my fingers at her.
“Come on.”
Her brows draw together, confused. “What?”
“Hit me,” I explain. “Hit all the points. Do you remember them?”
“I remember, but I’m not going to hit you.”
“Yes you are and here’s why…” I catch her gaze and hold it. “If Garrett or Bates or any other guy comes after you, you’re going to kick their fucking ass. You’re going to know exactly where to hit. How hard to hit. What position works best. You’re going to know how to kill them. You’re going to prove to them, and yourself, that you are not pathetic. You’re going to show them how pitiful they are.” I tip my head from side to side, stretching my neck, and clap my hands once. “Now hit me.”
Rocky shakes her head and rolls her eyes simultaneously, but she’s smiling. She places her hands on her hips, scrutinizing me critically. I stay perfectly still, letting her decide where she wants to land her blow. She steps forward
, her hands curling into fists. She closes the space between us, bringing us chest to chest, and then she presses her lips to mine.
Twelve
Rocky
Link doesn’t move when I kiss him. He doesn’t accept it, he doesn’t stop it. Nothing. I don’t understand why I can’t control myself with him—why I keep pushing him this way. We were caught up in the heat of the moment the other times. It was understandable. But now, I have no excuse.
Feeling stupid and reckless, I take a step back. Link’s hands latch onto my neck, preventing me from moving any further away. He presses his forehead to mine, his breathing accelerated.
“I’m sorry,” I stammer.
He shakes his head against mine. “I want to kiss you. I want the taste of your lips branded on my tongue. I’m just not ready yet.”
Yet.
Yet implies there will be a time, it’s just not right now.
And I can live with that.
***
I awake to buzzing. A low, annoying, and consistent buzzing. Link shifts beside me and slaps at his nightstand.
“Yeah?” he croaks into his cell.
“What?”
“How’d you get this number?”
“No comment,” he hisses before slamming his phone down. He sits up, dropping his feet to the floor.
“You okay?” I ask. I reach for him, but stop just short of touching him. My eyes trail over his back, counting his scars.
“Fucking reporter.” He runs his hands over his head. “Fuck.”
I sit up and move over to his side of the bed. I press against his back and kiss his neck. His skin is warm, inviting, and I snuggle closer.
I feel his back move as he inhales deeply and exhales slowly. “I like the way your naked body feels against mine.” He peers over his shoulder at me. “Let’s stay like this all day. No clothing allowed.”