Against the Tide (4 page)

I let him fuck me. I can’t give him any more.

I have a boyfriend. Fuck. Damien.

“I … I have to go,” I mumble without looking back at him.

“You … what? You’re just leaving? I don’t even know your name,” he calls out after me. But it’s too late. What the fuck have I done?

I scrub my hands down my face and take a deep breath. What the hell just happened here? Is that it? No words. No name. Just a quick fuck at the fire exit of The Cabin, and that’s it? Hell, I don’t know what I expected but it certainly wasn’t that. I buckle my belt back up and try to look presentable again. My head’s far too twisted to make any sense of it all but I know that I have to talk to her. I have to try, I can’t just leave it at that, I don’t want to. I take the fire exit steps two at a time and jog in through the door that she left wide open in her haste. One of the doormen spots me as I enter and comes bundling toward me. “What are you doing out there, mate? Emergency only, these doors,” he grumbles. I mutter my apologies and make my way back in to the club. The heavy beat and the crowds of people make it impossible to concentrate. I scan the club, but I can’t see her from here. The VIP section that she’s always in is far more crowded now and it’s almost impossible to make anyone out from here. I try and compose myself as I make my way over to the boys who are where I left them at the bar, even though all I want to do is get out of here. I don’t know if she’s gone running back to that guy she’s always here with, or if she’s just run away. A modern day Cinderella that has left me with nothing but a memory instead of a glass slipper.

“Thought you’d got lost, my man,” Marc says as he claps me on the back.

“Uh … Nah. Just went out for a cig,” I reply distractedly. “Where’s Liz?” I ask in a panic, suddenly realising that as I scanned the club for the girl, I didn’t see Liz either.

“Not sure,” Marc shrugs, “walked off with her friends in a huff after you embarrassed her.”

“Shit, okay. That was a bit of a dick move, huh?”

“Nah, just typical older brother behaviour I’d say. Wouldn’t know, personally, not having any brothers or sisters myself, but I understand how protective you feel of her. You gonna drink now, or what?” Marc asks, putting a stop to the dangerous territory of a deep meaningful conversation.

“Yeah. Let’s drink,” I reply reluctantly with a sigh.

“Holy shit, Finn. What the fuck happened to your neck?” Marc yells, then starts to laugh as the rest of the boys take notice of what’s just flown out of his big mouth. I frown at his question, running my hand along my neck in confusion as I have no idea what he’s talking about. I push past Marc, and stand in between Kyle and Harley to take a look in the mirrored tiles behind the bar. It’s pretty dim in here, but even without clear lighting I can see the deep red mark on my neck. A love bite. A fucking great big, red love bite right in the middle of my neck and absolutely no way to cover it up or make it go away. Scrap that, I don’t want to make it go away. I want to get in to a better light to see it clearer, to see if I can make out the lines of her gorgeous mouth. I run my fingers over it and I’m momentarily taken back to our tryst in the alley. Her moans. The taste of her tongue. The sound of us moving together. Sordid perfection. So she didn’t exactly leave me with nothing.

“Yay, my boy scored a home fucking run!” Kyle laughs out, slapping me on the back. “Hey, beautiful,” he calls over the bar. “Let’s have a round of Jager bombs over here, please. And you,” he tips his drink in my direction, “have some telling to do.”

“I … There’s nothing to tell,” I snap.

Harley looks at me intently with one eyebrow raised. “What?” I challenge.

“Nothing, mate. Nothing at all,” he comments coolly. Nothing gets past him. I bet he’s worked it all out already. He’s a cop so putting pieces together is his job, he should try for detective.

“This isn’t a playground. I don’t do kiss and tell, you should all know that by now.”

Before the guys get a chance to goad me any further, Lizzie’s friend Jess flies at my chest babbling uncontrollably, “It’s Lizzie, you gotta come, I don’t know what’s wrong with her. One minute she was fine and the next her eyes were rolling and she started swaying all over the place. Finn, quick, Finn, please…”

Panic takes over the whole of my body and I have to get to her. “Where is she?” I ask, much calmer than I feel, but Jess can’t get her words out and I grab hold of her shoulders and yell, “Where the fuck is she?”

“In the toilets, she’s in the toilets with Tracy,” Jess answers, her voice thick with panic and her face covered with mascara streaked tears. I push her to the side and force my way through the crowds, I don’t care if I’m knocking people over or spilling their drinks. I have to get to Lizzie. I shove the crowd of girls away that have gathered at the toilet door and skid to a halt.

My sister. My little Lizzie is laying awkwardly on the dirty tiled floor, her face pale and ashen, and her beautiful blonde curls lay soaked in a puddle of her own vomit. I run to her and drop to my knees, cradling her head in my hands. “Lizzie. Lizzie. Talk to me, sweetheart. Someone get an ambulance,” I yell behind me to no one in particular. “Get a fucking ambulance!”

I gather her up in my arms, pushing her hair back from her face and stroking her cheek with my thumb. All I hear is a low murmur from the people around us as all I can focus on is my sister. What’s happening to her? Is she sick? Has she taken something? Please god, let her be okay. Please, god.

I’m not entirely sure how much time has passed. It could be hours, or it could be minutes. I just don’t know. The ambulance crew arrived pretty fast and whisked us here to the hospital. I sit in the corridor outside of the emergency room that they took Lizzie into. Harley, Marc and Kyle all followed right behind us in a taxi and are waiting almost as nervously as I am.

“What’s taking them so fucking long?” Kyle snaps.

“Maybe they’re waiting for you to stop wearing a fucking hole in the floor,” Marc bites back at him, and just for a second, I don’t feel so alone knowing that these boys are feeling a fraction of my anxiety.

“Look, I’ll go get us some coffees, yes?” Harley tries to be diplomatic and throws something normal in to what has been a crazy fucked up night. Just as he stands to leave, the door to the ER swings open and a doctor steps out. His face is blank, expressionless, and I want this to mean that she’s sitting up in her hospital bed so I can go and give her a bollocking for scaring the crap out of me. But there’s something in his eyes that anchors in my gut, then yanks hard.

“Mr. James?” he asks formally.

I nervously stand to meet him in the doorway. “Yes,” I answer, begging him with my tone to tell me what I want to hear. He shakes his head so subtly that I almost missed it. “Your sister …” He pauses as if to choose his words carefully. “I’m sorry, Mr James, we did everything we could. She, Lizzie−”

“What do you mean, you’re sorry? She’s not … I mean, you did everything you could? So …” I’m garbling my words out, clutching at hope and wishing with every breath that the hope that I’m holding on to so damn hard is enough to change what he’s trying to tell me.

“The substance was too much for her body, it shut down her internal organs and−”

“No. You’re wrong. She might be small, but she’s a fighter. She wouldn’t leave me. She means too much to me to go.” I get up close to his chest, my breaths coming fast and the room around me starts to spin in a blur. I stab a finger in his direction and Harley steps to my side, placing his hand gently on my shoulder. “You get back in there and you do your job, you save people, it’s your job to save people’s lives. That’s what you’re supposed to do!” I scream desperately.

The doctor steps back from the close proximity to me. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, lowering his head and breaking my heart.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I snap as we exit the taxi back at home. Damien looks at me nervously before paying the taxi driver and walking off without even glancing in my direction. I’m a bundle of guilt and nerves after what happened in the alley, but not only that, Damien grabbed me as soon as I got back to the table and practically dragged me out of there and into the first cab we could find. He hasn’t said a word all the way home and I’m still waiting for an explanation. Or maybe he’s waiting on an explanation from me. Does he know? Damien waits at the top of the steps for me to open the door, and I glare at him before shoving my key in the lock, entering our town house and throwing my purse on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. I stand in front of Damien with my hands on my hips. “Look, something is going on, I don’t know if it has something to do with your little trip away or if something happened while I was … gone. Either way, I want an explanation.” I can’t make out his mood, at all. He’s never been like this and it’s unnerving to say the least.

Damien huffs, looks at me through narrowed eyes and pushes past me, bumping my shoulder.

“Damien!” I yell after him. Fuck, this man is so frustrating. I follow him to the kitchen where he grabs a short tumbler from the cupboard and proceeds to pour a large measure of vodka before knocking it back and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He still hasn’t said one word to me and the fact that something has him this rattled frightens me. If he knows, I don’t know what I’ll do, I don’t know what he’ll do.

“Damien,” I say, quieter this time. I slowly walk to him, he watches my every step until I stop in front of him. I take one of his hands gently hoping that my touch will coax him to talk to me, but I’m also trying to hide the nerves shooting through me. “Talk to me,” I plead. His phone blips, indicating a message. He rakes a hand over his face, and shakes his head slowly “I can’t,” he answers with a frown, his handsome features marred with worry. “We have to go. You choose, anywhere you want,” he says out of the blue, pushing me out of his way and quickly making his way upstairs.

“What? What do you mean, we have to go? Go, where?” I ask desperately. I throw off my shoes and drop them on the tiled floor with a clatter. I take the stairs two by two and find Damien in our bedroom with my suitcase already wide open on the bed. “Pack,” he instructs. “We’ll go somewhere warm, yes?”