Blast From The Past 3
Read Blast From The Past 3 Online
Authors: Faith Winslow
BLAST from the PAST
Part 3
Faith Winslow
Copyright © 2015
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
That fucker!
I thought to myself as I rushed out of my apartment building and ran toward my car. I didn’t know exactly what was going on, but I knew it couldn’t be good—and I knew that, one way or another, Tommy Ferguson had screwed me over… big time.
When I’d asked him about his involvement with Gretchen Gordon—or “Gigi” as some called her—he’d passed it off as something incidental. He’d failed to mention that he’d dated her, and didn’t say a damn word about making a scene and getting kicked out of the rEcore event just one year ago.
Bottom line? Tommy Ferguson had lied to me, and there had to be a reason why. Given my current circumstances, I figured it had to be a pretty good reason, too.
I mean, look at the facts here… I’d been fired from rEcore only a few days earlier, after I was blamed for messing with an app, killing its code, and leaking its development to the press. Needless to say, I didn’t do any of those things, but someone was setting it up to look like I did, and all of my investigative efforts were leading to one likely suspect… Gretchen Gordon.
I’d discovered that Tommy used to run a MUDD with Gretchen, and, when I asked him about it, he confirmed that it was true—but he said nothing else on the matter, and those omissions added up to a lie. Why didn’t Tommy tell me he dated her? Why didn’t he tell me about the big blow out at rEcore’s employee event? Why? Why? Why?
I was furious. Livid. Pissed off. I was headed to Tommy’s place for answers, and I wasn’t going to leave until I got them. After all, Tommy owed me that much, didn’t he? He owed me some amount of decency and honesty, some modicum of respect. We’d dated for nearly three years in college, and were each other’s “firsts” in many respects. He was my first serious, real boyfriend; I was his first serious, real girlfriend. And we were both each other’s “first” when it came to sex. Considering those things, and those things alone, he at least owed me something, anything, more than whatever it was he was doing to me.
I felt like I was in a daze as I fumbled with my keys and got into my car. I’d just had an amazingly sensual sexual experience with an incredible man and was still feeling the afterglow, but I also had a tremendous anger burning inside of me—and those two flames came together in a very uncomfortable, overwhelming way.
As far as that amazingly sensual sexual experience went, I really wished I was still back at my apartment enjoying round two—but, as soon as J.R. had recognized Tommy’s face on my computer screen, that was no longer an option. I simply couldn’t believe it when he identified Tommy as the bad boy who caused a ruckus at his event, and I simply couldn’t tell him, at that moment, that’s Gretchen’s ex was also
my
ex. This was something that I needed to handle on my own before dragging anyone else into it.
By the time I got to Tommy’s, you’d think I would have figured out what I was going to say, but, alas, my mind was still blank. I didn’t even know where to begin, but I knew that I had to confront him, and I hoped the words would come to me when I did.
Tommy’s apartment was one of the few on his street that had a parking lot behind it. I was sure that I wasn’t supposed to park there without a visitor’s pass, but I risked it anyway and pulled my car into the first available spot I saw. I didn’t even notice that another car had pulled in right behind me, until I saw it park a few spots away.
I paid the other driver no mind, hopped out of my car, and started sprinting towards the door to the building. Then, all of a sudden, I heard footsteps behind me, traveling at the same rapid pace. Before I knew it, I felt a hand grab my arm and pull me to a halt, which added “terror” and “panic” to the list of mixed-bag emotions I already felt.
I turned around to eye my captor and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw a familiar face.
“What the hell’s going on?” J.R. asked, panting a bit. I’d heard him pant earlier, but, this time, it was a little different. Those short, stuttered breaths earlier came from pleasure, while these came from somewhere else.
“You shouldn’t be here, J.R.,” I said, trying to pull away from him.
But J.R. wouldn’t let go—and he wouldn’t drop the topic.
“Well, I
am
here,” he said with his hand still wrapped around my arm. “And you’re going to tell me
why
.”
I thought for a moment. I still didn’t want to tell J.R. about Tommy. I still wanted to take care of this part of things myself. But the fact remained that J.R. was right there, in front of me, and I knew that nothing but an explanation would make him budge.
“Tommy,” I said quite simply, at a loss for more words.
“What?” J.R. asked, releasing his grip. “We just made love, and you kicked me out so you could come see another man?”
I realized then that my simple statement might have complicated things a bit and, reluctantly, went on.
“That guy—that picture—you saw on my laptop,” I said, reaching my hand out to take J.R.’s hand into mine. I missed the feeling of him touching me and needed to recover for the loss. “That guy… That’s Tommy Ferguson, my ex-boyfriend from college.”
I felt J.R.’s hand squeeze mine and saw a look of concern flush across his face. “But,” he said, “that’s the guy from the event… Gretchen’s boyfriend, the one who caused all the trouble. You mean… You mean,
he
was your ex?”
“Yes,” I said. “I looked him up online and did some more research after we found out he operated that MUDD with Gretchen all those years ago. We ended up meeting for drinks—nothing happened though, and I thought nothing came of it. He admitted that he’d run the MUDD with her, but he said nothing else. I didn’t know until tonight—when you and I were in the kitchen—that Tommy and Gretchen shared more of a past. I came here to confront him about it and find out what’s really up.”
J.R. shook his head and looked up to the sky. Perhaps he was waiting for God—or the universe—to give him some guidance and tell him what to do. And, perhaps that guidance came.
“Looks like there’s a lot more going on here than we know,” J.R. finally said. “It could be something, or it could be nothing, but it’s not anything we should ignore, and one thing’s for certain… If you run in there and confront Tommy, he’ll get scared and go cold. Do you really expect him to come clean and tell you the truth—especially if he
is
somehow involved?”
I hated to admit it, but J.R. had a point, and I hadn’t even considered it until
this
point. I guess I was still thinking that Tommy owed me something and that, if I came here, he’d fess up and give me the truth I deserved. But, he hadn’t been honest with me before, so why on earth would I expect him to be now, especially, as J.R. had noted, if he
was
somehow involved. All I’d get from him was more lies, and, quite possibly, much worse. If this went as deep as some things in the tech world go, I could end up drugged, dead, and left in a ditch on the side of the road.
I know that might sound a bit extreme, but, bear in mind, we’re talking about applications that are worth millions upon millions of dollars here, and taking one human life is a small price for some people to pay for the amount of money they’d get in return. Up until this point in my life, I would’ve
never
expected Tommy was the type of person who’d be involved in such a trade—but, if the past few hours, and days, had proved anything, it was that, sometimes, whatever I expected was not at all the case.
“If we really want to find out what happened, our best bet is to lay low,” J.R. continued. “Act like you never made the connection and never discovered his affiliation with Gigi. As far as he knows, you’re still on my shit list and are still an outcast at rEcore and any other tech firm in the world—let him keep thinking that. Let him keep thinking that you’re in the dark, and maybe
then
he’ll slip up and say or do something that can shed some light on this situation… I know it may sound a bit dangerous, but it’s safest for us to play him from the inside rather than calling him out.”
My hand was still wrapped around J.R.’s, and, as I felt the warmth of his touch on my flesh balancing against the flames raging inside me, his plan began to slowly but surely make sense.
“All right,” I replied, regarding each and every line on J.R.’s face. “But I already told him I was coming here tonight. I texted him after you left. I can’t just not show up, can I?”
“I guess not,” J.R. answered as the lines on his face furrowed just a wee bit more. “Go up and see him, but act like it’s a social call… Now, I’m not telling you to sleep with him or anything—God knows I don’t want
that
—but just don’t bring up Gigi. Make it seem like you’re there to talk about you, or him. I don’t know how much you guys ‘caught up’ the other night, but try to keep it in that vein.”
Easier said than done
, I thought to myself. After what I’d just learned about Tommy, the last thing I wanted to do was approach him as a friend, and coming up with a suitable reason for rushing out to see him wouldn’t be easy at all. I wracked my brain for a bit, still enjoying the warmth of J.R.’s touch.
“Okay,” I said, after a minute of thick silence. “I’ll do my best… Now,
you
get the hell out of here. If Tommy sees you, it’s up; my cover’s blown.”
J.R. leaned forward and wrapped his free arm around the back of my waist. He leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of my hair. I wished, again, that I was back in my apartment with him in my bed, on my couch, in my shower, or anywhere else we could enjoy each other’s bodies instead of the issues riddling our brains. But I shoved those feelings to the back burner, cognizant of the fact that I had something more pressing to do.
I pulled away from J.R., looked him straight in the eyes, and arched my feet to stand up on the tips of my toes. I planted a firm, full kiss on his delicious lips, then turned to walk away.
“Be careful, Trish,” he said as I made my way to the door.
“Like I said,” turning back to take him in again, “I’ll do my best.”
“Come on in, baby.”
Tommy’s voice sounded a little static-y over the intercom, but the fuzziness of it wasn’t nearly as disturbing as what he said. The Tommy Ferguson that I dated in college wasn’t the type of guy to call a girl “baby,” even if he was seeing her, and, now, he
definitely
wasn’t seeing me.
Before I’d pressed the button to ring Tommy’s apartment, I took a few moments to collect myself in the lobby and tried to develop my back story as per why exactly I was there. But as soon as I heard the buzzer buzz and heard the security lock on the interior doors “click,” that back story started fading away to the recesses of my mind, buried behind frustrations, aggravation, and fear.
Nonetheless, I did my best to keep my story straight, and I walked through the glass door and down the long hallway to Tommy’s pad. When I arrived at his door, it was already cracked open a bit, and he was standing there, waiting for me.
“I didn’t think I’d see you so soon,” he said, opening the door even more to let me in. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you came.”
I looked at Tommy, and, good God, if it hadn’t been for who he was, how he’d lied, and whatever else he was up for, I would’ve drooled at the sight. He was wearing a pair of distressed, stained jeans and a black “wife-beater” tank that revealed his rippling muscles and well-inked tattoos. I tried to count how many tatts covered his form, but lost track in the words and images and the thoughts of where else he
might
have more ink.
“It’s not like
that
, Tommy,” I said, walking through the door wearing my fakest fake grin. “I just really needed someone to talk to, and I figured, out of everyone in this fucked up city, you’re probably the only person I really know… and really… trust.”
I felt sick when I said that last word. I would have much rather spat out a gallon of vomit than say the word “trust” to a man who’d lied to me as Tommy had, but I had no choice in the matter. I was there. I needed a reason… and the reason I came up with, had I not known what I knew, would’ve been the most logical one.
“I know we’ve both changed a lot over the years,” I said, walking around Tommy’s apartment as if it were my own. “But we still have that
connection
from back in the day—and, right now, I really need a friend.”
Again, my own words sickened me, and, again, I had to fight back to urge to hurl. Truth be told, the “back story” I’d come up with was a bit of a stubborn, yet incredibly hopeful one. I wanted to play up the broken trust, broken friendship, and lies between us in hopes of proving a self-righteous point when all was said and done, and in hopes of possibly making Tommy feel guilty, and turn honest, in the meantime.
“I’m here for you, baby,” Tommy said, walking over to sit on his couch. He patted the spot beside him, inviting me to his side. Like a child fearing an impending spanking, I made my way over to him and sat down. “What’s up?” he asked.
I looked at Tommy as if to tell him his question was moot, and, before I could respond, he spoke again. “I mean, what’s up
now
?” he clarified, reaching for my hand. Instinctively, my arm recoiled and drew up toward my chest. I couldn’t stand the thought of him touching me, and my arm sprang on its own—but, in order to not raise suspicion, I scratched my shoulder, then lowered my arm again.
Tommy placed his hand on top of mine, and I felt dirty, depressed, and ashamed. It was the same hand that had just held J.R.’s, and I resented that Tommy’s was now there instead.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” I said, speaking honestly and recalling how I’d felt earlier. “I’m just going through so much right now, and I didn’t want to sit it off alone at home.”
“I understand,” Tommy said sweetly, if “sweetly” is the right word. He looked down at where our hands met, squeezed his fist around mine, and pumped it a few times. I still couldn’t stand the feel of his skin on mine, so I opted to focus on a different sense.
I leaned up a little, ran my other hand over my knee, and asked, “Got anything to drink in this joint?”
“I do,” Tommy replied with a grin, finally removing his hand from mine. “What’s your poison? Beer? Wine? Something harder?” The way Tommy raised his eyebrows when he said the word “harder” made me feel even dirtier than I’d felt before. “And, funny you should use the word ‘joint,’ ‘cause I got a little bit of pot too, if you want.”
“I’ll take a beer,” I answered. “But I’ll pass on the pot.” I hadn’t smoked marijuana in a few years, and, truth be told, I really could have gone for a few puffs, but I wasn’t about to impair my judgment in unpredictable ways, not around a two-face like Tommy. If I were to get high, I might get loopy, and who knows, spill the beans or drop my pants. My response to alcohol was a little bit—though just a
little
bit—more predictable and controllable than to pot.
Tommy went off to the kitchen and, a moment later, returned with two beers. He handed me one, and I quickly took a sip. Right now, I needed the brew as liquid courage, though I reminded myself to be careful how quickly, and how much, I drank. My response to alcohol might have been a
little
bit more predictable and controllable than it was to pot, but it wasn’t completely either of those things, not by any means.
The cold beer seemed to quiet the fire inside of me just enough to dull my defenses and allow me to fully play my part, though my part carried me back to a part of my life I thought I’d moved past. I had to go from being the new me to the old me, from being Trish, the solid, strong, ambitious woman who wouldn’t put up with any shit, to being Patty again… Patty, the naïve, backward girl who spent her better days behind locked doors, planted next to a geek named Tommy who didn’t yet know how to be a real man.
Being Patty was a bit of a pain, in several ways, and it required me to do some psychological backpedaling—but, it wasn’t entirely without its advantages. When Tommy tried to ask how my efforts at clearing my name were going, I quickly changed the subject, and he quickly followed my lead.
“You know,” I said, avoiding the questions Tommy posed, “back in college, if you’d told me I’d be involved in something like this, I would have told you you were insane.”
Tommy laughed a bit at my remark. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “There was a lot we couldn’t have seen coming… and I mean a
lot
. We were both pretty studious and ambitious back then, but who’d have even thunk we’d both land jobs at major, top-notch tech firms, let alone end up in a mess like this?”
“And who’d have thunk you’d go from being such a geek to such a hunk?” I added, feeling the booze take greater effect.
“So you like what you see?” Tommy asked, winking at me.
“Well, compared to how you used to look,” I replied. “We both have to admit, you’ve come pretty far.”
“I guess that’s true,” Tommy replied. “I really
was
a dweeb back then… But
you
—you were always hot… and you’re even hotter now.”
“Thanks,” I said. Shitty as the situation was, I still took the compliment well, and swallowed it with a teaspoon of sugar rather than a grain of salt.
“Do you ever talk to anyone else from back then?” I asked. It was a probing question, but it followed the path of where our conversation was going.
“Not really,” Tommy replied, obviously lying. He’d known Gretchen back then, and dated her as recently as a year ago, which, in my opinion, should have made any real, honest man answer my question differently.
“Me either,” I said, obviously lying as well. I’d already dragged J.R. into this thing with Tommy, and there was no way in hell I was going to do the same thing to Julie, who, if you’ll remember, had once upon a time been my all-American college friend who lived in the same dorm as me.
I specifically avoided mentioning my current affiliation with Julie, and, as Tommy and I went on to talk about people we knew back in the good ole days, I specifically avoiding mentioning her again. Instead, we talked about some of the other computer geeks we knew, wondering what they were up to, sharing rumors, and reminiscing about this or that.
The conversation kept flowing, and so did the drinks, and I was playing my part so well that I nearly forget I was playing a part at all… nearly. Every once in a while, when Tommy said something nostalgic or sentimental, my heart couldn’t help but swell a little—and every time I stared at his stealthy body when he got up to get me another beer, my girl parts couldn’t help but throb and twitch a bit. I had to repeatedly remind myself of the situation, and repeatedly tell myself that, no matter what he sounded or looked like, Tommy Ferguson was up to no good.
