Corps Security: The Series (12 page)

Dee walks in, throwing me a sad smile right as I am pushing everything away. “Hey, you. How are you feeling?” Ah, I was expecting her to at least attempt throwing her cheer at me. Guess even she understands how big last night was. Hesitation and this cloud of timid do not suit my friend.

“Better than last night, or at least I’m getting there.” I attempt a smile, but it feels forced. I’m sure it looks even worse because she gives a small flinch before sitting down next to me.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, and I respect that. Really, I do. We can figure this out later, and you know I won’t judge you at all if this is the way you want to play this. But just let me say this and it will be the end of it until you’re ready, okay?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. She knows what I would say if she did. “Here. He gave me this last night and . . . Well, even though I’m not going to push, I think you should have this.” She reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out a small white card, sliding it over in front of my seat. She stands, giving me a small hug, and whispers in my ear, “I won’t push, Iz, but I think you need to do something with that.” A small smile later, and she walks out of the room, leaving me scooting back from the small card like it holds the plague.

After a nice inner smackdown, I finally reach out and flip the card over. It shouldn’t come as a shock, I knew what I would probably find when I did, but nevertheless I still spit out a rapid burst of air.

Holt Reid

Corps Security

770.555.6839

If anyone were watching me, they would think I have completely lost it. Every screw is loose and I am not only off my damn rocker, but I am running far from it. Hysterical laughter bubbles up before I can suppress it. Wiping the tears from my eyes, trying to calm down, I finally focus back on that stupid, stupid card.

Holt. He will never be
Holt
to me. I sit there for I don’t know how long . . . hours, minutes—hell, it could have been seconds—just looking at his name in the elegant script, trying to figure out exactly who Holt Axel Reid is today. Is he married? My heart skips a beat at the next thought that filters through my mind . . . Does he have children? It’s a logical question; we aren’t those blind-by-love teenagers anymore. It makes sense that he might have moved on. I did . . . even if it was a laughable move I made. Why does he even want to talk to me? He obviously decided a long time ago that he was done with me. Fate is being a huge fucking bitch by throwing us back in each other’s paths.

I stuff the card into the front pocket of my hoodie and pull my work out for the second time today. What can I say? Denial and I are going to become best of buds.

Dee comes back a few hours later and asks if I want to order some takeout for dinner. I couldn’t really care less, but I tell her sure and to order whatever looks good. I know if I don’t at least act normal—or as normal as possible—she would start fretting and force me to talk. I am not ready.

Four hours and two bottles of wine consumed between the two of us later, I find myself sitting back in my girly room, looking down at that small white card again.
Holt. Holt Reid.
I’m sure the giggle that comes out this time sounds just as wonky as it did earlier, but I just can’t help it. How fucked up is this whole thing?
Holt . . .

It may be the stupidest decision that I have made in a long time, but I pick my phone up off the nightstand and slide my finger across the unlock screen. I add his stupid new name to my contacts and store his information. Opening up a new text screen and thinking,
What the hell? Might as well.
At least this way I don’t have to look into those brilliant green eyes.

Me: So we go by Holt now, huh?

Axel ‘Holt’: Izzy?

Me: Ah, bingo . . . anyone else out there not know you as ‘Holt’?

Axel ‘Holt’: Plenty, Princess.

Me: No, I am not your Princess.

Axel ‘Holt’: Okay, so we are going to act like we’re still fucking kids? You texted me, IZZY, so you tell me what’s going?

Me: I am not acting like a child. I just don’t understand why you even bothered to ask me to contact you. I think we can both agree the past needs to just stay there . . . in the past.

Axel ‘Holt’: No, I don’t agree with that. Not at all. Where are you? I’ll come to you. We are not doing this over a fucking text.

Me: No, no. I don’t think that’s a good idea. If you’re dead set on dredging this back up, then fine, but we do this on my terms. I need to process this. I can’t just sift through all this in less than a day. You want to talk, fine . . . but not now.

Axel ‘Holt’: Process? What the hell is there to process? Where are you, Izzy? Not asking you again, and I am not fucking doing this text message shit like a goddamn prepubescent little shit.

I really should have known better. Sighing, I set my phone down. There really is no point in continuing to argue with him. I did what I wanted to do and I asked him to let me have my time. If he can’t respect that, then fuck him and closure be damned.

Ten minutes later, my phones chimes. Then a minute after that, I hear the reminder beep, followed shortly by another chime.

Damn.

Axel ‘Holt’: We will be talking about this Izzy. I know you, don’t you fucking forget that. I won’t let you just forget me like you did before.

Axel ‘Holt’: Understand me this, if you think you can just ignore me and ignore this, then you are up for a big wake up call. You want fucking time, fine. One week, that is all I’m willing to give. Next Saturday, I don’t care if I have to knock on every goddamn door in Georgia. I will find you and we will be having this talk. Got that?

Well, shit.

Me: One week, ‘Holt.’ Guess that’s going to have to be enough, isn’t it? I’ll let you know on Friday if I’m ready. Goodnight.

Axel ‘Holt’: If you call me Holt one more fucking time I’m bending you over my knees, yeah? I am not Holt to you, and you damn well fucking know it.

With a gasp of surprise at his audacity, I quickly turn my phone off and throw it across the room like it’s on fire. I definitely can’t deal with
that.

CHAPTER 8

The next morning comes way too quickly, but I wake with a new resolve that it will be a good day. I have to deal with Axel, but I won’t be doing that today. Sundays are usually the day that Dee and I lounge around the house, catching up on our DVR backlog, and spend some time just the two of us. Since our normal ‘Sunday Funday’ was interrupted with the new drama in my life, we rescheduled for today. Dee called into work and we started planning our ‘Monday Funday.’ This time together is important to us, especially with yesterday, so I’m happy to have this time today. We might live together but we stay pretty busy during the week—or at least she does. My work is a more ‘at your own pace’ thing, so I often find myself working at odd hours here and there.

Working from home has its benefits. Well . . . one benefit: solitude.

I feel better by myself, being alone and not worrying about checking my surroundings every two seconds.

I feel safer.

I might have come a long way since Brandon, but a lot of that has to do with my not leaving the house much. And when I do, I never leave alone. I stopped looking over my shoulders and fearing the shadows; I stopped living a life destined for death. I feel like I’m healing.

The first step to my healing was starting this new life. It took a while, but I am finally happy. Happy-ish. My business is growing and my friends are great—both of my friends. I don’t need a million friends to feel like I have accomplished something with my life. I am perfectly content with Dee and Greg. I don’t trust easily—or at all—so this is progress and it works for me.

The first year and a half after Brandon was spent in therapy and getting our life set up, buying the townhome, helping Dee get her new business up and running, and finally starting my own. There really hasn’t been much time for me to just be me. It was a healthy—or maybe a not so healthy—distraction phase. It took me a while to decide that I was okay enough to start living again, and I won’t let Axel’s change that.

So it is time to do what Izzy West does best: distract.

Dee and I spend all day Monday lying around the house and watching old ’80s movies. We turn all the phones off, close the blinds, and just enjoy spending the day together without the world stomping all over us. If Greg tried to call, we didn’t know, and that is just fine with me. I am not ready to deal with his intrusive questions right now.

Tuesday is spent catching up on my work and fielding calls from Greg. I fake work issues and I am able to put him off. I know this won’t work, but once again, I am not ready for him. I don’t completely lie to him; I do have plenty of work I need to get a good head start on. Word is spreading quickly, and I have finally picked up some rather large businesses out of Atlanta. Dee is gone longer than normal on Tuesday. I know she is in the middle of some issues with her branch back in North Carolina. So by the time she gets home, she is too tired to push much from me. Again, that works perfectly for me.

Wednesday is spent running errands around town, cleaning out my closet, and organizing the pantry. I even scrub all three toilets in the house.

By the time Thursday rolls around, I am running out of excuses to beg off Greg and things to keep me distracted. Worse yet, Saturday is looming even closer and closer. Greg seems to be busy enough trying to get the new and improved Corps Security up and running. For once, the timing is working out in my benefit. He calls twice, but when I send them both to voicemail, he must have give up. I should be worried about him going silent on me, but I am too busy trying to keep my panic about Saturday down.

Friday is spent hand mopping the floors and dusting every surface in the whole damn townhome. Dee is working from home today and I am sure she is starting to think I have lost it. I am just sitting down in front of our massive DVD collection to re-alphabetize it—again—when I hear my phone start ringing. I jump up and run off to my room to see if I can ignore Greg’s call again. When I pick up my phone and see “Axel ‘Holt’” calling, I scream and drop it. I run back into the living room and pick my stupid mind-numbing task back up. I hear my phone ring three more times before I’m done. Deciding I need to bring out the big guns in my mission to distract, I set off to find Dee.

This is going to be easy enough, even if it is painful for me. All it will take is one mention of her finally getting that makeover she’s been after and I’ve been dreading for her to forget everything else and focus only on shopping. It might be a dirty trick, but it is the only one I have at the moment.

I will have to spend a day with Dee, allowing her to take over and drag me all over the state shopping, but it will work. Not only will I successfully not be thinking about anything besides how much money she is costing me, but I will be away from the house and Axel won’t be able to find me. I hate shopping, but if this works, the payoff might be worth it.

Me and Dee against the world. She might not know it, but she is about to become my hero.

* * *

My ears have finally stopped ringing from Dee’s insane screeching when I announced I am finally ready to shed my ‘ratty-ass jeans’ and tees and let her work her magic. Just as I thought, she immediately went into crazy mode and forgot about the world around her. Sometimes I love how easy it is to basically bribe her.

It’s Saturday morning and we have been at the mall for a few hours when my phone rings. Looking at the display, I can’t help but smile when I see “Greg Calling” across the screen. I have successfully kept him away all week, and now that I am away from the house and out of Axel’s reach, I am finally going to pick this call up.

“Hey, you,” I smile into the phone.

“Baby girl, you speaking to me today?” His deep baritone rumbles through the line.

“Depends on you. What do you want to speak about?”

“All right, I guess that’s a no. What are you doing? I drove by the house but no one was there.”

“Shopping!” My voice must be dripping with sarcasm. “Dee and I are over at Lenox Mall. I’ve decided it’s time for a new wardrobe. Going all out. You should meet us over here . . . carry all the bags or something productive like that. It will be just so much fun.” Yup, sarcasm is hanging thick in the air. Dee is completely oblivious to my conversation. Either that or she is just so in her element that she decides to ignore it.

“Carry your bags, huh? You must be out of your damn mind if you think I will be joining you on that estrogen field trip. I like my balls right where they are.” He laughs back at me, finally losing that hard tone he seems to have adopted with me. I don’t like being at the receiving end of his anger.

“Pussy,” I joke. “Big old pussy is afraid to come and walk around the mall with your best friends. I think you might have already lost those balls you’re so fond of, G.” I throw my head back and let out a loud laugh, earning a few nasty looks from the rich bitches out shopping for shit they do not need. Kind of like me, minus the rich part.

I can hear him trying not to laugh. This right here is the Greg I love so much, this banter between us.

“Come on. All joking aside, I think we will be stopping for lunch soon. Or at least I hope my master will let me eat.”

I look over at Dee, who has been vibrating with excitement since we started this grand makeover day, to confirm a plan for food at least somewhere in the near future. She isn’t looking anywhere near me. Instead, she is focusing on another store. I might as well just hand her my credit card and tell her to meet me back home. I haven’t had a single input on a single purchase since we started, and if the seven bags hanging from my arms aren’t enough, I might just run. What the hell was I thinking?

Oh, that’s right . . . a distraction, being away from the house and away from Axel, who has already called three times since the day began.

Clearing my throat, I speak into the phone again. Even if Dee doesn’t agree, we will be eating soon. “So, what have ya? Want to meet us over here or what?”