Darker Water (33 page)

I let her love me. I
wanted
her to
love me, and I hadn’t done enough to make her see what was going to
happen. Because I was a selfish prick and didn’t want to stop
seeing that look in her eyes or feeling her intensity. I didn’t
want to give up knowing she’d be there whenever I needed her. So I
kept telling myself she could handle it. I even convinced myself it
was a good test for her—a new skill pushed to its limit.

What a fucking idiot.

Even though there wasn’t enough money in the
world to make up for all the bad I’d done to the most beautiful
person I’d ever met, maybe it could help her get one step closer to
the life she should have.

I almost started crying when I saw her
website—it looked phenomenal. Nothing like it did the last time I
checked. It was nice to know she was keeping herself busy instead
of just blundering around uselessly like I was. She really was
better off without me. That’s what I wanted, wasn’t it?

Kudos to Eric on the pictures—they were crazy
good and showed off Lane’s talent and—

“Shit.” I had to stop thinking about her. I
took a deep breath before I picked up my phone so I didn’t sound
like a whiny four-year-old when the foundation’s office manager
answered.

I ignored the ‘are you alright?’ and ‘why
haven’t you come in or answered your phone for the last week?’
portion of the conversation and skipped straight to the favor.

I gave her Lane’s website address. “Buy what
you can, but don’t negotiate. Give her whatever she’s asking for
each piece, and then add all of it to the fall auction catalogue.”
I set the budget at more than I guessed Lane made in a year, way
more than she’d gotten for her lily pad tables, but she was still
undercharging. She deserved the money, and the exposure from the
auction might put her art in front of the right person. And the
foundation would probably raise more than I paid from people who
had too much money and better-than-average taste. Win-win for
everyone. Almost everyone.

A few days later, some friends who didn’t
understand anything—or maybe they just didn’t think I was capable
of so much sap—dragged me to Vegas. We ended up at a club it was
hard
not
to get laid in. Tonight, I saw at least three women
who, if I was sane, I would have taken home. Three chances to
forget about Lane for a little while.

Fuck, what was stopping me? I’d never felt
more lonely in my entire life. Since I was really good at not
letting anyone get too comfortable, I never thought I
could
be lonely. She’d ruined me, made me want things I shouldn’t want.
Made me need things I couldn’t have. And now I was a fucking
mess.

None of these women would do that to me. I’d
make one of them feel good and she’d make me feel good and then a
couple hours later, we’d both walk away. Simple, straightforward,
easy.

The brunette had a great body, a short skirt,
and moved in a way appreciated by every guy in the place. A few
months ago, I’d have been on that before she’d checked me out once,
let alone the four times she had.

Why was I even hesitating? I didn’t owe Lane
anything, didn’t love her or even plan to see her ever again. So
what was my fucking problem? If this brunette took me to her place,
there would be no memories there. For a little while I could
pretend I was my old self. I considered it. I considered it while I
had three more drinks than I’d planned on having.

Then I stopped thinking. Well, I stopped
thinking
clearly
. And I started thinking with my dick, the
way I used to. Before all the danger started, before Lane showed up
and everything got turned upside-down. I was kind of happy back
then. Well, I wasn’t miserable.

My brain woke up when we stepped onto the
sidewalk outside the club. Something about fresh air, I guess.

“Wait a sec.” The woman wasn’t Lane. Why was
I with someone else? I didn’t want to be with someone else. Not
tonight, not tomorrow, not next year. This woman whose name I
didn’t remember might have been really fun, but I didn’t care. I’d
already felt more for someone, had already been with the most
amazing woman in the world, and everyone else would be a step
down.

However good the sex was, it wouldn’t measure
up, and I would never be able to sleep with anyone else in my bed.
So I apologized, took her back into the bar, and bought her a
drink. When she was set, I said goodbye and took a cab to the
hotel. Alone.

Just to punish myself, I got into the
bathtub, closed my eyes, and deliberately remembered her. I would
start to forget soon—I was really good at forgetting and denying
and pretending. Everything other than feeling and loving and
believing I’d ever find anything as great as what I’d almost
had.

If my life wasn’t complete shit, it would
have been perfect. A few months ago, I would’ve thought it was. I’d
gotten calls from five different people who’d seen or heard about
my work. Then, the owner of the Third Street Gallery wanted to meet
me and see my portfolio. No promises, just a meeting in two weeks
from now, but…

“Oh my god! He wants to meet me!”

Once my parents heard the dollar amounts—ones
I never would’ve had the balls to ask for if it wasn’t for
Carson—and explained to them what a gallery showing could do for
me, they realized that my “hobby” was actually turning into
something. That their daughter was an artist. I cried when I heard
the pride in my mom’s voice when she said it.

Then again, I cried about pretty much
everything these days. Ironic because I had everything I wanted.
Except for the person I wished I didn’t want.

Other than to finish the lily pad tables and
meet a few new clients, I hadn’t left the house. Even though I had
repair work to finish, I didn’t do anything but sit on the couch
and eat take-out. I hadn’t cleaned up the mess the fight had
caused, just the thought of it made me tear up like an idiot. But
it wasn’t because of the mess or the violence. I didn’t want a
reminder that I wouldn’t be seeing Carson anymore. He wouldn’t be
coming for his Getting Handy lessons, or to talk, or to sneak up
behind me and start taking off my clothes while I was trying to
concentrate.

Moving on.

“Laney?” Hillary called from the kitchen.
She’d been awesome. I’d had to tell her about Kevin after she saw
what he’d done to my face, but I didn’t say much about Carson.
Since I wasn’t with him anymore and I was a total wreck, she must
have known something was going on, but the title of “Man Hillary
Most Wished Dead” went to Kevin now.

I didn’t waste any time thinking about Kevin
because I was too busy obsessing about the other crappy things that
had happened. All of this was my doing—not the Kevin parts, those
were all him—but the broken heart thing was all me. Carson had
never lied or cheated or done anything wrong. He’d never wanted me
to be someone I wasn’t—
I
had. I’d wanted him to be someone
who could love me. And saying, ‘Oops, my bad,’ didn’t cut it.

“Didn’t you hear the knock, Laney?” Oh,
that’s why she looked so freaked out. I didn’t answer the door
anymore, just in case it was Kevin. I couldn’t file a restraining
order because then I’d have to explain why I needed one. I didn’t
look up until I heard her open the door and mumble to someone. Then
she came into the living room with…

Carson. I stopped breathing, afraid to move
because I knew I’d do or say something stupid and he’d bolt
again.

When Hillary stepped out of the way and I
could see all of him, my mind couldn’t bend around the idea that
Carson had cut his hair, put on a business suit, and somehow got
the incredibly frustrating and gorgeous smirk off his face.

“I’m Hayden Bennett. You know my
brother.”

“Oh shit.” What a moron. I’d spent enough
time looking at Carson to know better. “Of course you are. Sorry.”
I blamed it on the fact that I hadn’t eaten a vegetable in over a
week. I wiped my hands off and shook his. “I’m Laney. Is Carson
okay?”

“From what I know, he’s…” He looked around
for a place to sit, difficult because I’d practically moved into
the room—mine didn’t have a TV in it. I shoved some crap out of the
way so he could have a chair. “Vegas is an easy place to be for
someone who doesn’t want to be found. He switched hotels, so no
one’s seen him for a few days.” He must have seen my look of panic.
“But I hired someone to find him, and I’m told he’s fine. Carson
does what Carson wants to do, but he’s not stupid. He did something
like this after our father died. He ran away and then two days
later he was back, acting as if it had only been two hours.”

“Sounds super healthy.”

Hayden smiled sadly. “I’m sure he’s told you
enough to know we’ve never had a particularly healthy family.” We
talked for a few minutes, which was something I was pretty proud of
because not
once
did I ask him if Carson had told him about
us. Hurray for me.

But I wasn’t actually sure why Hayden came
here. To shoot the shit with someone who was no longer an issue?
“Is there something you need me to do?”

“In a way.” He relaxed slightly, now that I’d
let him out of small talk about how screwed up his family was. “A
man—your ex-boyfriend, I believe—approached me.”

Oh shit. “I’m so sorry. We broke up a long
time ago, back when he wasn’t crazy. Believe me, it was an
unpleasant surprise for everyone when he showed up.” I rambled for
a bit longer, until I had to stop and catch my breath. That was
when I realized he didn’t care about all that stuff. He cared about
his little brother.

“Did Kevin ask you for money?”

“Ask? No, there was no asking involved, but I
wouldn’t have expected there to be any. He did bring up a past
incident involving Carson, though, something we all thought was
done.”

“Kevin mentioned it to me, too.” I just
didn’t think he had the balls or lack of intelligence to use
it.

“That’s why you didn’t go to the police?”

“I love your brother, so I don’t want him to
get—” Both of us stopped. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was a
poor word choice. I just meant I care a lot about him.” If I hadn’t
seen Carson’s ‘you actually expect me to believe that’ face about a
billion times, I wouldn’t have recognized Hayden’s.

“The bar fight was over a woman,” he
said.

“Oh. I didn’t know that.” I smiled to cover a
grimace. I didn’t want to think about Carson and I
really
didn’t want to think about him with someone else. “Well, Carson has
questionable taste in women.”

He looked at me oddly. “I highly doubt that,
but it’s not what I meant. The fight happened in the parking lot
outside the club. Evidently the man was angry that his girlfriend
was flirting with my brother, so he dragged her outside. Carson
followed and when he saw the man hit her… Well, you can guess what
he did then.”

I blinked. Carson stopped her from being
beaten. With maybe more violence than necessary, but it didn’t mean
he was unpredictable or dangerous to anyone other than someone who
deserved it.

“I don’t think that’s how he remembers it,” I
said.

“I doubt he remembers it at all. I only know
because I heard the story from multiple sources, am a fairly good
judge of character, and I know my brother. He wouldn’t have done it
for any other reason.”

“He needs to know what really happened. You
need to tell him that he did the same thing for that other woman as
he did for me. He saved her.”

Hayden didn’t ask me what happened, like that
would be invading my privacy. Much appreciated. Although it wasn’t
privacy I was holding onto, it was my sanity. If I really started
talking about it to someone who had the same jerk of a father
Carson had, I’d lose it.

“I should go,” he said after a quick glance
to his watch. “My plane leaves in an hour.” Then he answered the
question I didn’t ask. “Vegas. Only to pick him up, though—I’m not
a gambler.” He stood and handed me his card. “It was a pleasure,
Laney. I hope things work out for you, and I hope my brother
realizes what an idiot he is.”

Since I wasn’t sure what to say to that, I
didn’t say anything. As soon as I closed the door, I regretted not
asking if there was anything I could do to help. Other than not
talking to anyone but him or Carson’s lawyer. I went back to the
couch, flicking Hayden’s card onto the table. I wasn’t going to
call. I was moving on with my life. Plus, I was chicken-shit.

When the order came in, I thought it was a
scam—who would buy everything on my website for full price? I
ignored it until the online payment company verified and
transferred funds. Then I asked a friend of a friend of a friend
who was good with computers to check it out for me, because it
couldn’t be true. A gallery owner wouldn’t buy them and, not that
I’d knock anyone who liked my work that much, but is someone bought
it all for their house, the place would look a little
cluttered.

I admit to sweaty palms and a thumping heart
when the computer genius called. Hillary stood right next to me, as
if we were waiting for news we’d won the lottery. Which this would
qualify as, if it was true. Drum roll please…

“It’s legit,” Andi said.

“How is that even possible?”

“How’s
what
even possible?” Hillary
asked, tugging at my phone.

“I could tell you what I did,” she said, “and
where I looked, but—”

“Yeah, that would be completely useless.” I
put the phone on speaker so Hillary would stop glaring and
pantomiming. “My brain doesn’t work like that.”

“And mine doesn’t work like yours. I can’t
even doodle.”

“Can you repeat what you just told me before
my roommate has a seizure?”

“Um…okay,” Andi said slowly. “The sale is
legit.”