Hard (19 page)

“Save
up your oxygen now, then,” he whispered, his head buried in my
hair. “Because you’re coming home with me tonight.”

I
was hoping he’d say that.

Still,
there’s a fair amount of night left til last call, so in the
office now, I finish my shot so I can get back on the floor. Even
though I’m no longer working to pay back Jamie’s debt,
Ryder wants me to stay on as his bookkeeper during the week, and
everything I make tonight is going, indisputably, straight to my bank
account. And though I haven’t counted the bills yet, judging
from the thickness in my pocket, so far it’s been a good shift.
Braves fans can be very generous after a Sunday night win.

“But
why would he order all those courses if he wasn’t going to eat
them?” Shelby asks Savannah.

Savannah
shrugs. “Great fucking question. He actually asked me if I
wanted dessert when we were finished.” She holds up a finger.
“Correction. When I was finished. Because to finish something
you have to start, so he wouldn’t qualify.”

“Maybe
he was shy,” Avery says. She sits cross-legged on the edge of
the desk, where I sat very open-legged just a few weeks ago with
Ryder. I look away, trying not to blush.

“No,
he was sick,” Savannah says. “That’s what he told
me when we were waiting for the valet. He didn’t feel well so
he didn’t have an appetite.”

“So
why wouldn’t he just cancel the date?” Ruby says.

“One
of life’s great mysteries,” Savannah shrugs. She shakes
her head, her curly blond hair bouncing. “And the unfortunate
part is he’s actually really cute. He’s very smart. He’s
just obviously very weird.”

“Maybe
he just wanted to watch you eat,” I tease. “Kinky.”

“Forget him,” Shelby says. “There’s
definitely someone else out there for you with a fantastic appetite
for fried risotto balls.”

“The
thing is,” Savannah says, propping her feet on the desk, “I
don’t even really like risotto.”

I
put my empty glass down on the desk. “Ladies, I have to get
back to work.”

Shelby
clucks her tongue. “Are you sure? We haven’t even started
going through their drawers yet or anything.”

“And
what exactly are you hoping to find?” I ask.

“Diaries?
Love letters? Handcuffs?” she says. “Something we can
gossip about other than you and Ryder.”

“I’m
offended,” I say, as I open the door to leave, “that
you’d want to talk about anything else.” I blow them
kisses and head down the hallway.

I
don’t see Ryder when I get back out to the bar—Cash says
he’s out back with a vendor—but what I do see is plenty
of tables who need refills.

I
take the order of five guys who have crushed into a booth that seats
four people: three Heinekens, a Jack and Coke, and a Seven and Seven.
“Are you gonna join us?” the one in the middle asks.

“I
don’t think there’s room for one more body in there,”
I say.

He
points to his friend on the end. “We can ask Joey to leave,”
he says.

“Why
do I have to leave?” Joey says. “This place was my idea.”

I
laugh. “Y’all figure it out while I get your drinks.”

At the bar, I push through the clusters of people waiting on their
drinks to give Cash the order, and that’s when I hear him: “A
bourbon, neat, please. Your best one.”

Sebastian’s
voice. Lilting and smooth but taut, like a silk ribbon tied too
tightly around your neck. He’s standing right next to me,
speaking to Cash.

“Coming
up,” Cash says to him. “Here, Cass.” Cash opens the
last of the Heinekens for me and goes to help another server, but I
can’t put the bottles on my tray, can’t even move. I’m
stopped dead right where I am, unable to turn my head, to open my
mouth. Unable to believe.

It
can’t be Sebastian
, I think, though I know one-hundred
percent that it is. That’s his drink. The way he orders it, no
specific brand, just the
best one
. His manners:
please
.
Charming enough until you remember that manners, really, are just a
performance, a way we put on our best selves so no one will see who
we really are.

I
grip the edge of the bar, trying to catch my breath and not drown in
the dark memories from our marriage that flood my mind, wanting to
replace the fear I feel with calm so my heart will quiet, stop
thumping so loudly in my ears I can’t think. The last thing I
want is to freak out in the middle of Altitude.

No.
Actually the last thing I want is for Sebastian to be at Altitude.

“Hello, Cass,” he says, his voice slicing through the
blare of the music, the chatter of all these people having such a
good time. “Is that what you’re going by these days? A
short name to go with your short hair. How quaint.”

“What
are you doing here?” I whisper, staring down at the bar but
seeing nothing through a blur of anger.

“Thought
I’d pop in on you, since you haven’t called as I asked,”
he says. “Not even a thank you message for the flowers I
dropped off.” He takes a step toward me, bending close to my
ear. “And I noticed there have been several nights you haven’t
slept at your house, so I worried something was terribly, terribly
wrong.” He runs his fingers down my arm, his nails grating my
bare skin like dull claws. “You know how I can’t help but
imagine a worst-case scenario when it comes to my wife.”

I
grab his wrist, squeezing it like I’m trying to get blood from
a stone, and look directly at him, his black hair and brown eyes,
features that I found so enchanting and mysterious once. Sebastian’s
not a bad-looking guy, I’ll give him that. But he is a bad guy.

We
thread through the crowd as I drag him outside through the front
door, hoping that Cash is still too busy to see us, that Ryder’s
still out back, that I can get rid of Sebastian before my table
starts asking for me and their drinks. He already took two years of
my life. I’m not giving up another night.

“You
need to leave,” I say, releasing his wrist. We stand on the
sidewalk, close to the curb, and I point into the street. “Now.”

“Cassie,
don’t be foolish,” he says. “I’m not going
anywhere without you.” He reaches for my face, and I flinch.
“And you can’t go anywhere without me. Despite what you
think.”

“How
did you even know I was here? Are you stalking me?”

Sebastian
laughs, the sound like a rock avalanche, surprising and dangerous.
“How can I stalk you? We’re married. I have a right to
see you.”

“No,
you don’t,” I say. “I left England because I left
you. I don’t love you, Sebastian.”

“Of
course you love me,” he says. “And I love you, even when
you behave like a bratty child who wants to get her way without any
regard for how it makes others feel.”

I
hug my arms around my chest, incredulous that he’s baited me
back to this place I swore I’d never return to: an argument
with him. Alone. At night. In a place where I could just disappear
and no one would ever be able to say what happened to me except him.
Every muscle in my body twitches as the familiar blend of
exasperation and anger and uncertainty crash in on me, and even
though I can hear my voice shaking, I say, “You may have been
watching me this week.” I step toward him. “But I’m
the one who sees you, you know. For what you really are.”

“And
what,” he says, almost so quietly that I have to lean into him
to hear, “is that, do you reckon?”

“You’re
a liar,” I say. Tears of frustration well in my eyes and fall
slowly down my cheeks. “And a bully. And a coward. And I want
you to leave me the fuck alone.”

“I
can’t do that, Cassie,” he says, his lips stretched into
a thin smile. “You belong with me.”

“Fine. Stay here. I’ll call the police,” I say, but
we both know it’s an empty threat. Sebastian hasn’t done
anything tonight that the police can do anything about. All those
other nights in England—that’s when I should have called.

“To
tell them what?” he says. “That your husband misses you
and was concerned? Even in America, I don’t think they’ll
lock me up for that.” He walks forward, but I refuse to
retreat, and he looms over me, like a shadow that diminishes the
object it shades. “You belong with me, Cassandra. For better,”
he says, gripping my upper arms, “or for worse.”

Behind
me, I hear the front door of Altitude open, and for a second it’s
like a spell is broken, the swirl of sound from inside bursting the
bubble I’m trapped in with Sebastian.

And
then a different bubble bursts. “Cassie?” Ryder says.
“What’s going on?”

RYDER

When
you know how to fight, when throwing a punch is as natural a movement
as taking a step, sometimes you have to work to stay calm. The truth
is, I’m not really a violent person, not deep down. Every fight
I’ve ever had, I raised my fists in defense of myself or
someone or something I cared about. I don’t hit without a
definite reason, because I don’t hit any way but hard—so
I want to make sure that if I deck someone, it’s warranted. But
I’ll intimidate the shit out of a guy in the meantime,
especially if he’s in the face of someone I care about.

I’d
been looking for Cassie everywhere. “I saw her go outside with
some dude,” Katie told me, shrugging. “She didn’t
look happy.”

Cassie turns to me now as I step out of the front door. She’s
not crying, but I can see streaks of tears on her cheeks in the
streetlight. I don’t know what’s going on, but if she’s
upset, I don’t need more information. I bound down the steps,
and in a single movement push the guy standing next to her to the
brick wall of the bar. He’s about my height but slighter than
me. A weaker frame. It wouldn’t be a fair fight between us. But
the way he was grabbing her, he doesn’t seem interested in
fairness anyway. So bring it on.

“This
guy bothering you?” I say to Cassie, keeping my eyes on him. He
doesn’t wiggle or try to resist. Just smiles slightly, his
mouth sealed shut like someone who just swallowed the last clue you
need to solve a mystery.

“Ryder,
it’s okay,” Cassie says. She tugs at my sleeve like a
little kid trying to get a parent’s attention. “It’s
okay. He’s leaving. Don’t worry about him.”

“I’m
not,” I say. “He’s the one that should be worried.”
I lean my weight into the hand I’ve got on his chest. I’m
know I’m not hurting him, but I know I’m not not-hurting
him either.

“Ryder,
please, just let him go,” she says. She puts her hands on my
forearms. “I know how to handle him, okay? I promise, I’m
fine.”

I
turn my head toward her, her eyebrows raised and her pretty pink lips
slightly open. She never looks at the guy, never takes her eyes off
me, but I’m starting to feel like something’s not what it
seems to be here, like I walked into a dark room that I thought was
empty and now I’m bumping into furniture.

“You know him or something?” I say.

She
rubs her eyes and tilts her head back. Caroline used to do the same
thing when I asked a question she didn’t want to answer. I
release the guy and his smile grows. “Who is this guy,
Cassie?”

“I
can explain,” she says.

“What
is there to explain, really?” the guy says in an English
accent. He steps away from the wall and extends his hand toward me,
his fingers long and skinny like dry twigs that snap easily.
“Sebastian Walsh. I’m Cassie’s husband.”

It
takes a second for the words to sink in, and then the idea, the heft
of that one sentence like the weight of a thousand worlds crushing my
stomach, my lungs, my heart.
Husband
. There’s no word
that sounds much like it, nothing that really rhymes with it. I
couldn’t have heard it any clearer. And I can’t
understand it much less.

“You’re married?” I say to Cassie.

She
nods without looking at me, her eyes fixed on the sidewalk. “So
this is why you were in England,” I say.

“And
why she’s coming back,” he says, staring at Cassie, his
mouth more a smirk than a smile.

“Is
that right,” I say. A statement, not a question.

I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the magnolia tree around
the corner, out of sight from where we’re standing now. It’s
sweet but very light so I don’t know if Cassie or this asshole
can even smell it since I’m probably the only one of the three
of us who even knows it’s there. It’s kind of wonderful.
Cleansing. Relaxing, almost. If they don’t detect it, they’re
really missing out, and I guess I could call their attention to it,
give them a heads up so they don’t miss it, but then again,
why? Because what we’re learning here tonight is that if you
know something that someone else doesn’t, you’re not
obligated to say a fucking thing, whether he might like to know or
not.

In the end, everyone’s responsible for the ignorance they choke
on.

“Yes.
England is where she belongs. With me.” He grabs Cassie’s
upper arm, his fingers digging into her skin as he pulls her away
from me.

Cassie
tries to shrug off his hand. “Stop,” she says to him.
“Stop it, Sebastian.” She jerks her arm, but he doesn’t
let go.

I
don’t know what I’ve walked into here. I don’t know
anything about this guy or this marriage or the fucked-up games they
may be playing with each other. And I’m pissed as hell at
Cassie—livid, actually. But I’m not going to tolerate
anyone being bullied, and from her tense body language and the way
she flicks her eyes up at me, I can tell she doesn’t want or
need to be held the way he’s holding her, his spidery fingers
wrapped around her thin arm. “Alright, let her go, man” I
say.

“Excuse
me?”

“Is
it my accent?” I say, stepping toward him. “I said let
her go.”

“Are
you telling me how to touch my wife?”