His Secrets (4 page)

“He had another client who had to commit his daughter. He’s pulling some strings at that facility. He says that since Amber threatened suicide, we can get her committed for observation, but it won’t guarantee she stays in treatment. We need her agreement for that.”

“That’s not going to be easy.” She glances at the window. “Shouldn’t they be leaving by now?”

“Yeah. I’m concerned.” I dial Tristan, who doesn’t answer, and I grimace. “I’m starting to think I need to check on them.”

“Won’t someone miss Isabel?”

“Not when she has company.” My phone beeps and I grab it and glance down to read what Tristan has written: I convinced her to leave by telling her you were meeting us at our house. We’re on our way out of here now.

Slipping my phone back in my pocket, I glance up at Sara. “Tristan and Amber are headed our way.” I take her hand to head to the doorway, but I can’t shake the sting of Isabel’s accusations. “Sara, about Isabel—”

She kisses me. “I’m okay,” she promises, but the crack in her voice and the shadows in her eyes when she pulls back tell me she’s not even close to okay. And I’m not sure we are, either.

Part Five

Storm

We exit the club into the chill of the windy November Paris night to discover that the 911 has not been held nearby, but parked in the garage. Apparently Isabel’s prior orders trumped my cash. With Sara shivering, and Amber due out the door any minute, I order our car to be pulled to the side of the building.

Rounding the corner, I drag Sara into a dark entryway framing a door to some other part of the building. Pressing her into the corner, I use my body to shelter her from the wind, leaving us swimming in shadows. But even in the darkness, our eyes connect, the heat radiating between us, defying the cold night. This reminds me of another day, and another entryway, when we’d first met and I’d warned her away from me and the gallery. Before I knew she would take me by storm.

“I didn’t want to put you through this hell, but eyes wide open, baby. I promised if you came to Paris, that’s what you’d get. I almost let us leave without giving it to you.”

“Nothing I saw in there tonight was new. I know it all.”

“Damn it, Sara, take off the rose-colored glasses you say you saw your father with for years. You keep seeing the wrong things.”

“So if I don’t see you as some kind of monster, I see the wrong things? Obviously, I see you and Amber differently than you do. One person experiences tragedy and uses it to drive them to success, like you have with your art. Another, like Amber, lets it drive them into self-destruction. We all have different kinds of people cross our paths, Chris, but they don’t define us. We do. How I deal with who you are isn’t about you. It’s about me.”

“But those people who cross our paths can make us stronger or weaker.”

“If we let them. Amber won’t let you help her. She makes herself weaker. You, you make me stronger. You make me fight for me, and when I don’t, you do it for me, the way I try to fight for you.” She balls her fingers around my shirt. “I heard you in the museum in California. I heard the way you stood up to my father, and to Michael, for me. And you taught me to deal with men like Mark by claiming my own power, the night you negotiated that commission for me. I didn’t see it then, but I do now. You make me stronger.”

“But I’m still the person who made Amber what she is today. Did you see her, Sara? Really see her?”

“Do you really see me, Chris? Because I’ve lived my mother’s death, my father’s life, Michael, my own identity issues, and then all this hell with Rebecca and Ava. And though I have my weak moments, I don’t want the whip. Even when you left me over Dylan and I was alone and devastated, I didn’t waver. And let me tell you, Mark did his damnedest to convince me that love was for fools and he could show me another way—but I wasn’t tempted.”

My anger is an instant punch of adrenaline. “Mark did what?”

“Mark isn’t the point here. You told me to see you once before, Chris. I’m begging you to see me now. I love us and you. And I love where you take me, and what you make me feel.”

“The us, you know. The me, you understand. But I was
Amber
at one point.”

“No. You weren’t.”

“Sara—”

“I saw you tied up in Mark’s club, screaming to be beaten harder. I know who you are. I know where you’ve been. I get it and I get you. I’m starting to worry that you don’t get me, though. Or maybe you’re just looking for a way out.”

I trace her jawline with my fingers. “I don’t want out, and I don’t want you out.” I lower my forehead to hers. “I just needed—”

I’m cut off by an explosion of voices and commotion around the front of the building that makes me jerk back. “Why do I know that involves Amber?” I lace my fingers with Sara’s. “Come on.”

“Wait,” she objects, digging in her heels. “Aren’t I supposed to be avoiding her?”

“I’m not leaving you on the side of a sex club, in the dark, by yourself.” Shouts lift in the air and I think I recognize one of the voices. “
Fuck
. I’m pretty sure that was Tristan.”

We race around the corner to discover that utter chaos has erupted in front of the club. Two doormen are holding Tristan’s arms and his classic Impala is speeding away. “Oh no,” Sara murmurs. “Please tell me Amber isn’t leaving by herself.”

I hand Sara my phone. “Call Rey. We need backup.”

A loud crash sounds, and smoke rises into the air near the exit onto the road. “Amber!” I take off running.

Scantily clad people begin to pour out of the building, scattering everywhere and seeming to multiply. The crush is too extreme to be caused by simple curiosity; the building is being evacuated. That must be what’s happening, and damn it to hell, Isabel is in the stocks—but I have to make sure Amber is safe, first.

Reaching the edge of the road, I can see that the Impala had pulled in front of another car and taken a hit to the front right panel. Smoke’s pouring from the hood and the driver is still inside. The second car seems less damaged and a man climbs out; he seems to be okay.

Tristan appears by my side and curses at the sight of his banged-up car, charging toward the driver’s side door. I quickly follow, not sure how Tristan’s going to react if this is Amber and she’s hurt. He jerks open the door, and almost instantly a bloodied Amber throws her arms around his neck. I let out a breath—she’s conscious and mobile.

Sirens sound nearby, and I lean weakly against the car at the unexpected stirring of old memories. I was five when my mother had died, and I heard the screeching emergency vehicles in my nightmares for years to follow. Trying to shake it off, I move to the other car and check on the driver, but by the time I reach him, an emergency vehicle and two police cars have appeared.

Emergency personnel circle Amber and the other driver, and Sara appears by my side, looking frazzled and breathing hard. “Is she okay?”

“Bleeding from somewhere, but she’s coherent and moving around. What happened at the building?”

“From what I gathered, Amber pulled the fire alarm to get Isabel set free. Tristan told me she freaked out when she saw that Isabel was still in the stock when they were leaving. The minute he stepped outside with her, she flipped out and told the staff he was kidnapping her.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“I wish I were, but we have some good and bad news. The attorney called. He arranged the facility for Amber’s rehab, but she has to agree to check herself in or they won’t take her. When I told him about her stealing the car and all this nonsense, he suggested that Tristan threaten to press charges for the car theft and the physical attack if she doesn’t check herself in for a month.”

“What would keep her from sticking to her kidnapping story?”

“Us backing him up as witnesses, and you refusing to have her in your life at all if she won’t do this.”

I give a nod and seek Tristan out, finding him standing by the emergency vehicle watching the workers cart Amber away. “I’ll go talk to him.”

She nods and hugs herself against a gust of wind.

“Where’s the 911?” I ask. “Can you get your coat?”

“I’m fine,” she insists despite her chattering teeth. “The car is by the door.”

I’d argue with her but Tristan starts walking toward us and I move to meet him, not wanting any wrath he might lay on me to roll over onto Sara. “How is she?” I ask.

“She has a deep cut that needs stitches,” he explains. “They want to check her for a concussion, but she should be fine. I’m going to ride to the hospital with her.”

“You can’t do that.”

“The fuck I can’t.”

“She can’t get into rehab if she doesn’t do it willingly. If she doesn’t get into rehab, she might not survive the next incident like this one.”

“What does that have to do with me riding with her to the hospital?”

“It’s called tough love. Believe it or not, this was a blessing tonight. She gave us ammunition to force her hand.” I explain the plan.

Tristan stares at me for several seconds, then rubs his hand on the back of his neck and stares at the sky, cursing softly, before he levels me in a stare. “And your role is what?”

“I cut her off completely.”

“And you’re willing to do that?”

“Yes. I regret not doing this sooner for her and you.”

“How do we tell her?”

“I called Rey to join us. His brother’s in law enforcement. I’ll see what he can do to get an officer in on our plan.”

“She’s going to feel alone.”

“But when it’s over, she’ll know she isn’t.” As I say the words I think of Sara, and how alone I’d made her feel when I’d pushed her away after Dylan’s death. How I’d promised her she wasn’t alone again. Being alone is what she fears. That’s what drives her to the edge. I was right to say I’m what keeps her from tumbling over it.

I glance around, seeking Sara, and find her several feet away talking with Rey and a police officer, deeply involved in the situation. Nothing I have shown her has made her withdraw or become anxious. She’s not bitter or petty over Amber, though Amber has done everything to create that reaction. I do see her. I see the fighter in her, the big heart. I see the woman I love. The two of us are all kinds of fucked up that somehow equals perfect.

• • •

Despite Tristan’s having to play the bad guy with Amber, he insists on riding with us to the hospital. And while he’d claimed that he was done with her, his quietness on the ride and the worry in his eyes while we wait for Amber’s test results tell a different story. And his extreme relief when we’re told Amber has been given a clean bill of health backs that up.

Now comes the part we dread—the unavoidable confrontations. A police officer who’s in on our plan to check Amber into rehab, heads into her room, and Tristan is instantly on his feet and pacing. After ten minutes, he stops and scrubs the dark stubble shadowing his jaw. “I can’t stay, or I’ll go in there to save her in all the wrong ways.” His piercing stare meets mine. “I guess I can’t judge you for the past. It’s hard to let go. It’s like someone is ripping out organs and stomping on them. Call me when it’s over.”

I nod and lean my elbows on my knees, letting my head drop between my shoulders.

Sara’s hand slides to my back. “This is the right thing to do.”

Glancing over at her, I say, “I just hope it’s not too little, too late.”

“She’s alive and has a lot of living left ahead of her. You’re making sure she lives it happy.”

“I should have—”

She kisses away my words, her mouth a soft caress. “You can’t blame yourself for everything.”

“Just for her.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Not just her.”

And I know she means Dylan. Or maybe my father. Hell. Maybe she means a lot of things.

The police officer exits Amber’s room, motioning me forward. “Fuck,” I murmur. “She’s going to want to talk to me.” I push to my feet.

Sara stands with me, her hand flattening on my chest, and I wonder if she can feel the way my heart is racing. “She’s in denial. Denial is dangerous, and she’s proven that when she’s doing the denying, she’s mean. It’s going to be bad, Chris, and it’s going to get to you, but at least this is it. She’s getting help.”

Denial is dangerous. I’ve done way too much of that myself, and I’m done. I pull Sara to me. “I love you,” I say, and kiss her firmly before I force myself to walk toward Amber’s room.

Sure enough, the police officer confirms that she wants to see me before she agrees to any kind of rehab. Inhaling, I push open the door and the officer silently motions for me to leave it cracked. I’m guessing that isn’t a good sign about Amber’s present state of mind.

Entering the room, I find her fully dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, her back to me as she stands at the window, staring out at nothing but a dark parking lot. “I know you’re behind this,” she accuses me without turning.

Pretended ignorance is denial, and I don’t go there. “It’s not the first time we’ve talked about counseling.”

She whirls on me, anger burning in her eyes. “This isn’t counseling. This is being committed to a place like a prisoner. And this is you trying to atone for your sins. Expensive rehab should ease the guilt, I guess. You didn’t take care of me before, so why should you now?”

“I have taken care of you. And I’ve tried—”

“What? To save me like you tried to save my family? You didn’t, though, did you? You stood there while they were shot and killed. And I hate you, Chris. I hate you so much sometimes I want to hurt you instead of me. I’ll go to the damn treatment center, but I never want to see you again. Get out. Get out! Get out!”

The craziness in her face as she shouts at me is near insanity and I back out of the room, not at all certain she won’t attack me if I turn my back. The minute I’m in the hallway, I shut the door and lean on the wall, fighting a raging blast of emotions.

“Monsieur?”
the police officer queries.

I glance up and give him the details, thankful when he agrees to arrange a medical escort to the rehab facility, with him present for everyone’s safety. Once I thank him, the officer walks away to make the arrangements, and Sara is there almost immediately. Her hand settles on my arm and it’s like a soothing balm to a burning scar that runs deep and has bled far too long.

She searches my face. “Is everything okay?”