No In Between (22 page)

Twenty-three

I’m sitting on the floor, my cheeks streaked with tears, when Chris knocks. “You okay, baby?”

“Yes. Sorry, I’m coming.” But I can’t move. What am I supposed to do? I can’t tell him. Not now, in the middle of a pack of men, in a public place, when he’s about to be trapped in the back of a car. I have to wait until we’re alone.

I push to my feet and wobble to the sink, and stare at my red, puffy eyes. Even cold water won’t hide the fact that I was crying. I’ll have to make him believe this is due to all this hell we’re living.

He knocks again. “Sara. Open up.”

“Just another minute.” I open my purse to grab my makeup and the tears start again. I thought we got her into rehab in time. She was
supposed
to be okay.

“Sara.”

I give up trying to pull myself together, turning and opening the door. The minute I see my amazing, damaged man, the tears start flowing again. He comes in and shuts the door, folding me into his strong arms.

“Hey. Baby.” He frames my face, stroking wet hair from my cheeks. “What happened? I thought you were okay?”

“I was. This isn’t a panic attack. Those don’t come with . . . tears. This is . . . This is just . . . It hurts that she’s dead.” Amber. Rebecca. I can’t tell him. “And it’s real, and I didn’t want it to be this way.”

He rests his forehead on mine. “I know. It’s a lot, but it’ll be better. We just have to hang in there.”

My hands cover his, and I want to hug him and comfort him. The day we’ve both feared is here, when we must face his demons, and we have to do it while we’re already standing in the fires of hell. And I have to be strong enough to keep him from burning alive.

I swallow my pain and nod. “Yes.” I force my gaze to his. “We do. We will. I love you.”

He strokes the dampness away from under my eyes. “I love you, too, and we can get through this. We can get through anything.”

Emotion overwhelms me and I press my hands to his cheeks. “Yes. We can get through anything.”

• • •

Going back out to that table of men and managing to stay dry-eyed is almost unbearably difficult, but I do it for Chris. And the ride home is even harder, filled with empty space that allows my mind to replay every moment with Amber, and question every action I took, every word I spoke to her. I know Chris will do the same, multiplied in every possible way. It’s nearly eleven o’clock at night when we finally pull into the garage of our apartment building, and it feels like I have lead in my stomach and a vise on my chest. I can barely breathe for what comes next.

Chris helps me out of the car and walks over to the 911, joking with Blake about riding the gas too hard. Jacob shuts the front door of the sedan and stretches, and I take the opportunity to quietly tell him, “We put Chris’s ex-girlfriend in Paris in rehab before we left. She just killed herself. I have to tell him.”

“Holy fucking shit.” He scrubs his jaw.

“I found out in the diner. I have to tell him in private, and I need to know we won’t be interrupted until I contact you again.”

“Consider it done.”

“Thank you.” My eyes burn. “I’m barely holding it together, so . . . if we can speed things up and get everyone gone quickly?”

“I’m on it. You did the right thing by waiting.” He steps around me to join the other three men.

I need a breath I can’t seem to manage to pull into my lungs. I stand there, my back to the men, and I am not sure how much time passes. Then Chris’s hand is on my shoulder and I reach up and cover it with mine, and that breath fills my lungs.

I turn to face him. “Any news?”

“We just missed a police press conference about the manhunt for Ava and Corey. They said they’d have more details on the investigation tomorrow morning.”

“So it’s all public now. No sign of Ava?”

“No. No travel activity. No sightings, but the press conference will change that. Blake says leads will flood the tip lines.” He motions to the elevator. “Jacob just took our coats and bags upstairs. Let’s go try to get lost in our own little world.”

If only that were possible
. His arm settles over my shoulder, when it’s he who needs shelter from the firestorm I’m about to deliver. We ride the elevator in silence, and I wonder if he’s thinking about how to help me escape the torment I’m feeling. I know he is. That’s Chris. My dark knight. My hero. God, please let me be his now.

The elevator doors open and Jacob is there, his eyes meeting mine. His expression is carefully schooled but I feel his awareness, his understanding, and it’s a whisper of comfort. “Your bags are in the bedroom,” he says as we step inside the foyer. “We’ll have the building well covered. We don’t expect much to happen overnight, but if Ava or Corey is located, I’ll call. Otherwise, we’ll meet you here before the press conference at nine a.m.”

A storm of emotion hits me and I quickly leave them to say their good-byes, running down the stairs to the living room. I drop my purse on the chair and stop at the window to stare out at the inky black night, the stars and moon sucked into the darkness of clouds and an impending storm. My hands flatten on the cool glass and I drop my head forward. I don’t know how to tell him.

I feel the moment the room shifts with his presence and I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for his touch. It comes with a hot spike of more emotion. So much emotion. I turn and grab his waist. “Lean back against the window.”

His brow furrows but he does as I say, allowing me to trap him with my body. I need to hold him. I need to try to control how this happens. Swallowing, I stare up at him, and I wish I’d turned on the lights. There are too many shadows, too little light.

“Sara—”

I press to my toes and kiss him. “Just . . . listen. Okay?” He gives me a nod and I settle my hands back on his waist.

“Tristan called.” The words are a pained whisper, and I feel Chris’s body harden.

“How did Tristan call you?”

“He went . . . to Chantal. He said he can’t talk to you. Chris—”

His hands come down on my shoulders. “Just say it, Sara. Whatever it is, say it.”

“Amber . . . killed herself.”

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. I don’t know how much time passes but I feel the eruption bubbling just beneath his surface a moment before he turns us and steps back. Withdrawing. He’s withdrawing. “When?”

“Tristan called me while we were at the diner. I didn’t want to tell you in front of everyone, and then have you be locked in a car, unable to react.”

He squeezes his eyes shut. “Thank you.”

I want to touch him, oh God, how I want to touch him, but I sense he’s not ready.

“How?” he finally asks.

“She hung herself.”

“And the fucking rehab facility let it happen? I was paying to have her protected, and where is my phone call? They’re probably too busy talking to their attorneys for fear I’m going to sue their asses.”

“I know. I thought the same thing.”

He pulls his cell phone from his pocket and dials, surprising me when he leans on the glass next to me, though we’re still not touching. I listen as he talks to the rehab facility and then to David. He’s calm. Controlled. The way he handled an awards banquet for the Children’s Hospital when he was bleeding inside.

He finishes the calls and drops the phone to the floor. And then we just stand there side by side against the window, hanging over the city. Time stands still. There is only his pain, which slices and burns through the room like boiling acid.

Eventually, without a word or a glance in my direction, he pushes off the window, crossing the room, and I fear the moment he will walk to the elevator, the moment he’ll seek the whip and I’ll have to stop him.

But he doesn’t turn for the elevator. He turns right and makes a path to his studio. Relief washes over me. He’s staying. He’s fighting this with me. I don’t know if he wants me to follow now, but I have to. I have to know he’s okay.

I follow and tentatively enter the studio, stopping inside the doorway. The windows surrounding the U-shaped room deliver all darkness, and no light. There’s a rustle of clothing, a flicker of movement, but I can make out nothing but the outline of Chris’s body.

Then a small light flickers on, a barely-there glow casting the studio in shadows, and I’m relieved when I see that he’s removed his shirt, shoes, and socks. This is how he paints, and his art is how he’s going to deal with his pain. Certain he knows I’m here, I sink down the wall and watch as he steps to an easel and starts to paint in silence.

I watch him stroke paint onto the canvas and I know fairly quickly that he’s creating a dragon, his symbol of strength, and one that Amber had inked permanently on his body. Hours pass, I think, and I take off my own shoes and socks, curling my knees to my chest. Ready to act the moment he needs me, I watch Chris’s grief bleed onto that canvas. I’m entranced by every flip of his hand, every tease of color, as the dragon becomes the one on his shoulder and arm. Abruptly he steps back and drops the brush, and just stands there staring at his work. And then, he crumbles. He falls to his knees, and his head drops forward.

I’m crossing the room to him in an instant, and rest my hands on his shoulders. He pulls me onto my knees in front of him, his hands coming to my face as I stare into his bloodshot eyes and tear-streaked face. “I don’t need the whip. I need you.”

“I’m here,” I promise, heartbroken but relieved. “I’m here.”

He tangles his fingers in my hair, letting his pain spill out. “I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t. Never. I promise.”

He drags me down to the floor with him, holding on to me like he’s afraid I’ll escape and be lost forever. “You can’t promise that,” he whispers into my hair. “None of us can.”

I cup his face, forcing him to look at me. “We also said no regrets,” I remind him. “We won’t ever have any.”

“I have so many with her. Too many. I thought . . . I tried . . .”

“I know you did. Remember what you said about Ricco and Ava: We choose what we do with the life we’re given, and we live with the results. Free will. You choose to help other people. You helped her.”

“I fucked her life up.”

“No, you did not. She had problems and we were getting her help.”

“Too late. I knew she needed that kind of help, but I didn’t act on it until you saw it, too.”

“Don’t do this to yourself, Chris. Don’t.”

His fingers find my face, my hair, and my lips and then he’s kissing me, salty tears trailing down my cheeks and his. We end up on our sides facing each other, undressing each other right here on the hard floor. But it doesn’t matter. We gasp in unison when he enters me, and I cling to Chris, holding him a little too tight, like I plan to do for the rest of my life. I don’t know where he begins and where I end, but maybe that’s the glory of who we’ve become. We begin and end together. We’re a puzzle that fits perfectly together, where we fit nowhere else. And right now we’re seeking peace in the only place we know to look—each other.

When the wild frenzy of passion passes, we don’t move. Thunder rolls outside the windows, rain starts to patter on the glass, and we just hold each other, finally falling asleep.

• • •

A week later, Chris and I sit at the kitchen table surrounded by windows, the ocean glistening like blue silk beyond the glass. I’m in his T-shirt and he’s in his pajama bottoms that I insisted he wear to allow me to focus on cooking breakfast. We’ve just finished our omelets and the news is playing, reporting nothing we don’t already know.

Ava and Corey haven’t been seen or heard from, and Corey’s parents’ are making regular TV appearances claiming he’s an innocent victim. Mark has been in New York, finding sanctuary with his family, as has Crystal. Crystal doesn’t tell me much, and I pray she’s not getting in too deep.

“If Ricco’s involved with Ava’s disappearance,” Chris says, “I’d think the trial will stir anger toward Mark, and pressure him to crack.”

“I still feel Ryan’s involved, but maybe that’s because I don’t want to think about what Ricco said about killing Ava.”

“Free will, baby,” he murmurs sadly, words we’ve spoken often this past week. “She made her choices like he is, and they’re responsible for them. But it makes me damn glad we’re leaving for Paris tomorrow. I want space between us and here, with her still on the run.”

My heart squeezes and I lean closer, teasing his hair with my fingers. “What you’re doing for Amber, by bringing back your dragon paintings and auctioning them off for the Children’s Hospital in her name, is an amazing way to honor her.”

He catches my hand in his. “I need to make this all matter to someone.”

The buzzer rings and I frown, still expecting bullets where there are no guns.

He kisses the frown mark. “Stop that. I’m expecting a delivery.”

Relieved, I sink back into my chair. “Thank goodness.” I think I see a glimpse of a smile, and maybe even some mischief in Chris’s eyes before he turns away. I hope so. That man needs to smile again.

Pushing to my feet, I refill our coffee cups. I’ve just returned to the table when Chris returns, and there’s definitely a light in his eyes that I’d feared long lost. He joins me at the table, sitting down and turning our chairs to face each other.