Rebel (45 page)

“Hey.”

Whitney’s voice turned him toward the formal living room where she sat on the pillows in a bay window, a mug in her hand.

“Hey. Where is everyone?”

“Mom took Tori and the girls on a shopping diversion. Dad’s in the barn playing with his new program.”

“Is Rubi upstairs?”

“No.” Whitney drew out the word. “She’s not.” She patted the seat next to her. “Come sit down.”

Alarm brought him farther into the room, but he didn’t sit. “Where is she?”

Whitney looked down at her mug and scraped her lip between her teeth, then returned her gaze to Wes’s. “She went home, Wes.”

“Ho-me?” His voice cracked, but the surge of emotion in his chest overwhelmed his embarrassment. “What do you…? She
left
?” he said in disbelief and dread. “She went back to
LA
?”

Whitney remained solemn. And nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Shock, anger, hurt, they all burst like fireworks at the center of his chest, twining to ignite his temper. He raked both hands through his hair and paced to the opposite side of the room. “Motherfucking
sonofabitch
.”

His mind pinged, never staying on one thought more than a second. He turned on his sister, planted his hands at his waist. “When?”

“I have to give her credit,” Whitney said, her voice sad. “I thought she was going to walk out that door as soon as the sound of your bike faded, but she waited. She waited for an hour and a half, Wes.”

His anger flashed into guilt, and it filled him until it swam in his vision like a green tide. “But I texted her. I told her I’d be longer than I thought. I tried to call, but she didn’t answer. I convinced the police Dillon was a bigger problem than they thought and—”

“You’re missing the point.”

Anger and pain made his temper flash. “What point?”

She didn’t answer. He didn’t blame her after that snap.

He made another restless trip around the living room. Go after her? Again? Let her go? “How did she get to the airport?”

“She took Wyatt’s truck. Said she’d leave it in long-term parking. Keys will be on the inside of the front tire.”

His stomach balled into a knot. “When does her flight leave?”

“I don’t know.” She paused. “Wes.”

He turned toward Whitney, his anger and frustration melting into hurt. Soul-deep hurt—she’d left him. And fear. Hot, liquid fear—he’d lost her. “What?”

“You really can’t try to fix this until you understand why it happened. Or it will just keep happening.”

“What did she say?”

Whitney shook her head. “She didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Fuck me.” The unfamiliar sensation of helplessness clenched his hands. The equally unfamiliar pressure of tears pressed the backs of his eyes. “We were arguing. Melissa called and was in full meltdown mode. I just thought it would be good for Rubi and me to chill out. I was just trying to help.”

“Reasonable,” Whitney said, “from your perspective.”

The way Whitney said it told Wes it probably wasn’t reasonable from Rubi’s perspective.

“Don’t walk out on me.”

Wes sat down hard on the window seat and dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t know, Whit. Maybe she’s right. Maybe we really don’t work together. I feel like she fits me better than anyone ever has. Like she really gets me. Like I can be who I should have been for years when I’m with her. But maybe
I’m
not right for
her.
” He sat back with lead in his stomach. “We were all raised to do exactly what I did for Melissa today—help out friends and family.”

“We were,” she agreed softly.

“My job requires me to travel. My schedule changes all the time. My hours are long.”

“All true.”

“I can’t always be there when she wants or needs me. I can’t ignore other responsibilities because she’s upset about something.”

“No, you can’t.”

Silence fell between them. Whitney took a sip from her mug. More silence.

He crossed his arms, but it did little to create counterpressure to the pain inside him. “Isn’t this where you’re supposed to say
I told you so
?”

“No. This is where I ask you if what you see as the problem is, in fact, the problem.” She stared down into her mug. “Because Rubi doesn’t strike me as clingy, needy, demanding, or even unreasonable.”

She wasn’t any of those things, Wes agreed. “So why the hell are we hitting this wall?” he asked himself more than Whitney.

His sister pushed to her feet. “It seems to me that she recognizes the importance of your family to you. She’s gone out of her way to accommodate that, even though she’s the first to admit—as she did to Mom the moment they met—that she’s not good with family.”

Whitney held her empty mug out to Wes, and he took it automatically, without even knowing why.

“Unless you’re ready for serious therapy, which would include baring your darkest secrets to your sister”—she winced as if the thought caused her as much pain as it would him—“I’d suggest thinking about what’s
really
important to Rubi, and finding a way to convince her it’s just as important to you.” She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “Now, I’ve got to go give some equally vague advice to clients who actually pay me for it.”

Thirty

Rubi’s phone rang while she had a glass of wine in one hand and a bottle of Xanax in the other. She lifted her gaze from the warning label on the prescription and glanced around the chaos she’d created in her bedroom. Rodie, curled into a ball on the bed’s only clear spot, glanced around just as Rubi did.

Where the hell was her phone? If she weren’t so desperate to take a break from packing, get out of the house, and gain some human companionship, she would have let it ring. But she was hoping Lexi was calling to tell her a client had canceled their dinner plans.

She pushed to her feet, dodged the boxes scattered through the room, and dug beneath the hangers and hangers of clothes she’d thrown on her bed. When she dug it out, she glanced at the display.

Her heart fell when she read: Desiree.

But she answered, “Hi.”

“I’ve found
The One
.” Excitement bubbled through her voice. “It’s nine million. A slight cliff, but you can still see the beach from the outdoor seating area, with two paths down to the beach—a stairway going straight down and a ramp on the other end of the property. The landscaping is stunning, lots of room for Rodie. An infinity pool and twelve-person hot tub overlooking the yard and the ocean.”

Desiree barely took a breath, and before Rubi could respond, continued. “Millions of arched windows, matching doors, and room transitions. Light wood, plaster-white walls, cathedral ceilings. Four bedrooms, four baths, an office, four-thousand square feet—not too big, and it’s only a couple of years old. Really, Rubi, I know
this is it
.”

Rubi downed the rest of her wine. “Thanks D, but I’m…”
Royally fucked up? Yes, I am.
“Honestly, I’m not sure what I want anymore.”

Desiree hesitated, then proceeded with a slow, confused “What…do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I’m just…confused. And I’m tired of looking and being disappointed. I just can’t look at anything else right now. I’ve got to get this junk into storage, and I haven’t convinced any decent hotel to take Rodie yet. I’m really inundated right now.” She pressed a hand to the ache overtaking her forehead and closed her eyes. Tears pushed over her lashes and ran down her cheeks. But that happened so often now, they didn’t even faze her. “Can you give me a few days?”

“Rubi, honey, I know you’re stressed, but I promise you this one is
magical
. It just went on the market an hour ago. A girlfriend working in the Realtor’s office knew I was looking for you and called to tell me—”

“I understand, D. I do. I’ll get back to you.”

She disconnected with so much turmoil whipping through her, she pitched the phone across the room. It hit a mirror—the only fucking mirror in the whole goddamned thousand-foot suite—and shattered. The mirror
and
the phone.

Nothing in her life made sense anymore. She didn’t know what she was doing or why. All she wanted was Wes. And she’d screwed that to hell and back. Just as she’d realized going to Missouri had been a mistake once the plane had reached thirty-thousand feet, she’d known leaving had been an even bigger mistake at the same point on the flight home.

He’d been home from his parents for over a week now and hadn’t contacted her. And she didn’t blame him. She’d clearly demonstrated that she wasn’t wired for forever. The concept short-circuited her synapses and made her do stupid, uncharacteristic things. Made her hurt Wes. And he didn’t deserve that.

Rubi picked up the landline on the nightstand and dialed Lexi’s cell.

On the third ring, Lexi picked up with a hushed “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lied. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you never call me when I’m with a client, even if I tell you to.”

“I was just checking to see if she canceled. You were so sure she would.”

“I was.” Lexi’s tone took on a disgusted edge. “But then the fiancé found out that Jax Chamberlin, stuntman, and Bentley Chamberlin, movie star, were one and the same. Then insisted they keep the appointment. Believe me, this is not a business dinner. It’s an I-love-Bentley dinner. Jax has been kicking me under the table for half an hour.”

Rubi forced a chuckle at the secret sign Jax had developed for letting Lexi know it was time to leave one of the many dinners, cocktail parties, brunches, and business meetings they attended. “Ah well. You two have fun with that. I’ll catch you tomorrow maybe.”

She disconnected and set the old-fashioned phone in its cradle. Picked it up. Put it down. Picked it up.

“Fuck.” And slammed it down.

When she turned back to the boxes, anxiety gushed through her system. Overwhelmed. She was simply overwhelmed. Her mind overtaxed with stress and confusion. Her body overtaxed with pain and loneliness. All her own fault. Which only led her to her recent discovery that she hated who she was. Hated who she’d let herself become.

She needed a release valve before she exploded.

Rubi poured another glass of wine but slammed the bottle on the nightstand. She didn’t want any more wine. She wanted out. Out of her body. Out of her head. Out of her heart.

Rubi finished dressing and applying makeup by avoiding direct eye contact with herself in the mirror in the bathroom. Made it through the drive to the club by hammering the latest club mixes through the Aston’s incredible speakers. Even managed to get from her car to Stilettos’ front doors by responding to the friendly, even excited welcome from acquaintances outside the club.

But once she’d slipped in the door, she was swallowed by the darkness, buffers and support gone. Rubi stepped aside and surveyed the space. Everything was the same. Exactly the same. The people, the dress, the music, the furniture, the bars. All the same. Yet the zing of adrenaline she’d always experienced simply stepping in the door was absent. Her desire to mingle and chat, nonexistent. She searched for familiar faces, someone comfortable to ease her back into the scene, and spotted Roméo working the bar.

Okay, that could work.

So why couldn’t she move toward him? Why wouldn’t her feet move from this spot? And why did she feel like she wanted to puke?

Rubi leaned her shoulder against a wall and crossed her arms. Katy Perry’s “Roar” pounded through the club, but Rubi experienced no desire to move to the beat. No rush of anticipation for the night ahead. Friends waved her over from their seats at the bar, and Roméo flashed her a grin and lifted the liquor bottle from which he’d been pouring, toward her in greeting.

Still, she didn’t move forward.

This wasn’t where she wanted to be. Or who she wanted to be with.

This was all wrong.

Thirty-One

When Wes came out of the Renegades’ bathroom after a quick shower, Courtney Marshall was already waiting for him. He’d never seen her, only spoken with her on the phone, and she wasn’t what he’d expected. She was far younger than he’d guessed from her voice, maybe early twenties. Blonde and pretty, and dressed down in jeans and a light sweater, both of which hugged well-proportioned curves.

She turned from all the attention the other Renegades were showering on her and smiled. “You must be Wes.”

“Uh, yeah.” He ran one hand through his hair and reached to take her extended hand with the other. “Sorry, just cleaning up.”

“Great. Ready to go?”

“Let’s talk outside a second.”

“Hey,” Troy said. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Courtney, the guys,” he said, glaring at Troy. “Guys, Courtney. Let’s go.”

“We know her name, dorkweed,” Keaton threw in. “How about a relation? Friend? Date?” He paused. “Girlfriend?”

Thank God she hadn’t told them why she was here. “None of your business.”

She said her good-byes to the crew, and Wes held the door open for her but didn’t miss the scowl Rachel leveled on him on the way out. He followed Courtney down the steps, calling himself all kinds of stupid for the nerves making him awkward.

With his hands stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans, he glanced around, making sure no one was nearby. “So, I’m not real good at this. What’s the plan?”

She grinned and flipped her sleek cut off her forehead. “I take you to lunch, and we talk.” She slipped her arm through his and tugged him toward the parking lot. “We’ll go from there.”

He glanced down at his jeans, frayed threadbare in too many places to be decent. “I didn’t expect you to call this morning, so I’m not exactly prepared for—”

“I was thinking casual,” she said, perky, relaxed. “How does Casey’s sound?”