The Red Diary (29 page)

Nick's heart beat furiously as he climbed the stairs at Lauren's house. Odd, he felt more like a trespasser now that he was welcome here than he ever had in the beginning. But her journal was his drug of choice, and to his shame, it was time for another hit.

It reminded him of being fourteen and finding his father's small stack of Penthouse magazines tucked away in his underwear drawer. His first thought had been to wonder if he'd bought them back when Nick's mother was alive or if it was a new habit. His second had been to dig in. For a long time after that, each time he was left alone at the house, he'd been unable to resist going to his father's drawer. Partially because of the naked women hidden there, but partially just because it was forbidden, and it seemed like an opportunity he should take when it was offered, or he might regret it later.

This was worse, because it invaded someone's privacy, someone be cared for, more every day, But the compulsion was the same. Even as he lectured himself, Don't do this, deep inside he already knew he would. He was helpless to the lure of her fantasies.

Walking to the bookshelf, he carefully extracted the red journal, making sure the pressed rose didn't fall out, then seated himself in the chair where he always indulged in Lauren's secret desires.

He started to open the diary, but instead stopped, just looking at its smooth cover, running his hand over it. Last night seemed so recent; the bedroom so near.

Neither was particularly closer than any other time he'd come in here, yet somehow he felt them more. She loved him. She'd said that. And then she'd shown him. For some women, going down on a guy was nothing, but for Lauren, he knew-had felt-it was the ultimate form of affection.

He wondered briefly how many guys she'd ever done that to. I love you. And I want to show you, Nick. Ah hell, it didn't matter how many-he felt like the only one.

Why would you open this book again? he asked himself, peering down at it. She's given you her whole damn heart; what more do you want?

Familiar, gnawing temptation still raced through his veins. Logic, even emotion, was hardly enough to push down something that had started feeling as much like a physical need as one of the mind. It would be so easy. And she would never know. And sensing the amazement she experienced each time he drew some element from her fantasies into their sex, he wondered if it would stop feeling special to her without that.

Nonetheless, he took a deep breath, rose to his feet, and moved to the bookcase. His chest still tingling with anticipation, he gently slid the red journal back in its slot, then turned and left the room.

"Are you staying?" Lauren asked, her pretty eyes shining up at him. Her palms pressed flat and warm through his T-shirt as they stood just inside the French doors.

"I ... was gonna go home tonight." I was gonna clear out, leave you alone, leave us alone. He thought it made sense. After all, in the last twenty-four hours, she'd told him she loved him, she'd shown him with her body, moving him deeply, and he'd actually found the strength not to read her private thoughts-a strength he hadn't known he possessed. If all that wasn't jarring enough, she'd fired and extracted millions of dollars' worth of company ownership from someone she'd considered a friend just two days ago. It seemed like a smart time to take a step back before things got any more serious without his consent. ... kinda thought you might want some time to; .. I don't know ... be alone."

She tilted her head, half-playful, half-pleading. ''The truth is, after the Phil thing ... well, I could use something to get it off my mind."

He raised teasing eyebrows. "Hot sex?"

She shrugged in his loose embrace. "Would probably do the trick."

"Princess," he said, the comers of his mouth quirking into a smile, "are you just using me for sex?"

He stayed. She thawed pork chops, he tossed them on the grill, and they ate by the pool as the sun set over the trees. Hours later, they lay side by side in bed, naked and exhausted. and despite himself, he was glad he hadn't gone home. ''Tell me a secret," he said. The only light came from the moon filtering in through the arced half window. It painted a grid, like half a wagon wheel, that fell across Lauren's legs where they'd shoved down the sheets. "Something nobody else knows about you," he added, just hoping, praying ... maybe she'd tell him about her red book. Maybe she'd trust him, love him that much.

She flashed a coquettish look in the darkness. "Okay. Are you ready?"

"Yeah."

"My butt," she began, "is a major erogenous zone." It wasn't the answer he'd been waiting for, yet he let out a little growl and leaned close. to her ear. ''Tell me more."

She hesitated only slightly. "It feels good when .. ." "Yeah?"

Their faces lay so close that he saw her bite her lip just before she whispered in his ear. "Will you kiss me there, Nick? Little kisses."

She rolled to her stomach, her arms folded beneath her head, the shadowy landscape of her body beckoning.

This is at least the beginning, he thought as he bent to deliver the first delicate kiss on her bottom. She sighed and he kissed her there again. The beginning of secrets, sexual secrets. Maybe, if I'm patient, she'll tell me.

She filled the dark air with pleasure-laden sighs as he rained soft kisses across her rear until she was lifting to him, arching up from the bed. Soon he couldn't resist touching her, lower, sinking his fingers into her wetness and moving his kisses there, too. Each noise she made sounded to him like sweet, hot music, and when he was finally inside her, facing her, moving in her, he stared into her eyes. He couldn't see them clearly in the dark room, yet the glimmer within them was enough; he could feel her gaze, could feel the tremendous connection that bound them when they came together this way. He had no idea how much time had passed when they lay still again beside each other and she said, "Now you. Tell me a secret. Something no one else knows."

He winced, glad for the darkness. What a game he'd unwittingly started. Because when he" thought of secrets, his secrets, they were ... "My secrets aren't good." ''Tell me anyway."

Like when he'd been inside her, their eyes met in the dark. He couldn't say why, but an invisible weight pressed on him, out of nowhere. Secrets. Things he didn't think about most of the time. Things he'd learned to box up and pack away. Secrets. The word brought them back, and for some reason he couldn't understand, he heard himself beginning to tell her. "My father hit us."

It'd been flung carelessly out and now hung suspended like a heavy anchor that might crush him if it fell. Lauren gently covered his hand with hers, and his first impulse was to draw away-he'd never wanted anyone's sympathy, not ever. Just a life that was fair.

Yet he didn't draw away. He let her touch him. And he didn't know why, but he kept talking. "After my mom died, he was never the same. He'd come home late at night, drunk, in a rage. He'd turn on the light in my room, come in and yank me out of bed."

He felt Lauren tense beside him. She'd never known such horrors. This was something you saw in a movie, something you heard about happening to a stranger. Something in him hated scarring her perfect world with his uglier one, yet she squeezed his hand, and he knew it was okay.

"It was mostly me he'd hit," he said. For the first time in years. he felt it again, felt himself being thrown against a wall, his father's fist connecting with his jaw. He felt the peace of sleep transform into the chaos of screaming and fear and pain. "Sometimes Davy. Elaine once, when she tried to get between us. But mostly me. I was rebellious-lost, I guess-and I didn't do my chores. I think I was almost daring him, after a while. Almost daring him to hit me one more time. See, I always planned to hit him back. But I never could. I just never could."

His eyes grew watery as Lauren's arms came around him, her head resting on his shoulder. He couldn't have known, couldn't ever have guessed, how strangely freeing it would feel to tell her. He couldn't have understood how singly good her hug could feel after such a confession. No, not good exactly. None of this was good. It was tragic. But it was one of those old scars that had opened up from coming here, to Lauren's house, to Lauren's life, and the one thing he'd never imagined was that she'd soothe it for him.

''The only time I ever went after him," he continued softly, "was after what he did to Davy." An image flashed in his mind. "I walked into the garage and saw my brother sprawled across the floor. My baseball bat lay next to him covered in blood."

Chapter Seventeen

At first, I couldn't tell what'd happened, but then I saw Dad standing a few feet away, holding his head, and I knew.

"I lunged at him, knocked him down, and I hit him, over and over. I hit him until my arms were tired, until I couldn't hit anymore, and he never once hit me back, just lay there and took it. Then he finally pushed me off him and said we had to get Davy to the hospital."

"Wh-what did you tell the people at the hospital?" It was the first time Lauren had gathered the will to speak, and she knew her voice had come out small, like a little girl's. He shook his head lightly against the pillow. "I don't know. Just that it was some sort of accident, I guess. You could get away with that kind of thing back then. I'm sure Dad lied. Or maybe he blamed it on me. I was too upset to pay attention."

"Oh, Nick," she whispered, clinging to him until his arms slowly came around her, holding her just as tight. Her heart caved in. What kind of person was John Armstrong? How had the kind, even-tempered man she recalled from her childhood turned into such a monster? And knowing Nick blamed her father for the transition in his life, well, no wonder his resentment for Henry ran so strong and deep.

She wanted to say a million things, how she wished she could somehow go back in time and change it all, how she wished she could magically take away his pain, everything Davy lost. But she knew the words would seem empty, and she somehow thought Nick would appreciate it more if she just stayed quiet. .

"Listen," he finally said, suddenly sounding a little stiffer, "I don't know why I told you all this, but-" "I'm glad you did," she whispered.

"Just the same, let's not talk about it anymore, huh?" She might have urged someone else to do just that she, for one, was learning that she felt better after getting things out. But just like with Carolyn at the beach today, she knew better than to press it, and just felt thankful that he'd trusted her enough to tell her, and that he'd gotten it off his chest, at least a little. "All right."

It had been a day for telling secrets, it seemed. First Phil's, then Carolyn's, now Nick's. Nick's, whose secret was much worse than anything she could have imagined. "I love you," she whispered in the darkness.

''Thank you," he breathed. Then he dropped a solitary kiss on her forehead, and they stayed quiet until falling sleep.

When Nick went home the next morning to grab some fresh work clothes, he found a message from Elaine on his answering machine. It didn't sound urgent, yet he still cussed himself for not having yet traded in his ancient car phone and beeper for a cell phone he could keep with him all the time. Seemed technology was always kicking him in the ass. He decided he should probably also be cussing himself for staying over at Lauren's last night when something had warned him not to. He still

couldn't believe what he'd told her, the side of himself he'd opened to her, the side of himself he usually tried like hell to keep closed.

Snatching up the phone, he dialed Elaine's number.

When she answered, sounding sleepy, he said, "Lainey, it's me. Is everything okay?" As always, a message he'd let go overnight made him worry for Davy, and now his father's heart condition loomed over them, as well.

"Everything's fine." She sounded almost amused by his concern. "I just wanted to ask you to dinner."

"When? Last night?"

"No, I splurged on some steaks and thought I'd grill them tomorrow evening."

"Is Dad coming?"

"I knew you wouldn't come if he was here, so I didn't ask him."

Normally, Nick would've given her an automatic yes then, and a steak from the grill sounded good, but ... "Still, I'm not sure. I might be busy."

"With what?" "A girl."

He wasn't surprised at Elaine's stunned silence; just as they never talked about Elaine's love life, they seldom discussed his, either. "What girl?" she finally asked.

"Just a girl I'm seeing." "Bring her."

That part caught him off guard. He'd never brought any girl home, but the idea of bringing Lauren Ash, of all people, was difficult to fathom.

"We don't bite," Elaine said.

"I know that," he snapped. And he knew Lauren would never tum her nose up at Elaine and Davy's humble little house, and she'd probably be thrilled to meet them. But did he want to let her that deeply into his life, this fast?

Ah hell, what was he talking about? He was the one who'd opened his personal floodgates last night, not her. Yet now he felt vulnerable, and vulnerability wasn't something he'd let himself experience in a very long time.

''Well then, will you bring her?"

He just sat there, still searching for an answer. "Come on, Nick," Elaine finally snipped. "Quit being such a baby."

Despite himself, it made him smile inside, remembering she wasn't the only person who'd had the nerve to say that to him recently. "All right, Lainey. I'll bring her."

"Good. Now, what's her name?"

"Lauren Ash," he said, without missing a beat.

He nearly felt Elaine's jaw drop through the phone lines. "You're kidding."

Nick regretted agreeing to bring Lauren to dinner almost as much as he regretted telling her the truth about their father and Davy's accident. What was he thinking lately? He berated himself as he painted the west side of the wall surrounding her yard-which happened to place him in Henry's backyard at the moment. As if he didn't have enough crap eating at him already.

As he turned to reload his large roller in the paint tray, he saw something move and swung his gaze over his shoulder. Damn it, think of the devil-none other than Henry Ash came striding toward him through the rear of his spacious yard. He wore casual pants and a polo shirt, along with a grim expression of determination.