Wet Part 3 (22 page)

“I’m the one who needs to be sorry,” Rhees said quietly.

Paul reached for the last shot of tequila and tossed it back.

“Hey! Get your own.”

“You’ll thank me later, I promise.” He leaned back in the seat and put his arm across her shoulders. She didn’t protest. She reached for the last bottle of beer and pulled it to her mouth, but before she could take a drink, he took it away from her and downed the whole bottle.

Rhees pursed her lips into a pout but didn’t say anything. Her head had started to feel light, and she knew he’d just done her a favor. She leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. He tightened his hold, pulling her even closer. Neither of them said anything for a while, again. They sat and watched the men playing pool on the other side of the room until Rhees broke the silence.

“I just want to go home and pretend like none of this ever happened.” Her eyes filled with tears.

“No. Baby, don’t say that . . .
please!
Give me a chance to work this out. Don’t run home to Utah—I’ll work this out. I will,
I promise
.” His voice was raw and desperate.

“Utah. Is not. My home!” she said. “The shop! I was talking about the shop. I
just
want to go home,
to the shop.
” She took a second to keep from crying.

“I want to go home and pretend—act like . . .” Her voice tapered off and she gulped in a few breaths. “Pretend like we didn’t screw everything up by falling in love.” She buried her face into his shoulder and he squeezed her to him, rubbing her back, smoothing her hair, and kissing the top of her head—touching her—so very grateful his actions hadn’t catapulted her back into the untouchable zone.

“Yeah, we can do that.” Her idea sounded as good as anything he’d come up with so far.

“Good . . . but we’d better hurry.” Her head still rested on his shoulder, as relaxed as he’d ever seen her. “Cause, I’m gonna be sick.”

He got her outside to the gutter in time, barely.

oOo

Paul tore a hundred dollar bill in two, and handed one piece to the taxi driver. “I’ll give you the other half if you’ll wait here for me and keep an eye on my wife,” he said in Spanish as he got out of the car in front of the familiar building. He’d wanted to do this since the hijacking, but never had the chance.

Rhees slept soundly in the backseat, and the driver checked them both over as if thinking Paul might be trying to ditch her. The amount of money won over any reservation he may have had, and he nodded his agreement.

When Paul came out of the jeweler’s, the very store where he’d bought their first wedding rings, he climbed into the taxi and situated Rhees so her head rested on his lap. Once they were on their way to the coastal city where they could catch the ferry, Paul slipped a ring onto her wedding finger, and held his left hand next to hers, admiring what he saw. The jeweler had done a remarkable job of replicating both rings, identical to the ones they’d lost.

‘We’re really married now’,
her declaration rang in his mind, and he couldn’t help his smile. That was the one bright, shining side of all the regrets weighing on him about how it happened. He leaned over and planted a soft kiss on her lips to seal the deal, even if she was unconscious.

Chapter 16

T
he next morning, Rhees woke up alone in her own bed. The devastation of waking up alone eclipsed the disorientation she felt at not remembering how she got there. She almost cried but her pounding head wouldn’t allow it. Her neck hurt and her mouth tasted like something vile had climbed inside and died, but she mused at how, though she felt a little nausea, she didn’t need to throw up.

“Hmm, looks like I can finally take down the ‘Drinker in Training’ sign,” she mumbled.

She rolled out of bed, but her hand snagged on the sheet, bringing her eyes to the huge ring on her finger. She closed her eyes, trying to remember how it had gotten there, but she had nothing. She thought about TV shows she’d heard people talking about, and almost laughed to herself. The idea that it had all been just a dream, everything from the hijacking, to running away from the dressing room, and Paul, it all got blurry after that, but she remembered enough to wish it really had been a dream.

It still didn’t explain where Paul was now, or how her ring happened to be back on her finger, as if it had never been removed. She stared at it while she brushed her teeth.

“How did he do that?” she mumbled. “After what I did— Why?”

“What was that?” Paul’s rich voice quickened every cell of her body as he appeared at the doorway, shirtless, and holding two cups of coffee. Her eyes darted quickly to his ring finger and she almost cried at the sight of his own ring in place. She looked up at him, consoled that he hadn’t left her after all, but so confused.

He’d left the top two buttons of his jeans undone, and she noticed they weren’t the same jeans he’d worn when they’d . . . she blushed and glanced down, wondering what he thought about it now, after a good night’s sleep. She hoped he’d had a good night’s sleep.

“Think you can hold this down?” He raised one of the coffees, offering it to her.

She could tell his mood wasn’t the best, but she still had to fight off the happy sob of relief she felt at seeing him. As soon as she took the offered cup, he moved to the twin bed and lowered himself down, diagonally, half laying, half sitting, leaning against the wall behind him. He watched her with stoic eyes for a few seconds before taking a sip of his coffee.

Rhees sat on the edge of their bed and watched him, expecting him to tell her what was on his mind. He never did, and she would have normally taken that as a good sign, but her gut said otherwise.

“I’m sorry.” She hung her head, beating him to the punch before he had a chance to swing one. It still took him a minute to answer.

“What the fuck do you have to be sorry for?” he finally asked. His tone remained very calm, even though he swore, a warning that he wasn’t as calm as he pretended to be.

“I still remember. I guess tequila doesn’t work retroactively. I should have started before—” Her voice caught guiltily, knowing she’d tried.

“Huh.” He took another sip of his coffee and stared at the hot brown liquid. “You’d think the vodka you had
before
would’ve done the trick.”

Her eyes shot up to meet his. He knew.

“No,” she started to defend herself but he cut her off before giving her a chance to explain.

“Yeah, it’s the funniest story.” He didn’t sound like he thought it was very funny. “I got you into bed and started hanging the new clothes. I’d forgotten I’d stuck your new purse in one of the shopping bags, so imagine my surprise when I pulled out a dress and the purse fell out, opened up, and spilled its contents onto the floor.”

She closed her eyes.

“Vodka mini-bottles, two of them empty, and a tube of personal lubricant.” His expression didn’t give much away.

“It was only one and a half empty bottles—no—one and a quarter—not even that—a sip.” She knew she was trying too hard to explain how little she’d drank and it only made her look more guilty. “I can explain.”

“Really?” he scoffed. “You can explain why you would, one; try to get drunk in order to stand me touching you, even after I told you how wretched that would make me feel? And two; use artificial lube after I told you how important it was to me to be able to tell I wasn’t pushing you too fast—because I would feel wretched if I pushed you?” He stared off into the corner of the room and took another deceptively calm sip from his cup.

“I wasn’t drunk! I just wanted to be able to relax—and I didn’t use the lube. I felt so bad after drinking the first bottle of vodka—I took one sip from the second bottle and changed my mind—I couldn’t—I felt so bad, I forgot all about the lube. I didn’t—”

He cut her off as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

“I didn’t get any sleep last night. I sat here on this bed, watching you, and thinking.”

“Paul, it’s not—”

“It’s not what? You didn’t wait for me to tell you what I came up with, after spending all night,
thinking
. Though, I’m not as good at that as I’m supposed to be.”

She squirmed. “I know what it looks like, but . . .”

He sat up and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands wrapped around the mug and he stared at it. He couldn’t help the grin on his face, a sad one, but it struck him funny to know that no expression could ever come close to revealing what he felt inside. He had been thinking all night, thinking about what Keene had said about rape fantasy in some victims of child sexual abuse. He hadn’t wanted to believe it.

“I wondered how, in high school, when you were hanging out with friends who were so straight-arrow that they wouldn’t even watch a PG-13 movie, how you ended up with someone like Roney? You said you knew he had a
reputation,
and yet, you ended up with
him
, not one of those straight-arrow puds.” Paul paused, as if just then receiving another revelation, but Rhees knew the revelation had come during the night, as he’d pointed out, twice. “Have you noticed any similarities between Roney . . .
and me
?”

Rhees watched him with dread, not following his line of questioning, but knowing it couldn’t be good.

He continued to pretend that the situation was comical. It was anything but, and he knew it, so did she.

“Did you notice any resemblance between the dressing room where we—
where
I
—” His façade started to crack. He no longer pulled off cool as well as he’d previously been able to, and the edge in his voice made her worry. “
I
did happen to find the oddest relationship between the dressing room—” He choked up. His eyes grew shiny and sad, but he blinked through it, and cleared his throat. “—And the bathroom where you were assaulted?”

Rhees sat listening, unable to move, or speak anymore.

“You’ve always acted like you believed I could do no wrong. I’ve hated it, but I’ve loved it, too. I wanted to believe you. I did, actually—here and there—I tried to.” He exhaled. “But you
did
have expectations of me, just like everyone else, my parents—oh, wait! I may be wrong about that—you didn’t expect one ounce more from me than I was able to give—you only wanted exactly what you knew I was capable of.”

She drew in a breath as though she wanted to speak but nothing came out. He let out a contemptuous laugh.

“I’ve only just now, realized how you’re more like me than I ever imagined possible. I go for what I want, damn the consequences.” His brow set rigid above his icy blue, piercing eyes. “But at least I’m honest about it!

“So, back to the dressing room and bathroom similarities. The only things missing yesterday were the fixtures—no bathtub, no toilet—but same everything else. Same size, same filth.” He bore his gaze into her. “Same kind of predator.”

Paul stood and set his empty cup on the desk attached to the wall. He stared at it for a moment.

“Glad I didn’t disappoint you.” With that, he slipped into his flip flops, turned, and threw on a T-shirt as he walked out the door.

oOo

Claire locked her apartment and headed to the shop. Dobbs was already there, and had been the last forty-five minutes, with Mitch, getting the morning routine started. In the past, she’d never wanted to get there so early, but with the newlywed owners supposedly on their honeymoon, she and Dobbs had been running the shop with extra care the last two and a half weeks. Everyone else at the shop believed the Weavers really were on their honeymoon, but Claire and Dobbs knew the truth.

It felt good to know they could help, and that Paul trusted them to take care of things for such an extended period of time. It also reinforced her belief that someday the Dobbsons could run a shop of their own. Now if they could just manage to save enough money to buy one.

The idea had actually become more promising since the night Dobbs clobbered the boss. Informing Paul about Dodger defaulting on their agreement had turned into a good thing for them. Paul had since increased their already more than fair wages, and even offered to give them a low interest loan when the time came, if they’d promise to stick around and help him for at least two more years. 

She walked past Paul’s door at the end of the row of apartments, just before the stairs, and like so many times before, wondered why he bothered to keep it. It was early March. He hadn’t slept in his own bed since May, almost a year. He claimed his things took up too much room, and would clutter Rhees’ nice apartment, but also that showering and dressing at his own place made
things
a little easier.

They were married now. He wouldn’t need to work so hard to keep from thinking about Rhees’ naked body in the shower anymore. The thought of how Paul, of all people, had ended up the guardian of Rhees’ virginity, and imagining how the job must have tortured him, made her laugh.
Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving man.
It had been an amusing year.

She reached the stairs but stopped. She had to take a second to think, backed up a few steps, and looked inside Paul’s window, the open window that wasn’t open when she’d walked by the night before.

“Paul?” She saw him through the glass, lying on the couch, his arm over his eyes. He looked to be asleep.

“Paul!” He finally turned his head to see her at his window. It seemed to annoy him to have to acknowledge her. “What are you doing back? You shouldn’t be back for four more days,” she said through the screen. “Where’s Rhees?

oOo

“Where’s Rhees?” Claire’s voice almost shrieked in panic as soon as Paul opened the door and she looked around, verifying that Rhees wasn’t there. 

He didn’t bother to look at her, but returned to the couch and sat on the edge with his elbows on his knees. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, no. She’s relapsed. You said she was doing better the last time you called, but she’s back in the mental ward at the hospital, isn’t she? Oh, that poor girl!” Claire grew sick at the thought. 

“No,” Paul said in a detached tone, a little too detached. “She’s at Oceanside.”

Claire stood, stunned.

“Rhees is fine.” Paul leaned back against the couch in a defeated manner.

“Fine?” Claire said, incredulously. “She had a mental breakdown and was admitted into a bloody psychiatric ward of a bloody hospital, just days ago.”

“It’s been two and a half weeks.”

“Okay,” Claire said slowly, glaring at him. “Two and a half weeks ago—days for this sort of thing. So why is she at Oceanside and you—why are you
here
?”

“It’s none of your business.” Paul glared back.

Claire watched him, warily, the concern gradually taking over her expression. “You two fighting, already?” She thought it through, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. “What could you possibly be fighting about, so soon after what she’s been through?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at her. His expression revealed dark and angry, and he didn’t try to hide it from her.

“Paul? I’ve watched you with her. I know you two make sport of getting a rise out of each other, but . . .” Claire had to think of what she was trying to say, hoping it wasn’t as serious as it looked. “What could possibly be so bad, after all that’s happened to her, that you can’t bring yourself to be with her, so soon after she—”

“You’re right,” he sighed. His mouth pinched into a hard line, and his nose scrunched up, obviously angry about something, at himself. Claire continued to watch as he stood and walked to the door. He ushered her out, put the padlock in place, and headed off in the direction of Oceanside.

oOo

Paul stood at the door of Rhees’ apartment for a second to gather his thoughts, steel himself. He walked in and turned to look into the bedroom.

He swore before dashing to the kitchen where he grabbed some towels and raced back.

Rhees sat on the edge of the bed, just as she had when he’d walked out less than thirty minutes before. She barely seemed to notice as he knelt on the floor and started wiping up the coffee and broken pieces of ceramic from the mug she’d apparently dropped.

When he noticed blood, he looked for the source and found a good-sized shard protruding from the side of her foot. He sighed. He stood and headed to her medicine cabinet to retrieve the first aid kit he’d bought for her the last time they needed some antiseptic and a band aid she didn’t have.

With the mess cleaned, and her wound dressed, he held his hand out to her. She looked up, a glint of hope in her eyes, and it stung his heart. He understood how she thought he was going to take her hand and pull her up to him, but instead, he angled his hand to show her the two pain relievers he wanted her to swallow for her hangover.

He sat down next to her but neither of them said anything for a while. Paul finally cleared his throat.

“I got up early this morning, since I couldn’t sleep. I went for a run to clear my head, showered at my place.” He paused to get the words right. “Then I called Keene from the office. He chewed me out for calling so early, but after I voiced my concerns—I want to send you to Texas—”

“No! I don’t want to leave.” She’d obviously snapped out of her trance-like state.

“You need help.”

“No!”

“Rhees!” He didn’t mean to snarl. He reeled in his tone, aware of his conflicting emotions, but unable to make sense of them. “You need help, and it’s going to take time. You need more help, and time, than I originally wanted to believe.”

“You just want to get rid of me.”

He didn’t put up an argument. They sat quietly again, only this time, she didn’t take her eyes off him.

“Paul, please.” She tried to put her arms around him, but he blocked her by grabbing her hands and holding them on his lap. There was no affection in the gesture—his evasive skills toward women had just been honed to perfection over the years. He thought about the time she’d called him the epitome. How creative. He’d been persuasive, persistent, but she’d cut him down effectively. He thought again how she’d spent her whole life perfecting the art of shutting men down. He understood. He too had perfected the art of keeping women away, the ones he didn’t want.