Authors: Jules Barnard
It’s all so complicated.
My mother touches my arm. She scoots closer and I quickly wipe my face. “What happened?” she asks in a voice more awake than I expected.
“Nothing.”
“Gen, don’t shut me out because I made a mistake. It was a large one, granted, but I’m always here for you. I’m in this lumpy, cramped bed with godawful sheets. If that’s not a testament to love, I don’t know what is.”
I chuckle. She’s right. For her, this is roughing it. “I picked the wrong guy. Again.”
“You care for him?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. I’m working too hard at ignoring the pain in my abdomen.
My mother sighs and curls around me. I fall asleep like that, embraced by her. It’s the first time in a very long time she’s given me unsolicited, nonjudgmental comfort—and I need it.
A sound disrupts my sleep. It takes me a minute to figure out where I am. I glance at my mom lying next to me. She makes a mewing sound and rolls in her sleep, taking the covers with her. It must have been her snoring that woke me.
I close my eyes and turn on my side, but the sound comes again. A tapping—not my mother. From the window?
What the hell?
I crawl out of bed and pull aside the drape.
Lewis stands outside the window. He points to the front door and I nod.
I grab a sweatshirt and quietly exit the room. The house is dead silent. I have no idea what time it is, but it must be after one in the morning because no one’s awake, not even Tyler, and he stays up late.
I unbolt the lock and open the door. Lewis is leaning against the porch post, body facing the driveway, his gaze on me. My stomach flutters.
This reaction to him has always been a nuisance, and now is no different. “Hey.”
He angles toward me, careful not to come closer. “What happened earlier?”
I wrap my arms around my waist. “We haven’t seen each other in several days. I went to check on you. I got your address from Nessa because you never told me where you live.”
He actually appears confused by this. “I guess we’ve been busy … and I like coming here.”
I look around. “You prefer my ten-by-ten shack the nineteen-seventies threw up on to your centerfold cabin in the woods?”
He shrugs. “You’re here. I don’t notice much else. We’ll go to my place, I just—” He steps forward and I inch back. His brows furrow. “Gen, what’s going on? You seem upset. Earlier—why did you leave without coming inside?”
Obviously, I made a racket tripping over the patio furniture. “And ruin your moment?”
“What—Mira?” He glares at the sky. “She was visiting, that’s all. There’s never been anything there.”
I sigh and soften my voice. “I know you’re not cheating. I mean, my first impression was a knee-jerk reaction in that direction, but that’s not really what I believe.”
I attempt to put together the jumble of thoughts running through my mind. “You’re tethered to Mira, unable to do anything that might disrupt her peace of mind. You get a girlfriend for the first time in years and Mira self-destructs, then you drop everything to rescue her.”
“Mira needs me.”
I’m charging down a path that could sever things forever, but I can’t back down because the way things stand aren’t working for me—and because someone needs to tell Lewis. “She relies on you to the extent that you’re not really living. Think about it. At some point, Mira has to fight her own battles. We all do. I understand she has issues and you’ve been there for her. You are the best sort of guy for it. It’s actually this beautiful thing that she has someone like you in her life, only—I can’t—” I press my fingers to my mouth, and stifle a choke. “I can’t do … this.”
Mira is troubled. She needs so much and I won’t ask him to choose between us. At the same time, I deserve more. I’ve always deserved more. With Lewis, I can’t stand the thought of settling for less.
He shakes his head. “What do you mean you can’t do this?”
“You’ve been distant and distracted. You didn’t share with me something huge you’ve been dealing with. It was about Mira, but it affected you. You should have
told
me. I need to know when things are bad for you, when you’ve got stress. I want to be a part of your life—your whole life.”
He slams his hand at the post. “Genevieve, I’m committed. What more can I give you?”
I flinch, surprised at the physical outburst; he normally keeps his emotions so contained. “Being monogamous is a big deal for you because you don’t date, but just saying you’re not seeing anyone else isn’t enough. I need more. I want to be a priority. I want everything …”
He scrubs his face and doesn’t say anything for a long moment.
“Lewis?”
“Give me time.”
What does that mean?
He steps forward like he’s going to hug me, and I step back, shaking my head. I ease inside and quietly close the door. Silent sobs erupt as I slide down the wood and hold my face in my hands.
Why doesn’t he know right now what he wants? What person needs to consider whether or not to make their girlfriend a priority? Either he does or he doesn’t.
I freeze, waiting to hear what he’ll do next, but the sound of his footsteps crunching on the gravel grows distant, then his car starts.
He’s leaving.
I couldn’t stand there, begging to be a bigger part of his world—it’s fucking depressing—but now that he’s gone, my heart aches. Are things really over?
My mom is in my room, Tyler is in the loft, Cali is in the backyard—I have no place to go with my grief. I huddle on the floor for what feels like an hour, long after Lewis’s Jeep pulls out of the driveway, my face damp with tears.
This is my last night of work before the race in a few days. A part of me wonders why I’m putting myself through this torture, given everything that’s happened, but I wanted to step outside the narrow box I’ve made of my life, and I will finish the race if it kills me. To prove I’m strong enough physically, emotionally. On that thought, I triple hot cocoa my coffee in the Mont Belle Lounge.
Without the celebrity tournament and its amped-up energy, the lounge is dead. I’ve wondered if Maryanne sticks me here to keep an eye on me—as if it’s better to keep the crying, passing-out chick off the main floor. Most waitresses get a choice of slots or lounge, but no matter how many times I request slots, I’m stuck here.
Drake may also be to blame. For whatever reason, he frequents the lounge and it’s possible he’s making sure they put me here. The lounge is less busy, with fewer prying eyes. Not that prying eyes stopped him in the past, but he seems to put some thought into selecting a location to harass women. Darkened corners, the privacy of suites … I can’t wait to switch shifts. There’s gotta be one he doesn’t work.
Sallee Construction guys mill around the floor this evening, which makes me think of Lewis, not that he wasn’t already constantly on my mind. This is just worse. The workers must be here for the project he bid on the night he found me in Drake’s suite. The evening he witnessed one of my lowest moments.
I made the right decision to confront Lewis about Mira, but I’d like to be able to live with the aftermath. I feel miserable, like my insides are slowly dying. It hurts so badly. Most of the time I don’t regret my words. I love him, but if I’m giving all of myself, I deserve all of him in return.
It’s only been a day since we spoke in the middle of the night, but that conversation felt final. It’s done. I told him I needed more and he didn’t say anything. He walked away. Obviously he can’t give me more. If I had stayed with Lewis, his relationship with Mira would have either slowly ruined what we have together or it would have broken me.
I didn’t realize until I met him how little I gave of myself. It wasn’t until the walls and distance evaporated, broken down by other passions, that things became clear. No one had a chance before Lewis. I was myself with him, the good, the bad, the parts most tender—leave that stuff out there in a three-person relationship and it’ll get crushed.
Cali says I’m acting like a nut, throwing the relationship away. She doesn’t get it. Whatever Lewis and I shared, nothing will surpass his commitment to Mira. Morally, it’s different than my ex having a girlfriend back home, but it feels the same. Lewis is distant and distracted … and like I told him, I can’t do this, not with him. I care too much.
I may have been naïve in the past and discovered too late that I wasn’t the priority I thought I was to some guy, but this is the first time I’ve considered sticking around regardless. Just to be with Lewis. Just to be a part of his life. It’s totally fucked up. I have to force myself not to call him. Thinking of him is the worst torture, so I’m trying not to, but the bright yellow construction shirts aren’t helping.
The workers are repairing electrical outlets, or some such; I’m not really sure. If I wasn’t so tuned in to the name of the company, I might not have noticed. Despite the eye-catching color of their attire, the workers have been stealthy, staying out of the way of customers and keeping a low profile. They arrived a couple of hours before the end of my shift, when the casino is less busy. I haven’t seen Lewis among them. He’s not one of the manual labor guys, but that hasn’t prevented me from searching for him.
Huffing out a pained sigh, I rearrange the bills in my caddy, annoyed with myself.
The bartender glances up. “Someone here for you.” He turns and unloads a rack of clean glasses from the dishwasher.
I stuff the cash in my tray and spin around to help the customer. My shoulders stiffen.
Drake’s gaze flickers around the room, as if to confirm its deserted state.
My heart races. I’m not sure how to read his expression; calculating, smug—not good, that’s all I know. I hate working with Amber, but I almost wish she were here right now. Maryanne’s not at her station either. Is she on break? Dammit.
I take a deep breath. I don’t need someone to rescue me, I can deal with this. I’ve proven my strength during training and by not reaching out to Lewis when every cell in my body insists on it. It’s late, but there are people and security guards about. As long as I stay within view, I should be safe.
“Genevieve. Alone at last.” Drake’s gaze falls to my shorts. He’s staring as if reliving the time he touched me where no man is allowed to touch a woman without permission. His mouth pulls into a half-grin.
I might hurl, or strike him. “What do you want?”
He
tsk
s. “Is that any way to address your boss?”
He’s not my boss. He knows this. Drake’s position is well above mine. Maryanne supervises me. “Leave me alone, Drake.”
His eyes narrow. “Don’t be difficult. I spoke to the bartender.” What’s he talking about? The bartender was with me when Drake walked up. “It’s a slow night. I only need you upstairs for twenty, maybe thirty minutes. This won’t take long.”
Despite the positive affirmations I tell myself about my strength and my ability to handle personal battles, a cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. “No.”
Drake inches forward, crowding me until his chest nearly bumps mine. “I’m in control here,” he growls and grabs my upper arm, squeezing.
Shit, shit. I wince and glance around. The bartender has disappeared. He was here a minute ago. Where the hell did he go?
Drake’s grip feels like a metal clamp, his fingers overlapping my limb. Squirming only increases the pain. He’s going to pop something important like a major artery if he doesn’t loosen his hold soon. It doesn’t help that my arms are thin—always the weakest part of my body, no matter how much muscle I build.
“You’re coming.” He tugs me to the rear exit.
I glimpse the bartender returning, smiling at a customer at the far end of the counter. He’s not looking my way. I call to him, “Crai—” but my voice cuts off on a whimper.
Hot breath burns my ear.
“Do it—”
Drake shakes me. “He’s in my pocket. They all are.” My fingers go numb and I close my eyes against the pain. I’m convinced he’s ripped something important. Drake sighs through his nose. “I only want to talk to you. I won’t take you upstairs, deal? You know I can’t do anything fun down here.”
Can’t he? I don’t trust him. What is it they say, never negotiate with terrorists? Does the same rule apply to abusive assholes?
Yes. I drop my tray and pull at his fingers. He tightens his hold on my arm, white dots bursting behind my eyes as he jerks me past the exit.
We’re in an interior hallway used by employees. Drake makes the mistake of loosening his fingers long enough for me to gather my senses.
“Let go!”
I yell. A passing busboy’s gaze darts to me, then Drake. The busboy glances away quickly and exits through a swinging door.
What?
I never heard anything from management about my sexual harassment claim. I understand why the management would support Drake. He’s one of them. But the others, the workers I rub shoulders with—what the hell? Suddenly, allowing Drake to drag me to a less crowded area, potential broken arm or not, seems like a very bad idea.
Drake lets go of me and steps forward while I retreat in the opposite direction, my shoulders bumping the wall behind me. There’s no feeling in my fingers, not even a rush of heat to show he released me. His eyes are dark, his pupils large. “I love it when you fight. Please, don’t stop. It makes it so much better.”
Fuck!
I dart to the side and he grabs me around the waist so tight I can barely breathe. Just like in elementary school when the bully girl picked on me for being quiet, I drop to the floor and go limp. This reaction is all lower brain and totally ineffectual. The bully would pick me up and toss me around the playground like a rag doll. It never worked then.
It doesn’t work now.
Drake lifts me and before I can blink or scream, he shoves me through the wall behind my shoulders, which I realize now is a door. I land on my hip, a sharp pain shooting down my leg. The light disappears with the slamming of the door.
A second later, Drake is on me, pinning my hands to the cold floor.
“Get off!” I jerk my knee hard, aiming blindly for the part that’s most vulnerable. He blocks me as if expecting the move and grips both of my wrists in one hand. He covers my mouth and nose with his free one, a large ring cutting into my lip.