Authors: Sigal Ehrlich

Tags: #romance, #Romantic Comedy, #New Adult & College, #Contemporary, #Literature & Fiction

Layers (38 page)

Kicking off my shoes, I slip under the thick, soft duvet with my clothes still on. As soon as my head rests on the pillow the dam in my eyes breaks, releasing a stream of exhausted, weary tears. With the tears a realization strikes me hard, a realization that’s been stewing for a while. There is only one thing that I want; there is only one thing that can release me from this excruciating pain. To be comforted with one embrace. I want to hear his voice; I need to hear his voice. I need him to tell me that everything will be okay and that he still loves me, just like he tried to a few days ago.

With trembling fingers I dial the number I’ve been fighting myself from calling for far too long. I close my eyes and wait to hear his voice.

At the first ring he answers.

“Hales?”

My name is a prayer of redemption on his breath. Tears block my throat. I manage to whisper, “Daniel, I need …”
You
, I whisper to a lifeless line and the faint beeping sound of my phone as it dies, along with my courage.

It’s a sign. I shouldn’t have. Think with your head, not with your heart.
I bury my face in the pillow and sob myself to sleep.

Chapter 41: Daniel

I gotta do something about this restless anger ragging within me. Ever since that fucking article, I feel like kicking the life out of everything that breathes. I’m on edge at the smallest thing; rage has invaded every part of me with no end in sight. I’m too hazardous for my own sake.
You need to blow it off, Daniel.

I think about her big, beautiful, agonized eyes just before she closed the door on me. It seemed so infinite, that look, and it makes me feel like shit. Hopeless.
I don’t do hopeless.

Fuck, what’s become of me?
I shake my head at the thought. I need to focus. I need to let this restrained violence free, and the sooner the better. An idea crosses my mind; I should call Ted, have him set me up in one of those fight club matches I used to do.
Daniel, don’t even think about it. Leave your past behind.

My tolerance is running among the lines of zero to none. I can’t even fully concentrate at work, which has never happened before. Even there, the hours drag. It was the only place that really made sense, but not anymore.
Hayley’s divine body is the real temple. The ultimate cure is to bury myself in her.

I walk down the hall to the only place I can do something about it, the only legal way to be as violent as I need to be. And, at this stage, I need to be.
Damn, I really screwed it up this time.
I can’t stop picturing her angelic face, her golden hair, those eyes …
Fuck.

Where are the goddamn gloves
? I turn up the music to a disturbing volume; Metallica will be the perfect companion for what I have my mind set at. I shrug the first glove on, adjusting the tie to hold it firmly in place. For the other I use my teeth to pull it tight against my wrist. Parts from my last conversation with Hayley sway through my head as I face the bag. “It was you who broke us. It was you who made the choice not to trust me, to not even try to understand. You chose to give me up, give us up.” She was right.

The first punch throws the punching bag up towards the ceiling; at its return I catch it with both hands. The contact of my next blow with the leather skin is so strong the hit rises above the music, but it doesn’t help. I keep dissecting these thoughts in my mind.
Goddamn it, Daniel, pull yourself together. You’re like some virgin obsessing before the first time. For fuck’s sake, what’s become of me?

My body heats up, the adrenaline kicks in and I start to sweat more heavily with every swing. I throw my fists at the bag repeatedly, which absorbs the hits and asks for more. As my damp clothes start to cling to me, I take them off, throw them into a pile in the corner of the room and continue, with just my boxers on and the AC turned to freezing.

I hiss through gritted teeth, increasing the momentum of the next punch. I feel the intensity of the strike even through the protection of the gloves.
This is good; I need to feel the pain
. I yank the gloves off my hands and resume my assault on my inanimate opponent bare-handed. The pain is sharp but it clears my mind.
This is exactly what I was looking for, exactly what I need
.

I punch and punch, channeling my strength with better efficiency. My punches get gradually faster. With each swing I find within me more anger, more force, to hit more precise and with greater strength. I only stop when a layer of warm, thick blood coming from the wounds at my knuckles starts to stain the punching bag, leaving moist smudges of dark, rust red.

The physical urge to blow off my murderous violence lessens and I feel somewhat relieved. Now the music is a disturbance, and I kill it before it adds to my already overflowing annoyance.

Exhausted, I slide to the floor at the corner of the room. I rest my pulsing head against the wall. The cracked skin of my knuckles burns, but the sting is a relief. Drops of sweat saturated with my frustration roll down my temples in small trails to my jaw and neck. I glance at my phone, tossed onto the pile of what used to be my day’s attire and breathe, rhythmically, slowly, in and out, working to even my heartbeat.

I go through the clusterfuck of failure based decisions I’ve made since that first time Brian, my PR guy, sent me that fucked-up gossip column. Even now I can revive the rage and disappointment that conquered me on the spot. I saw red, a dark crimson sheet waving in front of my eyes. I should have never jumped to conclusions; I should have never let her go. I should have immediately made someone get to the bottom of that shit, just like I eventually did, too late.
That sorry excuse for a “reporter” is going to live her life regretting the moment she ever laid her damn fingers on a keyboard with the defamation lawsuit my lawyers have prepared especially for her.

I can’t help but also think about the other senseless, meaningless idiotic mistake I made just to get back at Hayley, to hurt her.
If I ever get a second chance, this will never go down simply with her, if at all. Fuck, what have I done
?

Christ
. The way I’ve treated her, the words I’ve thrust upon her, infused with sheer poison and aimed to cut deep. “yes, I did say everything that was written in that article, but not the way it was written, not to the person who wrote it, and the main point is that it was said out of love, out of confessing my overwhelming feelings I felt for you.” She confessed and I didn’t listen. I should have known it all along.
I should be the one taking a beating. What the fuck have I done?

And through all the obscurity clouding my mind I can’t help the instant smile forming on my lips as a memory of the way we met appears in my thoughts. I remember walking into my private kitchen to the sight of that teasing, plump, pear-shaped ass under tight jeans, focusing my vision on nothing but that supreme body of hers. When she said that provocative “fuck me”, even before she turned and I was able to see her face, I already wanted her buck naked and bent over the counter. When she finally turned to look at me I found myself immediately lost in those eyes.

And as she started speaking, bashing the hell out of me, I instinctively imagined doing things to that sassy, pouty mouth. I had to shove my hand into my front pocket to conceal the bulge forming in my pants, the same one that distracted the shit out of my mental balance. Right there and then I knew there were two things I must do to her at whatever price. Have her in my bed and put her in her place. Unfortunately, I knew it would not be in that particular order.

I want her so much that I can conjure up everything about her. The touch of her flawless, silky, honeyed skin. Her sweet, childlike freckles. The way her flushed face and parted sweet mouth looked above me. Her soft hair and that incredible scent of clean, cinnamon, and Hayley. She’s the only thing that’s right. The only thing that matters.
I gotta get her back
.

Damn, she even made me think more than once seriously about the dreadful combination of the words settling and down. And I even liked the sound of it.

I grab my phone from its resting place on my clothes and check out the damage of not being connected for a few hours.
Damn
. So many emails; it never ends.
Delegate, Stark, delegate.

And just like an answer to a silent prayer my phone rings and it’s her.

“Hales?” I breathe, instantly picking up.

There is so much fused into that one single name—my anxiety, my exhaustion, my constrained frustration and a whole lot of longing.
What’s happened? What did she just say? “Daniel I need …” What, baby, what is it that you need? Hales. Damn, she’s gone.
I try to call back, but her phone is switched off.
What the fuck?

I have to talk to her. Where is she? She mentioned something about visiting her parents. Chicago, was it? I’ll try Natasha; she must know how to reach her. What’s the time? 10 p.m
. Natasha finally answers after the fourth or fifth ring. Anxious, I almost break the phone with my grip, waiting.

“Who is it?” she asks, hesitantly.

“Daniel Stark.”

There’s a short silence on the line.
Don’t play games with me now; I am far from being in the mood
. I try to compose myself before I bark out something I might end up regretting.

“Hayley just called me and the line went dead. Do you know where she is or how I can reach her?”

She clears her throat and replies. “She’s at her parents, in Chicago. She’ll be coming home tomorrow evening.”

“Do you have her parents’ number?”

“I do. Daniel,” her voice sounds weary, “but it’s one a.m. in Chicago now, I don’t think it’s a good time to call their landline.” She sighs and goes on, “Given what they’re going through, I’m not sure a call in the middle of the night will do any good.”

“What do you mean, ‘given what they’re going through’?”
What happened? Is Hales okay?
Restless, I stand up and start pacing the room.

“It’s her brother. There was a situation with his platoon in Afghanistan and they aren’t sure.” Her voice cracks. I bite my lips and slam the wall with my palm.
Fuck
.

“‘Not sure’ what?” I know my voice is less than calm but fuck if I care.

“Not sure if he’s missing or if he’s even alive.” Her voice is full of concern.

I force out the air trapped in my lungs.

“Natasha, can you give me her parents address and her brother’s full name, and whatever information you have about him?”

She does without any arguing. I thank her before ending the call.

I feel like the greatest jerk alive. Hayley is somewhere all agonized, worried about her brother. She’s suffering and I’m not there for her. Hell, I’m even responsible for causing her pain in the first place. I need to make it right; I need to be there for her.

I walk to my office and book the earliest available morning flight. Providing my Amex details I think about the fact that it’s time to make a use of my White House connections besides the Thai deal.
It’s not my thing. I usually shy away from calling in favors, but for Hales I’ll do it
. It’s too late to be calling that prick Davidson; there’s a four hour difference between San Francisco and DC. I’ll call him tomorrow before the flight. I’ll even spread my legs for him if he wants, that arrogant, corrupted son of a bitch. But for her I’ll do almost anything. I’ll get the damn information about her brother at whatever the cost.

With the thought of seeing her tomorrow and a burning determination to get her back pulsing from every organ of my body, I hit the shower.

This is your chance, Stark, don’t fuck it up again.

End of Book One.

About the Author

By teen age, Sigal already lived in three different continents where she had the luck to experience and visit varied places, meet unique people, which only helped fuel her overly developed imagination. Currently, Sigal calls Estonia home where she lives with her husband and three kids.

Not exactly sure where they will end up next …

When she is not hiding in her office, writing, she enjoys music, reading and taking care of her little clan.

With a great believe in “don’t wait for things to happen—make them happen,” she enjoys anything exciting life has to offer.

Sigal would love to hear from you, please visit her on her website, Twitter, and Facebook.

http://www.sigalehrlich.com/

@Sigal_Ehrlich

https://www.facebook.com/sigalehrlich.author

Table of Contents

Title Page

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1: The Last Time