Bending Over Backwards (8 page)

How could this not be personal?
she thought, but didn’t say anything as numbness set in.

“When you can, if you could look around, let us know if anything was stolen, and an idea of the value of the damage? We’ll need your report, and you’ll get a copy for your insurance. You do have insurance? Or your landlord?”

Jasmine nodded again, barely hearing him. “I own the studio, yes,” she said vaguely. Or rather, she was still paying the business loan she’d taken to buy it. “I have insurance.”

Insurance. They’d need to have an investigation before they would pay out. She’d have to fix all of this out of pocket if she wanted it done right now, and that would take weeks, at least.

Where would she run her classes? She could lose all of her students. The studio was a place they needed to feel safe—who could feel safe here knowing this had happened?

Thoughts swarmed as she fell to sit on the floor, dropping her head into her hands. She heard the officer walk away, sensing she needed a moment alone. In truth, even given all that she had been through before, Jasmine had never felt more alone in her life.

Chapter Seven

Leo woke up early, more energized than he’d been in a while. He was optimistic about the day.

Jasmine didn’t trust him, but he hoped to change that perception. She’d connected with him the other night on a different level, sharing at least a little. She’d been warmer, not as distant. She’d genuinely seemed pleased when he admired her business sense. He took it as a win.

He’d stayed away the day before, not wanting to push. Operation Take Care of Jasmine was a delicate one, he thought with a smile.

As he parked his car and walked down the street, he planned to grab some food at a local deli that packed picnic lunches. He’d bring that to her and leave it, but maybe she would invite him to stay and share.

She was unlikely to want to take time away from her business, and somewhere in his distant memory, he knew what that was like. Work had been his life, as it was Jasmine’s.

His mother had worked very hard, sometimes several jobs at a time, to support them. As a kid, he’d made a promise to himself that someday he would earn enough that she wouldn’t have to do that. It had fueled his ambition.

Leo wondered what fueled Jasmine’s. Usually there was a reason a person worked that hard, a motivation behind that kind of drive. His had been to take care of his mother.

He’d managed to give her some of the benefits of his new status in life. She’d been able to quit her jobs, working only one that she enjoyed, and he made sure that she had a paid mortgage, a new car, and one nice vacation before she’d passed away. She’d argued with him to buy a used car instead of new, he remembered warmly, sadly, as he walked down the street.

It would never seem like enough compared to what she’d done for him.

But now, he had a second chance of sorts. A chance to live a different kind of life, maybe, because after his mother had died, what had he worked so hard for? Status? His mom wouldn’t have approved of that. She had worked for him, for them—but what did he have to show for his sacrifice?

His bank account was impressive—enough that he wouldn’t have to work again for a long while, if he lived frugally. That was probably his goal, he supposed. Money. Power. Control.

Now, after going through the shooting, the amnesia, it all seemed flimsy. He wanted more than that in his life.

Right now, he wanted Jasmine.

Some commotion caught his attention, and he paused, noting the police tape and people around the spot where Jasmine’s studio was. He looked toward a shop on the other side of the street, an ice cream stand that was also damaged. Its vintage sign was shattered, windows broken.

“Such a shame,” some women passing by him said. “That poor young woman. Will she make it?”

Leo didn’t hear her companion’s response; his heart raced and his hands turned ice cold as he picked up his pace, running to the studio. It was barricaded off, but the place had been wrecked, the same as the ice cream store.

“What happened?” he asked someone standing there. The older man shrugged.

“Vandals, I hear. Did quite a job of it.” The old guy shook his head.

“When? Was anyone hurt?” Leo asked again, taking the man by the shoulders, which startled the old guy. “I’m sorry.” Leo took his hands away. “A friend of mine runs the place.”

“I didn’t hear anything about anyone getting hurt,” the older man said before walking away with a cautious look.

Leo spotted a cop parked on the street and approached the car. “Can you tell me what happened here? When this happened? If anyone was hurt?”

Or worse
, his mind whispered the terrible possibility.

“Who’s asking? You a reporter? Press will be—”

“No, I’m a friend of the owner. Is she okay?” As he asked, a sharp pain knifed through his skull, bad enough to have him grabbing his head, gasping.

Somewhere, he heard screams. And a gunshot. He ducked, reacting.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” The cop steadied him, alarmed.

Leo panicked, worried about Jasmine and completely freaked out by what had happened. He looked around. People on the street, along with the cop, looked back.

He shook his head, the pain gone. But he’d remembered. For a moment, there was a flash and some sound. It was like he had been back there again. Back in his office. He fought for clarity.

“I’m okay. I’m just very worried for my friend. Can you tell me anything?”

The cop hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t need some help? You don’t look right.”

“I have a migraine,” Leo lied. “From stress.
Was anyone hurt?
”

“I can’t give you any details, but no one was reported hurt. Why don’t you let me drive you to the local emergency—”

Relief nearly made him sag, which probably concerned the officer even more. Leo straightened, able to breathe now that he knew Jasmine was okay.

“I’m okay, I promise, thanks.” He cut the officer off and ran back to his car.

No doubt he looked like a raving maniac, but seeing the shop destroyed had shaken him badly. The destruction had touched some bone-deep fear that had been hiding under the surface.

He’d heard Jeannie, his coworker, screaming. She’d died. He remembered the sound of the gunshots. People yelling, crying. His own gasp of pain as something burned through his shoulder.

Leo wasn’t sure he wanted to remember anything else. No job, no amount of money, was worth that.

He knew he was driving way too fast, and he let up a little on the gas, not wanting to get pulled over. He also had no idea where he was going. He didn’t know where Jasmine lived, but he did have her phone number. It was on the business card that she’d given him when they’d met.

Finding it in his wallet, he pulled over and called. It went to message.

“Jasmine, it’s Leo. Are you there? Are you okay? I was just at the studio. Call me back.”

He pulled out into traffic, waiting. When he reached his house, he called again. No answer.

She’d walked to his house that evening, when she’d brought him cookies. Down the beach.

He took off out the back, heading in that direction, knowing he was probably being a complete idiot. He had no idea where her house was along this stretch, but he needed to do…something.

But he couldn’t find her, and she didn’t call back. He walked back to the beach house, and once there, he opened a beer and downed it. When that one was gone, he reached for another and went in to turn on the TV, needing noise, needing something to distract him. He was making his way through his third beer, staring at a baseball game but not watching when the phone rang.

“Jasmine?”

“Hi, Leo.” She sounded like a faint image of herself. “I got your message and wanted to let you know I’m okay. Sorry. I had a lot to do today. The police, insurance, canceling my classes…” Her voice broke off in a very non-Jasmine-like way, and she was silent.

Crying?

“Jasmine, where are you?”

Silence again. Had she hung up?

“On the beach, out behind your house,” she admitted quietly.

Leo ran to the doors, slamming his knee in the process. Then he saw her, standing down by the water, a slight silhouette against the late-afternoon sun that hung over the water.

Dropping his phone, he ran out toward her, lunging forward and wrapping her in his arms to make sure she was okay.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Leo.” She paused. “Leo. You’re shaking. Are
you
okay?”

He stepped back, nodding. “I’m sorry. I saw the studio. I heard someone on the street say something about a woman who was in the hospital, and they weren’t sure if she would make it, and I freaked. I guess it triggered some stuff from the shooting.” He shook his head. “That’s not important. What’s important is that you’re okay.”

She smiled shakily. “Well, that’s probably a matter of opinion. I haven’t felt very okay today. I held it together for the paperwork, the necessary stuff, but I feel hollowed out. I needed to walk. I ended up here. But no one was in the hospital. The vandalism happened in the middle of the night. There was only property damage. No one was hurt, thank God.”

“It must have been a random comment, and I just assumed it was related.”

I thought it was you
, he added silently, his tension releasing now that she was here. “How bad is it?”

“Pretty bad. It will take weeks to set everything back to rights, maybe longer if I can’t get the money together or find contractors that quickly. It’s a busy season, and I don’t know how long it will take for the insurance money to come through.”

“Is there some other way to meet your classes?” he asked, slinging an arm around her shoulders as they walked back to the beach house.

“I can keep my morning sessions on the beach, and a friend offered some time at her studio, which was more than generous, but her place is a long drive and a lot of my clients won’t be able to meet there. And I’ll lose all the summer-vacation business, for sure.”

Leo knew this was devastating to her, but he also knew that what she needed most was not to dwell.

“Have you eaten?” He noticed the time, and he was a bit foggy himself after three beers and no food.

“I had a light lunch, but I wasn’t really hungry.”

“You know what? Neal has a grill up on the deck that’s begging to be used. Let me walk down to the store and get some steaks, and we’ll cook out, watch the sun set. Relax and talk. Sound good?”

“Sounds like heaven.” She let her head drop back for a moment with a sigh. Leo’s pulse picked up as he admired the graceful line of her throat, but he looked away, focused on his task to distract and relax her.

“Okay, I’ll be back in a few minutes. It’s only about a ten-minute walk.”

“I’ll come with you,” she said quickly. “I don’t think I really want to sit here alone. Better to have something to do.”

She was probably right. He nodded and held out his hand, which she took.

Less than an hour later, they were back, standing on the deck and laughing over some silly YouTube video Leo had found on his phone. Jasmine was almost in tears as she laughed, watching the little cat and its antics on the screen. He counted that as a huge success, considering the day.

“You’ve never watched animal videos online? It’s a well-worn tradition of online life.”

“I don’t have much of a life, an online one, I mean. I maintain my website and answer any questions that come in on my FAQ or boards. But other than that, I don’t really have time for that kind of thing.”

“And see what you’ve missed?” he said with a grin, grabbing the steaks from the grill.

They walked into the house where they fixed their plates. Before heading back out to the deck, they each grabbed a beer as well.

“These steaks are huge. I know I shouldn’t crave red meat, but I do, especially when I’m tired or stressed. My diet really is a disaster for a yogi. I should set a better example for my clients.”

“You’re strong and healthy, so that’s what matters. Do all yogis have to eat tofu and bean sprouts?”

She chuckled. “No, to each their own, but I try to maintain as much of a yoga-inspired lifestyle as I can. Diet is probably the one thing I have more or less failed at completely. I try to eat well—but I also like red meat, ice cream and junk food.”

“Balance in all things, right?”

He lifted his beer to tip it against hers and wished they were sharing a kiss instead. Jasmine looked much more like herself, the strain almost gone from her features. But this wasn’t the time to push romance; she needed a friend. Leo could do that.

“Balance, of course, can never be a steady state—we’ll always fall in and out of it. But it feels so good when we have it, it’s hard to give it up,” she said, digging in. “We always want the ideal, but the reality is that we usually love what we shouldn’t.”

Leo wondered if she was talking about more than diet now.

He murmured something unintelligible in sort-of agreement and focused on his own dinner, enjoying himself as they chatted about food, likes and dislikes, as well as her yoga philosophy.