Concealed Affliction (10 page)

“Okay Matty, you take care of yourself. Talk soon.”

* * *

I feel warmth on my face, followed by the movement of a hand. Not used to waking up with someone touching me, and knowing I went to bed alone, I jackknife up from the bed while shoving my hand under the pillow for my gun.

“Elle, it’s me!”

I whip my head around to find Ryder sitting on top of the covers on the opposite side of the bed. I let out a huge breath and shove my gun back under the pillow.

“Tip for you Ryder: do not wake me up like that when you didn’t sleep here the night before, unless you want a bullet in your body.”

I’m heaving. My heart is racing fast and I can feel the angry tears threatening my eyes. How dare he, and how the hell did he get in here?

“Jesus, I’m sorry. I just got back and wanted to see you.”

I turn away from him and climb out of bed, heading toward the bathroom. I shut the door and lock it behind me, then do the same to the other door that connects to the hallway. Not wanting to hear anything else he has to say at the moment, I turn on the shower and strip out of my sweat soaked clothes. Hands shaking the entire time.

Once again, this is the norm. I expect it whether my nightmares are full of fear, or just memories of the past. What I didn’t expect was to feel someone touching me when I woke up.

Feeling his hand on me reminded me of my past. When I woke up in Andrew’s smashed up car, an old man had his hand on my shoulder, gently nudging me. Trying to wake me up.

“Easy there dear, you hit the hydro pole. You stay still, now. I called the po-lice, help is on the way.”

I don’t know what I hit, or what I did to him when he woke me up. I just clutch the blood soaked towel to my chest, ignoring the pained expression on his face as he registers my beaten body.

              I grab my shampoo and begin to lather my hair, thinking of the person who helped me. He was a kind older man. He wanted to help when I escaped Andrew’s basement and crashed his car, only I lost my shit when I felt his hand on my shoulder. In that moment I didn’t remember escaping the basement and crashing. I felt like I was still in there, in that cold damp place and he was waking me up to torture me again. It wasn’t the old man’s fault and I feel awful for the way I screamed at him, but it was out of my control.

My body may have escaped the basement, but my mind was still there.

I get under the hot spray, washing away the filth and the memories, preparing to put my armor back on before I leave the bathroom. I know it’s not just my memories that are making me pissed off right now, it’s Brock’s comments about Ryder and Denny’s confusion when I mentioned that Ryder was in Chicago for work.

I get out of the shower and proceed with my hair and make-up. I don’t bother flat ironing right now, so I settle for a blow dry and leave my dark hair in loose long waves. I put on my robe and venture through my room toward the closet. Ryder is not in here, which I’m thankful for, so I continue and get dressed in a long black cut-off sleeve top, paired with black Capri tights. I put on my wrist cuffs and find a pair of heeled gladiator sandals with a wide band around the ankle that cover my marks. I tie it all together with a light scarf around my neck.

Armor on, ready for confrontation.

I smelled the coffee from the shower, so I know Ryder is still here. I make my way toward the kitchen and find it empty. I glance through the screen and see that he’s on my back porch so I head for the coffee maker.

I make my morning brew and step outside. Ryder is sitting at the small table by my barbecue. Knowing I can’t let this stew any longer, I head over and sit down. I take my spot facing the water. His chair is beside me, facing toward his own home.

He’s dressed in a pair of black dress slacks and a white button down shirt, not any usual attire I’ve seen on him before. I don’t take Ryder for the type of man that dresses to impress people, but I’m not ready to ask him about that either. Thankfully, he breaks the silence.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, Elle. I have a key to this place, have for a long time. I knew you were still sleeping. Not wanting to wake you up, I used the key. I wanted to see you, but if that’s what’s going to happen when I let myself in, trust me I’ll knock next time.”

I take a sip of my coffee and light up a smoke. Every time I think I’m closer to cutting back I find an excuse to light one back up again.

“It’s not about you using the key Ryder. If I had of known you were coming back while I would still be in bed I would’ve expected you and not have attempted to shoot you.”

His head whips around to mine.

“I told you I would be back by Tuesday, Elle.”

I shake my head at him.

“You didn’t tell me you’d be waking me up on Tuesday morning Ryder. Because you never told me a time. You said you would keep in touch and let me know. I’ve not heard from you since the morning after the night I got back here. Look, I’m not a needy woman Ryder, never have been. But don’t think for one second that you kept me in the loop, because you did no such thing.”

He scrubs his hands over his face, indicating his frustration.

“Fuck Elle, I’m sorry alright. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you beautiful, I promise you that.”

I take a good look at the handsome man in front of me. He looks tired, worn down. Like Chicago kicked his ass. I calm myself and my voice before speaking to him again.

“What was so important in Chicago, Ryder? And please don’t lie to me.”

He doesn’t look at me right away, or even acknowledge that I’ve spoken. He stares across my property toward his own. I take the opportunity to admire his profile. His strong jaw has two days worth of stubble. His hair is messy from the wind and I assume he hasn’t had a shower this morning. The whiskey voice I’ve grown to love pulls me out of my ogling.

“Been working that job on and off for over a year, Elle. Sometimes people expect things from you after you work with them, they expect
more
. I try to make everyone happy but it doesn’t always work out that way. It’s done now; I don’t need to go back anymore.”

I study him for honesty. If he looked me in the eye I would be able to get him a whole lot sooner, but he’s not. Eye contact is a necessity for me when it comes to respect, which ultimately means trust. He’s giving me neither at the moment and speaks again before I can question it. This time thankfully he looks at me.

“We all have to do things we don’t want to sometimes, Elle. Running a business isn’t always easy babe, but it’s
my
business. I need to keep people happy, in order to keep working. That’s what Chicago was about.”

He looks torn, and beaten down, like maybe he needs to sleep for the next three days.

“As I said, I’m not a needy woman Ryder. I never will be. It’s not my style. That being said, I can’t give you a piece of me that I don’t get in return. You asked to know where I was when I was late getting home in Indy. You made a big deal about finding me, only to ignore me for the past week. You talked about not being able to take my ‘up and down shit’. Well I can’t take your ‘hot and cold’ shit.

“One week you’re racing across the country, you’ve got my bank transactions flagged and you’re hunting me down at the wine store. The next week I hear from you once for all of twenty seconds and your MIA again. So like I said, I’m not needy, but don’t you dare expect something from me that you’re not willing to give in return.”

Ryder puts his elbows on the table and rests his head in his hands. I don’t know what it is about this Chicago job that has him so put out, but if I were him I would’ve dropped that contract a long time ago if this is what happens to him. Brock mentioned he picks and chooses his work, if that’s so I’d start picking somewhere else.

“It was selfish of me to say that Elle, I know. But I worry about you, more than you need to worry about me. Does that make sense?”

I think about it for a moment, and have a question before I answer him truthfully.

“No Ryder, it doesn’t make sense to me. Because I think if you truly worried about me, you would’ve been calling me every day. Not that I want that, you know I barely have shit to say on a good day unless we’re arguing about something. But if your reason was because you worry more, you’d think that you’d be burning out the ringer on my phone every morning and night. Wondering if I woke up, and wondering when I went to bed.”

His sad eyes meet mine, knowing what he’s going to say but not speaking yet. I study him. His hair looks like it still has product in it. I study his pressed shirt and slacks. His dress shoes. This is not the man I met months ago. Or it is, but boxed in different packaging.

“When I found Norma that day, I asked the guys to bring up the GPS trackers on all the BMW SUV’s that were on that street and send them to me. There was only one that frequented that address where Norm was. I didn’t disable the notifications, because when I was busy working in Chicago, it gave me piece of mind seeing your vehicle was parked at home every night, even if you were out through the day. It let me know that you were okay, and home.”

I slam my coffee mug down on the table and push my chair back. Ryder grabs the arms of it to prevent me from escaping.

“Don’t Elle. I never, not once kept that to invade your privacy. I just didn’t fast track the process of disabling it. There is someone in this world hell bent on seeing you dead, so if when I’m working and don’t have the time to call, I was damn fucking thankful that I at least had a way of knowing you were alive. I didn’t look where you went, or check your bank records to see what you did. All I looked at was that the vehicle left the house, and returned back home. I’m sorry Elle if that upsets you, but you need to understand that when I know someone out there wants to harm the woman I care about, I will feel no fucking guilt for doing what I could to make sure she was okay.

“Ultimately babe, I would outfit the piss poor fucking security in this place and put two men on your door at night. I know you won’t go for that so please, give me this. Let me know you got home at night.”

I don’t know what to say to him right now.

I’m pissed.

I understand a little where he’s coming from, I get why he wants to know that I’m okay and I’m almost thankful for it. After all, at the end of the day he’s the only person in the USofA that knows a little of my story, so if I were to find myself dead with the identification of Elle Davidson on me, not a soul would know that I’m also Jayne O’Connor.

I turn away from him and light up another smoke. He lets go of the arms on the chair, knowing I’m not running from him.

“I can understand why you did what you did Ryder. But it doesn’t mean I like it. What I don’t understand is why you couldn’t just shoot me a text like a normal person. Because ultimately Ryder, in the time it takes you to read my GPS whereabouts, you could read a text. That’s the part I’m not understanding right now.”

He reaches his hand out and puts it on top of mine.

“I’m not used to this shit, any more than you are, beautiful. I’m not used to wanting to know where someone is, or caring about them enough to do so. What I know is tracking people; it’s all I’ve known for a long time. I’m not saying that to condone what I did. I’m telling you that because we’re learning this new ‘Elle’ together. We’re also learning this new ‘Ryder’ together. I’m thirty-six beautiful, and as much as you may think my relationship with Anna was conventional, it wasn’t. I didn’t ask her what she did, and she didn’t ask me. I was overseas. I didn’t have the ability to talk to her every day.”

“Yes Ryder, and this here is the difference. I’m not saying I need to speak with you every day, but you weren’t exactly in Afghanistan either. You
chose
not to. That’s the difference Ryder.”

He turns his chair toward mine, pushing our knees together until we’re face to face. His deep, dark, silver rimmed eyes stare back into mine before he speaks.