Kept (33 page)

“Let’s sit down.” Dillan pulled her hand from the knob.

She concentrated on the feel of his fingers.

He turned her like he had Garrett on Sunday and steered her toward the living room. Her couch had never looked so welcoming.

Dillan held on until she found a seat on the edge. She fingered the cushion’s tight seam. This was where Mark had sat, his arms around her, his lips in her hair, promising that they’d be together once the marriage was over.

Now it was.

Dillan sat beside her, Garrett beside him. They both studied her, Dillan with concern, Garrett like she knew something.

She knew nothing, which was terrifying. “Darcie’s really dead?”

Dillan nodded.

“Are they saying—” She couldn’t go there. “How? What happened?”

He shrugged. “She was inside, by her front door.”

“So…” She pressed her fingers into her eyebrows.

“They haven’t said whether it’s foul play or not.”

Hearing Dillan go where she’d been afraid to freed her thoughts. “Who would kill her?”

“Miska.” Garrett slid to the edge of his seat. “You’ve been seeing Mark.”

She darted to the window, to her view of the lake and fountain and treetops. Already they were turning that dingy green, the dirt and smog of a few million people tarnishing their spring freshness.

Her head throbbed. Her stomach burned. “Mark and I are done—for over two weeks now. I haven’t heard from him since he and Kendall—”

What had she been thinking? Mark, Kendall, the stranger sleeping off a hangover in her bed. Why had she ever thought a night with men could offer real happiness? She knew better.

Miska eased onto the overstuffed chair. “I’m sorry she’s dead, but it doesn’t affect me. Not anymore.”

Dillan shifted. “You don’t think it’ll get out about you and Mark? Won’t that make people look at it differently?”

“We’re over. If someone killed her, it wasn’t Mark. He’s in Arizona. The team would have arrived Wednesday night.” Unless he hadn’t gone. She covered her mouth. “Don’t tell me he stayed behind.”

“He went. They say he found out at the ballpark this morning. I guess he’s already on a flight back.”

She buried her face in her hands.

Dillan’s voice soothed. “What’re you thinking?”

She shook her head.

“Miska.” Leather squeaked beneath Garrett. “Do you think Mark might have done this?”

She lowered her hands. “Why would he?”

Garrett and Dillan held her gaze.

“Why would he?” She raised her voice. “We’re over. I told you. I haven’t heard from him in two weeks. He told me not to call no matt—”

No matter what happened.

Behind her, the bedroom door clicked. “What’s going on—whoa. Who are these guys?”

She couldn’t turn, but Garrett’s and Dillan’s faces said it all. Dillan’s mouth fell open, and Garrett scowled. “Dude. Get some clothes on.”

Dillan jerked his gaze to the floor between his feet.

The bedroom door banged shut.

Garrett shot Dillan a look, but Dillan didn’t catch it.

She pressed her fingers to her cheeks, feeling them burn. Another man for Dillan to see her with. Some naked guy standing in her doorway, demanding to know who Garrett and Dillan were when she couldn’t even remember his name.

The door opened again. “Miska, where’d my jeans go?”

Her face flamed beneath her hands. “I don’t know. Go look—” She waved her hand over her shoulder. “They’re in there somewhere.”

“Well, I can’t find them.” His voice faded as if he’d turned to survey her bedroom.

Garrett rolled his eyes. “For crying out loud.” He shoved himself off the couch. “Come on, Dopey. Let’s find something to put over your birthday suit.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, something tight and unforgiving encasing her. She knew it well—the shame that followed a night like she’d had. Funny how she always forgot about it until the morning after.

Dillan didn’t look at her, his fingers fiddling with each other. He sat back in his seat and placed his hands on his knees, then ran a hand through his hair and leaned forward again, rubbing his chin as if he needed to scrub something off it. He heaved a sigh and cleared his throat.

He was about to speak, and she couldn’t let him go first. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t apologize to me.” He finally looked at her. Studied her. “Who is he?”

Something with a T. Tony. Trevor? That sounded right. “It’s Trevor.”

“Well. Good for you and Trevor.”

The silence returned, releasing a muffled voice from the bedroom. Trevor’s, it sounded like. She couldn’t wait for him to go, for Garrett and Dillan to leave her with her own repulsion.

A muffled phone dinged.

Dillan dug his out of his pocket and read the screen.

“What is it?”

He shrugged. He probably couldn’t stand to look at her. “There’s a report that she might have died from an allergic reaction.”

“To what?”

“Guess she had a peanut allergy.”

She’d read that somewhere, way back when she’d first discovered Darcie’s existence and had scoured the internet for ammunition against Mark. Now she was dead from that allergy. “How awful.”

The phone dangled from his hand.

“So it wasn’t foul play.”

“Guess not.” He returned the phone to his pocket, then clasped his hands and studied them. If only he would look at her, give her the tiniest bit of hope that it would be okay. That the rest of her life wouldn’t be like this, waking up to some stranger with a hangover.

“Dillan, I’m sorry.”

He shook his head.

“Really, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“You know what, Miska? It’s your life. You want to screw it up? Feel free. But don’t drag me into it. I’m not involved.”

Behind her, the door opened. This time she looked. Trevor stepped out, fully dressed down to a scowl on his green-tinged features.

Garrett followed. He clapped a hand to the guy’s shoulder. “Well, Barry here is ready to face the world.”

Barry?

“I thought it was Trevor,” Dillan said.

The guy snorted. “Trevor’s my cousin.”

Oh, right. Memories returned to shame her further.

“So where are we?” Barry asked.

She clenched her teeth.

“Someone going to tell me?”

Dillan made a sound of disgust. “The Loop. Michigan Avenue.”

“Seriously?” Barry stepped into view.

“Look out the window,” Garrett said. “Buckingham Fountain’s right there.”

“Sweet.” Barry walked past her, assaulting her with a whiff of last night’s cologne and BO. He stood before her window, hands on his hips. “Nice view, Miska. Really nice view.”

Her name on his tongue felt dirty. What had she done with him? With Trevor? She ached to curl into a ball and give in to a good cry.

Garrett popped his palm against his fist. “All right, Barry. You know where you are. Time to go.”

“Yeah, sure.” He turned enough to peer down at her. “Can I get your number? See you again sometime?”

Dillan and Garrett remained where they were, Dillan’s arms crossed over his broad chest.

How she wished they grasped her deep regret, understood that the
no
she’d give Barry was the same answer she’d give if they weren’t there.

But they wouldn’t.

She wiped the moisture building in her eyes. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

She looked up.

He leaned toward her, his button-down emphasizing his stocky build. He’d looked so good in the dark lights of the club. In daylight and the aftermath of a hangover, not so much. “Hey, sugar. You in there?”

His words snapped her teeth together.

Even Dillan straightened.

“I said no. Now get out.”

“I get it.” He smirked at Garrett, then Dillan. “Got these two to keep you company.” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “When you get bored, gimme a call.” He tossed a business card onto the coffee table.

She lunged for it, grabbed it, and threw it back. “Get out.”

He swore at her, and Dillan jumped to his feet.

Barry froze and stared at Dillan as if it had just dawned on him how tall Dillan was.

But it was time she took care of things herself. She shoved Barry, satisfied when he stumbled and caught himself on the windowsill. “Leave. Now.”

He snorted. “Be all uptight. You’ll call.” His smile scalded her. He kicked the business card her way and walked toward her front door, hands stuffed in his pockets. “You all have fun now.” He opened the door and saluted her before disappearing.

Her shoulders sagged.

Beside her Dillan shifted. “We should go.”

What a mess her life was. She rubbed her hands against her arms. If she told them she didn’t want to be alone, would they stay?

“Yeah, I think the game’s about to start.”

They were leaving her for a game?

“Game of the week’s on early. That’s where we heard about Darcie. You should watch. Maybe they’ll have an update.”

She nodded at Garrett. A tear spilled down her cheek. She hid her face again, fought the shake in her shoulders. Not now. Not while they were still here.

Someone tugged her to his chest.

She opened her eyes—Garrett’s Bulls T-shirt. She let her forehead rest against his warmth.

“It’s okay,” he said as if it were a commonly known fact.

But it wasn’t. Tears dripped off her nose. “I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want it, Garrett. Why do I do it? Why does it always end like this?”

“It doesn’t have to.”

Look who was talking. She pushed back, and he released her. She wiped her eyes, too aware of Dillan watching.

“He’s right, Miska.”

Easy for virgin boy to say. “It’s not that simple.”

Garrett shifted. “It’s not simple. Real change isn’t simple. I know.”

She looked at him.

“Where were you Wednesday?” he asked.

Out partying. Barry wasn’t the first kiss of the week.

“Did you read chapter four?”

“Pry much, Garrett?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Is that a problem?”

She smiled. “Yes.”

“Too bad. I’m changing—for real this time. If I can change, you can too.”

Dillan chewed his lip. Did he believe Garrett? His mouth slanted to the side, one eyebrow cocked just enough to say that no, he didn’t believe his brother.

Neither should she.

“You coming to church tomorrow?”

“Garrett—”

“You want to change, Miska? Spend some time there instead of at a club with losers like Barry and, well, the old me. And start listening, really listening.”

She had been listening. That was the problem.

Dillan scratched his neck. He probably wanted out of there.

She’d leave too, if she could. How had she become such a skank? Garrett was right. She wasn’t going to meet decent men living the way she’d been. She forced a look at Garrett. “Thanks for telling me about Darcie.”

“We didn’t know if you were okay or if something had happened to you too. But it looks like you’re fine.”

“Oh yeah, I’m great.”

Dillan smiled at the floor.

Garrett picked up the business card. “You want this?”

“No.”

He flipped the card over. “Lindros Construction. Huh. Lindros is his last name.”

The huge company that advertised all over Chicago sportscasts? It cost a fortune to advertise there. The company was massive. Loaded.

Which meant Barry was loaded.

Oh.
Oh.
She wrapped her hands around the back of her neck. Desire flickered. She held her breath. No, she couldn’t go there again.

But desire burst into a bonfire, an addiction she couldn’t shake. Her home, her mortgage. Security. Stability.

No. No! She wouldn’t sell herself for money, not anymore. She couldn’t live that way again.

But the money…

“You sure, Miska? You don’t look sure.”

She stared at the card between Garrett’s fingers. What could it hurt to call him— “Get it out of here.” Anguish blew up inside her.
Let me have it.

“Will do.” He palmed the card. “You ready, Dill?”

“Yeah.” Dillan glanced at her. “Take care.” He strode around the couch and down her hallway, Garrett on his heels.

When Dillan disappeared, Garrett paused and looked back. “See you tomorrow?”

“’Bye, Garrett.”

With a shrug, he left.

Alone at last.

She lowered herself to the coffee table’s edge. Lindros Construction—what would the woman at the well do?

She could Google the company and find a phone number, but Barry wasn’t a man she could live with. How tired she was of men like him. She wanted more than a life of flings, a few months with one guy before being abandoned again. “God, I’m sick of this.”

But Lindros Construction…

In the bedroom her phone chirped.

What now? If it was Adrienne, she didn’t want to talk. Adrienne had let her take some stranger home.

The phone chirped again.

With a sigh, she walked to the bedroom. Her phone lay on top of her skirt, and Tracy’s name filled the screen.

What would Tracy think of what she’d done?

She surveyed the rumpled sheets and thrown-back comforter. Two slept-on pillows. A dark sock peeking from beneath the bed.

He’d left a sock?

She grabbed it and stormed into her bathroom, threw the thing into the trash. She smacked the counter. “I’m not going to live this way. No more!”

Where was the other sock?

She jerked the bedding to the floor, yanked free the fitted sheet, and wadded everything into a trash bag. Five hundred dollars—wasted. But she’d sleep on a bare mattress before she’d slip between those sheets again.

Now where was that sock?

It wasn’t beneath the bed. She searched the bathroom. Her closet. Traced her usual path from her front door to the bedroom. Nothing. He’d left with one sock?

She woke her phone and opened Tracy’s message.
You ok?

Spectacular.

Want me to come over?

Her fingers flew across the phone.
Why do you care?

Half a minute passed. Her phone chirped.
Because.
:)

She wilted. How could Tracy love her like this?

Because she didn’t know the real Miska.