The Collision on Hardwood Drive (17 page)

Since the dinner at my dad’s place, we’d spent every day together. I was still surprised at how comfortable I felt around him, how much I loved being with him, and how strong the attraction between us was. I never got tired of being near him, and I couldn’t wait for him to get back from his trip.

*

I woke the next morning with a text from Claire.
Call when you wake up. xo.
Sent at 6:04 a.m.

Claire was the type of girl who would sleep until noon every day if her job allowed it. I could sense something was wrong from that timestamp. There was no other reason she would want to talk so early in the morning.

I called her as soon as I was properly awake, worry lacing my every motion and word. “Claire, is everything OK? What’s wrong?”

She was quiet for a moment. “Nothing’s
wrong
, exactly.”

I frowned. People only said that when something
was
wrong, something so bad that they didn’t know how to approach the subject. “What is it, then? Are you OK?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She breathed slowly, almost as if she hesitated to make any sound. I waited for her to continue as patiently as I could while worry coiled in my stomach. “But—honey, this whole accident thing really has been bothering me,” she said, a bit awkwardly, “and I think I figured out why. May I come pick you up? I want to show you something.”

I froze. Even though I could never put my finger on it, I had been feeling apprehensive about the accident since I drove past that corner on my way to dinner with Claire. I wanted desperately to ignore it, telling myself I was looking for flaws in Rob that weren’t there—but deep down, I knew something was wrong. Something about that night hadn’t been right, and Claire sounded as if she had figured out what it was.

“Sure,” I said, wishing this was all a bad dream. “When do you want to come by?”

“Now.”

“Now?” I said hesitantly. Judging by the sound of her voice, I knew whatever she had to say was important, but that didn’t stop me from hoping to postpone it for as long as possible.

“Now,” she said firmly. “I think you need to see this right away.”

I knew she was right. Whatever I didn’t want to know had been eating away at my nerves for the last few days. “OK,” I agreed. “I’ll be ready.”

Anxiety shot through my veins as I waited for Claire. I dared to hope that maybe she found the stop sign, clinging to the notion that whatever she had to show me might not be a
bad
thing. I shook my head, realizing I was only setting myself up for disappointment. There was never a stop sign.

Why
did he tell me there was? What happened that night?

Claire honked twice, signaling her arrival. I grabbed my purse, moving sluggishly, dreading what news she might have for me as soon as I reach her car. “Hey. So, what did you want to show me?”

“Let’s head to where you had the crash. I think it’ll be easier to explain there.”

She chattered nervously as she drove, going on about her weekend antics. She blabbed on about a horrible date, giggling uncomfortably to fill the silences. “…then, he asked the bartender for a little umbrella to put in his lemon drop. I mean, really? We were at Opal, and he asks for an
umbrella
? And he ordered a
lemon drop
? I was mortified.”

I tried to listen as I stared out the window, head pressed against the cold glass, but Claire’s words went in one ear and out the other as I braced myself for what was coming.

She backed into a space and stopped the car as we neared the intersection we passed the other night. We sat there in silence for a moment, me not wanting to hear what was about to be said and her not wanting to say it.

“Let’s get out,” she said quietly. We opened our doors simultaneously, stepping into the cold fall day. I shivered and pulled my sweater more tightly around me.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about the accident since we drove past this place the other day,” she said. “I knew there wasn’t a stop sign, but I couldn’t figure out why he kept insisting there
was
one. At first I thought, hey, whatever. It doesn’t matter whether there was a stop sign—you hit him, just as he said.”

She paused, looking around the corner. “Then, I remembered what you said. You were driving this way, through the intersection going east. You said it was the passenger side door busted on his car, and the only way that could have happened—well,
he
would have had to hit
you
. See, look—”

Claire walked me to the intersection and reenacted the scenario with our bodies in place of the cars. Sure enough, it would have been impossible for me to hit him. How had I not seen that before?

“With the way your car slid, it would have looked as though you had hit him, so of
course,
you’d believe him when he told you that’s what happened,” she said.

I sat on the curb, trying to sort this out. “So, he
lied
,” I said loudly. My vision began to swim, and I could feel a total freak out coming on.

Claire sat next to me and wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “Yeah, honey. It looks that way. I’m so sorry.”

“Well, so much for trust!” I exploded, standing so suddenly that I had a bit of a head rush. “Why—why would he want me to think
I
hit
him
? Especially because he paid for everything, anyway. He didn’t call the cops or ask for my insurance… why didn’t he just own up to it? He—he paid for everything,
anyway
, why—why the hell would he
lie
?”

My anger started to subside as I let it all out, instead being replaced by confusion. “
Why
, Claire?”

“Steph, I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but
think
about it. Why would he have gone to such great lengths to avoid getting the cops involved,
especially
since he paid for everything? Think, Steph.
Think
. If he hit
you
, you would have called the cops, but if he made it look like you hit
him
, then he looks like a great guy. He looks like he’s doing you a
favor
.”

I tried to think this through calmly, but her words swirled around in my head so quickly that I could barely make sense of them. “Yeah, OK, but… he said that the cops might leak the story to the media because he was so well-known in town. That’s why he didn’t want them there. That could be true, right?”

Claire looked skeptical. “But why would the media care if he was hit by the girl? Unless… I dunno, maybe it wasn’t the first time? Or maybe—Steph, just
think
. Was there anything off about him that night?”

I shook my head, positive that there wasn’t. Or—at least, I
wanted
to be positive.

Claire hesitated again. Obviously, she wasn’t saying something she
wanted
to say. Finally, she asked, very quietly, “Was he drunk?”

“No!” I snapped, instantly, squeezing my eyes shut against the possibility. I retreated into my memories, trying to recall that night.

We were in his study after the accident. He sat next to me, our thighs touching. As he leaned in toward me, his breath tickled my neck. I could smell the spicy scent of bourbon on him.

Even though it was the first time, it had felt so familiar—as though we had already been intimate. Why?

I looked up at him as he yanked the car door open. I was disoriented, that much I knew. He knelt in front of me and tilted my chin up, checking my pupils for dilation. His lips were so close to mine. He whispered, “You’re fine,” and the spicy scent of him made me woozy.
The spicy scent of him. The spicy scent of bourbon. He’d been drinking.

The street started to spin. Claire stood quickly to catch me as I reached out to steady myself, gripping her arm tightly. Fuck.
Fuck
, fuck!

“He was drunk,” I whispered as my mind finally pieced together the events of that night. “How
could
he?”

“Ugh
!” Claire said.

I shook my head, still shaking. “Take me home. Now.”

“No way,” Claire said immediately. “No way in hell am I leaving you alone in this state.”

“Just take me
home
,” I hissed. I was furious at him, furious at her for making me see the truth, and mostly,
mostly
, furious at myself for letting myself be caught in this fantasy.

She nodded finally and took me home. Although she didn’t argue any further, she parked her car in front of my apartment and opened her door. “I’m coming up. I meant what I said, Steph. I’m not leaving you like this.”

“Fine,” I snapped. “You can help me figure out what is going on here.”

Everything started to make sense. If it came out that Rob had been drinking the night of the accident, he’d lose any shot he had at gaining control of the board—hell, he’d probably even lose his position as CEO.

Clearly, he saw that I was disoriented, and he concocted a story to make me think
I
was the one at fault. After that, it was so easy for him to win over my trust and gratitude when he offered to take care of everything. I never even thought to question him.
How could I have been so naïve?
If it wasn’t all a lie, it made no sense for him to be so quick to offer to fix my car.

Knights in shining armor didn’t exist in this millennium. Billionaire playboy falls in love with a beautiful New York dancer after she wrecks his car. They live happily ever after.
Yeah, right.

I groaned. How
could
he? The line he fed me while we lay in bed talking about his success came to mind:
I’ve always known what I had to do, and I wasn’t afraid to do it
. He was willing to do anything for that damn company. I just hadn’t realized I was a pawn in his grand power play.

How ironic—a man interested in only taking care of himself, protecting himself. Someone who took advantage of me to save face, to save his
assets
.

Claire rubbed my shoulders sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Steph. That’s so shitty. Maybe he really does care about you, though,” she said. Her voice was as soft and comforting as she could make it, but I knew she didn’t even believe what she said.

I snorted. I was in no mood to hear more lies, to try to fool myself into thinking this beautiful man had really fallen for me. “You don’t have to say that to make me feel better, Claire.”

She opened her mouth as though to argue but just shut her mouth and nodded after a moment. “He just seemed so—”

I shook my head. “I want to be alone right now.”

“Sure, of course,” she said, finally agreeing, even though she was clearly unhappy to be asked to leave. “Just call me if you need anything. I’m here, OK?”

I nodded, numbness spreading through my body. I crawled back in bed, craving the warmth of my heavy comforter. I barricaded myself against the harshness of reality as best I could, burying my face against my pillow and letting my tears thoroughly soak it. I wanted to disappear.

*

My phone rang eight times the next day. Five calls were from Rob; two were from Claire. There was even one from Joe. I ignored them all, not wanting to speak to anyone.

Rob didn’t leave a message the first time he called me, probably having just landed, based on the timestamp of the call. I guessed he wanted to confirm the dinner plans we made for the night.

Thirty minutes later, he called again. This time, my voicemail lit up.

“Hey, beautiful. I missed you. I just picked up my luggage.
Can’t wait to see you tonight.”

I deleted it immediately without a second’s pause. My heart ached hearing his voice, but I didn’t look back. He called a third time an hour after that, worry creeping into his message.

“Steph, it’s me. Where are you? I thought we were doing dinner tonight. Why I haven’t heard from you? Call me when you get this.”

Then, he tried texting.
“Hey, where are you? Let me know you’re OK.”

I didn’t think about responding even once, which I felt deserved a pat on the back. My resolve was rock solid. He was
not
going to get to me.

When my phone rang a fourth time, I glared at it, as if it were to blame for this whole mess. This time, it was Claire.

“Hey, love, it’s me. Just checking in. Wanna grab drinks at Stix tonight? Let’s get your mind off that asshole.”

No, no, and
hell,
no. The last thing I wanted to do was go out in public. I thought that anyone who laid eyes on me now would see my broken heart written all over my face.

Another text from Rob came in a few minutes later.
“Worrying. Call me.”

Two hours passed in blissful silence with no one harassing me through my phone. I willed it to stay that way.