Broken Course (5 page)

I’m sprawled out on my bed, naked, with an empty bottle of Jack on the nightstand.

"Nice. Really fucking nice," he bites out, snatching open the curtains.

"Jesus Christ, Andrews!" I toss an arm over my face to shield my eyes from the unwelcome light.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Oh, I don’t know. I wasn’t aware sleeping was a crime," I snark back at him.

I knew he would come eventually. I just hoped I’d be gone by the time he showed up. But I haven’t had the balls to leave yet.

"She’s called you twenty-seven times. Twenty-seven fucking times she has dialed your number. Twenty-seven!" he roars, rushing the bed, kicking it at the last second. "We both thought you were fucking dead. I dropped everything and rushed over here two God damn days before my wedding only to find you passed out in bed. Drunk. What the fucking hell is wrong with you?!" he screams, throwing the empty bottle of Jack across the room.

I have never seen Slate lose it like this before. It’s alarming and—confusing.

"Chill the fuck out." I grab my head, trying to slow the pounding inside.

"Right. Of course." He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and throws it at me. "Call her," he demands.

"Can I have a fucking second to take a piss and maybe put on some clothes?" I snap, dragging myself to my feet only to fall back against the bed when my dizzy head can’t catch up.

Slate strides forward, forcing me to take another clumsy step back. He stops only inches from my face. "You fucking call her. She’s a wreck. She fought me tooth and nail to come here today, but I was fucking terrified about what she would find. So pick up that phone and call her. Make sure you tell her goodbye because there is a good chance I’m going to fucking kill you when you hang up," he growls, but the only words that register are those when he said that Erica is a wreck.

The last thing in this world I want is for her to hurt anymore, so I drag a blanket off the bed and quickly dial her number. The shattered voice on the other end of the phone knocks me completely on my ass.

"Is he alive?" she cries into the phone.

"Babe," I whisper as the realization of her fear levels me. Tears spring to my eyes, and I turn to the wall to conceal them.

"Are you okay?" she asks, but I know it’s not just a surface-level inquiry.

I take a minute to really consider the question. "No," I answer honestly. This is Erica, after all. I owe her the truth at the very least.

"Where are you?"

"At the apartment." I sweep the emasculating tears from my eyes.

"Stay there. Let me talk to Slate," she breathes across the line.

It pains me to hear her concern. I’ve spent almost four years protecting this woman, but over the course of five days without her, I’ve forgotten what it feels like be needed.

"Erica—"

"Forget it. I’ll call him later. I’m on the way." She hangs up.

I toss his phone on the bed, heading into my closet for a moment alone and to grab some clothes. I pull on a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt while readying myself for the shitstorm I know is approaching.

Slate is staring out the window when I emerge from the closet. He’s pissed, but this is Slate. We are going to butt heads no matter what.

"Sit down and start talking," he says in a surprisingly patient tone, which he usually reserves only for Erica.

I decide to start with a lie. After all, I’ve spent years telling them—it should be easy.

"I’m just making up for lost time. That’s all. Went out, got a little drunk. I must not have heard my phone when she called."

"Bullshit," he snaps. "She’s been calling you for three days."

"Look, thanks for coming, but I’m not doing this with you."

"You need serious help, Leo. Erica and I have started counseling—"

"I’m glad to see that Erica is getting help, but beyond that, I don’t give two fucks how awesome counseling is working out for you!" I shout.

No therapist in the world is going to change the decisions I’ve made in the past. I’m not dealing with something that happened to me; I’m crippled by the guilt of something I did. There’s a big difference—one that can’t just be overcome.

"I don’t get this sudden change in you. You are probably the most levelheaded person I know. You’re finally free to live whatever life you want, but you’re spending your days drinking and ignoring the people who love you. You’re having some issues, so let’s figure it out so we can all move the fuck on."

I’m not sure why his words send fire through my veins. Maybe it’s because the very idea of moving on seems impossible and the words of hope are like dangling a steak in front of a starving man.

I just need someone to hate me as much as I hate myself. I know Erica won’t do it, so Slate’s on deck.

"That night while your beautiful bride was tied to a bed, naked—"

His face morphs and he immediately stops me. "Don’t fucking do this. You’re not provoking me."

I spit out the venomous words anyway. "You know…when I sent all those men in to rape her."

"Shut your fucking mouth, Leo. Goddamn it, we are not talking about this."

"It must be nice—to be able to just turn it off." I roll my eyes and head to the kitchen.

"I know you’re struggling, and it’s okay. We’re going to get you help," Slate announces, following me from the room.

"I don’t need help. I need a goddamn escape."

"Don’t spew bullshit like that. What the hell is going through your head right now?" he asks.

The truth explodes from my throat. "Her screams! That’s what is always going through my head. The sounds of her screaming while I stood helpless on the other side of that door play in a never-ending loop. All day. All night. No matter what I do. I can’t block it out!"

"SARAH! WOW. You look beautiful tonight." I lean in and give her a hug when she walks out of the restaurant. Fuck that stupid handshake shit she tried to pull earlier.

I take a step away, and she watches me blankly, but the smallest smile plays on her lips.

"All right. I’ve officially ditched the parents. Where are you taking me for my celebratory dinner? It better be good. It’s not every day I get a big, fancy receptionist position," she says playfully.

"Come on. I’ll show you." I offer her an elbow, and she doesn’t hesitate in sliding her arm through mine.

"So tell me about yourself," she inquires as we stroll arm in arm the two blocks to the restaurant.

"Well, hmmm… What do you want to know?" I smile down at the very moment she looks up through her lashes.
Jesus, she is gorgeous.
No one could possibly describe her as anything else, but I know there’s more to her than just her angelic looks. There’s a depth in her eyes that interests me the most. "Well I’m thirty-three, originally from Nebraska but grew up in El Paso, Texas. However, I’ve lived all over the place for the last few years."

"Where’d you learn Spanish?" she asks, seeming to be genuinely interested and not just making small talk.

"I worked on my grandparents ranch in Texas as soon as I was old enough to muck the stalls. Most of the other workers were Mexican, so they taught me a good bit in order to communicate. From there, I made some of the best friends I’ve ever had. Spanish was kind of a necessity."

"Wow. That’s really cool that you picked it up all on your own. I figured you were Hispanic, but with a last name like James, I wasn’t really sure."

"Nah. The dark complexion fools them every time though," I tease. "You ready for the best authentic Mexican food you’ve ever tasted?" I ask, reluctantly releasing her arm only long enough to guide her into the restaurant.

But it’s the way she arches her back to press against my hand that has my mind spinning in a million different directions—almost all of which end with her naked.

This is just a first date.

First date.

First date.

Fucking hell!

"I HAVE to admit. That place was delicious. I was looking forward to Shades, but I always give credit where credit is due," I say with an exaggerated bow as we leave the restaurant.

Jesus Christ, Leo James is intriguing. If there were ever a man who knew how to say all the right things at the right times, that would be Leo. There wasn’t a single moment of awkwardness at dinner—even at the points where there was supposed to be the normal ‘getting to know you’ awkwardness. Leo filled every minute with entertaining conversation I couldn’t help but feel comfortable with.

I was worried that we would have nothing to talk about. I wanted to stay as far away from my past as possible. A first date is not exactly the best time to air all of your dirty laundry—or, in my case, the entire Laundromat. Though, until tonight, I didn’t realize that I don’t have a ton of other stuff to talk about.

However, Leo did.

We talked about everything from stupid everyday stuff at work—his difficulty finding trustworthy employees and my switching careers so drastically. I brushed off his questions about why I no longer wanted to be a writer, and I think he actually bought it. But then we got serious. He told me all about his upbringing as an only child and his parents, who sadly passed away about the same time I lost mine. He was a gentleman in every sense of the word. He never pried, but he definitely asked questions as if he were actually interested in
me.
He’s distractingly handsome, but his sex appeal is amplified with his every word spoken.

Leo James is smooth.
It’s not usually a trait I would want in a man, but there’s an honesty in his smile that really draws me in.

"How about you let me drive you home? I’m not okay with just calling you a cab," he says suddenly, turning to face me, forcing me to take a step back. "Please."

"I’ll be fine," I try to assure him, but he doesn’t budge.

"I live in that building." He points up at the tall tower only a block away. "Just let me get my car and I’ll take you home. It will be way quicker than hailing a cab from here this time of night." He smiles and it stills my breath. It’s the most terrifying sight I have ever seen.

Shit. He’s smooth
and
breathtaking. Red flags start flying all over the place. I’m not scared of Leo, but my legs are definitely trembling for a completely different reason.

Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck.