Roar (Military Bad Boy Billionaire Romance) (Soldiers of Fortune Book 4) (15 page)

I don't panic immediately, and I don't jump out of bed, or run shrieking from the room. No, the regret comes slow, creeping through the feeling of warmth and the feeling of safety in his arms. Those things are a façade anyways; I know that from what happened before. This
good
feeling; this feeling like nothing else matters in the world but his arms around me, is a fallacy.

Because I've been there; I've seen through the curtain at what lies behind it. I've seen that life moves forward over broken glass, and no amount of this "feeling" I'm currently wrapped in will protect me against that.

Because eventually, with everything, the bottom drops out; that's just life.

Get up
. I don't want to, but I know I have to. I'm slinking out of bed, trying not to disturb him as I slip away. This fantasy ends
right here
and right now.

I close my eyes and shake my head slowly, cringing at the feeling of emptiness that accompanies leaving those arms and that protection. Jesus, I can't believe I let that happen.
That
is not what we're here for. I'm not here to seek lovey-dovey feelings or rehash the past with Bryce.

We're here to save Logan, and I can't believe we've let that take second place to
this
.

There's one last lingering look as I pull clothes on. One last look at the teasing glimpse of happiness that isn't and won’t ever be real.

And then I’m out the door.

Just one more door in a long storied history of doors closing behind me.

P A S T

The office is mostly quiet this late, and I'm hurrying through paperwork bullshit when the call comes like a jarring last annoyance.

Shit, now what.
 

Tonight's a big night. Tonight, we cut out the bullshit. Tonight we're going to celebrate, and then we're coming clean with Logan.
 

Oh, and hoping he doesn't kill me. Fingers crossed.

I yank the phone off my desk and frown as I answer without looking at who's calling; "What is it," I say hurriedly, anger and annoyance lacing my voice.

There's silence for a second, and the the voice comes through, broken and scared; "Dude...I'm-" His voice cracks; "I'm in trouble, man."

The anger drops from my face, replaced by worry as I hear the hurt and fear in Danny's voice. Danny, the kid I'm sponsoring from N.A.

Fuck, not tonight.

But, that’s what I’m here for. You Don't get clean without help, and this kid needs all the fucking help in the world. Nineteen and a full-blown addict; it's a fucked up, broken world we live in.

"Hey, hey, I'm here, Danny. Where are you, buddy?"

"I- I'm home." I can hear him crying on the other end of the line; "I'm- I'm gonna use, man. I know it."

I swear under my breath, darkness clouding my face; the kid's been clean for just over a week now.

"I'm coming over, Danny. Just stay put and don't you fuckin touch it, you understand?"

*****

He's pacing when I come in, chewing his nails so much they're bleeding.

"How’re we doing, Danny?”

He looks up, as if just realizing that I've walked into his apartment; "I- I almost did it," He says with a shaky voice, his eyes darting back to the kit and the baggie on the kitchen counter; "I had it all loaded up and against the vein, man." He's white and shaking; the demons clawing him back down.

"Did you?"

He shakes his head; "No."

"Good," I let go of the breath I didn't even realize I was holding; "That's real good, man. You were strong."

I pat his shoulder as I push past him and grab the needle, his kit, and the rest of his stash.

"Hey, where-"

"I'm taking this," I say evenly, leveling my eyes at him and my look saying I'm not going to fuck around here with this. I'm throwing this shit out the first chance I get.

He wants to protest. After all this, he wants to yell at me; I can see it, and I know the feeling all too well. That's the addiction, raging for a fix, raging against the injustice of being told to go fuck itself.

I give Danny one more hard look and he nods; "OK. Yeah, OK.”
 

"Anything else here?"

He shakes his head; "No, man. That's all of it."

I nod; "Listen, I do have to run." He nods, and I walk over and clasp his shoulder; "I'm proud of you, Danny." He nods quietly, looking at the floor, and I give him one more pat on the shoulder before I head for the door.
 

"Hey, Bryce?" He looks up at me mournfully as I turn; "Thanks, man; really, thank you."

"Anytime. It's what I'm here for.”

Three weeks later, Danny O.D.’s on bad smack in a bus station bathroom in New Jersey.

It's a fucked up world.

*****

P R E S E N T

My eyes shoot open at the sound of the door closing, and I'm quickly fully awake as I blink and look around the empty hotel room.

"Peyton?"

I frown at the quiet emptiness of the room. I slide out of bed, pull on some pants and move to the door to the room. I'm yanking it open and sticking my head out-

Just in time to see the elevator doors open right in front of her down the hallway.

"Peyton?"

She turns, and there's that look; and that's all I need to know.

Darkness spreads over my face; I know that damn look. That look says everything she wouldn't say when she left like this the first time; when she left before. No words, no note, no explanation; just a
look
later that says more than any of those things ever could. That look is final.

She blinks once, and then she's stepping through the elevator doors before they close.

God-fucking-damn it.

I slam the door behind me as I stomp back into the room.
Fuck
this. I'm not chasing her; not like this and not this time. I'm done chasing this girl. I'm done dealing with her insanity and her fucking moods and
feelings
, and final looks.

Forget it.

I jerk the balcony door open and storm out to let out a roar as I look out over the city.

I shouldn't have let that happen last night, and I know it. Even if it couldn't have been avoided. And I do know deep down that it's nothing that ever could. Us crashing back together is a Goddamn eventuality. It's like the tides, or the phases of the moon, or...I don't even know anymore.

Because now she's gone again.

Fuck
.

I glance into the room at the time on the wall clock. Great, half the morning gone. Half the morning gone when I need to figure out how the fuck we're going to get to Logan without using Anderson. Because that is
not
happening; not in this lifetime or any other and not while I'm still breathing.

But she's meeting him tonight, and I somehow doubt that whatever happened last night is going to change her bullshit bull-headed idea that putting herself in that position and in harm's way is the only path to getting Logan out of there.

I just need to figure out what the hell we're going to do.

I'm not one to dodge or avoid my problems, and yet that's exactly what I spend the rest of the morning doing. After that last look with Bryce at the elevator, I push it as far out of my mind as I can as I walk around the walls of the old city.

It's hardly the first time that man has me doing things or acting ways I normally wouldn't be.

What's worse is that there's no one I can even talk to about any of this. The one person I could usually call whenever I need is being held hostage; not that I could talk to Logan about this
anyways
, I guess.

I'm suddenly even more envious of the Archer sisters than usual; jealous that they have each other. I've got a fairly low opinion of the worth of families in general, but when I see ones like theirs, I can't help but feel that pang inside at never really having one. I'm a loner, and I like my solitude, but there's something to be said about having a safety net like that.

Or someone to talk to; like right now for instance.

I've only got Logan, and even when he's
not
busy being kidnapped, he's- well, he's
Logan
; not exactly the best go-to for girl-talk. He's a hard guy to get a handle on; a hard guy to have open up to you or talk feelings with. Well, except if you're Quinn. Because somehow that girl got through to my thorny, stone-hearted brother. And in a way, I guess that makes us closer than, well, closer than anyone else I've got.

I stop short on my shuffling walk; I have to make a phone call.

*****

"Peyton?" Her voice sounds raspy and deadened, like she hasn't been sleeping. Which, given the circumstances, she probably hasn't been
 

"Oh my God, are you OK?" There's hurt and worry in her voice, and it suddenly occurs to me that I've never checked in with anyone after getting here. I wince into the phone as it kind of hits me for the first time that my unexplained disappearance has probably caused even more worry for a group of people already worried sick about someone missing.

I need to get better at this whole "family" thing.

"Quinn, I'm-" I'm what, sorry for being an asshole and just
leaving
like that? I'm sorry for making you guys worry even more, as if you aren't already dealing with enough?

"I'm sorry."