Total Trainwreck (15 page)

He stares at a bed full of rumpled sheets, shakes his head and covers it with his hands, dragging them down his face, clawing at the skin. He tries to sit on the bed, but slides to the floor until he’s sitting in an unnaturally cramped position, hands still over his face.

Good god
, I think, horrified to see him have so little control over life. Devon Hayes is always in control. Always. I fly to his side, sitting beside him and pulling him into me the way he once did to me. His head finds its way to my chest and I hug my arms tightly around it. Silently he rocks against me. His body moves back and forth, muscles tensed, teeth grinding, eyes held tightly shut. It isn’t crying. It’s more like some numb, meditative state that stifles every emotion.

“You never meant to hurt her.” I smooth his hair away from his face, exposing enough skin to place a hard kiss against his forehead. He stays rigid in my arms and shakes his head where it remains rooted in my breasts. With a foot, I push against his legs, freeing him from the cramped position he hasn’t done anything about. He leans heavily against me, his weight pushing me further into the bed. I don’t move, even though it’s uncomfortable as hell. I can’t move, not when he needs me like this.

All of a sudden he stiffens and pushes out of my embrace. He sits up, emotionlessly composed.

“You should go.”

“I’m staying right here,” I say, sitting up beside him.

“I want you to go.”

“Tough shit.” I shrug, not giving a damn about his wants. I know what he’s doing. What he’s obviously done with every woman since her. I make him happy, and he doesn’t think he deserves happiness. Bullshit.

Past guilt can freeze the present glacier-hard if you let it. I was frozen in my own past, until he released me. Turns out we’re both fighting demons, just in different ways. He freed me from mine. Now I’m going to free him. If I learned anything from my dark years, it’s that getting between an addict and her drugs is pointless. Dylan’s death wasn’t his fault.

“Her death is not your fault.” I shake my head and refuse to allow any emotion into my words.

“She’d still be here if I hadn’t put that needle in her vein.”

“Maybe.” I shrug, giving his answer the justification he needs to hear. I count to five, allowing his brain time to settle. “But probably not.” I suck in a sharp breath. Time to get real. I rise to my knees in front of him and take his cheeks in my hands. “Dylan was a grown woman. She made her own choices. If you hadn’t shot her up, she’d have found someone else who would.” I clench my teeth, not sure how he’s going to take this. It’s hard to hear. Even harder to believe. But he’s got to see the truth before he can forgive himself.

His eyes roll to the side, avoiding mine, still silent. Am I losing him? I have no choice but to keep going.

“Did you want her to die?” A pang hits my chest, but I keep my words steady. His head jerks from my grasp.

“God, no. I loved her.” He glares at me like I’m fucking insane. I swallow hard and take a shaky breath. Okay. Emotion other than guilt is good. I keep going.

“Of course you did.” My voice is soft, and I hope reassuring.

He nods.

“And she loved you. But she also made you a killer. She knew the dangers. Everybody does.”

“Don’t vilify her.” His lips snarl around the words.

“I’m not vilifying her.” I hold up my hands in surrender, trying not to be jealous of a ghost. “But I’m not going to let you blame yourself for something she did.”

His eyes soften. Below them his fingers run over his lips. Encouraged by his thinking face, I keep talking.

“Dylan quit being the woman you loved the moment she decided to use. Sure she loved you. But she loved the drugs more. No amount of money or power or even love would’ve changed that. It wasn’t her you sunk that needle into. It was an irrational addict who would’ve found a way with or without you.” This next part is going to hurt like hell, but I don’t see any other way. I grab the clasp of my red leather cuff and pull it from my arm. The silvery scar glistens in the moonlight. “I’ve been Dylan.” I thrust my wrist into his line of vision. “And I’m begging you to hear me.”

My wrist looks delicate wrapped in his strong hand. Mindlessly, he runs a thumb over the thick, silver line. His shoulders loosen.

“The old Dylan, the one you fell in love with, wouldn’t want you tortured over her death.” I cup his cheek in my free hand, pulling his face up to find his eyes. “That’s not who she was. And she damn sure wouldn’t blame you.” His gaze falls down, but he nods slowly, still tracing my scar. In one quick motion he releases my wrist and stands, grabbing for the bed to steady his scotch-soaked body. I’m left palming air.

He walks to the far wall, driving the palms of his hands into his brow. I remain on my knees, watching him twist under the torment of his past. A long breath hisses through his teeth, over his lips and into the silence clutching our bedroom. When the air runs out, he stills. He stares at a blank white wall, his face equally empty, fingers again tracing his lips.

“I understand that you want to help, Carly. Honestly, I do.” His voice is tight and impassive. Way too businesslike for a conversation like this. I suck in a small breath and start to stand. He forces composure into his actor-trained limbs. Something tightens in the pit of my stomach, knowing I won’t like what he’s about to say. “But what happened between Dylan and me is none of your goddamn business.”

What?
His words blast a hole straight through my heart. I fall back on my ass, sprawling against the bed we’ve made such sweet love in. He doesn’t bother to look at me. He stares straight ahead, fists rigid at his side. In soft light spilling from the bathroom door, I see his temple working overtime. I blink at the tears stinging my eyes.

What in the hell just happened? I was trying to help him. I was trying to make him see that none of this is his fault, and then he goes and tells me it’s none of my business. Fuck that.

I leap to my feet, refusing to be blown off so easily. Across the room, he snatches my duffel from the closet and disappears into the bathroom. Drawers rip open and slam shut. Bottles clatter against the counter. I charge into the small room and watch with mounting anger as he throws my things in the bag. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You should go,” he says without bothering to look up.

“I’m not going anywhere!” I shout, and slap a bottle of perfume from his hand.

“But you already did.” His free hand fists and slams into the counter. His eyes close. The cool composure that always comes so easily is slipping through his fingers. “You’re obviously so disgusted by what I’ve done you can’t stand the sight of me.” He swipes an arm over the countertop, clearing every trace of me. Some stuff falls in the bag, most shatters over the tile floor.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” I argue, taking hold of my bag to free it from his grip. He stills, straightens and releases the bag with a jerk. His temples throb. He blows past me, knocking me against the door. I drop the bag and follow. “I’m not disgusted by what you did, because
you
did nothing. All I saw on that video was an addict killing herself.”

“You think that’s what this is about? Dylan?” He spins on his heel, bearing down on me with navy fury swirling wildly in his eyes. I step back.

“What else is there?”

He tucks his head, preparing to lay into me. Then thinks better of it and turns away, hands pulling through his hair. I reclaim the lost distance and chance touching him gently on his shoulder. He pulls away.

“I’m not like you, Carly. I don’t run from my problems.”

“Bullshit. You’re buried in your grief.”

He steps farther away and slams a fist into the wall. A blow so hard it echoes. “Every day I live with the guilt of what I did. I wake with what-ifs and sleep with should’ve beens. I also live with the knowledge that somewhere there’s a video that would probably send me to jail for murder. But I’ve made my peace with all that.”

“I don’t believe you.” I shake my head wildly, incredulity pushing my lips into a smart-ass smile.

He repays the favor with a smart-ass shrug and sits on the bed, rubbing his reddened knuckles. “Dylan’s using was her choice. I hated it, but what could I do? Her dying—her leaving me—was her choice, too. A jury may not see it that way. I finally do. So, while I appreciate your little pep talk, that’s not what this is about.”

Wait...did I miss something here? His train of thought is moving at a breakneck speed, but what else could this possibly be about? I’m just about to ask when he clears his throat to speak.

“You chose to leave me, too.”

“No, I didn’t. I’m here.” I sit beside him. The bed jostles beneath us then stills. He takes a deep breath.

“The night we sat right there—” he points at the floor near the wall “—and you bared all your demons to me, I stayed. I held you. I loved you when most would’ve run, because I knew how much you needed me.” He hangs his head, staring at his fingers interlaced in his lap. “Tonight, you discovered my demon—the thing that haunts every corner of my life. Tonight I needed you like that, and you couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

His words cut through my anger like a freshly honed blade. I shrink back, closing my eyes against the pain that seizes my heart. How could I be such a heartless bitch? He’s right. I did leave. Selfishly, to clear my own head, I left, never once thinking about what he needed. Devon always seems so strong. So in control of life. I feel like the weak one, always needing to be held and loved and coddled. It never occurred to me he could need that, too. And when he did, I wasn’t there. I left just like she did.

“I don’t even know what to say...” My voice breaks under the weight of what I’ve done and my blinding self-obsession.

He turns his head toward me, but looks down. “All day I’ve wrestled with the reality of giving up everything to be with you. All day, I’ve calculated what it would take to earn it all back. For us.”

I swallow hard and grimace, knowing this isn’t going anywhere good. Needing something to hold onto, I fist the sheets and bite my inner lip.

“I was ready to cut my losses and walk away from her. Until you walked away from me in the hour I needed you most.”

Good god. A dull axe to the neck would be less painful. I sit still, my breath punctuated by jagged sobs. Tears slide over my cheeks. Uncontrollable trembles skitter down the length of me. I suck at this. I cannot grasp the concept that falling in love means forgetting yourself. My selfishness now directly affects someone. Someone I would never intentionally hurt. Yet that’s exactly what I’ve done.

He doesn’t reach for me. He doesn’t try to comfort me. Leaving me to assume the decision he’s obviously made.

“I guess we both know I’m not worth it.” I hate the words before they leave my lips. I hate the words he has yet to say even more. A sliver of rational thinking tries to convince me it hurts less if I say it. But it’s a lie.

I fall back against the bed, curling into the fetal position, bawling into my hands and burying my face in the covers. The bed shifts when he stands. I don’t look up. I can’t watch him walk away. His footsteps disappear down the hallway, leaving me alone with my misery.

Had I stayed, had I had the balls to stay and work through the situation instead of running like I always do, we could’ve had a chance. But for me, running is easier than coping. Doesn’t matter that it wasn’t drugs or alcohol I ran to. It still had the same effect. Running ruins everything.

Truth is, after seeing things through his eyes, I’m not even that mad at him. Who would want to give up their life’s work for someone as insensitive as me? And on the flip side, what kind of person would demand someone they love give up so much? No, I’m the only asshole here.

I cry and feel sorry for myself longer than I should. Hugging his pillow, I inhale deeply, unable to imagine a world where I no longer know his scent. The wet, mascara-stained pillowcase sticks to my cheek when the tears finally run dry. I roll onto my back, staring at the early morning shadows dancing over our ceiling.

Our ceiling. Our room. Our home. This is what I want. Devon is all I want. And even though I may be the world’s biggest idiot right now, I’m still a fighter. A fighter who’s finished running.

Heather’s nasty tricks and blatant threats can’t chase me away. A year ago, sure, I would’ve been long gone. No looking back. But self-obsession is exhausting and overly consuming. Devon’s changed me and I don’t ever want to be that girl again.

Heather doesn’t realize I’m no longer the hotheaded prima donna of tabloids gone wild. Hotheads are the easiest people to manipulate. Once you goad them enough, they blow. Once they blow, they ruin everything themselves. The old Carly would’ve played right into her hands. Not anymore. For once, I’ve found something worth fighting for, and I refuse to lose it.

I get up and stagger down the hallway, my steps sloppy, my brain soggy. No, I’ll never give up on him. Not while there’s breath in my body.

Devon lies on the couch. His eyes are closed, but he’s not sleeping.

“No,” I whisper. Navy blue eyes flutter open, looking up at me looking down on him. “I’m not giving up on us. I love you. I made a huge mistake leaving you. But I swear on our love, I will never do that again.”

With a tortured groan, he sits up and pulls me onto his lap. “I was just about to slash your tires so you couldn’t leave again.”

“Do you see what she’s done to us?” I ask, brushing a hand through his hair.

“I hate her for it.”

“I don’t.” I pull his face up to mine.

His features twist in confusion.

“You never would’ve told me what you did.” I raise my hand to his lips to silence his protest. “Heather’s outrageous demand would’ve broken us apart or it would’ve bought her off and allowed you to bury your past even deeper. Had she not shown up I’d never know the truth of what haunts you, and it would have been this unspoken thing between us forever.”

He runs his fingers over his lips, knowing I’m right.

“In trying to break us up, she’s only brought us closer together...if you can forgive me for leaving.”