VEGAS follows you home (30 page)

Damon releases me to go to Alex.

"Cars." Alex holds up a large red car before shoving it back and forth on the carpet.

Damon sits.

"You car." He hands the yellow car to his dad.

Damon pulls Alex into his lap, rocking him.

My body aches to console Damon, but I quickly remind myself of his ability to lie so easily to me.
What else has he lied about?

Going into the master bathroom, I start collecting my toiletries. With the last item in my bag, I can no longer hold back my tears. Tears of frustration, sorrow, and hurt stain my cheeks. Soon, I turn on the shower to cover the sobs racking my body. After a moment, I climb under the warm spray.

How did he get to me? When did it happen and why can't I get rid of these feelings now?

After showering, the sound of laughter is like a balm to my bruised soul. Following the giggles, I find Alex laughing every time he and Damon crash cars together. Before I can leave them to their fun, Damon turns pleading eyes on me, his lips turning down in the corners. I pull myself away to prepare dinner.

The night passes with me lost in my own mind and Damon clinging to every moment he has with Alex. After Alex's quick bath, Damon tucks him into bed and lingers before descending the stairs. I collect the last of Alex and my things and pack them away for our trip tomorrow.

Knowing it's probably a lost cause, I can't stop myself from trying one more time to get Damon to sign the papers.

I find him slouched into the couch, his head back and eyes closed.

Dropping the papers into his lap, I stand over him.

"Sign them."

He doesn't open his eyes or move to catch the pen when it rolls off his lap into the crack between cushions.

"Please, sign the papers, Damon."

"No," he replies, his eyes still closed and no emotion in the one word response.

"You made a promise. I stayed the week. Sign the papers." The fight suddenly leaves me and I sound more whiney than intended.

As if in slow motion, his eyes open and he unfolds from the couch. He steps close, too close. My eyes widen from the intense look on his face.

"I will
not
let you get rid of me that easily." His right hand cups the back of my head, pulling our faces closer. "You are
my
wife.
We
have a son." He presses his lips to my forehead before releasing me. "Don't do anything stupid, Olivia." In one fluid motion, he walks around me, leaving me frozen in place. From behind me, he speaks once more.

"You've been warned."

A shiver runs up my spine from the coldness of his voice.

After getting ready for bed, I lock myself in Alex’s room. Sleeping on a makeshift bed on the floor is anything but restful. There is no sound from Damon for the rest of the night. Not that I thought he was capable of hurting us, I just didn't know what lengths he would go to in order to keep us here.

The moment light illuminates the morning sky, I grab all of our bags and wrap Alex with a blanket to protect against the cold morning air. Using my cell, I call for a cab to meet us outside and with Alex on my hip, we slip from the bedroom and apartment without seeing Damon. Once we are shut away in the cab and pulling away from the curb, my stomach finally settles and I’m able to exhale my relief. Though, I won't be able to relax completely until we are back in Pittsburgh and our flight doesn't take off for another four hours.

After we’ve lurked around the airport, like criminals, for three hours, the calls begin. Damon's name flashes on the screen. Text message and voicemail alerts flicker one after the other. I disregard the voicemails, but his text are harder to ignore. I don't respond, but his increasing anger is evident.

My nerves are raw by the time we get to security. Hands shaking, I'm sure security is going to randomly select me for screening. Luckily with no interference from security, we make it to our gate. I choose to sit at the gate on the opposite side — just in case.

His messages are relentless, but I still find a free second to make an important call. Being that it’s Sunday, I don't expect an answer.

"Alfonso Donovan," he answers professionally.

One deep breath, then I begin.

"Alfonso, it's Olivia." I fail to hide the nervousness in my voice.

"Olivia, are you okay? What's happened?"

His concern and familiar voice have me on the verge of tears.

"I'm fine."

I look to Alex, who is napping in his stroller.

"I…there's still time to process the divorce papers, right?"

"Of course." He pauses. "I'll file them first thing in the morning. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"Where are you?"

"Still in New York, but on my way home."

"Did he do something to you, Olivia?" Alfonso's anger is evident.

"He didn't do anything
to
me. I'm fine, I promise. I just need to get him out of my life. You can do that, right?"

"We can try, but be ready, Olivia. He's got some of the largest New York lawyers on his payroll," Alfonso warns.

"I don't care," I counter with a sniff.

"I'll talk with the partners and call you this evening. I'll do everything I possibly can, okay?"

I'm about to respond when a muffled female voice comes through the line.

"No, I can't. I need to take care of something. Noelle, calm down. I have something to do for work," Alfonso pleas with the woman and I feel like an eavesdropper.

"Olivia, I'll call you, okay?"

"Okay."

"We'll figure this out. You just get home and give Felicity a call when you do."

"I'm not going to bother—"

"I am going to call her as soon as we hang up. You'll be lucky if she isn't waiting for you at the airport."

"Thanks."

We disconnect after our goodbyes.

Alex and I are finally called to board the flight. As we taxi out for takeoff, relief begins to wash over me. Enough so, that I'm able to nod off for most of the flight.

Groggy and exhausted from traveling, Alex and I step from the plane. He doesn't want to be in the stroller, so I practically drag him toward baggage claim. I want nothing more than to just be home.

"Olivia!"

Turning at the sound of my name, I see Felicity and Mercedes hurrying toward us. The moment their arms engulf us, tears pool in my eyes.

"Oh, Olivia." Felicity kisses my cheek.

"Cedee," Alex cheers, grabbing at her polka dot skirt.

Mercedes scoops him into her arms, snuggling him.

"I've missed you so much, little guy." She kisses his head.

Pulling from Felicity's lingering embrace, I wipe a stray tear from my face.

"It's so good to see you guys," I sigh.

"Alfonso called and told me a little, but he doesn't know much." Felicity gives sympathetic look. "I'm guessing New York didn't go well."

I shrug, biting my lip.

"Olivia?" Mercedes uses my name to press further.

"He…"

How do I tell them he's worked his way in, that he's gotten to me? How to you admit to your closest friends that things almost could've been good, but you're scared shitless at the thought of having feelings for your stalker?

"He lied to me," I blurt, unable to fully admit everything.

"What about?" Felicity inquires.

I keep my eyes on the turnstile, watching for my luggage.

"It's a long story." I rub the back of my neck.

"Well, you're stuck with us for the day, so we've got time."

Mercedes moves Alex to one hip before leaning to grab one of the bags we took to New York. She struggles until Felicity steps up and pulls the bag off like it's nothing.

"Jeesh,
She-Ra
, you just showed my weak ass up," Mercedes giggles.

Felicity shrugs. "Advantages of having a personal trainer."

"So, is she hot?" Mercedes wiggles her brow.

"Of course." Felicity shrugs again, a sly smile playing on her lips.

"I'm so jealous," Mercedes pouts.

"When you're ready to switch teams, let me know and I'll hook you up." Felicity wraps an arm around Ced's shoulders.

The familiarity of my friends warms me and brings a smile to my face. They are exactly what I need and it makes it easier to fill them in on the previous week's events.

"So, you slept together again?" Mercedes asks, looking over the back of the front seat.

"And you remember this time?" Felicity tosses out.

Mercedes smacks her.

"Ow, what?"

In the rearview mirror, I see Felicity fighting a smile. 

"This isn't the time," Mercedes scolds before turning her attention back to me. "Liv, you've told us a lot and, honestly, I'm still processing it all." 

"Me, too," I sigh, tilting my head against the cool glass of the backseat window.

Damon

"You've been warned."

The ferocity of my desperation courses through my veins. The thought of losing her and our son is unacceptable. I will not lose them.

Entering my office, I shut the door with force and throw my shaking body into the leather chair at my desk. I lean my elbows to the desk and place my head in my hands as a mental and emotional war rage deep inside me.

I promised to sign the papers.

If I sign them, she will be gone.

Isn't her loss inevitable anyway?

No. I'll fight. I have the resources.

Slamming my hands onto the mahogany desk, the fear and anger win. I clear the desk in one smooth motion, sending everything crashing to the floor.

Sitting back in the leather chair, I pull out my cell.

"Mr. Knyght?" he answers, his voice filled with sleep.

"I need you to be prepared for Olivia to file divorce papers."

I stand and walk over to the small bar built into the wall.

"Of course, sir, but the notice won't come until the end of this week. It will take time for the papers to process—"

"Damn it, Marcus," I growl. "I want to know the moment the papers are filed. Do you hear me? Be prepared to counter everything."

Opening the crystal decanter, I pour brown liquid into the tumbler.

"Yes, sir. I understand." He sounds much more alert now.

"Good," I snap before ending the call.

Tilting the tumbler to my mouth, the liquid fire flows down my throat. The burn is comforting, an old friend from my past life. The numbness will follow soon. Grabbing the half-full decanter, I throw myself onto the small brown couch in the corner and toss back another glass.

The shaking increases, sloshing the whiskey around in the tumbler. A sob tears from my chest. Dropping the glass to the floor, I cradle my head in my hands. Guilt, regret, pain, and fear assault me. Instead of pouring a glass, I drink directly from the crystal decanter until my body feels lazy, heavy, and my eyes close.

The sound of my cell startles me.

Christ, what had I been about to do?

"Hello?" Vivianne speaks.

At first, I don't realize she's answered my phone. When I do, I shove her aside and grab the phone.

"Where are you, Damon?" Rebecca screams.

"I'm on my way home, Becky."

Muffled car noises come from the phone.

"Who is she?" Rebecca sobs.

"Becky, where are you? Where's DJ?"

"Oh, now you care about us?!" She snorts just as a car honks.

She's driving.

"Becky, please pull over," I plead.

"Why? What does it matter to you?"

"Where’s DJ?"

"That's all you care about, isn't it?" she cries. "Your mother is right. You only—"

I feel her presence before she speaks.

"Baby, you aren't going are you?"

Jerking away from Vivianne, I snarl and she steps back.

"Who the hell is she, Damon?" Rebecca yells.

"Becky, calm down, please. It's not what you think. I will explain, but I need you—"

"Fuck you, Damon! I knew it. I fucking knew it! Is your whore worth it, huh?"

"Becky, pull over," I demand. "I’ll come get you and explain everything."

"You aren't coming near me or MY son!"

"Christ, Rebecca, I need you to pull over and turn off the car, please? Tell me where you park and I'll send anyone else but me. You don't have to be around me, just please pull over. Please, baby," I beg.

"You've ruined everything. You've let…" Her sobs make the rest inaudible.

Tears stream down my face while I slip into my jacket and shoes.

"I hate you, Damon!"

"You can hate me, just please calm down and pull over. I'll explain everything to you."

"You'll never see us again!" she screams.

"Becky—"

Screeching tires steal the words as my breath whooshes out of me. Crunching metal, a scream, broken glass, and a cry tighten my chest. The silence that follows feels like a death sentence.

"What happened?" Vivianne's voice wavers.

Unable to speak, I rush from the hotel room.

"Damon, wait—"

The slam of the room door cuts her off. I skip the elevator and run down the flights of stairs. Reaching the lobby, I bark orders for my car to the valet. Pacing impatiently while I wait, I pull out my cell and try to call Rebecca.

Voicemail. My stomach flips.

I dial again.

Voicemail.

This time, I call Hugh.

"Damon?"

"Hugh, has Rebecca been there at all tonight?"

Panicked, I don't know where to begin looking for her. I need a starting point.

"No. What's wrong, Damon?"

Running through the phone call as fast as possible, I keep my eyes on the drive, waiting for my car.

"Shit, Damon, what were you thinking?" Hugh admonishes.

My car arrives and I climb behind the wheel.

"I know, Hugh. I know. I was weak, but it didn't go far. I just—"

A beep interrupts me. Without a word to Hugh, I answer call waiting.

"Becky?" I gasp, feeling relief at seeing her number.

"Is this Mr. Damon Knyght?"

The voice is formal and male. Not Rebecca. My relief vanishes.

"Yes," I choke.

"Sir, I'm afraid your wife and son have been in an accident." He pauses and the lull in conversation terrifies me. "Mr. Knyght, we need you to meet us—"

"Where is she? Are they okay?"

The car swerves a bit.

"Sir, we'll need you to come down here."

He provides directions and I drive the short distance between my biggest mistake and largest loss.

Arriving to the scene, I run from my car, leaving it running with the door open.

At first, the mangled metal is unrecognizable. Then I realize it's Rebecca's car, or what's left of it. From the corner of my eye, I see paramedics pushing a gurney. I stalk toward them.

Hands grip at my arms, voices shout for me to stop, but the anguish propels me forward. Reaching out, I strip away one white sheet.

Looking down on the lifeless body of my son feels like a wrecking ball to my gut. Engulfing him in my arms, I hold him to my chest.

"Wake up, DJ. Please, wake up!" I squeeze harder. "Please, God, not him! Let him wake up." Screaming, I shake him.

Hands pull DJ's body from my arms and blackness takes over.

The next morning, I wake in a private hospital. Having been medically sedated at the scene and through the night, doctors speak around me to my mother and father.

I say nothing. I don't deserve to be alive, to be lying here breathing. I should be dead, not them. My unresponsiveness and overall state of being gets me placed on suicide watch.

After another day of the same, the doctors want to release me to an institution for medical treatment. Of course, my mother won't allow it, afraid of the family reputation. So, she hides me and my treatment well.

The day of the funeral, the doctors are reluctant to let me go — still unsure of my mental state. I bargain my sanity and promise to cooperate with treatment in order to say goodbye to the woman I loved and our son. The night after the funeral, I take all the pills from the cabinet in my temporary room at my mothers.

Three days later, I wake, still alive, in a private location. Strapped to a bed and routinely injected with unknown medications, I remember my mother being there once. It's the only time I see her and she looks nothing but disappointed and disgusted.

My father and Heidi routinely visit, along with Hugh. Hugh tries to pull me out of the comatose state, but there’s no reason to come back.

Heidi arrives for a typical Sunday visit, but this time, she brings a photo album. She talks about them, about my life with them. My first words are to request the picture she has in her hand. She allows me to look, but won't give it to me until I prove I'm well enough to have the photo. She returns day after day, coaxing me from the fog I'd been living in.

Guilt and regret haunt my rehabilitation, shadowing me the entire time I stay with my mother for outpatient treatment and living inside of me every day I wake up breathing. Miserable most days, I live life for everyone else. Dead inside, I bury myself in work.

Until the letter from the clinic. The moment the letter is in my hands, I plan and plot. Three patients. Three women who received my sperm. The hunt begins until I have answers.

I stretch from a balled up position on the little couch, my back cracking in protest. Sitting up, my head throbs, my heart aches, and I feel nauseated from guilt and regret. I stand, groaning from the ache in my back.

When I open the office door, the apartment is quiet. Too quiet.

Slowly and carefully, I take the steps toward Alex's room. I push open his door and find it empty. Rushing to my room, I find the bed untouched. My stomach lurches into my throat and I begin a frantic search of the apartment.

"Olivia! Alex!" I shout, going room to room.

The throbbing in my head slowly subsides from the adrenaline coursing through me.

"Fuck!" I shout to the empty apartment. "I can't believe her."

Running, I retrieve my cell phone from my office desk. Picking up the device, I notice the time.

"There's only two hours until their flight." I shake my head. She snuck out without letting me tell Alex goodbye, without letting me explain everything to her.

Exiting my apartment, I call down to the doorman and learn that Olivia left for the airport early this morning. Holding my anger at bay, I request my car and hang up.

In the lobby, I stalk to the front doors.

"Mr. Knyght, the car has not yet arrived." His eyes widen, taking in my disheveled appearance.

"Christ," I curse, exiting the building.

I find a yellow car parked on the curb and hurry toward it.

"Hey." I flag down two people starting to climb into the car. "Wait!"

I reach the car as the man is helping his wife into the back.

"I need this cab, please. I need to get to the airport."

"I'm sorry, but you will just have to wait for yours to arrive." The lady sticks her nose in the air.

"I'll pay you," I blurt. Reaching into my wallet, the man starts to protest. "Five hundred dollars." I extend the money to him.

"Well, I never—"

"Shut up, Susan." The man hushes his wife, pulling her from the car. "It's all yours." He grabs the money from my hand.

"Frank, you can't be serious."

It's the last I hear from Susan before I close the cab door, toss him my credit card, and demand JFK airport.

"Yes, sir!" The driver smiles.

During the drive, I try to reach Olivia by phone. No answer, so I try texts.