Being Me

Thirty

Chris and I spend several hours on Saturday at the police station, and the Rebecca mystery is no closer to being solved. I have a bad feeling about her that I can’t shake, and this fans the flames of my need to find Ella. I go ahead and file a missing person’s report and contact the French consulate. After that, Chris and I go home and we don’t leave the apartment the rest of the weekend. We just revel in being together, making love, and watching movies, though we take a trip to the gym, where I just about die re-creating my much-neglected treadmill routine.

Monday morning, we reenter the real world. Chris goes with me to the school, and despite expecting the worst, I am crushed to discover Ella is a no-show. Afterward, we discover she hasn’t paid her rent. We pay it for her and then stop by the police station to update the report with what we’ve discovered.

In an effort to cheer me up, Chris convinces me we should head out Tuesday morning to his godparents’ Sonoma property and attend an art exhibit in the gallery next door. Katie is thrilled, and truth be told, so am I. The feeling of family and belonging is a welcome one. By eight that evening, Chris and I have had dinner, he is painting in his studio, and I am packing for the trip. Chris has yet to unpack from L.A., so I open his suitcase to begin pulling out what isn’t needed.

After I remove the dirty clothes, my hand settles on a small, clear bag of the paintbrushes he autographs, and I stop. There was one of these in Rebecca’s keepsake box—but he said he barely knew her. Why would she have kept one? I pull one of the brushes from the bag and stare at it with a frown.

Chris appears in the doorway. “Do you know where I put—” He pauses. “What’s wrong?”

I get up and go to the closet. “I have a question for you.” I flip on the light and drop to my knees in front of the safe. “What’s the combination?”

“What’s going on, Sara?”

“You’ll see in a minute. The combination?”

He tells me the numbers and I dial the lock. Yanking open the door, I grab the box I’d found in Rebecca’s unit, retrieve the brush inside, and hold it up for Chris to see. “Why does Rebecca have your paintbrush in her keepsake box?” Then I grab the torn photo and pop to my feet to show that to him, too. “And do you know anything about this photo?”

He sighs. “The picture was taken at a charity event, with me and Mark. That was before he and I had a falling-out.”

“Over Rebecca?

He nods. “The night after the charity event, I was at the club when a buzz was going on about Mark and his new sub, and how she’d cried through a public flogging. I confronted him and told him he’d pushed her too far. He told me to butt out, that he was Master of the club. Since he wouldn’t listen to me, I tried to warn Rebecca away from him.”

I suddenly feel a déjà vu. “Like you warned me.”

“Not like you, Sara. I barely knew her.”

“But you wanted to protect her, like you wanted to do me.”

“Look, I know those journals make you relate to her, but she was nothing like you. She was just a kid, and Mark couldn’t see why that mattered, but it did. She was happy with him that night at the gala, a schoolgirl in love—before he stole that innocence from her. When I warned her off him, she was furious. I’m not surprised she tore me out of the picture. She felt the same way about Mark as your mother did about your father.”

“She kept your brush,” I say flatly.

He shrugs. “I have no idea why. Maybe because it reminded her of that night with Mark.”

I let that sit, then I nod. I can accept that answer, but not his silence before now. “So why wouldn’t you tell me this before? I asked you directly if you knew her. We’ve been looking for her together, Chris.”

“I told you I barely knew her, and that was the truth.”

“But you knew her better than you made me believe,” I say, trying to keep the accusation from my voice, but it’s hard. I don’t understand his silence. “You didn’t tell me you’d seen her at the club, and there were plenty of chances for you to speak up.”

“When you asked me about her, I didn’t want you to know the club existed. I didn’t want you in that part of my life.”

His words hit me hard. I am still raw from him shutting me out of the funeral and his life. Suddenly, I realize this ache inside me isn’t so much about Rebecca as it is about the realization that Chris is still keeping me at an emotional distance, never really letting me inside his life. I am here with him but I am never fully present the way I want to be.

I try to move past him. He blocks me. “Let me pass, Chris.”

“Sara—”

“I need to think, Chris. I need space.” And I do. I don’t understand what I feel, but it hurts. I hurt and I’ve hurt for weeks on end. I’m tired of feeling this way.

He hesitates and then backs into the bedroom. I walk past him and snatch up my purse. “Where are you going?” he demands.

“I told you: I need some space.”

“No. You need to stay here and we’ll talk this out.”

“I can only assume you’ve told me everything there is to say now. Unless there’s more I don’t know?”

He visibly flinches. “No. There’s nothing else. That’s it.”

“Then we’re done talking. I need to take a drive and think.”

“I didn’t want you to know about the club, Sara. Right or wrong, that’s my honest answer,” he pleads.

“I know. The problem is that everything you tell me is because you’re forced to tell me—not because you choose to tell me. You never fully trust me.”

“That’s not true.” He runs a rough hand through his hair and he looks as tormented as I feel. “It’s not true.”

“It’s how I feel. It’s what I feel right now.” He’s been all about secrets from day one, and I chose to ignore the danger they might present. I chose to look the other way because I’m so damn in love with him. I walk toward the door and he steps in front of me. “Stay.”

“Keeping me here right now is the worst thing you can do, Chris. It’ll make me feel trapped. I’ve felt that way too much in my life. Don’t do that to me.”

He steps aside.

I start walking, part of me wanting him to stop me, even though I’ll be furious if he does. And part of me thinks his not stopping me is so out of character that it scares me. He let me go before, after I found him begging for a beating. No, that’s not right. He’d downright pushed me away. I haven’t fully healed from that and right now, I’m afraid of what I don’t know and how it will tear us apart, like the club discovery almost had. I’m afraid it’s going to happen again. I can’t help it. I need him to fight for me now, no matter how wrong of me that might be.

He can’t win by letting me go or keeping me here—and neither can I. Maybe we never could win together. We were destined to shred each other inside and out. Destined to end up right here, where we are tonight.

At the front of the building, I order my car brought up to me. Once I’m inside it I sit behind the wheel, unsure of where to go. I want to be with Chris, but the secrets he keeps, on top of the rawness of his withdrawal this past week, eats away at me.

He didn’t trust me to go through the loss of Dylan with him. He didn’t trust me to tell me about Rebecca. No, about the club. He hid that from me for as long as he possibly could. What else is he hiding and unwilling to share because he still thinks I can’t handle it? I’ve poured my heart out to this man, and now I’ve given up my job for him. I had put all fear aside and gambled on us. When will he fully gamble on us? Will he ever?

My phone rings and it’s Chris. I decline the call. The doorman knocks on my window and I jump. He mouths, “Are you okay?” and I wave and pull onto the road. I don’t know where I’m going; I just drive.

An hour later, I end up at Mark’s white mansion in the same Cow Hollow neighborhood as his club. I have no idea why I am here. Honestly, I have nowhere else to go. And Mark really is my one real connection to both Chris and Rebecca, who have both become a huge part of my life. Both of whom I now feel like I am losing.

Besides, Mark is all about facts, not the emotions I am letting control me right now. Just hearing him tell the same story Chris has told me about Rebecca might give me new perspective about why Chris’s silence on the subject bothers me so much.

I grab my purse and shove open the door. Motion detectors flicker to life and doors identical to the ones at the club become visible, sending a frisson of unease through me. I press past it and ring the bell. I shiver, telling myself it’s because I’ve hastily forgotten a jacket, not because of my location. It doesn’t work. Nerves flutter through me and the frisson becomes full-blown doubt. I’m about to make a mad dash for the car when the door opens and Mark appears, looking like a Mark I’ve never seen. He’s barefooted and his normal, finely groomed blond hair is rumpled. The perfectly fitted suit I’ve become accustomed to him wearing has been replaced by a white T-shirt and faded jeans.

His gaze sweeps my jeans and T-shirt, clearly finding my attire as striking as I do his. One blond brow lifts. “Ms. McMillan. What a surprise.”

“Isn’t it?” I ask, sounding as awkward as I feel. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“Nothing that can’t wait.”

He motions me forward and I hesitate, remembering the room called the Lion’s Den at the club, and that caged feeling I’d had in the demo unit. But I want answers. I need answers. I draw a breath and step onto the pale ivory hardwood floor and into a narrow hallway, too close to Mark for comfort.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

“Yes. No. I just need to ask you a few questions about . . . Chris.”

His eyes narrow. “Chris?

“And Rebecca.”

“And Rebecca,” he repeats, and I catch a flash of consternation in his gaze that quickly fades. “I’m not sure how they connect but I’m intrigued enough to see where this is going.” His chin lifts to urge me forward. I just stand there, frozen in place, his gray eyes sharp as he watches me. Oh yes, I feel like I am in the lion’s den and want out. “Staying or going, Ms. McMillan?”

Answers, Sara. You want answers. “Staying. I’m staying.” My feet move. That’s progress. One step into the den is closer to one step out.

The massive living room I bring into focus a few feet down the hallway is exactly what I expect of Mark. Rich, rich, and rich in every way. An obviously expensive chocolate brown leather couch is framed by two oversized matching chairs. A fireplace is to the left, and above it a painting I recognize as a Motif. Two sculptures are to either side of the fireplace, and I have no doubt they were done by famous artists, though I am not knowledgeable enough to be certain.

Mark steps to my side, intimidatingly tall and close. “Let’s sit.”

I walk forward and choose the solitariness the overstuffed chairs allows me and perch on the edge of one, setting my purse beside me. Mark sits on the arm of the couch facing me, automatically assuming the position of dominance.

My throat is ridiculously parched and my pulse starts thrumming wildly, afraid of what may be another Pandora’s box.

“Yes, Ms. McMillan?” he asks when I’ve apparently let too much time pass.

A heavy breath escapes my lungs. “I need to know what caused you and Chris to come to bad terms.”

He considers me a moment. “What did he tell you?”

“I’d rather hear it from you.”

“Why is this important?” His voice is crisp.

“It just is.”

“That’s not a good enough answer.”

Of course not. That would be too simple. “Was it over Rebecca?”

“Is this about the police investigation?”

“No, it’s not that. I . . .” I almost tell him about the storage unit but think better of it. “She’s just become very personal to me and I came across some of Rebecca’s items, and there were keepsakes from a charity event that she and Chris—”

“They weren’t involved. Not even close. In fact, she came to dislike him quite a lot.”

“I didn’t think they were involved, but what made her dislike him?”

“He saw her as a young kid who needed a daddy more than a Master.”

This explains why Rebecca had scribbled out Chris’s name in her work journal. “And you didn’t agree with him?”

“No. I didn’t agree with him. I saw a young, intelligent, beautiful woman with the world in her hands.”

There is a softness to his voice I’ve never heard, and not for the first time I believe he had feelings for Rebecca. Maybe not love, but he had an attachment I once thought him incapable of feeling for anyone. “Where is she, Mark?”

“Contrary to Ricco’s insistence that I know that, I don’t.”

“What the fuck is she doing here?”

I jump at the sound of Ava’s voice and stand up, turning toward a hallway to my right. Ava is standing there, eyes ablaze and wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt. Ryan is behind her, bare-chested, in a pair of dress pants.

“I tried to stop her, Mark.” He reaches for Ava and she turns and throws punches at him, tearing her nails down his cheek. “Holy fuck, Ava!”

“What the fuck is she doing here, Mark?” Ava screams, and she looks wild, insane.

“Ava, I told you to wait in the bedroom,” Mark warns sharply. “Go back to the bedroom.”

“So you can fuck her and then come back and fuck me like you did that bitch Rebecca?” She bolts forward and Ryan tries to grab her, but he misses. My heart jackhammers as she closes in on us and I’m not sure where to go, what to do. She’s running toward us, no—me, and I start backing up.

Mark grabs me and shoves me behind him just as Ava crashes into him. She starts thrashing around, trying to reach me. Before I escape, she grabs a chunk of my hair and twists it in her hands. Pain splinters through my scalp and I scream with the force of her grip.

“Enough, Ava!” Mark barks, and I feel a painful jerk before I am suddenly free. I stumble backward, hit the table again, and this time I end up on top of it with a hard thud that rattles me to the bones.

“Fuck you, Mark!” Ava screams in pain, and I can see Ryan’s hand wrapped around her hair, yanking her backward. “You did this to me with that bitch Rebecca!” Ava screeches. “You’re not doing it to me again.”

I roll to the floor and land on my hands and knees.

“I’ll kill that bitch,” Ava hisses. “I’ll kill her.”

“Get out of here, Sara,” Mark orders. Kill me? Was she serious? Mark grabs me and pulls me to my feet. “Sara! Get the fuck out!”

I don’t need to be told again. I run out of the room and for the door, and I don’t even shut it behind me. Ava is screaming from inside, wild, insane. I’m running so fast I smash into the side of my car, heaving in air. I reach for my purse. Oh, God. Oh, God. No! My purse and keys are inside. Pressing my hand to my forehead, I try to think what to do, but there is too much adrenaline rushing through me to think straight. I start to pace, willing myself to calm down. Neighbor. I have to walk to a neighbor and call Chris for a ride. There isn’t another option. I start to run down the drive.

Behind me I hear the garage door creak open and I turn to be blinded by headlights that start moving toward me. I edge to the side of the driveway, but the lights follow me. I cut across the lawn, and I don’t have to look back to know the car is still behind me and it’s close—too close. Desperately, I dart behind a massive tree and stumble to my hands and knees as the car blasts into the trunk with a loud crash that echoes through my bones.

I hear my own breathing. I hear shouts. Mark and Ryan, I think, but I can’t make them out. I scramble to my feet and run toward the voices, bringing both men into focus as they head for me as well. The car door opens with a groan behind me and I turn to walk backward as Ava pushes out of the car, holding a gun on me.

“Stay where you are, bitch!” Ava screams, blood gushing from her temple.

I freeze at the venomous look on her face, at the certainty she is insane and will pull the trigger. “Ava!” Mark shouts from somewhere just beyond my shoulder, and he must have taken a step forward because Ava hisses at him, “Stay where you are, Mark, or I’ll shoot her right here and now. Get in the car, Sara.”

Ryan says nothing. I don’t know where he is, but I hope he’s not here and he’s getting help. It’s our only hope.

“Get in the car, Sara,” Ava orders.

I can’t get in the car. I can’t. I know if I do I won’t get back out alive.

“Now!” she screeches.

I swallow the panic threatening to overcome me, trying to be logical, trying to think of a way out of this. She won’t hurt me. There are witnesses. People will know I left with her. None of it is true. She’s crazy. That’s what it comes down to.

She fires by my feet and I jump, and Mark shouts. I move toward her out of fear she will shoot again at me this time. I’m one step toward her and I hear the sound of a motorcycle before I see it. Ava hears it too and reacts by turning the gun toward the sound. The motorcycle comes into view and I know it’s Chris. It has to be, and all I can think is that she’s going to shoot him. Instinct kicks in and I run for Ava, but the gun goes off before I get to her. The bike and Chris go flying and crash into my car. I reach Ava and jump her from behind and try not to think about Chris dead and bleeding. Just get the gun. I yank her hair and do the only thing I know to do. I bite the shit out of her arm. She screams and twists and we go down to the ground with her back to my chest, but I have what I want. The gun flies through the air and I can hear the sound of sirens fast approaching, but I lose my hold on Ava. She rolls off me, going for the gun.

I grab her shirt, which is all she’s still wearing, and she kicks me hard in the face. Pain jolts me and I lose my grip on her shirt. She scrambles away and somehow I rise to my hands and knees to follow. At the same moment I see a bloodied Chris grappling with Ava for the gun. Her hand touches the gun and terror for Chris shoots adrenaline through me.

“Chris!” I scream, and slam my fist into Ava’s head. She falls to her side with a yelp.

Ryan comes out of nowhere and grabs me, pulling me back. Mark yanks Ava against him and she screams bloody murder, fighting against him like some kind of possessed person, blood pouring down her face.

Chris comes to his knees, and he has blood pouring from a gash in his head, too, but he’s got a steady hand on the gun and it’s pointed at Ava as he shouts at Mark, “Get that bitch out of here or I will shoot her!”

Mark drags Ava away from us and police cars screech into the drive. “Don’t move!” a police officer screams at Chris, holding a gun on him. “Drop the weapon.”

My eyes meet Chris’s and hold as he drops the gun and I feel the short distance between us like punishing desert miles. He had secrets he kept from me. I went to Mark for answers. Police swarm the yard, blocking my view of Chris, separating us. We are worlds apart, damaged beyond our bodies, perhaps beyond repair.

Swarms of EMT and police officials surround us and I cannot see Chris, but I am assured he is fine. I don’t feel like he is fine. I don’t feel like anything will ever be fine again. It’s only after Ava is taken away, and I see Chris talking to police across the lawn, that I can breathe again. Only then do I let myself be ushered to an ambulance to be checked out.

It’s there, with a kindly older gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair checking my vitals, that Chris finds me, as he appears at the door looking battered and bruised. The idea that he could have died tonight to save me, because I came here, overwhelms me.

“How’s your head?” I ask, noting the rather large bandage on his forehead.

“I need stitches but I’ll live.” He flicks a glance toward the EMTs. “How’s she looking?”

“Bruised up but she’ll live, too.”

Chris and I stare at each other, and my heart twists at what passes between us, with the certainty we are still worlds apart. The EMT clears his throat. “I’ll be right back,” he says and quickly exits the vehicle, clearly reading our need for a few moments alone.

Chris climbs into the ambulance and sits down next to me. “Blake called. Ava confessed to killing Rebecca.”

My hand balls between my breasts with the impact of this news. “How? When?”

“We have no details, thanks to an attorney who arrived and shut her up, but I suspect we will in the next few days. The private eye you had the encounter with at the storage unit turned over some journals he took from the unit. He’s had some past trouble and wants no part of being connected to a murder. He seems to think they’ll be helpful.”

“More journals,” I say. “More people reading Rebecca’s private thoughts. Like I did.”

“Because of you, she can be properly put to rest. And Ava can be put away before she hurts someone else—like she almost hurt you tonight.”

I turn to him, wishing away the space between us. “You saved my life.”

His reply is slow, his expression shuttered, closed off from me the way he is. “Yeah, well, this time I got protecting you right. Apparently I haven’t done so well in other cases.”

“That’s not true. I just—”

“Had to hear the truth from Mark because you didn’t believe it from me. I know. I get that.”

“You didn’t tell me about Rebecca until I discovered it on my own.”

“I get that, too, but what I can’t seem to get is the fact that you were willing to take his word over mine.” He scrubs his jaw and rests his elbows on his knees. “You say I shut you out when life gets hard. Well, you seem to run to Mark.”

“No, Chris. It’s not like that. Not even close to that.”

“You want honesty, Sara. I’m giving it to you. I knew you’d go to him. That’s why I let you leave the apartment so easily. And I swore if you went to him, it was over between us.”

I am weak all over, trembling from the possibility that he means this. “No, Chris. Mark has nothing to do with us. It hurt that you hadn’t told me everything about Rebecca, and I was still raw over last week.”

“I know. I know, Sara. We are just so damn good at hurting each other.”

“What are you saying?” The question comes out barely there, my voice lodged in my throat with my heart.

“I don’t know what I’m saying. I know I died a thousand deaths tonight when I thought Ava was going to shoot you. I would have died for you tonight; that’s how much I love you.”

“But sometimes love isn’t enough,” I say, repeating his words from back at the club. “Is that where we’re at again?”

“I’m not sure I’m the one who has to answer that question this time, Sara. I think you do.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Excuse me.” I look up to find a police officer at the back of the vehicle and will him away but it doesn’t work. “Ms. McMillan, if you’re up to it, we’d like you to come inside to answer some questions.”

“Of course. Now?”

“That would be the preference.”

Chris climbs out of the ambulance and offers me his hand. I slide my palm in his and warmth spreads up my arm, but the space between us, the damn space, is thick and cold, and I fear it is becoming more impenetrable by the second. I don’t want to leave him. I want the people to go away and leave us alone.

The EMT reappears and eyes Chris. “We’re ready to roll on to the hospital, if you are?”

“Yeah,” Chris says. “I’m ready.” His eyes meet mine and hold a moment. “I’m going to get my head stitched up.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“You need to answer the questions they want answered, and get tonight behind you and us. Stay here. Do what they need you to do.”

I cling to the word us, but I know how broken we are. I know how close we are to losing each other, how abnormal it is for Chris to not insist on being by my side for this. My throat constricts. “Right. Okay.” I turn to the officer. “I’m ready.” I don’t look at Chris again since I know that if I do, I won’t walk away. For the first time since meeting him, I wonder if he might be relieved if I did.