Chapter Fifteen

Even though my place was blocks from the beach, the smell of the ocean permeated the air. I took a deep breath and filled my lungs with freedom. Damn it smelled good.

The last thing I did before turning myself in for two years of hell, was check my sister into rehab. I knew she did well; I saw it on her face every other Saturday when she came to visit. Yet for some reason, I was suddenly nervous to show up unannounced and surprise her.

When I unlocked the heavy metal door to my place, pop music blasted through the open-air loft I called home. I smiled hearing it, even though her shit taste in music drove me up a wall growing up. “Adele?”

I lived in a renovated warehouse—sound was normally muted from the high ceilings, but it was completely lost to the howlish sound of Taylor Swift blaring through the indoor speakers. “Adele?” I called slightly louder. After everything she’d been through, I didn’t want to startle her. I had no idea if she was still skittish. After the attack, she jumped if anyone walked into a room, even when she knew they were there. I dropped my key in the bowl on the table near the door and headed to the kitchen.

A man wearing a dress shirt and boxers was ironing on my granite counter. We spotted each other at the same moment. He held up the iron like a weapon; I held up my hands in surrender. “Is Adele here?”

“Who are you?”

“Relax, Mate.” I spoke calmly, keeping my hands in the air where he could see them the entire time. If there was one good thing about spending two years in prison, I’d definitely learned how to defuse a violent situation. “I’m Adele’s brother—I live here.”

Boxer boy’s eyes flared. “Chance?”

Well one of us was filled in. “That’s me.”

“Shit. Sorry. I thought you were getting out next week.”

“Overcrowding.” I narrowed my eyes on the iron he was still holding. “You want to put that thing down now, yeah?”

“Yeah. Of course. Sorry.” He set the iron on the counter and took two steps toward me, extending his hand. “Harry. Harry Beecham. I’ve heard so much about you.”

You’ve got to be shitting me? Harry? “Wish I could say the same.”

“Do you think we could stop at the—” My sister’s voice abruptly halted as she turned the corner into the kitchen. “Oh my God!” She almost knocked me over when she flew into my arms. “You’re here! You’re home!”

“I am.” Adele held me in a death like grip. She was crying, but unlike the last time I hugged her, these were tears of happiness. I pulled back to take a good look at my little sister. I’d seen her every other week, but I’d only gotten glimpses of what she wanted me to see. She was twenty-eight now, dressed in a skirt and girly blouse with her hair fastened on top of her head. She looked a lot like Mum.

“You look…different. Grown up.”

She wiped her tears and smoothed her skirt. “This is how I dress for work. I told you. I’m a secretary now.”

Harry cleared his throat. The bloke was still standing in his boxers. “I’m late. I should get going. It was great to finally meet you, Chance.”

I eyed him. “I hope you put some pants on first.”

He gently placed his hand on Adele’s shoulder as he passed and spoke softly, “Take the morning off. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

Adele smiled at Boxer Boy, then looked at me while biting down on her bottom lip. “Sorry. I didn’t know…Harold is one of the partners at the accounting firm I work for.”

“An accountant?”

“Yeah.” My sister smiled. “Not the type I normally go for, huh?”

My sister had a knack for picking one loser after the next. The crowd she hung out with wasn’t exactly conducive to meeting CPAs. “As long as he’s good to you.” I couldn’t help myself. “And keeps some damn pants on when I’m around.”

Adele and I spent the entire morning catching up. Talking about Mum was the hardest part. Things could have gone either way for my sister after what happened two years ago. Our mother’s death could have really set her back. I was relieved to find she truly had turned her life around. It made everything I’d went through worth it in the end. She seemed…happy.

“So.” Adele took the mugs we’d been drinking from and placed them in the sink. She leaned her bum against the counter and folded her arms over her chest. “Are you going to go see her?”

“Who?” Why was I playing this game again? I knew damn well who she was referring to.

“Your wife.” Her eyes pointed to the ring I’d already forgotten was on my finger. I shoved my hand into my pocket.

“She’s not my wife.”

Adele rolled her eyes. “Your fake wife. Whatever. Are you going to go see her?”

“Don’t start, Adele.” One lonely visit, I’d turned into a Mary and spilled my guts about Aubrey to my sister. I regretted it instantly. She spent the next twenty-three months trying to talk me into writing to Aubrey and telling her where I was. She even suggested she go visit Aubrey to have a chat and keep the hope alive.

“Have you looked her up yet?”

“I’ve been out for three hours.”

My sister squinted. “So that’s a yes, then?”

I shook my head, not responding, but she knew the answer. “I’m going to take a long, hot shower. It’s been a while.”

The look of hope on my sister’s face dropped. I walked to her and lifted her chin so our eyes met. “Hey. I’m proud of you. Let’s not go backwards anymore. I’m free. You’re wearing a damn bun in your hair and dating a guy who thinks a spoon was invented for stirring. Everything turned out pretty good, I’d say, yeah?”

Her eyes welled up again, and she gave me one last hug. My sister was good. I could sleep soundly tonight. It might just be the first time since before I left Aubrey sleeping in Las Vegas. At the thought, I reached up and rubbed at my chest to soothe the ache.

“Will you be here when I get home tonight?”

“I was actually thinking of heading up north. See about a job opportunity,” I lied. Suddenly, I was in the mood for another road trip.

My anxiety grew as I merged from State Route 91 to I15 and started to see the first signs for Temecula. I had no idea where I was going, or what the fuck I was going to do when I got there, but I needed to see she was okay.

Stopping at a combo gas station-grocery store, I stocked up on typical stalker snacks. Fun dip, Sour Patch Kids, popcorn and, of course, Pixy Stix. The cashier looked at me like I might be luring kids into the back of my van at the corner of the local elementary school. “Sweet tooth,” I offered with a shrug. He didn’t really give a shit.

It may be sunny in this part of California three-hundred and thirty days out of three-hundred and sixty five, but it started to rain as I pulled my pickup truck onto Jefferson Avenue in downtown Temecula. It was nearly five o’clock. People dressed in suits were starting to come out of the office buildings that lined the street. I found the tall building marked 4452, parked a half block away, and slumped down in my seat and waited. With low music and a sack full of candy, I could sit here and bask in the simple things for half the night. Who knew I’d be such an expert stalker?

Two hours passed before I saw her. She stepped out from the building and stood under the overhang as the rain pelted down on the sidewalk in front of her. Not wanting to be seen, I slouched even further into my seat, eyeing her just above the steering wheel.

She looked beautiful. Her auburn hair was longer, the waves looser, cascading halfway down her back. An emerald green silky blouse made her contrasting pale skin even more striking. A black skirt hugged her hips and, even though I couldn’t see the back, I imagined how the material clung to her shapely ass. Gorgeous. Full of all the class and sass that I knew she was. It had been two years, yet what I felt for her hadn’t dimmed one bit. Which is why my knuckles were turning white as I gripped the steering wheel when I saw a man’s hand wrap around her tiny waist.

Mother fucker. I hadn’t expected her to be single, but I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. Some asshat in a navy suit and glasses that looked like Clark Kent’s opened an umbrella and snuggled Aubrey close to him. My Aubrey. I couldn’t breathe as he whisked her into the parking lot across the street, shielding her from the rain, and disappeared out of sight. Minutes later, a car edged out onto the street, waiting for traffic to let it in. I was sure it was them before I even saw the smiling faces in the car. A black goddamn BMW. His name was probably Biffy.

Dejected, I sat in my truck for another two hours, rather than follow them. If just getting a load of her walking with some bloke tore me to shreds, I wasn’t ready to see any more. But I also wasn’t ready to leave.

Getting piss ant drunk wasn’t in my itinerary. Then again, neither was stalking until a few hours ago. I checked into a motel only a few blocks from Aubrey’s office on Jefferson and walked to the adjacent bar before even seeing my room. Now, three hours later, I was sufficiently stewed. Carla, the bartender, and I hit it off right away.

“You ready for another one, Aussie?”

I held up my glass and rattled the ice. “Keep ‘em coming, Carla babes.” She walked over, gave me a sultry smile and filled my glass. This woman was seriously sexy. Like a nineteen forties pinup model, her hair was all done in those vintage old school curls on top of her head. From the neck up she looked like an American throwback. But her arms were full sleeves of colorful ink. A modern day rockin’ Jessica Rabbit.

I was normally a light drinker, beer or wine was more my thing than hard liquor, and it had been two years since I last ingested the poison. Finishing my fourth Rum and Coke, I realized I was drunker than I thought as my words were starting to slur. And…I was unloading my problems onto a bartender I never met. I’d already filled Carla Babes in on my whole life story, in less than two hours.

“So what are you afraid of? She asked, leaning her forearms on the bar.

“I don’t want to hurt her.”

“Sounds like you already did.”

She had a point.

“You wanna know what I think?”

“Why else would I be here this evening?”

Carla chuckled. “I think you’re afraid you’ll get hurt.”

The next morning, I woke with a wicked hangover. Even though I had a screaming headache and it felt like the desert had taken over my mouth, I hoisted my dragging body out of bed at the ass crack of dawn. Aubrey had left with some suit, looking too comfy for my liking; I needed to see if they arrived together, too.

There was a Starbucks three doors down from her office, and I thought it was a distinct possibility she’d make a pit stop before work. So I parked with a view of the entire block and slumped into position. Three hours passed. I was in desperate need for a second cup of coffee, and there was no sign of Aubrey.

I reached into the glove compartment, pulled out a baseball hat, and slipped on my sunglasses. It wasn’t a great disguise, but the chance of running into her by now had to be slim. The moment my feet touched concrete, I saw her turn the corner. Fuck. I froze for a moment and then, luckily, instinct took over.

I hopped back into the cab of my pickup and slouched down. She was busy texting on her phone and didn’t look up until she hit the door to Starbucks. That was close.

A few minutes later, she emerged with her white venti coffee cup and never looked in my direction. Damn. She looked just as good going as she did coming. And she was alone.

I did the same thing that afternoon. The five minute glimpses of her were enough to make the whole day worthwhile. So I did it again the next day…and the day after that. Aubrey had a definite routine. I wasn’t surprised. She arrived at nine-thirty and left at seven. Two out of three of my evening stalkings, the asshat was with her when she called it a day.

I’d even settled into a routine of sorts. I reported for morning stalking at dawn and ended my day at dusk. In between, I took off for a few hours and went to a gym two towns over. The evenings, I spent drowning my sorrows with Carla Babes.

This particular morning, the hotel hadn’t set up the coffee urn by the time I was ready to leave, and I was itching for some caffeine. Seeing as I had Aubrey’s routine pretty much down pat, I snuck out of my truck and slipped into her Starbucks. It gave me a thrill to be inside, even though I was certain she wasn’t arriving for hours.

I ordered my plain old black coffee, and the young girl behind the counter smiled. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No. I’m good. Thanks.” Then a thought escaped my mouth. “Actually. Do you know a woman who comes in every morning about nine twenty? Auburn hair, probably orders a nonfat three-pump vanilla latte, low foam and extra hot?”

“Sure. Aubrey.”

I dug a twenty out of my pocket and held it out to the girl. “Her coffee is on me today.”

She looked confused.

“Keep the change. And don’t give her a description of the guy who wanted to buy her coffee, okay?”

She shrugged and stuck the twenty in the front pocket of her jeans. “Sure thing.”

A few hours later, I watched Aubrey go inside, right on schedule. She was texting away as she walked in. But when she came out with a huge smile on her face while carrying her complimentary extra hot, low foam, nonfat three-pump vanilla latte, I knew it wasn’t the last time I wanted to be the one to put it there.