Gavin
It’s always an odd feeling when I step into my house after being gone for so long, filming. It feels like someone else’s home. In truth though, it never really felt like mine. It belongs to the movie star, not Gavin West. In some ways, it’s just an empty shell, sort of like me, but now for some reason, it feels more empty than usual.
A soft giggle floats through my ears and I wince, just like I always do when I think of her. Four months have passed, and I’m still reeling from what happened as though it was just yesterday. Doesn’t matter how fast I drive, how hard I punch, how reckless I am—how much I toy with that line—I can’t seem to shake her.
I make my way past the living room and up the stairs. In the bedroom, I drop my bags on the floor and fall back onto the bed. The bed I shared with her. The bed we stained with our blood. I couldn’t even bring myself to wash those sheets. They’re not on the bed now, but I still have them. Folded up and tucked away in my closet. It’s the only thing I have to remember her by. That and my Metallica shirt. I’m glad she took my sweats though. I think something in me would’ve been disappointed if she hadn’t. At least I know I meant something to her, too. But then the words she screamed at me that night come tearing through me and I’m not so sure anymore.
I scrub my face with my hands, then stare at my left wrist. I’ve got three more marks since I walked away from her. Not good. Not good at all.
The first I got for trying to kill that guy, for what he did to Ava. And I would’ve too, if she hadn’t stopped me. I’d have done the time for her, without a doubt. Hell, it already feels like I’m serving some kind of sentence.
The second mark was for a fight in a pub in Dublin. Some cocky punk was dumb enough to challenge me when the demon was raging. Stupid fuck. All these guys talk big, wanting a piece of the big shot action star, but when it comes down to it, they don’t stand a chance. Normally I just put my head down and walk away, but this asshole—he picked the wrong guy on the wrong day. Good thing some guys from the crew pulled me off. And I know the studio wasn’t too pleased about it all, but I’m past caring.
The third, well, that’s a bit embarrassing. Simple but extreme case of road rage. Some douche in a Porsche cut me off on the Audubon in Germany, after I’d just blown close to a couple million on a Bugatti Veyron, trying to ease the hurt. So I chased him down, till I had him cornered in the parking lot of a grocery store. That’s when I got out, picked up a grocery cart, and sent it flying through his front windshield. Yeah, not too proud of that one. Someone even got that one on camera, posted it online and it went viral. The guy was greedy though, and didn’t want to tangle with me, so just settled.
But if I keep going at this rate, I won’t have much room on my arm left. My buddy Damian’s been trying to get me over to his place again, for one of his get togethers. There are always girls there that like the hard stuff. He knows it’s good for me, to feed the demon a little so it doesn’t get crazy. But hell, I can’t even bring myself to fuck another woman, my dick just won’t have it—like it’s saving itself for Ava, as if it’ll ever have the chance to be with her again. And not being with someone, not getting that side out of me, just makes me feel like a ticking time bomb. It’s only a matter of time before I go and do something really bad, like kill someone, most likely myself. I know it. Damian knows it.
Fuck.
I need to get her out of my head, but I have no fucking clue how to do that. I’ve never had this problem with a woman before. There are times when I wish I had just left her there, stranded on the side of the freeway—my tragic beauty—but most times, I’m so grateful that I didn’t. That night with her was the best night of my life.
My saving grace, all this time, is that work has kept me busy, most times. All of the movie was shot on location, in six different countries, which kept me moving. And being the last movie in the series, it was good and violent, so lots of action scenes. Only downside was Candace. Remind me never to fuck a co-star, especially one I have to do sex scenes with. Got them done, but I know she was getting a sick pleasure knowing I didn’t want to touch her. Guess it added to the character though, cause she’d been the traitor all along. But when we weren’t filming, she was still at me, trying to lure me back to her. She liked us being a couple, or ‘power couple’ as she called it. But we were never really a couple, we were just two people working together who figured out we both liked the same kind of sex. Nothing more. And that’s something I’ve always made clear to her, but she’s so high on herself, she doesn’t think any man can resist her. And the more I brush her off, the more determined she gets, even after all that stuff with Ava. Like she’s out to prove that no man could want someone else over her. Already got a couple missed calls from her since getting off the plane, both of us being back home now. But I’m done with her. Fucking done. I know our paths will cross again, doing whatever finishing work is needed on the movie, and then there’s the publicity tour, but after that I won’t have to see her again. Still, I’m dreading it. I’m dreading all of it.
I roll onto my stomach and rake my hands through my hair. That’s when I smell the jetlag on me. That’s also when I think of Ava, smelling my arm pits. I laugh on the outside, but want to howl at the moon on the inside. Instead, I get up and go take a shower.
Half hour later, I’m clean, dressed in jeans and the Metallica shirt, and wondering what the hell to do with my Sunday afternoon. Normally I’d do laps or something, but I haven’t been able to go in the pool since that night. I think of visiting my mom, but remember she has her Bridge games on Sunday. I think of hitting the bag, or going to spar at the gym, but I feel more sad than angry.
But I know one thing. I can’t fucking be here.
Every damn thing I see reminds me of her.
I head back downstairs and pass the living room. Something dark flashes out the patio sliders, but when I stop, I see nothing. I walk over to the glass and look around the backyard, then find myself staring at the pool. That memory comes back, of wrapping her in a bear hug, and hearing her laugh. I close my eyes, remembering the feel of her body against mine, when a noise sounds. I look to see a couple crows land by one of the recliners. I watch them for a long minute, take one last glance around, then turn and head to the garage. A minute later, I’m behind the wheel of the car I picked up Ava in, and backing out the garage and heading down the driveway.
It isn’t me that drives to Los Ramos, it’s the car I tell myself. I have no idea what I’m doing. Maybe I have it in my head that I might see her on the sidewalk, see her beautiful, blue eyes and maybe she’ll give me one of her rare smiles, and tell me in her soft voice it was all just a joke. But when I pull into the parking lot at Bucks, it all comes back to me.
Fuck.
I close my eyes, picturing my last moments with her, and hearing her words. They rip into my chest, making it feel like my heart’s laying wide open. I’ve often wondered how things would’ve turned out if I’d simply thrown her over my shoulder and taken her with me. I could’ve justified it by those marks on her wrists, and that fear in her eyes—both as good a reasons as any to get her out of there. But I know that fucker had a hold on her, somehow, some way, and as soon as I wasn’t looking, she’d have gone right back to him. My mom did the same thing when I was a kid, after her sister finally convinced her to take me and leave my dad. She lasted a week, then went running back to him, bruises and all. I know she regrets it now, but at the time, she was still so hooked on him, she hadn’t been ready to leave. But by the time she was, it was too late. I forgave her for it a long time ago, but the anger is something I’ve never been able to let go of.
Just like I can’t seem to let go of Ava.
I yank the door open and walk into the bar.
Inside, it’s dark and quiet, except for the mellow twang of country music. Seems empty for a Sunday afternoon. Only a few bodies hunched over their drinks and Buck standing at the bar polishing glasses.
He looks up, eyes narrowing to make me out, then smiles. “Hoped I’d see you again.”
I make my way to the same spot at the far end of the bar while he grabs the Jack and makes my drink, then brings it over.
“How ya been?” he asks.
“Better,” I say, and take a swig.
“Yeah, I hear ya.”
When I catch sight of the boxes behind the bar, I realize he’s not polishing glasses, but packing them.
I turn to him. “What’s all that about?”
He shrugs. “Closing down. I lease the place, and the rent got doubled. Again.”
“Ah, fuck. He owns it, doesn’t he?”
Buck nods and wipes down a spot on the bar that was already clean. “Wouldn’t change a thing, though. I still go to sleep every night with a smile on my face ‘cause of what you did.”
I sigh and shake my head. “Sorry, man.”
“Don’t be. Got some other things lined up. Change is good sometimes.” He’s trying to make light of it, but I can see the hurt in his face. I know right then and there I’m going to help him out. Just need to figure out how. Man like him won’t take a handout.
“Holler when you want another,” Buck says, and leaves to tend to a thirsty face.
I take another sip and see a man get up from a table and walk towards me. Well, kind of a man. He’s lean and barely looks of drinking age. His red hair catches my eye, making him look familiar, but I can’t place him.
I set the glass on the bar and keep my eyes down when he sits a couple stools over. Wish I’d worn a hat or something.
From the corner of my eye, I see him motion to Buck, who comes over with a bottle of scotch. He fills the glass, eyeing us both warily, then goes back to packing.
“Wondered if you’d ever come back around,” the man says.
I keep drinking, doing my best to ignore him, but I feel his eyes on me. They just keep looking…and looking…and looking…until…
“Can I help you?!” I ask.
“I don’t know, can you?”
“What? What the fuck does that mean? Do I know you or something?”
He sets his glass down. “Not exactly. But I know you. I work for Shayne McAllister.”
The mere mention of the name has me grabbing my drink and getting up to leave.
“You don’t have a clue of what you’ve done, do you?” he asks, shaking his head and swirling the liquid around in his glass.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Ava.”
The somber ass way he says her name has a sickness crawling into my gut, and I sit back down. “What about her?”
He takes a long sip and sighs. “You changed him, you know. After what you did to him. And not just his face, but him. He’s always been cruel, and I sort of accepted that side of him because of how he grew up, but…now…” He shakes his head, staring into his drink. “Now, he’s done lost it.”
“And that’s my problem, how?”
He looks over, glaring. “Who do you think’s been paying for what you did to him?”
I stare back at him, a slow realization curdling my blood. I turn away and gulp down the Jack. “I tried to get her out. She wouldn’t have it.”
“Yeah, well, she probably figured Shayne would’ve come after you. And he would’ve, without a doubt. He’s obsessed with her. Flat out mad in the head about her. Has been, ever since we were kids. And it wouldn’t have been just you. He’d have gone after your family, your career. Anything you care about, he would’ve found a way to hurt. And he wouldn’t have stopped until you were ruined, or dead.” He pauses to rub at his forehead, then looks my way but I can’t face him. He turns back to his drink. “Surprised he didn’t do it anyway, after what you did to him, in front of the whole town. She must’ve given him something big to keep him off you.”
A strange ringing sounds in my ears, listening to him go on.
“He already sold her place off, so whatever it is, she—”
“Wait, her place is gone?”
He nods. “Sold it not long after they got married.” He downs his glass and motions to Buck for another. “I don’t know what went on between you two, but knowing Ava, she probably did what she did to keep you safe. She was always like that. Always looking out for others, no matter the cost to herself.”
I don’t want to hear the words. I can’t. So I spit out whatever I can come up with to justify my actions. “She married him for fuck’s sake. What do you—”
“You think she had a fucking choice? You think she wants to be married to him? Jesus, you movie stars aren’t too bright, are you?”
I hunker over my drink, wishing his words would just fade away, but they don’t. They just keep going.
“If she had refused, or if she ever left him, he’d destroy anything and everything she cares about.” He pauses. “He’s ruthless that way. Knows how to trap you, get you to do things you don’t want to do.”
By the hurt that settles into his voice, I know he’s not just talking about Ava anymore.
Buck makes his way over, fills up his glass, makes me another, and walks off. I stare at mine while the man next to me downs his entire drink then stares randomly into space. “He’s got her locked up in his house. She’s been there ever since that day. They both have. And I don’t know what he does to her, especially at night, but—I hear the screams. I hear them all the way into the barn we sleep in.”
I start to shake, unable to even speak.
He continues, his voice distant. “I work with some mean fuckers, but even they have to cover their heads with a pillow, sometimes. Whatever debt she had, she paid it off a long time ago. Hell, she paid her debt, and then some, when he—” He stops short.
“He what?”
He stares at his empty glass, looking about as sorry as a soul can.
“He what?” I press again.
He sets the glass down and closes his eyes. “He…branded her, like she was cattle. Did it the day he married her.”
I don’t think I heard right. I couldn’t have heard right. “What?”
The man doesn’t need to repeat the words. His face says it all.
I rest my hands flat on the bar, on either side of my drink, my breath shallow, my pulse erratic. In my mind, I’m destroying everything around me. The chairs, the tables, the world. I hear his voice in the distance. “I thought about going to the Sheriff, but he won’t do nothing, because he’s on Shayne’s payroll, and I got a feeling Shayne’s got something over him too. And Ava would be too scared to press charges or leave anyway. She knows if he went to jail, he’d get out at some point, and there’d be no place she could hide where he wouldn’t find her, eventually. And something like a restraining order wouldn’t mean shit to him. And I’ve thought about trying to get her out myself, but even if I could figure out a way to hide her and keep her safe, she wouldn’t trust me to help her anyway. I’d only—”
“Why? Why wouldn’t she trust you?”
His chin drops to his chest and I know shame when I see it. “Like I said, Shayne has a way of making you do things. Things you don’t want to do.”
I’m off the stool and on him in a second. I have him pinned up against the wall, my forearm against his throat. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
His eyes are closed. He’s not fighting me. Not doing anything but hanging limp by my arm, when I see a tear break through his lashes and slide down his cheek. Then another and another. “I love her,” he mutters. “I’ve always loved her. And I hurt her. I hurt her so bad.”
I barely feel the contact of my fists against his face, his stomach, anywhere and everywhere I can make the man hurt. I have no sympathy, no compassion for the tears that fall. Nor do I care that he’s not fighting back. Just standing there, like a punching bag, letting me wail on him.
Large hands pull me back and I hear Buck’s voice. “Enough, Gavin. He’s had enough.”
I step back and shake Buck’s hands off me as the man staggers into a nearby chair, coughing and clutching his stomach. I stare at him, my body still pulsing with a frenzy to kill.
“I deserved that, and more,” he says, wiping at the blood on his face. “Much more.”
I sway on my feet, and collapse into a chair across from him, ignoring the other eyes that drift our way.
His weary eyes meet mine. “I’ll help you get her out. I don’t think she’ll last much longer. Hell, I don’t think either of them will. Not with the way he’s going. But you got to be ready for this. You gotta protect what you care about, and you gotta figure out all that he’s got on her. Cause you’re gonna be poking a stick in a hornet’s nest, and he’ll know it was you. He’s crazy in the head, but he’s smart, and he crossed the line some time ago on caring whether something’s right or wrong. Don’t underestimate him when it comes to Ava.”
Buck walks over and places a drink in front of each us. “On the house,” he says, then tosses a towel on the table, and heads back to the bar.
I rub at my temples and look at the man—at the boy really, watching him as he grabs the towel and wipes at his face, a lost look in his brown eyes. It’s a look I once had. It’s a look I have again, since losing Ava.
“What about you?” I ask. “Won’t he know I had help?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he says, tossing the bloody towel on the table and falling back in his chair. “Shayne’s been my best friend my whole life, but I’ve always been afraid of him. And not just because he’s bigger than me, and stronger than me, but because he knows how to hurt. Something he got from his daddy. And I’ve never been able to stand up to him. Not once. Always calls me a coward when I don’t do something he tells me, knowing I can’t stand it. And maybe I am a coward. That’s what my momma always calls my daddy. Never met the guy so have to take her word for it. But I’m not going to be that anymore. Not anymore. Not after what Ava’s suffered. I’ll do anything for her, no matter the cost. Won’t make up for what I’ve done—and I’ve done my share—but life ain’t worth living if I don’t make this right.”
His words hold the hurt of a boy becoming a man. I watch as he leans forward and grabs his drink and downs it, then sets the glass back on the table. I look at my own drink, but don’t feel so thirsty anymore.
“So how do I figure out what he’s got on her?” I ask.
“Well…her ranch is gone. What’s left that she cares about?”