Chapter 8
Kat
I managedto get out of my clothes and take a shower, even though it made the stitch in my ear and the skin on my back sting and I had to hover my left hand out of the water. The ibuprofen helped. Since I wasn’t worried about the limited hot water in my apartment, I stayed under the spray for a luxuriously long time, letting the heat steam into my bruises. I used the hotel shampoo and conditioner in my hair, the hotel body wash to rinse the stench of the hospital—and last night’s clothes—from my skin. Then I got out and put on the hotel bathrobe, which seemed to have been made from soft, warm clouds. I moaned as it slid onto my skin.
I could get used to this.
I had been used to it once, a long time ago. In another lifetime.
I put my feet into the hotel slippers, thinking about Alex. He’d known me when I was rich, when we’d gotten married and my family had lost their shit over it. He hadn’t said anything about the fact that my family was still rich, but I was a bartender now, living hand-to-mouth. Maybe he wasn’t judging me. Then again, maybe he was just keeping his judgments to himself.
Money wasn’t everything. I knew that better than anyone. But still, if Alex was going to pay for this hotel bathrobe, I would wear it.
I lay on the huge bed for a while, trying to sleep. I was beyond exhausted, but my mind wouldn’t go quiet. My thoughts kept spinning, and then my stomach started to grumble. I hadn’t eaten since dinner yesterday. With the adrenaline, the meds, and the pain leaving my system, my body remembered it needed food.
I got up again and went into the main room to peruse the room service menu. A sandwich and some soup were probably all I could handle. I wished I was hungry enough for steak and champagne so I could rack up Alex’s bill. Maybe I’d order them later.
Where the hell was Alex? He had to take care of a few things? What things?
The more I thought about it, about him, the more questions I had. What was Alex’s deal? Why had he come to Nashville so fast? What did he think he was going to do about my problem? Why was he helping me in the first place? We were nothing to each other anymore. Why had he kept tabs on me?
Fuck, we’d left things so badly thirteen years ago. So brutally, cruelly bad. We’d cut each other to pieces. And then we’d parted ways, never to see each other again. What had his life been like between then and now?
And where was Damon? Was Damon even alive?
I let out a breath as my room service arrived. I barely paid attention as the server set my plate down and had me sign the bill. I still paid enough attention to write in a twenty-dollar tip, though. I’d been living on tips for a long time and I knew how hard it was. Alex could afford it.
I hadn’t thought about Damon Blake in a long time. I’d deliberately pushed him out of my mind—pushed everything that happened out of my mind. I’d put my head down and lived my life, not wanting to remember any of it.
I’d first met Damon at a party I’d attended with Alex. Damon was interested in me from the very first, asking me to dance, then to dance again. He was older than Alex, good-looking, funny, and a great dancer. I liked the attention, so I’d gone with it, but even then I’d wondered if Damon actually liked me for me, or whether he was just trying to stick it to his brother. See, I could steal your girl if I wanted.
Damon couldn’t have stolen me. I knew that, but as time went on, as we “ran into” Damon more and more often, I realized that Alex didn’t know that at all. Damon knew how to push Alex to the edge, how to make him doubt himself. How to make him even doubt me.
Damon showed up at the same parties we did. He appeared at the same restaurants when we went out. He got my number somehow and started texting me. He’d run into me when I was shopping or coming home from class. I was polite at first, because he was Alex’s brother and he seemed like a nice guy. But one day it came to me with perfect clarity that Damon actually was trying to steal me. He was acting like a man who is trying to get a woman to go on a date with him—except that woman is his brother’s girlfriend.
It was a fucked-up situation, and I wanted none of it. I told Damon I wasn’t interested, politely at first, and then I told him to fuck off. Damon’s actions would make Alex crazy, and Alex and Damon would fight. Then Alex and I would fight. Then—because we were crazy about each other, and because we couldn’t keep our hands off each other—Alex and I would have wild, amazing make-up sex.
We were teenagers. At thirty-five, I could see that clearly now. We were both screwed up back then, both crazy with hormones, and both dealing with what was turning out to be the first time either of us had ever been in love. For me at least, it was still the only time I’d been in love. I had been so wild about Alex Blake that I couldn’t see straight, and at the same time he made me legitimately insane. And I could see now that he felt the same way about me.
Then, one night it had all come to a head. While I was out of town for the weekend with my family, Alex and Damon got in a fight. Damon went to the hospital. Alex was arrested, Damon pressed charges, and Alex went to jail.
The soup and sandwich were gone. Alex was right—I always liked to eat, even in the worst situations. I stood up from the table and thought about going back to my bedroom, to try and sleep again, but I paused. I looked at the door to the second bedroom, the one Alex had taken for himself.
The valet had brought a suitcase in there. A large one.
When I thought about it, I had no reservations about snooping through Alex’s things. He’d been snooping on me for a decade, after all. Besides, it was his own fault for leaving me alone for so long without an explanation.
I walked into the bedroom. The suitcase was placed on the small table that nice hotels provide purely for suitcases, so you don’t have to put it on the bed like a commoner. I shrugged to myself and unzipped it.
Why did Alex have such a big suitcase, anyway? Had he gotten the call that I was in the hospital, then stopped to pack three weeks’ worth of stuff? He’d never been the fastidious type—Alex was the kind of guy who could sling a few things in a backpack and take off indefinitely. At least, that was the way he had been a long time ago. It was the same way I was now.
So the giant, well-stocked suitcase made no sense. I flung it open and started to poke through Alex’s things, looking for answers of some kind—answers to who Alex was now, what his life was like now. Answers to this person who was basically a mystery to me.
The first thing I noticed was that his clothes were nice—high quality, well made, clothes that would fit his body to perfection. The second thing I noticed was that the clothes in this suitcase were informal and made for hot weather. Linens, khakis, shorts. Bathing trunks, even. Why the hell did Alex have bathing trunks in his suitcase?
I found more strange things: sunblock, sandals, aloe vera cream for sunburns. I found his underwear, which made me feel a little weird about this for the first time, as well as—predictably—turned on. I had always been unable to resist the sight of Alex in his boxer briefs. And picturing it now, despite how pissed I was—oh hell, yes.
Something crinkled under my hand, and I pulled a piece of paper from under a sexy pair of black briefs. I unfolded it and read it. I was a flight and hotel itinerary—for Hawaii. And the flight was supposed to leave early this morning.
The pieces came together, and it all made sense. Alex had planned to go to Hawaii, most likely for a vacation. Instead, he’d gotten a phone call and come to Nashville. For me.
My chest tightened as I stared at the paper. I didn’t know how I felt about this. I didn’t want to feel anything. Alex had changed his plans, thrown away an expensive vacation, because I’d been stupid enough to almost get myself killed. And he hadn’t even mentioned it.
Fuck. I was already hot for him. I didn’t want to start feeling like I owed him, and I definitely didn’t want to start liking him. That wasn’t in the plan.
“See anything interesting?”
I jumped and spun around. Alex was standing in the bedroom doorway, leaning casually against the door jamb as if he’d been there a while. He didn’t look mad. He looked amused.
It took me a second to realize that there was another suitcase on the floor behind him—my suitcase. Alex had been in my apartment.