Chapter 11
11
RYLAN
Two and a Half Years Later
My muscles ached as I pulled myself up one finger hold at a time. I couldn’t focus on anything but climbing the rock wall in front of me—each finger hold, each jut of the wall, the pull and strain of each muscle as I reached upward and raced to the top. I didn’t focus on the last two and a half years. The loss of my wife. The lies she told me or how she stole—then broke—my heart.
There was no Joss Monroe anywhere in North Dakota. Not a single one existed in Minnesota, where she said she lived. After sinking too much money into fruitless searches, I’d begun to wonder if she’d ever been real at all.
What I thought we had certainly wasn’t. That existed only in my dreams.
Dreams that had been smashed to pieces with each dead end.
“Fucking hell, Dennis!” called my buddy, Wade Warren, as I slapped my palm against the top of the wall. “How the hell do you keep winning every time? I’ve never seen someone climb so fast!”
“I’ll tell you how,” Weston Abrams called from down below, his hands tight on the end of my rope. “He gets all his energy from those damn squirrels he ate on his last trip to Kentucky.”
“Hey!” Holding onto the wall with one hand, I turned and looked down at the floor. “I’ll have you know, those squirrels were delicious!”
Wade let loose a raucous laugh as he fell backward off the midway point where he’d stopped, causing his belayer, Zane Maxwell, to scramble to hold on.
“Christ, Warren! A little notice next time!”
“Nah, you got me.” Wade turned to Zane as he landed and slapped him on the shoulder. “I trust you to have my back.”
Weston shook his head, then turned his attention back to where I sat in my harness, thirty feet above their heads. I knew he was ready for me to come down, that he’d have my back the way Wade was sure Zane had his. But I was happy up here. For the first time since I woke up alone in my marriage bed, I felt a genuine smile cross my lips.
Good friends. Good fun. Not thinking about anything else. The familiar hum of excitement coursed through me, making me feel like me again.
It’d been more than two years since the best night of my life. Two years of searching, of finding nothing, of not giving up. I tried. I failed.
Now it was time to move on.
I itched with the need to do something. To leave this state I’d come to for no other reason than to try to find Joss. There were reasons to stay, of course. I’d settled here. Found a job. Found these friends. But adventure was always calling, always telling me I was needed somewhere else. Something was out there and maybe, just maybe, this place wasn’t meant for me anymore.
That itch told me I didn’t need the job—the fortune I’d made off my jackpots had been more than enough to tide me over, and the financial advisor I’d hired to handle the funds had made some excellent decisions.
That itch also whispered I didn’t need these friends. That I could leave tomorrow, and no one would care. They’d get over it. They’d find someone else to take my place. They didn’t really care after all.
Sucking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly, trying to expel that thought. Then I turned away from my friends, trying to find that piece of me I’d lost.
“Coming down!” I waited a beat, giving Weston a chance to tighten his hold. Then I half-walked, half-jumped down the wall. Each leap had my heart racing just a little, that familiar rush of adrenaline rushing through my veins. For a moment, I thought I found what I was missing.
Down on the ground, I unbuckled my rigging from the wall. And I tried—the entire time—not to think about the way the wind made Joss’s hair dance around her face after she touched down on the landing pad at the Strat.
I shook thoughts of her away, then let out a long breath.
Weston stepped over from where he and the guys had been chatting, a tentative look on his face. “So, uh…” He rubbed his hand over his short beard. “We’re thinking of heading out.”
“What?” It took everything in me to ignore that whisper in the back of my head. They don’t care, Rylan. You could leave here tomorrow, and they wouldn’t care. “You don’t want to stay? The night’s still young. Lots of climbing left to do.”
He raised his hands between us, like he was talking to a damn mad man and not just a friend. “This has been great, really,” he said in full-on hostage negotiator mode. “But we can’t beat you at this. You’re too damn good. Racing each other is fun and all, but there’s no winning against you. You’re, like, a fuckin’ superhero when it comes to this shit.”
“So, what, you guys are calling it a night?”
Weston shook his head. “Wade wants to go out.”
“Out?” I forced a grin I didn’t really feel. “Like, out with a girl? Out of the country?”
“Wishful thinking.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Out on the town. With us.”
Wade reminded me of myself years ago, if I was being honest. Pre-Joss, I would’ve been all over something like that. Partying. Drinking. Dancing. Fucking.
Especially fucking.
But damn. That girl ruined me for anyone else.
She ruined me for myself.
Nothing ever came close to that single day I called her mine.
At this rate, I was beginning to think nothing ever would.
Weston shifted, then glanced at the watch on his wrist.
“You got somewhere to be?” I asked him, giving him a shit-eating grin, my mood lightening, knowing that the night wasn’t at its end.
He sent one right back at me. “Got plans later tonight.”
“Yeah? This with that same chick you saw last week?”
He prodded his cheek with his tongue, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Nah. I’ve got custody of Zalea this weekend. Supposed to pick her up from her mom’s later.”
“So, you need to go?”
He scoffed, rubbing his chin again. “Nah. It’s not ‘til later. Just want to make sure I’m not gonna get dragged out alone tonight.”
“Maxwell not coming?”
“Fuck man.” Weston shook his head and stepped closer. “You know how he is. Spends half the night staring at his damn phone and the other half fighting with Nicky.”
“So, you need me as your buffer?” I let out a laugh.
“Dude. Come on.” He laughed right along with me. “Just come with already. Come out and enjoy yourself. Maybe get your dick wet for a change.”
Damn, that sounded good. And yet…
No. Hadn’t I told myself it was time to move on? Joss Monroe didn’t exist, and it was about damn time I started acting like it.
I pulled my arm behind my back, reaching up my spine as I gave him a grin. “Twist my arm, why don’t you?”
He rolled his eyes and started to walk away. “You’re as bad as he is, you know that?”
“But more fun,” I called after him. I dropped my rigging at the counter, then rubbed my palms together and rushed after my friends.
The club Wade chose was probably the most obnoxious place in the city. Anyone who was anyone wanted to be seen there. And lucky us, we had a way in.
Our boss, Lee Bridgewater, had worked here with Wade once upon a time. And Wade being Wade—the life of the party and all that—he’d kept in close contact with a handful of his bouncer and waitress friends. We didn’t have to wait in line, didn’t have to wait for drinks at the bar. It was as if this guy was a celebrity and not just some guy who used to work here.
Once inside, Wade made straight for the bar. The bartender caught sight of him before he got there and had a shot glass full of amber liquid waiting for him, and three empties on standby.
“What can I get ya?” he asked us as Wade slammed back his tequila and held out his glass for another.
Weston and Zane squeezed in next to Wade, tossing out their orders of a Jack and Coke and a Tom Collins before the bartender looked at me. Before I could open my mouth to give my order, Wade slammed back his second tequila, smacked his glass on the bar, then turned with a loud “Woohoo!” and strutted away.
I slid into the space he left and ordered a beer. Weston turned to look at me and Zane, only Zane cursed under his breath and pulled out his phone.
Nicky’s name was on the screen, blurring out a picture of the not-so-happy couple.
“I gotta take this,” Zane muttered. He grabbed his Tom Collins from the bar top and pressed his phone to his ear before heading off in search of a quieter place to talk.
Weston shook his head, a crooked smile tugging at his face as he brought his whiskey glass to his lips. “Told ya.” He took a sip before turning his gaze on me. “Same fucking thing happened last time they dragged me out.”
“You telling me you’re scared to be left on your own at a bar?” I cast a quick glance at his thick, tattooed arms, chuckling as I lifted my beer to take a drink. The man never had an ounce of trouble finding someone to take home.
“Yeah,” he said, though it was far from any kind of admission, judging by his smirk. “Someone’s gotta help me out. I only have so many arms.”
At that moment, he draped one of his arms casually across the shoulders of a beautiful brunette as she tried to pass by with a group of women. She turned her face up to him, her smile growing wide as she took him in all his fuckin’ splendor. Seconds later, her friend, a blonde with hair down to her ass, squeezed under his other arm.
“Looks like someone’s getting lucky tonight!” Without a look my way, Weston tossed back his drink, then steered the girls out onto the dance floor.
I was used to this. Used to partying with Wade. Being left at the bar while he went and did—I looked across the room, finding him climbing one of the dancers’ cages—whatever it was he did.
This was fine. I could see the sights. Drink my beer. Instead of heading home and wallowing in my fucking loneliness like I had the past two years, maybe I could find a girl. Someone to take my mind off what I’d lost, to give me that future I’d never thought I’d have.
Halfway through my beer, the people beside me cleared out, leaving the bar open and feeling as abandoned as me.
Inside my head, something whispered pathetic .
I turned, ready to call it a night. Wade was nowhere in sight, though I swore he was close to fucking someone in the middle of the dance floor the last time I saw him. Zane was still tucked into the corner by the restrooms, phone to his ear as he fought with his girlfriend. And Weston…
Well. Weston had not one, not two, but three lovely ladies clinging to him as they danced.
I shook my head and laughed.
So much for needing a buffer.
With one last long drink, I set my glass on the bar, ready to head home for the night. Only, something stopped me. Something in the form of a short little blonde who barely came up to my pecs.
“Hey there, gorgeous. You wanna dance?” She had her head cocked back, making the blunt cut of her hair look like sharp daggers hanging around her face. Her eyes were pretty—though it might have had more to do with her elaborate makeup than with the specific shade of brown.
I had to admire her courage. Someone as short as her, coming up to someone as big as me in the middle of a crowded club, with no wing-women at her side? There was a certain level of fearlessness in that action that called to something I thought I’d buried deep inside me long ago.
“Sure thing, sweetheart.” I hadn’t even finished speaking before she was grabbing my hand and dragging me toward the crowded floor. Once there, she turned and pressed herself to me, holding on and grinding her body against mine.
I wasn’t sure where to put my hands. Her tiny waist was too low—I would have had to bend over to hold on, and with the crowd as wild as it was, I probably would have lost a tooth if someone smashed into my head. Her chest was large and… Well. Whatever she had going on there didn’t feel natural.
None of this did.
The whole time she was holding onto me, all I wanted was to walk away. To turn around and wander off. To find that spark I’d buried and follow it to the kind of freedom I’d always loved.
I was too old for this shit. For bumping and jumping and getting jostled by strangers I didn’t care about. For pretending like this thing with this girl—did she say Trina or Trista when I asked her name?—was going to go somewhere when I knew it wasn’t.
The only thing I was getting tonight was a whole lot of frustration, while my dick got petted by someone with far too much boldness stuffed into a tiny package, and my body got bumped and bruised in the madness of the dancing crowd.
I watched as Zane left his hidey-hole and shuffled out the door. My frustration grew as Weston followed shortly after, the three women still hanging off him, all anxiously awaiting his attention while this… thing… in front of me touched my dick for the fiftieth time.
That was it. I was done. I didn’t need to be groped again. Didn’t want to take this any farther when it’d already gone on way too long.
Leaning down, I took Trina by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “I gotta take a piss.”
She licked her lips as she grabbed for my hips. “You need me to help you, gorgeous?”
Her wrists were so small, I swear I could break them with one wrong move. I pulled her hands away from my body and shook my head. “Been doing this myself for almost thirty years. I’m good.”
Trina pushed up on her toes, despite the fact that I was still holding her away from me by the wrists, and she pressed her mouth to mine. “Hurry back, gorgeous.”
Whipping my head back, I wiped my palm across my lips.
Gorgeous .
I hated that word.
Hated that anyone else would say it.
Hated that I’d lost the only one who’d ever be gorgeous in my eyes.
Without acknowledging Trina or her kiss, I turned and headed straight for the door. I wasn’t taking a chance of being hunted down in the restrooms here. I had half a mind to clear out my apartment and find a new place to live.
Coming to Chicago a year and a half ago had been a fucking Hail Mary. I’d tried everything I could to find my wife, and this city was all I had left.
The chance that I might see her again, might find her here after that one conversation, was the one thing that had kept me from giving up completely. Despite the security job I loved, despite the friends I’d made and the life I’d tried carving out for myself far away from my home, some days it didn’t feel like enough. It didn’t feel like anyone cared.
Today was one of those days.
Scrambling into the back of a cab from the frigid Chicago winter, I tugged my phone out of my pocket and texted Lee.
Me: I can’t take it anymore, boss. I know I told you I’d give it a chance, but I gotta move on. I quit.
I’d barely gotten the words, “Take me to the airport,” out of my mouth before my phone was ringing. I lifted it to my ear as the cab pulled away from the curb, but I didn’t get a chance to speak before Lee’s deep voice was thundering through my ear.
“Like hell you are.”
“I tried?—”
“The hell you did, Dennis. We agreed you’d give this a real shot. It hasn’t been one week since you were at my door trying to quit.”
“I’m not just trying this time. I quit.”
“And I’m not accepting your resignation. You need a break? You need to hop on a plane and chase your goddamn adventure? You do that. But I’m not losing one of my best damn employees because you got a fuckin’ itch .”
I turned my gaze toward the dark sky, searching out the stars.
Another damn thing that reminded me of Joss.
Lee sighed on the other end of the line. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, like he was trying not to yell anymore. “Go. Take a vacation. Scratch your fuckin’ itch, whatever it is you gotta do. But I expect you back in my office after the beginning of the year.”
When I didn’t respond, he spoke again, this time with more urgency.
“Look, Rylan. I need you here, okay? You’re the best I got, and I’ve got so much shit on my shoulders right now, I need your help. With Kelly?—”
His voice broke and it felt like someone was squeezing my chest. Kelly O’Connor was one of the women we’d saved earlier that month, and Lee had been obsessed with her ever since.
And I got it. I understood exactly where he was coming from, how a single woman could come into your life and steal your goddamn sanity until you looked in the mirror and couldn’t find a hint of the person you always thought you’d been.
“I need you to come back,” Lee said, his voice only a touch stronger than before. “Don’t make me call your pops.”
Fuck.
There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t regret telling Lee about Pops. As an ex-Marine, Lee was supposed to find some sort of commonality with my army veteran stepdad and maybe take it easier on me when I fucked up. The only thing it did was give him something to hold over my head. The threat of telling Pops—of having the only man who’d ever seemed to give a shit about me be disappointed in the man I’d become—was enough to get me to straighten up.
My spine stiffened and my gaze zipped to the cab driver in front of me, as if he could somehow hear our conversation, know what we were talking about, and call Pops himself.
“Fine,” I said, a little peevishly. “I’ll come back.”
Relief rushed out of my boss in a gush of breath that sounded like a windstorm blaring through my phone. “Thank you.” His voice broke again, and he cleared his throat. “Thanks, Dennis. I appreciate it.”
“You okay, boss?”
There was nothing but silence for a moment. Silence, and the squeak of a door.
“I will be. Just… make sure you come back.”
“Will do.”
He hung up without another word, and I sat back in my seat, lost in a thousand thoughts that I couldn’t control. When the cabbie pulled to a stop in front of the airport, I paid my fare, then went inside and purchased a ticket on the next flight out.
With nothing but the shirt on my back and the need to escape screaming in my veins, I boarded a plane less than an hour after I’d ditched the club.
I left Chicago and all the dreams I’d thought I’d had.
Adventure was calling.
I only hoped I wasn’t too late.