Lillah
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Marshall and I had fallen into a comfortable rhythm after our date.
He would come over after practice, let himself in through the back door I'd leave unlocked.
Cooper would meet him, his tail wagging, and escort him upstairs where he'd find me still asleep in bed.
He'd crawl in and pull me into his arms and wake me up most mornings, then we'd enjoy breakfast together before I got to work.
I would go to his place after his games, and we'd curl up on his couch.
Some nights I'd bring my laptop to do some last-minute work while he relaxed after playing hockey and watched TV.
On the nights he didn't play, we would cook dinner together, take Cooper for a walk, and watch a movie.
Most nights we would fall asleep in one another's beds, and wake up tangled together in the sheets, his arm around my waist, my back pressed into his chest.
He was easy to be with, almost too easy. There was never any pressure; we were two people figuring each other out. When I needed to talk about the past, he would hold my hand and listen, never once interfering.
My career was picking up as well. I'd had two new client inquiries in the past week.
One was a full renovation of a house along the water, and the other was a restaurant redesign.
The Henderson project I'd been working on was now almost complete, and they had referred two of their friends to me. Everything was coming together.
I got up from my computer and walked into the kitchen to make a coffee when my phone buzzed on the island. I glanced at the screen, seeing a text from Mila.
Mila: How's the hockey boyfriend? Still hot as hell?
I smiled and typed back.
Lillah: Hotter than hot. Still next door and still makes amazing tacos.
Mila: Sounds like you are living the dream. Call me later so we can catch up. I want all the details.
I put my phone down, filled the kettle and turned it on, pulling a mug from my cupboard. I turned around and looked into the living room to see Cooper sleeping on the sofa, the house quiet, how I liked it.
I had poured the hot water into the french press I'd picked up last weekend with Marshall when the doorbell rang.
I made my way to the door, wiping my hands on my jeans.
I assumed it was the package I'd ordered.
A set of new throw pillows from a vendor in Vermont I'd decided I deserved.
They were supposed to arrive any minute, and I was excited to see if they matched the fabric of the accent chairs that had been delivered for the Henderson project, because if they did, I'd need to order another set.
I pulled the door open without checking the peephole, something I rarely, if ever, did, and everything in me went still.
Brett was standing on my front porch in a leather jacket and jeans, holding a bouquet of white roses.
Of course he remembered my favorite flower, because remembering those small things was how he'd gotten me the first time.
This was him, this was his skill. He learned what you loved so he could use it to keep you close and hurt you with it later.
His hair was shorter than I remembered; probably the team's PR people had insisted he cut it.
His shoulders were broader, probably due to off-season training and whatever supplements he'd chosen to take to bulk himself up.
He looked good, but then he always looked good, which was the problem.
I already knew that the package didn't match what was inside.
"Hey baby." He said, smiling.
That smile had fooled me for three years. Now it made me feel ill.
My body went stiff as anxiety crept through me. My body remembered everything; it remembered his hands on my neck, the pressure he applied, and the way the air vanished when his fingers tightened around my throat.
Behind me, I heard a low rumble coming from Cooper. Not a growl, but a warning. Dogs always had a way of knowing who the bad ones were.
"How did you get in here?" I asked, my voice flat and controlled. "This is a private, gated community."
"Told the guard I was visiting a friend for a surprise birthday party. He didn't question it." Brett said, holding out the flowers.
I looked at the white roses, perfectly wrapped in cellophane and tied with a red satin ribbon.
"These are for you."
I stared at him but didn't move to take the flowers.
I wanted to hit him with them and then slam the door in his face.
I wanted to scream at him to get off my property and to disappear into whatever hole he'd crawled out of, but instead I stood there with my hand on the frame of the door, my jaw locked tight and every muscle in my body rigid while I held my ground.
"What are you doing here?"
"I came to see you."
He was acting as if he were my best friend who'd dropped in for a visit. Mila was right, I should have filed the restraining order, but I didn't because I figured she was overreacting. I never imagined he'd have known where I'd gone, never mind come all the way here.
"I've been keeping tabs. Saw you're dating a hockey player now."
The sound of his voice, the look in his eyes, was enough to make my skin crawl. He shook his head and gave me that patronizing smile I'd seen a million times.
"A rookie, Lillah? Come on. You can do better than that."
Anger flooded my body, and I clenched my fists tight.
"Better? Like you? Is that what you mean?"
"I mean someone who can take care of you.
Not some kid who got drafted and probably won't even be around in two seasons.
" He said, leaning against the doorframe.
"I've been talking to some people. Hayes is decent, got speed and hands, but he is green, Lillah.
He doesn't know what he is doing on the ice or off it.
When the league chews him up and spits him out, and it will, you will be the one left picking up the pieces. "
"Get off my porch." I screamed, the audacity of this man.
"Lillah…"
"I told you to get off my porch." I shouted, stepping forward instead of retreating.
I was finished taking a step back from this man. I'd retreated for three years. I was done. And when he talked about Marshall, it pissed me off.
"You can't show up here, and you can't tell me who to date, nor do you get to have any opinion whatsoever on my life. You lost that right the night you put your hands around my throat."
The look on his face changed. It became hard and cold, even though that smile was still there.
I'd seen that look too, in the kitchen of our apartment that night.
This was the face that came when things got bad.
Only I wasn't in that kitchen. I was on my porch in my home.
I wasn't the same woman who had stood in that kitchen.
"That was a long time ago. People change."
"You don't." I spat.
He reached for my arm, but I pulled back, creating distance between us.
"Don't touch me." I yelled as my heel caught on the doorframe, making me lose my balance.
"Hey!" a voice behind Brett called, hard and cold. "What the fuck is going on here?"
I looked over Brett's shoulder to see Marshall walking up the driveway, still in his gear from practice. He must have seen his car in the driveway, or maybe he heard my voice carry across to his yard. Whatever the reason, I was glad he'd shown up.
His face was stone cold, no readable emotion on it. He maintained his focus, the same way I had observed on the ice. Fully in control.
Brett turned around, and the two of them looked at one another in silence.
"You must be the hockey player." Brett said as he looked Marshall up and down.
Brett was used to being one of the biggest guys in the room, until now. Marshall was taller than Brett, and broader in the shoulders and chest. He wasn't tense or trying to intimidate Brett the way Brett would have. He stood there, relaxed, waiting for Brett to answer.
"Do you live with her now, too?"
Marshall stopped at the bottom of the steps. He didn't come up and invade the space. He planted himself between Brett and his car and waited.
"I live next door. Is there something I can help you with?" Marshall questioned.
"Nope, I'm having a conversation with my ex-girlfriend. You can mind your own business."
Marshall looked at me, waiting for me to let him know what I wanted him to do. I shook my head, begging him with my eyes not to leave. Marshall looked from me to Brett.
"Well, Brett. I think I heard her tell you to get off her porch, which means your conversation must be over. I suggest you listen to her."
"Or what?"
Marshall didn't answer him. He stood there, at the bottom of the steps with his hands at his sides and shoulders relaxed, staring at him.
I watched Brett standing there, probably wondering if pushing Marshall further and creating a confrontation was worth his time.
Marshall didn't back down, and it surprised me when Brett dropped the flowers onto the porch and walked down the stairs, stopping to look at me.
"Guess you'll figure it out, Lillah."
"What is that supposed to mean?" I questioned.
"That when it doesn't work out with the rookie, you know where to find me."
He took off past Marshall, coming close enough to brush up against him so their shoulders touched, and he headed across the driveway to his rental car.
He'd flown all the way here to give me a speech about how he was the better man for me.
The effort and planning of that sent nausea rolling through me.
He started the engine and put the car into reverse leaving my driveway. Soon the sound of his engine was gone, and the only thing I could hear was the birds chirping. I stood there, shaken, adrenaline coursing through me. I gripped the doorframe and took a deep breath, waiting for it to pass.
Marshall came up the steps slowly and stood in front of me. His eyes searched mine, trying to figure out what I might need from him. He waited to see if I needed to be held or wanted space, the way I'd asked him to.
"Are you okay?" he asked, quietly, still not touching me.
I nodded, but it wasn't true.
"Do you want me to…"
I shook my head, "No." I answered.
He didn't need to ask because I already knew what he wanted to know. I didn't want him to call the police, and I didn't want him to go after him. That would cost him everything and was too high a price to pay for someone as horrible as Brett. "No, he is gone."
Marshall clenched his jaw.
"Come over to my place tonight. We can order pizza. We don't need to talk about it. I don't want you to be alone. Bring Cooper and a bag."
I nodded. I wasn't sure I could talk to him yet without breaking down. He reached out slowly, giving me time to pull away, but the moment his hand found mine, I felt more at ease.
"Want me to come in for a while?" Marshall questioned. "Maybe make you some lunch?"
"No, it's okay. I know you got home, and I have a call I need to be on shortly."
"Okay, see you soon. I'm gonna go shower." He said, leaning in to kiss me before turning and heading down the stairs.
I watched as he jogged back over to his place and then I bent down and picked up the roses from the porch, heading inside and dumping the flowers right into the trash without thinking twice.
I moved over to the couch where Cooper lay and rested my head against him. The warmth of his body comforted me as I snuggled into him. Then I buried my face into his fur and cried until I felt his wet nose against my arm.
I'd left Brett once, in the middle of the night.
I had rebuilt my life, and I'd found a man who made me feel things I'd been afraid to feel.
Brett could show up at my door with all the flowers he wanted, every single day, for the rest of his life.
That wouldn't change anything. I was done being afraid, and I was done with him.