Cross-Checked (16 page)

“Brick?” I called through a dry throat.

I carefully peeled open my eyes and scooted to the edge of the bed. I looked around. He wasn’t in the room. Perhaps he was taking a shower. The vacuum cleaner switched off. I strained my ears for the sound of running water.

Silence.

I glanced at where his bag had been strewn messily open.

Gone.

I swallowed a gurgle of bile.

He’d left.

It couldn’t be true.

It was.

He’d left without waking me. My heart began to thud so hard I was sure it would explode. How could he leave? How could he just get up and go and leave me sleeping? I didn’t know if I was furious, mortified or both. I did know I wanted to hit something.

Standing, I walked to the mirror on wobbly legs. They didn’t feel like mine. My vision blurred as I stared at my naked reflection. My hair was wild, my upturned nipples hard in the cool air-conditioning. I leaned my knuckles on the dressing table and peered at my bloodshot, sleepy eyes. What the hell had I done? I’d given him everything, he’d taken everything, and now he’d left.

In my moment of passion, I’d lost my head and in doing so lost him. He’d vanished in the middle of the night. Like a one-night stand avoiding an awkward morning conversation, he’d slunk from the hotel room with his stuff.

Part of me wanted to crumble into a heap and cry. Sob and sob and get rid of the wild burst of adrenaline saturating my blood. But that wasn’t me. That wasn’t how I handled problems. I had to be strong.

I stood and slid my hand across the dressing table I’d writhed on in ecstasy the night before. It was cold now, cold and smooth, my sweat had evaporated. My fingers came to the hotel notepad.

My gaze locked on it.

Scrawled in messy black writing, was a note.

Early flight to Denver. Thanks for a great night.

I tore the note from the pad with clawed fingers. “Thanks for a great fucking night,” I spat as I ripped the note in half then quarters. “Thanks for a great fucking night.” After all we’d shared, the date, the phone calls, the seriously hot foreplay and after what we’d done last night, he’d still treated me like some rink bunny.

My biggest fear had been realized despite my best efforts to be something more to him.

“Bastard,” I swore as I dropped the tiny shreds of paper into the bin. “Fucking bastard.” The white scraps fluttered down next to the used condom and my jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might actually crack. I’d been foolish, so foolish. I’d handed over my heart, my soul and my body in their entirety.

And now he didn’t want any of it.

I raked my fingers through my hair and scratched at my scalp with my nails.

Had last night all been an elaborate plan to get back at me for sneaking out on him in New York when
he’d
been fast asleep? I shook my head, trying to rid that thought. Surely not. I’d said I was sorry for that and I really thought we’d connected last night. We’d made love, bared our souls to one another, or at least I had. I’d offered him the ultimate in trust.

I stomped into the bathroom. Splashed water on my face, rinsed my mouth and grabbed my earrings. The scent of lemons still hung in the air, fresh and citrusy. I knew I’d never be able to smell lemons again without thinking of my shower with Brick. Sense his hands on my body, slippery and inquisitive, exploring every part of me as I pressed up against his gorgeous hot chest.

My eyes misted. I dropped my head in my palms and pulled in a deep breath. I had to get a grip, keep calm. I was good under pressure, always had been. There would be no tears, no matter how much they wanted to consume me.

I made my brain function rationally. I needed to get home. I needed to get dressed, get a cab and get home.

Stepping back into the room, I spotted my long dress. Oh god. I’d have to wear that to walk through the hotel lobby and out onto the street. How embarrassing. Everyone would know I’d stayed the night unintentionally. Everyone would know I was leaving alone. My one-night stand had left before I’d woken.

No, maybe they’d think I was leaving him sleeping. Yes, that’s what they’d think. I glanced at the digital clock by the bed. 11:09. I clicked my tongue in annoyance. No, who left a lover sleeping this late in the morning? No one. I was the one who’d been abandoned. It was obvious.

I dragged on my dress, hating its flimsiness and the revealing back. Last night I’d felt the belle of the ball, now I felt weak for succumbing to my urges. Feeling weak to me was like having all four limbs removed. I couldn’t stand it and I certainly couldn’t live with it.

Shoving my feet into the ridiculously high sandals, I grabbed my purse, dropped in the earrings and stepped into the corridor.

It was deserted.

The vacuum cleaner sat abandoned next to a towel- and toiletry-laden trolley halfway down. I headed for the elevator, which was conveniently waiting. Hit lobby and gathered the miniscule scrap of pride I had left, about enough to fill my right little toenail.

The doors pinged open. I tilted my chin, straightened my spine and stepped out. Willing myself to look straight ahead, I clicked across the marble-tiled floor past a high mahogany reception desk.

“Good morning,” the concierge said with a professional smile, though his eyes held a sparkle of amusement.

“Morning,” I replied, strutting past him. There was nothing good about it.

I pushed through the door into the wet heat of the day.

The red carpet had gone, so had the photographers, thank goodness. But the doorman from the night before was there. Smart and suited and a peaked cap on his head with “The Winston” embroidered in gold stitching across the top.

“Taxi, madam?” he asked with a professional smile.

“Yes.”

“Very good.” He called over a waiting cab.

He opened the door and I climbed in.

“You have a great day now,” he said, one side of his mouth curling in a smile.

“Humph,” I managed in reply.

* * * * *

I arrived home, ditched the dress in the corner of the bedroom and pulled on my cycling gear. I needed to ride, burn up the adrenaline and cortisone coursing through my veins. If I didn’t I would combust.

As I did up my laces, my hands shook with a mix of anger, despair and intense disappointment. I slipped my mobile into the holder I wore on my arm with my heart rate monitor attached. Should I call him? Hell no. I dismissed the thought as quickly as it entered my head. He could call me this time. He was the one who’d walked away. Why should I reach outagain?

I wheeled my bike out onto the road, clicked the chin strap of my helmet and within minutes was shooting along the main route out of town. The hot wind slipped across my cheekbones. The sun beat down on my shoulders. A single drop of moisture squeezed from my right eye.

My heart picked up to its usual steady pace as my feet beat down on the pedals. I felt a little tender from my nocturnal activities. But I embraced the discomfort, it was all I had left of him.

Soon I was on the first main road of the circle I did to complete a fifty-mile ride. It was always the worst stretch. The traffic was heavy. Cars, trucks and vans sped past, some left me barely any space. I ducked my head, sucked on my water bottle and carried on working the pedals, bashing the speed out through the wheels. I tried to ignore the enormous hubcaps and mammoth bumpers whizzing past only feet away.

Physically I began to feel better as my body burned adrenaline. But my mind was a fog of images, images of Brick looming over me on the dance floor, his square jawline set determined and his green eyes flashing. I saw him in the hotel room, desire and lust consuming his face as he pulled me into the bathroom. And then his reflection hovered before me, he was towering behind me, his face contorted in ecstasy as he pulsed within my body. I could hear him, that long, pleasure-filled groan of delight. I could feel his fingers curled over my hipbones and in my hair, holding me tight and firm, exactly where he wanted.

A screech of tires on tarmac collided with his lusty groan. A deafening horn sounded to my right, filled my ears, rattled around my brain for a split second before an almighty energy slammed into my back wheel. My legs stopped powering the bike forward, it was moving on its own momentum, faster and harder than ever before.

I was in the air, the wheels gripped nothing. I clutched at the handlebars as an enormous, dirty hubcap claimed my line of sight. A scream escaped my lips and I stared at spinning streaks of mud and grime. Terror gripped every fiber of my body.

In slow motion, I saw the verge approaching—long strands of sun-scorched grass leading to a ribbon of sludgy, green-topped water. And then it was there. I stretched out my hands to break my fall. Saw a flat gray rock hiding in the grass, long and dense. My bike and I were as one when we hit.

Pain. Burning, shooting. Sharp agony.

My arm, my head.

Everything disappeared. Everything went quiet.

Blackness.

* * * * *

“Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

“Mmm?” I tried to lick my lips, but my mouth was desert dry. Not a scrap of moisture anywhere. Rhythmic beeping rang through my head.

“Sweetheart, it’s me, Mom, can you hear me?”

I opened my eyes and pain shot across my forehead as an overhead light greeted me.

“Oh thank goodness,” Mom said with a gasping sigh.

She looked as rough as I felt. Her curled gray hair stuck up on the right as though she’d slept on it and her mascara had dribbled into her crow’s feet.

“Drink,” I whispered.

“Here, here,” she said, offering a red-striped straw.

I sucked in the lukewarm water. It tasted divine and I let it coat every corner of my mouth before swallowing it over the parched tissues of my throat.

“Better?” she asked with a tight, worried smile.

I nodded but regretted it instantly. My head hurt like the worst kind of hangover. But nowhere near as much as my right wrist. That throbbed and pulsed as though someone was beating it with a hammer over and over. I glanced at my chest. My arm was secured up toward my left collarbone in a sling. I could make out thick bandages and the faint yellow of iodine on my fingernails.

“What happened?” I asked, looking into Mom’s wide eyes.

“You came off your bike,” she said, smoothing hair from my cheek. “On the loop road.”

“I remember a truck,” I said, the filthy, spinning hubcap swirling in my memory. “Did it hit me?”

“Yes, sweetheart, it did. But it only clipped your back wheel, thank God. The driver feels terrible. He’s sent flowers and called every day to see how you are. It wasn’t his fault apparently, but of course it will have to be looked into.”

“Every day? How long have I been here?”

“This is the third day. They took you to surgery as soon as you came in, you sort of woke up afterward but since then you’ve been pretty much asleep the whole time. The doctor said it was the bang to your head, concussion, they scanned you, nothing showed so we just had to wait and pray.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my pounding forehead. “I’m just so grateful you always wear a helmet, Carly. If it hadn’t been for that, you would have been killed instantly.” She swallowed. “It’s split completely in two.”

My head pounded as if
it
was split in two. “My bike,” I said, “how’s my bike?”

Mom shook her head and pulled down the corners of her mouth. “It’s wrecked I’m afraid. Beyond repair.”

I heard the beeping pick up to match the pace of my heart pounding in my chest. “No, surely some of it can be repaired, it can’t all be written off. What about the main frame?” I tried to lift my head but gave up and dropped it back into the pillow.

“I’m sorry, Carly, it’s finished. But the insurance will cover it so don’t give it another thought, not now.”

Nausea washed through me and I swallowed down the acrid taste of bile. It had taken years to perfect that bike and make it just right for me. It would take years to replace it, it was like part of the family, it was part of me.

“You want some more water?” Mom asked, holding the straw to my lips.

I took a sip. “And I could use some painkillers, my arm is throbbing.”

“Yes, I’ll go find a nurse. You broke it pretty bad, they had to operate.”

I attempted to move it but the slice of pain that shot through to my fingers and up to my elbow caused me to wince and I wished I hadn’t bothered.

“And, Carly,” Mom said, standing, her voice taking on a firmer tone, “You didn’t tell us you had a boyfriend.”

I furrowed my brow.
I don’t have a boyfriend.

Mom looked over to the corner of the room. I followed her gaze.

Asleep on an armchair was Brick. I blinked long and slow to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. To check my concussed brain wasn’t hallucinating. But no, when I opened my eyes again, Brick was still there.

He filled the navy-blue chair entirely, his knees apart, his broad shoulders spanned the back and his long arms lay with his hands curled over the ends of the rests. His head was tipped to the ceiling and his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks.

“He’s been here the whole time,” Mom whispered. “He hasn’t moved from this room since you were brought in.”

“Since I was brought in?”

“Yes, apparently your mobile went off in the ambulance. The paramedic answered it, hoping it would be someone who could get in touch with your next of kin.”

“And it was Brick, calling me?”

“Yes, it was er…Brick calling you.” Mom touched her finger to my cheek. “The paramedic told him what had happened and where they were taking you. He was here, with us, by the time you came out of surgery.”

“And he’s been here the whole time?”

“The whole time,” Mom repeated with a soft smile. “And he really is quite charming. I don’t know why you didn’t tell us you were dating.”

I swallowed.
Dating? Mmm, that was one word for what we’d done together.

“Really, Carly, I know it took you a while to get over Tim but if you have a new boyfriend we really would like to know about it.”