Knight (An Impossible Novel) (24 page)

I skirted around Dad’s desk and wrapped my arm around his shoulders.

“It’s over now, Dad,” I reassured him softly.  “I’m back, and I’m rebuilding my life.  I’m not going to let what he did to me ruin me.  And I won’t let him hurt you, either.  Not anymore.  You should go back to work, Dad.  You love what you do.”

He stood, pulling me into a tight embrace.  His tears wet my hair as he leaned into me.

“Di,” he said hoarsely.  “It’s so good to hear you bossing me around again.”

A shaky laugh escaped me.  “I guess I really am getting better.  I just want you to be happy, Dad.”

He pulled back from me slightly, but he still kept his hands around my shoulders.  His eyes searched my face.

“That’s all I want for you, too, honey.  That’s all any of us want for you.  Your mother and I, Tucker…”

He paused at the sight of my pained expression.

“Your mother told me how you feel about Tuck,” he said quietly.  “I know she convinced you to stay with him.  But is that what
you
want?”

It was the same question Dr. Stanger had asked me.  And I knew my answer all too well.

“It’s the right thing to do,” I said, but I couldn’t fully conceal the resignation, the regret, in my tone.

“Honey, the only ‘right’ thing to do is the thing that makes you happiest.  If you want to move to Nebraska and dig ditches, I’ll support you.  Of course, I would follow you to make sure you didn’t dig yourself into too deep a hole.”

I couldn’t hold back my laugh.  “That was terrible, Dad.  One of the weakest puns I’ve ever heard from you.  In fact, I’m not sure if that even qualifies as a pun.  You’ll have to step up your game if you’re going to start writing again.”

He chuckled at me.  “I guess I’ll just have to get in some practice.”

I gave a dramatic groan.  “Practice on your keyboard, please, and save the rest of us the pain.  I’ll make you a deal: you can eat the entire cherry pie if I don’t have to hear one pun for the rest of the afternoon.”

His lips pursed in mock-consideration.  “You drive a hard bargain, Di.  I suppose I could do that, if you can keep your mother from pestering me about it.”

“Agreed,” I said quickly.  “Once I tell her the terms, I’m sure you won’t hear a peep out of her.”

He clapped me on the shoulder, smiling.

Then his eyes turned serious again.

“I meant what I said, Di.  Do what makes you happy.  I’ll deal with your mother if she flies off the handle.  She’ll come around eventually.”

I hugged him again, breathing in his peppermint and tweed scent as I rested my head on his shoulder.

“Thanks, Dad,” I whispered.  “I needed to hear that.”

Tears of wonder and sentiment welled in my eyes as I stared hungrily at Georges Seurat’s
Seated Woman with a Parasol
.  It was my favorite work of art housed at the Art Institute of Chicago.  The century-old black Conté crayon-on-ivory paper drawing had been a conceptual effort in preparation for Seurat’s
A Sunday on La Grande Jatte,
but for me it held every bit as much majesty as that famous work.

Granny had brought me to the Institute to study it when she was teaching me about shading.  I was eleven years old at the time.  After her death four years later, I had come here often to visit the drawing, to remember her.

Tucker’s fingers touched my hand tentatively, closing around mine when I didn’t flinch away.

I turned my watering eyes on him.  “Tuck…”  I swallowed against the tightness in my throat and squeezed his hand.  “Thanks for bringing me here.”

As soon as I had returned to his townhouse that evening, he had insisted that we come here.  He knew me so well.  He knew how much this place meant to me.

“I have something I want to tell you, baby,” he said seriously, his own eyes clouded with emotion.  “I want you to go to Notre Dame and get your BFA.  After what happened…  You should have everything you’ve always wanted.  You should pursue your art.”

My heart swelled with affection even as it ached to recognize that what he was saying was impossible.  “You know we can’t afford that, Tuck.  You must have cut into a lot of your savings covering the rent on the townhouse by yourself.  In a few weeks, I’m going to see if I can get my job at Real Listings back.”

“No, Lydia,” he said firmly.  “You hated it there.  I’ve put out some applications for a second job.  You can go to school full time, and we’ll be able to squeak by without having to take out any loans.”  He gave me a small smile.  “Then, when you’re a famous artist, you can share your millions with me.”

“I can’t let you do that, Tuck.  I
won’t
let you do that.”

I took a deep breath.  It was time to stop Tucker before he gave up even more of his life, more of his self, for me.

“I know about you and Becs,” I said quietly.

Panic flashed across his features.

“Lydia, I…  We spent so much time together after you…  It just sort of happened.”  His eyes were tight with desperation, with anguish.  “But it’s over now.  You and I are going to be together.  I promised you forever, and -”

I pressed two fingers to his lips, stopping him short.

“It’s okay, Tuck.  I’m not angry.  I…  I want you to be happy.  You said I should have everything I’ve ever wanted.  I want the same for you.”  I regarded him seriously.  “Do you love me, Tucker?”

“Of course,” he breathed. 
“Always.”

“Are you in love with me?”

His soft blue eyes searched my face.  They were filled with both longing and regret.  He wanted so badly to be able to answer in the affirmative.  But we both knew it would be a lie.

“No.”

He blinked, as though surprised to hear the word fall from his lips.

“So, I guess that’s it, then,” he said, his voice trembling slightly.  “This is the end of us.”

I touched my hand to his cheek.  “No, Tuck.  There’ll never be an end for us.  We’ll always be a part of each other.  But this is the beginning of our lives.  The lives we never got to have together.”

He leaned into me, and his mouth softly touched mine.  We poured the last of our love into the kiss.  Every tug of our lips pulled the pain of years wasted from our souls, purging the bitterness that had weighed us down for so long.

When we went back to the townhouse for the night, we had a long talk about our respective futures.  It was the most comfortable, genuine conversation we had shared since my return.  The eager excitement that pulsed around us filled the living room with a shared joy that had been absent for years.

I was going to find a part time job and take out student loans so I could finally get my BFA.  My parents had always told me it was irresponsible to have debts, but I was following my own heart now.  My father had given me his blessing.  Even if I never made a dime off my drawings, I would have achieved one of my biggest dreams. 
A dream that had seemed unattainable only that morning.

And I was going to go back to Smith.  I didn’t tell Tucker that part of my plan, though.  There was a chance – a very big one – that Smith would reject me.  He was obviously deeply disturbed by what had happened between us.  I wasn’t going to tell anyone in my life about Smith until I was sure of his response.

I spoke openly with Tucker about his romantic life.  I gave him my blessing to be with Becs.  It would be awkward to see them together, but I wanted both of them in my life, no matter what.

Tucker was going to start writing music again.  Like me with my art, he wasn’t sure if anything would come of it, but success didn’t matter.  Music was at the core of Tuck’s being, and he had shut that part of himself off for far too long.

We shared a bed that night, for the first time in years and for the last time ever.  There was nothing sexual about the way we held one another; it was an expression of intimacy that was deeper than physical passion.

Our joy was undiminished in the morning.  There was no sense of reluctance or regret over our decision.

I grinned when Tucker met me in the living room for breakfast.  He was wearing a red flannel shirt and light-wash jeans.  The shirt was unbuttoned, hanging open to reveal his green Jimmy Eat World t-shirt.  Everything clashed horribly.

“What are you smiling about?”  He asked suspiciously.

I stepped towards him, meeting him in the center of the room so I could smooth out his rumpled collar.

“You look like Tucker.”

He laughed.  “Thanks?”

“Don’t worry.  It’s definitely a compliment.  You don’t look like a nondescript cog in the corporate wheel anymore.”

Tuck was reclaiming his identity, just as I had reclaimed my own.  We were ready to go our own ways, but we would never truly be parted from one another.

I took his left hand in my right, lifting it up between us.  My fingers touched his wedding band.  I gave him a soft smile as I said my loving goodbye.

“I, Lydia Chase, take you, Tucker Chase, to be my constant friend. 
I offer you my solemn vow to be your faithful partner in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, and in joy as well as in sorrow. I promise to love you unconditionally, to support you in your goals, to honor and respect you, to laugh with you and cry with you, and to cherish you for as long as we both shall live.”

Tucker mirrored my movements, taking my other hand in his and echoing my altered recitation of our wedding vows.  He smiled down at me gently as we both removed the gold bands from each other’s fingers at the same time.  He pressed his own into my palm and closed my hand around it, raising my fist to softly brush his lips over my knuckles.

A gratingly familiar scream tore through our tender moment.  We both jumped, our attention whipping to the TV, which had suddenly turned on of its own accord.

For a few seconds, my mind rejected the horror of what I was seeing.

A thin, wasted version of me filled the screen, her face contorted in pain as her tormentor ruthlessly held her down, tearing her unwilling body as he pounded into her.

Then
his
voice, clear and matter-of-fact, overrode the sounds of my agony.

“I don’t share my toys.”

The screen went black.

The sounds of glass shattering and Tucker’s grunt were almost simultaneous.

Tucker looked down at his own chest, a shocked expression on his face.  A crimson stain was blooming on his t-shirt. 

He collapsed to the floor, and I followed him down.

“Tucker!”

My hands fluttered around him uselessly as the gory stain grew, widening outward from a neatly circular little hole in the center of his chest.

His body jerked.  Once.  Twice.

He drew in a shuddering breath.  His eyes stared in abject terror at something I couldn’t see.

The air left his lungs with a horrible rattle.

The taut lines of his face eased, his eyes drooping half-closed.

“Tuck!”  I shrieked his name as I gripped his shoulders, shaking him hard.

He didn’t respond.

I threw my body atop his, hugging him to me with the same fierce desperation that we had held each other on the night he had proposed to me.  If I just held him tightly enough, everything would be okay.  Everything would work out.

There were loud voices behind me.  The wails of sirens screeched their way into the townhouse through the broken window.

I ignored them.  I couldn’t let go of Tuck.

Hands closed around my shoulders, prying me away from him.  I screamed and twisted and fought.

Didn’t they understand that I couldn’t let Tuck go?  I had to hold him.  If I didn’t, everything would fall apart.

Something sharp pierced my upper arm.  Darkness swirled at the edges of my vision, and my muscles turned watery.

No!

I couldn’t lose sight of Tucker.

My fingers loosened as I lost control of my limbs, and Tucker’s ring bounced against the hardwood floor.

I struggled against my darkening vision, willing my eyes to remain focused on Tucker.  His face – oddly slack, but his mouth still open in a silent scream of shocked protest – was the last thing I saw before I was pulled under.

It was the last time I would ever see him.

Chapter 21

Agent Byrd’s face was fuzzy when it appeared above me.  I blinked several times to clear the fog from my eyes, but it still lingered in my mind.  I glanced around, gauging my surroundings.  I was lying on a bed in a small, sparsely decorated bedroom.  Frowning, I returned my gaze to Kate.

The lines of her face were concerned, sympathetic.

I didn’t understand what was happening.

“Where am I?”  My voice was little more than a croak.  Why did my throat feel so raw?

“You’re at a safe house,” she told me gently.  “The medics had to sedate you.  You were very… distressed.”

Sedate me?

I just blinked at her, nonplussed.

“We’re looking for the sniper now,” she continued carefully.  “Can you tell me what happened from your perspective?  The more time passes, the harder it will be for us to track the guy who shot Tucker.”

Glass shattering.  Tuck’s soft blue eyes, wide and terrified.  A gory red stain spreading across his t-shirt.

I shook my head sharply, shoving the memories away.  It was a practice with which I was all too familiar.  My mind couldn’t acknowledge the full horror of what had happened.

Tucker and I were going to be happy.  We had vowed to love and support one another for the rest of our lives.

The rest of our lives.

“Lydia?”  Kate prompted me.

No.  It hadn’t happened.  I couldn’t exist if Tucker didn’t.  I didn’t know how to exist in a world without him.

I turned away from Kate, curling up on my side as I hugged my knees to my chest.

“If you get upset, I want you to go to your positive memory.”

This time my mind didn’t select the recollection of being held by Master after we had joined for the first and only time.  I turned to the memory of kneeling at his feet instead, his fingers brushing the top of my head as I clung to his leg.

Safe.
  Calm.

I didn’t have to worry about anything, because I wasn’t in control.  My wishes, my thoughts, didn’t matter.

Closing my eyes, I sank into the memory.

I was dimly aware of Kate speaking to me, her hand touching my shoulder insistently.

I ignored her.

I would stay with Master.  Master would keep me safe.  He would take care of me.

*  *  *  *

“Hey, Lydia.”
  I instantly recognized Clayton’s kind, rumbling voice as it drifted down to me.  “You should get up and eat something.”

I ignored him, too.  He wanted me to return to the present.  He wanted to ask me questions.

But I wasn’t going anywhere.  I was going to stay with Master.

Several beats of silence passed before Clayton sighed resignedly.

“Lydia.”  His voice was deep, commanding.  “Sit up.  Now.”

My limbs jerked, instinctively moving to obey the order of a Dominant.  I squeezed my eyes shut tighter and resolutely resisted the urge.

“I won’t tell you again.”  This time, a hint of a threat darkened his hard tone.

Stiffly, I unfurled my arms from around my knees and stretched out my legs from where they had been curled up to my chest.  Even once I had pushed myself into a sitting position at the edge of the bed, I didn’t look up at Clayton.  I didn’t allow my vision to focus on anything so that I could remain in some sort of blank limbo where nothing was real.  If nothing was real, then nothing could hurt me.

A foil wrapper crinkled, and a half-unwrapped protein bar appeared in front of my face.

“Eat.”

Mechanically, I opened my mouth and bit into it.  The strawberry and oatmeal flavors tasted like ashes in my mouth.  I gagged as my body rebelled against the sustenance.

“Swallow.”

The order helped give me the resolve to force my tongue and throat to work.

“Again.
  Finish it.”

I blindly obeyed.  Following orders was easy.  I didn’t have to think.  I fell further into my fantasy, a blissfully simple reality in which I had no responsibilities, no cares,
no will of my own.

A small, round blue pill appeared in Clayton’s large hand.

“Take it.”

My fingers shook slightly, but I popped it into my mouth.  Clayton held a glass of water to my lips, and I drank.

His heat withdrew from me.  I didn’t move.

He cursed under his breath.

“Lie down.”

I settled back down on my side, closing my eyes as I resumed my earlier protective position.

Clayton began murmuring, but his words weren’t aimed at me.

“You need to get your ass here. 
Now.”

Pause.

“No.  She’s a mess.  And I don’t know how to deal with this.”

Pause.

“I tried that.  I don’t know how you did it, but I just can’t.  It feels so wrong.”

A part of my mind registered that Clayton was talking to someone on the phone.  I couldn’t summon up any curiosity over whom he was speaking to.  What he was doing didn’t concern me.  What I thought didn’t matter.

“Stop angsting like a teenage girl and get your ass to Chicago.  She needs you right now.  You can go back to beating yourself up about it later.”

Clayton stopped talking.  His conversation was finished.  The chair in the corner of the room creaked slightly as he settled down onto it with a sigh.

I went back to ignoring him.  Whatever pill he had given me made that even easier as it further cushioned my mind in fluffy clouds.

*  *  *  *

The door clicked open.  One pair of footsteps entered, another exited.  The door thudded closed softly.

“Open your eyes, Lydia.”

My fantasy was becoming remarkably vivid.  Or maybe it wasn’t a fantasy after all.  I wasn’t sure anymore.

The sense of power that always pulsed around Master enfolded me like a tangible thing.  I reveled in it, mentally drawing it closer, welcoming it to smother me and put an end to everything that wasn’t
him
.

“Look at me, girl.”  The command was sharper this time, cutting through my haze with painfully sweet clarity.

My eyes snapped open.  His steady silver stare was the most beautiful thing I could ever recall seeing.

“Master.”
  His name was a relieved, ragged whisper as it clawed its way up my ravaged throat.

I was instantly on my knees before him.  The scent of amber and whiskey washed over me, bringing with it a wave of calm.

God, this was so much better than any fantasy.

Tears of joy sprang to my eyes when his large, warm hand settled on the top of my head, his fingers working through my hair.  Sighing happily, I leaned against him, giving myself to him completely.

“You’re okay, sweetheart.  I’ve got you.”

For a few glorious minutes, the world was exactly as it should be: blissfully calm, perfectly simple.

But a dull sense of panic began pulsing insistently at the back of my mind.  For some reason I couldn’t quite grasp, Master’s presence was inducing a sharp fear within me.

My eyes darted around the room of their own accord, searching for a window.  I found nothing but blank, pale yellow walls.  But my terror only increased as the worry ratcheted up another notch.

Master’s hand stilled its steady stroking.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

I scrambled away from him with a gasp.  Something was wrong.  Master couldn’t be here.  He couldn’t be with me.

“You have to leave,” I insisted shakily.

His expression tightened, and pain flashed across his gorgeous eyes.  He gave me a short nod.

“Fair enough,” he bit out.

He turned to leave, and I couldn’t bear the sight of the tension in his shoulders as he clenched his fists at his sides.

“Wait!”

He pivoted, raising a cool eyebrow at me.

“I don’t want you to go.”

His lips thinned to a dangerous line.  “You really should make up your mind, girl.  I won’t tolerate this much longer.”  His nostrils flared angrily, but the tight lines around his eyes betrayed hurt.

I shook my head against the increasing pain of my dawning realization.

“I don’t want you to leave.  But if he knows you’re with me…  He’ll kill you.  Just like…  He killed Tucker.  Oh, god, he killed Tucker!”  I shrieked the last words, tangling my fingers in my hair as I tried to physically rip the image of his terrified eyes from my mind.

Master’s hands closed around my wrists, firmly halting my efforts to tear out my hair.  He crouched down beside me where I was sprawled on the floor and wrapped his arms around me, lifting me up and cradling me against his chest.

He murmured a stream of soothing words as I cried against him, my punishing sobs ripping their way up my abused throat.  I realized it was raw from my screaming as I had fought the people who pried me away from Tucker’s body.

His body.

The soulless shell I had left bleeding on the living room floor hadn’t been Tucker anymore.

Tucker was dead.  My first love, my one-time partner, my lifelong friend, was gone.

I had taken back the parts of myself that the Bastard had stolen from me, and in retaliation, he had taken Tucker.

When my ribs felt like they would crack if my chest convulsed one more time, my body finally gave up on sobbing.  I heaved in deep, shuddering breaths.  My lungs burned in protest of the sudden overdose of oxygen.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Master said softly.  “Breathe.”

He touched his lips to my forehead, and a delighted shiver raced across my skin, through my soul.  The pure comfort elicited by the gesture gave me the courage to speak again, to face the horror of my current reality.

“What…”  I swallowed.  “What’s happening now?”

His hand cupped my jaw, angling my face so I was staring up at him.  I drank in the sight of him hungrily now that my lucidity had fully returned to me.

“CPD is working with the Chicago branch of the FBI to track the sniper.”  He wasn’t cautious or careful in the way he delivered the information.  He spoke to me calmly, steadily.  It helped quiet my own mind as I absorbed what he was saying.

“Based on the bullet’s trajectory, the shooter was situated on the roof of the apartment block across the street from Tucker’s townhouse.  We’ve been going through traffic cameras in the area to see if we can get an ID on the guy, but the feed was looped on every camera in the area
within an hour window of the shooting.”

His expression was grim, angry.

“We still don’t have any leads on the Bastard’s identity.  Whoever the fuck he is, he’s got way too much knowledge of how to cover up the evidence that would help our investigation to be an ordinary civilian.”  His eyes were regretful as they focused back on me.  “I’m sorry, Lydia.  Can you tell me what happened from your perspective?  Anything you saw, no matter how insignificant it seems, might help us.”

I shuddered.  What I had seen wasn’t remotely insignificant.  Now that I was no longer shutting it away, I found the memory readily available in sharp, horrible detail.  It was burned into my brain as though by a brand.

“Tuck-”  His name stuck in my throat.  “We were in the living room.”

The image of Tucker’s soft, fond smile as he placed his wedding ring in my hand and kissed my knuckles made me flinch.

Master’s thumb traced the line of my jaw soothingly, his touch keeping me tethered to him.

“The TV turned
on, and…”  I swallowed against the metallic tang in the back of my throat.  “There was a video of me.  And
him.
”  I cringed.  I hadn’t realized he had been filming me.  The idea of that Bastard having those days of my torment readily available for him to enjoy again and again made my gut clench painfully.  I had thought I was free from him, but he still owned pieces of me.

“What was happening in the video?”  Master’s voice was tight as he pressed me.  He didn’t want to hear it any more than I wanted to say it.  But if it could help the FBI catch the man who had taken Tuck from me, I would tell him.

“He was raping me.”  My voice was barely audible.  Master’s muscles flexed around me as he fought to physically contain his fury.  I forced myself to continue on.  “Then his voice…  He said,
‘I don’t share my toys.’ 
And then…  Then he shot Tucker.”

I stared up at Master – at Smith – imploringly.

“Please leave,” I rasped.  “He’ll kill you too if he knows I’ve been with you.”  I couldn’t live with it if anything happened to him because of me.  My mind had refused to function in the face of Tucker’s death.  It would shatter completely if Smith was taken from me as well.  No amount of therapy would be able to heal my broken soul if I lost both of them.

Smith’s arms tightened around me as his eyes glinted steel.

“If you think for one second that I’m going to leave you because I’m afraid of that Bastard, you really have lost your goddamn mind, sweetheart.”