No Such Thing as a Free Ride (23 page)

He followed my gaze and smiled and then his eyes settled on mine.

“Bran, do you ever wonder how things might’ve turned out if you and I had—”

“Yeah. Sometimes.”

A vague longing passed between us and then the moment was gone.

Bobby watched me as I walked down the block to my car and drove away.

Babysitting had actually turned out to be a good diversion for me. It helped take my mind off of Nick. I’d been obsessing over him since he’d left me on the back roads of Jersey. Whatever it was he was going through, I didn’t want him to go through it alone.

As I pulled onto my block it seemed especially quiet. Only the chirping crickets gave voice to the night. Used to be in the summer, the neighbors would hang out on their porches, talking, playing pinochle and eating Mrs. Esposito’s homemade biscotti while we kids rode our bikes up and down the block and hoped our parents didn’t notice we were up way past our bedtimes.

If we were lucky, Ronnie Cap’s dad would bring out his accordion, or Uncle Frankie would drop by for a visit and slip us sips of beer. It’s funny. It’s been seven years since I’ve been of legal drinking age in the state of Pennsylvania, but nothing ever tasted so good as mooching Budweiser off my uncle.

I flipped on the porch light and went inside.

*****

It was after midnight and I was still wide awake. The double espresso I’d had early in the day seemed like a good idea at the time, but now, not so much. I was restless and bored, and there was nothing good on tv, so I decided to dress up the dog and take pictures to send to my friend, Michelle, in L.A.

Turns out Adrian wasn’t as keen on the idea as I was. He sat at the kitchen table, gnawing the sequins off my Halloween costume from when I was a baby, a bright pink tutu with a matching crown. I’d found it in the basement along with some broken toys and a box of old report cards. Curiosity got the better of me, and I opened one of the cards to read the comment.

“Brandy is an impulsive child who needs to practice patience and self control.”

Hunh! Well, obviously the teacher had me mixed up with some other kid. That doesn’t sound like me at all.

I took about three shots of Adrian in various humiliating poses before he called it quits and ran off to hide under the couch. As I didn’t have the energy to coax him back out, I decided to make vegetable soup out of the broccoli I’d bought a couple of weeks ago in a fit of self improvement. In the middle of picking off the brown, mushy parts my phone rang.

Uh oh. Middle of the night phone calls rarely bode well.
I picked it up and prayed it was a wrong number or a particularly enthusiastic telemarketer who wanted to get a jump on the day. I uttered a tentative hello.

“I’m going to get you, Bitch.”

“Excuse me?” I figured maybe I’d heard it wrong and they’d really said, “I’m going to make you rich.” Okay, chances were slim, but a girl can hope.

“When I’m through with you,” the voice continued, “you’re going to beg me to kill you.”

“Um, Bunny? I think there’s been a little misunderstanding. I didn’t tell the police where to find you, if that’s what you’re thinking. I mean, we’ve barely met, and—who knows, had it been under different circumstances, we could’ve turned out to be really good friends.”

I had no idea how idiotic I sounded. I was just stalling until I could find a way to call the police on my land line.

“Bunny? You still there?”

“I’m in your house… in fact, I’m right behind you.”

Without thinking I whipped around, ready to take her on. There was no one there.

Of course not. I would have heard her.
I put my phone to my ear. The sound of Bunny’s laughter echoed in my brain and then the line went dead.

It took me a full minute to stop shaking.
She’s just messing with me for now, but one of these days it’s gonna be the real thing.
I took a deep breath and dialed 911.

My head was killing me, so while I waited for the police to arrive I ran upstairs to grab some aspirin from the bathroom cabinet. Rocky followed me in and hopped up onto the edge of the sink, craning her neck for a drink from the faucet.

“Hang on a second, sweetie. Mommy’s had a rough day.”

I set my phone down on the toilet tank lid and then turned on the faucet with one hand, while reaching for the cabinet door with the other. It was stuck so I yanked hard. The door flew open with a loud creak sending Rocky into a frenzy. She leaped off the counter top, her tail grazing the toilet tank lid on her way out the door. I heard a splash and looked down to see my “brand new-should I buy it-no, it’s too expensive-but I
really
want it” cell phone sink like a rock to the bottom of the toilet bowl.
Unhhh

I plunged my hand into the water, hoping that the five second rule about eating food off the floor also applied to submerged electronics.
If I take it out fast enough, it’ll be like it never happened.

I dried off the phone with the hair drier and pressed the “power” button. It was dead as a door nail.
Note to self: five-second rule does not apply with big ticket items.

Twenty minutes later I sat in my living room as Officer Joiner and her partner searched my house and premises on the off chance that Bunny really was lurking close by. Finding no evidence of a nocturnal intruder, they asked to take a look at my phone to check the number Bunny had called from.

“Um, there’s a little problem with that,” I said, and went on to explain about the toilet mishap. Officer Joiner pressed two thin lips together and pulled some latex gloves from her back pocket. “It was clean,” I added.

She ignored me and bagged my new phone as evidence.

After the cops left my imagination went into overdrive, interpreting every normal household sound to be someone breaking into my home. I tried to tough it out until morning, but the longer I laid in bed the worse it got, until even the sound of my own heartbeat was cause for alarm.

“Nick said you could crash at his apartment if you felt unsafe at home,” reminded a little voice in my head.

“Yes, but do you really need to, or are you just using it as an excuse to spend the night with him?” countered a second little voice.

“Oh, shut up,” said the first little voice.

After that the second little voice was quiet, so I packed up Rocky and Adrian and headed on over to Nick’s.

I didn’t want to just barge in on him, (admittedly, not out of respect for his privacy, but out of who I might find there with him) so I called before I left home. He didn’t pick up and I debated not going at all, but my house was seriously creeping me out. I left a message telling him that I was on my way over, figuring if he
was
entertaining it would give him time to move the party elsewhere.

Nick’s car was parked in the loading zone. All of a sudden this really shy feeling came over me and I wanted to turn around and go back home, only it was late and I was scared, so I forged ahead, balancing Rocky’s carrier in one hand and Adrian’s leash in the other.

The closer I got to his apartment the more trepidation I began to feel, and I started thinking this was a bad idea. “But he
invited
me,” I repeated to myself like a mantra. All the same, when I reached his place I knocked really loud in case he’d forgotten.

One of Nick’s neighbors, a large, hairy man in boxer shorts stuck his head out the door.

“Sorry,” I said, and knocked one more time for good measure. Then I dug out the key and let myself in.

I turned on the lamp in the foyer and noticed a set of keys and Nick’s .38 lying on the table. “Nick?” I called out, walking into the living room. There was no answer. I put the cat carrier down and let Adrian off the leash. He sniffed the air for a second and then trotted off to explore the rest of the rooms.

Even though I had Nick’s permission, it still felt weird to be there without having touched base with him first. His house phone was on the coffee table, so I picked it up and punched in his cell number, hoping to give him a head’s up.

I could hear the phone ring in my ear, however, there was a louder, more distinct ring coming from the other side of the room as well. I walked over to the baby grand piano that sat in the corner overlooking Rittenhouse Square. Nick’s cell phone was sitting on the keyboard.

Why would Nick leave the house without his cell phone?

While I was pondering this, Adrian slunk out of the bathroom looking guilty. “Bad dog,” I said, figuring he must have done
something
to look so ashamed. I walked into the hallway and found a trail of unfurled toilet paper leading back to the bathroom. I followed the trail scooping it up along the way.

It was dark in there and unbearably hot and steamy. I felt around for the light switch and flipped it on.

“Douse the lights, would you darlin’?”

“Holy Jesus,”
I gasped, stifling a scream.

Nick lay naked in his claw-foot tub, his body immersed in water. His left arm dangled over the side, the right, elbow bent and resting on the rim, held a crystal shot glass. A half-empty bottle of Patron Gold sat on the floor within easy reach. He lifted the glass to his lips and quickly downed the contents, then gently placed the glass next to the bottle.

His hair was damp and matted and clung to the tops of his bare shoulders. His legs were bent at the knee. His face held a mixture of quiet rage and crushing melancholy. He never looked more beautiful.

“The light?” he repeated.

“Oh. Sorry.” I turned off the light and waited until my eyes got accustomed to the dark. “Listen, I didn’t mean to intrude on you. I’d tried to call… something happened and I didn’t want to stay in my house… I should probably go—”

“Come here,” he said, his voice a low growl.

My heart pounding, I walked over and stood next to the tub, straining my eyes to make out his features.

“Kneel down.”

It was a rough command and my stomach tightened. This was a side of Nick I’d never seen before. He was scaring me, and yet, I was
exactly
where I wanted to be.

I knelt down next to the tub, unsure of what to do and feeling increasingly uneasy. Nick leaned over the rim and took my arm, wrapping strong fingers around my wrist. Placing my hand on his chest, he slowly guided me down the length of his body.

Relaxing against the back of the tub again, he moved my arm lower and lower. The water was so hot it was as if he were trying to purge himself of all things unholy. I closed my eyes and flattened my hand against his stomach, feeling the hardness of his abs, the peach fuzz just below his belly button.

My own stomach rolled as he pushed my hand lower still and I held my breath and waited. My finger tips grazed something wonderful and then his hand tightened around my wrist and he guided me away from that bit of heaven to his right side and the jagged remains of an old wound.

“You asked me once how I got this scar,” he said, absently rubbing the rough patch. “Do you still want to know?”

“Only if you want to tell me.”

“It was a birthday present from my father on the day I turned 12. He gave it to me right after I watched him kill my mother.”

Stunned beyond words, I felt the weight of unshed tears spring up behind my eyes.

Nick pushed himself into a sitting position and grabbed the bottle of tequila off the floor, taking a swig from it. I watched him as his throat closed around the fiery liquid.

“You should go, Angel.”

“No! Nick, I’m not leaving you like this. You wouldn’t leave me…”

His response was slow and deliberate. “I can’t guarantee what will happen if you stay.”

I laid my hand on his cheek and felt the raw energy pulsating throughout his body. “I’m staying.”

Santiago rose out of the tub pulling me roughly to him. I could feel the anger flow like lava though his veins. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice a guttural whisper.

I believed him. I knew, too, that he would.

I hesitated just long enough to feel the fear and then I put my arms around his neck, pressing myself into him, trying to convey in my touch what my words could not.
I will ride this out with you, Nick. No matter what.

My tee shirt mingled with the dampness of his bare skin and clung to my chest. I peeled it off, no boundaries between us. He cupped my ass and hoisted me off the ground, setting me down on the ledge of the sink. With one hand, he unsnapped my jeans and pulled them down over my hips, letting them fall to the floor.

I could feel the strength in his arms as he parted my knees and wedged himself between my legs. I was under no illusions about the act that followed. I was merely a vessel for him to deposit his rage.

Afterwards, he held me close, my head resting on his chest. “Lo siento,” he whispered into my hair. “I’m sorry.”

I pulled out of his embrace, forcing him to look at me. “Do
not
be sorry, Nick. You don’t have one damn thing to be sorry about.
I’m
not.”

What happened was not about sex or love or even redemption. It was about trust. Unconditional and unyielding.

Wordlessly, he lifted me up and carried me to his bed.

The room was bathed in the soft glow of street lamps from the park across the way. Nick put me down on the bed and slid in next to me, turning over on his side to “spoon” me. He brushed his lips against my neck, sending chills down my spine and radiating frontward.

I wasn’t quite sure where this was going, seeing as he’d just scored a home run, which brought me to a whole new set of worries about the dangers of unprotected sex and
how stupid could I be
, even with the “swept away by the heat of the moment” excuse factored in. But it was more altruistic in nature than for my own benefit, so that should count for something, right?

Nick tightened his arms around me. “Just so you know, Angel, this was a ‘first’ for me. I always use a condom and I get tested regularly. Still, it was a selfish thing to do and I’m sorry.”