Reviving Haven (26 page)

I spend the night with Latch and most of the day with him on Sunday. He has another business trip scheduled for the following week, which means I won’t see him for the next five days.

Latch leaves for his trip on Monday. While he
’s away, he calls me every morning and every night. I receive at least four to five text messages daily. If this were anyone other than Latch, I would consider it obsessive. It’s nice to have someone who not only says he loves me, but acts as if he does.

At times, our relationship feels like it
’s under a microscope, especially now that the paparazzi have taken an interest in us. The first time I saw our picture in a magazine, I felt violated. They were speculating about me—my age, where I came from, and our sex life. Latch is used to the publicity and the scrutiny, but it feels intrusive, as if they are invading my life and space. I’m lucky I own my bookstore and that it sits on private property. By law, Denise and I can kick them out whenever we want.

On Thursday, I arrive home to find three boxes waiting for me on my bed. I know they
’re from Latch. I shake my head in quiet disbelief. Latch lives for surprising me. This is who Latch is—the man who loves me, the man who makes me smile. There’s a note. I sit on my bed and read it:

I miss you, leannán. Please do not get all bent out of shape because of these gifts. Since I am in New York, I wanted to send you something special. When I saw this dress, I instantly thought of you— beautiful and alluring. Please wear it next weekend to the gala. I love you, baby. Latch

Oh hell, he bought me clothes. I pull the top off the first box to find a sexy strapless bra and a thong made of silk. I am so smitten with this man. I know how much Latch loves panties, plus, he owes me a few pairs. The ensemble is emerald green and has a floral design with crystals.

I grab the second box and pull off the lid. I squeal, finding it hard to contain myself. The box holds a pair of Nincha heels. I carefully take them out. I almost can
’t breathe. They are the most unusual shade of green I’ve ever seen with beading along the top and down the side of the heel. Green satin straps wrap around the ankle. Nincha shoes are so high-end, they have to be ordered from France, and the cost is astronomical. Weezie and I have drooled over this shoe line for years, but I never dreamed I’d ever own a pair. I trail my fingertips over them, carefully feeling every line of the shoe. I can’t even imagine what these cost—most likely more than my car and Weezie’s combined.

My hands shake as I set the shoes down and open the last and largest box. I pull off the lid and
I want to cry. It is the most stunning dress I’ve ever seen. I remove it from the box, draping it over me. I turn toward my full-length mirror. It’s to die for. The material is a mix of silk and chiffon and it falls like gossamer to the floor. It’s strapless, long and flowing with a thigh-high split up the front. The color is several shades of green blended together and it reminds me of Latch’s eyes. It is Oscar De La Renta at his best. All of this must have cost a small fortune. Weezie is right . . . I am Cinderella. As if she can read my thoughts, Weezie taps on my door. I quickly put the boxes in my closet so I can surprise her on the night of the gala.

“Come on in.”

I sit back on my bed, pretending to read a book. Weezie enters with a frown fixed across her face.

“Well, what
’s in the boxes? I’m assuming there from the millionaire boy toy?” She asks looking around.

“You
’ll just have to wait until the gala. So Latch has a new title now?” I laugh.

“Well, he is a boy, and your toy. And he
’s rich, so yeah.” Weezie’s expression appears pinched and her stance is uneasy. I touch her arm.

“What
’s up?” I ask. Weezie hesitates, her eyes staring at the floor. “What’s going on?” I question her a little more firmly this time.

“Haven, I don
’t want to rain on your parade, but it’s Latch.”

My heart drops. Just like that, I
’m worried, concerned and agitated all at once.

“Is he okay? Is he hurt? Tell me for God
’s sake,” I plead as I jump up, filled with sudden panic.

“He
’s been arrested,” Weezie spits out. She looks perturbed.

For a moment, I have to let the information sink in. Arrested, why would Latch be arrested? I know he has gotten into some altercations with the police before, but I thought that happened years ago.

“What? How do you know?” I fire back at her.

“Hell, it
’s all over Twitter and Facebook. I thought maybe you’d heard,” Weezie speaks uncomfortably.

“Yeah, because I have so much time these days to go on those sites,” I reply, my tone sullen.

Weezie frowns as she leaves, then returns moments later with her laptop. She opens it, turning the display towards me.

“We don
’t really know any specific details except what the internet is reporting, so don’t go all postal.” Weezie cocks her head at me, obviously concerned about my reaction.

I look on the screen. And because it
’s grainy, I have to put on my glasses to actually see the video. Evidently, there had been a bar fight and it was caught on someone’s cell phone. I guess going to New York for meetings included drunken brawls. I watch the video and then survey the still shots that were obviously taken by the media. My eyes go wide and I begin to seethe. The photographs show patrons from the bar standing around Latch as he’s being led away by the police in handcuffs. At his side is Krystella. The report reads that Latch McKay CEO of McKay Enterprises and his girlfriend were arrested early Wednesday morning for battery and resisting arrest—

I close the laptop. I
’ve read enough. I feel like I could vomit.

“That
’s the skank you were telling me about, the one from the restaurant?” Weezie asks, taking the laptop.

“Yup, that
’s the one.” I try not to sound too distressed but my heart feels devastated.

“Not that I
’m trying to defend his sorry ass, but there could be a logical explanation.” Her voice sounds hopeful as she sits on my bed.

“Really, and what would that be?” I ask, almost shrieking. “Explain to me how that fucking bitch is in New York at the same goddamn time as him.”

I am so enraged—I’m shaking. I flop down on my bed, hugging my arms around myself. Weezie starts chuckling.

“What the hell? You think this is amusing?” I hiss between my teeth.

“In almost twenty years I think I’ve heard you swear twice. The other time was when you clipped your toe on the coffee table and broke it,” Weezie replies, grinning.

“Whatever . . . I
’m furious. He’s cheating on me. I’m not going through this again, no way. Why do they have to lie? I should have known. I am so stupid,” I mutter, more to myself then for the benefit of Weezie.

How dare he send clothing for the gala while he
’s screwing around on me—apparently I’m naive, because his so called love for me must mean very little to him.

“He
’ll be home tomorrow, so let him explain. Normally I wouldn’t say this—you know me, I’m not the sentimental type, but I truly think this guy cares about you. I believe it. I’ve seen him around you. And frankly, no one’s that good of an actor.” Weezie stands and hugs her laptop.

“You know she
’s a stripper, a porn star, I googled her after that night at the restaurant. They’re friends with benefits. He’s been sleeping with her off and on for years.” Saying the words fills me with such anguish.

This explains why I hadn
’t heard from him since last night. Every emotion I am feeling right now is the reason I didn’t want to get involved in the first place. Latch is too young, too unpredictable. Of course, he would cheat. Jared was seven years older than I was, and even back then he still wanted someone younger, better. Maybe it is me. Am I just a magnet for men who cheat? I know one thing—I’m not going through this again. Latch told me he loved me, made me believe I could trust him. What could he possibly say to make me understand this?

When I get to work the next day, I still haven
’t heard from Latch. The paparazzi are everywhere, waiting for me. I’m bombarded with questions t which I have no answers. I feel incensed and embarrassed.

Surely, he
’s out of jail by now. With his resources, I’m sure he is able to make bail and is on his way home. Is he planning just to end our relationship without even telling me? What happened between sending me the boxes and that night? It doesn’t make sense—he sends me an outfit for the gala and then publicly cheats on me? His behavior is bizarre. This is just another time I’ve noticed him acting out of character. He can be the sweetest man, but sometimes, some of his actions are distressing and uncharacteristic.

As I work through the day, I try not to dwell on Latch, or New York. My attempts fail miserably. I miss him, and not knowing is killing me. He still hasn
’t called by the time I close the bookstore for the night. Damn him.

I arrive home to an empty house. Weezie called me earlier to make sure I was okay because she has a business dinner to go to, and she was worried about leaving me alone. I enter the house and spend the entire evening sulking because he still hasn
’t called. There is no way I am calling him. He’d had plenty of time to get his alibi concocted, so now it’s just a waiting game.

Saturday comes and still there is no phone call. I
’m not only furious, but also somewhat concerned. This is not Latch at all. If he has decided to cut me loose, he should at least send me a text telling me it’s over. The revulsion twisting in my gut finally gets the best of me and I rush to the bathroom only to empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet. I feel sick and miserable. I try reading and watching television, but no matter what I do, my thoughts always drift to him. My phone vibrates at eight o’clock, and it’s Latch. My hand is shaking as I flip open my phone.

“
Leannán
,” his voice comes across as weak.

I
’m speechless. No words will come out. I don’t know what to say without the bitterness spilling out. I feel such hurt, such betrayal.

“Haven, baby, please talk to me,” he begs.

“What?” I ask crossly.

I can hear his breathing. I can feel him trying to figure out what he should say next.

“You know?” he asks, his voice heavy with guilt.

“You
’re Latch McKay, the entire planet knows,” I spit out.

“Can I at least explain?”

“Go ahead, explain, Latch. I’m dying to hear why Krystella was in New York and how she is your
girlfriend
.” I hiss.

“Wait . . . what? Fuck . . . she just showed up, I swear.” He sounds frenzied, confused.

“Latch, I can’t. I won’t go through this again, not with you, not with anyone. Please don’t lie to me, just be honest. Please, if you care about me at all, just tell me the truth.” My voice breaks as the tears come.

“I
’m telling you the truth, goddammit!” he roars. “Jesus, I didn’t cheat on you! I wouldn’t. Fuck, I love you. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Not when I see a video of you being arrested with your girlfriend plastered all over the media.” I argue.

“I got drunk. I got pissed. I got in a fight. End of fucking story.” He sounds exasperated.

“I
’m tired. I’m going to bed. I’m glad you’re out of jail,” I manage to say.

I can
’t take anymore. My heart is at its breaking point. This conversation is exhausting.

“Can I come to you tonight?” he asks hesitantly, sounding unsure.

“No,” I say abruptly. “I’m sorry, but it’s just that the last few days have been draining. I’m tired.”

He
’s nuts if he thinks I will sleep with him after the last week. The man is seriously delusional.

“I do love you,
leannán
. If you don’t believe anything else, please believe that.” I hear his sadness, his disappointment.

“Latch, we should talk. I mean about everything, but not tonight. My brain hurts from thinking too much,” I reluctantly admit.

“You’re still going to the gala?” He sounds hopeful. “I want to see you in that dress,
leannán
.”

“I don
’t know, maybe. We’ll see. Good night, Latch.”

I snap my phone closed. I hate feeling this way. This is why I didn
’t want to care about him. I never wanted to love him.

Over the next four days, I receive dozens of text messages, numerous phone calls and bouquet after bouquet of flowers. I miss him so much—there
’s no denying it. I miss his face, his scent, but most of all, I miss the intimacy. We haven’t had physical contact in close to two weeks now. If I’m aching from the lack of sex, Latch has to be going out of his mind, if he’s telling me the truth regarding his fidelity. He hasn’t been without a lover since the age of fifteen. So, for him, a two-week hiatus from sex is probably making him certifiable. I refuse to allow myself to believe he’s getting sex from someone else.