Young Love Murder (48 page)

A few memories of our time together flash through my head, but I do my best to ignore them. In the end, disaster was always inevitable when it came to our relationship. I’m not even mad at him anymore for shooting me. I’ve also gotten over the hurt. Now, I see it like this. That’s life and it sucked, but you get past it.
Have you, Annabelle?

At least that’s what I tell myself. That’s what I’ll tell him too. The fact that my heart’s racing has nothing to do with lingering feelings. It’s just the shock of unexpectedly seeing him after so long. Anyone would feel this way when confronted by their would-be murderer or first love. He just happens to be both.

Gabriel sighs and his answer to my question pulls me from my thoughts. “I live here now. I go to NYU.” The sad look on his face confuses me. Does he not like living here? 

“Oh,” I say dumbly, wondering what’s up the kicked puppy dog look. It slowly dawns on me why he’s looking at me like that. Does he think I’d keep tabs on him after we broke up? After he shot me? The only thing I ever planned to do pertaining to him was never visit Miami again. No matter how much money was involved. Putting a sincere smile on my face, whether I’m sincere or not, I say softly, “See, everything worked out for the best, Gabriel.” I gesture to him, clarifying, “You have your life and I have . . . mine.” 

Even if it took me awhile to accept that my life would be without him. And accept it I have, so this discussion is completely pointless. Unless he still wants me dead, we have nothing to talk about. 

“For the best?” he asks in a harsh tone, rubbing his fingers over his face in frustration. Looking at me with a glistening of tears in his eyes, he shouts, “I thought I’d killed you, Anna!”

His emotional outburst is the catalyst for one of my own, “You did kill me! You killed us!” Instantly, I regret my words. I’m not upset about it anymore.
Not angry
, I tell myself. I need to just calm down. Why does a spark of hope enter his eyes at my words? It makes me uncomfortable, this disturbingly emotional encounter. I don’t feel these things anymore. I haven’t since I finally got over him. 

The honk of a horn forces me to drag my eyes away from his. Jackson is behind the wheel of his rented black Lincoln, giving me an impatient look. He’s right. This isn’t the time or place to have it out with Gabriel. My target could walk out those doors at any moment. There will never be a right time for me and Gabriel. I should have realized before I even killed his dad, before I gave him my heart. The choice was made for me from the moment I first received the pictures and information on his family.
Did you ever really have a choice in loving him, Annabelle?

Keeping my eyes on Jackson’s car, I coolly say, “I have to go now.” As I’m walking towards the passenger side of the car, I turn my head to the side and add over my shoulder, “I really wish the best for you, Gabriel. Good luck with school.”

He sounds stunned, “But I shot you.”

“And I forgive you.”

Gabriel

She forgives me. Annabelle must still love me, or she wouldn’t be able to forgive me, right?
Love forgives all sins
, or whatever the saying is. My love for her has always been unconditional, despite me going off the deep end a time or two.

But she’s leaving me again and I can’t let her go. For all I know, she’ll be across the world by tomorrow. With no real plan, I rush forward before Anna can climb into Jackson’s car, grab onto her arm again and begin dragging her towards my car. A valet who just fetched it is nervously standing there, gripping my keys and shifting from one foot to the other.

“Gabriel, what are you doing? Let go!” In her heels, she has trouble getting her footing after my forcefulness, so I’m half-carrying, half-dragging her along with an arm around her waist. Damn, touching her feels good. 

Stopping, I open the passenger door and urge her physically to get inside. “Please?” I ask in an entreating tone. “Just to talk. I’ll drop you off wherever you want afterwards.”

“Even the airport?” she asks in a sarcastic tone with a disbelieving expression.

“If that’s what you want,” I lie, not feeling a bit guilty. Just determined. I need to get her alone. After that, well I don’t know. One step at a time. As I walk around the car, the image of her tied to my bed, where I would never let her go, flashes through my mind. The image of Jackson then breaking into my place and giving me a beat-down has me grimacing. Better think of another plan. My heart’s racing and my body still hasn’t stopped shaking from shock by the time I settle into my seat.

“Jesus,” she murmurs, “Jackson didn’t even try to help me.”

My laugh is almost genuine. “Because he knows that you could have gotten away if you’d really wanted to.”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, just gazes away from me and out the window. “If you need closure, Gabriel, this is your chance. Say what you have to say.”

I want to touch her again so badly, run my hands up and down her body in amazement. This feels so surreal that a part of me still thinks I’m hallucinating. Maybe it really is a dream and I should ask her to pinch me. Anything to get her hands on me. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not have the most important conversation of my life in a car while driving through traffic. We’ll go to my place.”

Even though her face is averted, I can see the corner of her mouth and the small smile that she’s trying to hide. That smile only tempts me to put my lips on hers again. “Really? The most important conversation of your life? A little dramatic, don’t you think? Sure puts the pressure on me to converse well.”

“Shut up,” I say playfully, smiling myself.
I can’t believe this is really happening.
Later, I’ll probably be pissed at her, but at this moment, I’m so freaking happy that I feel like doing back flips through Times Square. Not that I’ve ever done a back flip before. But with the emotional high I’m feeling, anything’s possible. 

I try to keep my eyes on the road instead of her and am relieved when we finally pull into my parking garage without me rear-ending another car. As soon as I turn off the ignition, I’m practically sprinting around the vehicle to open her door for her. She hesitates before taking my hand, but I feel a small victory when she finally does. With a thoughtful look, she comments, “You still have the same car.”

I’m wondering if she’s thinking about the beginning of our relationship. It’s definitely one of those ‘if I could do it all over again’ moments for me. But then again, I have those moments every day, every night. I don’t let go of her hand as we walk to the elevator, not when we’re going up to my floor, not even when I’m unlocking the penthouse door. I take encouragement from her allowing it. 

Standing in the entryway of the penthouse, I turn the locks behind us. She looks down at where our hands are joined, almost as if she’s confused. She pulls her hand out of mine, giving me a dirty look. Was the act as natural to her as it was for me, causing her to do it instinctively? The TV is on in the living room, so I figure Max must be home. As I move past the narrow wall blocking off the entry from the main living area, I see Max sitting on the edge of the couch with a bowl of cereal in his lap. He looks as if he’s just woken up, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, with his black hair going in all different directions. 

The click of Anna’s heels on the wood floor lets me know that she’s just a couple steps behind me. Max looks up and smiles at my arrival. “Hey man, was your date that bad? You’ve only been gone an hour.” Anna’s standing in the doorway directly behind me now and Max gets a sly smile on his face. “Brought her back, did you?” He finishes off his cereal by drinking the rest of the milk and stands up, moving around the coffee table in the direction of the kitchen.

Anna makes a disgruntled sound from behind me and, with a click of heels, steps around me. “Hello, Max.”

As his cereal bowl goes crashing down onto the floor, I’m glad we don’t have carpet, and that I don’t have to clean up the broken ceramic chunks. Max still hasn’t moved from his spot, his mouth still hasn’t closed. I clap my hands together. “Well, we’ll be in my room.” 

Anna’s smiling at Max’s bewilderment, not fazed by the fact that she may have just traumatized the guy by coming back from the dead like that. As I grab onto her arm and start hauling her towards my room, she laughs in my cousin’s direction. “Nice underwear, Max.” I glance back and realize that Max is wearing his blue Superman boxer briefs with a big red ‘S’ on the crotch. Nice. I doubt he’s embarrassed though, with all the girls that have already seen them. 

I feel jittery as we finally go into my room, closing the door and locking it to keep a curious Max out. Anna calmly walks over to the suede recliner I have next to the sofa and sits down, crossing one nicely-shaped leg over the other. For a long moment, I stand there, staring at her legs where the white skirt is riding up. 

The skirt and blazer she’s wearing is not the type made for the respectable businesswoman. It’s more along the lines of a slutty secretary look. The whole ensemble is fitted like a second skin and the jacket shows a heck of a lot of cleavage, especially since she’s not wearing anything underneath. Except maybe a bra. Is it white lace? Don’t get me wrong, I like the outfit,
a lot
, but I’m a little confused as to why she was wearing it to dinner with her brother. 

I’m brought out of my musings when she clears her throat, asking, “Are you done?”

I arrogantly stare back at her and grin. “Just getting started.” Because I know this is going to be the fight of my life.

Annabelle

Giving me almost no warning, he pounces on me. He’s standing by his bedroom door one second and two seconds later, he’s leaning over me, bracketing me in with his much larger body. Instead of kicking him across the room as I should, I’m curious and wait to see what he’ll do next. 

Don’t have to wait long. He grabs onto my shoulders and pulls me forward to meet his lips. I shouldn’t let him, but I do. Let him devour me is more like it. It’s an odd feeling for someone like me to feel like the prey, but that’s exactly how he makes me feel as his soft lips, tongue and hands consume me. 

When Gabriel murmurs, “I missed you, baby,” the sweet taste in my mouth turns sour and I’m reminded of why this isn’t a good idea. The old bitterness that I thought I’d exorcised months ago starts building within me again. 

I finally lean back, bringing my legs up, and execute the move that I should have before the kiss. Gabriel gets lucky and falls back against the bed, not quite on it, when his back hits the edge of the mattress. He throws up an arm to steady him and keeps from falling on his butt to the floor. 

With a tight smile and a calm demeanor that I don’t feel, I say, “There’ll be none of that.”

He glowers at me playfully and comes to his feet, straightening his expensive clothes. Pacing back and forth in front of the bed now, he watches me out of the corner of his eye. “You seemed to enjoy it.”

Giving him a smirk I don’t feel either, I smooth down my skirt. “It isn’t the first kiss I’ve faked.”

He scoffs at that, swiping his hand through the air. “It’s not dead between us.”

I make a clucking sound with my tongue ask him, “What?” Then I lift my eyebrows and mockingly add, “The
love
?”

Shaking his head, he dismisses my sarcasm. “We’ll get to that later. First I want to know what happened after . . . .”

Raising my eyebrows again, I put on an innocent tone, “After you tried to blow my brains out?”

He stops pacing and his whole body goes tense. Not looking at me, but instead his clenched fists, his voice is so quiet that I can barely hear him, “I didn’t really want you dead.”

I imitate his earlier scoffing sound. “Could have fooled me.” I add, “Could have also fooled everyone else and the machines the paramedics used to keep me alive in the ambulance.” 

With more force in his voice, he turns to face me, “I mean it, Anna. I’d just found out about my mom and reacted without thinking.”

Okay, now I’m confused. “What about your mom?”

Gabriel looks momentarily pained before it turns into anger. “Jesus Christ, Anna! What’d you do, forget about me the moment I left?”