Give And Take: Taken Part 13

My heart clenches. I need to get out of here. I need to go home. I yank my tank top over my head and pull the door open. You're leaning against the jamb, looking stricken, blocking my way.

"I don't understand." You reach out for me, but I step back. Your brow creases as pain crosses your face. "You've been crying. Tell me what I did wrong."

"What you did wrong?" I can't believe your lack of comprehension. "How could you think what just happened is in any way appropriate? If I didn't want you touching me, why in the h.e.l.l would I want her touching me?"

"But you do want me touching you. You just aren't ready for it. You said if it was just you and me..." You shake your head. "I thought this would be a good way to do it."

My chin drops to my chest. This is just like your other relationship problems. "You don't have any idea how you take other people's feelings for granted." I'm desolate. Empty. You did it to me, before I could help you fix things with Heidi, before I could make you understand. You did it to me, too.

"I did think of you! All I was thinking about was how you would feel. How I could make this work between us in a way that wouldn't push you. I didn't touch you, Rachael! You can't be mad about this!"

I was stupid to think I could fix you. "I'm leaving in the morning. I'll ask Joan to arrange it."

"No." You pull at your hair then pound your fist against the doorframe. "Don't go. Don't leave me."

"I can't stay. Not after this." I brush by you, and you wrap an arm around my waist, pulling me back against you.

You don't say anything, just lean your head against mine. Your heart pounds against my back, like a frightened child. You take a shaky breath and squeeze me tighter, with both arms now.

I hate myself for wanting to stay here, for wanting to turn and take you in my arms and hold you as tight as you're holding me. To stroke your face, your hair, your back and tell you it's okay. That I know you didn't mean any harm to me or to Joan. I hate that I have to walk away. "Merrick," my voice wavers. "Let me go."

You instantly drop your arms, and I step away.

"I'll tell Joan you're leaving," you say, your head hung, your fingers rubbing your temples.

"You owe her an apology. She's in love with you. I'm not sure you're aware of that. She'd do anything for you-even what she just did to me-to make you happy."

Your eyes rise to mine. "She's not in love with me, Rachael. She's in love with the billionaire, with the status and the money, with thinking she could tell people she's Mrs. Rocha." You roll your eyes up to the ceiling and take a deep breath. "If I wasn't loaded, she wouldn't want anything to do with me." You rub your forehead roughly. "Story of my life."

"Is that why you're talking about giving it all up?"

You nod and slump against the wall, crossing your arms over your bare chest. "I want to be me, not a dollar figure." You follow a snort of derision with a smirk. "I don't even know who that is."

I reach out a trembling hand and touch your cheek. "I do. You'll like him."

You grasp my hand, but I tug it away. "I'll sleep downstairs."

"No. The bed is yours. I won't ever touch it again."

I hurt so badly inside; it feels like we've been together for a lifetime and we're breaking apart. "Goodnight, Merrick."

You open your mouth, but let it close again. Your lips press tight, and you turn and jog down the stairs.

You're hurting.

I'm hurting.

This has gone so wrong so fast.

Chapter Twelve.

Joan hasn't moved from her position on the bed by the window. I'm so embarra.s.sed for both of us, I could die. But I know I have to say something to her.

Easing down on the edge of the bed, I see the tears are no longer in her eyes; they're streaked down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," I say. "That shouldn't have happened."

Her head snaps to face me. "No. It shouldn't have. You shouldn't be such a child."

It's as if she's slapped me. I stand and stare at her, shocked. "A child?"

"That man," she says, pointing to the door, "has never given a s.h.i.t about anyone but himself. No matter how many women have come and gone and fallen head-over-heels for him, he's never once looked back when he tossed them aside. Then you come along, and his head is so far up your a.s.s he can't even think."

"What?" I blink at her, maybe my ears aren't working.

Joan shoots up on her knees and scoots forward so we're eye-to-eye. "I'd give anything in the world to have Merrick treat me like he does you. To have him want me like he wants you." She sits back on her heels and begins to laugh through her tears. "Jesus, a n.o.body from Cleveland who didn't even want the job. Now this place is yours."

"This place isn't mine, and I'm leaving in the morning. Is there someone here who can fly me back, or do arrangements need to be made?" I'm sorry she's upset, but I'm not going to stand here and listen to her call me a n.o.body.

"You're leaving? Just like that? He's laying everything at your feet, and you're leaving."

"Joan, look at what just happened here. That's not giving a s.h.i.t about anyone but himself. He certainly didn't take your feelings into consideration! How can I stay?"

She glares at me. "You don't get him at all. I'm glad you're leaving. You don't deserve him."

On her feet, and halfway to the door, she stops and turns back to me. "There's someone here to fly you to the airport. I'll have a ticket waiting to take you home. Be at the helicopter at eight A.M."

She slams the door, and I flop back on the bed. How did I end up being public enemy number one in this mess? Am I a tease for not having s.e.x with you? Should I have let go of my apprehensions-shut off my brain-and let you touch me using Joan? Should I have told her to touch you?

s.h.i.t. Shannon would've. She would've gotten into it, too. Of course, Shannon doesn't get attached. She can do the s.e.x-without-strings thing. I can't. I've never tried, but I know I can't. There were a few moments when I was kind of getting into it though...

The dull pounding of ba.s.s from music outside thrums through my body. I pull the pillow over my face to drown out the sound of the crew having a good time. I wish you and I were out there with them having a good time. But, there's no way back now, only forward to eight A.M. and never seeing you again.

You're gone from my life, my mom's in Europe, and I can't imagine going back to my dull existence. I've never felt so lonely and empty.

I don't see you in the morning before I leave. The hotel is quiet and still, like no other living being is inside. I'm not sure what I'd say to you if I saw you, so it's probably for the best if we don't say goodbye. At least, that's what I tell myself.

Beck Tanner's waiting at the helicopter to fly me to the airport. "Morning," he says, and gives me a s.h.i.t-eating grin. "Leaving so soon? I thought we'd have you around until the renovation is done."

"Plans changed." I ignore the pang in my chest and the lump in my throat and fasten my harness. Fortunately, Beck doesn't press me to talk more about my departure from Turtle Tear. I don't think I can handle fumbling for words right now.

The propeller gains speed, and Beck makes short work of getting us up in the air. The trees bend and blow, and my eyes catch on the roof of the tree house. My stifled sob sounds deep, metallic and primal through my earphones. I close my eyes and refuse to watch the hotel, the island and my dreams fall away below.

It seems like only minutes have pa.s.sed when Beck's landing the helicopter on the tarmac of a small, private airport beside a jet with the Rocha Enterprises logo on the side. You have everything and want none of it. You don't even know yourself.

I thought I knew you-not well-but I was wrong. I never could've predicted what you did last night. How can one brilliant man be so oblivious?

"I'll come around for you," Beck says before pulling off his headphones.

I take mine off as well and unhook my harness. He helps me down and leads the way to the jet. I brought nothing with me but the clothes I arrived in, my phone and my wristlet.

"You'll be taken to Cleveland Hopkins Airport. A driver will meet you there to take you home." Beck takes my hand. "I don't know what happened, and I'm not asking. You should know that I've worked for Mr. Rocha for years, and I've never seen him more..." he looks down at his work boots and shuffles his feet, searching for the right word, "normal. Approachable. You cracked some invisible barrier he's always had around him."

I put a hand up. I can't stand hearing this.

"Just know," he continues anyway, tearing me apart with his sincerity, "that you helped. And I don't mean only with the renovation. He came out and pitched in yesterday. Took his shirt off, sawed some wood, joked around. He's happy is what I'm telling you. I don't dare to call him a friend, but if the man I saw yesterday stays around, I'd like to."

"I hope that man stays around." I sniff and run the back of my hand under my nose. "He could use a good friend."

"I hope you come back." He leans in and kisses my cheek. "You know you'll be missed."

I nod and turn around, mumbling my thanks and goodbye.

The jet's big enough for at least twelve people to fly comfortably. There's a pilot, co-pilot and flight attendant just for me. I settle into a soft leather seat by the window and decline a beverage. I don't want to take anything else from you, not even a bottle of water. You're impossible, and I can't give back, so what's the point?

I need to get home and sleep for days, forget any of the past week ever happened.

Unfortunately, when the driver of the black hired Mercedes pulls up at the curb in front of my apartment, Shannon's car is in the driveway. I know she's going to pepper me with questions. "Can I be dropped off somewhere else?" I ask the driver. "If it's a problem, I understand."

He turns and smiles. "Of course it's not a problem. Where to?"

I give him my mom's address, silently thanking you for sending her away. At least I'll get some peace. Twenty-five minutes south on the highway, and we're in the suburb where I grew up. The yellow two-story colonial sits on a quiet street surrounded by neighbors whose kids I grew up with. Many of them are grandparents now.

I want to linger outside, walk through the flower garden and sit on the covered front porch. But the driver keeps watch, waiting for me to open the front door before he pulls away, so I turn the key in the lock and step inside.

Despite the faint scent of lemon polish, the house smells stale, like a forgotten pack of crackers left open on the counter. It's too hot. Mom always turns the A.C. off when we go on vacations. The hum of the refrigerator is rea.s.suring-the house hasn't died and withered while we were gone.

I flip on the A.C., open the blinds and plop down on the old plaid couch to watch mindless T.V. for a while. I can't stop my mind from running in an endless loop of circles, but maybe I can trick it into thinking of something other than you for two minutes.

There's a picture of my dad on the mantle. He's laughing at something beyond the camera's lens. He was an extreme man. He could love, and he could hate in equal capacity. Sometimes he'd flip from one to the other-hot, cold, happy, miserable, laughing, yelling. It was hard to keep up.

When I was young, he and Mom fought a lot. I don't know what they fought about, seems like it could have been anything. He'd yell, and she'd retreat. I'd see her expression change, her eyes darken, like she was closing the shades and barring the windows, turning in on herself until the storm pa.s.sed. I know she had a hard time being married to him for all those years, but she loved him and they got through the hard times. I wonder if she'd go back and do it all over again, or if she'd take a different path if given the chance.

n.o.body's perfect. That's what Mom told me when Lance and I broke up. n.o.body's perfect.

I guess she's right, but how imperfect is acceptable? Someone who thinks he's making things right by bringing another woman into bed with you? How can I forget that, or forgive it?

It's over now. It doesn't matter. I'll never see you again.

The thought makes my stomach clench and my chest heave, sending tears flowing down my cheeks.

I'll never see you again.

My time with you was a nightmare, then a dream, then a nightmare again. How can you make mistake after mistake? Why does it have to be that way with you? If I want the good, do I have to suffer through the bad? Forgive and forget over and over again?

So much for the distraction of mindless T.V. I was fooling myself to think there was any way to distract myself from thoughts of you, from having this breakdown that's been building for days. The push and pull of my attraction to you, my body battling my brain-something had to give.

Exhausted, with puffy, gritty eyes, all I want to do is sleep forever. I scoot down on the couch, pull an afghan from the back over my legs and let myself drift.

I wake to my phone chiming. It's dark. The T.V.'s chattering away to n.o.body.

The e-mail icon on my cell's screen shows two new e-mail messages. Shannon would text or call. It's probably junk or spam. I click my inbox anyway, too curious not to look.

The first e-mail is from my internship advisor asking where I've been. I ignore it, not sure how to answer or if I even want to. h.e.l.lo, opportunity missed. Maybe you didn't think it was a good opportunity, but it's better than what I'm left with-nothing.

The second email address makes me gasp, close my eyes and grit my teeth to suppress the whimper threatening to explode from my throat.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: Turtle Tear Project Going Forward Ms. DeSalvo, I've instructed all contractors to reach you via email and your cell number as you have chosen to work remotely on this project.

If you do not wish to have contact with me professionally, please direct communication through Joan, and she'll relay any necessary information between us. I believe you have her email address from when she set up your interview with me.

Regards, M. Rocha Regards? Are you kidding me? Why would contractors contact me? I've chosen to work remotely? No. I've chosen to walk away. Why are you so thick headed?

I hit reply intending to nail you against the wall with razor sharp words.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] RE: Turtle Tear Project Going Forward-YOU'RE DELUSIONAL Mr. Rocha, You misunderstand me. I've left on all terms-personal AND professional. The job is all yours. Emails and phone calls from contractors will be forwarded back to you.

Regards (Regards? You must regard me as a fool.), R. DeSalvo My thumb jams down on the send b.u.t.ton. How dare you send contractors my way. I know you're not that stupid. This is your attempt at keeping tabs on me without stalking me like last time.

I toss my phone beside my wristlet and storm into the kitchen to look for chocolate. Then my mind makes the connection between you and chocolate and it's the last thing I want to eat-ever again.

I grab a can of c.o.ke from the fridge and slam it shut. Regards. Who uses regards to sign an email? Why does one word make me so angry? Because you had no regard for my feelings last night? Or because you thought you were regarding my feelings but were totally clueless? What a hypocritical word for you to use. Did you select it on purpose to p.i.s.s me off?

I stuff a handful of potato chips into my mouth and crunch down angrily. With my snack and c.o.ke in hand, I storm back to the couch. It's got to be late. I pick up my phone to check the time. Quarter after eleven. I have a new email message.

After swallowing too quickly, the jagged chips scratching my throat, and taking a gulp of pop, I groan and open your email.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: Fool Ms. DeSalvo, I've never thought you a fool. I'm guilty only of thinking of you as a bright, beautiful woman.

You left me, not the hotel. Don't do yourself and Turtle Tear the disservice of walking away from the renovation. You're the only one for the job. We both know that.

Yours, Merrick "Very often, say what you will, a knave is only a fool."-Voltaire Yours. That word makes me even crazier. I was never yours. I couldn't let myself be yours. I couldn't give myself over to you. Who am I angrier with, you or me? I don't know anymore.

If I would've let myself take a risk, last night would have never happened. But it did, and even if it hadn't, you'd do something equally stupid in the future. To be with you is to know hurt and heartache lay in wait ready to ambush and a.s.sault my heart.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] RE: Fool I never thought of you as a knave, only an impulsive, misguided man.

I'll think about staying with the project remotely and give you my answer in the morning.

Goodnight, Rachael Any contact with you ambushes my heart. A few minutes later, another email pops into my inbox.

From: [email protected] To: Subject: Lonely I'm a lonely, irrational, misguided man now that you're gone.

Sweet Dreams, Merrick I hold my phone to my chest and sob. I don't know where all these tears are coming from. I should be dehydrated by now. My head throbs, and my heart aches. I'm weak and mentally exhausted. Lance and I were together for two years, and I wasn't this devastated when we broke up. You affect me like I've never been affected by another man. It's like I lost part of myself when I left you. You understand me. You said we were alike. We are. We think alike. I just wish we could love alike.