Blurred Lines (Behind Closed Doors Book 2) (12 page)

I know the interruption has doused the flames somewhat but I don't care. It wouldn't take long to get back to where we were and...

“Patience, my love.” His deep rumbling chuckle makes my toes curl and I feel the urge to wriggle and tease him because he can't go anywhere while I'm straddled over him. But the doorbell rings and he nudges me off his lap. “We're out of time.”

God damn it, I want my really angry make up sex!

He gathers up his pants as he gets to his feet. I'm still sitting on our bed feeling a little deflated and resentful of my best friend, but he potters around the room redressing and straightening himself out. And there's not one single visible crease. No one would ever know what we'd been up to. Almost no one anyway.

“You're cute when you sulk,” he whispers, leaning in and kissing me on the cheek. He turns and heads for the door then stops. He takes a sweeping glance at the entire length of my body and lights up every nerve endings. “Later.” His voice is almost a seductive growl as he puts his hand on the door. “I promise.”

#

“It was a disaster!”

Wayne shouts at me like somehow it was my fault the perfect caterer ruined the chocolate soufflé. Yeah, I'm pissed. I mean, I know it's a difficult dish, but honestly! Don't offer it if you can't make it. The ruined dessert was just the last straw in a long line of things that went wrong tonight. But most of it was Ashleigh's fault. She stole Wayne's thunder and not for good reasons.

“I can't believe she did that.” He bellows loud enough for the fragile young waitress to drop the last of a tray full of champagne flutes she was stacking on the table by the door. It shatters in the doorway and she scurries to the kitchen.

Luckily, save for the staff we hired for the evening, we're alone. Although I wish he'd wait until they've collected their equipment and we were truly alone. I'm nervous. I don't want anyone to see Wayne, or the way he acts when he's this angry.

“I don't believe you invited her,” Wayne barks as he passes me. “I told you she'd do something like this. But you invited her anyway. Don't you see her enough at work?”

Of course, this is my fault the night was a disaster. I'm to blame. I hired the caterers. I invited Ashleigh. It's not like Wayne didn't say he'd like her there or she forced herself upon us. He asked her to come. “You know it's not like we sit around talking all day, Wayne. Liv and I work from the house and most of the time she's working on set.”

He drops the crockery in his hands and turns to face me. “Don't speak to me like that!” The sound of his voice echoes above the smashing dishes throughout the entire house and suddenly three staff appear. “I have a right to be fucking upset. This was an important night for me and your best friend, the one to whom you apparently spill all of our secrets to, deliberately fucking sabotaged it!”

“Wayne.” Nerves shiver along my spine because I know he's not going to like what I'm about to say, and yet he'll be horrified and he'll sulk for longer if people see him lose it. I mean, truly lose it to the point he gets lost behind his anger. It doesn't happen often. But it happens often enough that I know the warning signs; the vein throbbing in his forehead, the disregard for anyone or anything else, the whole force of his temper focused solely on me. “Darling, we still have guests.”

“Don't patronize me!” The volume of his voice doubles as he shouts, “I want everybody out of my fucking house!” It booms and bounces off every wall and window. “Right now!” The half a dozen hired help scatter and scurry towards the boxes of equipment they brought with them. “Out!” he orders again. “Come back tomorrow.”

I follow them towards the door, apologizing for the inconvenience and promising them I'll wait for them to come to collect their belongings before I go anywhere. “None of this will seem so bad in the morning,” I promise the head waitress when she sends a concerned glance over my shoulder.

I take a few moments to steel myself for what's to come. We're going to fight. Or rather, he's going to shout long enough and loud enough to make my ears bleed and I will stand there watching for the eye of the storm. That single moment of calm that tells me he’s running out of steam before he explodes again. If we're lucky, he won't throw the crockery, because there is an awful lot of crockery that's been left behind for him to throw tonight. We'll be here all night if he's that way inclined.

I take a deep breath and return to the dining room.

“Well?” he barks and I look at him. Why is he looking at me like I have to fix this? I didn't do anything wrong and I have no idea what will make everything alright again. “What are you going to do about her?”

I look away. You don't do anything about Ashleigh. He knows this. She is what she is and you take it. You don't even get the choice. It's her way, because 'no way' isn't an option where my best friend is concerned. And because of that I'm not going to do or say anything that might make this situation a whole lot worse. “It's not my fault, Wayne.”

“I've had enough, Julia. You don't owe her anything! I don't owe her anything. We made a choice six years ago and we were perfectly happy until she came back on the scene. She fucking sabotages everything for us because we fell in love. She'll never let us forget it.”

I wish he wouldn't bring that up again. He does every time we argue about Ashleigh. He says she's never going to forgive us but she swears she's over it. He says she's lying to me and deliberately trying to make him look like the bad guy, like he's the one with the problem. But he isn't. The thing is, ever since she came back from New York in September, she's taken issue with him. I don't know why but she's always trying to make him feel bad about everything, especially me. So I don't know who to believe anymore.

The thing is tonight she wasn’t focused on Wayne, she was focused on Sean, and he on her. He’s taken a job presenting an online showbiz video log for a small media company. His new job is the reason he and Anna separated over Christmas, even though she’s pregnant again, because Sean refuses to turn a job down when he’s been unable to find employment for nearly two years. Ashleigh’s taken Sean’s new job personally; she’s so upset you’d think he’d declared war against her.

“I've had enough of this bullshit. The only thing you'll do tomorrow is quit that fucking job!” he orders. “You have a solid portfolio and a great reputation as a celebrity stylist.”

What? That isn't what he said six months ago, or when Ashleigh filmed her last scenes at
LA Sunset
before Christmas. Or even last week. Aside from creating a buzz about the release of the movie, she hasn’t worked since she left
LA Sunset
. We have no idea what she is going to do. The whole reason Wayne is working so hard to get promoted is because he's worried she'll drop us into a financial crisis.

“You don't need her or her job,” he yells at me and suddenly my temper spikes. “So you'll quit it and you have nothing more to do with her.”

I don't believe what I am hearing. I stand before him trying to find a way to voice the fury rushing through my bloodstream. I move my lips and nothing comes out. He is not serious with this shit. This is ridiculous. Does he honestly think I'm going to let him pull that kind of crap on me? He will not dictate to me who my friends are. Nu-huh. No way, mister!

“Maybe I should spell this out to you,” he bellows in my face. “It's either her or me. Do I make myself clear?”

“In that case,” I begin as I take a step away. We don't need to be nose to nose. “I choose her.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“How dare you?” I've never shouted at him. Never stood up to him because it's just not worth the weeks of sulking and bitching and slamming doors. But he's gone too far this time. I'm not standing for this. “You don't own me. You're not the boss of me. You don't get to choose my friends.”

“Excuse me?”

“Go to hell!”

His chest expands. I watch my husband disappear behind that glassy gaze I've become familiar with. My entire body starts to scream at me: run. But he grabs my wrist before I have chance to move. “Go where?” He squeezes his hand as he twists my arm, yanking me towards him.

“Please. No.” I fight with his grip. “Let me go.” I know what this means. Somehow somewhere along the way I am going to get hurt. It's never intentional because I know he doesn't know what he's doing. But it scares me when he gets like this. How can I be scared of the man I love?

Bones crack as my wrist and my elbows give under the intense pressure. I'm leaning over but it's not easing the throbbing agony dragging me down. Suddenly, white hot pain surges up my arm and through my chest and rib cage, reverberating in my hip bones as my shoulder gives. I scream.

Violently shaking, with tears blinding my vision, I claw at his vice-like grip. “Please,” I sob. “Wayne.” His grip tightens around my wrist. “Let me go!”

My heart is racing, blood is pounding in my ears. I can't see anything except the colorless skin beneath his hand. What's wrong with him? He usually realizes when I'm in such a state. Why hasn't he come back? Oh my God! He's really going to hurt me. Another scream bursts from my lips and it's louder than before. I think it was his name.

He lets go and I fall to my knees. I hug my arm against my chest as I choke on sobs. I can't breathe. He's never hurt me like this before.

“Jules?” He drops to his knees beside me. “Oh God. Precious, what is it?”

I glare at him through my tears. I can barely see him at all. “What the fucking hell is wrong with you?”

When he looks at me his eyes are just clouded with confusion. “Oh God.” His hand reaches towards me and I scramble back, stumble on to my feet. “What have I done?” In one movement he raises to his feet and steps towards me, his hand outstretched. “Jules?”

“Don't fucking touch me!”

I smother my scream with my left hand. I hate him. I fucking hate him. How could he do this to me?

It's the sheer horror on his face as I reject him that drives me to sob uncontrollably. I can't do this. It's just too much and I can't be with him right now. Blinded by my tears, I turn. I run from the room. I find myself in battle with the table full of glassware that was left behind.

The noise is deafening. Crystal chards rain from above. They slice through the ultra-thin layers of silk and satin. It offers no protection at all as I fall. They're razor-sharp as they pierce and puncture my skin. Prickly pain attacks from every direction. It's like I'm bathing in a bath of needles. It's making me feel woozy.

I hear Wayne's booming curses. He needs an ambulance? Really? He's called 9-1-1? Pressure wraps around my wrist. Pain bleeds along my arm and my heart rate soars. It burns. I scream but make no sound. Is there glass in my wrist? The pressure is getting tighter and tighter.

I hear Wayne cursing again. Feel more pressure, this time against my waist and I try to scream again. “Oh God!” His face appears inside my window of vision as I stare at the ceiling. “Julia.” He gasps and I realize I feel his hand. He's holding my waist. My neck feels warm and sticky. Again, I scream as he touches me there. But there's no sound. “Babe, I'm so sorry.”

Time seems to have stopped. The only thing I can do is just lie here with my body not responding to any requests from my head at all. I just want to go to sleep.

“Julia,” he whispers. “Talk to me.”

What do I say?

“Precious.” He gasps. “You're losing too much blood and I've only got two hands so please say something ...” His voice catches. “I need you to stay awake. So talk to me.”

Oh my God. I'm going to die on the dining room floor and in a pool of my own blood. How had this happened to me? To us? We were supposed to be making love right now. He promised. And what if the last words I say to him are 'don't touch me?’

“You... you...” Oh God! It's so much effort to speak. “... Made ...a promise.” It’s so hard to breathe.

“Tell me you're not thinking about sex?” There's the sound of glass crunching as I turn my head towards the sound of his voice. “Try to stay still, babe.”

“I...I.” My eyes flutter open. “Can't... couldn't... see you.”

“Just hang in there a little longer, precious.” I close my eyes again. “Don't you dare think about leaving me.”

“Wayne.” I haven't got the strength to fight the dark anymore. Mom and Dad have always taught me the key to a long lasting happy marriage was to never fall asleep on an argument. “Kiss me.”

Chapter Thirteen

May 2008

I stare at my pale forearm finally released from the cast that has held me prisoner in so many ways for the last sixteen weeks. I hope Wayne and I can finally find closure over the argument which led to me breaking my arm in two places, needing a blood transfusion and two operations in the weeks after I shouted back.

I haven't told anyone how it really happened. Not even Ashleigh. They've all assumed I broke my arm in the fall and maybe I did, who knows? Besides, it was an accident. Wayne never meant for any of it to happen. Whenever he looks at me, he takes one look at the cast on my arm and turns away. He doesn't come near me anymore. He doesn't come to bed until I'm asleep. He never touches me. Not even a gentle hand against my back as he guides me through an open door, and he hasn't kissed me since I came out of the hospital. I know I shouldn't have driven his anger beyond the point where he didn't know what he was doing and I'm trying to make it up to him, but the distance he's put between us isn't making this easy.

No, I don't think he's sulking this time because he's acting so differently than before. It's like he can't bear to be around me and no matter what I do, I just can't get beyond whatever's going on inside that head of his and its worrying me. Now that it's gone, the cast I mean, can things go back to the way things were, as though it never happened? Oh I hope so, but what if we can't move on from this accident in the same way we have in the past?

The doctor looks at me and I know what's about to come. The intrusive question about whether everything is alright at home. They’ve asked every time I've been here for a checkup.