Heart's Surrender (11 page)

Gillian cleared her throat. “I—”

“I’m sorry.” With as much dignity as she could muster—which was much more than she thought herself capable of at the moment—Sam turned around and left the coffee shop, head held up high.

Sam slowly closed the apartment door behind her when all she wanted to do was to slam it shut. However, she didn’t have the energy to do that. She had barely found enough strength to make her way home and she seriously had no idea how she didn’t cause an accident somewhere along the way.

Numb. She was numb. Which was good—numb didn’t hurt as much as the pain caused by Gillian ripping her heart out. Sam stumbled into the kitchen and leaned heavily on the table. Why had she trusted Gillian so easily? Why hadn’t she gone with her instincts and her experience instead of letting herself fall into those green eyes? Those damn green eyes.

Sam’s cell rang.

She took it out and stared at Gillian’s name on the display.
Shit.
Sam closed her eyes. She felt like vomiting. There was no way she was going to answer. With trembling fingers she laid the cell on the counter and waited until the only sound in the kitchen was the grumbling of her fridge.

I need to call Linda.
Linda was waiting for the coffee. Waiting for Sam to come back.
I have to call Mr. Winter.
He was waiting for her to come over this afternoon and fix his toilet.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Sam grabbed the half empty bottle of tequila that she hadn’t touched for weeks.

Her cell rang again.

Sam stared at the device, torn between throwing the damn thing against a wall and letting the call once again go to voicemail. She took out one of her shot glasses.
I’ll survive. This is not going to break me. I don’t need her. I don’t need anyone.

The cell was quiet again.

Good.
She took a deep breath before downing the tequila.
I have to call Linda.
She poured herself another shot and chugged it down.

The cell rang once more.

All right. That’s it
. With trembling fingers she picked up the cell. “What?”

“I’m sorry, Sam. I’m really sorry.” Gillian’s voice sounded frenzied.

“Stop calling.” Sam looked at the bottle of tequila.

“I froze—”

“I don’t care.”

“Sam, I—?”

“Don’t call me again.”

Sam set the cell down on the kitchen counter before she slid down to the floor. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her legs, crying for what she had hoped for and for what she had lost. Being numb had felt a whole lot better.

CHAPTER 13

Heavy rain beat a staccato rhythm on the taxi’s roof. The downpour hadn’t stopped since early morning, and now, after dark, Springfield’s streets had morphed into shallow lakes reflecting passing cars’ headlights like glittering disco balls.

Gillian leaned her head against the cool window of the taxi that was taking her across town. She was so very tired. Sleep had eluded her for the past four nights—ever since the coffee incident. She watched the rundown houses and wavering forms outside without interest until they passed a woman with short hair and a powerful walk.
Sam.
Gillian’s heart beat faster. She pressed her palms to the window, and then sunk back.
No.
A small child clung to the woman’s hand. She couldn’t be Sam.

Gillian closed her eyes against the painful reality of her life. She had failed the one person that had begun to really mean something to her. Even now she couldn’t understand why she hadn’t said or done anything to defend Sam back at Marcello’s.

Frozen. Gillian had been totally, utterly frozen by panic. Completely unable to move or to speak—the only thing that had spiraled around in her head had been the fear of being outed there and then. The memory of that moment of cowardice was like an ever-thickening cover of frostbite around her heart. She had betrayed Sam’s trust and probably destroyed whatever they could have had.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
She curled her hands into fists.

The taxi stopped, hurtling Gillian back to the present. She forced her eyes open.

“Here we are, ma’am.” The driver turned in his seat to face her.

Gillian tried to get a look at the building outside. “This is 24 Hammond Street?” she asked, unable to see properly through the rain-smeared window.

“Yes, ma’am.”

So, this was it then. With slightly shaking hands she took a few bills out of her wallet and handed them over. “I guess this isn’t the most populated area of town, right?”

“No, ma’am. It sure isn’t.”

With her luck she would be mugged as soon as the taxi left. Gillian sighed
.
“Thanks. Keep the change, please.”

The driver took the money and frowned at her. “Are you sure you don’t want me to wait for you, ma’am?”

Gillian bit her lip and looked out the window. She didn’t want to seem like a coward. On the other hand, it would be nice to have someone close-by if she needed to get away in a hurry.

She forced a smile. “You know, that isn’t such a bad idea.” She handed him some more bills. “How long will that keep you?”

“At least twenty minutes, ma’am.” He took the money and turned off the engine. “Let’s say I’ll wait for half an hour ‘cause I need a break anyhow and this place is as good as any.”

Relief spread through her. “Are you sure?” Gillian put her wallet back into her purse.

“Yep.” He settled more comfortably into his seat, clearly prepared to stay a while.

“Thank you.” Gillian couldn’t help smiling.
At least I’ve lucked out with the taxi driver.
Half an hour should be more than enough to find out if Sam was in her favorite club and, more importantly, if she wanted to talk to Gillian.
And if not? What do I do then?

Hopelessness gnawed on her like a terrier on a bone. She was severely tempted to turn around and leave. Instead of walking into the lion’s den, she could be home within the next forty minutes and enjoying a good book or watching something relaxing on television. There was always tomorrow. She could try to get a hold of Sam on the phone. Maybe it would be easier to talk without seeing each other face to face.

Coward. Trying to find the easy way out again?
It wouldn’t work and she knew it. Sam hadn’t answered any of her calls so far. Well, except the first one…when she had told her to not call again. Why should tomorrow be any different?
Get a grip. You came here to talk.
Gillian got out of the car and opened her umbrella with stubborn determination.

A waft of cold, wet air welcomed her outside. She shivered, cursing her decision to dress up. The black Vera Wang dress wasn’t made for this kind of weather, but she wasn’t above female tricks to help gain Sam’s favor.

Clinging to her umbrella as if it was a lifeline, Gillian looked up at the neon sign on the building in front of her. The Labrys.
Couldn’t the owner have been a bit more creative?
She had no idea what to expect inside. Her only knowledge of what a rundown lesbian bar looked like came from
The L-Word
. She very much doubted that Sam’s favorite turf had much in common with the stylish clubs most TV shows featured or the clubs Gillian had visited downtown. She shook her head. Setting foot in a shabby lesbian bar was not something she had ever considered in the past.

Hesitating in front of the club’s door, she felt almost sickened by her stomach’s churning. She took a deep lungful of damp air to help clear her mind and calm her nerves.

“I’m not sure the door will open through sheer will power. At least it didn’t yesterday,” said a sultry voice behind her.

Gillian nearly jumped out of her skin.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
She gripped the keys in her pocket, prepared to fight any potential attacker. Clenching down on the icy panic in her belly, she turned around.

The pouring rain and shadowy darkness made it hard to see more than a bulky form. Her knees weakened with relief when she realized that the person standing before her was a tall, black woman with a friendly, lopsided grin on her face.

“Sorry if I scared you, honey, but you’re blocking my way.” The stranger took two steps to stand under the shelter of the eaves. “What lousy weather.”

Gillian’s heart still galloped. She took a second glance at the woman beside her. Even in the dim light Gillian could see that she was broad-shouldered. She wore a black leather jacket, blue jeans, and black steel-toed boots. Her soaking wet dreadlocks were plastered to her head.

A grunt of appreciation nearly escaped Gillian
.
She cleared her throat.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stand in the way.” Her face grew warm when she realized that she had likely been observed staring at the door like a mouse hypnotized by a snake.

“No problem.” The tall stranger opened the door before she said over her shoulder, “Do you want to come inside and have some fun downstairs, or would you prefer to continue seducing the unresponsive door?” She gave Gillian a wink.

Is she flirting with me
? “I…I know that I must look stupid. It’s only that…well, I’ve never been to this particular kind of club before.” Gillian shuffled her feet, then immediately regretted her action when a wave of cold water seeped into her stilettos.

The other woman shrugged. “Everyone was a first timer once, honey. I learned there isn’t much to be afraid of if you stick to a simple rule.”

“And that would be?” Gillian tilted her head.

The stranger closed the door and leaned against the frame. She took her time to look Gillian slowly up and down. “The most important rule in life is to be very clear and upfront about what you want. And also about what you don’t want. That is the best strategy.”

Gillian snorted. “It sounds so easy. But it isn’t.”

“As a matter of fact, it is. It’s just that women have a tough time with this ‘cause we are taught to be friendly and understanding rather than open and honest.” The woman shrugged a second time. “I personally find that this little rule makes my life a lot easier.”

Open and honest
? Surely it couldn’t be so easy. On the other hand…it couldn’t hurt to try something different for a change. Gillian gathered her courage and walked toward the door. “All right, I’m in.”

“Good for you.” The stranger opened the door. “By the way, I’m Skyler and I would very much love to buy you a drink.”

Caught by surprise, Gillian didn’t know how to respond.
So she
was
flirting with me
.

Skyler’s dark eyes twinkled as she waited patiently for Gillian’s reply.

Open and honest she said. Let’s try it.
Gillian graced Skyler with a gentle smile. “Sorry, but I’m here looking for my…” she swallowed, unsure what to call Sam. “For someone,” she concluded with as much firmness as she could muster.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Openness and honesty works just fine with me. Though I hope whatever or whoever you are looking for is worth it.”

“She is.” Gillian was surprised about the determination in her own voice.

“Then I hope you’ll find her here tonight.” Skyler ran a gentle finger over Gillian’s cheek. “And if not…you know where to find me.” Skyler’s grin had a good-natured leer in it.

Gillian couldn’t help chuckling. “Thank you. But if I can’t find her here, I’ll be going home.” She stared at her damp feet. “But I hope you’ll have some fun tonight.”

Skyler snorted. “Oh, I have no doubt about that. I’m packed and ready to go.”

Gillian tilted her head in question but got no response from Skyler except another wink.

Straightening her shoulders, Gillian made her way through the entrance, past Skyler, and down the stairs. The tang of cigarette smoke and beer welcomed her to the faintly lit room where a dirty-brown bar in desperate need of a fresh paint job dominated the left side of the room. One of Cher’s older songs floated through the air.

This wasn’t what she had expected.
This is what a lesbian bar looks like?
She took a deep breath, suddenly unsure if being here was really such a good idea.

The crowd at the bar was a mix of young and old women, most of them dressed in jeans, leather pants, and motorcycle jackets. A wolf whistle echoed from somewhere.

Gillian winced in response.
This is like walking into a group of horny teenage boys.

“Don’t let them get to you.” Skyler appeared beside her. “Most are tough on the outside but marshmallows on the inside. And they treasure a good-looking, classy woman like you.” Skyler slapped her shoulder lightly before she walked away.

Cher’s song finished. For a moment, only the soft, unintelligible chatter of many voices could be heard, then a woman in the tightest leather pants Gillian had ever seen got up from her barstool and went over to the corner jukebox. She fed the machine, and soon Cher started another song.

One of the women sitting at a table close by called loud enough for everyone to hear, “Hey, Sheryl, if I have to listen to Cher one more time, I’m going to perform plastic surgery on you.”

Laughter and hollers came from the bar.

Gillian grinned and relaxed slightly. Maybe it wasn’t so bad here. Torn between hope and anxiety, she started to look for Sam and turned to watch the couples swaying to Cher’s
Love Can Build a Bridge
on the dance floor. Sam wasn’t among them. Gillian clenched her fists against the sick feeling in her stomach.

There were some tables hidden in half-darkness behind the dance floor. Maybe…Gillian had walked halfway around the platform when she finally found the person she was looking for. All breath left Gillian’s lungs. She felt as if someone had sucker-punched her right in the solar plexus.

Sam wasn’t alone.

This was one of Gillian’s nightmares in Technicolor, only that what happened between Sam and the blonde on her lap wasn’t a movie or a dream. The slut in a cheap excuse for a dress couldn’t possibly get any closer without crawling into Sam’s body.

She has already replaced me.
Gillian leaned heavily on the back of a chair. Tears blurred her vision. She had tormented herself with pictures of Sam suffering from the pain she had caused. And here Sam was, playing cozy with another woman. Obviously she hadn’t wasted any time with shedding tears over what happened. All of Gillian’s plans of asking Sam for forgiveness, her hopes of reconciling crumbled to dust.

“Did you think she would weep over you, Gillian?”

Gillian spun around and found herself faced with a woman with long, blonde hair.

“Excuse me?”

The stranger took Gillian’s arm in a death grip and pulled her toward the bar. “Come over here before you make a fool of yourself or Sam. Sit down.” The woman pointed at an empty barstool, then waved the bartender over. “Here, T, give us two Jack Daniels. Two fingers, straight.”

“Got you covered, Linda.” The bartender walked away to get their drinks.

“I don’t drink whisky, especially not with women I don’t know.” Gillian glared at Linda. “And don’t you dare touch me again!”

Linda glared back at her. “What? Jack Daniels too cheap for you?”

The bartender returned, setting glasses in front of them.

“Drink!” Linda said. She chugged down her own drink, and then slammed the empty shot glass down on the bar.

Fuming, Gillian didn’t touch her glass. Seeing Sam might have crushed her hope but that didn’t mean Gillian would allow a stranger to push her around. She stepped away from the barstool. “Who do you think you are?”

“My name’s Linda. I’m Sam’s best friend. So I’d say this is very much my business. Now drink up.” Linda pointed at Gillian’s glass.

Gillian opened her mouth and closed it again.
This is Linda, Sam’s best friend?
Shit.
Could this evening get any worse? Gillian sat down on the barstool.
Ah, what the hell.
She took the glass and gulped down the amber drink. The whisky burned a trail over her tongue and down her throat. She did her best not to grimace and failed miserably.

“Are you here to mock Sam?” Linda gave Gillian a warning look. “I saw you come in with Skyler. Looks like you already found someone new.”

“No, I…I’m not here with Skyler. I just met her outside. I came in to talk to Sam.” Gillian hated how defensive she felt and sounded.
I don’t need to justify myself to Linda.
She sat straighter, toying with the empty glass. “But that is none of your business.”

“Talk to her? Now? Maybe you should have talked to her in the coffee shop instead of pretending not to know her.” Linda leaned closer, glowering at her. “And what about the bitch that was with you? Is she good in bed?”

What?
Every single word hurt like a slap in the face. Gillian bit back the sharp words that burned on the tip of her tongue. What good would it do to infuriate Sam’s best friend? Staring at the row of bottles on shelves behind the bar, she desperately wished for another whisky. But maybe it would be wiser to get drunk at home. She didn’t have any reason to stay here any longer.