Reclaim: A Recovered Innocence Novel (17 page)

I stumble out into the parking lot and bend over, clutching my knees and trying to pull in air. I’m suffocating. Somehow I slide to the ground next to my car. It’s too much. I can’t take in everything I saw. There was just
so
much. Of everything. It was everywhere. I wouldn’t even know where to start to clear it all out. Lila looked at all that
junk
like it was the most important thing in the world. I’d give anything to have her look at me like that. I let out a laugh that sounds more like a sob.

Fuck
that’s stupid.

I press the heels of my palms into my eyes, rubbing at the unexpected wetness. I don’t know what to do or say. This is so far out of my comprehension I can’t grasp at any thoughts. I don’t know what to make of it.
How did that happen? Why can’t she make it stop? How are we going to get past this?
All of the daydreams I had of us being a couple, someday living together, come crashing down in bitter chunks around me. She warned me. She told me I shouldn’t get close. I can’t say she didn’t. I foolishly, selfishly ignored her, pushing her protests away like they were puny, inconsequential objections.

I built it all up in my mind. We were bigger than any issues she had. We could get past anything together. I pull in a ragged breath. Except this, I realize. This is all her. None of it is me or
us.
There is no pushing this aside. She wants her compulsion more than she wants me. That’s a hard blow to take. It knocks the wind out of me and sends me reeling. I can’t fix her. Jesus. God. I was
such
an idiot. So goddamn naïve and stupid. Just
dumb. So
dumb.

I picture her face wet with tears, standing there in the middle of all of that chaos, knowing I couldn’t handle what she was showing me. Why did I have to keep pushing her? What had I been thinking? I suck in deep breaths, trying to get some control. I don’t know whether to punch something, go to her and demand answers, or just walk away from it all. My first instinct is to get in my car and leave. I tamp it down, ashamed at the thought.

I should go to her. Maybe we
can
work this out. Maybe I can talk her into getting help. Maybe if she had enough support…Those are all lies. We can’t work this out. If she wanted help she would’ve already gotten it regardless of how much support she had. She’s not a weak-willed person…and yet she is. There’s a whole house packed full of shit to prove it.

I picture her on that makeshift bed in the dining area and I want to hit something. When she said she didn’t sleep in a bed I thought it was because of the rape, like maybe it gave her flashbacks or something. I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I’m grasping at wisps of smoke. She’s given me no indication that there’s anything to hold on to here. It was all built up in my mind despite her protests that we didn’t have a relationship. We had sex. That was it. Just fucking.

I got so frustrated at how she held herself away from me. The more she did it the more I wanted her. I wanted to know her, every part of her. Now I’ve seen it all and I’m not sure I can handle it. I’m ashamed of that weakness, ashamed that I’m reacting exactly the way she thought I would. I’m failing the same way so many others in her life have. She expected I would and I didn’t disappoint.

I don’t know what to do. Do I tell her it doesn’t matter, that we can keep going like we are with no long-term future? Do I go in there and fight for us, try to convince her to get some help and tell her I’ll be there every step of the way? Or do I end it?

I know what she expects me to do. But what do
I
want?

If I’d been asked that question before walking into her apartment I would’ve answered unequivocally
her.
Now? Now I just don’t know. I can’t pin any hope on her changing. I have to accept that she might never get better. We’d never be able to live together. That’s a hard constraint to put on a relationship. Marriage would be out of the question. I mean, what married couple doesn’t live together?

If she gets help it has to be because
she
wants it. Am I strong enough to go through that with her? I wish I could say that I am, but I honestly have no idea.

The one thing I do know is that I can’t walk away. The thought of never getting to talk with her or touch her is…unimaginable. That hasn’t changed.

So I guess I have my answer.

But there are a thousand other questions rolling around in my head that I can’t answer, like: What do I say to her? How do I make her believe I want the possibility of us? How do I get her to see that there
can
be an us? Where do we go from here?

I guess the first step is getting off my ass and getting back in there.

Hauling myself up, I dust off and take a deep breath, then another. I check myself to be sure I’m really doing this. Yeah, I am. Her front door is a portal that once crossed will change my world and maybe Lila’s too. Without knocking, I barge right on in.

“Lila,” I call out. “Lila, where are you?”

There’s some movement from somewhere deep in the apartment and then she appears. We stare at each other for a long moment. She’s surprised to see me. On some level I’m offended. I know I shouldn’t be. We haven’t known each other long enough for her to realize I’m not someone who gives up. I might be a fuckup, but I’m not a quitter.

I keep my focus on her and ignore everything else around me. “Did you gather what you need?”

Her brows pull together.

“To stay at my place.”

She stares at me like she doesn’t understand what I’m saying.

“Nothing’s changed,” I tell her. “It’s still not safe for you to be alone.”

“Oh.”

“Look, I didn’t handle this very well.” I gesture toward the apartment in general, still keeping my focus on her so I don’t panic and bolt again. “I’m sorry for that. I can’t promise that I’ll always know the right thing to say or do. I’m bound to screw up more than get it right. If you can deal with that then I’d like to see if we could still try to figure out whatever this is between us. Because it feels big, Lila. It feels like you could change my life. And I don’t know, maybe I could change yours.”

My words hang in the air between us, an extended bridge I hope she’ll cross. Her eyes and nose are red from crying. She’s wearing her protective, fuck-off expression, but it’s all for show. She hugs herself like she’s starving to be held, but I know if I try to touch her she’ll reject me.

Her gaze turns wary. “You decide the sex was too good?”

“I’m not going to bullshit you. It’s the best I’ve ever had, but that’s not the only reason and you know it.”

“I really don’t.”

“Now who’s the bullshitter?”

“I must be a really good fuck to overlook all of this.”

“You can try to make it all about sex if you want to.”

“I don’t know any different. That’s the only kind of relationship I’ve ever had.” She recoils at her own admission as though it embarrasses her.

I’m sad for her. She deserves so much more. I gentle my voice. “Get your things. Come back to my apartment with me. Please.”

She blinks rapidly and swallows. “You sure?”

“Of what’s between us? Yes. Of the future and how we’ll work everything out? No.”

She drops her gaze, nodding. “Give me a minute?”

“I’ll wait outside for you.”

I try to measure my steps so she doesn’t see my panic. Now that I put it out there I can’t take it back. The enormity of her problem hits me all over again. I thought I had a handle on it, but seeing her apartment again was somehow worse than the first time. I was in shock and a fair bit of denial. Knowing what to expect when I walked in there didn’t make seeing it any easier a second time. If anything it was even
more
overwhelming. I’m crushed by the enormity of her problem.

I stood in the middle of all that chaos and promised to try to work through it with her, but now the doubts are back bigger and more insurmountable than before. I’m not cut out for this. I’m bound to fuck it up. I shouldn’t have promised those things to her. They weren’t lies at the time, but now I wonder whom I was trying to convince, her or me?

It’s only when her front door closes behind me that I can pull in a full breath and the panic subsides to something close to tolerable. It’s still there, though, waiting to creep over me again. I hope I can hide it from Lila. The last thing she needs is me backing out on her. I should’ve thought this through better. I should’ve taken the time to live with it for a while and really go over it in my head before making that declaration to her. You’d think I’d know better, but being the fuckup that I am, I dove in headfirst without working it through.

Leaning against my car, I wait for Lila. My thoughts are racing rats in a maze, swarming over, under, and around. I’m so caught up in my head that I don’t notice it until the flash of a flame catches the corner of my eye. Turning my head, I see the dark sedan a split second before it peels away from the curb. My thoughts are slow so it takes me a moment to recognize the profile of one of the men from the Lucky Inn—Billits’s man.

I come off the car to get Lila just as she comes out with a bag slung over her shoulder. She locks the door and comes toward me with a wary look on her face, totally unaware of what just happened. I have to get us out of here. Gripping her by the arm, I hustle her into the passenger seat and jog back around the car and climb in.

“What’s wrong,” she asks.

I tear off down the street in the direction opposite the sedan’s without a word. All I’m thinking about is getting Lila somewhere safe.

“Nolan, what’s going on?”

“Billits had a guy out in front of your apartment.”

“What?”

“He’s on to us. I gotta get you somewhere safe.”

I take the next turn practically on two wheels. Lila screeches and clings to her door. In my head I’m running through the possibilities of how they found us when my phone dings.

I hand my phone to Lila as I blow through a yellow light. “What does it say?”

“Side window breach.”

“Shit.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we can’t go back to my place.”

“Where are we going?”

The sedan pulls out onto the street half a block behind us, but doesn’t try to catch up. How in the…?
Stupid.
Of
course. Think,
I tell myself. Taking the next turn, I speed up through the next traffic light, then suddenly jerk to a stop and climb out. Dropping to my belly on the pavement, I search underneath the car. There. At the back near the left wheel a red light blinks on a black box. I pry it off and climb back into the car before the sedan rounds the corner.

I hand it to Lila. “Here. When I tell you to, you’re going to get out of the car and follow my instructions.” I take off at the green light.

“What is this?”

“A tracking device. Don’t turn around and look. We’re being followed.”

To her credit she doesn’t look behind us. She stares down at the blinking light on the tracker. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

“I just have to find the right…There.” I change lanes just in time. “When we stop at the light, get out and attach the tracker to that silver car.” I point to a car two car lengths ahead of us.

“It looks just like your car.”

“Exactly. Put it under the bumper, but don’t let the two passengers see you. When you get back in, slide down in your seat so you can’t be seen.” I keep an eye on my rearview mirror, watching for the sedan, but it hasn’t caught up to us yet. He’s not in a hurry. After all, he’s got the advantage with the tracker.

“Oh, I get—”

“Now! Go! Hurry!”

I jump out of the car, slap the tracker under the look-alike car, and leap back in. Crouching in the foot well, I glance up at Nolan who is now wearing a cowboy hat and grinning at me like he’s having a fantastic time.

“That was awesome! The people in that other car didn’t even flinch. Way to go, babe.” His endearment diffuses through me like warm milk.

When the light turns green he eases us through the intersection and makes a left, his gaze flickering back and forth between the road and the rearview mirror. I can’t tell where we are, but it’s darker here. Maybe a residential street? He turns the car in a wide arc, then puts it in park and turns it off.

“What’s happening?” I ask.

He flashes me the quick smile that drew me from the first time I met him. “I think you did it. Come on out of there.”

I climb back up into my seat. We’re parked on a street with houses all around. In front of us is the main road we were just on.

“There.” He points to a black sedan that drives right past us on the road we were just on. “It worked. They’re following the other car.”

He gives me a quick kiss, then another. Just like all the other times we’ve gotten physical it quickly gets away from us. We’ve got our hands in each other’s pants when a car alarm goes off nearby, startling us apart. Panting, we stare at each other in the dimly lit car.

“We need to find somewhere safe.” He tucks himself back into his pants. “And I need to get you under me as soon as possible.”

I rebutton my jeans and press my legs together, trying to quell the throbbing between them. “Or over you.”

He glances at me, his eyes heavy with desire. “That would work.”

“Where are we going to go?”

“Give me a second to think.”

He watches the traffic go past the little street we’re on, his wrist hooked over the steering wheel. There’s something about his profile backlit by the streetlamp across the street that makes me feel safe. Not just in a physical sense—he’s already proven himself there—but emotionally. He already knows the worst about me. Why he didn’t run the first chance he got I don’t know.

When he came back inside and gave his speech about me possibly changing his life I didn’t know what to say. His thoughts so closely echoed mine about him it scared me. He and my feelings about him terrify me as much as showing him my apartment. He
could
change my life. He might be the only person who can. His words stormed the walls of my resistance and gave me something I’ve never had—hope. He makes me want to try and that’s something I’ve never felt before. As much as my hoarding was a comfort, it was also a trap. It wasn’t that I didn’t see it that way, it’s just that I see it much more clearly now.

I don’t have Pollyanna thoughts about his love changing me in some magical way like a 190-pound fairy godmother waving his wand and making all of my issues go away. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t see it that way either. At least I hope not. Behind the incredible things he said to me were tiny seeds of doubt and a heavy dose of incredulousness. Taking me on with all my baggage is daunting to him, and I’m more than a little apprehensive about letting him.

None of what we’re considering here is going to be easy. I know that. I already harbor a tremendous amount of guilt over what I’ll likely put him through and for not cutting him loose altogether. He shouldn’t have to deal with me and my problems. He should be dating someone who can throw away junk instead of holding on to it like a life preserver. Someone he can think about a future with, not someone who may never be normal and who can’t give him normal things.

Why he would want me I don’t know. I’m not sure I would take him on if our roles were reversed. That not only makes him better than me, but better than I deserve. I don’t know what it is he sees in me that’s bigger than my problems. It has to go beyond chemistry. There’s no way he’s so desperate for hot sex he’s willing to overlook something as huge as my issues. Nobody’s that good. I’m certainly not.

He starts the car. “I know where we should go.”

“Where?”

“If you don’t mind roughing it a bit my friend has an RV parked on the side of his house. It’s in a fenced-off carport. I stayed there a couple days when I had my floors redone. It’s not fancy, but it’ll be secure and off the grid so to speak.”

“You mean no credit card charges for a hotel.”

“Right. And he won’t care if we just show up.”

“Sounds perfect. You know how I live in a constant state of
roughing it.
”

He gives me a quick glance. “Shit. That’s not what I meant.”

“I know it’s not. You’ve been really good about it. Maybe too good.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. Never mind.”

“No. Say what you want to say.”

“It’s just that the sex can’t be
that
good.”

At a light he turns to me. “You tell me how good it is.”

I look away from him out the side window. “It’s amazing.”

“Is that all it is for you?”

“No.”

“Then why do you assume that’s all it is for me?”

I shrug, then realize he can’t see me. His gaze is back on the road as we make our way through the intersection.

“I don’t know. I don’t know how to do this.”

“Neither do I. Right now I’m just trying to keep us safe until we can talk to Mr. Nash’s FBI contact.”

“And we can fuck.”

“You’re really starting to piss me off.”

“You can’t tell me that’s not what this is about. You honestly can’t be this hard up. No one is.”

“Goddamn it!”

He jerks the wheel and we come to an abrupt stop at the side of the road. The seatbelt halts my lunge forward. When he turns to me his face is in shadow so I can’t see his expression, but his breathing is rapid and harsh sounding in the cocoon of the car.

“Are we going to have this out right here, right now?” he asks.

I tilt my chin up in defense. “I guess so.”

“You’ve made this about sex from the start. I went along with it because I didn’t see any other way to have you, but I’m done with you setting the limits here. Here’s how it’s going to go. Yeah, we’re gonna fuck because it’s what we do best. The rest of the time we’re going to try to figure out how to make the in-between times work. It’s going to suck sometimes. It’s going to be just okay other times and then there will be pockets of
holy fuck this is good
because that’s how relationships go. If you want out, if you can’t handle that then say so right now and I’ll let you go.”

His eyes shine in the darkened interior. I’ve never had what he’s talking about. My parents had it. I saw it every day and wanted it for myself. And then everything collapsed and it was me at the bottom of the avalanche trying to dig myself out. I’m still trying to tunnel out with my bare hands. They’re bruised and raw and I’m tired. So tired. It feels like he’s handing me a shovel, but I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know how to make this work the way he wants it to. I’m scared.

I don’t realize I said the last out loud until he cups my cheek with his hand. “I know you are. So am I.”

“You?”

“It’s fucking overwhelming, Lila. All of it. Your apartment. The way we connect. The way I feel about you. I’m out of my depth here.”

“It was easier when I didn’t like you.”

He lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “Yeah, it was.”

“I might not ever be the person you want me to be. I might never be normal. That’s not fair to you.”

“No, it’s not. But who ever said life was fair?”

“I’m going to hold you back. You could have someone so much better than me.”

“Here’s the thing…I don’t
want
anyone else.”

“I can’t do this to you.” I don’t know how to make him understand what I’m trying to say. “I can’t be the person who contorts your future into an approximation of what it should be.”

“What if I was in an accident and I ended up in a wheelchair. Would you stay with me?”

His question throws me off guard, but it only takes me a moment to come up with an answer. “Yes.”

“Your life would never be normal. I’d hold you back.”

“But it wouldn’t change who you are.”

“Would it change how you feel about me?”

“No.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. “I don’t know how to help you or if I even can. You might never change. I’m working on coming to terms with that and what it means for us. It’s not easy. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that I’m not pissed as hell at you or that I understand and accept your…compulsion. I don’t. I don’t get it.
At all.
I might never get it. But here’s the thing. I get
you.
Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

“Yes, but I’m afraid to believe it.”

“I can’t make you any promises. I don’t know what’s going to happen. But I’m here now and I’m trying.”

“I guess that’s all I can ask. It’s certainly more than I’ve ever hoped for.” More than I deserve.

We fall quiet. The only noise is from the traffic around us. He shifts the car into gear and pulls back out into traffic. We don’t speak the whole way to his friend’s house. I wait in the car while he grabs the key to the RV and his friend opens the gate. Nolan drives the car inside and his friend closes it behind us. When I climb out, Nolan makes the introductions. His friend’s name is Fred and if I think I’m awkward in social situations, Fred makes me look like an extrovert.

Fred closes the gate, sealing us away from the road, and goes back in the house mumbling something about leaving some food and beer in the RV for us. Nolan grabs a couple of bags out of the trunk of his car. Mine is slung over my shoulder. I wait for him near the door of the RV. Things are supposed to be settled with us, but it feels weird that Nolan knows my secret. He’s the only person in the whole world. I want to tell him that fact, but I don’t want to bring it up and rehash everything all over again.

Instead I hold my hand out to him and try to pretend we’re a normal couple hiding out from a corrupt DA in an RV in the backyard of a friend. Nothing unusual going on here. He catches my hand in his and opens the door for me to go inside. It’s very RV-ish with lots of brown splashed here and there with orange and red. It might be unattractive, but it’s clean. Not that I have room to complain. Most of all it’s safe. At least I hope so.

Nolan closes the door behind him and sets one of his bags down on the table. He pulls out a cellphone and punches in a number.

“Burner phone,” he tells me as he waits for the other person to pick up. “This is Nolan Perry. Sorry to bother you so late, Mr. Nash. I need to talk to you about the case I’m working on for The Freedom Project.”

He goes through the case for Mr. Nash, leaving out the part about how we’re hiding in his friend’s RV. The fact that we’re sleeping together is probably something he wouldn’t want his boss to know either. After a lot of back-and-forth, Nolan hangs up and turns to me.

“He’s going to call his contact and get back to me.” He opens the mini fridge. “Are you hungry? I’m starved. Looks like Fred left us some sandwich makings.” He starts pulling everything out and sets it on the table, moving his bags to the floor.

He hands me a beer and I watch in silence while he makes us a couple of sandwiches. Everything we’ve been through tonight hits me all at once. I take a long pull off my beer, trying not to freak out. When I took this case I thought I might get the opportunity to change Carla’s life, but my life’s changed in ways I never could’ve imagined. The man in front of me is a huge part of that change. I’ve shared more with him than with anyone else in my life. That’s no small thing.

I’m grateful to him and
for
him in ways I can’t quite express. He settles the mad rush of emotions that I can’t control on my own. At the same time he makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. He’s sexy as hell. I want him every time I look at him. Like now. The way the muscles on his forearms flex reminds me of when he holds himself above me while thrusting deep. I cross my legs under the table, trying to curb my reaction to those thoughts. That’s the one part of our relationship or whatever it is we have going on that comes easy. There’s no thinking at all when he touches me. Only action and reaction.

I need that most from him—to not think, to not let the thoughts take over. He gives me something else I need, but don’t feel like I deserve—quiet acceptance. I know he’s struggling with my issues, but he does it without judgment. He’s extraordinary in that way and a lot of other ways. I don’t know what he sees in me that makes it all worthwhile for him or what makes him want me warts and all.

I make a vow to him and to myself to look into getting help as soon as we wrap up this case. I want to discover the part of me that only he sees. I have a feeling I buried it along with all the things in my apartment. It won’t be easy. Just thinking about throwing anything away makes my palms sweat and my pulse race. I don’t have any idea how I’m going to do it, but I want to try. That has to count for something, right?

He slides a plated sandwich my way and takes a seat across from me. “You okay? You’re kind of quiet.”

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“A lot of things.” I pause. “Mostly about how soon I can get you naked.”

He sputters his beer and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “The answer is as soon as we finish eating.”

“What did Mr. Nash say when you told him about Billits?” I ask, needing to change the subject.

“He was shocked at first. Then pissed that Billits could be running a prostitution ring right under the noses of the state attorney general and the FBI. I figure we’ll tell him when we see him about our suspicions that Billits might be Diego’s father—and that if he is, he had sex with Carla when she was underage. She’s probably not the first or the last. Guys like Billits usually have more than one victim.”

“I wonder how many other children he may have fathered. If Carla confirms paternity they may have to exhume Diego to compare his DNA to Billits’s. That will be the smoking gun.” An awful thought suddenly occurs to me. “Do you think Carla’s safe? If Billits is onto us then he has to know who we’re helping.”