Say Nothing... (The Speak Series Book 2) (28 page)

The vibration of my phone breaks me from my restlessness, and for a brief moment, hope rises in my chest. Sliding a finger across my screen, I'm taken aback at the name staring back at me.

Ben: Sorry to bother you. I'm about to board my connecting flight and was a little worried about Ari. Would you mind passing by in a while and checking if her car is there. I don't want her driving.

This feels a bit like Christmas morning. He just gave me the best gift without even realizing it. I quickly type back my response.

He follows up with a thank-you and the address. I've had it for the past year and a half, so I don't bother reading past what I need to know. For the right price, Eduardo was able to track her phone. I've known her every move for the last two weeks.

I wondered why she was home so early. He mentioned she was upset about his trip and that she had been drinking. I hate that the little prick has that effect on her. That she's at home crying for this asshole when she can be wrapped in my arms without a care in the world.

I tamp down my anger and bring up the tracker again.
Still home.
I make a deal with myself. Watch from a distance for another hour, then we pay her a visit.

"It's five o'clock somewhere, right?" I slur out to no one in particular as I crack open my second bottle of sangria. I know I'll hate myself in the morning or maybe in a few hours when I'm praying to the porcelain gods, but for now, this is the only thing making me feel better.

Grabbing a roll of Ritz crackers, I stagger my sad butt back to the couch. I raise my glass in a toast. "Here’s to needing one day . . . okay, maybe two. Here's to two days." The red liquid sloshes around a bit as I bring it in for another gulp. I have no idea who I am right now. I mean, come on, I'm not this girl. This sad, whiny, pathetic shell of a person who pines for her boyfriend. I take another swig of my wine; my lips are starting to numb, and I feel completely hopeless.

My phone buzzes against the wood of my coffee table. Glancing at the time, I know it can't be Ben, so I don't bother moving to pick it up. A few minutes later, it buzzes again.
Fuck. Unknown number.
I hit end and send his crazy ass to voicemail. I'm too drunk to deal with him or anyone else for that matter. My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I promised Ben I would eat.

Opening the plastic tube of Ritz crackers, I snack on a few hoping to soak up some of this alcohol. I'm half a bottle past drunk now and I realize that if I don't slow down, I won't be coherent enough to hear Ben’s call. That thought sobers me a little, and I shove down another two crackers.
Advil. A bottle of water and some Advil. That'll help.

My legs feel like I'm walking through quicksand as I attempt to make my way to the kitchen. The room is spinning, and I'm forced to take a break midway and sit on one of the dining room chairs. The faint buzzing of my phone sounds again, but I'm too far away from it now to even think of sneaking a peek at who's calling.

I'm exhausted. Between the lack of sleep and the almost two bottles of wine, I'm done. Folding my arms on the table, I decide to rest my head for a few minutes. My lids feel weighted, and they begin to shut of their own accord.
I'll just rest for a minute.

The dark road stretches in front of me and thick patches of fog settle over the riverbed that runs alongside it. I know this road; it connects the adjoining city, and it's nowhere you want to be left alone, especially at night. Patting the pockets of my jeans, I quickly realize I have nothing—no cell phone, no keys, and I'm just that . . . completely alone.
My heart is racing and the urgency to be anywhere but here has my feet moving quickly.

I don't hear anything but the sound of my heavy breathing and the crackle of the gravel beneath my feet. How did I get here? The confusion of why or who invades my thoughts. "Ari . . .” My name comes as a whisper, and my body immediately freezes with fear. My heavy breathing has now turned into a pant. The fog is becoming denser, making me lose my sense of direction. Waving my arms in an attempt to clear my path, I continue forward. There’s nothing but me, the fog, and the moonlight. Hope fills me as two bright lights cut through the darkness. "Ari . . .” The whisper is now a shout, and I recognize the voice. "Ben," I shout back, taking off at a sprint. "Ari." I run toward the sound of his voice like my life depends on it. The lights are brighter now and the faint outline of his body comes into view. He waits for me with open arms as I slam into his chest. "Shh . . . I got you." My body shakes violently, and he runs his hands through my hair to calm me. "Shh . . . you're safe, sweet girl."

BEING 30,000 FEET IN THE
air, while confined to a seat, is not the ideal setting when you're worried about someone. Add to it the fact I'm unable to use my phone, and I'm surprised I haven't strangled the guy next to me.
I knew leaving her would be a bad idea.

Seven hours and fifty minutes later, I exit my flight in good old London. Grateful to finally be off the flight, I quickly dig my cell out of my jeans. It's around midnight in Los Angeles, but I'm desperate to hear Ari's voice. The pings of missed messages and emails hit my phone as soon as I switch it off airplane mode. Ignoring it, I dial Ari's number. Two rings and I'm sent straight to voicemail.

My hope is that the wine caught up with her and she’s asleep. I leave a quick message asking her to call me back, wait a few minutes, and then try again.
Nothing.

As I wait by the carousel for my luggage, I scroll through my missed messages.

I have one from Vonne, two from Ari's sisters, and another from Amos. I click on his first. A picture of Ari's car, safely parked in her stall pops up on the screen. Breathing a sigh of relief, I give him a call needing the reassurance.

"Hi,
mijo
," he says picking up after the second ring.

"Hey, sorry for calling so late. I just got off the plane."

"No problem. I'm just getting home." I hear the sound of keys and a door shutting.

"Thank you for checking in on Ari. I got the picture you sent."

"I'm glad I could help. Her car was still there when I passed by again just now. Have you been able to speak to her?"

"No. I'm hoping she's just asleep."

"Did you want me to go back and try knocking?" She'd kill me if she knew I sent him over. I'm desperate to know if she's okay, but I don't want to piss her off in my pursuit.

"No. I'll just wait for her to call me. She's not a big drinker, and I'm sure she just fell asleep but thank you."

"Anytime,
mijo
."

We end our call just in time for me to get my bags. The firm arranged for a driver to pick me up and take me to the loft. Sinking into the backseat, I listen to the sound of her sweet voice asking to leave a message.
Please let her be okay
.

I jerk awake; my heart is still racing with fear as I take in my brightly lit room.
Ben.
I scramble off my bed and immediately regret the quick movement.
When did I come to bed?
Three loud knocks sound on my front door matching the pounding in my head.

Making a slower attempt this time, I drag myself down the hall.

"Who is it?" I call out. Looking through the peephole, I see that it’s Alba and Amelie. The annoyance on their faces is evident the minute I open the door.

"Good morning, sunshine. You look like shit." Alba’s always one to state the obvious.

"Thanks. What the hell are you guys doing here so early?"

"Nice to see you too," Amelie says smiling. "It's past eleven, first of all, and second, your boyfriend is losing his fricken mind over you. Do you remember him?"

I press my fingers to my temples; I don't remember much of anything at the moment.

"Holy shit, Rely. He's called at least thirty times," Alba says scrolling through my phone.

"Give me that." I snatch it out of her hand and quickly dial his number.

"Babe?" The relief in his voice breaks my heart.

"I'm so sorry." My sisters don't need to hear me grovel, so I walk back toward my bedroom.

"Jesus, Ari. Do you have any idea how fucking worried I've been?" Relief quickly turns to frustration.

"I'm so sorry. I was missing you and drank way too much. I laid my head down to rest and . . . Please don't be mad. I'm fine. I just didn't hear my phone."

He sighs, and by the sound of the shuffling on the other end, he's probably wearing a hole in the floor.

"How's your new flat?" I ask in my best British accent.

"Don't," he snaps.

"I can't- Do you know how frustrating it was not to be able to get a hold of you? I was stuck on that plane for eight hours with no cell phone and no way of knowing if you were okay. I had to send my fucking uncle to the house to make sure your car was still there. I won't last here if this happens again. You were upset, I get it, but this isn't a cake walk for me either."

"Wait, you what? You sent Amos over here to check on me?"
The table.
I remember falling asleep at the table while taking a break on my way to the kitchen, but I woke up in my bed. My stomach roils at the thought of him being here.