SEIZED Part 1: New Adult Romantic Suspense (Seize Me Romance Fiction Series) (10 page)

The decision is made, and I can relax. If Blake thinks this case is his ticket to climb the ladder, he may want to keep key details from me. I have to find a way to keep the lines of communication open.  I need information. Information is currency these days. And in this case, I need him to
want
to tell me everything he learns that’s relevant to finding April. Then, I need access to his laptop. So, for now, I’ll agree to everything and go along with the plan. It’s the wisest option, and I’m not a woman opposed to plotting to get what I want.

I play that game every day at work. Life is a value exchange, and if my boss needs to believe something in order to give me better assignments, then I’ll sure as hell make him believe it. That’s what it’s like for women in the media. We have to use the skills and the contacts we do have to get the things the big boys like to keep just out of our reach. I used to call myself a feminist, but now I’m a
selfist
. Whatever it takes to get what I want, and where I need to go. The rest of the world is black and white, so why should I be the one to compromise?
I shouldn’t
is the answer to that.

We pull in to his parking garage, and I’m glad we’ve arrived. I just want to get to bed and sleep. He lifts my shopping bags from the back of the cruiser, and we head up in the ancient elevator to their place. No one is home, and I’m relieved. I like kids, but my head is killing me. We walk through the main door of his place, and it’s lovely. His sister and nephew live on the lower level with the kitchen, and there are colorful rugs on the polished floors and batik on the walls. The place has a primary color scheme, decorated with wooden African masks and a large flat coffee table with cushions around it. There are a few toys lying around, and a coffee cup on the counter. It looks like a comfy family home.

People live here, a child lives here, and Blake is part of a family. I’m not sure why I’m surprised. Maybe because he seems to have turned out so well, I was expecting more of a utilitarian house—as if a cop should have one type of home décor, and librarian another. People’s careers don’t define them. I know that, I just seem to forget things I know now that I’m around him.

He pops into Brenda’s room, and grabs me some clean clothes. Thankfully, they look like they’ll fit. There’s nothing worse than tight clothing, or borrowed clothes that are obviously too big. They make me feel like more of an alien than I already do. He passes me the bag with my clean gear in it, and leads me upstairs to his bathroom. I was right, he is a neat freak. Though the top floor is furnished in the same style, nothing is out of place. Even the books on his shelves look like they’ve been arranged by size.
Ha! I thought so.

I stop gloating, and turn on the water. The shower is beautiful. I stand under it for way too long. I need to wash last night off me and as it runs down the drain I start to feel calmer. I love water. It’s so healing, makes me relax. The knots in my shoulders need this, and I need this.

I jump out and line up my stuff in a neat row on the cabinet. He has everything in order and I can’t help taking a little sniff of his aftershave.
Hmm, he smells good.
The bathroom is modern and masculine in the way I expected his whole place to be. He even has matching towels. They’re gun metal grey and I grab two, one for my hair which is dripping everywhere, and the other to dry myself between the bruises.

It’s the first time I properly see the damage done to my neck. The bruises are already purple and vivid against my skin. My forehead cut is actually tiny, it just bled a lot. My legs are grazed, and there are bruises on my arms, but I’m okay. A burst of weird pride surfaces inside me. Of course I’m okay. Being okay is what I do. It’s what I’ve always done, and it’s what I’ll keep doing with or without a man in my life.

I look critically at my body. I’m not fat, but there are definitely some curves. Overall, I look pretty good. I’m active, I train every other day, and I keep myself fit. I’m waxed because I like it, not because of a man, and I’m happy about not having a boyfriend. I have regular partners, not frequent, but I do like to get my needs met every month or so. Sex is great. It’s healthy, animalistic, and it doesn’t have to be all lovey-dovey to be good for me.

Harmless fun is more than okay from my perspective—as long as I can go straight home afterward. I never let them come to my place. There hasn’t been a man in my place for years. I dry myself off, and rub the oils and moisturizers I got at the grocery store into my skin. It feels amazing to be clean, and after slipping into Brenda’s clothes, I’m totally refreshed. Blake has no hair dryer, so I twist my hair into a messy bun and I feel ready to take on finding April again.

I can smell the coffee the moment I open the bathroom door and thank goodness for that. At least he’s a man with his food priorities straight—even if he is lying about something. I pop next door, into the room he told me will be mine, and I dump my bundle of messy stuff on the floor. There’s no way I’m going to be wearing any of those clothes again, so I slide the pile under the bed. While I was in the shower, he brought a few more of Brenda’s clothes upstairs, and some fresh towels. They’re lined up on the guest bed. Part of me wants to just lie down, but that coffee smells so damn good. I’m a sucker for a tall, steaming cup of black. Coffee makes life okay on the days when it doesn’t feel that way. This is clearly one of those days, so I get my ass downstairs.

He’s put on some sweatpants and is sitting on the cushions around the low table with a steaming pot of coffee. It smells frigging great, and something inside me coils at the site of him looking so relaxed and sexy. He seems younger, too, more like he used to be—except for the muscles. I can’t miss them with the low neck of his t-shirt. Christ, he should be in advertisement for that t-shirt, I swear. I laugh when I imagine what it would be like walking along, looking up, and seeing Blake Sexy Anderson on a billboard. This is the man I spent a fair amount of time fantasizing about as a teen, and here we are, alone in his apartment sharing a pot of coffee.

The pot is steaming between us, and he pours me a generous cup as I slide in next to him on the low cushions. He’s sitting cross-legged, looking casual and comfortable, but I slip into a seated yoga pose to protect my sore back. Brenda’s clothes fit me perfectly, and I’m comfy. I put my elbows on the table and look over the top of my mug at him.

“So, tell me a story Blake Anderson.”

He laughs at my tone, and it takes me right back to the way things used to be between us.

“What do you want to know, Miss James?”

I decide to jump straight in. “What happened to you in senior year for starters, and how the hell did you decide to become a cop. I thought you hated cops?”

He looks so thoughtful, as though he’s deciding what parts to share and what to leave out.

“We left because of my dad. He was a drunk. My mom finally had enough of his bullshit, and left us all. After she left, he only had me and Brenda to take it out on. He used to drink himself blind, and do stupid shit. Lose the car, lose all the food money, get in fights, or just pass out somewhere. He was a prick when he was sober, too. Not one of those enigmatic guys who go too far. An all-around stinking asshole. I hated him, and I think he hated me. I was always in the way when I was younger, and he resented the responsibility of having kids.

“Moving to Cedar Rapids was my Mom’s last attempt at saving us all. She was sure she could make my dad behave one way or another. Shrieking at him, following him to the bars, trying to control what he could spend. Trying to take his keys away, and tell him who he could socialize with. He was her project. He was more her child than either of us ever were. She was obsessed with straightening him out. Every time he drank, she took it as a personal blow to her ability to be a good wife. They were unhappy for years, but he’d just get boozed to drown her out. She’d get madder and madder, hunting down the bottles he’d hidden around the house, and smashing them in front of him.

“Brenda and I just tried to avoid them, but it was harder for her than me. We looked after ourselves, and we knew it was a matter of time that we would leave too. It was in senior year, Mom had gone, school wasn’t going well, so we both dropped out, stole his car, got ourselves some fake ID so no one would question our age, and came to New York.

We stayed in some shitty places in those first few months, but we both got jobs. She was a barista, and I started working security in night clubs. I was taller by then, and one of the guys I met owned a gym, so we started working out together. It became my thing, work and gym, and we partied pretty hard for that first year. Brenda had a few boyfriends, and I tried to meet girls but it always went wrong. I know it was because my drinking was out of control, but it had to get really bad before I did something about it.

“By then, I had started working the bar. I was good with the customers, so they moved me off the door and closer to the action. I drank to sell booze, but I also had a steady supply to keep me going from the start to the end of the shift. Mostly scotch and bourbon, but it got to the point I was putting vodka in my coffee, and taking anything a customer offered. Shots, champagne, it didn’t matter. I felt like a star when I was in that place. I had beautiful women, I was friends with everyone, and more alive than ever before. Then shit got worse. It got so I had to drink in order to crack a smile, and if I didn’t, I’d be a zombie. I was turning into my dad, and I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t stop.

“One day, Brenda woke me up in the hallway. At first, I didn’t know who she was, and I scared the shit out of her, nearly punching her because I thought she was trying to take my wallet. It was ten in the morning, and I hadn’t made it in the door the night before. I stank of piss, and realized I’d wet myself and lost a shoe in the hallway. She got me inside, and sat me down, and told me she was pregnant. The father was a guy she’d been seeing, and they were trying to work it out, but she was going to have the baby anyway. She cried and told me I looked like Dad. She told me she needed me more than ever. It was like we were replaying the early scenes that happened between my Mom and Dad. It was less than a year since we’d left. She was seventeen, and I was eighteen by then, but we were twenty years older on the inside, and on our fake ID. I knew I had to grow the fuck up. So I did. I started going to AA. It sucked, but I met some good people and they helped me.”

I interrupt him for a second as I pour myself another coffee. I can’t believe he’s only telling me all this now.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know anything about your parents.” I top off his coffee, too.

“It’s cool, Carrie. Don’t worry. Bren and I kept our cards pretty close during that time. No one knew.”

He’s cast a whole new light on the guy I thought I knew, and despite my suspicion, I can’t help but admire him.

“So, you got sober and Brenda had a baby? How’d you guys manage?”

“I dunno, we just did. I was her birthing partner, so we went to the appointments together. We got by on our savings and moved into a nicer place in Brooklyn. My sponsor convinced me to go back to security work, and I also pulled shifts at the gym during the day. She worked until she couldn’t anymore, and then had George. Our neighbor helped her look after him. The first year went by so fast I couldn’t believe it. From day one, they were close. I joined the force when I met some rookies who trained at the gym with us. Cool guys, pretty good pay, and it seemed like a career, ya know? By then, George was nearly two, and it just felt like a good fit. The police here look after their own, so once I was in, leaving didn’t make sense anymore. And Brenda worked on accounting stuff at home to make ends meet. It’s been five years since I joined, but I made detective quickly, and I knew the anti-trafficking squad was where I needed to go. I just knew it.”

I shake my head, and say nothing for a second. “Christ, Blake, I had no idea.”

I just don’t know what to say, I’m floored at his story, and a little ashamed. There I was worrying about my own little life in Cedar Rapids, while all the while he was going through hell. His leaving had nothing to do with me. I don’t know what to say, so I just thank him for being so honest and drink my coffee. He looks at me and laughs.

“Bit of a conversation stopper, isn’t it?” His eyebrow goes up again, giving me that sexy look, and I nearly spit my coffee on the table.

“Ah, yes, you could say that.”

In that moment, our old camaraderie is back again, and I’m smiling despite everything that’s happened. My head is still aching, though.

“Do you have any Advil?” I ask, holding my temples.

He gets up, rummages in a kitchen drawer, and brings me back two tablets and a little bowl of the yogurt.

“Here, you have to have them with food.”

Something in his gentle voice makes me want to cry.
What the fuck is wrong with me?

I try, but I can’t control the tears, so I sob into my hands. I cry for Blake and for Brenda, but mostly I cry for me. For the years I spent feeling rejected by him. And the pain I felt aborting the baby that came from the most painful time of my life. For the disgust and the unfairness of the abuse, and for the loss of my teenage self. I didn’t get a chance to feel excited about losing my virginity, because it was taken from me before I was ready to give it to someone I cared about.

Neither of us got the perfect American life that’s in the movies, and it just feels so fucking sad. Blake doesn’t say anything. I tell him I’m fine, that I’m tired, and I can tell he doesn’t believe me. But he agrees that I should head to bed, and even walks me up the stairs. For a moment, I think he’s going to hug me, but he doesn’t. I leave him in the hallway, strip off Brenda’s clothes, and climb into the bed alone.

Blake

I
t’s good to see her. In a way, I’ve been wanting to tell her my story since I first got sober. Of everyone I knew in Cedar Rapids, she was the only one worth making amends to. She was the only one I cared about. I nearly told her about Dad so many times back then, but I just couldn’t. It was our job to pick him up off the floor when we got back from school, not her.