Soaked (The Water's Edge #2) (14 page)

“What we nee—”

“How did
she
know?”

Rue’s voice carried a note of impatience this time. “I don’t know. She’s not important. She’s never been important. You are. Now, we need a plan. I’ve already contacted a lawyer in Nashville, and I have three hacker friends working on getting the videos blocked as we speak . . .”

She kept talking but the words no longer registered.

Fucking Aubrey.

I glanced at my laptop again. The contest had started four weeks ago. I wondered how long she’d known. How many people in Reynolds Island she’d shared the link with.

The place where I’d hoped to start over. Be respected. Maybe build a business. A life.

Fuck, two weeks ago I’d even been imagining starting a family with West one day.

“ . . . Are you listening?”

“No. Not really.” My mind was spinning a million miles an hour, but going nowhere. A hamster in a wheel.

How the fuck was I going to recover from this?

“Sadie!” Rue’s voice was sharp. No nonsense. “Listen. To. Me. I’m not even going to ask why you didn’t mention that there were sex videos of you floating around.” I hadn’t told her because I had been ashamed. I’d simply told her that I’d found out he’d been cheating on me with Rebecca, my assistant at my photography business when I lived back in Nashville. After I’d drowned his electronics, I thought I’d handled the sex tape issue on my own. Could pretend it had never happened. Clearly, I was wrong. “ . . . But it’s too late to worry about that now. I’ve already got a plan in place. You’re going to be fine. And Asshole . . . he’s going down.”

The steely determination in her voice fortified me. I borrowed strength from her confidence and certainty. Forcing myself to pay attention as she outlined what steps she’d already taken and what things had already been set in motion, I wanted to kiss her.

Rue. God bless Rue.

She was brilliant.

Evil.

Devious.

And on my side.

Most importantly, she was right.

Asshole was going down.

I didn’t know if I’d be okay when the dust all settled after this. If I’d have any friends other than Rue. Any clients who would hire me again. But I did know one thing.

Asher had messed with the wrong woman.

GRADY ACCEPTED MY
lie about a family emergency without a qualm, making me pause and wonder if word of my newfound infamy had reached him as well. But his eyes held no derision, no disgust, no pity. Just concern. He insisted I let him know if there was anything he could do to help, then arranged for a cab to pick me up and take me to the airport in the morning, which was the earliest flight I could catch. I assured him that I had enough photos to cover both campaign ideas we’d discussed, and I’d have the finished product ready the next week.

Assuming he didn’t fire me and ban me from the Water’s Edge properties in the meantime.

Did my contract have some kind of morality or respectability clause? I knew this project was a big deal for Grady—a potential turning point in his career. And I didn’t want my newfound notoriety to reflect poorly on him.

At some point, I’d have to come clean. He took a chance on me and didn’t deserve to have his reputation tainted because of it too.

But not yet. Not when everything was still so fresh and sharp. I needed to do it when I could get the words out without reverting to a soggy, weak, broken version of myself. When I could fully accept that I’d been a victim, and the shame didn’t belong to me, but instead showed the true character of Asher Snowden.

Predatory. Despicable. Untrustworthy.

Men who preyed on women, especially through sexual domination or humiliation, deserved a special place in hell.

And, with Rue by my side, I was going to make sure he got exactly what he deserved.

I didn’t run into Nick, for which I was thankful. I didn’t know what to say to him at this point anyway. The last time he’d seen me, I’d been mostly naked, plunging my fingers in and out of myself, moaning with pleasure. To say I was embarrassed would be an understatement. Even more so now after learning about Asshole’s deception. There was no way he’d ever look at me with a shred of respect again.

When I’d cleaned up the mess in my room, the small memory card of my session with him was bent and cracked, rendering it unusable, my session lost for good. Those pictures would never be viewed—by him, myself, or anyone. And deep down, I was relieved. I wasn’t sure I needed to see them on a screen. See the open vulnerability I’d shown to Nick, when really it had been West on my mind.

Those moments—they’d been true and pure and unscripted. I knew if I could’ve seen my eyes in the photos, they would’ve revealed far too much about how my heart still clung to West. Refusing to let go. And I really,
really
needed to let go of him.

As I boarded the small plane, I pushed him from my mind, letting my anger at Asshole take center stage. When I’d first found out about his infidelity and the sex tapes, I’d felt hurt, used, betrayed. I’d run away like a little girl to lick my wounds.

But he’d underestimated me.

I was done cowering. The woman who’d emerged from the wreckage he’d caused was stronger. Stood up for herself. Knew she was worth more. And was not going to take this shit lightly.

Hell, no.

If he thought some ruined electronics were bad the last time, I was really going to blow his mind when I returned to Nashville.

But first I had a layover in Miami.

Where an early tropical storm pelted the city, canceling flights for two days.

Two days where I sat in a cheap, shitty motel next to the airport because, of course, all the nice hotels were already full of other stranded passengers. Where I stared at the generic palm tree print hanging crookedly on the wall and the carpet that was a weird grayish-brown color probably picked for the way it would hide stains I didn’t want to think about, and waited while the plan Rue and I concocted solidified. Phone calls made. Favors called in. Team assembled.

I binged on vending machine junk food and soda, not wanting to fight the storm to find real food. It didn’t matter anyway. Everything was tasteless, even the little powdered sugar doughnuts that came in a roll of six and had more calories than anyone needed in a whole day, let alone one sitting. Eating was just a way to pass the time, to mark the hours until I could confront Asshole and fuck him over the way he had me.

My emotions swung like an out-of-control pendulum. Fury at Asshole. Frustration with the whole male gender. Victory when the videos were successfully removed from the website. Disappointment in myself for my taste in men. Confusion whenever I thought about West—my head warning me away, my heart wanting to return to him, refusing to give up.

Rue was a saint. We talked for hours. She listened to my mindless rants, the twisted tangents I took, always agreeing with me, even when I contradicted things I’d said five minutes earlier.

When I suggested we try a lesbian relationship—together—she took me seriously, in true best friend fashion. I wrote down a list of pros and cons on the little pad of stationary I found tucked next to the Gideon’s Bible in the cheap nightstand drawer. And there were a
lot
of pros. Except neither of us wanted to have sex with each other. Strap-ons were an option, but we argued over who would top and who would bottom. Naturally, she wanted to top, but I was tired of being second-place in a relationship. If anything,
I
would be the top.

And, typical Rue, who was never satisfied with her partner, even managed to find something wrong with me. If she was going to be a lesbian, she insisted upon Brazilians for both of us. I loved her, but not enough to have hot wax ripped off my lady bits. Our relationship was doomed before it even started.

Drawing a big X across the list, I fiddled with the paper, not realizing what I’d done until I was holding a perfectly folded paper airplane in my hand. Crumpling it up, I tossed it toward the trash can in the corner, and missed by a good foot, which wasn’t surprising, since I was failing at life at every turn.

When we finally hung up so Rue could make a few necessary phone calls to ensure everything with our plan was still lined up and ready to go when I arrived tomorrow, I was at a loss.

Television didn’t hold my interest. Songs about heartbreak hit too close to home, so I turned off the radio. The Wi-Fi at this motel was abysmal, which was just as well, because I didn’t need the temptation of Facebook anyway.

Instead, I pulled out my laptop and scrolled through the photos of my last session on Reynolds Island. The one with West flying a kite with his sister Hailey and her son, Cody. The moment when I realized I could see us having kids together one day. When I realized I loved him.

In the aftermath, I’d never properly edited the images and sent them to Hailey. Guilt and a desire to keep busy had me sorting through them now, picking the best and making small tweaks to enhance the shots.

I smiled as I worked. Cody perched on West’s broad shoulders, Hailey’s hand reaching up to help steady her son. Cody’s wide-eyed smile, full of innocent glee. The carefree grin West shot me over his shoulder, his eyes soft and warm as they met mine through the lens. West tossing Cody high in the air. Hailey holding his little hands and spinning them in circles until they both fell to the sand, dizzy and laughing, heads thrown back. The look on West’s face as he headed my direction, urging me to put the camera down and just enjoy the moment. Lips tipped in a smirk while his blue-gray eyes shone with . . .

I bit my lip.

This one photo. It was all there. It was obvious how he felt about me.

Before I could over think things, I unblocked him and dialed his number, my hands shaking and tears pricking my eyes.

Everything in my life was wrong and upside down and messed up, and damn it all, I just needed to hear his voice.

As it rang, I checked the clock on the flimsy nightstand. It was late. Really late. After midnight. My flight left at 8:40 in the morning, and I should’ve already been asleep, if only my fucking mind would quiet down and give me some peace.

On the third ring, I was lowering the phone to hang up when his voice came through the speaker.

“Sadie?”

Biting my lip, the first tear escaping from my eye, I lifted the phone back to my ear.

“Sadie.”

His voice. Fuck, I’d missed his voice. The way my name rolled off his tongue husky and deep. I could hear so much in just the way he said my name.

Hope. Worry. Relief.

A sharp ache pierced through me, longing so intense my stomach clenched in need and I wanted nothing more in that moment than to be able to touch him, feel his heat next to me. To belong to him again.

I gripped the phone tighter but couldn’t answer him. My throat was too thick, the words I wished I could say to him choking me as I fought to swallow them down.

“I’m here. Whatever it is, baby, I’m here. Always.”

More tears slid down my cheeks, the first ones blazing a trail the others were quick to follow. I took a ragged breath I knew he could hear on his end, heard the way his own caught in response.

“You don’t have to say anything. It’s okay. Just don’t hang up.
Fuck,
I’ve missed you.” The anguish in his voice had me pressing a fist over my mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that wanted to escape.

I missed him too. I wanted him here, his arms around me, holding me, protecting me from the shit storm my life had become. Curling into a ball on the thin, polyester comforter, I waited, somehow knowing he’d give me exactly what I needed.

“I know I fucked up, Sadie. Not with Aubrey—you have to know that there’s nothing between us.” His hard tone was insistent, unyielding in his declaration, and I wanted so badly to believe him. “But I fucked up just the same because I hurt you, and that’s the last thing I ever wanted to do.”

He paused and I could picture him running his hand through his hair the way he did when he was upset.

“I love you.” No hint of begging, pleading, or accusation from him. Just quiet sincerity. “I promised myself you’d never have to wonder about that again. I’ll tell you every damn chance I get, every chance you’ll let me.”

My shoulders shook from the silent cries I refused to let him hear, too proud to let him know how broken I was at that moment. My heart echoed his sentiment, but my stubborn head kept my lips from answering him.

Movement on his end. The click of a door shutting. Footsteps. “I’m so glad you called. I check my phone a thousand times a day, just hoping . . .” He trailed off. The rain beat against the window and I strained to hear anything on his end.

“I wish you were next to me right now.” Frustration mixed with longing in his voice. A rustling sound mingled with the squeak of bedsprings. I pictured him sliding into bed, the rumpled sheets bunched around his waist. “I miss our sleepovers. The way you burrowed into me and fit so perfectly in my arms, your hair tickling my nose, and your cold feet tucked between my legs.” He sighed, the sound cracking another wall I’d erected between us. “My pillow didn’t smell like you anymore, so I went to the store and bought some of that watermelon shampoo you use. I thought maybe if I used it right before I went to bed, maybe it’d rub off and it would seem like you’d just been here with me.” He blew out a single depreciating laugh. “It didn’t work.”