Sugar Rush (4 page)

“Yes, but that's no excuse for—”

“Beck,” Sela cuts me off, leaning closer to me. She rests her forehead on mine before whispering, “I'm tired, and I'd really like to go home to our condo.”

“Thank fuck,” I mutter before surging up and onto the mattress, pulling her hard into my arms. She presses her face into my chest, her arms wrapping around me, and I feel like I can finally breathe for the first time in hours.

The ride back to San Francisco is quiet but there's no tension. I don't have the stamina to hold on to it, and I don't have the strength to consider what's happened today. Beck holds my hand tightly, still expertly navigating his Audi through the darkness. Rush hour is over and the ride into the city goes by quickly.

Despite what I did to him today. Despite what he did to me. Despite what he's learned, despite the pain we've both caused, the silence is comfortable and unassuming. I know we have to talk, and I know he needs details. But God…I dread giving him the details. I know deep down the only reason Beck appears so calm right now is because he's in shock over what he's learned today, and I suspect still mired in guilt for the way he treated me. When he learns the whole truth of what happened to me…when he gets those terrible, sordid details…he's going to go ballistic. I just know it.

I need details too, because Beck's seen the devastation that rape can cause a woman. He's lived through it with Caroline, and despite the ache I constantly carry around due solely to that one hideous night of my life, my thoughts keep coming back to Caroline and the horror that she shares with me. I tried a survivor's therapy group about six months after my first hospitalization, and by the third session, I knew it wasn't for me. I didn't want to share what happened to me, and I didn't want to know what happened to the other women. Much of that had to do with the fact that I really didn't know what happened to me.

I had flash memories that I didn't realize were memories, but rather suspected they were nightmares. Vivid splashes of images and feelings that I thought were nothing more than my mind playing horrid tricks on me. The doctors explained that Rohypnol, in addition to relaxing me to the point where I wouldn't have been able to fight my attackers, causes partial amnesia. I existed in a world where I couldn't separate fact from fiction. It meant that I could give precious little in the way of valid information to the police to help them pursue my attackers.

I had no clue where Dallas and his friends had taken me, so the police couldn't investigate. I was too high to pay attention. I didn't even know Dallas and his friends' full names, no clue where they were from, or how the police could locate them. I had very little memory I could provide about what happened before I was given a drink laced with a date rape drug called Rohypnol, and that was due to the sole fact that I was stoned out of my mind when we arrived at the party. It was tremendously embarrassing to admit those things to the officers while my parents listened. They never showed an ounce of disappointment in me, which was a blessing, because the weight of my own self-hatred for putting myself in that situation was crippling.

So I had just tiny clips of moving images, almost like I was watching a movie in bed while on the verge of going to sleep. Not sure what I was seeing, not sure if I had seen it before, and completely clueless about whether it really happened at all. The only solid proof the police had that I had been raped was the blood in my underwear, the tears and bruises in my most private places, and the semen in my hair. Obviously, there was no match to the DNA in any criminal database, which meant my attackers didn't have criminal records.

So the case was dropped for lack of evidence, and I was left to rebuild my life around a crime that would never be solved.

Beck pulls into the garage of the Millennium Tower and inches into his reserved space. He opens my door and takes my hand to help me out of the passenger seat. His touch is warm, dry, and comforting as we make our way up to the penthouse.

The minute we step inside, I have an immediate burst of relief mixed with a touch of uncertainty.

I mean…where do we even go from here?

But Beck is Beck, and he takes charge. I suspect this is due to his experience in handling Caroline, and while the crimes against me are not fresh, the memories of them tonight are.

He pulls me down the hallway to our bedroom, right into the bathroom. Releasing my hand, he kneels beside the large garden tub and starts to fill it with hot water. He opens a bottle of my bubble bath and pours in a generous amount. I tuck my hands into my pockets, watching him test the heat of the water and make adjustments before standing up and wiping his hands on a towel.

Turning to me, he places his hands on my cheeks and leans in to kiss my forehead. “I suspect you'll tell me you're not hungry, but I'm going to make some soup for you all the same. And some tea. Get in the bath, take your time, and just relax.”

I nod, because that sounds nice and it also gives me time to prepare for the inevitable talk I know we need to have. My hands go to the navy blue sweater I'm wearing, pulling it up and over my head. Beck watches me for a minute, his eyes warm and tender, but completely lacking in desire. This comforts me for the moment, and I drop the sweater to the marble floor.

Beck turns, walks back into the bedroom, and within a few moments, he's back again. He places one of his folded white T-shirts on the vanity with a pair of my panties on top. Turning to the back of the door, he pulls his robe off the hook and lays it at the foot of the tub. Another kiss to my temple while his hand wraps around the back of my neck, and he turns to leave.

“Beck?” I say quietly.

“Yeah, baby,” he returns softly.

“I'm going to tell you everything.”

“I'm ready to hear it when you're ready to tell it.” His eyes are sad but reassuring. “I'll help you. I can't make it right, but I'll make it better. I promise. And I have things I need to tell you too.”

I wonder if he'd help me kill JT. I wonder exactly how strong his loyalty will be to me.

I wonder exactly how in the hell he'll be able to look JT in the face tomorrow at work.

“Now get in the bath. I'll come check on you in a bit,” he instructs me.

“Okay,” I whisper, and watch as he gives me one more sad smile and walks out of the bathroom.

My eyes open, blinking against the harsh morning light streaming in through the wall of windows to my left. I rub my eyes, try to clear the fuzziness from my head left over from an incredibly exhausting day yesterday, and turn my head to the right. Beck's side of the bed is empty and the covers are pushed to the side. There's an indentation in his pillows, so it appears he slept here last night, although I don't have any recollection.

Then it comes back to me.

My bath.

Eating about half a bowl of soup before pushing it away.

Drinking the cup of chamomile tea he had prepared for me.

Taking my hand…pulling me up from the dining table.

Leading me to our bed and pulling back the covers.

Crawling in behind me, still wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, his lavender button-down discarded. “Let me just hold you. We can talk when you're ready.”

My eyes closing and then…bright morning sunlight.

Sitting up, I push the sheet and blanket off me, swing my legs to the side, and stand up. I stretch, feeling well rested and strangely at peace for the moment. It's almost as if the events of yesterday created a massive purge of emotion in my system; the releasing of a huge and terrible secret to Beck; his acceptance and support. He doesn't know a single detail of what happened to me. He has no clue about the holes in my memory, or my murderous revenge plot. He's known me for all of a month and caught me breaking into his office, and yet he accepted my word about his partner and friend raping me. Beck brought me home last night, bathed and fed me, and then let me fall asleep in his arms.

Yes, I feel strangely at peace with absolutely no agenda for where I go next other than to find Beck and tell him my full story.

I use the bathroom, wash my hands, and brush my teeth. I pull my hair up into a ponytail and consider putting on a pair of sweatpants, but then dismiss the idea. I don't forget the fact that Beck crawled into bed with me last night fully dressed, something that he's never done before. He was handling me with care, treating me like a fragile glass bowl. My heart aches with the memory of what he told me last night.

Caroline was raped.

He's been through this, and right now, after the harsh realities of everything that happened yesterday, he's not quite sure how to handle intimacy with me. While the past twenty-four hours have dredged up some painful shit for both of us, it hasn't changed my want or desire for him. Beck suddenly knowing I was raped doesn't make me protective of my body. I gave that to him with no boundaries the minute we dispensed with condoms, and I'm not willing to give that up now that I've found it. I'm also not willing for him to have doubts or insecurities about my abilities to engage with some deep, no-holds-barred fucking the way we have been doing quite nicely.

So I leave the sweatpants behind and pad out of the bedroom in his white T-shirt that smells just like Beck, and my matching white panties.

My eyes hit the kitchen as I reach the end of the hallway but it's empty. They slide left taking in an empty couch, before finally landing on Beck, who is sitting on the floor, his back up against the eastern window. He's still dressed in his jeans and T-shirt, his bare feet planted on the wood flooring and his knees raised. His arms are looped around his shins and he stares back at me with warm eyes.

“Morning,” he says quietly.

“Good morning,” I say, my voice still a little rough with heavy sleep. “What are you doing?”

“Just waiting for you to get up. Figured you needed the sleep.”

“How long have you been up?”

Beck raises his arm, twists his wrist to look at his watch. “A few hours.”

My gaze goes to the mahogany and silver pendulum mantel clock over the fireplace and I see it's just past seven
A.M.
I look back at Beck and see his face is haggard, his eyes red with lack of sleep. He looks wary.

He looks scared.

He also sees me taking this all in and his face morphs into a tender smile as he pushes up off the floor. Immediately, he's removed the vulnerability I just witnessed, a brief moment where I now know that he's taken the weight of my problems onto his shoulders because he cares for me.

“Let's make you some tea,” he says almost brusquely. He walks over to me, places his hands on my shoulders, and gives me a chaste kiss on my cheek.

Beck starts to pull away, but my hands shoot out, grasp on the backs of his arms, and I hold him in place. I raise up on tiptoes and place my lips to his. His breath blows out almost in a shudder and I press against him, open my mouth so his opens, and I give him a penetrating kiss.

A soft groan rumbles in his chest, and his tongue slips in my mouth as his arms drop to circle my waist. He pulls me in so our bodies are melded, angles his head, and deepens the connection. My heart soars that he accepts what I'm offering, and I'm content to let his mouth move against mine for a few intimate moments.

We mutually break and he brings one hand to my cheek. “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” I say softly. “I'm good.”

He smiles, takes my hand, and leads me into the kitchen. I lean up against the counter while he puts the kettle on to boil. He doesn't bother with coffee for himself, and I know he's already had his one cup for the day as evidenced by the empty mug in the sink. I watch him in silence, admiring the way his T-shirt pulls across the muscles of his back, his trim waist, and his fantastic ass in his jeans. I flush with desire, which seems more pervasive and consuming than it ever has before. I think this may be because Beck and I are very different to each other this very morning. Right now, he knows almost everything, and he didn't run.

He took care of me and continues to do so right now as he makes my tea.

When he has it prepared with just a small splash of skim milk, he turns and hands it to me. “What do you want to do today?”

It's a given he's not going in to work. I know he's not going to leave my side until he fully understands everything about me, why I came into his life, and what my agenda is. I also know, deep down, he's not prepared to handle what the fallout will mean as far as JT is concerned. I expect Beck's emotions are going to be bubbling with unexpressed fury by the time I'm done, and I brace myself that I'll need to control him so he doesn't act out rashly.