The Revolution (9 page)

His breathing is jagged, but in his eyes I see the moment the man I cared about returns. A slow intake of air calms him enough to reason what he’s just done. “Lara…” He backs away, his own back hitting the other wall, as if invisibly pushed off me. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.”

I look down and rub my wrists one at a time. They’re scratched and raw. When I look back up, my voice no longer shakes. It’s firm and direct, “You should go.”

“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head like he hopes his better judgment comes back. “I didn’t mean it.”

Shaken, I fight the tears wanting to appear and walk back to the living room and straight for the front door. With the door held open, I see the roses. “I want you to leave and take your damn flowers.”

When he walks to me, I back away with my eyes lowered. My hand is gripping the doorknob so tightly that it’s starting to hurt.

“Please let me—”

“Please, Mark. I don’t know what just happened. I don’t want to make things worse by arguing.”

“I had this crazy thought that you were blowing me off because you were cheating.”

I look into his eyes, scared to say the words I know will upset him, but I need to make myself clear. “We’re not together anymore.”

He nods, his head down, his shoulders slumped forward. All six five of him crumbling in shame right before my eyes.

He deserves to live in that shame for the night. The nerves in my wrists lick with fire as they pulse with pain. Just as I look down at my right wrist, he says, “I love you.”

The shock of hearing him say this after months of holding back, throws me, sending my heart and head into a tailspin. “Please go, Mark.” That’s all I can muster while holding back the tears desperate to fall in protest. I can’t believe he would say those three words because of duress from the situation instead from love and happiness.

Finally, he walks out the door, but stops on the mat, and says, “Call me when you wake up. Okay?” When I don’t respond, he insists, “Okay? Promise me.”

“Okay,” I quickly agree, but only to end this. I shut the door, locking the three locks, and activate the alarm system. I go to the kitchen and run my wrists under cool water. I’m gentle as I run my fingers over them. There are a few scratches and there might be a little bruising added to the other ones, so I dry them and pull two icepacks from the freezer.

I wish I could call Rochelle or talk about what just happened, seek another opinion, or find reasoning in his behavior. But no one can know about this. One leak and this would be bad for him.
Don’t embarrass me, Lara. It’s bad for my career.
His career…

Did I do something wrong? Am I missing something?

Although my mind is blurring with emotions, I’m willing to chalk it up to a moment of insanity on his part. My tears finally fall.

I angered him.

He acted from fear of losing me when he was already feeling rejected. He’s an athlete, used to being physical, so he got a little rough. I know he didn’t mean to hurt me.

“You’re so… breakable. Perfect and small.”

I know in my heart he didn’t mean to. I’m just… small. Easily hurt.

He didn’t mean to hurt me.

A GRANDE COFFEE
is set down on my desk, and Lane, my lead designer slash assistant, says, “You were late. How is that possible when you live here?”

“Good morning to you too, Lane. I needed a coffee that I didn’t have to make.” I needed to get tested for STDs because of Mark’s philandering, and thankfully, my doctor’s office squeezed me in. That’s the truth I’ll lie about this morning. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Hey. What’s with the throwback to Madonna “Like a Virgin” and bangle days?” He leans against the desk while I finish attaching a swatch to the board, my bracelets jingling. “Are we not talking about it?”

“About what?” I look up at him, hoping my wide-eyed innocent expression will throw him off the scent.

He walks around behind me and hovers over my shoulder, judging the board with a silent chin rub. “New client?”

It worked. “Yep.”

Moving back to the chair in front of my desk, he sits, and crosses his legs as he would say, “at the ankles like a proper lady.”

“Fine, I’ll drop harping on the ’80s wardrobe throwback so you can fill me on the client.”

“Kaz Fabian.”

“
Ooohhh
, Kaz Fabian. I like the name.
So sexy.
Now where have I heard it before?”

Taking the coffee in hand, I sit back in my chair and sip the hot brew, then smile. “Kaz Fabian is a guitarist in the band
The Resistance
.”

“
Ahhh
, the boys in the band. How are they doing these days?”

“They’re busy, but getting a break soon. Kaz just closed on a house and he wants us to start immediately.”

Lane takes the electronic tablet from my desk and starts taking notes. “I’ll need the address, his phone number, any house regulations, limitations, expectations. Remodel or only design decorating? Timeline? Deadline? Rush or standard? When can I see the house? What’s the code to get in if gated? Does he have any pets I need to be aware of, and, last but certainly not least, is he cute, single, and gay?”

I burst out laughing, and am so glad I wasn’t drinking at the time or it would surely be spewed all over the visual board I just created. “You’re very on top of things this morning.”

“You should have seen what I was on top of last night.”

My eyes dart to his and I raise an eyebrow. “Wow, and frisky too.”

“Frisky, caffeinated, and happy.”

“It’s working for you. Direct that energy into design and we’ll have a kickass week. As for the other information, I’ve seen online photos from the realty site, but I won’t see the property until tomorrow night when he’s back in LA. Also, he’s very cute and very straight.” I can’t hide the smile I get just thinking of Kaz, so I start gathering the papers spread out on my desk as a deterrent.

He does an over-the-top eye-roll, then starts typing again. “Well, that doesn’t do me any good. So not fair.”

“Half of LA is on your team, so I think that leaves us pretty dang equal.”

“I love when you use dang. You’re adorable like that.”

“Dang. Dang. Dang,” I say and stick my tongue out at him.

When he looks up from the tablet, I busy myself with the crap on my desk again. “That desk hasn’t been cleaned in months.”

“I know. That’s why I’m cleaning it.”

“You only clean when you’re hiding something or you’re avoiding a topic because you’re not ready to share. Which is it?” He leans forward conspiratorially. There’s a giddiness to his tone when he says, “So how’d you land the Fabian account? Did you have to sleep with him?”

I about choke on my own spit, and start hacking. Lane jumps up and hits me on the back until I manage to say, “Okay. Okay. Stop.”

Walking around the desk back to the chair, he mumbles, “Just trying to help.”

My hands feel cool against my heated cheeks as I try to regain my breath again. I clear my throat and look away from his suspicious eyes. “Thanks for the vote of confidence by the way.”

“Oh, come on. Two hot singles in the City of Lost Angels—”

“I never said he was single.”

“You didn’t have to. I think the choking, cleaning of the desk, red face, and avoidance techniques kind of say it all, don’t you think?” This time he raises an eyebrow at me.

I slip my fingertips around the bangles, silencing them. “You know when it comes to business I keep it professional.”

He turns the tablet toward me, showing me a large photo of Kaz. “Dammmnnnn. Look at that yumminess. Mm-hmm. Why do all the good-looking ones have to be straight?”

“You know. My girlfriends and I say that about gay guys. Once again, greener grass not so green on the other side.” I look at the photo and let myself smile in front of him, knowing he’ll always protect any secrets. But I don’t think I’m quite ready to reveal
these
secrets quite yet.

“Actually, I take that back. We do have cuter guys.” Laughing, he stands up and heads for his desk in the other room. “But let’s face it, Mark Renner, hot player extraordinaire, is the luckiest of them all to have snagged you, my dear.”

My wrists begin pulsing from the mere mention of his name. My heart starts thumping in my chest as I look down at the bangles.

I feel something on my shoulder and scream. The back of my chair hits the windowsill as I grab my wrists protectively.

“Lara?” My eyes bolt up to see Lane. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Snapping out of the memory from last night that held me captive seconds earlier, I try to smile for him, to ease the worry written on his face. “I’m sorry. I forgot something in my bedroom.” I stand and rush to the stairs. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He lets me leave in silence, which is so unlike him. I’m relieved as I turn at the top of the staircase and head up to the main floor of my place, and run for my bedroom. As I pass the spot where I was pinned in fear, my hands start shaking, so I fist them to steady myself and hurry away. I head straight to the medicine cabinet in my bathroom. The Xanax aren’t hard to find, but I don’t use them much. Once I needed a few after a car accident I was involved in. I couldn’t sleep or eat, reliving the accident over and over in my head. This feels a lot like that same post-traumatic reaction.

I down a pill and follow it with water I have cupped in my hand over the sink. I don’t want to think about last night, and attempt to blow off my overreaction by the lack of sleep getting the better of me. I lean toward the mirror, palms flat on the marble, wrists aching from the pressure, but I push through it. “I will be fine. I will be fine.” I say it one more time, hoping to believe it if said again. “I will be fine.”

Swallowing hard, I raise my chin and lift my hands, my wrists aching from the memory more than his grasp. There’s minor bruising that can be easily hidden by makeup or bracelets. As for my emotional state, it’s a little more damaged, but easier to hide. My heart steadies and I close my eyes, then exhale. A light knock on the door draws my attention. I look up and straighten my hair quickly, and exhale.

Lane pokes his head inside, just as I turn around. “Hey there. Just checking on you. You okay?”

“Fine. Fine,” I reply, “Sorry. I’m tired. I didn’t get much sleep over the weekend. We’re too busy for me to be tired though. I’m fine now.”

He nods as if he believes me. “I’m heading over to Calliope’s. Her end tables, the two large entryway mirrors, and dining room set have arrived. I want to inspect each piece before the delivery guys leave.”

“Thanks.” I nod to ease his concern for me. “Touch base with me. I’m scheduled to go over later for the bedroom furniture. Can you confirm the appointment for that delivery while you’re out there?”

The concern never leaves his face as his eyes glance to my wrists and back up. “No problem. Talk later.” He leaves, but comes right back, and says, “If you ever want or need to talk without the usual witty remarks, you know you can talk to me, right?”

I smile, for him, to put him at ease. “I do. Thanks.”
And I do.

“Okay. Catch ya later, Chica-bee.”