Rough Rhythm: A Made in Jersey Novella (1001 Dark Nights) Page 9

  There was no veiling the truth after what they’d done. Only trust. At some point since venturing into the woods, her anger and doubt had evaporated. She’d needed this. Craved this exchange of trust. It’s what she’d needed from James all along. What they’d needed from each other. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt better.” She laughed when her words were a little slurred. “What about you?”

  When James didn’t answer right away, she tilted her head back and saw she hadn’t managed to convince him. His attention raced over her skin, lighting on her ripped T-shirt, the bite mark on her shoulder, the smeared dirt…everywhere. His jaw looked tight enough to shatter. “Hey.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  No. Fuck this.

  She’d never felt closer to another human being in her life than she did right now. He wasn’t going to drift away on her. Lita scrambled to face him fully, throwing her legs around his hips and framing his face with her hands. “Kiss me and you’ll know that everything is going to be fine.”

  There was only the barest hesitation before James broke, devouring her mouth with a gruff sound. In between kisses, he rasped words of apology, praise, amazement, worry.

  “Didn’t hurt my gorgeous girl. She’s still here with me. I’m sorry I was a prick. God, I’ve never felt or seen or touched anything like you. Mine. My Lita.”

  She absorbed it like a greedy sponge, letting him cut off her oxygen with his banded arms and smother her in whisker-burn kisses. It was the single greatest moment of her life. Having James call her his girl in the woods, her body depleted and their skin pressed together. She wanted to build a cabin in that very spot and live there forever.

  “We need to get back,” James muttered into her hair. “I can’t let anyone see you like this.”

  “Fine. Okay.” She swayed as he pulled her up, onto her feet. “Look how agreeable I’m being.”

  “Don’t make a habit out of it.” His gaze heated as it roamed over her legs. “I like when you fight me.”

  Whoa. Lita’s knees wobbled. “I like the way you get even,” she breathed.

  For one lightheaded moment, Lita was positive he would tackle her once again to the forest floor, his expression was so ravenous. Instead, he growled a curse and took her hand, leading her back the way they’d come. She didn’t even bother containing her smile as she stumbled along behind him, not sparing a single care about her disheveled state.

  Until they walked into the clearing and came face to face with half a dozen police officers, red and blue lights flashing behind them.

  Chapter Eight

  James shoved Lita behind his back, positive he’d been transplanted into the middle of his own personal nightmare. Or maybe the universe was balancing out the heaven he’d just visited by casting him into hell. It couldn’t be reality. But it was. He could feel Lita’s hands sliding up and down his back, could hear her whispering into the material of his T-shirt, words that wouldn’t penetrate the denial revolving like a hurricane in his brain, throwing debris in every direction, intent on destruction.

  “We received reports of screams coming from the woods.”

  A silence followed the officer’s statement, the brief but heavy kind that ensues after a hospital patient flatlines. He’d heard that kind of silence before. Coming from his mother when the police showed up at their house, shuffling their shiny shoes on the porch. Police that may as well be identical to these men, attempting to stare straight through him to Lita. To ascertain the damage they’d already glimpsed. And what had they seen? A woman who’d been mistreated. A woman with marks on her body, inflicted by a man. Him.

  We received reports of a disturbance coming from the house.

  How many times had he heard those words growing up? Except now, he wasn’t comforting his mother in the living room while his father “got rid of” the cops. No, he was…his father. He was the monster hiding the damage. Guarding his own victim. God, he was nothing but a self-fulfilling prophecy.

  Lita’s hand started to shake inside his, and he automatically tightened his grip. Protecting her came before anything else. Or it had at one time. They were facing a veritable firing squad and her only armor was a ripped tank top and mud-stained shorts. As far as he was concerned, he’d just forfeited his right to protect her ever again. As a lover, friend, or manager. He’d failed her three different ways.

  And Jesus, if he’d just walked away four years ago, he’d have only failed her in one way. As a human being. Selfish. He’d been too fucking selfish. One last time, he would allow himself to play protector. Just one.

  “I’ll answer any questions you have, but I need to get her into my car first.”

  The officers traded what they probably thought was a covert glance. It wasn’t. They were weighing his demeanor, the tension in his voice. Determining whether or not he was a threat. They were right to do it. “We’re going to need to speak with her, too.”

  Lita pulled on the back of his T-shirt. “Let me talk to them. Come on, it’s just a misunderstanding.”

  James turned his head slightly but didn’t meet her eyes. “Is it?”

  Her hand dropped from his shirt.

  The back of James’s neck pulled tight. How dare he feel so possessive of her? A shout threatened to burst from his throat, commanding the officers to stay away, knowing damn well the command should come in reverse. He should stay away. But rationality where Lita was concerned had never been his strength. “She’ll talk to one of you. Not all six.”

  Ignoring the pain in his chest, James gripped the hem of his T-shirt and ripped it over his head, handing the garment over his shoulder to Lita and leaving himself bare-chested. For a moment, the shirt remained suspended in air before she moved, pulling it over her head. Covering herself.

  This was why he’d maintained rigid control for four years. This is what happened when you gave the wrongness inside you an inch. It took a mile. No. He wouldn’t displace responsibility. He’d taken a mile. And now Lita would pay in the form of embarrassment. Judgment.

  When James realized the officers were staring down at his uncovered chest, he wondered if the gaping wound in his heart was visible, but upon further inspection he saw what had drawn their notice. A slash of red, angry nail marks decorated his chest. He didn’t even recall her scratching him.

  “Aren’t you Malcolm Brandon’s son?”

  That question sounded as if it had come from inside the blue and red flashing lights, but when the asker came forward to reveal himself, James recognized the officer right away. The same officer who’d stood on his porch all those years ago, summoned by their neighbors. We received reports of a disturbance coming from the house. Only this time it was James, not Malcolm. The condemnation and disgust in the officer’s eyes was a bullet straight to the gut.

  It was obvious that James’s father’s name rang a bell for each of the men. Eyebrows went up. Not just in recognition but in speculation. Like father like son.

  James’s momentary shock gave Lita her opportunity to stomp past him. “Hiya, boys. Sorry you came all the way out here for nothing.” Her laughter echoed in the silence, but James could only focus on the desperation in her voice. “We got a little carried away while hiking. That’s all.”

  “Lita.” James stepped forward to take her arm but drew his hand back when one of the officers laid a hand on his gun.

  “Jesus.” She shoved a clump of dirt-streaked hair behind her ear. “Don’t tell me this is the first time someone messed around in the goddamn forest around here.”

  Uncomfortable shifting among the officers. “All due respect, ma’am, none of them walked out looking like you.” That came from the same man who’d questioned his father countless times. “Do you need medical assistance?”

  “No. No.” She buried her face in her hands. “Oh my God. This isn’t happening.”

  James couldn’t see her in distress another second. He stepped forward and blocked her from view once again, painfully aware that he’d just performed the same maneuver Malcolm
used to pull. “You heard her.”

  Another round of pointed looks among the officers. One reached into his pocket and removed a business card, coming just close enough to hand it over to Lita. “We’d appreciate if you’d give us a call later. Let us know how you’re getting on, would you?” The officer turned his attention to James. “Tell Malcolm we said hello.”

  It seemed like an hour had passed when the last officer had climbed into their police vehicle and left the site, each minute creating more distance between himself and Lita, destroying him a little more. When they were alone, Lita stormed toward his Mustang without uttering a word, climbing into the passenger side and slamming the door.

  James walked slowly toward his execution, even though he himself would be the one to deliver it. He’d also set himself up for it. Living and breathing Lita for so long, knowing it could come to this if he lost hold of the reins. Red and blue flashing lights. Pitying eyes all over Lita. God, what had he done?

  Before he’d even shut the driver’s side door, Lita launched a grenade at him across the console. “Please, let’s just laugh this off. Okay? Let’s go home and laugh about that time we got caught red-handed by some jerk-off cops.” Her voice rose to a plaintive tone he’d never heard out of her mouth. “Please?”

  James had to close his eyes against the urge to drag her across the car, rock her back and forth in his lap. “Those cops were just doing their job, Lita.” His stomach lining thinned, burned away by the rising acid. The secrets he couldn’t hold onto any longer. “Same way they always did their job coming to our house to question my father. When he couldn’t keep his fists to himself.”

  He could sense Lita’s scrutiny, but the sensation cut off when she slumped back in the seat. “So that’s what all that cryptic man talk was about, huh?” A long pause wherein he could hear her swallow, hear the wheels turning in her beautiful head. “Your father…hit your mother.”

  It hadn’t been a question so James remained silent.

  “Is that why you don’t speak with him?”

  He nodded once. “It wasn’t always the neighbors that called the cops. Sometimes it was me. Until I got old enough to stop him myself.” They exchanged a knowing look. “After that, cops were no longer necessary.”

  Lita remained the stillest he’d ever seen her. “I’m sorry you went through that. I’m sorry for your mother, too.”

  “Because you understand what it’s like.”

  She didn’t quite flinch, but her smooth skin turned pink as if she’d been slapped. “Stop trying to bait me. I know where this is going. You think you’ve turned into your father. You think you’re repeating the pattern.” Her left hand unfolded between them on the seat as if she were begging him to take it. Hold it. No. It would never end if he held her hand. It would give him a comfort he didn’t deserve. A reprieve from the oncoming blow. Still, her hand stayed there, taunting him. “I’m telling you that’s bullshit, James. Listen to me.”

  James picked a spot on the dashboard and trained his eyes there, refusing to look at Lita. “I listen to every word you say. I hear you in my goddamn sleep.”

  “Same,” she breathed, scooting a little closer and breaking his already hemorrhaging heart. “What we do together is nothing like what your father did. Nothing. You have to realize that.”

  He swallowed the temptation to believe her. It would be so easy, but they’d be back here tomorrow. And the day after. He’d push further every time and eventually she’d break. So he’d break their connection first. For her. Everything for her. “It is the same, Lita. You just can’t see it.” Somehow he found the will to face her, look her square in the eye. “You can’t see it because this is your normal. You think I’m your normal. You seek out men like me.”

  She recoiled. “Excuse me?”

  “You had…bruises when we met. You came from an ugly household, just like me, and you landed right in the midst of another. Now you’ve found a third in me.” Oh Jesus, her face. Her face crumbled and James wanted to die a thousand deaths, but he pushed on out of sheer will and necessity. “I’m not the only one following a pattern, Lita.”

  She inhaled in a huge sob. “Oh, fuck you, James. Just fuck you.”

  The words—the hurt and betrayal in them—dug into his chest like fired bullets. “I’m sorry, I know—”

  Her palm cracked across his face, the sound breaking like thunder in the car. For long beats, their accelerated breathing was all that tempered the silence. “Why aren’t you hitting me back? Huh?”

  “Lita—”

  “No.” Her voice shook. “No, you’ve made your point, now you’ll listen to me. I left my parents at seventeen to escape a bad situation. I left. I survived. And I left again when my boyfriend hit me. Survived. Again. You don’t get to call me a victim. How dare you.” She pressed a closed fist to her mouth a moment. “The difference between my ex and you is… I consented to what we do. Not what happened before. I thought there was love behind what you and I were doing. Or the…hope of love. But I guess I was wrong. Because you must hate me to call me a willing victim to my face when I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

  Panic crept in slowly at first, but it began to storm, pelting him in doubt at denial. “You misunderstood me. People can be strong and still make mistakes—”

  “Oh, own it. Own what you said.” She shoved open the passenger side door. “You better because you’re losing me over it.”

  It took James a second to react when Lita jumped out of the Mustang and stormed toward the road. He followed suit, her words replaying in his head like a broken record. Had he read the situation wrong? He’d never considered any of it from her point of view. Survivor. Not victim. “Where are you going? Stop.”

  “You don’t get to know where I’m going anymore,” Lita shouted over her shoulder before she halted and turned on a booted heel. She got right in his face, backhanding him with her raging beauty. “I only packed enough clothes for three days. Did you know that? I thought…I love James. And he loves me. And we can figure this shit out in three days.” Her head fell back on a hollow laugh. “You need longer, though, to pull your shit together. A lot longer.”

  I love James. I love James, she’d said. Lita started to walk away again, but reflex had his hand shooting out to capture her elbow. “Just give me a minute to think, will you? I thought I understood all of this and I just need to think.”

  “Yeah, so do I.” Her green eyes turned sad. “We need to do it without each other around, though. I’m going back to Los Angeles.”

  His stomach rebelled. “Christ, I don’t want that.”

  She shook her head, sending two tears falling down her cheeks. “Right now, I don’t care what you want.”

  It didn’t matter if he deserved that, it felt like a death blow. “You just told me you love me. How am I supposed to let you leave?”

  “Same way I watched you leave, I guess,” she said, the words ending on a sob. His knees threatened to collapse. God, he’d been a fool. Hurt his girl. Hurt her so bad. Needing to hold her, he reached out, but she evaded him, stumbling a little on the grass. “If you figure this out, James…if you work your way through this belief that your love is bad for me, you know where I’ll be. But don’t come find me unless you’re ready. Please.” She clutched at her chest. “I can’t take any more.”

  Smothered in disbelief, James watched the love of his life—the reason for his existence—walk away, farther and farther from him. How had this happened? He’d expected a sense of relief, rightness, over having set her free. But the doubt over what he’d done was battering him from the inside. A voice berated him from the back of his mind, telling him he’d been wrong. So very fucking wrong. He’d hurt her far worse with his words than he ever could with his body. “Lita,” James shouted, striding after her. “Please don’t leave. Come back here and kiss me. Know that everything is going to be fine.”

  Lita paused. “Too late for that,” she said without turning around. And kept walking. Leaving Jam
es standing on the road, invisible blood pooling around his feet.

  Chapter Nine

  When Lita returned from Modesto, Los Angeles looked different. As if she were seeing the traffic, the sidewalk cafés, and tourists through a new pair of eyes. For so long, life had been about making it to the next moment. Riling up James. Buying new drum equipment. Sleeping off the crazy night before. Ignoring the pain every time James refused to see her. Touch her.

  No more, though. She was done. It was time to stop waiting for wishes to come true, for other people to handle her decisions and start doing for herself. If there was an added benefit of keeping her mind occupied, instead of focusing on the slashed-to-ribbons organ stuttering inside her chest, well…the distractions didn’t hurt either.

  She spent her first night back in Los Angeles packing her hotel room. No more rock star purgatory for Lita. Her packing style of throwing everything into giant boxes from Staples might have been messy and unorthodox, but it got the job done. Next, she found a real estate leasing agent online and viewed several two-bedroom apartments before settling on a bright, airy duplex in Santa Monica, not too far from the beach. She sat there now, cross-legged in the empty living room, going through her wallet to scrutinize the credit cards.

  Had she applied for any of them—or had it all been James? And holy shit, it hurt to think about him. Great, gulping breaths accompanied any mental recitation of his name, as if the very thought of his presence sucked the air from the room. What was he doing? Would he ever come back? The uncertainty heaped on top of her like dirt being shoveled from a grave. Maybe she shouldn’t want him to return to Los Angeles. After all, the credit cards and various memberships spread out around her on the floor proved he’d taken up too much space in her life.

  Not all his fault, though. Not all. She’d leaned on James, loved him taking care of her needs. She’d craved it because it was the only way he’d shown affection for four years. The only tangible proof that he felt something.