Beautifully Broken: If You Leave Part 32

"I don't know," I answer. "As long as it takes to get everything set up, I guess."

"I don't want you to go," Alex pouts, sticking her bottom lip out. "I like having you here."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. There's no way she likes the way I am. I'm onto her. She just wants to sleep with the boss.

"Well, you knew that I wasn't staying," I remind her. "It's the whole reason we needed to hire an a.s.sistant, so that you could handle day-to-day stuff for us when we're not here."

"I know," she acknowledges. "But still."

Still nothing.

I duck into the bathroom and when I come back out, Alex is standing in the middle of the room, completely nude.

"What the h.e.l.l?" I mutter. Even though I don't want her, I can't exactly look away either. She's naked, for G.o.d sake. She's young and has perfect t.i.ts. Before I can even say anything, though, before I can tell her to put her clothes back on, there's a knock on the door.

"I ordered room service," Alex says helpfully.

"Well, obviously you should take your clothes off, then," I mutter wryly. What the f.u.c.k? I shake my head and grab the bedspread from the bed, wrapping it around her as I head for the door. I open it without even looking and am surprised as h.e.l.l to find Brand standing in front of me, filling up the doorway.

He takes in the scene quickly: at the a.s.sistant standing naked behind me, the bed rumpled and seemingly used. It's pretty easy to jump to the wrong conclusion.

And he does.

"You didn't," Brand exclaims, barging on in. "Gabe, what the f.u.c.k, dude?"

"It's not what it looks like," I say by way of explanation. "And I thought you were still in Chicago."

Brand turns to Alex. "Alex, hon, could you give us a minute?"

She scrambles to put her clothes on, while Brand looks away. "I'll go down and get a coffee," she says quickly, not looking back as she darts out the door.

Brand glares at me.

"What the f.u.c.k, Gabe?" He eyes the empty bottle of whiskey on the table. "Seriously? You've been holed up here in the hotel getting drunk and banging our new a.s.sistant?"

I glance at the empty bottle. "I've only been drinking at night," I clarify. "And I'm not banging the a.s.sistant."

Brand c.o.c.ks his head and I can see why he doesn't believe me, not that any of it matters.

"Whatever," I mutter. "Think what you want."

"Dude, you know that Pax Tate isn't interested in being an investor now that you f.u.c.ked over his sister-in-law. We have to get serious and find a new one. We can't do that if you're drinking yourself away in this room. And Jesus, we don't need a s.e.xual hara.s.sment suit from our a.s.sistant."

"For the last time." I grit my teeth. "I didn't f.u.c.k her. I could sue her for s.e.xual hara.s.sment, for G.o.d's sake. She practically threw herself at me. Right before you got here, I went to the head and when I came out, she was standing there buck-a.s.s naked."

Brand is interested now. "Seriously? Nice!"

I stare at him. "Nice? You were just lecturing me on banging the a.s.sistant."

He shrugs. "True. And I'm glad we don't have to worry about a hara.s.sment suit, but it's still pretty weird that you pa.s.sed that s.h.i.+t up. What's going on, dude? If you want to be in Angel Bay with the leggy blonde, you need to just go. That would solve two problems-your bad disposition and our investor problem. If you go back, Tate would probably invest."

"So you want to wh.o.r.e me out for the business?" I smile grimly. He rolls his eyes.

"I hardly think it would be against your will. What the f.u.c.k are you doing, bro?"

I know he's not talking about the business now and I glare at him as I clean up the mess on the table.

"Since when do you care about the women I leave behind?" I ask.

Brand eyes me. "I don't. But I do care about you. And I hate watching you f.u.c.k up something that was making you happy."

"You don't get it," I growl as I s.n.a.t.c.h up an empty beer bottle and hurl it into the trash can. "You don't understand."

"Don't I?" Brand lifts an eyebrow. "Out of everyone in the world, I think I understand the best. For instance, I know that one of the worst things about leaving the Rangers is feeling like we quit. Even though we know we didn't quit, that we did it for a very good reason, it still feels like we were quitters. Right?"

I stare at him. "Your point?"

"My point is that I know, dude. I know what it's like. And I also know that if you don't fix this thing with Madison, then you're quitting again. But for real this time. Don't do it, Gabe. Clean yourself up and get your a.s.s back to Angel Bay where it belongs."

I glance up at him as I tie my shoes. "If that's what you think, then you don't know s.h.i.+t. Angel Bay isn't where I belong. And me staying away from Maddy isn't quitting. It's protecting her. From me. Going back wouldn't be doing that very well, would it?"

Brand sighs, shaking his head. "You're one stubborn SOB, you know that?"

"Yep."

"Can you at least clean up and stop drinking your nights away?" Brand asks wearily. "You look like a hung-over frat boy. I can't believe you've been meeting with contractors like that."

I shrug. "They're gonna work for us, not the other way around. But it doesn't matter. I'm flying back to Chicago in the morning."

"Good."

We sit and look over some contracts, Brand schmoozes with Alex just to make absolutely sure that there won't be any hara.s.sment suits and I stare absently out the window through it all.

After we eat and wrap up a few last things at the table in my room, Brand heads to his own to pack, since he's taking the red-eye back to Chicago.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I tell him. "I'm flying back in the morning."

After I close the door, I turn around to find Alex has kicked off her shoes and moved from the table to the bed, where she's waiting with a come-hither look on her heavily made-up face. I have to fight the shudder that runs through me.

"I forgot to set my DVR for my favorite show," she tells me softly. "Do you mind if I watch it here? I don't want to miss it."

I want to groan, but don't. I should be polite since I'm leaving in the morning for home anyway.

"Sure," I tell her, as I drop into a chair next to the bed. "No problem."

The problem is that I fall asleep watching it.

And I wake up to the sound of Alex screaming.

"What the f.u.c.k is wrong with you?" she shrieks. I sit up and realize that I'm on the floor, dragging myself across the hotel carpet. Alex backs away from me.

"You were crawling across the floor, crying for Brand. What the f.u.c.k? Are you f.u.c.king gay or something? I'm so out of here. You're a f.u.c.king freak."

She grabs her purse and slams the hotel door on her way out.

I'm still dazed, still disoriented, so I sit for a second, rubbing my temples. I never thought it was possible, but the dreams are getting even worse, the dark-eyed, blood-spattered dreams.

They're worse because now Madison's in them too. She's lingering on the edge of the dead circle of kids and she's slipping from my grasp.

In my head I know that I need to save her, but in my heart I know that I can't. Because she's slipping toward the fire, toward the rebels, toward the danger.

But the danger is actually me.

Jesus Christ.

I'm never going to get past this.

All I want is Madison. She made everything good. She was warmth and light and understanding and trust. She was all of it. And I'll never have her again. f.u.c.k you, Gabe.

It's a bleak f.u.c.king thought, and it makes it even harder to shake the nightmare.

Even after I suck down two bottles of water and have finally settled in bed, I can't get the taste of ash from my mouth. The ash from the burning bodies. My chest tightens as I try to swallow down the taste of the dead kids. But my stomach doesn't want any part of it and it lurches rebelliously. I roll to the side and heave onto the floor, retching over and over until there's nothing left.

But the taste is still there.

The ash and the blood. The bleak hopelessness. And now vomit too.

I wipe my mouth and flip onto my back, my arm across my eyes as I try to breathe, try to settle the shakiness in my legs. Try to push the visions from my head.

I'm so f.u.c.king tired of this.

So. f.u.c.king. Tired.

Eyes black as night and full of terror stare at me from behind my eyelids and I open my eyes. I can't face her anymore. I just can't. I'm completely wrecked and I'm afraid to face what has wrecked me. I'm afraid to face any of it.

What kind of man am I?

The kind who f.u.c.ks up everything and can't face s.h.i.+t.

I pull myself up and stumble out onto the balcony, sucking in the cold mountain air, trying to use it to force my lungs open, to inflate them. I can hear the blood pounding in my ears, rush, rush, rus.h.i.+ng through my veins, but not air. There's no air, because I can't f.u.c.king breathe.

Breathe, motherf.u.c.ker.

It's no wonder that I can't face s.h.i.+t, because I can't even breathe. I'm a f.u.c.king p.u.s.s.y.

Gripping the railing, I stare down at the traffic fifteen floors below. People are driving around, minding their own business, honking, breathing, laughing, going on with their lives, even though mine is falling apart.

Even though across the world, people are dying. They're bleeding and burning and dying. Life f.u.c.king sucks. But no one here knows that.

They have no idea what life is really like.

But I do.

I stare soundlessly down, watching the movement, watching the life, and it is oddly distant from me, so very far away. Up here it's quiet. Up here it's removed. Up here there's only me.

And I'm f.u.c.ked up.

Like the girl's eyes, my soul is black as night and full of terror.

I grip the railing and my bicep flexes and I remember the words scrolled across my arm; a brand, a reminder. A creed.

Death before dishonor.

The words won't stop running through my head and I know why. Because I haven't been acting with honor for months, because I've been acting like a G.o.dd.a.m.ned p.u.s.s.y who can't pull s.h.i.+t together. And I f.u.c.ked up the only good thing I've had. I almost killed her.

It's just one more instance of dishonor to add to my list.

I stare down into the blackness.

Death before dishonor.

It would be so easy.

I know what I have to do. I know what I have to do to get it all to go away, to get it all to end, to get the terrified black eyes out of my head forever. An eye for an eye. Right?

An eye for a f.u.c.king eye.

A life for a f.u.c.king life.

I swing a leg over the railing, pulling myself onto it, sitting down. My feet dangle and I stare down again. The cars look smaller than my big toe. The fall would kill me. Surely it would kill me.

And all of this would end.

The bad thing can't catch me if the game is over.

I close my eyes, feeling the light breeze on my face, smelling the mountains. My lungs are working now, which is ironic. In a few minutes I won't need them anymore.

I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid. Fear is a choice and I'm not f.u.c.king afraid. I have a plan.

And because of my plan, I'll never hurt anyone again.

The blackness below almost looks inviting, like it's swirling around my feet, waiting to pull me down. Like once I'm a part of it, it will swallow me up and all my s.h.i.+t will go away.

That's what death must be like.

It's just an end.

A rest.