Crash & Carnage by Emma Slate

Chapter 11

The condo was suddenlybereft and cold now that I was alone.

I should’ve called out to him. I should’ve asked him to stay. I should’ve told him about my mother.

Only…

Only telling him anything about my family wasn’t keeping things casual. I’d told Jeff after six months of dating, but I had never been truly comfortable with him knowing about our family’s skeletons in the closet.

Boxer was a biker. We belonged in different worlds. There was no point in explaining to him anything serious because what we were doing was supposed to be finite from the get-go.

And yet, the loss of Boxer’s presence carved deeper than I expected.

I looked around. There were no longer any physical remains of the mess I had made.

No, the mess was inside of me.

My emotions were like a hodgepodge of childhood toys thrown haphazardly into a chest.

I was a grown woman, and yet I had behaved like an irrational teenager. I always seemed to go back to that place whenever my mother was involved. It was like a Pavlovian response. I’d never mastered the art of not caring when it came to her. I’d never grown enough emotional scar tissue to protect myself where she was concerned.

And without realizing what I’d been doing, I’d treated the man with all the casual indifference of a stranger.

But he didn’t feel like a stranger.

I walked to the bedroom and stared at my big, empty bed. Tonight was supposed to have gone differently. My mother never should’ve called; I was meant to be out sharing a meal with Boxer, laughing and touching each other with the sensual, teasing pleasures that would lead him to coming home with me.

I’d have invited him in, and he would’ve stared at me with dove gray eyes that darkened with lust. He’d march me into my condo, heading for the bedroom, where he’d lay me down on my bed…

But I’d blown it all to hell because I was an emotional hand grenade, and my pin had been pulled.

I changed out of my dress, throwing it in the laundry basket. I’d never wear it again. Every time I looked at it, I’d remember this night, this shame.

I pulled on a fuzzy lavender sweatshirt and black yoga pants, and then I went into the bathroom to wash my face. The mascara was smudged beneath my blue eyes, and my red lipstick had been smeared from my mouth. I looked like a broken circus clown.

I gently removed the makeup, tossing the soiled cleansing pads into the garbage.

Without my face painted, I looked young.

Vulnerable.

I went out into the kitchen, wanting to make myself a cup of tea, only I hadn’t spared any of the mugs.

I was too tired to be angry at myself. I grabbed my cell phone and searched through my contacts list for the management company that took care of the building. I called and left a voice message, asking to speak to the owner.

When that had been dealt with, I made sure the condo was locked up for the night, and then I turned off the light.

I sat on the couch and pulled the blanket onto my lap, and then I stared into the darkness and cried.

I fell asleep, my cheeks wet with tears.

* * *

My trumpeting phone jarred me awake the next morning. I winced at the bright sunlight coming through the living room windows as I reached for my cell.

“Hello?” I croaked.

“Oh, crap. Did I wake you?” Amanda asked.

I ran a hand across my face. “No.”

“I was just calling to find out how your date went. Did you boink the biker?”

“Boink? Really?”

“Not a fan of the word boink? Okay. Did you boff Boxer?”

“Did she do it?” came Lizzie’s voice in the background.

“I better not be on speaker phone,” I stated.

She paused.

“Amanda!” I hissed.

“Chill out! It’s just me and Lizzie in the lounge. And if someone comes in, I’ll hang up on you. Your secrets are protected.”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Oh my God, you totally did it!” Amanda crowed. “I knew you had it in you! Or should I say I knew you had him in you?”

“Yippee!” Lizzie cried. “Hallelujah! I’m so happy for your vagina.”

Eff my life.

“On that note, I’ve got to go,” I said.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Amanda cried out. “I want details! And diagrams. And did you take any photos of his penis? I mean tattoos. Yeah. Tattoos.”

“Goodbye, guys,” I said. “See you later.”

I hung up on them and let out a long, drawn-out sigh. Under normal circumstances, I would have been excited to gush about Boxer. I was the new doc on the block, and they could’ve ignored me, been cold and unwelcoming. Instead, they’d invited me out with them and then had taken me into their fold.

It might have come from them being overly involved in my social life, but that’s what you got when you let people in.

I rose from the couch and stretched my arms over my head, feeling the vertebrae of my back pop. I trudged to the espresso maker and got as far as frothing milk for a cappuccino in the silver container before realizing I had no mugs to pour the espresso or milk foam into.

I winced, remembering my behavior from the previous evening.

With a sigh, I stopped frothing the milk and then set it aside and went to take a shower. Twenty minutes later, I was out the door.

I made sure not to go through the lobby, that way I wouldn’t have to see Jerry. Jerry, who I had been speaking with almost every single day as though he were a friend, and who’d betrayed me by feeding information to my mother.

Just as I was climbing into my car, my phone rang. It was an unknown number, but the area code wasn’t one from the East Coast, so I answered it.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Hello,” came a pleasant and rumbly voice, tinged with a Scottish accent. “Is this Linden Ward?”

“It is.”

“I’m Ramsey Buchanan. I own the condo building. The management company passed along your message, and I’m returning your phone call.”

“Thanks for getting back to me,” I said.

“What can I do for you, Ms. Ward?”

“You have a problem with one of your security guards. Jerry, at the front desk.”

“What do you mean?”

“He hasn’t done anything illegal, but my mother paid him to spy on me. He’s not trustworthy, and he’s making me extremely uncomfortable being here.”

Ramsey paused on the other end of the phone and then finally said, “I’m sorry at the invasion of your privacy, and I’ll take care of this. Have a great day.”

He hung up on me, and I stared at the phone for a moment and then set it aside.

I left the apartment and drove to Folson’s, a luxury department store that rivaled Neiman Marcus. I walked into the building, breathing the crisp, circulated air. I wandered through the women’s department and found the escalator that would take me to the housewares section.

A stunning blonde greeted me the moment I stepped off the escalator. “May I help you find something?”

“Yes, actually,” I said. “I need an entire set of dishware. And while I’m at it, can you point me in the direction of sheets and linens?”

Thirty minutes later, I’d found several things I couldn’t live without. “Great choice on those bed linens,” Debbie, the saleswoman, said. “Let me see if I have a new set in the stock room for you, otherwise we might have to special order them.”

“Thanks,” I said with a genuine smile.

Debbie left me in the bedroom furniture showroom as she went to the back.

I took a seat on the four-poster bed and took my phone out of my purse. I dialed one of my closest friends, who still lived on the East Coast.

“Help,” I said the moment she answered the phone. “I’m about to buy the entire housewares department at Folson’s if you don’t stop me.”

“Why should I stop you? Folson’s is great,” Quinn said. “Crap. Helena just threw up on me. Yup, it went down my shirt. Hold on.”

I snorted.

“Okay, I’m back,” she said after a few moments. “Why are you at Folson’s anyway? Did you finally decide to decorate your condo? You really should consider buying, if you’re planning on staying in Dallas long term.”

“I don’t know if I plan on staying in Dallas,” I admitted.

“No? How are you liking the change of scenery?”

“I’m liking it.”

“So, no regrets about leaving Durham?”

“No. It was time.”

“Hmmm. So, let’s get back to why you’re at Folson’s and buying the entire store.”

“I broke every single dish in the condo.”

Quinn paused and then asked, “Did you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“My mother called—and let it slip that she paid the security guard in my building to feed her information about me.”

“Major violation. Not okay.”

“Not okay at all.” I sighed. “She’s never respected boundaries. I know that, but this time it was different.”

“Different how?”

I looked around, wanting some measure of privacy. Luckily, it was late morning and there were no other customers in the section of the store I was in.

“I met someone,” I admitted.

“You did? When?” she demanded.

“A few weeks ago. It’s complicated. Well, I made it complicated.”

“You’re being super vague. Who is this guy?”

“He was my patient,” I admitted. “Which breaks so many rules.”

“Did you start dating when he was still your patient?”

“No.”

“Then you didn’t really break any rules,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Go on. I’m dying to know what’s going on. This is so exciting!”

I chuckled. “You sound like the nurses I work with. They’re all very determined to see me matched up. Anyway, he came over to pick me up for our date—” Debbie approached, appearing as if from nowhere. “Gimme a second,” I said to Quinn and held the phone away from my ear.

“Sorry, Linden,” Debbie said. “I couldn’t find the sheets for a king-sized mattress. Would you like me to order them for you?”

“That would be great, thanks.”

“I can have the dishware, comforter, and everything else sent to you.”

“Is express delivery an option?”

“Absolutely.”

“Perfect.” I flashed a grateful grin and then dug through my purse for my wallet and pulled out a credit card. She rang me up on her touch-screen tablet, and I gave her my address. “Thanks for all your help, Debbie.”

“Come back anytime.” She smiled and then with a wave, she left.

I put the phone to my ear. “You there?”

“Yeah, I’m still here. I’m dying for the rest of this story.”

As I walked through Folson’s toward the exit, I told Quinn everything. I got through the parking lot and climbed into my car, setting my purse on the passenger side.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said.

“Proud of me? Why?”

“Because you’re getting out there. I was worried that you were moving to Dallas to bury yourself in your job.”

“I tried to bury myself in my job, but it didn’t work out so well.” I sighed. “I screwed this up. Whatever this was. My mother railed at me for getting involved with what she referred to as a tattooed heathen, and it threw me for such a loop that I reverted to destructive behavior and broke things. Pretty things.”

“Wait a second,” she said. “Let’s go back to this tattooed heathen thing. I need a visual.”

I sighed. “Dirty blond hair, scruff for days, tattoos, leather cut, and swagger. So much freakin’ swagger.”

“Leather cut?” she repeated.

“Yeah.” I paused. “He’s in an MC.”

“He’s not.”

“He is.”

“Wow,” she said.

“Wow what?”

“That’s so not your normal type.”

“I know.”

“You like him, don’t you?”

I sighed and finally decided to admit it out loud. “Yeah, I like him. And I treated him, well, not good, Quinn. I kicked him out after having sex with him because I didn’t want to get into my family drama.”

“And you are feeling badly because…”

“The moment he left, I thought about going after him and explaining.”

“Huh.”

“I know.”

“You have feelings for a biker…”

“It’s looking that way, yeah. He’s—God, Quinn. I don’t even know. He’s just different.”

“Well, sure. He’s a biker.”

“I don’t mean about that. Yeah, I guess it’s part of it, but it’s more. Boxer’s funny and insightful, and he doesn’t care what people think of him. It’s refreshing. And he keeps me on my toes.”

After a long pause, she said, “Boxer?”

“Yeah.”

“What MC is he in?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked in confusion.

“Humor me.”

“The Blue Angels.”

She laughed like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

“Quinn,” I demanded. “What the hell?”

“The world is so damn small I can’t even believe it sometimes.”

“What do you mean?”

She sighed. “Sasha is friends with Flynn Campbell. Flynn Campbell owns The Rex Hotel empire. Flynn is also old friends with Colt Weston, president of the Blue Angels. So, yeah, that’s the club your new plaything is in. They’re all involved in business together.”

My mouth dropped open as her words digested. “Business? Your fiancé is in business with Flynn Campbell? And an MC club?”

“Business,” she repeated. “You just had the best sex of your life with a man who’s deep in the criminal underworld.”

“I never said he was the best sex of my life,” I protested.

She laughed. “Honey, you didn’t have to.”