Protecting Her Pride Page 3

  “Do the police have any leads?” he asks, his brow knotted in deep thought.

  I shake my head. “They can’t find any DNA.”

  “And you have twenty-four-hour security? Two-man shift with pass codes? Did you finally upgrade that stupid security system you have at your house?”

  I slowly shake my head again and bite down on my lip. “Well, that is where I was hoping you would come in.” I suck in a deep breath. “And I know I have no right asking this, especially with how awful I was to you, but I need you and I want you come back to work for me.”

  I see Jerry’s face soften and he grabs my hand, sandwiching it between his two calloused hands. “Daphni, I don’t do that kind of work anymore. And actually, Annette and I are planning on doing one of those six-month, round-the-world cruises. We’re leaving next week.”

  Jerry and Annette share a look of concern when they see my face fall as a foreboding sense of hopelessness washes over me. Jerry tightens his grip on my hand. “I can recommend you some of the best guys in the business, Daphni,” he assures me.

  I shrug my shoulders. “I supposedly have the best guys in the business now. What I need is someone I can trust. Someone who I know cares if I live or die, and not just about their weekly paycheck.” I groan in frustration as I drop back against the couch. When I catch Jerry and Annette sharing a meaningful look, I quirk my brow questioningly and sit up straighter in my seat. “What is it?”

  Annette shrugs her shoulders, looking a bit too conspiratorial as she not-so-subtly glances over at Jerry, her blue eyes boring into him. Jerry pulls his hands back to rake a hand through his thick, salt and pepper hair. “Well…” he starts, “I might have an idea.”

  I look at him curiously, feeling a small spark of hope. I can read the hesitation on his face, but there’s no one’s instincts I trust more than his. “You can tell me, Jerry. Whatever you recommend, I will do.”

  “Well, I know of a young man who might fit the bill. Two-tour vet with extensive surveillance and tactical training. Sharp kid who’s recently back in the area and looking for work.”

  I light up at the prospect, a small spark of hope reigniting inside of me. “Well, how do I know I can trust him?”

  A smile curls at the edge of his mouth. Before he can answer, the sharp, clattering sound of the side door leading into the kitchen distracts us all. I peer through the open door frame to see a foot in worn-out, high-top Chuck Taylors kicking the door open. Their face is obstructed by a large brown bag, and he has a string of plastic bags, weighed down with groceries, along his thick arms.

  “Mom!” he yells out as he stumbles inside the house. “I’m back!”

  At the sound of his voice, I feel every cell in my body tense as a quiver of pure panic zips down my spine. Stupid, stupid girl! How did you not even think that he might be here?

  Annette jumps off the couch and rushes into the kitchen. I watch, frozen in place, as she grabs the paper bag out of his hands and places it on the counter. He turns before I can see his face: the same face that has haunted almost every one of my sleepless nights, the face that I push away with vodka screwdrivers, nameless men who give me the briefest bit of attention, and week-long benders.

  He wasn’t supposed to be here. Hadn’t Jerry told me he that he had enlisted for another tour in Iraq? Shit, when had that been? It must have been a year ago now. Had he gotten out already? How long did they go for? Wait, was there still even a war? God, I need to watch more CNN.

  “Oh dear, let me take that for you. You know, it wouldn’t kill you to go back for a second trip. You don’t need to carry everything at once!” I hear Annette admonish as she grabs some of the bags still dangling from his arms.

  Knowing that he still hasn’t realized I’m here, I jump out of my seat, my eyes quickly darting around the room, searching for my quickest escape. As if he can sense my panic, Jerry squeezes my shoulder before gently pushing me back down onto the couch. Paralyzed, I watch helplessly as Jerry walks through the door frame connecting to the kitchen.

  “Roman, we have a guest. Come on over when you’ve finished,” he calls over, before coming back down to the couch and sitting beside me.

  I knot my hands on my lap, cursing myself for not having my secret stash of vodka in my bag. God, I need a drink. Even more, I need a time machine to bring me back to an hour ago, when I could have thought this through a bit more and convinced myself to stay at home and lock myself in my closet for the next three months while the police do their job and catch this freak.

  What I don’t need is to see Roman Brantley: Jerry’s son, and the boy who had been my first everything, who had taken my heart long before he had taken my virginity. The boy who had made it so easy to let myself fall in love. The boy whose heart I broke when I woke up one day and realized that I was irreparably damaged, and the only way to save him from myself was to break up with him in a five-minute phone call two days before he was being deployed to Baghdad. No, the last thing I need to see is the boy who haunted me, who made it impossible for me to give myself to any other man because the poor bastard still had my heart. Not that I needed it anymore—he could keep the damn thing.

  But instead of seeing the boy I had first met ten years ago as a seventeen-year-old girl, naive and scared of the world around her, the man I see today is nearly unrecognizable. His soulful blue eyes that once saw the best in everyone and everything—including me—are now icy as they glare down at me. The soft innocence of his youth has been replaced by hard, angular edges. His jaw clenches when he sees me, and his broad shoulders tense as his eyes sweep over me, making my body flinch under his cold assessment. I feel a tremor of fear wash over me as I realize that Roman Brantley, who once loved me despite my numerous flaws, is someone who now hates me. And while I had known that singular truth all along, seeing the hate so visible on his face sends my stomach sinking.

  “Roman, come sit down,” Jerry says, gesturing to his son.

  Roman doesn’t say a word as he walks stiffly into the living room, sitting down on the worn-out recliner facing us. He sits on the edge, as if he is waiting for the instant he can escape. He can’t bring himself to look at me and instead stares with a blank, stony expression at the empty wall behind us.

  Compared to Roman, my restraint is far more lacking, and I greedily take in every single feature, every hard edge. It had been seven years since I had last seen Roman, and though it pained me to admit it, the years have been very, very good to Roman Brantley. His dark, almost jet-black hair is long and disheveled, like he’s spent all day raking his hands through it. His strong jaw is covered in dark stubble and when my eyes find his mouth, I swear I can recall the feeling of his lips crushed against mine. But it’s his eyes that have every single memory of the two of us together rushing back to me. God, I could drown in his baby-blues a happy woman. I’m completely unprepared for the reaction my body is having to seeing Roman again. I had convinced myself I would never see Roman again, and now I was in the very same room where I’d first met him almost ten years ago. God, could today get any worse?

  He folds his arms across his broad chest and I feel my breath catching sharply in my throat. His arms are thick, muscular, and hard. He had always been into weightlifting, but now his arms look like tree trunks, his long, corded muscles disappearing into the sleeves of his tight T-shirt. And though I try to fight it, a large part of me wants to know what else he’s hiding underneath that T-shirt. Seriously, he must be working with at least an eight-pack.

  “Roman, we need to talk to you about Daphni,” Jerry says, drawing my attention back. I see Roman’s jaw tick with annoyance at the mention of my name. Though it hurts, I square my shoulders and sit up in the seat, determined not to let him see the impact he has on me.

  Roman’s blue eyes lazily wander over me. He shrugs indifferently. “You mean the woman who fired you after you gave her ten years of your life? The same woman who chose her boyfriend over you?”

  Ouch. Shots fired.

 
Jerry’s face hardens. “You do not talk about Daphni like that. She is a part of this family—”

  Roman’s eyes blaze into mine, forcing me to turn away from his penetrating stare. “Family doesn’t screw each other over like that.”

  I feel my body tense as Jerry rises from the couch. He points toward the kitchen. “Kitchen, now.” Roman obediently jumps up from his seat and follows his father into the kitchen.

  Alone in the living room, I can hear the hushed voices of Jerry, Annette, and Roman arguing in the kitchen. Although I can’t hear their muffled voices clearly, I know exactly what they are talking about.

  Me.

  4

  Daphni

  I take advantage of the empty living room to compose myself and stop my stupid body from shaking so much. More than anxiety, it’s probably my body screaming for a drink. It’s been at least a few hours since I’ve had one and even though I try to tell myself I’m just nervous, I know it’s my body needing its next fix.

  Why hadn’t it occurred to me that Roman might be here? Stupid, stupid Daphni!

  It had been years since I’d last seen Roman. We first met when I was seventeen years old. His father had been working for me for about a year, and my career was at the cusp of really taking off. I was embarking on my first tour as an opener for some girl band that broke up a few years later. Even though I had all the attitude in the world, I was absolutely terrified, and completely out of my league. Jerry had seen right through me and had invited me over to his house for lasagna and a night of watching movies. Somehow, he had known that was exactly what I had needed.

  It was that night I had met Roman, Jerry and Annette’s only son, home for the week from college. Even then he had been the most gorgeous boy I’d ever seen, and I had barely been able to keep my eyes off him all night. His thick, dark brown hair had been tightly cropped in accordance with his ROTC requirements. Strong, defined arms stretched against a dark grey Henley, and more than once I had snuck a peek at him in the dimmed living room lights only to find him watching me just as intently. Truthfully, it was his eyes—cerulean blue with flecks of silver—that had captured me. When they were focused on you, it felt like you were the only person in the world.

  Today, however, those steely blue eyes looked like they wanted to chuck me outside to the curb along with the rest of the trash for pickup.

  Shit, shit, shit. I have got to get out of here.

  I decide to try and make a quick exit and reach for my purse. I’m a second too late, and when Roman and Jerry walk back into the living room, I reluctantly drop my bag down to the floor.

  Jerry retakes his seat on the couch beside me while Roman elects to lean against the open doorway. I force myself to look away from him, not wanting him to see me watching him even as I can feel his eyes rove over me, partly with curiosity and partly with unmistakable disdain.

  “Roman, Daphni needs private security and has asked that you work with her,” Jerry says, his tone the same no-nonsense clip that I had quickly learned was his way of effectively ending any further discussion.

  “What?” Both Roman and I ask the question at the same time, our voices blending together in surprise. Roman looks as equally confused as I am and even more so, displeased.

  “Jerry, I don’t think this is a good idea,” I say.

  “You came to me needing help. You asked me who I would recommend, someone who actually has the skillset needed to protect you.”

  “Well, yes, but—” I start.

  “That is Roman. I wouldn’t recommend anyone else, Daphni,” Jerry interrupts.

  I look toward Roman with a desperate appeal in my eyes, silently begging him to inject reason into his father, who is clearly having some kind of mid-life breakdown.

  “She’s right, Dad, this is a terrible idea,” Roman adds.

  “Roman, Daphni is family,” Jerry says, shaking his head. “She needs our help.”

  I grab my bag off the floor and push off the couch. “Jerry, I think this is just a terrible mistake. I’m sorry I came. I overreacted, and I think the company I have right now will be just fine.” I force myself to laugh as I swing my purse over my arm. “God knows I pay them enough.” I lean down and press a quick kiss to Jerry’s cheek. “I am so grateful for everything you have done for me.”

  As I pull my car keys out of my purse, Jerry stands from the couch, a stony look on his face. “Daphni you can’t go. Your life is in danger.”

  I stop in my tracks and feel my heart crack when I see the color drain from Annette’s face as she watches from the kitchen. She looks at her husband, wide-eyed. “Jerry, what do you mean?”

  Jerry stares me down and I shrink under his assessment. “Melissa called me last night. You didn’t tell us everything, Daphni. And I called my contact at the police. They are taking this threat very seriously. This man has broken into your house, has left detailed notes about kidnapping and murdering you.” Jerry pauses, a grim look on his face. “The notes are very, very specific, Daphni.”

  I feel my last inch of composure fade away, and I know I’m ten seconds away from completely losing it again and having another sob fest into Jerry’s shirt. Reading the panic radiating off me, Annette walks right over to me and pulls me into her arms. I feel weak and pathetic. I steal a glance over at Roman and see him appraising me. He isn’t glowering at me anymore, and I feel sick to my stomach when I recognize the look in his eyes: pity. He feels sorry for me.

  I can take simmering resentment, boiling contempt, and even homicidal rage. What I cannot accept is pity. So I pull myself out of Annette’s arms and square my shoulders as I turn to face Jerry.

  “Jerry, trust me. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But I don’t need your help. I have the police and my security team all in place already.” Turning my attention directly to Roman, I straighten my spine and do my best to give him my most unaffected look. “And I really do not need your pity, either. So I’ll just be on my way.”

  “God, Daphni. Just quit it already.” Roman says, exasperated. “Look, Dad’s right. You’re in trouble and you need help. I’m sure this whole thing will blow over in a week or two and then we can both be on our way. Until then, let me help you.”

  “And really, Daphni, you would be helping Roman. He returned from his final tour a month ago, and he’s still looking for a job,” Annette’s cheerful voice chimes in, and though I know she is just trying to make me feel better, it does tug a smile onto my face to see Roman shoot her an annoyed glare.

  I take a few seconds to collect my thoughts, then turn my attention back to Roman. “Fine. Deal.”

  He nods silently, and Jerry walks over to me, wrapping his right arm around me and his left around his son, pulling the three of us together in an uncomfortable group huddle. Being this close to Roman sets my whole body aflame, and I force myself to ignore it, to push aside the obvious reaction my body has whenever it’s close to his: the unshakeable familiarity of two old lovers reunited. Because when my eyes catch his, and I see his whole face harden, I know that there is no hope for the two of us anymore. I’m no longer the girl he once loved, the one he would cradle in his arms as we watched the sun rise after spending the whole night talking. That girl died seven years ago and all that is left of her is a hollow shell, a faded shadow of who she used to be.

  5

  Roman

  “Click. Clicccck.”

  I look over for the fiftieth time during this twenty-minute car ride at the driver in the seat. Her bright pink nails keep tapping against the steering wheel as she tugs her teeth over her plump bottom lip. She has the driver’s seat pulled up a millimeter away from the wheel, and her back is pin straight. Every few seconds, her eyes dart to the rearview mirror, then her side mirrors, back to the front windshield, down to her odometer, then back to the rearview mirror again. She was always a terrible and anxious driver, and as she cuts across two lanes, swearing under her breath as one of the cars she cuts off slams their horn and shoots her the bird, I see th
e past seven years haven’t done much to make her any better. She always had drivers growing up, and it wasn’t until we were together that I had finally forced her to learn how to drive. It had been a summer day, and we drove for hours in an empty Publix parking lot until she finally felt comfortable driving down a side street, where she promptly crashed the car into a row of trash barrels. She had felt so terrible that she’d jumped out of the car and picked up all the trash with her bare hands. She smelled terrible, but it was one of those memories— no matter how hard I tried to forget, my brain was hardwired to remember it whenever I was having a shit day because without fail, it would always put a smile on my face.

  Even after seven years, I’m hopelessly affected by her. I tell myself it’s because she had been my first love, the woman I compared all others to. No other woman had ever been able to measure up. No other memory compared to the ones I shared with her. She was ingrained within me, whether I liked it or not. And I fucking hated it.

  I hated her for ruining me, for telling me she loved me one day and then ordering me never to call her again the next, for changing her number, deleting me from her life. I had flown to Baghdad two days later, forced to grow up and become a man at the same time as I learned to heal from a broken heart. But I’d never fully healed. I just became a harder version of myself. I studied harder than everyone in my brigade, trained harder, and those few times I was back stateside for a visit or a break between deployments, I made sure to fuck harder, too, each nameless face I took back to my bed a pathetic attempt to chase the one face that invaded every one of my dreams. The same one sitting next to me right now, clicking her obnoxious bright pink nails against the steering wheel.

  She looks so different from the image in my mind. The image of soft blonde curls, with freckles dotting the tip of her nose and her cheeks. Bright, glimmering green eyes that were excited about the world, about our future together. Her lips that never stopped moving, never stopped sharing her dreams. She could talk about anything for hours and I was hopeless against her charms, eating up every word she spouted. For three years, her voice had been the soundtrack to my life.