There's a payphone inside. I'll use that to call Dad and go from there. I still haven't quite figured out how to tell him I have a cell phone for work. I'll get around to it, but I'm not ready yet. If he takes it away, I'm not sure how I'll explain to Dane that I won't be reachable 24/7 like he requires.
Shit.
My toes pinch as I walk, reminding me that I'm still wearing the Christian Louboutin heels I'd slipped into per Dane's request earlier. I changed into a little black dress by some designer I couldn't pronounce and pranced around in these bad boys the rest of the afternoon. Before I left, I changed back into my old outfit but forgot to switch shoes.
Hopefully, no one at home will notice. I doubt any of them have ever heard of red-bottomed shoes, and I can always say they're from Target. No one will question me because the truth would seem more preposterous than a lie.
I slip some coins into the phone and dial my dad's number.
"Mark Miller," he answers halfway through the first ring. For someone so anti-cell phones, he's got that thing glued to his hand most of the time.
"Dad, it's me," I say.
"Bellamy?"
"Yeah, I'm calling you from a pay phone." I press my forehead against my balled up fist. "My check engine light came on, so I pulled over."
Muffled voices come through the other end like my father has covered up the phone and is talking to someone else.
"I'm here with Cortland, and he says his uncle has a towing business. I'll send Cortland out to pick you up, and someone will come for the car later tonight."
A sick twist of relief and dread swirl in my belly.
Also, why are they together right now?!
"Great," I say. "I'm at the Sierra Valley rest stop, about twenty miles outside of town."
"He's leaving now, sweetie. Sit tight."
TEN
DANE
"Right this way, Mr. Townsend. He's been asking about you."
I follow a middle-aged nurse in Winnie the Pooh scrubs down a sterile hallway. At least there are no flickering lights or shit-stained carpets. We never would've put him in a place like that.
"Are you sure?" I ask. "Last time, he didn't know who I was."
Where the fuck is Beck? Beckham should be here. I shouldn't be doing this alone.
"He's had a few lucid moments today," she says gently. "He's on a high dose of morphine right now."
She raps on the door to a dark room. It feels much later than six o'clock in here. The drapes are pulled, and the T.V. is on, but there's no sound. Guess it doesn't matter how much you shell out for a nursing facility, all the money in the world can't get rid of that sick, depressing veil that saturates all who dare to enter here.
"Uncle Leo." I have a seat in the chair next to his half-elevated bed. His brows twist when he hears my voice, and he turns his face toward me. It takes all the strength that man has just to open his eyes halfway.
I place my hand over his, careful to avoid his I.V. lines.
"How are you feeling today?" I ask.
"Dane." There's a dry scratch in his voice, and my name mostly comes out in a puff of air.
Fuck me. This is hard. I'm calling Beckham and chewing his ass the second I leave here.
And then I realize he said my name. He remembers me. He's acknowledging me. It's the first time in months.
"Yes, Uncle Leo. That's right. I'm Dane."
"Where ya been?" He sputters. His eyes are wider this time. Brighter than ever. He licks his dry, cracked lips and then curls them into a mischievous smile. I see a little bit of a younger version of him inside there.
I know he's teasing, and I force myself to smile. It's much easier to smile right now than to think about the fact that this seventy-year-old beautiful bastard's days are numbered.
"Where's your brother?" His brows straighten.
"He was supposed to fly in this afternoon." I shrug. "I bet he'll be here tomorrow at the latest. He wants to see you."
"Tell him to give his cock a rest for a change." Uncle Leo laughs, which turns into a coughing fit. He knows damn well about Beckham's reputation as a ladies' man, after all he learned from the best. "Man thinks he's a Goddamn sheik."
"Well, he did change his last name to King..."
"Sorry to interrupt," an orderly in a white outfit comes in with a paper cup and a glass of water. "It's time for your meds, Leo."
It's crazy to watch a man I once idolized lying feeble and dying in a small ten by ten room at a hospice center.
Fuck pancreatic cancer.
The doctor called us yesterday, told us Uncle Leo doesn't have more than a week left.
I wait for the orderly to leave before scooting closer. I'll be here all damn night. I'm not leaving for anyone or anything. The light in his eyes is flickering, and I'd give anything to hear one of his stories one last time before he goes.
"Hey, Daney-boy, can you hit that button for me." His grip loosens from a button connected to his morphine drip. "Give me some of the good stuff, will ya?"
I press the button for him, knowing it's only a matter of time before he forgets who I am again.
ELEVEN
BELLAMY
I count thirty-five black cars passing until one slows down and veers off the exit ramp toward the rest stop.
There he is, my knight in shining armor riding up on his big black steed.
Actually, it's more like a miniature pony, since it's an economy car. He just thinks it's fancy since it has remote start and a sunroof.
But I digress.
I peel myself up off the park bench at the last possible moment and angle my hand over my eyes, squinting into the passenger seat of his car to see who my father sent to tag along with him for supervisory reasons.
Oh shoot.
He's alone.
There's no way my father would've sent him alone. Does he know what happens when you ride in cars with boys? Does he know what happens when you put your twenty-two-year-old daughter alone with a crazy Cortland McGregor?
He hops out and rushes up to me, slipping his arms around me like we didn't just see each other last night. He grabs the flesh of my backside, roughing me up and pulling me into him as he tries to kiss me. I twist my head, letting him have my cheek.
"What the hell? What's your problem? Got your panties all twisted just because your car broke down?" Cortland leans in for another kiss.
Hope he likes the way Dane's cock tastes.
I let him kiss me this time because I'm afraid of what he'll do if I don't.
It's funny how Dane can tie me up, rough me up, and have his way with me, and it doesn't scare me a bit. But the way Cortland touches me, like he's entitled to touch me, terrifies me through and through.
I wonder what Dane would do if I texted him right now?
"You smell different," Cortland says.
That would be the new perfume I got from my soon-to-be lover...
Five fragrances for all kinds of different occasions, though he did say he enjoyed what I already wear.
"There are a lot of women in the office," I say. "Lots of smells. They all mix. You're probably smelling that."
"No, it's like cologne or something?" He wrinkles his nose and then checks his watch. "Why are you late today?"
"Huh?"
"Don't you get off at five? You didn't call your dad until around six, so you were, like, going to be a half-hour late coming home."
"Are you serious right now, Cortland?"
"Oh, come on. I'm asking for safety reasons."
Safety reasons my ass.
"I like to know where you are, you know, in case something happens." He places his hand on my back and walks me to the passenger door of his car like he's suddenly some noble gentleman. "I worry about you, Bellamy. That's all."
More like you worry about losing control over me.
I wait for him to climb in and start his car up before asking my burning question. "How did you convince my father to let you come by yourself?"
Cortland lifts an eyebrow. "He trusts me."
"All of a sudden he trusts you to be alone with me?"
"Yes, ma'am." He shifts into reverse and backs out. "Told you your father would love me."
I fasten my seatbelt and lean against the cool glass to my right. If I could get any further away from him, I would. I'd sooner ride on top of the hood of the car than spend the next several miles sitting next to this asshole.
His hand flies over, landing on my knee before creeping under my skirt and trailing up my inner thigh. My knees instinctively smash together in defense, but he pulls my leg toward him.
"Don't fight it. Don't act like you're all prude now. I know better," he says, his fingers tracing the outside of my panties. "Damn, you're wet. I knew it!"
My heart pounds harder and stronger in my chest. I'm convinced he's two seconds from accusing me of being with another man.
It's all going to end. It'll all be for nothing.
"I still have it, Bellamy," he boasts. "I can still get you wetter than sin. I knew you missed me."
I breathe a sigh of relief. Not only is he an asshole, but he's also impossibly dense. Although I suppose, once again, this would be a situation where the truth would be stranger than fiction. No one I know would believe me if I told them I'm two days in on my new job, and I spent he morning trying on lingerie and exchanging oral sex with my incredibly handsome, amazingly well-endowed, curiously powerful, and obnoxiously arrogant boss.