The guy, Riley, had said he’d ruined her life. The words crawled through him and settled under his skin.
Raven pursed her lips and nodded. “I talked to the woman on the way out of the bar. The guy is Marissa’s brother. Did you know that?”
Rip shook his head. “I never met him.”
“Apparently, after you and Marissa broke up, she was traumatized for some reason… the woman didn’t know for sure why, or wouldn’t tell me…but Marissa packed up and left. Moved to another town. Left her family and friends behind.”
“Ah, fuck.”
“You want to talk about it?” she asked.
His lips compressed. “Not really.”
Raven just nodded, then pulled on her helmet. “Anytime you do, just let me know.” She slid her arms around him. “Oh, and she told me Marissa lives in Miami now.”
He pulled on his helmet and climbed on the bike in front of her, then started it up. Once her arms were around him, he lurched the bike forward and turned onto the road.
His heart compressed at the thought of what Marissa must have gone through to drive her away like that. He lurched the bike forward and turned onto the road. When she’d cut off communication with him, he’d thought the best thing was to just leave her alone. He’d assumed she would just get on with her life and forget about him.
Now he knew he’d changed her life forever. And not in a good way.
Fuck, he’d never wanted to hurt her.
Raven knew they were heading through Miami in a couple of days, on their way to the resort they’d been invited to, and clearly she was suggesting that he look Marissa up.
He wasn’t sure if that was a good idea, but he knew he had to do something.
He vowed he would fix this. Somehow.
* * *
Marissa stepped into her apartment and dropped the mail on the dining room table. She grabbed a soda and slumped on the couch. It had been a long day at work and she was glad to put her feet up. She turned on her cell, which she always turned off during the bus ride home, and checked for messages. There was one message waiting for her.
“Marissa, it’s Rip.”
At the sound of the familiar voice, her blood turned to ice. The rest of his words droned through a veil of building panic as her heart pounded faster and her body went numb.
“I know it’s been a while,” the message continued. “I wanted to talk to you. Please call me.”
She stared at the phone with shaking hands.
Oh, God, he’s found me.
She checked the time of the message. An hour ago.
She pushed herself to her feet and walked to the window, then pulled back the sheer drapes that softened the harshness of the afternoon sun through the window, and peered out. Her apartment was on the eighth floor and her window had a great view of the small beach where the river widened to a bay, then narrowed again to a lovely waterfall.
She stepped outside onto the balcony. Her apartment was at the corner of the building, so she tried to peer around the edge of the building to the left to see if she could see the parking lot, but trees blocked her view.
Was he down there waiting for her?
Of course, that didn’t make sense. She hadn’t seen him on her way in.
Thank God!
What if she’d run into him when she’d walked from the bus stop? What would she have done? Run away?
All she knew was that Rip meant danger.
And now he was looking for her.
She debated whether to race out the door and go over to her friend’s place. Lana would let her stay there if she needed to. She could go throw a few things in a bag, enough to keep her going for a week or so. Maybe by then Rip would have given up on her.
She stepped back into the apartment and closed the balcony door behind her, frowning. But she was overreacting. Wasn’t she?
He wasn’t there when she came in. He probably didn’t even know where she lived. Though her heart thumped at the fact he’d found her cell number. She had only given it to her family back home and instructed them not to give it to anyone under any circumstances. Her friends here had it, but he would have no idea who they were.
She walked into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. Her appetite had crashed with this going on, but she had to cook the chicken she had thawed in the fridge, or throw it out. She hated to throw out food, so that was enough to put her through the motions of preparing dinner.
No matter what, she couldn’t let one phone call drive her from her home and throw her life into turmoil.
She ate the chicken, rice and salad she’d prepared while she watched her favorite sitcom on TV, then she washed the dishes and settled on the couch again. She grabbed the handful of mail she’d brought up earlier and sorted through it. A nice parchment invitation with black letters written in a formal script caught her eye. Fancy.