My Killer Vacation — Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

Myles

have no idea how long I’ve been sitting on theI edge of my bed in this motel room, staring into space. My bag is packed on the ground. Did I ever even

unpack it?

No. When do I ever?

I should be a hundred miles from Cape Cod right now.

My email is full of job opportunities. A missing parolee down in North Carolina. A hit and run driver in Michigan caught on CCTV with a ten-thousand-dollar reward on his head. Quick jobs. Easy ones that I could move on from and never think about again. If I could move from this spot. If I could just stand up, walk out the door and leave this sea foam green nightmare of a room behind. Get on my bike and go.

It’s obvious why I can’t light out of this place. She is the reason. And Christ, it’s fucking painful to think about her.

Your loss, bounty hunter. Truer words were never spoken

in this lifetime. Until she tossed her hair and strutted away from me on the sidewalk, I never stopped to acknowledge that I have PTSD. There is no way in hell a man lets a woman like that leave his side unless he’s blocked up by serious mental trauma. I have post-traumatic stress. The Christopher Bunton case screwed with my head and… And she’s right. I’m punishing myself over it. Three years later, my past is leading me to do things like shout at this incredible woman when I should be kissing her, rejoicing in her safety, praising her for being brave. I did none of those things. I lashed out like a wounded bear.

Knew it, too. Kept going because of the crushing residual fear. She drove her car straight at a murderer. Could have crashed, could have been shot or stabbed. Or caught in a crossfire with the police. My blood turns to ice thinking about it.

Hell yeah I’m still pissed at what she did. Sorry.

I’ll probably be mad about it until the day I die.

But I’m feeling a lot worse about her not being in my lap

right now.

A lot worse.

Sort of like I might die.

I try to swallow and can’t, a choked noise tripping out, instead.

Taylor sure did give her statement and high-tail it out of there without glancing in my direction a single other time.

She is well and truly done with me. And I just keep seeing flashes of her. Everywhere. They play out on the wall in front of me. Taylor licking her ice cream cone. Running

beside me in the rain. Covered in moonlight on the beach.

Dappled in a mixture of sunlight and shadows in the cave.

“Oh fuck.” I manage to stand up and cross the room, feet numb, the heel of my hand rubbing at the center of my chest where an apparent eruption is happening. This woman, this woman who is in my head and under my skin, and might as well face it, buying up real estate in my heart, is done with me. I behaved like an asshole. Not just today, but most of the time I’ve known her. I’m not even sure why she tolerated me as long as she did.

She’s going to find someone she doesn’t have to simply tolerate.

She’s going to find a man she likes. Who treats her like a

princess.

Who gives her children.

“Shit.” I drop back down on the bed, folding forward to wedge my head in between my legs. Breathing in and out through my nose. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Taylor is going to have babies with someone else.

Oh my God.

When did my skin turn into fire?

Before I register my own movements, I have my phone in my hands. I start to call Taylor. Ineed to hear her voice, but I’m pretty sure I’ll drop dead from the pain of her sending me to voicemail. And what would I say, anyway?

Earlier today, I was ready to leap without looking. A relationship with Taylor would be nothing like my first marriage, because I’m too…present with her. The way I feel about her? It doesn’t come close to anything I’ve experienced before. Or even knew was possible. But I don’t

have any stability to offer her. Would I be holding her back from the happiness she might find elsewhere? Jesus, I can’t do that.

I need more. She deserves more. Where do I even start?

I scroll to my brother’s number and hit send, holding the device to my ear in an unsteady grip. “Are you calling me on purpose or is this an unfortunate butt dial?”

It has been so long since I heard Kevin’s voice, that it takes me a moment to respond. The sound of it is like walking into a wind tunnel of memories. “I’m calling you on

purpose.”

“Oh yeah? Well, fuck you.”

“Fuck you, too.” The noise in the background tells me he’s in a crowd. A man’s voice booms over a loudspeaker, someone shouts for a beer. “Where are you?”

“Me? Where amI?” The crowd makes a collectively disappointed sigh. “You don’t get to ask me that when your ass has been God knows where for three years.”

“You have your whole life to be a prick, Kev. Don’t waste it all on one phone call.”

The breath he lets out sounds like steam escaping. A moment passes. “Are you in trouble or something?”

My haggard appearance reflects back at me from the mirror above the dresser. “In a manner of speaking, yeah.”

“Spit it out, Myles. I’m not a mind reader.”

“You know what?” I pull the phone away from my ear, ready to end the call. “Forget it.”

“No!” He clears his throat. “No…hold up. I’m listening.

You called me in the middle of the Sox game. What did you expect?”

Nostalgia settles over me. The smell of hot dogs and beer. Blocking the summer sun with my hand so I can see the field. Kevin smacking me in the shoulder after a big play. I miss those afternoons with my brother. I don’t think I realized how much until I watched Taylor with Jude.

“You’re at the game?”

He sniffs. “Of course I am. You think I gave up our season tickets just because you’re not around to chip in anymore?”

“Damn.” I let out a low whistle. “I guess I owe you some

cash.”

“Come home and we’ll call it even.”

The crowd cheers, the announcer’s excited voice narrating a player’s journey to the batter’s box. Going back to Boston has been out of the question for three years, but right now…it feels possible. Everything seems possible after watching Taylor burn rubber and skid sideways in front of the mayor’s car like a stunt driver. After having that incredible woman run to me, let me hold her,nothing in this world seems impossible.

I’m not going to disintegrate walking into my brother’s or parents’ home. They want me there, despite this failure I’m carrying around my neck like an albatross. Seeing Taylor with Jude made me think of my own family throughout the week. What I’m missing. Howthey would act on a snorkeling trip. Probably ridiculing the size of my feet. Or my parents and I would gang up on Kevin, claiming to have seen a shark. The typical asshole behavior I grew up with and shaped me and it’s not perfect, but it’s ours.

I’m not perfect…but I’m still theirs.

I could have beenhers. She told me she could easily love me. That must mean I’m not beyond saving, right?

Maybe it’s time to believe my family when they say they

still want me around.

That I’m…worth having around.

“I’m in Massachusetts. Cape Cod, actually. I could… swing by.”

My brother says nothing for long moments. “Really.”

“Yeah. For a visit or whatever. I could do that.”

“Last time we spoke, you told me you’d come back to Boston when hell froze over. What changed?”

“I, uh…I don’t know.” My chest winds up like a clock. “I met this woman.”

“Oh. Shit.” There’s a smile in his voice. “I didn’t see that

coming.”

“You and me both.”

“You’re the guy who always said women are a hassle, right?”

“That was me,” I sigh, massaging my eye sockets.

“Just making sure.” He chuckles. “What’s the problem?

Bring her with you for this visit.”

“Seeing as how we just broke up, that’s going to be hard. I mean…” I stand up and start to pace from one end of the motel room to the other. “We weren’t even technically dating. She was a suspect on a case I’m working on as a favor. It’s a long story. Bottom line is, she got sick of my shit and…you know. It’s for the best.”

“Yeah. Sounds like it’s for the best. You’re on the verge

of tears.”

“The fuck I am.”

I might actually be pretty close to crying.

“Whatever your version of tears is, you’re verging there.”

Rolling my eyes, I cross back to the other side of the room. “This is what I get for calling you for advice, I guess.”

“Advice? Onwomen? Did you forget I’m married to a fellow ball scratcher?”

“No.” I plow a hand through my hair. “How is he, anyway?”

“Fine.” The way his voice shifts, I know his husband is sitting next to him. “Still sneaking protein powder into everything I eat and wearing running shorts literally everywhere we go.” He pauses. “What’s your girl like?”

An image of her rises in my mind, the way she looked on day one. In a bikini top and shorts, no shoes, sun kissed and sweet and secretly wanting rough sex. Basically a miracle on two shapely legs, dropped into my lap from heaven. “She’s a second grade private school teacher from Connecticut. She’s…well.” The lump in my throat expands.

“Beautiful is an understatement. She’s a planner. A caretaker. Always making sure everyone eats and has enough coffee. Smart as hell. Brave. She also cries a lot, but in a way that, I don’t know…it’s just fucking cute, all right? She’s stubborn and mischievous.” I turn and bang my head against the wall, which shakes loose the part I didn’t mean to say out loud. “She blows my mind in bed.”

“Christ, you’re a lot more open and honest than you

used to be.”

The tips of my ears burn. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I can’t wait to use that information against you at a later date.” Kevin laughs. “So where are you now?

And where is she?”

I turn in a circle, looking around. Nothing is familiar because I spent all of my time working or with her. “I’m in my motel room in Cape Cod. She’s back at her rental house.”

“Drive your ass over there and apologize for whatever you did.”

“How do you know I’m in the wrong?” He says nothing.

“Fine. It was me. All me. But I can’t just go over there and apologize. Apologizing doesn’t make us compatible. Did you miss the part about her being a teacher in Connecticut? My next job is in North Carolina. Then who the hell knows where. Taylor wants to get married. Be a parent. Settle down and be happy.”

“Sounds terrible. Who wants to be happy? Gross.”

I curse under my breath. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

“Yes, I am, asshole. What sounds better to you? Going back out on the road like some damaged desperado? Or moving in with your teacher and waking up naked with

her?”

Oh. Oh sweet Jesus.

I never got a chance to wake up with her head on the pillow beside mine. She’d be so warm and snuggly. And horny for morning sex. She’d be so hot on top, those hips rocking up and back, our bellies slipping together. Sweaty.

Afterward, I’d kiss her everywhere. Just kiss her all the way

down to her toes while she laughed—and I am so

completely ruined.

I’m decimated.

“Damaged desperado really rolled off the tongue,” I manage to push through my crowded throat. “Is that what you’ve been calling me since I left?”

“No. It’s what Mom has been calling you.”

“Ouch.”

When did I sit on the floor? I have no idea how I got here.

“Listen, Myles. You need to go grab your patch of happiness with two hands. They don’t come around very often. Some people don’t get this chance at all. You’re squandering it, man. Do you think she’s better off without

you?”

“Yeah, probably—”

“Forget I asked that.” His finger taps against the receiver, like he’s thinking. “Imagine she made the same mistake as you. On the Bunton case. Do you think she’d deserve to be happy at some point in the future? Or would you want her depriving herself of everything good to try and make up for a human error?”

“Of course I wouldn’t want that,” I rasp, loathing the idea of her unhappy.

“I’m sure she doesn’t want that fate for you, either.”

“Yeah.” I tip my head back and notice a crack in the ceiling. It runs straight through the crown molding. Making me think of the peepholes in Oscar Stanley’s house.

There’s a loud gurgle in my stomach. I sit up straighter, my skin turning clammy.

The mayor couldn’t have fit in that crawl space, either.

Didn’t we decide that based on there being two holes, eye distance apart and angled downward, that someone must have actively been peeping at some point? Oscar couldn’t have fit in the crawl space, neither could Rhonda Robinson. It would make sense that the mayor would want to keep tabs on Oscar, since he was threatening to expose

her duplicity, but… But she wouldn’t have done it herself.

And this morning during the rally, when Taylor was hit in the head with the book, no way could Robinson have slipped away unnoticed in that crowd. But I know who

could have.

Small, non-descript. Loyal.

“The assistant. The fucking assistant.”

“What?”

The contents of my stomach lurch upward. “I have to go.

I…”

Taylor is out there. Vulnerable.

I left her without protection.

I don’t remember hanging up the phone on my brother.

I’m already dialing Taylor. Holding the phone to my ear while ripping my keys out of my pocket, running at full speed into the parking lot. No answer. Of course not. The sound of her musical voice on the outgoing voicemail recording almost buckles my knees. Christ, oh Christ. I could lose her. Permanently. No. No, I can’t breathe.

“Taylor, the peepholes,” I ramble, voice threadbare. “It had to be Rhonda’s assistant.” I’m barely able to think straight with her in potential danger. We might have arresteda

guilty party. There are two of them, though. One is out there—and he’s violent. “Get somewhere safe.Now, sweetheart. Please. You and Jude. And wait for me. I’m coming.”