Chapter 7

Mia

Sunday 7.17am.

He’s gone. I can feel the absence of him even without opening my eyes. It’s more than his warmth, muscle, and bone wrapped around me.

It’s more than physical. More than I ever should have allowed it to be. I know he felt it too, which makes it even worse.

Maybe if he’d been cold and callous, it would have been easier to convince myself he didn’t care. That he used me.

But I don’t believe that for a second.

Mark will be here soon. I need to clean anything Zander missed. I need to get dressed, and I need to go over my story to make sure I don’t make any mistakes.

Instead, I lie in bed, eyes on the space Zander filled, wondering if this ache will ever subside.

Am I that messed up I actually thought he’d have changed his mind? That he’d be waiting in the kitchen for me?

I groan as I pull myself to sitting. Maybe I need to go see a therapist? Maybe I’m not as over my ex as I thought I was?

Was that why this happened? Zander was a rebound?

Even as I pull my still wet jeans over my legs, I know that’s not the case.

Maybe now he’s gone, and the intensity of the situation is over, my feelings will subside?

I mumble to myself as I pull the sheets off the bed. “Could you be any more pathetic? I mean, really, what did you expect to happen?”

I yank the sheets off, angry tears burning in my eyes as I ball up the sheets and dump them in the hamper, feeling achingly alone as I swipe at my eyes.

When I stagger out into the living room, I find it so spotless; it’s even cleaner than when I arrived.

The dishes have been put back. Trash can emptied, and the faint scent of bleach is everywhere.

The sink is shining. Even the glass seems clearer. No wonder he came to bed so late.

I was so exhausted, so overwhelmed when he finally crawled in beside me, I just snuggled in close and tried not to let him know I was crying.

Somewhere in between me trying to hide my tears, and him holding me against his bare chest, I’d fallen into a tortured sleep.

With fresh tears stinging at my eyes, I slump into the sofa and stare at the holes in the once full wine wrack.

I already explained to Mark’s stepfather I couldn’t be held responsible for all the items missing, but he was too nice not to pay for some of it.

I sigh heavily and peel myself off the couch. It’s still early. Now, I really have nothing to do but wait here, alone, missing Zander’s company, until Mark arrives this afternoon.

The house is depressing and gloomy, so I open the drapes and push the windows open to air it out before Mark arrives.

With nothing else to do, I spend the next few hours going over my story until I’m sure I won’t get myself or Zander into any trouble.

I’m sitting, waiting, and still trying to convince myself this is for the best when I hear the faint sound of a car rolling over the grass.

I leap to my feet, heart hammering as I see a scowling Mark climb out of the vehicle.

He stretches his back out, curses then pulls out his cell as he starts walking towards the front door.

I’m still rehearsing my speech when I hear him walking up the stairs. He doesn’t even knock, just opens the door.

He glares at me, face twisted in disgust as he finds me standing beside the kitchen.

His gaze travels to my bag and lingers. “You better not have stolen anything. This little screw up has cost me a couple grand as it is.”

There is nothing resembling remorse on his face as he scans the living room. “You spoke to Jerry?”

I frown until I realize he’s referring to his stepfather. “I did.”

He stares at me, a mocking look on his face. “You didn’t say you were sick. Is that why you missed the bus?”

I nod. “I was too embarrassed to say.”

He looks around the living room. “And you nearly ran into the guy they’re hunting?”

I can’t answer. If I do, I’ll probably start crying all over again.

He shakes his head as he lifts his cell phone and dials. “You seem fine now. But you can sit in the back. I’m not risking getting sick.”

He doesn’t even look at me, just starts talking to who I presume is Jerry. When I just gape at him, he waves his hand at me. “Go get in the car; I’m doing an inventory check.”

I mutter under my breath, grab my bag, and with a final look around the luxurious house, I stalk past him.

My sadness replaced momentarily by annoyance, I open the back of his car and throw my bag inside.

I collapse into the back seat of the Audi and stare at the lakehouse. All the muscles in my neck and shoulders are knotted from a restless night.

When Mark comes stomping down the steps, and I hear another vehicle roll up, I close my eyes and try to think about what I’m supposed to be saying.

Mark hasn’t asked for details, but with a four-hour drive ahead of us, there’s no way he won’t.

I watch him show the glazier the front door Zander smashed, and then exchange cards before he finally returns to his car.

He sends me another glare in the rear-view mirror as he buckles his seat belt and starts the engine. “You may as well tell me what happened before you tell the cops.”

My pulse starts to speed as he reverses and starts to drive towards the road. I swallow, palms beginning to sweat. “Um. Cops?”

He pushes his sunglasses over his nose and sounds bored as he answers. “Yeah. Jerry’s meeting us at the station. He needs a police report to go ahead and make the insurance claim.”

I slump back against the backseat, trying not to panic. “Oh. Um. Right now? I’m really tired, and I’m—”

He snaps angrily. “Yeah, well, I don’t give a shit. You just ate up my entire Sunday. You think I want to spend it at the cop shop?”

I shake my head; lips pressed tightly together as he increases his speed. “You better suck it up and tell them what happened. You should be thanking your lucky stars this guy was at the lakehouse too. You can blame him for pretty much anything.”

Nausea starts to swell in my stomach as I look out the window at the highway, now tearing past us.

I should be thanking Zander? What a joke. I blink away the moisture as Mark starts asking me questions, and I answer them in a monotone.

But I’m barely aware of what I’m saying. I rehearsed it so much; I don’t even need to think.

Thank him. Thank Zander.

I groan softly. I have so many things I’d like to thank him for.

And if I ever thought I’d see him again, I’d think of multiple ways in which I would thank him.

***

Zander

The soles of my feet are numb when I finally make it into town. Daylight is just breaking through gloomy clouds as I hug the wall of the closest building.

I rub my gritty eyes and duck low as I head around the back of the store. I take a second to check no one is nearby, this early in the morning, it’s unlikely, but with a gun jammed down the back of my wet suit, I can’t afford any attention.

I pull the gun out, smash the window at the back, and hold my breath as I wait for an alarm.

Thankfully, this is a tiny town, with only a few thousand residents, so the quaint army surplus store doesn’t have a security system.

I climb inside, carefully avoiding the broken glass on the floor. I release a breath as I see rack after rack of military-style clothing.

I make mental notes of how much each item costs as I find boots and cargo pants. I strip off the wetsuit and find underwear, thick socks, and dress as quickly as I can.

I pick up the wetsuit, and the sweater, then exit the store the way I came in.

Eyes on the vehicles parked along the tree-lined main street, I walk down the road, looking for one that’s unlocked.

Gun now wedged firmly against the small of my back and feeling warmer, and more prepared, I stop beside a compact Nissan and do a quick check before I ease the door open.

I check the sun visor and breathe a prayer as a set of keys fall into my lap. With a last look at the road and the still quiet houses, I start the engine and pull out.

I figure I have around an hour before the owner of either the car or the store report me.

I take a left and keep to the back roads rather than taking the highway. Green hills roll past me as I increase my speed.

I drive over winding roads until my eyes start to blur, and I know I’ve reached my limit.

When I see a rest area, I pull over and park under a tree and switch the engine off.

I lean my head back and close my eyes as I listen to the engine cooling.

Caught on the edge of sleep, my mind starts to drag my thoughts in directions I don’t want them to go in.

Too exhausted to fight them, and without Mia as a distraction, memory after memory slams painfully into me.

I wake with a start, heart thrashing against my rib cage as I see blue and red flashing lights behind me.

Shit. Shit. A cop is parked behind me, and a stocky patrolman is getting out.

My muscles are tense as he comes alongside the vehicle and motions for me to roll down my window.

Pulse thrumming and sweat starting to collect at the base of my spine, I release a breath and smile in his direction.

“Just a second,” I say.

My hand hovers over the window switch, but I have no intention of sticking around. He’s blocked my exit, but I can still get clear.

Before he can reply, I switch the ignition on and gun the engine. The car shoots forward just as he shouts and goes for his weapon.

With a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, I speed back out on to the highway at a breakneck pace.

I glance in my rear-view and have enough time to see him on his radio. If I hadn’t already decided to go back, this confirms it.

Every cop between here and Hollywood will be on alert. With a curse at my misfortune, I take the closest dirt road and take detour after detour as I search for another way into L.A.

I pull over, dust billowing around me and hopefully covering the license plate, as I grab the map.

I double-check the direction I’m heading, check the fuel and spin the wheel in the opposite direction.

The cop wasn’t looking for me. He was probably doing a routine check. I won’t get so lucky again.

I have one chance to get this right. Anyone recognizes me before I get inside, and I go straight to jail.

With every muscle knotted, I drive, clenching my jaw as the miles disappear between me and the city I’ve come to associate with nothing but pain.

I frown as haze distorts the buildings as I roll onto the highway. With every mile, every palm tree my anxiety cranks even higher until my heart is in my throat and sweat is trickling down my forehead.

I drive past the Beverly Hills sign, the manicured lawns of the mansions and too soon find myself back in my neighborhood.

I roll up to the gatehouse of the gated community I currently reside in, and the guard eyes me warily. I roll down the window and pull my shades down.

Recognition flashes across the security guard’s face. “Do me a favor, let me tell him I’m back,” I say.

He looks me over, then nods curtly. “Whatever you say, Mr. Cole.”

I force myself not to flinch at the reminder of who I am. My hands are trembling as he depresses the button to raise the barrier.

I nod, knowing he won’t listen to me and push the sunglasses back over the bridge of my nose and slowly drive towards the house.

My nerves amplify as I see my father’s BMW parked in the driveway.

I park beside him, put the handgun in the glove box, and take a moment to calm my breathing before I climb out of the car.

***

Mia

I’m bone-weary and yawning by the time we arrive in the city. Mark has barely spoken to me all the way home.

Aside from reminding me that I’ve been nothing but a pain in his ass. He pulls into a park and turns to look at me. “Just say what we rehearsed and everything will be fine.”

I swallow thickly, nerves increasing as he climbs out, and I see an officious looking man in a suit a tie stalking towards him.

I rub my eyes and realize it’s Jerry, the owner. I flinch as I climb out of the back seat, and his eyes find mine.

An uncertain smile twitches at his lips before he steps towards the concrete steps. “You’re feeling well enough to do this?”

And right there. I have an out. A way to avoid this until I’m not so exhausted.

“Um…” is all I get time to say before Mark shakes his head.

“She’s fine. The sooner she makes a statement, the sooner we can put in the claim.”

Jerry’s eyes narrow as he looks in Mark’s direction. “It could have waited until tomorrow. I’d already alerted the Rangers station. They’ll be searching the house and the woods behind—”

Mark’s face loses all color. “Why search the woods?”

Jerry nods slowly as I stare at Mark. Why on earth does he look so worried? “But they…”

Jerry inhales sharply and pulls Mark away from the bottom of the steps just as a uniformed officer appears. “What now,” Jerry hisses.

Mark’s eyes flick to me then he lowers his voice. “Remember that setup I had going on in college?”

I’m puzzled until Jerry’s brow knits, and his lips press together so tightly they turn bloodless. “You planted drugs on my property.”

Mark looks decidedly cagey as he stares over Jerry’s shoulder to the front of the police station. “But we can pin it on this guy though…if they search out that way, I mean.”

Jerry sucks in a breath. “You stupid little…”

His eyes shift to mine, and it’s obvious he’s restraining himself for my sake. “I need to consult my lawyer before making the report.”

I swallow, heat blazing around my body washing away and tiredness I felt. Mark glares at me like I’m the cause of all of this.

Jerry’s fists curl at his side before he slowly shakes his head. “I’ll send you the bill,” he says through gritted teeth.

With a final nod at me, he stalks away, leaving me standing with a fuming Mark.

He sends a glower in my direction and curls his lip. “Find your own way home, you stupid bitch.”

I’m still gaping when he stomps back to his car, yanks open the back door and tosses my bag on the road.

He gets in, slams the door shut, and reverses so fast his tires squeal.

Choking back my tears, and with shaking legs, I hurry to pick up my beat-up bag before someone runs it over.

I hug it to me and start to walk away before I realize I have no idea where I am, or how far away I am from Hyde Park.

I turn around, eyes on the station, and hope that I can find an officer willing to at least show me where the nearest bus stop is.

I push open the doors and find myself in a hive of activity. There is a line of people waiting to speak to the desk clerk, and all the seats have been taken.

With a heavy sigh, I find a space beside a TV mounted on a wall and lean against it.

The TV is so loud; it’s almost impossible to miss the news is coming on. I listen as I watch the people waiting impatiently.

I’m so tired; I’m sure I’m hearing things when the reporter's voice jars me to attention.

And now with an update on a story that’s close to home. We’re crossing live to Samantha Morgan, who’s outside the Lake Tranquillity Police Station.

What can you tell us about Zander Cole, Samantha?

Well, Bob, the Los Angeles Police Force have confirmed Zander Cole, former child star and son of legendary director Jacob Cole and his late wife actress and model Vanessa Chambers, has returned home.

In a statement issued a few minutes ago, Jacob Cole has praised the efforts of law enforcement for expending time and resources looking for Zander.

Zander Cole was last seen three days ago and was reported as being disorientated and behaving bizarrely.

Residents of Lake Tranquillity had previously been warned not to approach Zander Cole, and to report any suspicious activities to local police.

I’ll keep you updated, but it looks like Zander’s ongoing battle with drug addiction and mental health is far from over.

This is Samantha Morgan reporting live…

I stare up at the screen and see Zander’s mug shot filling half the screen. His eyes are wild, his hair is sticking out, and he looks every bit as crazy as they say he is.

I stare vacantly up at the screen as nausea starts to build in my stomach.

His name is still up. Under it, the words Former child star and son of director has been found glare at me.

My hands start to shake so violently, and my mouth runs dry.

This can’t be true. Can it? Mentally unbalanced? I never saw any of that.

I groan loud enough for a passing police officer to look me over. I fake a smile and lean back against the wall to reserve my place in line.

That he was a child star almost makes sense when little else about Zander did.

Was he imagining everything? Imagining someone was chasing him?

Could I have got it all so wrong? Did he receive those injuries running through the forest while running from imaginary foes?

And all his talk about Hollywood, and he never once mentioned he was the son of the director of some of the most influential movies of my childhood.

Why didn’t he say anything? I’m still baffled, annoyed he lied, and confused that I just met a genuine celebrity when I notice the line has shifted and I’m next.

But I’m no longer interested in getting home. I’m trying to figure out if I need to tell someone I saw him and that he took the gun with him.

I chew my lip as I try to convince myself I should come clean. I’ve almost at the window when my conscious pricks painfully at me.

But he was so desperate. So alone, and he was…more than an incredible lover. He was resourceful, a great cook, and he could catch and gut a fish.

None of those things I associate with a pampered child star.

But the obsession with wiping his fingerprints and his desire to take the gun do make him sound more than a little crazy.

The person in front is jangling her keys, about to walk away while I’m still not sure if I should tell anyone.

Do I owe him anything? More importantly, has he even done anything?

Whatever happened to him, whatever he thinks happened, he promised me he wasn’t a danger to me.

If anything, I think he was trying to protect me from whatever it is he thought was chasing him.

I release as shuddering breath as the space at the window is finally available. I swallow hard. Stare at the officer, and all I can see is Zander’s face.

But it’s not the face of a mad man I see. It’s the face of the man who treated me better than any other man ever has.

My mouth opens and closes as the man behind me starts to complain. But the officer’s blue eyes have narrowed, and she looks about ready to call for assistance.

I have to say something. I have to choose. But what difference can it make now?

Jerry can’t get his insurance. Mark will have to pay due to his own stupidity and Zander…Zander will still be running from whoever he thinks is after him.

Nothing I say now will change anything for the better. I exhale slowly and force my lips to tug into a smile.

I know I’ve made the right decision when I find the words tumbling from my mouth before I can stop them. “Um, I’m slightly lost. I’m trying to get back to Hyde Park. Could you point me in the right direction, please?”