She finally plugged her phone into the auxiliary outlet and just listened to the Hostage for Ransom album she’d downloaded. His voice comforted her, sang her the rest of the way home.
When the tear-filled drive from her parents’ house to Dallas ended, her heart landed in limbo. Wrecked and ravaged, it remained listlessly between a state of perpetual sadness for the mother she never knew—the one who’d ultimately lost her life because she’d felt she had nowhere to go—and hopefulness. Because she’d decided to ask her parents not to sell the ranch. She had plans for it.
As much as the unveiled truths had stung in sensitive spots she’d never known existed, they had also shown her something she would’ve struggled to believe otherwise.
Van loved her. And she loved him. What they had was more than lust and more than sexual gratification. It was deeper and sturdier than she’d realized, and at the moment, he was all she could think about.
She practically flew on two legs to his door, unable to wait for him to do the wonderfully exhilarating things he did to her. She had pain and anguish and heartbreak to work out, and she wanted to work it out with him inside her, giving her immeasurable pleasure. Giving her him.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Van glared at the alarm clock on his nightstand. It was a few minutes shy of four o’clock in the morning. So why in the actual fuck was someone knocking on his door?
Judging from what Jesse Ramirez had said, it was likely they were there to toss his ass out.
He stumbled to the door, pulling it open and preparing to bitch out whoever had woken him.
Stella stood on his doorstep, looking both beautiful and exhausted.
“What’d the doctor say?” The question burst from his lips instead of a greeting. Wasn’t really all that surprising since it had been beating his brain to death since the moment he’d heard she’d gone to see one.
She smirked. “He said lay off the rough sex for a while before we break me.”
It was obvious from her demeanor that she’d meant it in jest. She was joking. But the truth was that he’d already figured out the same thing. He would inevitably hurt her, like Jesse had so helpfully pointed out. He only had a few weeks left here. Then he’d return to his life. Meanwhile she wouldn’t have much of one to return to if they kept this up.
“She’s risking a hell of a lot being with you.”
The veterinarian’s words rang in his ears. No shit. And he already knew he wasn’t worth the risk. What was he going to do? Pop back into rehab every time he needed a rough fuck? Drag her off into the world of groupies and drugs and his insanity?
“I’m kidding,” she said, eyeing him warily. “Well, mostly. But I missed you. And I was hoping we could—”
“Hoping we could what, cowgirl? Fuck really quick on my floor a few more times before I check out?”
She recoiled, flinching back with a mask of wounded shock on her beautiful face. The hurt in her eyes shot him like daggers to the chest.
“Yeah, Van. I’m big on risking everything for quick fucks on floors. Congratulations. It was your turn to take a shot. Guess I’ll move on to the next contestant.”
He nodded, forcing himself to pretend to agree. “Good idea. I’ll do the same. I’m pretty sure there’s a blonde around here somewhere who’s been waiting in the wings behind you.”
A shudder jerked her shoulders visibly forward. The sharp intake of breath to replace the one he’d obviously stolen was audible. His words had caused her physical pain. He hadn’t meant to take it that far. There had to be a better way to end it than this. She’d just caught him unprepared in the middle of the night.
“Dammit. Wait.” He reached for her arm but she backed out of reach, glaring at him as if she’d finally realized what a horrific son of a bitch he actually was.
“No, you’re right.” Her eyes lifted to the night sky and she shook her head as if she expected it to fall down around her. “I don’t know what I was thinking. God, I’m so stupid. I mistook this for something completely different.” She stared at him like he was a stranger, making what looked like a valiant effort not to cry. He watched her wounds turn rancid, transforming pain to anger. “Oh well. It was fun while it lasted. Hope you enjoyed your vacation from your demanding life as a poor, pitiful rock star.”
Now it was his turn to wince. That shit hurt. She knew why he was here, what had led him to this.
“Oh, I did. Very much, thank you.” He leaned on his doorframe for support as she ran from him, dragging his beaten, bloody heart behind her.
He wanted to chase after her. But it was better this way. For her at least.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Miranda had given her two armfuls of work to keep her busy. And made her promise to come out for drinks soon. She knew she looked like hell.
She hadn’t slept or eaten much at all. She just kept replaying his words, the dead stare in his eyes, the brutality in his voice. Her brain was stuck in an endless loop, replaying her last interaction with Van Ransom.
She settled in at her desk, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand—transcribing documentation for more recorded therapy sessions. She had to listen to the first few seconds of each recording to find out the patient’s name, date, and session number so she could place it in the right spot on the digital record. It was pretty tedious, but needed to be done. After over an hour of organizing the recorded sessions, she was starting to fade. Until Miranda’s monotone voice on the recording said his name.
“Session number thirteen for client Vander Ames Ransom. Client Alias: John Walker.”
As Miranda read the date, Stella’s heart faltered then sped in her chest until she felt like it had relocated itself to her temples.
Okay, Stella. That’s all you needed to hear. Tag the file and save it to the list. Then move on.
But she waited, listened to Miranda greet him and ask him how he was feeling. She asked all the same questions on the checklist. She wondered how many times a day he got asked those questions. No wonder he’d found alternate ways to answer them for her.
His deep voice was low. Haunted. It filled her headphones, but it might as well have been filling the room. It raked over her, dragging her down into the memories of his warmth and weight pressing onto her, into her. Her arms ached to wrap around him, to hold him as he released the heavy burdens he carried inside her.
“Mr. Walker, as we discussed in our previous session, you hear things. Hear the sounds from your childhood and of that day coming back to you. Can you expand on that for me a bit?”
“I’m not sure what there is to expand on. My sister was abused. I couldn’t protect her. She killed herself.”
Killed herself? Stella clamped a hand over her mouth at his admission. She didn’t want it to be true. It hurt so badly, especially after what she’d said. She’d known his sister was dead, but this was agony, hearing his sweet strained voice reliving the details. She listened as he continued his solemn story.
“When I’m sober, certain things trigger the memory of her body being pulled from the river. Sometimes a roadie will drop a piece of equipment and I’ll remember the way the chains sounded clanking together as they lowered them into the water. Gears grind backstage, and I see them pulling her out. Or the silence gets too loud, like it did as soon as I saw her bruised, bloated body lying in the grass.”