So you could lay with the stars
But we’re out of time, little bunny
I’ve fallen too far . . . too far
When he comes, he grips my thigh so hard and thrusts so deep that I feel like he may break my body in two. It’d be fitting. Those desolate words, the pained look on his face as he rides out his orgasm, the small, single tear that rolls down his cheek . . . he’s already demolished my heart.
I came here tonight to say goodbye. To get Ransom Reed out of my system for good. And now that it’s done, and I feel more connected to him than ever, I know that I made a grave mistake. One that will cost me everything.
Chapter Twenty-nine
I wake up the next morning alone with an unfathomable sense of urgency that I can’t shake. Something isn’t right. I can feel it inside me, churning like hot lava in my gut. I text Tamara to see if everything’s ok. I shoot Caleb a message to inform him of my plans to send Ransom back to the city. Then I hit up a travel agent to arrange the next step.
As much as it pains me, I have to get Ransom out of my life. Permanently. I fell for him . . . fell for him hard and quick and so completely. And if I’m going to stick to my word and try to make things right with Tucker, I have to let him go. It’s not right of me to hold on to him just so I can play with him like a toy. I saw it on his face last night, even in the haze of orgasm. I’m hurting him. I’m hurting my husband. And when it’s all said and done, I’m hurting myself. And while the immediate sting of letting go has me texting through tears, I know that this is the only chance of recovery.
Tucker still isn’t back by the time I’ve dried my tears and finished my calls, so I decide to click on the TV to busy my mind. I flip through the channels until I land on another late 90s favorite of mine—Cruel Intentions. Sarah Michelle Gellar’s character Kathryn was the epitome of devious debutante and Sebastian, played by Ryan Phillippe, was the wayward boy who never felt whole, no matter how many girls he slept with. Until he met her, of course. Wholesome, kind, virginal. Annette was the good one, sent to mend Sebastian’s brokenness and show him how to love. And even though he was a complete asshole in the beginning, you wanted him to be with the good girl, even though he may not have deserved her. You hoped that maybe she could make him good too.
But as the movie came to its climax, we saw that trying to conform—trying to steal that slice of happiness when it wasn’t meant for you—only got you hurt. So why was it even worth trying at all? When all people would ever see was the defect in you?
I look at my cell phone and instantly think of Ransom, wondering if he’s watching the same movie. If he can identify with Sebastian the playboy, or maybe he even feels like Selma Blair’s character, Cecile. He didn’t know what he was getting into. He didn’t realize what he had signed up for when he invited us back to his suite. It was just to be one night of fun. One naughty tryst between consenting adults. And now look at us.
I don’t know how we got here. But I know we can’t continue any further.
I snatch up my phone and text him, asking him if he received the flight info the travel agent should have forwarded to him more than hour ago. No response. I text him again, asking him if he’s ok. Again, nothing.
That same feeling of dread sets in and grows until I’m almost choking on it. I knew it when I saw him in the music room. I felt it last night in Justice’s playground. I had seen that same hopelessness reflected in those dark eyes before. Yet, once again, I didn’t ease his discord. I didn’t give him what he needed.
I get to the door of the Temptation room to find that it’s ajar. I can hear The Verve’s “Bitter Sweet Symphony” blaring from the TV, the same song that I was just listening to as Kathryn was publically exposed and ostracized at her stepbrother’s funeral by none other than sweet, non-suspecting Annette, played by a cutesy Reese Witherspoon.
“Ransom?” I call out, pushing open the door. “Hey, it’s Heidi. Did you get my text?”
I don’t see him anywhere and the bathroom door is wide open and empty. The room is a mess, pillows and blankets strewn across the floor, cushions turned over, as if someone was frantically looking for something. At first glance, nothing looks out of place, aside from the disheveled linens. But when I walk over to the other side of the bed, my heart stops. Completely flatlines with shock and horror.
Several opened prescription pill bottles, most of them empty. A half-drunk bottle of Jack. Ransom had been popping pills—a lot of them. And considering how much he took, I’m positive it’s more than any person should be able to survive. I pick up a bottle to get a better look, recognizing some of them as antidepressants, antianxiety meds, even a mood stabilizer.
I’m Googling the uses for Androcur, when an even more shocking realization causes me to drop the bottle, scattering pills across the floor. Right there, next to the field reserved for the prescribing doctor, it states DuCane, Tucker J.
No. That can’t be right. But every bottle reiterates the same.
DuCane, Tucker J.
DuCane, Tucker J.
DuCane, Tucker J.
Tucker prescribed these pills to Ransom.
Tucker is Ransom’s doctor.
Ransom is Tucker’s patient.
I cover my mouth with a trembling hand, unable to grasp what I’m seeing—what I should have seen all along. It wasn’t a coincidence. None of this was. They knew each other. My husband and my lover, they knew what they were doing.
I walk backward out of the room and scurry to the safety of mine as quickly as I can, and plow right into a hard chest covered in white linen. I’d know the feel of him anywhere. Could identify his masculine, fresh scent blindfolded in a room full of men. Yet, I couldn’t see Tucker for what he truly is. The puppet master. He wasn’t sweet, loving Annette as I initially thought. He was Kathryn. My husband is the scheming, conniving control freak.
He closes the door without saying a word, even though he can clearly see the disbelief etched in my wide, unblinking eyes. He’s perfectly calm like always. Perfect, impassive guise without even a hint of discontent. And that pisses me off.
“You.” It’s the only word that I trust myself with right now. “You. It was you all along. You did this. You wanted this. And in the back of my mind, I knew. I just didn’t want to see it. I didn’t want to believe you were this . . . monster. The first night when we met him . . . I remember thinking that you never introduced yourself. You never told him your name. And the way you damn near pushed me into his bed. You wanted me to be with him. Why?”
Tucker sits on the edge of the bed and shakes his head. “No, baby. That was what you wanted. I just facilitated it. You needed something that I couldn’t give you. And I knew he could—he would. So while I may have given you the gun, I never made you pull the trigger. No, my love. You did that all on your own.”
“But he’s your patient, Tucker! He needs help! Not to be manipulated!”
“What makes you think I’m not helping him? You think I couldn’t be helping both of you right now?”
I shake my head in disbelief, refusing to accept what’s happening. Tucker was the mastermind. Tucker used Ransom, told him things about me, told him how to seduce me. And I fell for it. Maybe Tucker wasn’t manipulating Ransom. Maybe he’s Sebastian and they were in on this plan the whole time? To seek out the girl and break her down. Make her fall in love. Then crush her like brittle, paper-thin petals of a preserved rose.
“I knew it . . . I knew it when I heard it,” I stammer, thinking out loud as I try to put the pieces together. “When he sang . . . he called me little bunny. You told him all about me, didn’t you? The rape? My sexual deviances? You told him!”