Chapter Thirty-Five
Patrick stormed down the hallway toward the hotel gym.
What the actual fuck had just happened?
He used his hotel room card to enter the small gym, grabbed a towel and a bottle of water from the entryway, and headed straight for the elliptical machine.
He chose a pre-programmed HIIT routine, probably a mistake given the extent of his bruising, but he was past caring. He needed something else to throb besides his broken heart.
He ignored the television. He cranked up the volume on his earbuds to drown out the panting of the middle-aged gentleman next to him, and the even breathing of the toned twenty-year-old with the long brunette ponytail across the room. She had looked at him as he had entered. That woman he had never met, who was pretty and nubile, had eyed him from her peripheral vision, was eyeing him now as he started moving on the machine.
If that random woman wanted him, why didn’t Anita?
A crush of grief flashed through him, so he subjugated it into the ache of his muscles. Which was both a good idea and an incredibly bad one. How was he ever going to compete tonight if walking at a level four was making him wish he had an oxygen mask? Patrick slowed the pace on the machine to give his ribs a bit of a break.
He was an idiot. A true and complete idiot, and not just for forgetting to take ibuprofen before storming out of the room.
Blog post idea about all the ways he sucked: First, he had gotten into that ridiculous brawl with Mikhail, which he regretted more and more as the pedals on the elliptical moved faster and faster. And then, just when he thought he was broken and would never be whole, Anita had asked him to unzip her dress. How could he have resisted touching her? He had been imagining that moment for over a decade, and every scent, every touch, every part of her was better than he had ever imagined.
He had been mesmerized at the proximity of her skin, the way she had responded to him. Even now, trying to sweat out his anger and frustration, he could remember the addictive heat that had grown between them. Being together with her like that, it had finally been his way out of the Friend Zone, his one chance to prove to her that they belonged together, that he did love her. And last night, with her hair strewn out across his chest and her body in his arms, it had felt like she understood. Like she wanted it, too.
But she hadn’t.
The HIIT program on the elliptical cranked up the speed to six. Patrick tried to move with it, but the incline was too steep, and the bruises on his back screamed for him to slow down. Now he was a failure at this, too.
After everything they had been through, she had reduced that monumental night to a mistake. A mistake.
Though he tried usually to be as steadfast and honorable as possible, there was a brittle and shattered part of his psyche that wanted to spite her. Leave now, head home, abandon her before the competition tonight. Hell, his bruised ego wanted to move away from Lewis, maybe out to California or overseas, shut her completely out of his life.
Not that it had worked when he went to New York. He had seen her everywhere. Buying a blue cup of bad coffee from a stand, running down the steps to the subway to catch her train, turning up the collar of her coat against the wintry chill of the city. He had tried to escape her before. He had tried dating other women, but he had realized quickly how futile and empty it made him feel, trying to learn someone new when all he wanted was back home in Lewis.
Maybe he had not run far enough. Mozambique was supposed to be nice.
The brunette was finishing her program. She pertly checked her fitness tracker as she walked, then cast him a shy smile when she caught his eye. The middle-aged man huffing along next to him was also staring unabashedly at the brunette and seemed disappointed that she would not meet his eyes and his reddened face.
“I feel you, bro,” he whispered.
His phone buzzed. A text from Anita.
—can we talk??—
He had pined for Anita long enough. He had prioritized her over his own work, his own needs, his own life. He had needed a kick in the pants, and this was it.
Breathing more heavily as the HIIT program hit eight with a hill, he reached out and deleted Anita’s text before slowing the program back to a four.
California wouldn’t be far enough. Maybe Fiji.
****
“Hello.” John Flaherty answered the cell phone with one hand. He had the other around Katie, who was perusing a wedding magazine and showing him items she swore they needed for their ceremony and reception. Did anyone really need eight-foot-tall centerpieces sparkling with diamanté?
“Hi, Deputy Connell, Scranton P.D. Just calling in with an update.”
John could hear the grind of police work behind the other officer. He stood from the couch, held up a finger toward Katie to indicate he wouldn’t be more than a moment, then stepped out into the hallway. He hooked one thumb through the belt loops of his jeans as he leaned against the hideous 1970s wallpaper. Personally, he thought they should spend the money on repainting their house instead of huge floral centerpieces.
“Thanks for calling me back.”
“So we found the car, and the guy was inside. Templeton, right?”
John felt his pulse quicken. “Yeah, Mark Templeton. Can you tell me what happened?”
“Keep it on the DL, but he was shot from behind. Looks like the perpetrator was sitting in the seat behind him, fired straight through his headrest. We’ll know more once we get the report from the M.E.”
John let out a low whistle. “Poor guy. Any leads?”
“Not yet. Crime scene unit’s out there now processing the scene. Did find some long hairs, likely female, but can’t confirm until CSU finishes their analysis.”
“Interesting,” John replied. That itch scratched at the back of his mind again.
“Is the wife blonde?”
“Yeah. So are a few others that may have been involved.”
“Again, it’s not the most specific clue. And sloppy, too, of the perp to leave it. Could be the wife’s, after all.”
“Right, thanks. Well, keep me posted. I’ll let the sheriff know, too.”
“Sounds good. Have a good day.”
John hung up and immediately called Sheriff Forbes to update her that they’d found the body. He told her his suspicions as well.
“Whoever’s been stalking Patrick and Anita hasn’t always been the wiliest criminal, either,” Sheriff Forbes remarked after John had given her the rundown. “Leaving hair at a murder scene isn’t their first strike. I’ll bet there’s a lot more DNA in that car, too. Sounds like someone likely to make mistakes, be emotional, impetuous. Stalkers escalate, especially if they’re provoked.”
“That sounds like a dangerous combination.”
“Yes,” she replied crisply. “Maybe warn your friends if you haven’t already.”
****
Patrick left the hotel gym an hour later, drenched in sweat, his bruised body aching terribly. He downed the rest of the bottle of water in the hallway while waiting for the elevator, while trying to convince himself it did not make the lift come any sooner if he pressed the button repeatedly. It was just so tempting, though.
“Oh, hey, Patrick,” a soft voice purred beside him.
Startled, he lost his laser focus on the elevator buttons. “Kim?” he asked, confused.
Kim stood before him in a thin white cardigan and dark-purple leggings. She had her dyed-blonde hair pulled back from her face in a high ponytail. Similar to Anita’s. How long had she been standing there?
“Hi,” she replied quietly.
Where was the damn elevator? His phone buzzed in his pocket. It might be Anita. Fuck if it was Anita.
He ignored it.
She pointed at the buzzing sound in his pocket. “Important call?”
“Nope.” Yeah, he could do this. Life without Anita. Life with a massive hole in his heart. “Not right now, I guess.”
She turned to face the elevator with him, standing just a hair’s breadth too close. Patrick felt suddenly ashamed that he wasn’t being politer. “I’m sorry, you startled me.” He flashed a quick smile. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“Oh!” She seemed to open up, a smile broadening across her face. She did have pleasant features, he supposed. A bit sharp around the eyes, but overall she could be quite pretty if she hadn’t tried to copy Melanie Templeton to a T. The style just didn’t suit her. “Well, you know, there were posters for this all over the studio, and I’ve never been to a ballroom dance competition before. It sounded so exciting!”
“Yeah, it’s a lot of fun.” What was Anita doing? Maybe he should try talking to her again. A lot of people said things they might not necessarily mean when they were tired or stressed out. God knew they had been through a lot the last few weeks.
His phone buzzed again.
“Are you competing today?” Kim was asking, staring at him.
She had somehow unbuttoned the top three buttons of her cardigan when he wasn’t paying attention. “Tonight, yes. Actually, that’s where I’m headed. Have to meet Anita for practice.”
A shade fell over her features but just as quickly disappeared. “That’s great. You two dance really well together. I saw the showcase last night.”
He smiled back at her. “Thanks.” He paused, still wondering where the goddamn elevator was. Oh, Kim was still there, too. “So, what about you?”
“I was going to get something to eat and then watch the show, but then I tried to open my suitcase, and the zipper is broken! Can you imagine? So I was going to go find a locksmith or something—”
His phone buzzed again while she was talking, and he tried to remove it from his pocket as incognito as he could. A text from John Flaherty.
—call me ASAP. —
Patrick shoved the phone back in his pocket, as now Kim was gesticulating. He had already been so rude.
“—so anyway, that’s where I’m headed,” she concluded.
“That sounds rough.”
“Hey, do you, like, know anything about that?” Kim asked. She tossed the long ponytail over her shoulder so it fell over her back. It reminded him of Anita.
Get her out of your head. She doesn’t want you.
“About?”
“Well, zippers and suitcases and the like.” She laughed, gesturing to her clothes. “I mean, I’ve been wearing this since last night, if you can imagine.”
No, no, he definitely did not want to imagine that. “Um, I mean, I guess so.” I mean, I had done just fine last night when Anita’s zipper was stuck…
He shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably, suddenly far too warm. His brain was a traitor. Maybe he could go to Mexico and get some sort of illegal brain and heart transplant.
Her smile lit up her entire face, and she grabbed his arm. “Perfect! Oh, thank you! It would mean so much to me!”
She continued to babble as she led him away from the elevator and down the hallway. What was happening? He did not want to offend her. She and Melanie were regular clients at the studio. Losing them would mean a loss for Anita.
Still chattering, her nails now firmly digging into his arm, she opened the door to a hotel room and led him inside.
“Kim.” The hackles on the back of his neck raised. “I don’t know—”
But that was all he could say before she pressed a cloth to his face, and he collapsed sideways onto the bed.