Among the Echoes (Wrecked and Ruined #2.5)(19)

I crack the door to find that prick from last night holding a drink carrier containing two large coffees. Before I have a chance to slam the door in his face, he slides a foot inside, braces a hand against the top, and says, "We need to talk, Slate." He says my name as if it were a threat, and it only serves to enrage me. The smile on his swollen face has me wanting to reopen every single wound Riley no doubt closed last night.

"I have nothing to say to you," I respond, looking down at his foot, silently ordering him to remove it or lose it.

He smiles wider while stepping even closer to the door. "Maybe not. But there are a few things you should know about Riley and her past."

I watch him for a minute, trying to figure out what the hell to do. I know I should close the f*cking door, pack up, and head to my apartment in Chicago. I should chalk this place up as a loss and never look back. But instead, I open the door and usher him inside. Hopefully, I can get some answers about the small woman I can’t seem to stop worrying about.

"Good choice. My next move was calling the tabloids to let them know where you were hiding."

"I’m not paying you off to keep quiet if that’s where you are trying to go with this," I say firmly. I love it here, but not enough to give him a single cent.

He begins to chuckle and shake his head. "I’m not trying to blackmail you. So can you tone it down a notch? Let’s talk."

"Right. Talk." I motion away the coffee he pushes toward me.

With a shrug, he puts the drink on the table then flops down on the couch. "Well okay then," he says, propping his hands behind his head and crossing his legs at the ankles, making himself completely at home. Fucking dick. "Riley is my cousin. Our moms were sisters and we were both only children. I think of her like my sister."

"Get to the point," I growl to speed him up so I can kick his ass out and hopefully catch the next flight to Chicago. I can’t imagine that this is going to have a positive ending. A retreat to my apartment in the Windy City is inevitably in my future.

"She’s had a shit past. Her last boyfriend beat the shit out of her. I, in turn, beat the shit out of him, which didn’t make him too happy. So we moved here to get away. So yes, Riley is always afraid, but it’s not of me."

"You know, you two are spending an exorbitant amount of time trying to convince me of this. I honestly don’t give a shit anymore. Your life is just that—yours. I’m glad I was there for her last night, but consider that the end of my part in that f*cked-up situation." I don’t flat out lie. I would love some answers about what is really going on with them, but I’m not trying to insert myself into their shit. I just want to make sure she’s safe.

I can’t close my eyes without being consumed by the images of her shaking and crying. I need to get out of here, but I sure as hell can’t just walk away without being sure nothing else will harm her. It’s not that I’m on some f*cked-up savior mission now. I just want to do for her what I wish someone had done for my mother all those years ago.

"See, that is what I was hoping for too. But I got a phone call this morning from a buddy of mine informing me that someone was looking into my background." He quirks a knowing eyebrow at me. "You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you, Slate?"

"I have no clue what you are talking about, Leo." I sling his name back at him, and he reacts as if someone lit him on fire.

He flies to his feet and closes the distance between us. "Shut the f*ck up!" He steps up into my face with a challenge.

"Oh, so it’s okay for you to toss my name around like a God damn cussword, but I can’t say yours at all?" I grin, leaning in even closer.

"It’s not my f*cking name. It’s a nickname she used to call me when we were kids. And it means painful things to both of us now," he explains, and there’s an odd tinge of pleading underneath his angry tone.

I think back on the night before and remember the way she called him Leo when she freaked out initially, but the second she calmed down, she immediately went back to calling him Dave. I'm starting to believe that there might be some truth to his words.

I exhale a frustrated sigh. "What the f*ck do you want from me? Why are you here and telling me all of this? I don’t know you. We’re not friends. We just happen to share a wall between our apartments. Can we go back to that?" I step away, just wanting this bullshit to end.

I’m supposed to be here relaxing and winding down after months of rigorous training. I’m supposed to be experiencing my calm, but instead, I’m shoving my nose into places it doesn’t belong all in an effort to be some sort of knight in shining armor to a woman who may or may not need to be rescued. Maybe I’m just making this whole thing harder for her by asking questions. No one wants to relive their abuse, and definitely not in front of a stranger.

"I won’t expose who you are, Slate. Not even to her. But I’m going to need you to back off your little search into our past. I know about your mother." His words have me stepping right back into his face. "So I completely understand where you are coming from with this. But I promise, your digging up the past won’t help her. I’m trying to help her move forward, not backwards."

We stare at each other for a few minutes, neither one of us willing to back down. Finally, he turns on a heel and heads to the door, pausing just before he leaves.