Lost and Found (Twist of Fate #1)(93)

“Bennett?” I whispered, even as the relief began to flood my system all at once.

“Aid?” Bennett said. There was a shuffling sound, and I heard another voice in the background.

Xander… Bennett’s boyfriend. “It’s Aiden,” Bennett said. To me, my friend groused, “Dude, it’s the middle of the night.”

I glanced at the clock and saw that it was just after three in the morning. Fuck, I hadn’t even thought about what time it was. All I’d cared about was knowing my friend was okay… that it really had been a fucked-up dream.

“What’s wrong?” Bennett asked. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” I said as I scrambled to think of something to explain the call. “I… I…”

“Jesus, Aid, tell me you’re not drunk dialing me again. Who’s the guy?”

“No one,” I quickly said. “Just that bouncer from Club Red,” I lied. “He is a screamer like we thought,” I added.

I could practically see Bennett rolling his eyes at me. “You think you can save the Who Did Aiden Fuck Last Night show for another time?”

My chest felt tight as I nodded and murmured, “You bet. Tell Ranger Rick to fuck you back into oblivion.”

“Ass,” Bennett muttered, but I heard the humor in his voice.

“Night, Bennett.”

“Hey, Aid?”

“Yeah?”

“You sure you’re okay?”

I felt the backs of my eyes stinging, but I managed to stem the tears. Tears were for the weak. “My ears are still ringing but the screamer can suck cock-”

Bennett hung up on me before I could finish my sentence. My phone buzzed a second later with a text.

Ass. Night. Talk to you tomorrow.

I smiled and put the phone down before climbing out of bed. I knew there was no way I was going to be able to get back to sleep, so I took a shower and changed into a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. I grabbed my running shoes, phone, and earbuds and left the building, nodding at my doorman as I went. I spent the next two hours running through Central Park.

Once I got back to my apartment, I worked out for another hour in the building’s gym, and only then felt settled enough to try to get on with my day. I took my time showering and getting dressed before going to my computer to pull up the file on the potential client I was meeting with this morning. The guy was an up-and-coming star quarterback for the New York Jets, and signing him would be a coup for the PR firm I ran with my older brother, Chase. While we were doing relatively well, considering our business was still in its infancy, signing a client like Roger “The Rocket” Flynn would put us in a whole new stratosphere, and the potential new business we could garner would be astronomical.

I spent the next hour studying the detailed file I’d put together on the man, and then grabbed my laptop and phone and jammed them into my bag. It took about thirty minutes to fight the morning rush hour traffic and get to my favorite coffee shop. The little specialty cafe was out of my way when it came to getting to my office, but it was worth the extra twenty minutes I had to build into my schedule.

The place was a zoo when I arrived, but that wasn’t unusual. As I entered the door, a man bumped my shoulder coming out. He mumbled a soft apology, but before I could respond, he was hurrying down the sidewalk, and all I saw was a head of dark hair and hunched frame as he dug his hands in his pockets.

Once inside the small space, I got in line and waited until I’d caught the eye of the regular barista working the espresso machine. She sent me a bright smile and nodded her head. Although I couldn’t cut the line, I knew Jenny would have my drink waiting at the register by the time I got up there. I scanned the shop briefly as I began searching my bag for my phone. My eyes fell on one of the few empty tables near the line. A red leather journal was sitting on one of them. As the line slowly moved forward, I waited for the owner to show up to claim it, but when no one did, I reached for it as I passed the table, intending to hand it over to the cashier.

My eyes skimmed over the well-worn journal and caught on the raised initials in the lower right-hand corner.

A.V.

My initials.

The oddity intrigued me and I opened the journal up to skim it for a full name. There was nothing in the front cover so I began flipping to the back cover, but stopped when my eyes caught on a rough sketch. A chill went through my body at the sight of the drawing.

It was of the ocean.

A violent, turbulent ocean with huge waves. I could make out what looked like a small figure drawn into the base of one of the waves. Was it… was it a person, struggling to keep their head above water?

No, it couldn’t be. It was probably just how the artist had shaded the water.

Aiden… I’m sorry.

My nightmare, which I’d worked so hard all morning to forget, came back with a vengeance. My eyes fell to the words written just below the drawing.

Ocean tears slide down my face, Instead of my own

Which are long gone-

Dried up by the sheer number of times

I’ve taken this dive.

The truth: It isn’t a dive.

It never was.

It is a push, a shove.

A scrambling for purchase.

A betrayal.

Over and over again, Into the cold bitter depths

I plunge.

How I forget-