Still, page 13
“I don’t want to make the same mistakes as before,” I whispered.
“We won’t,” he promised, one of his hands wrapped around me as the other palmed the back of my head. “We’ve learned.”
My eyes closed as his lips sealed over mine, and I knew—right then I knew—that I was ready to say yes to Walter Wainwright one more time.
Chapter Ten
“STOP smiling,” I ordered, shaking my head.
“I can’t help it. You’re staying.”
“We’ll see how it goes,” I said for the hundredth time. “Now tell me more about this party on Saturday. Your father is retiring?”
His eyes were all over me as he ate.
“Walter.”
“Do you know,” he said as the doorbell rang, “that you’re the only one who has never shortened my name.”
I did know that. “Are you expecting someone?”
“No,” he chuckled, getting up. “Why do you think that is?”
“What?”
“Why are you the only one who’s never shortened my name?”
“Because you’ve always been Walter to me and shortening your name never seemed right.”
“Oh yeah?” He was grinning. “Even in bed? Oh Walter, please Walter, harder Walter.”
“Get the door,” I growled. Infuriating man. “You’re supposed to be a grown-up. You’re a thousand-dollar-an-hour attorney, for crissakes!”
He was laughing as he reached the front door and opened it. There was no one there, though.
“What the hell?” he said and took a step outside on the porch.
Since the entire front of the house was a wall of windows, I should have been able to see him, and it was odd that I couldn’t. It was like he had stepped off the porch into the grass instead of staying on the path that led to the driveway. But that made no sense, especially since he would have been on the grass in his bare feet and the sprinklers had been on.
“Walter?”
Nothing.
The door was open, and all I could see was the Klein house across the street. Why wasn’t he… where was he?
“Walter,” I called, getting up, starting across the living room.
He was there suddenly, coming in, hands up.
“What’s—”
“Sivan,” the man behind him said, and I saw the gun.
Jesus.
Gary Peterson was in my home. The anger at seeing him nearly choked me.
“Get out of my house!” I screamed, instantly furious.
“Calm down,” he said, standing there in the doorway framed by the lights in the living room.
“Get out!” I roared, hands fisting, charging forward, running, almost to him.
“Make good choices,” he said levelly, lifting the gun higher, and I saw the threat then, what he was planning to do. The weapon wasn’t pointed at me. “Because it’s not you I’m going to kill.”
He still stood in the doorway, having moved no farther into the house. The handgun he was holding was not leveled at me—it was trained on Walter.
“Please,” I begged, stopping my advance. “Don’t hurt him.”
Gary tipped his head sideways, studying me. “I have to ask myself, what does it take to make Sivan Cruz stop smiling, stop laughing? What will it take to make you bleed like me?”
He was so ordinary in every way. Gary didn’t appear crazy, didn’t seem scary; he wasn’t handsome, but neither was he unattractive. I had hired him because he was talented, we had worked side by side, laughed and labored together, and now he was threatening the first man I ever loved, the only man I ever actually loved, and probably ever would. When my eyes flicked to Walter’s, I saw all his solid strength there, willing me to be calm.
“Please,” I said to Gary again.
“If I take him away, will I finally break you?”
“Don’t,” I said, taking a step forward, so close now, three or so feet separating us.
“I burned down your fucking apartment,” he sneered. “Your shit is gone and you’re okay. I took your life away today, and yet I followed you and you’re fine. I was watching you through your window and you’re laughing and smiling and… and then I see you kiss him.” He indicated Walter with the gun. “And I know now what I have to do.”
“Hurt me, not him.”
“I will hurt you,” he assured me, his voice rising. “Taking him will kill you, I know it will.”
And it would. Easily.
“Please no,” I rasped, shivering.
“You’re right,” Gary agreed abruptly, and the gun was on me. “It’s you I want gone.”
I had a moment of relief, only a second, before Walter was in front of me and I heard the shot.
“Walter!” I shrieked, the sound of terror clear in my voice.
He fell back into my arms, and I held on as his weight drove us both to the floor.
“Freeze!”
My head snapped up and I saw the lights, red and blue flashing from the street. The police were yelling over one another but still the orders were sharp and clear.
Drop the weapon!
Get on your knees!
Put your hands behind your head!
I didn’t look at Gary. I scrambled out from under Walter and curled over him, shielding him, my lips against his ear. “I love you, I love you so much.”
“I know.” He winced. “You’re just so fuckin’ stubborn.”
“Suspect is down!”
I lifted my head and saw the gun under one cop’s boot, Gary Peterson’s wrist under another officer’s, and yet another’s knee in the middle of my stalker’s back.
Apparently Gary Peterson, though homicidal, was not suicidal. He submitted to the swarm of law enforcement and didn’t move, his cheek pressed to the polished wooden floor of the entryway, completely immobilized. He was no threat to anyone anymore.
“Is there anyone else in the house, sir?” The question was directed at me.
I shook my head. “No.”
“Clear!”
I lifted off Walter and he groaned.
“Motherfucker.”
“Oh baby, please don’t die,” I gasped, terrified for him, ready to pull my T-shirt off.
“What are you doing?” he questioned irritably, reaching up to stop me.
“You’re bleeding! I’m gonna use my shirt to—”
“Go get a dishtowel,” he ordered sharply.
“Walter,” I argued. “You—”
“Like I want you half-naked in front of strangers!” he bellowed at me.
“I don’t want you to bleed to death!”
“I’m not going to bleed to death from a shoulder wound,” he groused.
Three officers were suddenly handing me things, two had towels and the third had a pot holder.
I grabbed the striped brown-and-black one, wadded it up, and shoved it against the bleeding hole in Walter’s shoulder.
“Fuck!” he snarled at me.
“Why would you do that?” I barked as I heard the ambulance siren in the distance. “Why would you step in front of me?”
“Why would you tell that psychopath to shoot you instead?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
I shook my head, tears welling in my eyes.
“You were so pissed that he was in your house.” He grinned up at me. “Did you hear yourself call it your house?”
“Walter—”
“And you were mad because why?” He chuckled as the paramedics arrived. “I’ll tell you why.”
I was moved out of the way as they went to work on him.
“Because you love me, that’s why! You can’t live without me! You worship the ground I walk on!”
He had lost too much blood.
“You’re crazy in love with me.”
“Is he drunk?” the first paramedic wanted to know.
I shook my head.
“You so love me!” he yelled.
“Is he on drugs?”
I started laughing.
“You’re desperately in love with me!”
“Yes, I am,” I confessed, my gaze locked with his.
“Yes, you are.” He smirked and passed out.
“Thank God,” the second paramedic said.
It was funny that the people trained to save lives found Walter Wainwright annoying.
“BASICALLY,” Detective Holcomb was saying as Detective Wu talked to some officers outside in our driveway, “Gary Peterson made you the scapegoat for his life, Mr. Cruz. We found a whole shrine to you at his home: pictures, things you probably discarded—Styrofoam cups, empty water bottles—and of course, the painting that he took from your—”
“My painting!” I was so excited. “He had that?”
“Yes,” the detective answered. “We need to hold it as evidence until he’s charged, but we’ll get it back to you as soon as we can.”
“Thank you.” I started to cry and I didn’t care who saw me.
“Mr. Cruz,” Holcomb coughed, “if you’re tempted to wonder why you, it’s best to realize that there really is no good reason. It might have been that one day when he was feeling bad, he saw you laughing or smiling or whatever and fixated on you. It’s obvious his obsession was going to culminate with an attempt on your life.”
“Okay,” I said, watching the paramedics load Walter into the back of the ambulance. “I need to go.”
“We found journals filled with stuff about you, Mr. Cruz. It’s clear that instead of concentrating his efforts on getting clean, paying back his massive debts, or finding a new job, he was focusing all that frustration on you because you fired him. That’s all this was. You shouldn’t blame yourself for any of it.”
I nodded and offered him my hand. He shook it, promised to be in touch, and left to rejoin his partner. I climbed up into the ambulance, and they closed the doors behind me.
I had to ask once more to be on the safe side. “You’re sure he’s going to be okay.”
“Yes,” the very young EMT reiterated for the seventh time. “I promise you, sir, he’s gonna be fine. The bullet had clear entry and exit, and it’s small caliber—maybe a .22—so we’re mostly worried about muscle damage, any bone fragments, things like that. We’re taking him to the hospital to make sure everything’s okay.”
“Then why did he pass out?”
“The rush of adrenaline can do that to some people, but I—oh, there you go.”
“Siv.”
Glancing down, I was swallowed in blue. “Oh God,” I exhaled, bracing myself on the gurney so I didn’t collapse on top of him. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“I’m fine.” He smiled lazily, reaching up to put a hand on my cheek. “I promise, not leaving you, not when I got you back.”
I nuzzled into his hand.
“Hey, how do you think the police knew to come?” Walter was interested.
The EMT scoffed and we both focused on him.
“Sorry, but come on, did you see all your neighbors outside?”
I was smiling. “Mrs. Klein or Mr. Moreau, Donny and Glynnis on the other side of us, Mrs. Hernandez in the back…. God, Walter, he’s right, we’ve got a bunch of nosy-ass neighbors who have always found us particularly interesting.”
He rumbled out a laugh. “Yes, they have, thank God.”
The tears came again without warning. “Shit.”
“Come here,” he growled, and the EMT did his best to ignore us as Walter put his one good arm around me.
I WAS flipping channels on Walter’s TV when the nurse came in, rolling a desktop with her on one of those small carts, to take some more information since they were planning to discharge him early the next morning. The bullet had torn through tissue but not bone, so there were no chips or shards or anything to worry about. He would still need to do physical therapy, but if you had to get shot, that was the way to do it.
She was funny, the nurse, Paula, asking Walter questions: his birthday—I had to correct the year—his medical insurance, which I had to remind him had changed.
“And who is this?” she inquired.
“My husband,” he said.
“Oh well, let me get your information in here too.”
“Walter,” I whispered. “I’m not really your—”
“Yeah, you are.”
“How?”
“Answer her.”
“Walter?”
“What’s your name, sir?”
“Walter.” I was insistent, wanting answers.
“Your name’s Walter too? That must make for interesting—”
“It’s Sivan,” he corrected her.
“Steven?”
“No, ‘Sivan’, it’s S-I-V—”
“What did you do?” I snapped.
“Oh!” The nurse started laughing nervously. “Should I maybe—”
“No, it’s fine,” he soothed as I got up and stalked over to the window.
He gave her all my information perfectly, explained that our marriage was not a domestic partnership but one fully sanctioned by the state of California, and that any and all medical decisions for him would be made by me. He related the story of how back in July of 2008, he had gotten down on one knee and proposed and had taken me to the courthouse the following day. All he had ever wanted, he explained, was to be married to me. But even with him being his regular charming self, making her oooh and ahhhh over his recollection, she still bolted out of there as soon as she could.
I was on him the second she walked out the door. “Explain.”
He cleared his throat. “I stopped divorce proceedings yesterday.”
“You what?”
“We were legally separated, but the divorce wasn’t final.”
“Yes, I know.”
His smile was luminous. “So because you slept with me, I called and stopped everything. It’s done.”
What?
“We’re no longer legally separated, you’re back to being mine.”
It was overwhelming. “Don’t I have to call my lawyer?”
“Your lawyer is Dorothy Chow,” he reminded me.
“Yes.”
“Yeah, she’s been my friend longer than she’s been your lawyer.”
“Walter!”
“What? She congratulated me on pulling my head out of my ass.”
“I—”
“Tomorrow I’m going to get our rings out of the safety deposit box. I want us both wearing them before we go to that party Saturday night.”
“Is that why you did all this?” My heart hurt. It couldn’t only be….
Walter had been shot and was currently hopped up on drugs, but he was in enough control to grab my wrist fast, before I could move away from the bed. “Don’t you dare,” he warned, his voice low. “I love you. I have always loved you, and am I excited to take you with me to finally meet my family—yes, I am. But not because I’m scared to show up there alone. You know me better than that.”
And I did.
“I want you with me. If you don’t want to go to the party, you don’t have to, but please, baby… put your ring back on for me.”
I was exhausted. “Walter.”
He gestured me down to him. “Don’t leave me.”
“You’re like a force of nature, you know that?”
“Yeah, I know,” he agreed, taking hold of my hand, squeezing gently. “So?”
“So?”
“Ring?” he asked hopefully.
It wasn’t a chore. It wasn’t something I was being pressured into, and it would be my immense joy to be married to Walter again. When he had first dragged me into his life, into the warm, cozy cocoon it became with him and his children—now just as much my children—it had been a done deal for my heart.
“We’ll go get them, you and me.”
His brows pinched together. “I know I push, but I—mmph.”
I’d bent and kissed him, hard enough to cut off his words, my tongue pushing inside his mouth, quelling the remainder of his argument. When I finally let him breathe, he was panting and his eyes were glazed.
“You want me?”
“I want you.” I made sure he knew, so we were on equal footing. He couldn’t be the one needing me more, or thinking he was. He had to know I was in it too.
His smile blinded me. “Kiss me again.”
I noticed as I took his mouth that his cheek was wet.
Chapter Eleven
BRENNAN WAINWRIGHT’S retirement/winter holiday celebration for his company, Barrett and Reed, was at the Fairmont, which, from what I understood, was one of the most beautiful and expensive hotels in the city. I was sure it was, but the only thing I knew about the Fairmont was that the Tonga Room & Hurricane Bar was there. I had been many times and loved it. I was reminding Walter of the last time we had been there as we made our way to the Venetian Room, where the party was being held.
I was wearing my new black Hugo Boss suit with a red dress shirt underneath and a sleek black and red tie. Walter’s Dior suit fit him like a glove, the navy, as usual, setting off his eyes. Once we were inside, a waiter appeared to give us each a glass of champagne.
“What are you doing?” Walter asked before taking a sip from the flute.
“Seeing if I can pick out your father,” I informed him, downing the glass in one gulp and placing it on the tray of the next waiter who walked by seconds later. He very graciously offered me a new one, which I quickly took.
“Why?”
“I’m gonna kick his ass.”
He choked on his champagne. “Siv!”
“What?”
Walter was laughing as his hand closed on the back of my neck, and he massaged gently, sliding his thumb slowly over my skin. “I’m so proud to have you with me.”
“Are you in any pain?”
“No, baby, no pain.”
I suddenly grinned wide. “How cute were the kids on the phone today?”
“Yeah, they wanted us back together. It was very sweet.”
“Be nice if people spoke up in this family.”
He shrugged. “Actions speak louder than words.”
“Do they?” I winced. “Do they really?”
“Kiss me.”
