“The boss needs you,” Bruno says, or rather, repeats. That’s all he or Allen have been saying since they broke into my house before dawn this morning and manhandled me into the limo. Okay, carried—and rather delicately, really, considering I’m getting so fat.
“And I told you, I doubt Roman would want me anywhere near him. Whatever is going on, you need to find someone else to help him,” I respond, not bothering to ask what in the world he needed me for, since they haven’t answered the other hundred times I’ve asked.
Silence.
I didn’t expect anything else. It’s evening now and, except for a few quick stops for restroom and food breaks, we’ve driven all day. In fact, I figure in an hour I’ll be at Roman’s house. With each mile that we travel, my nerves and panic kick up. When we turn into Roman’s private driveway, I can literally taste my fear.
“Allen, please don’t do this. Take me back home.”
“Sis, Roman—”
“I don’t want him to keep me because he knows I’m pregnant, Allen. I deserve better than that,” I tell him, and then it hits me. “Oh, God. Is that it, Allen? Does Roman know I’m pregnant and wants to take my baby?” My hand goes to my stomach, wrapping around it as if to protect him from the unknown threat.
Allen stops the car to look back at me. He cups my shoulder gently with understanding. If anything good has come out of this whole mess, it’s that Allen and I have grown close.
“He doesn’t know about the baby, Ana. I promise you. You are needed. You’ll understand when you see him.” I swallow, unable to hide the panic on my face. “I promise that I will take you back home the moment you ask me, Ana. Trust me.”
I bite my lips, but shake my head yes. There’s little I can do about it now.
“I’ll be outside for an hour, Ana. Just come out if you need me,” Allen says a little later when he opens the front door.
“You’re leaving me?” I ask, nearly choking on the fear.
“I’ll just be outside, sis. I promise.”
I close my eyes as the shutting of the door sounds so final. My nose wrinkles at the musty smell of Roman’s house. It always smelled like fresh outdoors and pine. Did his cleaning crew quit? I walk through the darkened foyer, my hand automatically feeling for the light switch on the wall because the house is completely dark. Fear swamps me. I pull the coat more towards my front, doing my best to hide my baby-bump. Was Roman in an accident? Did something happen? Is that why they wanted me here?
“Roman?” I call out, my voice little more than a whisper. When I hear nothing back, I take a breath and try to strengthen myself. “Roman?”
I stop and listen. I hear the faint sound of someone coming from Roman’s den. I make my way there, turning on the lights. What I see in the main living room stops me in my tracks. There are empty liquor bottles everywhere, Styrofoam containers that, from the smell, now contain left-overs of moldy take-out. I pull one back just to be sure and instantly close it when I take in the green and white remnants of what I think used to be a half-eaten hamburger. There’s empty soda cans and pizza boxes too. The once pristine white carpet will probably never be clean again. What the hell has been going on here?
I make it to the den, my hand stalling on the doorknob as I gather up what little courage I have. I open it, my nose curling in disgust. The stench is even worse in here. The room is completely dark. I flip on a lamp that’s on a table by the door. The room floods with light and it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust. Even then, it takes me a minute to understand what I’m seeing. Roman is laying on the floor, his hair grown out ridiculously long for him, the dark bangs lying haphazardly over his eyes. He’s wearing a t-shirt that I think is supposed to be white, but has obviously been through a war with beer and pizza—and lost. He has on gray jogging pants that are riding low on his hips and he’s staring straight at me, his eyes bloodshot.
“Roman?” I ask, because God’s honest truth, I can’t be sure. The man I’m staring at is nothing like the Roman, I know.
“The bitch who haunts me,” he slurs. “What are you doing here, pet? You’re early. You’re not supposed to haunt my dreams until I pass out.” He holds up a half empty bottle of whiskey, shaking it at me. “I still have some to go before I get there.”
Dear Lord. “Roman, what happened to you?”
“As if you didn’t know. You poisoned me,” he growls, and I have no idea what he is talking about.
“Roman,” I start, but he interrupts me.
“I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t even fucking breathe without you in my head, your taste on my tongue, your fucking scent filling my lungs. I told you to leave, Ana. I told you to get the fuck away from me. Why can’t you leave me alone to die in peace?” he growls at me, except it’s not at me. I get the feeling he doesn’t think I’m really here.
I rub my palm across my forehead. Of all the things I expected, this wasn’t it. There’s no talking to Roman like this. I don’t even know what this means. The only thing that is clear is that he’s missed me. He’s been as miserable as I have. If I hadn’t had the baby to think about these months without him, would I have been in much the same shape? Probably.
Roman might not realize it, but we’re made for each other. I pick up the phone and dial Allen’s cell.
“Sis?”
“You and Bruno need to come help me sober up the father of my child.”
“Sis?” he asks again.
“You got me here, Allen. Now help me,” I order him, hanging up. I look over at Roman who is snoring now, and I can almost smile.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Roman
As soon as my head quits trying to kill me, I’m going to fire Bruno and Allen. I wince as the light from the window shines through, the blinds pulled up. Who the fuck did that? And why am I in this damn room? I don’t sleep in this bed. I can’t sleep in this bed. Ana haunts me here.
Fuck. She haunts me everywhere.
I look down at the bed and notice there are clean sheets on it. Even so, I can still smell the faint trace of Ana’s perfume on them. My dick jerks awake, but I ignore the fucker. He and I both are getting tired of using my hand. I get out of bed, frowning when I see a clean pair of jogging pants lying across the nightstand. I slip them on, ignoring how even the slightest movement causes pain to radiate through my joints and center in the mother of all hangovers that has taken up residence behind my eyes. Even my fucking teeth hurt. I’m way too fucking sober. I’ve been drunk for months now and today is not the day to try being sober. I walk out of the room, intent on finding another bottle of whiskey and maybe some leftover pizza. I think there’s some left in one of the boxes in the kitchen.
I stop when I enter the den and there are three women in uniforms cleaning the room. They’re wearing black pants and gray shirts that proclaim them “Helping Hand Maid Service”. What the fuck? I wrench a vacuum cleaner out of the hand of one of them and shut the son of a bitch off.
“Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?” I growl, the roar of my voice hurting me, but not nearly as much as the vacuum was doing. The ladies look at me like I’m the insane one, which is crazy because they’re the ones trespassing. “I mean it! I want to know what the fuck you are doing here and who let you in!”
“They’re cleaning.”
My breath lodges in my chest and I’m afraid to fucking turn around—afraid it’s her, afraid it’s not. Jesus.
“Ladies, if you could, go ahead and move to the kitchen. We can finish in here after Mr. Anthes and I talk.”
They hustle out, and still I’m unable to turn around. I take the coward’s way out and, instead, walk to the window. I stare out at the rolling green grass of my yard and try to figure out exactly what is going on.
“What are you doing here, Ana?” I ask when I can’t stand the silence any longer.
“Bruno and Allen came and got me. They said you needed me.”
“I didn’t ask them to,” I grumble, my hand com
ing up to rub my chin.
“I know. Were they telling me the truth?”
“About what?”
“Do you need me, Roman?”
Yes, my brain screams out, but I don’t say that. I can’t. I go to turn around instead, needing to figure out how to talk to her and make her stay without giving in. “Ana…”
“Don’t turn around, Roman. If you’re just going to send me away again, keep your back turned to me. You owe me that. I don’t want to have to see your face if all you are going to do is send me away again. I can’t handle that.”
“Have you missed me, Ana?”