What's Left Of Me (The Firebird Trilogy Book 2) (18 page)

“Carrying around an oxygen concentrator like a decrepit old woman.” She smirked and patted the canister.

“I hear the network is pleading with you to come back.”

“I know. I haven’t decided yet.” Stephanie rifled through the mail on the counter. She tossed most of it into the recycling bin. “Alex and I have talked about writing a book, which will either exorcise some demons for good, or make me realize that everyone was right and I really am crazy for marrying him.”

“If you believed that, you never would’ve. You’re too smart for that. You make your own choices. You’re here because this guy—and I’ll say it again, lucky bastard—has something no one else does, and whatever it is, it’s what you want.”

“Anya deserves a better life than I had. I know Alex will go to the ends of the Earth to make that happen, but we have to be able to do it together.”

“You will. It can only get better from here, eh?” Brandon inclined his head toward the great room. “I should get going. I’m sure I’ve outstayed my welcome as it is. It was good to see you, and I’m glad the surgery went well.”

“Thank you for the flowers. We’ll talk soon.” They shared an awkward hug, leaving a generous amount of space between them and separating quickly, like a couple at a Catholic-school dance.

She knew Alex was watching. His stare scorched her from the mezzanine.

Chapter Eighteen

Stephanie hoisted her bag over one shoulder and the oxygen concentrator over the other. “I shouldn’t be long.”

“Why won’t you tell me where you’re going? Is it to see Brandon?” Alex was squinting at her, his pupils constricted, his jaw tight and ticking.

“No, and that is not a lie. I need you to trust me, Alex.”

“Is it for a story?” He trailed her to the door with Anya in his arms. She was grabbing and swatting his nose, and giggling each time he wriggled it. Four and a half months old already, her resemblance to Alex growing by the day.

“Sort of. That’s all I can tell you right now.” She kissed his cheek, then Anya’s. “If things go according to plan, you’ll know soon.”

“We can’t keep doing this, Stephanie. It can’t be like this.”

“That’s why I’m doing it. So it won’t be.” She tugged his ear. “I’ll be back soon.”

Stephanie laid the concentrator on the back seat floor and flipped off the woman crouched in the privet. A few mudslingers were hanging around despite the lack of movement in Alex’s case. She and Alex had discussed replacing the hedges outside the gate with Japanese barberry so the fuckers impaled themselves on the spines.

She drove a short distance down the street, around the corner and out of sight of the house, before pulling over and dialing the number Kevin had given her.

“Hello?” answered a tiny, diffident voice.

“Katherine Miller? I’m a reporter with—”

“I don’t care. One of you leaked my name, and now everyone knows who I am. I’m done talking to you people.”

Wasn’t that her objective, everyone knowing who she was? Unless it was all negative attention. She’d have lost control of the messaging as soon as the media released her name. Nothing was on her terms anymore. Stephanie, for her part, had been trying to avoid coverage altogether.

“Wait, don’t hang up. I’m sorry your identity was compromised. That should have never happened, and I can only imagine how difficult your life has become. But I’d like to talk to you about what happened that night. An exclusive story, from your point of view.”

Thoughtful silence. Then, “Really? About me?”

Got her.
“Yes. Can we meet somewhere?”

“I’ll be at Fountain Plaza eating lunch. I’m wearing a blue and white striped T-shirt, a black cardigan, and a denim skirt. I have brown hair.”

“All right. Give me about twenty minutes. Thanks.”

Stephanie parked as close as possible to minimize walking, and left the concentrator in the car. Katherine sat on a bench facing the stone waterfall-style fountain beside a reflecting pool that transformed into an ice rink in the winter. A scrunched-up hoagie wrapper lay beside her. Nearby, M&T Center’s historic gold dome gleamed in the sun. Hundreds of office and hospitality workers droned through the park, ate their lunches here in the warm months. Stephanie observed them for a few moments, a sprawling network of lives she would never know, random passersby with existences as intense and multifaceted as hers. As they were to her, so she was to them, no more noteworthy than the blur of scenery from a train window. An extra walking through the frame in that particular scene.

Katherine stared at the flowing water, her face reminiscent of the stones as she sucked on the straw of a paper soda cup. Stephanie sat beside her. “Hi.” She extended her hand. “I’m—”
Shit. I can’t tell her my real name. Not yet.
“Rachel. We spoke on the phone.”

“Yeah. Hi. Nice to meet you.” Katherine shook it.

“Likewise. Will you be all right with me recording this?”

“Oh, sure. No problem. Where do we start?”

“Start at the beginning. Tell me about the night in question.”

Katherine pitched the hoagie wrapper at the trashcan beside the bench. It bounced off and landed on the concrete, but she made no move to retrieve it. Stephanie curled her lip. “You don’t want to know about me first? My background and stuff?”

Not really.
“Yeah. Okay. Tell me about yourself.”

Instant regret. Past jobs, likes and dislikes, vague and superficial bullshit from a woman whose personality depended on impressing others and being the center of their world. Stephanie nodded in the right places, pretending to listen, but she was assessing Katherine’s exterior for what her vapid speech contradicted. A mouse of a girl, a clothes hanger for the outfit that was too large, an attempt to conceal her lack of curves but which only accentuated it. Perhaps a deception to make her appear innocent, worthy of Stephanie’s trust. Not a stitch of makeup, big black-rimmed glasses, and thin brown hair pulled into a ponytail. No way did she go out clubbing in that outfit, but she was striving to make a different kind of impression. A carefully manipulated ploy to draw attention to herself; she’d only modified the method.

Stephanie hated the woman on principle, but she’d get nowhere if she ceded to her loathing. If she lost objectivity, she lost everything.

“Anyway, so that night I went out like I usually do on Fridays—I bet you do too, right? I think everyone does, you know?—and I see him there. Aleksandr Volynsky. And he’s by himself. Which is weird, because you see pictures online and he’s always with people.”

Stephanie’s palms grew sweaty. Had she already been obsessed with him before that night? Hardly the first. Alex’s female fans were legion, and not a few were interested in his body more than his hockey skills. “Go on.”

“So I offer to buy him a drink. I mean, he’s super-hot, don’t you think?”

She could not have forced her smile more if she’d inserted hooks into the corners of her mouth and tugged them upward with wires, but Katherine remained oblivious. “He’s attractive, yes.”

“He says no, thank you and he wants to be alone. But no one really wants to be alone, right? So I insist. And he starts to get mean, like everyone says he is.”

Stephanie bit her tongue so hard, she was surprised the tip hadn’t lodged in her throat. “And you didn’t just leave?”

“He had no right to talk to me that way. I was trying to be nice.” Katherine emphasized her words with exuberant, dramatic hand gestures that brought to mind the death throes of a chicken.

“Fair enough. Then what?”

“He finally said yes. He got up to go to the bathroom, and I figured he needed to relax a little—he’s kind of uptight, did you know that? Maybe it’s a Russian thing—so I put a couple of my Xanax in his drink.”

Stephanie inhaled deeply, slowly, combatting the impulse to murder the woman on the spot. Xanax and Klonopin had lately replaced Rohypnol in many places as the date rape drug of choice, second only to that long-time favorite, alcohol. Easy to get when everyone was suffering some form of anxiety these days. She compelled her lips to flatten. “And then?”

“You know how once you pee when you’ve been drinking, you have to keep going? He got up a few more times, and I ordered a few more drinks.”

“And gave him more pills?”

Katherine shrugged. “Sure. He was finally starting to loosen up. I helped him into a cab, and we went to his place.”

“And you spent the night. What happened? He has no memory of it.”

“So he says.” The muscles around her eyes and mouth were twitching. “Listen, Rachel, he has everything, and people like him don’t deserve it. They think they can do whatever they want. They throw people away when they’re done with them. But you know what? There are consequences. There are always consequences.”

Keep. It. Together.
“Why did you wait?”

“I didn’t remember until I saw him on TV a few months ago talking about his baby. I…blocked it out.” Too late. The chinks were all too evident, as was the instinct to cover her ass. Katherine slid her hands palms-down under her thighs. Classic deception.

“You weren’t getting enough attention in your own life, were you? You had to take it out on someone you felt had wronged you. Katherine, if you had sex with him after getting him drunk and drugging him, that is a felony.”

“And who would believe that? Look how big he is. Look at his reputation. Are you trying to say I raped
him
? Because good luck with that!” She uttered a loud, theatrical, borderline-hysterical giggle and girlishly covered her mouth.

“I am aware of your psychiatric history. You realize that will be used against you if the case ever goes to trial.”

Her lips twisted into an ugly frown. “Why?”

“Because that’s how rape cases are prosecuted. The defense will do everything they can to discredit you. And considering you didn’t even get a rape exam—”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, it isn’t. Especially to people who aren’t lying about what happened to them, which is what happens in most cases but not yours. So you should think about whether you want to continue this charade.”

Katherine scratched at her cheek. Her gaze clouded. “Charade?”

“If anyone learns what you’ve voluntarily told me today, you might find yourself as the defendant in a sexual assault trial. You won’t like prison, Katherine.”

“You’re threatening me!” Her breath whistled noisily through her nostrils. She stomped one foot on the concrete, her eyes protruding.

“I have no power to threaten you. I’m just a reporter.”

“With a recording of me!” She lunged for the bag; Stephanie leapt up and sidestepped so that Katherine landed face-first on the bench.

Stephanie, however, was the one wheezing. She rubbed her chest.
Not now. Please.
“Want to add theft and property damage to the list?”

“You tricked me, you bitch!”

“Let me leave you with something else to think about.” Stephanie opened her wallet and held out a photo. “That’s my husband and daughter. That’s whose lives you’re destroying.”

Katherine’s eyes nearly engulfed her face. Her skin had lost all color.

“Not to mention how difficult people like you make it for those of who actually are assaulted, most of whom never report it. I didn’t. You’re ill, and you need help. What you’re accusing my husband of is what you did to him.” Her blood pressure was rising, her chest tightening and a revolting heat churning in her gut. “And no, he’ll never admit it, so you’re off the hook there. But now I know, and I have the evidence. And if you don’t want me to turn it over to his attorney—and yours—I suggest you drop the allegation.”

Katherine peeled herself off the bench and adjusted her clothing. Her large brown eyes shone with tears. “Am I going to get into trouble?”

“You could get into big trouble. I’ll do whatever I have to do to protect my family, Katherine. But it’s your choice. Withdraw the allegation, or I turn over the recording. I advise you do the former so this whole thing doesn’t get any uglier.” Stephanie replaced the wallet in her bag. “Our daughter doesn’t deserve this. And neither does he.”

“I didn’t…” She burst into heaving, melodramatic sobs meant to engender sympathy, but Stephanie mustered only a low-grade disgust tempered with a pinch of pity. She was still learning how to be compassionate in her dealings with mental illness’ more onerous symptoms, and the curve was high.

“He’s sick too. None of this is helping him. I can recommend psychiatrists—”

“Please go away,” she sniveled. “I don’t want your help. I just want to die!”

“Don’t say that. If you do the right thing, this will be over soon, and everything will be fine.”

Katherine said nothing, only sobbed harder. Stephanie watched her for a moment. Maybe she should call someone. But if she delayed getting oxygen any longer, the help she’d call would be for herself.

And anyway, the most important repairs were awaiting her at home.

***

Alex sat in the nursery rocking chair with Anya cradled in one arm. In the other, he held a board book called
Guess How Much I Love You
; to Anya’s delight, he was performing the characters’ voices as he read. She squeaked and smiled, and slapped at the thick paperboard pages. Stephanie, standing in the doorway, pressed a hand to her mouth as he alternated between Little and Big Nutbrown Hare.

When he finished the book, he tucked it back into the bookcase beside the chair, then looked up. “Hey.”

“Hi. I wanted to let you know I was home before I jump in the shower.”

“You took one before you left.”

“Yeah, I just…need to wash it all away.”

“Where did you go? Tell me the truth, Stephanie.”

“I will. After my shower. We’ll have a long talk.”

Stephanie left the master and en suite doors open. She cast off her clothes, started the water, and stepped into the shower that, thanks to Alex, resembled the European wet room in his old condo. She grabbed the loofah and shower gel as he walked in. He set the baby monitor next to the sink and turned the volume all the way up.

Fully aware of his gaze on her, she rubbed the lather in languid circles over her body, the spray coursing over her breasts and down her belly. She arched her back, caressed her skin with bubbles and the loofah. She’d known he would follow. Not to do so signaled their arrival at the final act after all.