Every day it gets harder to leave him, to watch him drive away or walk away, or watch the elevator doors close between us. And today, it’s nearly unbearable.
My stomach turns as I take the first wobbly step toward the living room where Lance undoubtedly waits. This has never been easy. Harder than anyone in the world would ever imagine, in fact. But today, it’s never been worse. Sig is making everything worse. Better in many ways, which just makes the bad parts…well, worse.
My legs don’t want to carry me any farther. The thought of anyone else’s hands on me, anyone else’s mouth on me is nearly unbearable. And it has to be because of Sig. His touch, his kiss. He has made what I have to do take an emotional back seat to what he makes me feel, to what I want to do. And that’s not good. I knew he would mean disaster for me. I can’t afford to let anyone or anything get me off course. I’m the only chance Travis has.
“You alright, Tommi?” Sammy, one of the alternate guys who watches the penthouse elevator, asks.
A light bulb goes off. My mind quickly spins a lie that will give me a brief reprieve, the perfect excuse to get me out of here and to go back home where I can clear my head and get my priorities back in order. “Actually, I’m not sure. I don’t feel very well.”
He rushes forward and helps me into one of the two exquisite Queen Ann chairs that frame the elevator. I drop my head down between my knees allowing the blood that has drained away from my brain to return.
I hear murmuring and then, less than a minute later, I feel a hand on my back. “What’s the matter?” Lance asks in his nasally voice.
I raise my head and meet his beady blue eyes, wondering how I can go on like this–disgusted with the man I need, increasingly attracted to the man I need to stay away from.
The answer is simple. I can’t. I can’t go on like this if Sig is in the picture. It’s only going to get harder. Therefore, I need to figure out how to get him out of the way so I can do what I have to do.
“I’m not feeling very well.”
Lance takes a step back, hurriedly, like I just told him I have Ebola. “You don’t look very good.”
I laugh humorlessly. “Thanks a lot.”
“You know what I mean.”
I nod, grateful for the visceral reaction that caused me to pale and become nauseous. It inadvertently added authenticity to my claim.
“Maybe I should just go back home for the day.” I know my suggestion will be met with enthusiastic agreement. Lance only wants the beautiful, trophy toy, not someone he has to care about or care for.
“That’s probably best.”
“Maybe I’ll be feeling better for the party tonight…”
“Don’t push it. I can close a deal without your charming presence, I think. Just this once.”
“I’m not saying you can’t. I just don’t want to let you down. I know how important business is to you.”
“Not more important than you.”
Lie. I am part of his business. Part of the face of it.
I wipe my damp forehead with the back of my hand and stand, clutching my stomach for effect. “Okay. Well, if I’m not feeling better by morning, I’ll call. Otherwise, I’ll be over around ten tomorrow.”
He pats my upper arms, like an old woman might, and he gives me a tight smile. “If you need anything, let Sig know. I’ll have him stay close.”
“No!” I rush to say, then add more calmly, “that’s not necessary. I’ll be fine without anybody on hand. But I’ll be sure to call him if I need anything. I can wait until he arrives.”
“Regardless, he won’t be far. For my peace of mind.” Lance’s tone brooks no argument.
I keep my lips clamped shut. The more I resist, the more attention it will draw. “You’re so good to me.”
Vomit.
“Feel better.”
With that, he practically shoves me back onto the elevator and I’m free. At least for a few hours.
I rush downstairs, keeping an eye out for Sig as I make my way to my car. There is no evidence of him in sight and I made sure to steer clear of his truck was parked. I don’t know what he does for all the hours I’m with Lance, but it appears that he’s gone for the moment.
I take full advantage of my getaway, driving straight to a favorite Internet café of mine that’s all the way on the other side of town, near a boutique that I love, which is always good cover. I spend the next hour and a half on my computer and the following twenty minutes haphazardly picking out a dress and some shoes to cement my excuse. If Lance somehow finds out I didn’t go straight home and asks me about it, I’ll tell him that I needed some fresh air and my drive brought me here. I’ll have a receipt to prove it. And a new outfit. No big deal.
At least I hope not.
Some small part of my brain worries that one day I’ll get caught, but that part is quickly overridden and squashed. I can’t let that fear get a foothold or everything will be ruined. So I go through the days smart but brave, calculating yet casual.
When I get back home, I’m a little surprised to find both the street and my driveway empty. Sig won’t be happy that I left him in the dust that way, but I can’t be too concerned about what makes him happy. I just can’t.
Still, I feel guilty. I know he wanted to spend the day with me. The problem is, I wanted to spend the day with him, too. More than I wanted to do the things that I have to do. That’s what caused the problem.
I take my bags inside and change into more comfortable clothes–my clothes–before I tend to my mother. When I go into her room, she has turned sideways in the bed and one of her legs is hanging off the edge of the foam mattress.
“Feeling restless today, Momma?” I ask when I walk in, moving to her head to curl my hands under her arms. “Gotta get you back up here. Push with your legs, okay?”
I get no response, but sometimes when I ask her to do things, some still-alive part of her brain understands and complies. “One, two, three, push!” I say as I drag her toward me.
I see her feet scramble in the covers as she tries to do as I asked, but she’s not much help. It still takes me two more tries to get her back where she needs to be in the bed. Even though I’m out of breath by then, my heart is happy. Any time I see evidence of the woman who raised me, any time I see evidence of life inside her, it gives me hope. Hope that maybe one day…some how, some way…she can recover.