Braving His Past: An Away From Keyboard Romantic Suspense Standalone Page 2

  “Alec, I need to work tonight.”

  I try to infuse what I hope is some finality into my tone as he plops down beside me.

  We’ve been dating for a month, and I’ve barely touched my app at all. Between the drive to Plano and back for that soul-sucking call center job and all the texting, video chats, and “hey, just come over for an hour” visits that turn into all-nighters, Alec has become a constant presence in my life, and I don’t have space to think, let alone get any work done.

  “Aww, come on, Quint. It’s been a hell of a day. I need to relax with you. Besides, I rented that documentary on Mars we talked about the other day and we only have twenty-four hours to watch it.” He slides his hand down my arm and links our fingers. “We can order Thai, then after the movie, we can try those new cuffs I picked up the other day. And maybe the blindfold too.”

  My dick juts painfully against my khakis, even though my anxiety flares at the same time. But Alec keeps saying this—bondage—will be good for me. For my panic attacks, claustrophobia, and social anxiety. A way to find some peace. And fuck, do I need that.

  “I guess I can take one more night off.” I press a firm hand to his chest and look him I the eye. “But tomorrow, I’m going straight home after work.”

  Alec tugs me closer and grabs my ass. “If you’re going to leave me all alone on a Friday night, Quint, you’d better make it up to me over the weekend.” There’s an edge to his voice that gives me chills—and not the good kind—but before I can process why, he kisses me, and I forget what I was worried about in the first place.

  A five-car pileup on the way home means my solitary Friday night is a hell of a lot shorter than I planned. It’s well after seven by the time I unlock my apartment door, only to find my brother and Alec sitting on the couch, heads bent towards one another.

  I know my brother isn’t gay, so the alarm bells ringing in my head have nothing to do with their proximity.

  Connor jumps up when I shut the door. “Quinton. Finally. We were worried.”

  He offers me a quick, one-armed hug, but my stare is glued to Alec. “I told you I had to work on my app tonight. And that key was for emergencies only.”

  “See?” Alec mouths to Connor, and I take a step away from my brother. “This is an emergency. We’re worried about you, Quint. All you do is work and obsess over that damn app. You’re going to make yourself sick. Or end up having a breakdown.”

  This again. It’s been an ongoing theme since I started my new job. The breakdown. But it’s not like I have a choice. I have to work. No matter how stressful it is.

  “Look, I know the Plano commute isn’t ideal, but it’s what I have right now. And I don’t ‘obsess’ over the app. It only feels that way because you want to hang out every single night and that doesn’t leave me any time to work on it.” Turning to my brother, I arch my brows. “Why are you even here? It’s not Christmas or my birthday.”

  Connor and I aren’t close. Never have been. He’s twelve years older than I am, and while he’s a stand-up guy, he joined the army when I was six. He’s out now—some government job he doesn’t talk about—and other than special occasions and family dinners every six months or so, I haven’t seen him in years.

  “Alec called me. You look like you haven’t slept in a month. And your place...” Connor sweeps his hand around the room. “I’ve never known you not to be a neat freak.”

  The apartment is a mess. Clean clothes strewn over one half of the sofa because I’m never home long enough to fold and put them away, a fine layer of dust everywhere...and I don’t want to look in my fridge. I was planning on ordering pizza tonight. Alec only lives ten minutes away, and he’s always insisting I come to his place rather than hang out at mine.

  “He-lll-oo?” I draw out every syllable, as if that’s suddenly going to make my argument more logical. “That’s why I told Alec I needed a night to myself. So I could clean up a little, do some coding, and go to bed early.”

  “You love the time we spend together, Quint. You don’t need a night alone to relax.” Alec’s overly patient tone grates. For once—just once—why can’t he listen to me?

  “Yes, I do!” I’m almost in tears now from the frustration of having this fight over and over again, and shit. I haven’t cried in so long...not since Dad’s funeral.

  Sidling up next to me, Alec drapes his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. “Don’t shut me out, Quint. Please. I can help you through this.”

  “Through what?” I’m afraid to ask. The look in Connor’s eyes? The pity? The concern? I’ve never seen him like that before. Never felt so...out of control and uncomfortable in my own skin.

  Alec’s lips brush mine, and all the harsh words, the personality so big it feels like it takes up the entire room, they melt away, and it’s just the two of us. Me, the guy who can’t get his life together and the man who night after night, orders our meals, rubs my back, and never fails to make sure I’m satisfied in bed.

  Which is why his response hurts more now than it ever has before.

  “Through this darkness,” he whispers. “You’re going to end up hurting yourself, and I—we—love you too much to let that happen.”

  “I’m not—”

  Connor’s flinch silences my protest. Maybe I have been too rigid. Too focused. Too...everything Alec says I am. He’s been right about so much. He convinced me I feel steadier when I drink decaf coffee. That I like cider better than beer. That popsicles are a healthier choice than ice cream. Maybe he’s right about this too.

  Alec smells like every fantasy I’ve ever had, and we spend so much time together, I haven’t seen any of my other friends in months. We said “I love you” after a week, and ever since, it’s been hard to figure out where he ends and I begin.

  Maybe it’s because my place is with him. Or maybe I don’t have a place at all.

  Chapter Two

  Quinton

  I haven’t been able to relax all day. Oh, who am I kidding? I haven’t relaxed in months.

  You’re not having a breakdown. You’re not having a breakdown. You’re not having a breakdown.

  My newest mantra. Ever since the last big fight I had with Alec.

  “I just told you I had to call Jessie to come get the gun out of my apartment! And you don’t even react? You’re so fucked in the head, you don’t care?” he asks in the middle of dinner at a crowded restaurant.

  I stare at him, mouth agape, spoon poised over the soup bowl. Who does that? Just casually admits to suicidal thoughts—or a hell of a lot more than thoughts—like they’re saying they like apples with peanut butter?

  “Well? You’re still not going to say a word?” he hisses. “God. You’re so close to a breakdown it’d be almost comical if I weren’t so worried about you.”

  “I’m not…” I protest quietly. I know I’m not. Or, I hope I’m not.

  Thankfully, the server intrudes. “How is everything?” she asks with a bright smile.

  “Um, great. Thanks,” I mumble, then stare into the soup I didn’t want to order in the first place. Alec chose it. Like he chooses everything. The restaurants we go to. The movies we watch. When we have sex. And how.

  “Quint, I love you. And I thought you loved me too,” he says, now solicitous as he reaches across the table and rests his fingers on my arm.

  I want to tell him how much I hate that nickname. How much I hate tofu. And spicy food. And the blindfolds, the cuffs, the way he just expects me to be submissive in the bedroom. But I don’t say a word. Instead, I meet his gaze, and those gray eyes are so desperate for love and acceptance, I force a smile. “I do, Alec. Really. I’m just…shocked. I need to process a minute. Let’s…get out of here, okay? Go back to your place where we can really talk about everything.”

  The dark cloud over him lifts, a hint of a smile touching his lips as he signals for the server. “Can we have the check?”

  That was a month ago. The last night I trusted him. The last night I didn’t see right
through him. Because the next day, I quit going to the therapist he’d suggested and found a new one.

  One who listened to me empty my soul for fifty minutes, then took out a notebook and wrote down the title of a book. “Read this,” she said. “At least the first two chapters before your next appointment. Then we’ll talk.”

  I stayed up all night plowing through the book with Alec sleeping next to me. Every time he rolled over, I panicked and switched over to a card game app, holding my breath, ready to lie and claim insomnia.

  The book, all about how to tell if you’re in a relationship with a psychopath or a narcissist, so closely mirrored the past six months of my life, I briefly wondered if the author had been spying on me.

  I left for work before Alec woke up, called him from the car, and told him I needed some time alone. To think. He still texted me twenty times a day. Still tried to call. To FaceTime. And more than once, I answered, even though I knew it was a mistake.

  But now…? I know what I need to do. Cut him out of my life completely. He’s dangerous. A narcissist and a sociopath, possibly with antisocial personality disorder. And I’m his mark. According to the literature, this is what people like him do. They fixate on one person, changing them, molding them into the perfect partner, and often pushing them to the brink of sanity.

  Why didn’t I see it until now?

  Alec’s mood swings, his constant, yet subtle put downs, the way he twists the truth to make me look like the unstable one... He’s cut me off from everyone I know. Become my entire life. And when I started to question, to push back, to see the truth, he only tried harder.

  I don’t know why he picked me. Or what his end game is. But if I don’t get away from him soon, he’ll use me up and leave me with nothing but the broken pieces of my life.

  And there are enough of those already.

  The GPS leads me to Highland Park, one of my favorite neighborhoods in Dallas. It was warm today, but now that it’s well after six, the temperature’s falling rapidly. I should have grabbed a heavier jacket. And gloves.

  I’m five minutes early, but to Alec, that’s ten minutes late, so I hustle around the corner until he comes into view.

  Dammit. Why does he have to look so fucking good every time I see him? I know he’s bad for me. I know I need to end it. I know if I don’t do it now, I’ll lose my nerve. But then he pulls me in for a hug, and I take a deep breath, inhaling his cologne. Old Spice. I’ve always had a weakness for that scent.

  “I’ve missed you,” he purrs in my ear, and when he kisses me, his mouth is velvet heat, firm, yet still soft. He captures my lip gently, then tugs, just once as his fingers thread through my hair. “I don’t want to fight, Quint. Ever. Just tell me what you want from me and I’ll give it to you. Anything at all.”

  He’s so earnest, I want to believe him.

  And I have. More than once. Hell, I even have screenshots of his text messages. He promised me a hundred times to stop talking about my impending “breakdown.” To give me however many nights a week I need to work on my app. To go to whatever therapist I want—together.

  Most narcissists are experts at becoming someone else. They’ll promise you the world. Then take it away in the next instant.

  “Alec, I—”

  I fumble for my phone where I have a dozen of these warnings and affirmations saved in my notes app just in case.

  “Wait. I want to show you something first,” he says. “And you’re freezing out here.” Wrapping his hand around my arm, he swipes a keycard over a secured door to a four-story condo complex. It’s brand new construction, and only a couple of the units have lights on.

  Despite being about to tell him what I needed—and having him cut me off and ignore me like he always does—I let him lead me up three flights of stairs where he presses a key into my hand. “Open the door.”

  “What is this?” He doesn’t live here. His apartment is ten miles away.

  “Just open the door.” Now he’s impatient, and my shoulders tense, sending a headache curling up from my neck all the way to my forehead. It’s easier to do what he says than argue, and I need to take a deep breath—or three—before I can tell him I’m breaking up with him.

  As soon as I walk into the condo, I understand his game. This is exactly the kind of place I’ve always wanted. Floor to ceiling windows that look out over the city. Sleek, modern lines, stainless steel appliances, marble countertops. All open space.

  It’s largely empty. A couch along one wall. Flat screen mounted over a fireplace. And a bottle of wine and two glasses next to the sink.

  “Alec? What did you do?” I ask, turning to find him only inches from me. Instinctively, I take a step back, but he follows, tugs off my jacket, and reaches for me. “Stop. Tell me what’s going on right now.”

  “This place could be ours. I have an option on it for the next forty-eight hours. It comes furnished. There’s a bed, and I packed us an overnight bag…”

  “No!” The word escapes harsher than I’d normally risk, but this is too much. The exact opposite of what I wanted to happen tonight. “You promised to give me space. I have it in writing.” I pull out my phone and try to scroll through the thousands and thousands of messages he’s sent me over the past few months. “You said…you said we could take things slow.”

  Frantic, knowing I’m going to lose this battle if I don’t take a stand right the fuck now, I keep scrolling until Alec snatches the device from my hand and shoves it into his pocket.

  “I need my phone,” I say, my voice trembling.

  He surges forward, his hands cupping my head as he crushes his lips to mine. I stumble, and my back hits the kitchen counter. I don’t want this. When he bites down and I taste blood, I jerk my head away.

  “What the fuck?” The stinging in my lower lip distracts me, and I don’t notice him undoing my belt until he’s already slid the zipper on my pants down. “Alec, please. We’re not…I can’t do this.”

  Shock steals my next words as he spins me around and bends me forward over the counter, his fingers digging into my ass. His favorite position. A way for him to top me without having to see my face.

  That icy ball I’ve carried around all day long? It’s taken over my entire body. I don’t even fight him. I know I should, but I can’t.

  “You want this, Quint. You know you do. We’re so good together.”

  Tell him no. Tell him to stop.

  But I’m frozen until he spits on his hand. There is no way I’m letting him fuck his way out of this. If he does...I’ll stay. I know I will.

  “Get away from me.” I buck and kick, but with my pants around my ankles, I only catch him in the shin. He swears under his breath and stumbles back, and when I face him again, the rage in his eyes… Shit. I never thought he’d physically hurt me. Not beyond rough sex.

  But right now? He’s scaring me.

  “I’m leaving,” I say, forcing as much bravado as I can into my words. “I never want to see you again, Alec. Don’t call. Don’t text. Don’t come to my apartment. Or my work. Leave me alone. We’re done.”

  I’m shaking so badly, it’s hard to pull my pants up, grab my coat, and edge around the counter to the door, but I don’t want to turn my back on him. Screw my cell phone. I can get a new one.

  Alec stalks towards me, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You need help, Quint. You’re having a breakdown. Right now, in fact. I don’t know why you can’t see it, but I can. Everyone can. I thought this place could be a fresh start for us. Somewhere you could heal. With my help.”

  “Fuck you.” Over the threshold, I can breathe again, but he’s still advancing on me. “Get back.”

  “Quint—” He lunges for my arm, and my foot misses the top step.

  For a moment—one very long, terrifying moment—it’s like I’m in some sort of suspended animation. My arms flail, grabbing for the railing, for anything to hold on to, but all I see is Alec’s face. And the lack of emotion in his eyes.

&nbs
p; Impact. Pain. Then nothing.

  Quinton

  “Traumatic brain injury”

  “You probably won’t walk again.”

  “I’ll take care of you, Quint.”

  My dreams are as fragmented as my memories. And my thoughts. I can’t seem to hold one for more than a few minutes. The morning sun slices across the end of the bed, and I stare at it for a good ten minutes before Alec breezes into the room, a wide smile on his face.

  “Time to get up, baby. Can’t sleep the day away. Breakfast is ready.” He slides his arms under me, lifts me out of bed, and sets me in my wheelchair.

  My stomach rumbles slightly, but I’m not truly hungry. I don’t remember the last time I wanted to eat. At least two months ago. Before I fell down a flight of metal stairs, fracturing three vertebrae in my back, cracking my skull in two places, and breaking my femur.

  “He was lucky, but the nerve damage? It’ll be with him for the rest of his life,” Alec says to someone I can’t see. Machines beep all around me, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t open my eyes.

  When I finally did, Alec was there. Explaining everything. Two days in a medically induced coma. Two surgeries before I woke up. Three more in the weeks following.

  He’s been at my side the whole time. The stairs that took my ability to walk—or even stand for more than a few minutes—are just outside our condo door, and every single day, he tells me he’s so sorry we have to live here. But my old apartment building isn’t accessible, and he’d already given up the lease on his former place.

  At least with the open floor plan, I can get around. Though, there’s no elevator in the building, so my entire world has been reduced to these four walls and what I can see from the windows.