Snare (Falling Stars #3) Read online

  On the third bottle of merlot, we are slouching into the soft brown leather and slurring.

  "I put a freeze on his credit card," I admit, laughing.

  "You didn't?" Liza asks, eyes widening.

  I nod, giving a manic smile.

  "You're going to," she hiccups, "end up in jail." She groans.

  "They'll never trace it," I scoff. "Besides, he deserves it."

  Liza groans again.

  "I can't believe I let him put his teeny weenie in me," I cry.

  "Ew, don't want to hear about his weenie." Liza covers her ears.

  I laugh, and it feels good. Then, in a moment of seriousness, I sit up and lean toward Liza.

  Her eyes focus on me, anticipation on her face.

  "Does Jackson know where your clit's at?" I ask, raising one brow.

  "What? I'm not answering that," she slurs, but can't keep the large grin off her face.

  "Fuck," I curse, throwing myself back onto the couch. "He does, and I bet he spends days just cuddling it…with his tongue."

  Liza bursts out laughing.

  I rest my head on the side of the couch and throw my arm over my eyes. Unfortunately, it's Paul's face I see behind my closed lids. The torment of his features chokes everything good from the moment.

  "Why do I always fall for it?" I ask in a suffocated whisper.

  Liza exhales loudly.

  "Don't blame yourself for what other assholes do," she deflects, and I know why she's doing it. She's avoiding my journey back to college.

  "I actually choose the assholes, Liza," I snap, my voice callous.

  I pull my arm from my face and push up. She lolls her head toward me, understanding softening her eyes.

  "I make a conscious decision to get involved with guys who are the worst levels of asshole. They're like the Bilbo Douchebaggins from the Shire of Douchey-ness.

  Liza snorts. "Please don't make me laugh about this."

  "Laughing is better than crying," I respond, dropping the volume of my voice.

  Turning in my spot, I lean back into the softness of the cushion and stretch my legs out. I prop my feet on the wooden coffee table and accidentally knock an empty can of cheese to the floor.

  "Sid," Liza coos, sitting up and mimicking my position, "they're assholes and good at tricking people. Pa—"

  I put a hand up, silencing her. "Uh-uh, his name will not be said out loud."

  "Don't you have to say it three times before he shows up?" she teases, bringing a smile to my face.

  "That's Beetlejuice," I correct, trying not to laugh.

  "Or Bloody Mary, or Candy Man," she lists, "but all have the same bloody results."

  "You've been around me too long," I snort.

  "I'm just saying, they know how to fool people, to get their hooks in them—they have the problem, not you."

  "No, I have a problem."

  "Sid—"

  "Sure, he's a shriveled foreskin," I interrupt, "but he's also right."

  I pull my legs to my chest, planting the heels of my feet into the couch cushion. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I turn my head toward her and place my cheek on my knees.

  "I always let him back in," I whimper. "Always, Liza."

  "Well," she slaps the cushions with the flats of her hand, "what are you going to do about it?"

  Closing my eyes, I feel the wetness skim over my cheek. The warm tear soaks into the black leggings I'd put on during my break down.

  "I don't know," I whisper.

  "You need to figure it out," Liza says quietly.

  I already know this, but I just don't know how.

  Liza pushes up from the couch, swaying slightly, and puts a hand out to me.

  I don't even ask. This is my beautiful, sunshine cousin, my best friend. I take her hand and stand next to her.

  "Let's go hack his social profiles and post gay porn." She nods to my computers.

  I sniff and wipe my damp cheeks. Swallowing the rest of my tears, I smile.

  "You really know how to make a girl feel good."

  She winks, her grin growing wider. Looping her arm in mine, we stagger over to the computer desk.

  "Wakey, wakey, gorgeous," Liza sings.

  Light bursts against my eyelids and I burrow down into the couch.

  "It's time to get up." She shakes me for emphasis.

  "What's with the early morning attack?" I grumble, covering my face with a throw blanket.

  The material is snatched away and I'm physically assaulted again.

  "Fine," I growl, rolling onto my back.

  Opening my eyes, I'm stricken by light. "Holy mother of sunlight, Batman. It's too damn bright. Can't get up."

  I try to roll back over, but a surprisingly strong Liza stops me.

  Cracking one eye open, I look up at her.

  "Shouldn't you be as hung over as me?" I mumble.

  "First of all, it's almost noon. And second, unlike you, I was shoved off the couch at five this morning." She playfully narrows her eyes. "So, I ate something, took a shower, and got myself dressed."

  "Such an overachiever," I groan, stretching my body. "Why am I getting up?"

  "Because you're done now." The words are hard, but motherly.

  "Done with…?" I hedge.

  "With this." She waves her hands over me.

  "But—"

  "No buts, Sid," she says, cutting me off. "This is how we do things."

  I cross my arms over my chest and sulk on the couch.

  "The pity party's over, right?"

  I ignore her.

  "Right?" she asks again.

  "Right," I snap, pursing my lips.

  "And now what do we do?"

  Sighing, I drop my arms.

  "We unleash our inner Xena Warrior Princess on the world," I growl, hating that she's right.

  "Exactly, so get up," she orders, taking me by the arms and pulling me to stand. "Now, get showered, because you smell like old canned cheese, and meet me in the kitchen." She straightens her arm out and points to the hallway.

  "Fine, but I won't like it." I take two steps and get a slap on my ass. "Ow, what the hell?"

  "You liked it," she says, tossing the words I always say back to me.

  I narrow my eyes on her and rub my ass cheek.

  "I forbid you to hang out with me anymore," I say, walking down the hall for the shower.

  Liza's laughter follows.

  Twenty minutes later, with wet hair, my favorite paisley print leggings, and dark purple tunic top, I slip into a chair at the kitchen island.

  Liza puts a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast along with a glass of orange juice in front of me.

  "What's all this for?" I eye her suspiciously.

  She leans forward onto her forearms, and says, "I have an idea."

  "Which is?" I press.

  "You should get away from here."

  "I just got back," I remind her, shoveling a forkful of eggs into my mouth.

  As the flavor of the eggs bursts on my tongue, I glance up from my plate, and say, "You cooked them like I do, in the bacon grease."

  She nods. "Yes, you can blame me for your future heart attack."

  "I'm so okay with that," I say, going back to my plate.

  "Just, listen. You need to get away from…"

  She hesitates when I narrow my eyes on her in warning.

  "From him. So, take a vacation." She shrugs.

  "I have about fifty thousand things to do." Using my fork, I point toward my workstation.

  "Let me finish," she scolds. "I have to leave for New York tomorrow night."

  "What about Chris and Mia's wedding?" I inquire, since it's next week.

  "My things are packed. Julia's going to make the arrangements to get everything I need there with Jackson."

  "What about Kel, Lucas, and Sean?"

  "Lucas and Sean are going with us. Kel has to work, so he's staying at the house."

  "Is Julia still your house sitter?" I raise my brows and purse my
lips.

  "Don't get me started," she sighs. "I'm starting to suspect something is going on there," she groans.

  "Wait, how old is Julia?" I fork some more eggs into my mouth.

  "Twenty-two." Liza scowls. "And Kel's only nineteen," she exclaims.

  "Way to go Kel, getting himself an experienced girl. Is she old enough to be considered a cougar?" I ask, earning a glare. Undeterred by the face she's making, I continue. "Or, since she's still pretty young, do we call her a kitten?"

  "You're not funny," Liza quips.

  "First of all, I'm fucking hilarious. Second, let the boy get some of that kitten. She's older, more experienced. She can show him the way of the vagina. Lord knows, most men don't grasp the concept of foreplay or a g-spot," I snort.

  "Still not funny, Sid."

  I shrug.

  "So, about you going to the wedding?"

  "I'm going to fly down a day late from New York."

  "What's in New York?" I interrupt, again.

  "You remember, the musical I was asked to audition for? I have a second call back to…" she pauses, narrowing her eyes on me, "quit changing the subject."

  Wearing a large grin, I shove a piece of toast in my mouth.

  "As I was saying," she draws the words out, pursing her lips at me, "I talked to Jackson while you were in the shower."

  I drop the toast from my hand and it hits the edge of the plate before bouncing to the floor. Before I can rip my ex-best friend a new one, she puts her palms out toward me.

  "I didn't go into details. You know I wouldn't do that." She drops her arms. "But he called me, and, believe it or not, he's worried about you."

  I cross my arms over my chest and scowl, contemplating whether I should hide a sharp object in her carry on or put her on the no flight list at the airport.

  "He has a friend who owns a cabin. It's up on Mt. Baker in Washington," she explains.

  "What about me says mountain getaway?" I ask, incredulous.

  Has the girl lost her mind? Does she know me at all?

  "Sid, this is one of Jackson's buddies. This isn't a shack without electricity and an outhouse." She tilts her head and levels me with a mom-like look.

  Unfolding my arms, I grab the last piece of my bacon and bring it toward my lips. Before I take a bite, I say, "Continue."

  "He said it's a two story log cabin, five bedrooms, but three are kept locked. The basement is finished and acts like a third level for the house. It's available next week and there's electricity, indoor plumbing, and Wi-Fi," she finishes.

  "You do get me," I say, clasping my hands over my heart.

  "Don't be an ass," she laughs out.

  "How much is this going to cost?" I ask, knowing my eight months away took a chunk out of my savings.

  "Nothing," she blurts, a bit too eager.

  "I'm not letting the seven-foot doodle pay for the cabin," I mutter.

  "He's not," she denies.

  "I don't believe you. No one is going to just—"

  "It's Jackson's friend, Sid. He lets friends use the cabin when he…his family can't." She shrugs, still acting a bit too eager. "You just need your things and supplies."

  "Supplies?" I raise one brow and drink the last of my juice.

  "You know, food, personal items, your weapons of mass destruction." She nods toward my computers.

  Rolling my head, I crack my neck and exhale heavily.

  "I have a lot to do here, Liza."

  "You can take the next three days to get things in order and do what you need to from here, then fly to Washington on Sunday, pick up supplies, and drive up to the cabin. There's Wi-Fi, so you can do the rest remotely." Before I can object again, she adds, "Like you do all the time."

  Huffing, I push my empty plate away and close my eyes.

  I could make the necessary calls to the assembly and shipping companies within three days. I could also get my locks changed during that time as well. This could be the way to break this cycle.

  The ache I've been trying hard to bury sparks back to life. If I stay, he will probably work his way in close again. If I do this, go away to a remote cabin, with all the luxuries of home, of course, maybe I can get over the bastard barista once and for all. Maybe I can even figure out how to get him out of my life in all ways, business included.

  Before the spark can become a raging flame, I shove thoughts of him and the hurt away.

  "I knew you'd agree, so I already had Jackson make the arrangements," Liza says, interrupting my thoughts.

  My eyes flutter open and I stare at her.

  "I never said I'm going," I argue, already knowing I want to.

  "I can see it on your face. The moment you made the decision, you got that look."

  "What look?" I blurt out, wanting to know my damn tells.

  She shrugs.

  "It's just a look you get." She smiles deviously.

  Yep, she's picking up my bad habits.

  I slip off the stool, grab my dishes, and take them to the sink.

  "You have me for one more day. What can I help with?" Liza rubs her hands together.

  "You can help me not think about…" I trail off, sucking in a breath.

  Visions of a video flash in my mind. I drop the plate into the basin and grip the side of the sink.

  "No, no, no," Liza chants, wrapping her arms around me. "Don't go there, Sid." Her face presses against my back.

  I gulp for breaths as the images keep coming: my body, naked, another asshole from my past, his cruel joke, being exposed to over one hundred thousand views.

  "Sid, don't think about that. It's over. It's in your past." Liza's plea doesn't stop the anxiety building inside me.

  With Liza still around me, I sink to the floor. My hands remain gripped to the edge of the counter as I try to force air into my lungs. Gasping in rapid succession, my head spins. I close my eyes and press my forehead to the wooden cabinet door.

  "Sid?" Liza's voice penetrates, easing some of the attack. "Look at me."

  Her body slides around mine, pulling me away from the sink. Gripping my cheeks in both hands, she forces my face to hers.

  "Look at me," she orders.

  I shake my head, unable to open my eyes.

  The looks, stares, whispers fill my head. All those viewers and what they saw, what he showed them. The whispers and being ostracized by friends, family, and community.

  "Damn it, Sidra, open your eyes."

  She gives a small shake of my head and my lids snap open.

  Liza's eyes immediately meet and hold mine.

  "Breathe, Sid."

  I follow her instruction.

  "Focus on me."

  The oxygen finally fills my lungs.

  "Inhale."

  We do, together.

  "Exhale."

  She does with me.

  "Again."

  We repeat this until my breathing is steady.

  "That's it," she coos, brushing hair away from my forehead. "It's over."

  "I hate him," I cry.

  "I know," she whimpers.

  "I hate them so much."

  I launch myself into her arms and we fall onto the floor.

  "It's over, Sid." She rubs my back, soothing.

  "Is it?"

  Sniffing, I push up and sit next to her.

  "How many have you had?" Liza quietly asks, sidling up next to me.

  "This makes three," I whisper, staring blindly at the floor.

  "Do you—?"

  I shake my head before she can finish asking and I stand, using the counter for balance.

  "No," I respond. "I don't need Mom freaking out."

  "What about the pills?"

  Liza rises to stand with me.

  "I don't have any." Turning my head, our eyes meet. "I haven't needed Xanax in forever."

  Liza gives an easy nod.

  "You might want to get them filled before you leave," she suggests.

  I exhale, my chest aching from the panic attack. I haven't h
ad one in over a year. I forgot how physical the pain can be afterward.

  "Maybe," I half-heartedly agree as I walk out of the kitchen to my desk.

  Taking a seat in front of my large monitor, I pull up my browser and start planning my flight and rental car.

  "Do you want to talk about it?" Liza asks, standing behind me.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath, my fingers still hovering above the keyboard. Exhaling, I swallow down the lump in my throat.

  "I'm fine, Liza. It's just…" I open my eyes and start typing again, "it's just the recent bullshit."

  "Okay," she whispers. "I'm going to go clean out your luggage and start some laundry."

  I nod, ignoring the fact that my cousin is cleaning up after me. Instead, I focus on the flights and rentals available, and plan the work I need to accomplish before I escape Pennsylvania for Washington.

  Chapter Four

  Sidra

  "Mom," I whine, pulling my suitcase through the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport while trying to balance my carry-on bags.

  "If your father knew what he did…" she trails off.

  Mom is pissed off. Her baby's heart is damaged and the bruises she saw on my wrist are still faintly visible.

  "Don't tell dad. That's the last thing I need," I snap at her through my cell.

  "Honey, after everything you've been through…" she sighs, remembering what I only refer to as the college incident. "I don't want to put you through anything like before, so I won't say anything. But, and this is a very serious but, Sidra Pauline…" I cringe at her use of my full name, "he comes near you again, I'll tell your father and you know he'll beat the shit out of that little punk."

  Her threat both warms and amuses me.

  "You said shit," I tease.

  "Sidra, I'm serious. I know you hide behind your humor, but don't think for one second I won't take a baseball bat to that little fuh...erm…Paul's head."

  The use of his name sends a wave of nausea through me. I take a deep breath and will away the urge to vomit.

  "Mom, I love you. Thank you."

  She falls silent, which is unusual for my mother.

  "Mom?"

  "I'm here," she chokes out. "I love you, too, baby."