Nothing But Trouble Part 23

Tears blurred her vision, and she tore her gaze from Mark's image and looked into her sister's face. "He ripped my heart out, Bo. How will it ever get better?"

"You can get through this."

"How?"

She shook her head. "You just will. I promise."

Chelsea wasn't so sure, but Bo was trying so hard to convince her, Chelsea nodded. "Okay."

"What can I do?" Jules asked from across the table.

"You can go kick Mark Bressler's a.s.s," Bo answered.

Chelsea glanced at Jules's face through her tears and almost laughed. He looked like a deer caught in the cross-hairs. "She's kidding." She didn't want Mark hurt. Not even now. Not even after he'd hurt her so badly she could hardly breathe past the pain.

He'd taken the coaching job, and if she stayed in Seattle, she'd have to see him on the news.

Chelsea brushed her cheeks. She needed to get out of Seattle. It was the only way to get over Mark. "Could you call Georgeanne Kowalsky tomorrow?" She needed a job, maybe two. The sooner the better. The sooner she got enough money together, the sooner she could move past the pain and loss. The sooner she moved past the pain and loss, the sooner she could get her life back. A life that had nothing to do with Mark.

EIGHTEEN.

Mark lifted a corner of his cards and raised one finger. The blackjack dealer hit him with a queen of clubs and he folded. His luck was s.h.i.+t. Had been since he and the guys had arrived in Vegas Friday night. That had been two days ago, and he was already down eleven grand. Not to mention the couple of hundred he'd spent on s.h.i.+tty lap dances at Scores.

He sat at a table with Sam and Daniel inside the Players Cub in Mandalay Bay. His hip ached from the late hour and his head hurt from too much booze. This had been Sam's idea, of course. One last blowout before Mark became the newest a.s.sistant coach. Before he was no longer one of the guys. Before he was officially part of the staff.

He felt good about his decision. Good about doing something other than sitting at home while life pa.s.sed him by. If he couldn't shoot goals, calling shots from behind the bench was a good alternative. A few months ago, he'd been filled with so much anger he hadn't even wanted to consider a coaching position. Now, he looked forward to getting back into the game and making another run at the cup. Maybe getting his name on it twice.

"I'm out," he said, and picked up his chips.

Sam looked up from his cards. "It's early."

It was after midnight. "See you guys in the morning." He cashed in his chips and made his way out of the exclusive club and down the hall to the elevators. When Sam had called him Friday afternoon and mentioned that he and some of the guys were hitting Vegas, Mark had jumped at the chance to get out of town. He hadn't left Seattle since before the accident, and a trip to Sin City had sounded like a great plan. He figured he'd hang with the boys one last time, check out the strip clubs, and gamble. Surely two of his favorite pastimes would help take his mind off his problems.

Problem, rather. He had only one. Chelsea Ross.

Even as he made his way through the casino filled with people, he felt alone. A dark anger he hadn't felt in months filled his chest and lowered his brows. He'd fallen hard for her. Harder than he ever remembered falling for a woman. Harder than he'd even known was possible. She'd brought light and laughter into his life when there had been nothing but darkness and anger. She was like a comet streaking across the night sky, lighting it up for a few brief moments. Now all that darkness was back.

He pushed the b.u.t.ton to the elevator and one behind him opened. He got in-side and rode it up.

He'd fallen for her, and she'd been with him for money. She'd made him want her, made him believe she wanted him too. When the whole time she'd wanted money. And the really messed-up part was that he might have forgiven her for lying. Ten thousand dollars was a lot of money, and he knew why she needed it. h.e.l.l, he wanted her to have it, and he could have forgiven her just about anything just to have her light up his life for a while longer.

Anything but her last lie. She'd said she loved him, and something hot and angry and bitter had hit him hard. Right in the gut like a raging fist. He might not be the man he'd been eight months ago. He might have been a sucker for her sweet-smelling skin and soft hands, but he didn't like being played for a fool. G.o.d, did she really think she could lie right to his face and he was so desperate that he'd believe her?

He'd thought getting away with the guys would get Chelsea out of his head. He'd been wrong. She was front and center no matter what he did or how far he ran.

Once inside his room, he stripped to his boxers and climbed into bed. He stared up at the dark ceiling, trying and failing to get Chelsea out of his head.

You made me love you even when I knew it was a really bad idea. You made me love everything about you, she'd said as tears slid down her cheeks. You made me love you more than I've ever loved anyone in my whole life.

He'd wanted to believe her. He'd wanted to grab her up and press her into his chest until her lie became the truth. Until he smashed it and molded it into what he wanted. Until he believed it.

Mark reached for the remote on the nightstand and turned on the television. He flipped through the stations until it returned to the pay-per-view channel. He checked out the p.o.r.n selection, but nothing sounded interesting. He arrowed across and hit the horror b.u.t.ton. Up popped the latest movies and some "cla.s.sics" like Psycho, The Omen, and Slasher Camp.

A brow rose up his forehead and he sat up straighter in bed. Who would have thought Slasher Camp was a "cla.s.sic"? He pushed the select b.u.t.ton and settled back against the pillows. The movie started off innocently enough. With counselors moving into the cabins and getting the camp ready for the season. About ten minutes into it, Chelsea stepped out of a school bus wearing cutoff shorts and a tiny tank top hacked off just above her navel. Her blond hair was pulled to the back of her head in a clip, and her blue eyes peered over the top of a pair of sungla.s.ses. She'd been right. They'd hired her for her b.o.o.bs, but it was her bottom in those shorts that drew his attention. A heavy weight settled in the pit of his stomach and his chest got tight.

"Hey, everyone," she called out as she dropped a duffel bag onto the ground. "Angel's here. It's time to party." She looked like a s.l.u.t. Like a camp counselor s.l.u.t. Like every teenage boy's fantasy. Like his fantasy too.

For the next ten minutes or so, Mark watched the counselors put away gro-ceries and sweep out cabins, his attention completely focused on the few shots of Chelsea. He listened to the sound of her voice and laughter, and he watched her bottom in those shorts. Just the sight of her in a five-year-old horror flick twisted him into knots.

An actor with s.h.a.ggy brown hair like a surfer and wearing a green Aber-crombie s.h.i.+rt found an axe stuck in a wall. He pulled it out and placed it on a shelf next to the fire extinguisher. Then he stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a bag of weed. Mark remembered Chelsea telling him the bad boy was always the first to get it in a horror flick, and Mark figured Mr. s.h.a.ggy Hair Surfer would be the first to go. The camera panned to the window and what looked like someone in a mask watching from the forest.

At dusk, the scene changed to Chelsea standing at the end of a dock. The setting sun washed her body in gold as she shucked out of her shorts and whipped her top off. She wore a pair of white panties, and Mark got instantly hard. She jumped into the lake and swam about before heading to the sh.o.r.e. Water ran down her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and dripped from her chin as she walked up the beach. A male stepped into the shot, his back to the camera. She gasped, then smiled.

"You scared me," she said as she reached for Mr. s.h.a.ggy Hair Surfer. She kissed him long and hard and they slid to the sandy beach. The surfer touched Chelsea's back and behind and ran his hand up her thigh. Mark had an irrational urge to punch the kid in the head. To rip him apart. He felt sick as sounds of pleasure spilled from Chelsea's lips. Pleasure she found with someone else.

It was crazy. Chelsea didn't belong to him, but even if she did, this was a movie, and those weren't the sounds she made when she had s.e.x. He knew what she sounded like and that wasn't it. Her voice was breathier, lower during s.e.x. She said, "Oh G.o.d" or "Oh my G.o.d" a lot. Sometimes, "Oh G.o.d, Mark!" And when she o.r.g.a.s.med, her moan came from some deeper, more satisfied place.

A huge, dirty hand grabbed a handful of the surfer's s.h.a.ggy hair and cut off his head. Blood splashed all over Chelsea and she screamed. A bloodcurdling scream as she sat up and scooted backward into the woods. Mark remembered her telling him and the guys about this scene. He waited for the axe to cut her throat, and when it did, he looked away.

Mark Bressler, former captain of the Seattle Chinooks, had experienced more than his share of gore. He'd witnessed bones snap and blood gush. He'd seen razor-sharp skates slice flesh, and bodies clash with such force that he could actually hear the damage. For the most part, it had been just another day at the office. But this. He couldn't watch this. He couldn't watch anyone hurt Chelsea. Not even when he was still so mad at her it burned a hole in his stom-ach. Not even when he knew it was all fake. The axe. The blood. The scream.

She was an actress. She made it look real. As real as saying, "I love you."

He shut off the television, and the next morning he threw his clothes into a suitcase and took the first flight to Seattle. He felt more alone than when he'd arrived in Vegas. He grabbed the In Flight magazine and read about luxury condos on a golf course in Scottsdale. He thought of the houses he and Chelsea had looked at most recently. He needed to make a choice soon.

After the two-hour flight, he walked into his empty house, and his suitcase fell from his hand. The emptiness of the six-thousand-square-foot home pressed in on him. There was no one waiting for him. No light. No laughter. No one trying to boss him around. His life was complete c.r.a.p. As bad as when he'd hit that patch of black ice and totaled everything. And just like that patch of invisible ice, his feelings for Chelsea had been surprising and painful.

The doorbell rang, and he didn't realize he'd half expected it to be Chelsea until he opened the door and stared into the face of a middle-aged woman with short, black hair and a pear-shaped behind. Within the s.p.a.ce of three seconds, his heart sped up and came to a sudden halt.

"I'm Patty Egan. I'm your new home health care worker."

"Where's Chelsea?"

"Who? I don't know a Chelsea. The Chinooks' aftercare program contracted me through Life Force."

Life Force? "I don't need a nurse."

"I'm more than just a nurse." She handed him a stack of his mail.

Chelsea had been more than just an a.s.sistant. She'd been his lover. Some-how he didn't think he'd have the same problem with Patty, but he still wasn't about to have a nurse in his house and underfoot.

There had been a time in his life when he would have slammed the door in Patty's face and not really thought anything of it. Chelsea had called him a selfish d.i.c.khead. He'd like to think he wasn't selfish anymore. "Thanks, but no thanks," he said, and grabbed his mail. "I don't need you." He started to shut the door and added for good measure, "You have a nice day, though."

The doorbell rang again but he ignored it. He walked into his office and called Connie Backus. Someone must have found out about his relations.h.i.+p with Chelsea and fired her.

"Why is there a new home health care worker on my porch?"

"Sorry it took so long to get someone out there. But Chelsea Ross quitting on such short notice kind of left us in a bind."

The mail in his hand hit the desk. "Chelsea quit?"

"Last week. Tuesday I believe."

The day after she'd walked out of his life. "Did she give a reason?"

"She said something about moving back to L.A."

Chelsea stood with an icing bag in one hand, piping hearts on three dozen cupcakes. Some of the icing kind of squirted off one side and onto the table. Her luck had been going that way lately. One thing after another. A few days ago, she'd had a flat tire, and yesterday she'd lost her cell phone. The last time she remembered seeing it had been right before she'd jumped in the shower yesterday.

She'd worked for Georgeanne Kowalsky for three days now, and she could honestly say it wasn't bad. She'd certainly done worse. Holding the hair of a certain celebutard while she puked in an ice bucket came to mind.

She'd also applied for waitressing jobs at several different restaurants and bars. No sports pubs though. Nothing with televisions hanging on the walls.

Georgeanne stuck her head through one of the doors to the big kitchen. "Chelsea, there's someone here to see you."

"Who?"

"Me," Mark answered, and walked into the kitchen.

Chelsea's heart knocked against her ribs and she forgot to breathe.

"Are you going to be okay with him here?" Georgeanne asked.

No. Chelsea nodded and her boss left the kitchen. "What are you doing here?"

"Searching for you?"

He was as tall and handsome as she remembered. Her chest caved in at the sight of him. She took a deep breath past all the pain and said, "We don't have anything to say to each other, Mark."

"I have a lot to say. All you have to do is listen."

"You can't order me around anymore."

He smiled a little as he moved past an industrial-sized mixer toward her. "Sweetheart, you were never good at taking orders. I'm asking you to listen."

"How did you find me?"

"Jules."

Jules knew the whole sordid story. "Jules told you?" The jerk. He had to know how much seeing Mark would hurt her. She was going to hurt him when she saw him tonight.

"I threatened to beat the living s.h.i.+t out of him if he didn't. For some reason he found that very funny."

Jules was kind of perverse that way. That's probably why he loved Bo.

He moved around the table toward her. "Why did you quit your job?"

She looked away. Away from the intensity in his brown eyes. She didn't have to ask what job. She shrugged. "I couldn't keep it. Not after everything."

He didn't say a word for several long moments. "I've put an offer on that house in the Queen Anne district. The one you liked."

"Oh." Had he driven all the way here just to tell her that?

"I accepted the a.s.sistant coach position."

"I know." She loved him, but seeing him was so bittersweet, her shredded heart felt like it was shredding all over again. "I have to go back to work now," she said, and turned toward the cupcakes.

"I lied to you."

She looked over her shoulder. "You didn't take the job with the Chinooks?"

"No. Yes." He shook his head. "I lied before that."

"About the house?"

"I lied when I told you that you mean nothing to me. I lied when I said I didn't love you."

"What?" She turned toward him. "Why?"

He shrugged. "Because I was stupid. Because I loved you and I was afraid you were just acting. Playing me for a fool, and I was mad because I didn't want to go back to my life before you showed up on my porch with your two-toned hair and orange jacket. I lied because I didn't think you could love me."

Of course she could love him. She couldn't help herself.

He took the icing bag from her hand and set it on the table. "The Chinooks sent another health care worker to my door this morning."

"Did you call her r.e.t.a.r.ded?"

"No. I was very nice to her because of you." Somehow Chelsea doubted he'd been very nice. "I'm a better person since you came into my life," he continued. "I want to be better for you."

Just like Jerry Maguire, only Mark was hotter than Tom Cruise. Taller too.

"I love you and I'm sorry I didn't believe you when you said you love me." He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out her missing cell phone.

"Where did you get that?"

"Jules stole it for me." He handed it to her, then pulled out his own cell and dialed. "I heard this song on the oldies radio station the other day and I can't get it out of my head." His cheeks turned a little pink as if he was embarra.s.sed. "It's cheesy, but every time I call, you'll know how I feel about you." The face on her BlackBerry lit, then Glen Campbell sang about needing and wanting for all time.

She looked up as her heart swelled and tears blurred her vision. "Jules downloaded this for you?"

"I did it. I had to buy the CD and record it on your phone. It took me a while."

She smiled at the thought of him trying to get all the lyrics just right. "I didn't know you could do this."

"I can do a lot of things, Chelsea." He slipped his phone into his pocket. "I can love you and make you happy, if you'll let me." He pulled out a ring. A big diamond ring.

She gasped. "Is that real?"

"Do you think I'd buy you a fake ring?"