The Boyfriend Collector Page 14

  And right now, this hero isn’t afraid anymore. She’s fed up! I make one last attempt to hit Gustavo, but Bex stops me.

  “Rose! It’s over!” From behind, he wraps his arms around me as restraints.

  “They hired him. They want me dead,” I say.

  “Then he needs to stay alive so he can help us put them in prison.”

  He’s right. I need to make sure this situation is dealt with once and for all. I didn’t want to face it at first—what they did, the people they really are. I wanted to move on and put the past behind me. But really, I was just afraid to confront the pain. Well, not anymore. I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care how much it hurts.

  In the background, I hear sirens and cars pulling up. The house floods with voices, and Bex whisks me away to the kitchen. He doesn’t want me anywhere near Gustavo, a dangerous man, and maybe I’m a little grateful for that. Even a strong woman like me needs people looking after her.

  Bex

  “What a fucking night,” I mutter to myself as I close the front door and try not to think about all the ways this situation could have ended. Thankfully, Rose is alive, and we’re all okay.

  “They’re gone,” I say to Rose and enter the kitchen, immediately going for the wine rack near the pantry. The police took the photos they needed, and I cleaned up the blood from the hardwood floor. “We’ll have to go to the station in the morning and make formal statements, but warrants are out for your grandparents.”

  I pop open a bottle of red wine, pour a tall glass, and hand it to Rose, who’s sitting at the breakfast counter. I know she’s not twenty-one yet, but who gives a shit? What just happened requires Valium, and I don’t have any.

  She takes the glass with a surprisingly steady hand and sets it on the counter beside her.

  “You all right?” I ask.

  “I will be,” she says quietly, staring at the floor. Her mind is in another place, and I can’t help wanting to pry off the lid and see what’s bubbling around in there.

  “I know.” I pour my own glass and chug it down.

  “I’m so sorry for bringing him here.”

  “You can’t blame yourself.” I set down my glass and refill it.

  “But I do. I went out with him. And then I didn’t listen when you tried to warn me. If I had, this never would have happened.”

  I take the chair at the counter next to her. “What you mean to say is that had your grandparents never hired him, none of this would have happened.”

  “Maybe.” She worries her bottom lip. I wish I could tell her how many times I’ve thought about the way her mouth moves. When her mouth is resting, her lips pout so sweetly. When she’s anxious, she chews the bottom one and it’s seductive as hell. And when she smiles, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more hypnotic.

  “It’s been a rough night. I’ll make up the couch, and we can talk about everything in the morning.” I know she’s still sorting through the event, but it’s important she doesn’t try to make sense of it all right now.

  She nods. “That’s nice of you. Please thank your wife—actually, what am I saying? She saved my life. I should thank her myself. Where’d she go?”

  Fuck. This is the part I wanted to avoid discussing right now. I tried to tell Rose earlier tonight, after she kissed me, but now is not a good time. I much prefer to discuss this when things are calmer, so she’ll hear my side of the story with an open mind. Nevertheless, I don’t see how I can put this off any longer.

  “Rose, I wasn’t lying to Gustavo. I don’t have a wife.”

  Her wide brown eyes slowly lift and meet mine. I’m unsure if she’s going to scream, cry, or read me the riot act.

  “Sorry?” she says.

  I hold up my left hand. “The ring is to ward off patients who might get the wrong idea.”

  “Who was the woman earlier? The one who shot Gustavo?” She frowns with confusion.

  “My next-door neighbor Erin. She’s a US Marshal. I called her the minute I saw you standing at my front door with a gun to your back.” I’m not stupid enough to just open my door at two in the morning without looking through the living room window first. The moment I saw Rose with a menacing-as-hell man behind her, it was clear I couldn’t wait for the police to show up. I called Erin and told her what was happening.

  “Don’t open the door, Bex,” Erin said.

  “I can’t risk him hurting her,” I replied, thinking my only option was to talk this man down.

  Rose takes her glass from the kitchen counter and takes a small sip. “Who’s Sophie?”

  There’s no easy way to say this. “My dog.”

  “Your…dog?” The anger in her eyes is palpable, and I can’t blame her. She trusted me, and I lied to her. What she doesn’t understand is that with everyone else, it’s a white lie, an insignificant detail that has no bearing on my relationships with my patients. As it should be.

  “Three years ago,” I say, “I was engaged. My fiancée left me because she said there was no room in my life for her, only my work. A female patient of mine heard through a mutual acquaintance that I was single again, which prompted her to form an unhealthy attachment. I referred her to a colleague, but it got ugly. She accused me of all sorts of things, which I was exonerated for, but not before I had to spend every last dime on lawyers. I almost lost my practice, my home, and my reputation. After that, I put on the ring I’d bought for my wedding. It was a harmless way to discourage any future patients from coming to see me for the wrong reasons.” I take a deep breath and exhale. “It worked. Up until you, my marriage was never a topic.”

  Rose’s little nostrils flare. “But you still lied to me.”

  “Yes.”

  “You broke your rule.”

  The one about honesty. “Yes. I did. But it was only because I wanted to help you. I never want therapy to become about me or anyone except my patients. It’s the same reason I turned you down, Rose. I meant what I said about not being the right man for you.”

  She returns to staring at the tile floor and is silent for a long stretch. “So you can’t date me because I’m your patient?”

  “No, I can’t.” Even if I was invited to Rose’s coming-out party.

  Yes. That’s right.

  I am on the list.

  My aunts received my invitation and didn’t bother mentioning it to me until I called the day before the party, asking if they knew anything about Rose’s grandparents.

  They knew plenty.

  All of it bad, which is why they disregarded the invitations. “No nephew of mine is gettin’ involved with that Hale trash,” said my aunt Eugenia. But when I told her about Rose and her ugly situation, they wanted to help. The rest is history, except I never told Rose that I’m on the list. I still can’t tell her because it will only make this harder for me. On the outside, I’m the perfect solution to her problems. I’d be good to her. She’d get her inheritance. Unfortunately, being with me is not what she needs.

  “So you won’t date me because I’m your patient.” She looks me in the eyes, and I can’t deny how it affects me. “But do you want me?”

  “I do.”

  She nods stoically. “All right then.” She gets up and leaves the kitchen. I expect to hear the front door, but I don’t.

  “Rose?”

  I find her in the living room, using the phone. I’m guessing she’s calling a cab or something. I’m about to tell her to stay—that she shouldn’t be alone tonight—but her words stop me.

  “Hi, this is Rose Hale. I need you to send a message to Dr. Hughes. Tell him I’m not going to see him anymore. He’s fired.” She pauses. “Yes. That’s right. He’s no longer my doctor.” She hangs up, and a few moments later, my cell beeps on the counter.

  I shake my head. “Rose, please don’t do this.” It’s taking every ounce of restraint I have to keep from taking her to my bed and fucking her senseless. I want her. But if I do this, it will be a selfish act to satisfy my own needs. And it will be wro
ng.

  She looks up at me with those willful eyes. “I don’t care about fulfilling the will anymore. I don’t care about my inheritance. I just want you.”

  Fuck. Don’t do it, Bex. Don’t you fucking do it. I inhale slowly, feeling my fingertips pulse. I want to touch her so badly. “I’m going to call you a cab.”

  “What?” she snaps.

  “We can’t be together, Rose.” I look away, anywhere but at her beautiful face and those sensual lips. “With time, you’ll thank me because your feelings aren’t real. They never were.”

  “I have one question for you, Bex, and I hope you’ll answer honestly—if not for me, then for yourself. Are your feelings for me real?” She lifts her chin defiantly, and it startles me. She is stunning—the way she faces life: head-on. No fear. I’m in awe of her.

  “Rose, I—”

  “No.” She holds up her hand. “It’s a simple question, Bex. Is what you feel for me real?”

  “It’s not a simple question.” Which is why I do what I do best. I put up my wall. Nothing gets through it. Not until her. Because the truth is, my other patients don’t call me Bex. I’m Dr. Hughes. And in our last sessions, I found myself moving my chair closer to the couch. I wanted to be near her because I feel all kinds of things for Rose Marie Hale—desire unlike anything I’ve ever known for a woman, and the need to see her life on a track to happiness—happiness she deserves.

  But she’s broken. Even if she doesn’t see it. Nobody goes through that kind of hell and comes out unscathed. But I also know she’s a fighter. She’s resilient and strong, which makes her all the more beautiful and deserving of a good life. She will make it out of this. I have no doubt in my mind.

  But if I truly care for her, I will walk away. If she jumps into a commitment now, she’ll lose herself in the story of “we.” She needs time to heal and find her way. Otherwise, one day, she’ll wake up wondering why she’s unhappy, why she can’t move on from the past.

  So, while I know I have feelings for her, very real feelings, I can’t be worthy of her if I’m not willing to do what’s right. And right now, she doesn’t need me as a lover. She needs me as a man, someone strong she can lean on without the mess and obligation of intimacy.

  I clear my throat, doing my best to keep my tone level despite the searing desire coursing through me. I’m an inch away from giving in, taking her to my bedroom, and making love to her. I want her more than she’ll ever know.

  “Rose,” I say calmly, “I have a proposal for you.”

  She crosses her arms but doesn’t speak.

  “Give it one year. Just one. I can recommend a colleague who’s incredible and will help you—”

  “Excuse me?” she snaps.

  I see the anger in her eyes but continue anyway. “If after a year, you still feel the same way about me, then—”

  “Ohmygod. I don’t believe this,” she seethes. “I tell you I’m falling in love with you, that I’m willing to give up everything for you. And not only do you reject me, but you try to pawn me off on some other therapist and pat me on the head like a child with that fucking lame consolation?”

  “I understand why you might think that, but it’s not a consolation. I want—”

  “Bullshit. What you want is for me to walk away. You figure in a year, my puppy love will fade and little Rose will move on. Because Dr. Bexley Hughes is always right, always in control, always saying the right things. But really? He just wants to be the hero and save me. Well, guess what, Bex? I can save myself. I’ve been doing it for the last twenty years.” She steps forward and pokes me in the chest. “You’re the one who needs help, because you’re afraid of what will happen if you love someone enough to let them in. You’re afraid because then you’ll have to find out if you’re really a good man or if you’re a selfish hypocrite just like your cheating father, who couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

  Wow. It’s one hell of a mean blow, and I can’t deny it’s hit a nerve. “Say anything you like, Rose,” I growl, “but it isn’t going to change my answer and certainly won’t fucking help you.” As I’m losing my temper and the argument, I’m thinking this is exactly what I was afraid of. It’s become about me, about us, rather than her.

  “I’m calling you a cab,” I say coldly. “We can talk tomorrow after we’ve both had time to cool—”

  “Don’t bother. I can find my own way home. As for you and your year, I don’t need either. I made a mistake. You’re not the brave person I thought you were, and on top of that, you’re a liar, so congratulations.”

  I don’t want Rose to leave, but in this moment, I’m not sure how to get through to her. I don’t know how to say that I’m willing to wait for her. I’m only asking for a year so she can give everything she has to herself. If she still wants me after that, I’m all in. I’ll wait for you so you know it’s right, that I’m what you really want.

  Why can’t I say just that? Why? Instead I rebottle my emotions. “I’ll call you that cab—”

  She turns and heads out the front door. I take five steps forward, wanting to go after her, but stop myself. I’m pissed. Really fucking angry, and I don’t want to say something I’ll regret. I’ll see her in the morning after we’ve had time to decompress.

  I go to my bedroom to check on Sophie, who’s resting quietly in her usual spot at the center of my bed. I curl up next to her, wishing for a different blonde in my bed. “I think I fucked up, Sophie. I never should have lied to Rose.”

  The next morning, after a restless night, I head to the police station and make a formal statement and complaint against Gustavo. The detective on duty tells me that there’s no word just yet on Rose’s grandparents, but that it won’t be long until the arrest is made.

  “It’s good to know,” I say. “Rose Hale isn’t going to be safe until they’re behind bars.”

  “From the sounds of it, they’re the ones who should be worried. Miss Hale and her lawyer made it clear they’re going after those two with everything they’ve got.” He signs the paper on the desk. “Can’t say I blame her.”

  “Rose—I mean, Miss Hale was here?”

  “Just left five minutes ago.”

  I’m surprised somehow. Maybe I thought she’d need more time to confront last night and make her sworn statement.

  And maybe you keep underestimating her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Two days later, Thanksgiving at my aunts’ house comes and goes like always, except for subtle sadness lingering in the air. No one mentioned it, but I think we all felt my father’s absence. Of course, my mother, who refuses to talk about it or anything real, and my many aunts, uncles, and cousins found their usual distraction in picking apart my love life. I’ll be thirty soon, and apparently, in my Southern family it’s a sin to be that “old” and unmarried. “Where them babies at, Bex?”

  The irony is I know who I want. And I can’t stop thinking about how I left things with Rose. But she won’t answer her door, won’t answer my calls, and from what I can tell, she’s disconnected me from her life completely. The call yesterday from her lawyer’s assistant, who advised me that “Miss Hale” required a statement to settle her account with me, was a clear sign: “Stay the fuck away.”

  It’s not what I want. Not in the least, but what choice do I have?

  This morning, I decide to take Sophie out for a little window-shopping. Christmas is coming. I’ve never been much for the holidays, but I want to do something more than just order pears and cookies online and tell everyone how sorry I am about not having time for a better gift. Maybe because it’ll be the first Christmas without my father and I don’t want it to be a sad repeat of Thanksgiving—that unspoken gloominess hanging over us. Or maybe it’s because the glimpse into Rose’s world has made me see what it’s like to be alone, and I want to try harder. As pushy, overbearing, and flawed as my family is, I’ve never been left wanting. Not as a child. Not as a man. They’re always there for me. They’ve given me a life versus an existence. And
it’s something I never would have realized if it weren’t for Rose Marie Hale.

  I enter the small bookstore not too far from my office. I come here at least once a month, but rarely buy anything. It’s more for Sophie, who’s allowed inside and enjoys the free treats. The owner, Jerry, was a friend of my father’s—or maybe more of an acquaintance. I don’t think anyone ever knew Murdoc Hughes well enough to really claim him as a friend.

  “How’s it going?” I jerk my head at the young woman behind the counter. I think she’s Jerry’s niece or something. Either way, she smiles politely, and I make my way toward the self-help section.

  I think I go there for amusement as much as I do inspiration. I’ve always wanted to write a book, and someday I will once I have something valuable to share. It’s not to say that I feel invaluable. My process works. My patients will attest to it. But there’s more to learn, more to understand before I’m ready. Until then, I come here looking at what’s new in…

  Cat Therapy? I chuckle at the cover showing a man petting his calico. Letting Go of Stress is Furrrtastic? I show the cover to Sophie. “What do you think?”

  She blinks those golden eyelashes at me.

  “I guess you’re more of a TV person.” It’s true. She loves watching movies, too. Really, just about anything with animals will hold her attention.

  I return the book to its shelf and decide to hunt for something in the biography section. Or maybe a good travel book. This year I want to give gifts to my family that mean something.

  After twenty minutes I give up. My head isn’t in the holiday-shopping mood. I head out with Sophie, pulling on the leash. “Sophie, come on.” But as I’m dragging her down the romance aisle, a display catches my eye. Hale all Things Hale. I stop and look at the twenty-something books on display. The covers show everything from couples walking hand in hand on the beach to a woman in a leather corset gripping a raised sword. For the life of me, I can’t understand why anyone would want to read these books, let alone write one.