Last Second Chance

Chapter Ten

Van lay in his bed that night trying for the life of him to figure out what it was about her that had him so intrigued.

He tended to find women like Stella Jo Chandler boring. With their five- and ten- year plans and their refusal to step outside the lines. He liked his women a little edgier. Easier. Liked to watch them crawl to him on all fours and beg. He had a feeling that would never be something he’d get to see the beautiful brunette do, except in his fantasies.

His dick twitched as the image flashed in his mind. Despite the temptation, he didn’t take care of himself. Aching for her felt necessary. Restraint was a small price to pay. He didn’t even allow himself to imagine how wet and willing she’d be for him. Nothing his mind could conjure could possibly compare to the real thing.

Her warm, sweet vanilla and honey scent enveloped him as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Dreaming of her—her slow, sensual walk, the small smiles he had to work so hard for, the determination in her eyes that wavered only when he got too close—kept the nightmares at bay.

Pulling himself from an excruciatingly vivid dream involving tasting her, he woke with knowledge he almost wished he could forget.

Stella Jo Chandler was beautiful. And she was intrigued by him. That much was obvious. But as she teased and taunted him in his dreams, he realized how very similar they were.

I belong here. I want to be here.

Her words echoed around him. Distracted by the bruises she was inflicting upon his ego, he’d missed it. Missed the hollow longing in her eyes, the carefully masked loneliness she carried.

I’m happy here. I feel at home. Wanted. Needed. I’ve never felt that way before.

It was the last part that struck the deepest chord. She’d never felt happy, or at home, or needed.

Christ.

He was broken. He knew that. His childhood made the most horrific depictions of Hell look like paradise. The angel who’d rescued him from his living nightmare had abandoned him, shattering him into a million fragmented pieces. That combined with the fame and the drugs had ultimately twisted him into a destructive monster of a man. One who inflicted pain and damage and felt no remorse for it.

He was broken beyond repair, and Stella Jo Chandler was empty inside. The dangerously compelling need to see her, to look into the endless depths of her eyes and confirm what he already knew, almost sent him outside in the middle of the night.

She wouldn’t be able to fix him, and he couldn’t possibly give her the kind of love she needed, but a new brand of torture descended upon his already decimated soul.

He wanted her to try to fix him. And he had no idea how he was going to stop himself from at least attempting to fulfill the lust-drenched need that lingered in her eyes when they were together. Since he’d lost his angel and taken on the world alone, he’d never been denied a single thing he’d wanted. Because when Van Ransom wanted something, he didn’t ask for it.

He took it.

“You don’t look well, Mr. Walker. How have you been sleeping?” Dr. McLendon frowned at him as if she were disappointed.

He settled into the plush chair in her office and shrugged. “I haven’t been. Not much, anyways.”

“Any particular reason why?”

He cleared his throat. “You tell me, Doc.” Feigning nonchalance he did his best not to think of the reason why. His new strategy was to force himself to focus on his recovery—or at least learn how to fake it so that he could get out of here and back on the road with his band.

An empty woman couldn’t fix him and neither could any of these doctors.

“What do you think about when you’re lying there not sleeping?”

He shrugged and gave her the obvious answer. “Getting high. Getting the hell out of here.”

She wrote something down quickly before raising her eyes to meet his. “That all?”

He shrugged again and took a long look around the room. Bookshelves full of thick books, probably about why fuck-ups like him did what they did. Shiny degrees in expensive wooden frames perfectly lined up along the walls. Everything perfect, even, and in its place. He was the one thing that didn’t belong. Just like he didn’t belong in a world with someone as beautiful and graceful as Stella Jo Chandler.

He inhaled and took a moment to appreciate the scent of the leather. Which reminded him of the riding crop and the saddles down at the barn. Which reminded him of Stella Jo Chandler.

His hands tightened on his knees and he returned his gaze to the doctor. Despite the attractive blonde sitting in close proximity, it was a brunette who might as well have been a million miles away who prompted him to speak.

He wouldn’t ruin this for her, this place where she finally felt at home. But he would do his best to let go of some of the darkness he carried so that when he got out of here, he could maybe, just maybe, be worthy of at least getting to know her.

“No, that’s not all,” he said evenly. “When I’m alone, sober, and it’s quiet, I can’t sleep because…because all I can think of is her.”

The office around him ceased to exist—the books and the framed degrees disappearing from his view. The screams and pleas rose in his mind. An unforgiving wind whipped in his ears while heavy metal chains clanked against one another, almost drowning the doctor’s response. He stood on the riverbank, helpless under an overcast sky.

“Her, who? Mr. Ransom? Mr. Ransom, can you hear me?”

He could hear her, but he couldn’t respond. He was unearthing the memory the same way they’d dragged up her body—slowly and steadily, feeling every excruciating moment.

The storm grew in his soul as he met the doctor’s worried eyes.

“The woman I couldn’t save. The one I watched die.”

Dr. McLendon shook her head. “I don’t understand. What woman? There’s no mention of a woman in your chart or in the—”

“There wouldn’t be.” He stared at his hands, clawing his way back to the present. They were trembling so hard it was like they were vibrating. “No one knows about Val. Not my manager, not anyone.”

“Val was your…”

“Sister,” he informed her quietly.

“I see,” she said, setting her notebook aside and relaxing into her chair. “How long ago did she—”

“It’ll be ten years this summer. I was sixteen. It was her nineteenth birthday.”

She nodded. “I don’t want to push you. Just tell me as much as you’re comfortable sharing and stop when you need to.”

She was using kid gloves on him. Maybe he should’ve appreciated that, but for some reason, it only added fuel to his already raging fire.

“As much as I’m comfortable sharing?” He glared at her, standing and spreading his arms wide. “Do I fucking look comfortable to you?”

Her eyes widened but she kept her composure. “Fine. Then tell me what makes you uncomfortable. Push yourself until you can’t. You’re safe here.”

He huffed out a harsh breath. “Safe. Right.” He shook his head and turned to the door. “I can’t do this right now. I’ll destroy this whole fucking room. You’ve got a lot of breakable shit in here, Doc.”

People said that the truth would set him free. Those people were wrong. The truth was that he’d failed the one person who’d protected him, who’d saved him. Lost her in the darkness. And no matter what he did, even if he adopted a dozen children from third- world countries, donated all of his money to charity, and lived the rest of his life as a monk, there was no escaping the truth.

She’d never hurt a soul. She’d been good and perfect and kind. The world had been a better place when she was in it. But now she was gone. And he was here, still damaging and destroying. It was the most fucked-up injustice he knew of.

“Van,” a female voice said so softly he barely heard it. He didn’t know if it was the doctor who’d spoken or the ghost in his head, but he didn’t stop either way. He walked out of her office and right out of the building.