Damaged, The Romance of Nick and Layla (Part 4) Read Online Free PDF Page B

the elevator doors open and there he is, my ex-husband, phone in hand and looking up at me as if for the first time.
    Shit .
    I can’t run; he’d certainly catch me. Scream? Knock him unconscious?
    “Layla!” he gasps, clearly as surprised to see me as I am to see him. He’s still got a little deer-in-the-headlights to him and I can tell he’s mentally calculating my next move as fast as I’m trying to decide what that move will be. I see no clear option.
    I step to the side to give him room to exit, and as he steps forward I step in, passing by him with ease, and jam the ‘door close’ button with my thumb, not once looking up at him. Just as the doors slip shut he slips back in, his duffel bag nearly hitting a door as he does.
    “Shit,” I hear him swear under his breath.
    I hit the button for the lobby and keep my eyes ahead of me. My heart is racing again and I can feel a spike of adrenaline in my blood, waiting for me to act on impulse if necessary.
    “You’re safe? You’re okay?” he asks as the elevator slips down a story.
    I say nothing and keep my eyes forward.
    “Layla. Please say something.”
    The hairs on my arms stand up on end and I can feel every muscle in my body poised and ready for action.
    “Where are you going?”
    The elevator emits a ding when it arrives on the main floor and as soon as the doors start to open I’m through them, walking briskly through the lobby towards the front door.
    Shit . I parked valet. Did the attendant hand me a ticket? I can’t remember. I fish through my jeans pocket and find nothing there but some spare coins. Upon reaching the door the valet sees me and nods knowingly. He disappears into the night, presumably to get my car, and once again I’m left alone with Nick.
    “How long do you think you can go without talking to me, Layla?”
    It’s been four years, I think I can manage the rest of my life, too.
    “Or without looking at me?” he says, deliberately stepping into my line of vision, standing so close I have nowhere else to look. So close I can pick up the lingering scent of his cologne. Rather than move to avoid him, I stay still, eyes straight ahead looking at his Adam’s apple. It moves up and then back down as he swallows, and for a fraction of a moment I’m reliving some long forgotten memory of him. Of kissing him.
    I deliberately look elsewhere, moving my head down at an angle so that I’m looking into a brightly colored flower planted deep in a large terra-cotta planter.
    “This isn’t like before, Layla. You can’t avoid me when I’m right here with you.” He sounds tired, exasperated. And like he’s trying so hard to keep something in control. His emotions? Anger? Frustration?
    I move my head back into a straight, comfortable position, and allow my eyes to travel up the length of his face, starting from his Adam’s apple, over the thick line of his jaw, past his lips which have parted and are taking shallow breaths, up the bridge of his nose and finally to his eyes. Those blue eyes. My son’s blue eyes.
    Behind him I see the valet pulling up in my Range Rover. My eyes still on Nick, I ignore every thought about how he looks, every part of my body that to this day still reacts to him whether he’s there or not. I think I’m looking at him impassively, and wonder how long I can maintain it before the anger returns.
    “Your car, ma’am?” the valet attendant calls to me. I move to take a step past Nick and he matches the movement, stepping so that he’s in my way again.
    “Either I’m going with you or I’m following you. How easy do you want to make it, Layla?”
    It’s hard to look at his face and think of nothing. Harder still to see my dead son’s eyes in him.
    Without a word I move to pass him again and he lets me, turning around and stepping to the passenger side door as I get in behind the wheel. The thought occurs to me to ignore him, to not wait for him to securely buckle his seat belt let alone close the door.