Midnight Lily
A Sign of Love Novel
Mia Sheridan
Midnight Lily
A Sign of Love Novel
Copyright © 2015 by Mia Sheridan.
All Rights Reserved.
Permission by the author must be granted before any part of this book can be used for advertising purposes. This includes the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover photo of girl in woods: ©Anita Suchocka.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my girlfriends, my soul sisters, the ones who have saved me time and again.
Virgo
Persephone, Queen of the Underworld, destined to live half her life in the darkness, and half in the light.
PROLOGUE
I saw her everywhere. Walking down sidewalks, in crowded restaurants, once in the brief flash of dark hair and white lace right before an elevator door closed. Without thinking, my heart thundering in my chest, I'd run up four flights of stairs only to find that it was someone else. Someone holding a little boy's hand. She'd pulled him closer to her side as she’d exited the elevator, looking at me warily as if I might grab him and run.
Those were the times I still doubted my own sanity, still questioned whether she had ever existed at all. But then I'd remember the feel of her fingertips on my skin, the slippery silk of her hair, the sound of her laughter, and the way I loved her still, and I'd know, I'd know, deep down to my soul that she was real.
I dreamed of her, and in the darkness, she held me in her arms. In the darkness, she whispered that I was strong enough to hold on, that I was worthy of the love she'd given, and she reminded me who I was before I was anyone at all.
My Lily of the Night. Only of the moon.
Because now, just as then, when daylight came, she was no longer there.
CHAPTER ONE
Holden
The powerful whir of the helicopter propellers grew faint as they slowed and finally came to a stop. I opened my eyes blearily and stared out the window at the vast forest surrounding the grassy field where we'd landed. My muscles twitched and I fisted my hands on my thighs, but I felt a little better than when we'd taken off from San Francisco. At least I'd slept. Maybe for a couple hours? It was something, and more than I'd had the night before. Possibly more than I'd had in the last three days.
"You coming, man?" Brandon called as he threw the door open. "Sorry to wake you, but there's a bed inside that will be a lot more comfortable than that seat."
"I wasn't sleeping," I muttered, grabbing my duffle bag and moving slowly toward the door. A painful drumbeat pounded in my head, and nausea swept through me. Goddamn, I still felt like death warmed over. I grimaced as I hopped out of the open door. "I was praying."
Brandon chuckled. "Oh ye of little faith. Did you actually doubt I'd get you here in one piece? Mad pilot skills, bro." He turned and began walking, not bothering to close the doors to the helicopter, meaning, I supposed, that he wouldn't be staying long. I followed along behind him.
"You can't even hold on to a damn football half the time. And they pay you millions to do that. Why should I trust my very life in your hands?" Brandon shot me a scathing look over his shoulder but then laughed.
"Still can't believe you bought a helicopter," I said, catching up to him as we stepped through tall, dewy grass.
Brandon shrugged. "I always wanted to learn to fly. Why not? Life's short. If you have the opportunity to cross a few things off your bucket list, I say do it. Plus, it takes three hours to drive here from the closest commercial airport. This was a whole lot quicker."
"Jesus, how far to any civilization at all?"
"About seventy miles to Telluride. When I said privacy, I meant privacy."
We walked through a sparse grove of trees and came out on the side of a massive, two-story luxury cabin, featuring floor-to-ceiling windows on both levels. As we walked closer, I could see the trees and sky reflected in the glass, as if the huge structure was part shimmering illusion. At night it must look like a shining beacon. I whistled, looking at the forest directly in front of it—what would be the view from inside. "Damn, when you build a remote lodge in the wilderness, you don't mess around. This is like the fucking Shining, dude. Does it come with a set of spooky twins?"
Brandon chuckled as I followed him up a large set of stone stairs. "Careful what you joke about. Last time I was here with a group, a couple of the girls swore they saw a ghost in the woods. Came in screaming and hollering from the hot tub." He shot me what I assumed was supposed to be an expression of mortal fear, and formed one hand into the shape of a claw.
I made a scoffing sound and rolled my eyes as he pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the door. "Sounds like a bad combo of alcohol and heat stroke." And limited brain cells. That was always a factor when it came to the girls Brandon partied with. I should know. They were the same ones I partied with, too.
"Either way, they required lots of protection from the heebie-jeebies just outside—naked protection. In my bed. Win-win. You know what's really creepy, though? Apparently there's an old, abandoned mental institution five miles or so from here. Isn't that fucking awesome?" There was no sarcasm in his voice. He meant it was awesome.
"Awesome," I repeated half-heartedly. And creepy. But I had a few problems bigger than an abandoned building miles away. Brandon threw the keys on a side table as we entered the massive room. The whole space was decorated in sturdy, masculine furniture, befitting a luxury ski lodge, arranged in small groupings to make it feel more intimate.
"I had a feng shui decorating expert out here to make sure the flow of energy was balanced and shit." I stared at him blankly before glancing around briefly.
"Is that what I've been missing? Balanced energy?"
Brandon shrugged. "Could be, dude."
I managed a soft laugh, dropping my bag and walking toward the window where I could stare at the view. From up here it was an entirely different experience. The beautiful vastness of deep woods all around, the cloud-capped mountains far beyond, the way dew sparkled on leaves under slants of late-afternoon sunlight. I silently stared for several minutes.
"So you're really going to leave me here, huh?" I asked without turning, my voice sounding more desolate than I'd intended. Nothing except air, forest, stone, and sky. Oh, and an abandoned mental institution. Couldn't forget about that. Well, and myself—the one thing I could never escape, although I was damned good at trying. Out here though . . .
Brandon paused. "Yeah, I really am. And you're going to be good—better than ever. You know it's—"
&nbs
p; "Yeah, I know." My mind supplied what Brandon hadn't. A second chance, a final chance, the opportunity to forge a comeback . . . high time to get my shit together. I continued to stare out the window. The beautiful simplicity of the landscape felt like a mockery of the dirty, roiling complexity inside me. Or maybe it wasn't complex at all. Maybe it was the simplest thing in the world: I was a goddamned fuck-up. I'd gone so far up my own ass that I couldn't find my way out again. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I turned back to Brandon who was looking at me with concern.
I ran a hand through my hair. I needed a shower. Cringing, I asked, "Will you tell me what happened last night?"
Brandon paused. "You don't remember any of it?"
"Bits and pieces." I sagged down onto the nearest chair, massaging my temples. I still felt the remnants of the massive headache I'd woken up with thanks to the copious amount of alcohol I'd consumed the night before. And the fact that I needed a fix. "I remember Paul tossing me out." My agent, his face filled with red-hot rage as he very literally kicked me out of his house. Sprawled in the dirt, groaning, gritty saliva dripping down my chin as Brandon dragged me up.
"You fucked Sabrina in the downstairs bathroom, man. The whole party heard it."
Sabrina. Paul's beautiful, blonde trophy wife.
Nausea rolled through me. Oh shit. Fuck. I fell back on the chair, trying to grab on to the pieces of memory that flitted through my brain. Sabrina had followed me to the bathroom and propositioned me and I'd . . . Jesus, I'd taken her up on it? I had no recollection of agreeing, just the vague vision of pounding into someone against the sink as she scratched at my back and made loud mewling sounds. Before I even realized what I was doing, I reached around to my back and when I pressed lightly, I could feel the sting of the wounds she must have inflicted with her long fingernails—the proof of my disgusting actions. Vomit threatened and I swallowed it down, running my sweaty palms over my thighs. "Fuck," I murmured. "Fuck, fuck."
"Yeah, well I guess that about sums it up," Brandon agreed. "On several levels." His expression was filled with pity, and I looked away. There were a few beats of silence. "You can't keep going like this, bro. This isn't you. You can't keep living this way. You have to be the one to make the choice, though. Your life can be good again, man."
I nodded, even though I had no idea how it possibly could be. "Yeah, I know," I lied. "This is good. Man, I appreciate it." And I did. If it wasn't this, it would be celebrity rehab somewhere where paparazzi were hiding in the trees trying to get a picture of me sobbing in group therapy or some such shit. Instead, Brandon had picked me up off the ground—quite literally—and taken me home. Then in the morning, he'd shown up with coffee and Tylenol and offered me this place. As long as I promised to use it to get myself back on track. And I wanted to, I really did. I was so fucking weary of my life, of the endless parties and drinking, the desperate suck-ups, the meaningless sex, and the overly bright mornings that always arrived with shame, sickness, and depression. And so I'd packed a bag and taken him up on his offer. I knew I should look at it solely as a gift, but in reality, hiding seemed a lot more appealing than facing my numerous fuck-ups. So here I was.
Brandon came closer and grabbed my shoulder, giving me a supportive squeeze. "Before I go, I need to check your bag."
I glanced at him, narrowing my eyes slightly. But all I saw in his expression was concern and possibly some regret. He wasn't relishing playing warden. I considered telling him to go fuck himself, but the truth was I couldn't really afford to lose any more friends. I let out a breath. "Yeah, sure. Okay." I stood and grabbed my duffle bag, dropping it on the couch and stepping away as he did a search of the contents, looking for pills, I knew. He cared, but I guessed he also didn't want me overdosing in his remote lodge in the wilderness of Colorado. The media would have a field day with that. I tried to feel some sort of fear that that's exactly what would happen, but all that came over me was a distant feeling of curiosity. I wondered how long it'd take someone to find my body.
After a minute, he zipped my bag closed and pushed it away. "Take any of the bedrooms upstairs. A housekeeper was out this week. The pantry and the fridges in the kitchen and garage are stocked with about a month's worth of food. There's a full gym downstairs—use it, man. The altitude up here makes it a better workout than you'll get anywhere else. There's a Jeep in the garage, keys on the peg next to the door."
"I thought the deal was I stay holed up here for the next four weeks." Plus, he knew I wasn't supposed to drive.
"It is. You're still allowed to know where you are in the case of an emergency. You're not in jail." His gaze held mine for a moment. Yet, was implied in his expression. "If you have any questions, call me. Cell reception out here is decent. I've rarely had a problem." I just nodded. "Just lay low, man. Rest. Recuperate. Get your head clear." His eyes lingered on my face for a beat too long. He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but changed his mind. Right. I knew what he meant anyway. Stay hidden. Banish yourself so you can't fuck up any more than you already have. Think long and hard about why you hate your life so damn much, you stupid, ungrateful bastard. "Okay. I better go while flying conditions are still optimal." He clapped me on the shoulder and walked toward the door. A quiet click behind him and I was alone. Nausea hit me again and I sat down on the couch, pulling in deep breaths of air as I put my head between my knees. All this quiet. After a few minutes, the silence was broken momentarily by the distant sound of a bird screeching. It sounded vaguely human and caused a shiver to race down my spine.
A moment later, I heard the noise of the helicopter rotors and then it slowly faded. Brandon was gone.
I raked my hands through my short, dark hair and then sat up and reached for my duffel bag, zipping it open and feeling for the hidden pocket near the bottom that was sewn shut. I tore the thread and pulled out the plastic bag wrapped with duct tape. My hands were shaking as I ripped it open, swearing softly as two pills fell soundlessly onto the carpet at my feet, one rolling under the coffee table. I got down on my hands and knees and searched for it. My utter pitifulness in that moment was blatantly clear, even to me. I let out a relieved breath as my fingers found the small tablet.
I brought the taped-up bag into the kitchen, glancing around at the dark cabinets, industrial-sized stainless steel appliances, and dark gray granite countertops. I hid the bag behind some cereal boxes in the large pantry—I wasn't sure who I was hiding it from, but it was habit at this point—then popped the two pills that had fallen on the floor into my mouth, leaning over the sink to drink straight from the tap.
I was going to stop taking the pills. A couple days and I'd do it. I had a month before I needed to get serious about training. A couple more days wouldn't matter. I'd gather my strength, and I'd do it then. When I was ready. But not today. Today I needed the pills. I needed the blessed numbness the pills brought.
Again standing in front of the window looking out over the forest, I wondered what sort of wildlife lived in it. Bears? Did I need to worry about bears? Wolves? No matter. I'd stay inside. Bears or wolves were far less frightening than paparazzi trying to get a photograph of the former quarterback slash currently jobless, hot fucking mess.
I'd call Ryan—
I jolted and flinched at my own thought. Even after almost three months, I still went to call him sometimes when I needed my best friend, a person who knew me, before I belonged to everyone. Before I was Holden Scott, public property. And then I'd remember he was gone, and it still shocked me. How long would that last? That now-and-again portion of a second when my unconscious mind believed he was still alive—just a phone call away? And did I really want it to go away? The very last portion of my brain that refused to believe he was really gone forever. My head throbbed again.
Turning away, filled with ugly self-pity, I flipped on the television and lay down on the leather sofa, hoping to the god of feng shui that good vibes were already flowing my way. I'd try to get some sleep. I needed sleep so fucking
badly. I was just so damn tired. Maybe everything would look better after some rest.
**********
Sleep didn't come. Sometime after midnight, I stumbled from the house to get some fresh air. The canned laughter of some late-night show grated in the background, the manufactured sound of happiness causing my jaw to clench and my skin to ache. Everything felt wrong. My legs wouldn't quit their restless, incessant movement, as if ants crawled through my veins. I couldn't fucking breathe. Even my thoughts were off. It felt like something or someone was knocking incessantly at my brain, as if trying to get my attention, and it hurt. I had stripped down to my boxers earlier and although the late summer night breeze was only mildly chilly, it felt good against my bare skin. I stood at the railing of the massive wrap-around deck, staring into the dark woods, inhaling the cool, crisp air as if it might somehow cleanse me of all my failings.
I startled slightly when I caught movement between two trees, the vague outline of a human form wearing white. Straining my eyes, I stared at the spot where I swore I saw . . . something. But after a moment, I looked away, rubbing at my tired eyes. Jesus, I was seeing things. It'd happened before when I'd gone days with no sleep. And now it was happening again.
Or maybe it had been a wolf, an animal, some trick of the moonlight that made it appear human. I raised my arms, laughing into the quiet void of night. "Hey, bears! Wolves! Listen up, motherfuckers. Do you know who I am?" My words echoed in the wide-open darkness. "I'm Holden Scott, the most lusted-after man in the NFL." I dropped my arms. "Formerly of the NFL. Disgraced, but still lusted after. Look at me. I'm a fucking GOD! Women everywhere want me. They want to have my babies. They sneak into my hotel rooms and hide under the bed. It's the craziest shit." I laughed, but it held no humor and sounded more like a strange bark. "They—" I let out a shaky breath. "They—" I sucked in sharp, cool night air, feeling waves of misery as if they were tangible, knocking me down, dragging me under, scraping me along the bottom, filling my mouth with the gritty taste of despair.