Hey guys! I'm glad to see that no one (or at least no one who left a review) thought that the last chapter was stupid. YAY! And, thanks to another reviewer, I realized that I had yet to explain what had happened with Vaughn when he was kidnapped. So here it is…enjoy!
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Chapter 21
I had to admit that my second attempt at scrambled eggs had turned out quite a bit better. We had eaten in comfortable silence, I feeling quite pleased with myself for creating a successful breakfast, and Vaughn acting smug because he had taught me how.
The whole situation had seemed almost normal—like it was something that we did every day. And I wished that it was.
I grinned across the table at Vaughn, grabbing his empty plate and my own and carrying them to the sink.
"You're pretty impressed with yourself, aren't you?" He asked with a smile as he watched me scrub halfheartedly at the dirty dishes.
I grinned sheepishly. It was true. I did feel suddenly like the Martha Stewart of my generation.
I blushed at the thought, knowing full well that not burning eggs in no way made me like Martha Stewart.
"Maybe a little," I said modestly, deciding to keep the Martha Stewart thing to myself.
Vaughn stood up, moving to stand beside me in front of the sink. He pulled the plate I was washing away from me, grabbing the dishrag from my hand.
"I can finish these up," he said. "After all, you did make breakfast."
I found myself remembering that night in LA, when he had fallen asleep on my couch watching the Kings game. We had come a long way since then. I chuckled. "Yeah. All by myself." He glanced at me, his eyes sparkling.
"Right." He paused, placing a newly cleaned dish in the drying rack. "I can't believe that you never learned to cook." He shook his head in disbelief. "You live with someone who owns a restaurant!"
I scowled at him, deciding that it was safer not to respond. I turned on my heels and headed toward the bathroom, ignoring his soft chuckles behind me.
* * * * *
I emerged from the shower about twenty minutes later, my hair smelling pleasantly of lilacs. I toweled myself dry and got dressed, my hair leaving wet marks around the collar of my shirt. I ran the towel over my hair several times, then gave up. It's not like I was going anywhere today. And I knew that Vaughn didn't care.
He had seen me beaten and bloody, and dressed in any number of horrible outfits.
Yet he didn't seem to mind.
My thoughts drifted back to his own bruised body, and I realized that I had yet to find out what had happened during the brief time that he'd been missing. All I knew was that if Sloane was involved in any way, I would kill him.
I left the bathroom in search of Vaughn. I found him kneeling in front of the small television set, fiddling with the antennas perched on top. Through the distortion on the screen, I could see the vague outlines of hockey players.
Hockey.
Why was I not surprised?
I chuckled, and Vaughn turned his head. Seeing that it was me, he flipped the television off, and moved over to the couch.
I lowered myself down beside him, tucking my uninjured leg up underneath me. I looked at him seriously, and he frowned, reaching up to rub a strand of my still damp hair between his fingers.
"What's the matter?" He asked.
"Tell me what happened," I said, my eyes meeting his.
His hand fell away from my hair, and his eyes moved away from mine to an invisible spot on the hotel carpet.
"What do you mean?" He asked, the question not at all convincing.
"You know what I mean, Vaughn," I said, my voice soft as I reached out to run my fingers along the dark bruising by his eye.
He frowned. "It's over, Syd," he said, his voice harsh. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me," I said. He returned his gaze to mine, and I was slightly taken aback by the pain I saw there. "You have to tell someone, or it will eat up inside," I said again after a pause. "Believe me, I know."
His eyes softened at my words. He knew the things that I had been through—knew that I would sympathize with him, but not pity him.
He glanced away, pausing for several moments before speaking. "I was cleaning up the dishes while you were in the shower, and I had the water running, so I didn't hear them come in. They must have hit me on the head, because I don't remember anything until I woke up later on. They had me in an interrogation room, but the lights were off. And they beat me—I couldn't see them, but they beat me until I passed out again."
I closed my eyes against the image, reaching out to squeeze Vaughn's hand in mine.
He didn't look up, just continued to speak in an almost monotone voice. "When I woke up again, the light was on. A man was there." I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off, anticipating my question. "I didn't know him..." he trailed off. "And he never asked me anything. He just—he just told me that they were going to kill you. That they were coming back for you." His voice was barely a whisper.
I watched him for a moment, my brow furrowed. They hadn't interrogated him? Why had they taken him, then? To scare him? It didn't make sense.
"I couldn't let them hurt you." Vaughn's words pulled me away from my thoughts. "I knew I had to get out. They came to beat me again. They thought that I had passed out. But I didn't." For the first time, I saw the hint of a smile on his face. "And I beat them up."
I smiled, squeezing his hand, and finally he looked back up at me. "There was no one else in the building," he continued. "I left and found my way back here."
We sat in silence as I analyzed what he had said.
"Vaughn," I said finally. "None of this makes any sense. If they wanted me, why didn't they just take me in the first place? And why didn't they interrogate you?"
Vaughn shook his head. Obviously, he'd been wondering the same thing. We both thought about it for several minutes, no answers coming to mind.
"Thank you for telling me," I said softly.
He nodded. "I do feel better. Guess I'm just not as tough as you." Finally, he smiled.
"No," I said, returning the smile. "You just haven't had quite as much experience with this kind of thing. And you should be grateful for that."
"I am," he replied, without hesitation. "And I'm grateful that I'm here with you."
I blushed, squeezing his hand and leaning in to place a soft kiss on his lips. "Our flight doesn't leave until tomorrow morning," I said. "What do you want to do for the rest of the day?"
"Well, I—"
Vaughn's words were cut off as the door to the hotel room flew open. Vaughn and I jumped up from the couch, Vaughn pulling a gun from the end table beside the couch as several men dressed completely in black swarmed into the room.
Vaughn raised the gun, aiming it at the closest man. Within seconds, every one of the men in the room had trained their machine guns on Vaughn's head.
"Drop it," one of the men said. They were all wearing black ski masks, and my attempts to identify them were in vain. Vaughn paused, then nodded, slowly bending down to place his gun on the floor.
One of the men stepped forward, reaching down to retrieve Vaughn's gun.
"Sydney," the man said, and I froze, my brow furrowing in concentration. I knew that voice.
The man pulled off his mask, and my eyes widened in shock.
"Dad?"
* * * * *
Heehee… another cliffhanger! Hope you guys liked it! I realized from some of the reviews that I've received that I should probably go back over the entire story and proofread it. There are several typos that should be changed… and I hate typos! The next chapter will be along in the next few days, and also be watching for revisions to the previous chapters as I read over them again. As always, read and review!
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Chapter 21
I had to admit that my second attempt at scrambled eggs had turned out quite a bit better. We had eaten in comfortable silence, I feeling quite pleased with myself for creating a successful breakfast, and Vaughn acting smug because he had taught me how.
The whole situation had seemed almost normal—like it was something that we did every day. And I wished that it was.
I grinned across the table at Vaughn, grabbing his empty plate and my own and carrying them to the sink.
"You're pretty impressed with yourself, aren't you?" He asked with a smile as he watched me scrub halfheartedly at the dirty dishes.
I grinned sheepishly. It was true. I did feel suddenly like the Martha Stewart of my generation.
I blushed at the thought, knowing full well that not burning eggs in no way made me like Martha Stewart.
"Maybe a little," I said modestly, deciding to keep the Martha Stewart thing to myself.
Vaughn stood up, moving to stand beside me in front of the sink. He pulled the plate I was washing away from me, grabbing the dishrag from my hand.
"I can finish these up," he said. "After all, you did make breakfast."
I found myself remembering that night in LA, when he had fallen asleep on my couch watching the Kings game. We had come a long way since then. I chuckled. "Yeah. All by myself." He glanced at me, his eyes sparkling.
"Right." He paused, placing a newly cleaned dish in the drying rack. "I can't believe that you never learned to cook." He shook his head in disbelief. "You live with someone who owns a restaurant!"
I scowled at him, deciding that it was safer not to respond. I turned on my heels and headed toward the bathroom, ignoring his soft chuckles behind me.
* * * * *
I emerged from the shower about twenty minutes later, my hair smelling pleasantly of lilacs. I toweled myself dry and got dressed, my hair leaving wet marks around the collar of my shirt. I ran the towel over my hair several times, then gave up. It's not like I was going anywhere today. And I knew that Vaughn didn't care.
He had seen me beaten and bloody, and dressed in any number of horrible outfits.
Yet he didn't seem to mind.
My thoughts drifted back to his own bruised body, and I realized that I had yet to find out what had happened during the brief time that he'd been missing. All I knew was that if Sloane was involved in any way, I would kill him.
I left the bathroom in search of Vaughn. I found him kneeling in front of the small television set, fiddling with the antennas perched on top. Through the distortion on the screen, I could see the vague outlines of hockey players.
Hockey.
Why was I not surprised?
I chuckled, and Vaughn turned his head. Seeing that it was me, he flipped the television off, and moved over to the couch.
I lowered myself down beside him, tucking my uninjured leg up underneath me. I looked at him seriously, and he frowned, reaching up to rub a strand of my still damp hair between his fingers.
"What's the matter?" He asked.
"Tell me what happened," I said, my eyes meeting his.
His hand fell away from my hair, and his eyes moved away from mine to an invisible spot on the hotel carpet.
"What do you mean?" He asked, the question not at all convincing.
"You know what I mean, Vaughn," I said, my voice soft as I reached out to run my fingers along the dark bruising by his eye.
He frowned. "It's over, Syd," he said, his voice harsh. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me," I said. He returned his gaze to mine, and I was slightly taken aback by the pain I saw there. "You have to tell someone, or it will eat up inside," I said again after a pause. "Believe me, I know."
His eyes softened at my words. He knew the things that I had been through—knew that I would sympathize with him, but not pity him.
He glanced away, pausing for several moments before speaking. "I was cleaning up the dishes while you were in the shower, and I had the water running, so I didn't hear them come in. They must have hit me on the head, because I don't remember anything until I woke up later on. They had me in an interrogation room, but the lights were off. And they beat me—I couldn't see them, but they beat me until I passed out again."
I closed my eyes against the image, reaching out to squeeze Vaughn's hand in mine.
He didn't look up, just continued to speak in an almost monotone voice. "When I woke up again, the light was on. A man was there." I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off, anticipating my question. "I didn't know him..." he trailed off. "And he never asked me anything. He just—he just told me that they were going to kill you. That they were coming back for you." His voice was barely a whisper.
I watched him for a moment, my brow furrowed. They hadn't interrogated him? Why had they taken him, then? To scare him? It didn't make sense.
"I couldn't let them hurt you." Vaughn's words pulled me away from my thoughts. "I knew I had to get out. They came to beat me again. They thought that I had passed out. But I didn't." For the first time, I saw the hint of a smile on his face. "And I beat them up."
I smiled, squeezing his hand, and finally he looked back up at me. "There was no one else in the building," he continued. "I left and found my way back here."
We sat in silence as I analyzed what he had said.
"Vaughn," I said finally. "None of this makes any sense. If they wanted me, why didn't they just take me in the first place? And why didn't they interrogate you?"
Vaughn shook his head. Obviously, he'd been wondering the same thing. We both thought about it for several minutes, no answers coming to mind.
"Thank you for telling me," I said softly.
He nodded. "I do feel better. Guess I'm just not as tough as you." Finally, he smiled.
"No," I said, returning the smile. "You just haven't had quite as much experience with this kind of thing. And you should be grateful for that."
"I am," he replied, without hesitation. "And I'm grateful that I'm here with you."
I blushed, squeezing his hand and leaning in to place a soft kiss on his lips. "Our flight doesn't leave until tomorrow morning," I said. "What do you want to do for the rest of the day?"
"Well, I—"
Vaughn's words were cut off as the door to the hotel room flew open. Vaughn and I jumped up from the couch, Vaughn pulling a gun from the end table beside the couch as several men dressed completely in black swarmed into the room.
Vaughn raised the gun, aiming it at the closest man. Within seconds, every one of the men in the room had trained their machine guns on Vaughn's head.
"Drop it," one of the men said. They were all wearing black ski masks, and my attempts to identify them were in vain. Vaughn paused, then nodded, slowly bending down to place his gun on the floor.
One of the men stepped forward, reaching down to retrieve Vaughn's gun.
"Sydney," the man said, and I froze, my brow furrowing in concentration. I knew that voice.
The man pulled off his mask, and my eyes widened in shock.
"Dad?"
* * * * *
Heehee… another cliffhanger! Hope you guys liked it! I realized from some of the reviews that I've received that I should probably go back over the entire story and proofread it. There are several typos that should be changed… and I hate typos! The next chapter will be along in the next few days, and also be watching for revisions to the previous chapters as I read over them again. As always, read and review!