And so he postponed the inevitable. Told himself that after the “Michael situation” was dealt with, they could deal with Tal's issues. Fix her first, so she wouldn't break when he delivered his own blow.
I never meant to know her, but I've known her for so long. I never want to see her hurt, and I'm going to have to hurt her the worst. When did it get so complicated?
And on top of unraveling the never ending thread that was his feelings for Mischa, he had his job. The dark shadow she wasn't even aware of, yet it was looming over their relationship.
Dooming them.
Earlier that morning, he'd gotten a call from a buddy, informing him of Ruiz's attempts to get them assigned to a different job. Fucker. Tal had counterattacked and made phone calls of his own. Argued for continued assignment in their current position. Hadn't he provided stellar work? Hadn't he kept things running smoothly? Of course he had. Like a boss.
By the time he hung up on Ruiz, it was late. Just after noon. Tal scowled as he looked over his phone. No missed calls. He dialed Misch's cell phone, but it went to voicemail.
“Hey, this is Mischa!” her chirpy voice sounded happy. “Leave me a message and I'll try my best to get back to you!”
Beep.
“I'm giving you half an hour, and then I'm calling the hotel,” he growled, then almost cracked his screen with how hard he pressed the end button.
Tal knew he wasn't helping matters by being an asshole. He knew she was doing something; something much harder than either of them were prepared for, he was sure. He knew it would take time, and that he should give her that time. Give her husband that time. After all, the other man had been there first.
Fuck that.
But Tal couldn't help the way he felt, either. And he felt like punching a mother fucker in the head. Her body belonged to him now, he'd paid for it in sweat. Paid for it with his tongue. His touch. The idea of another man touching her …
Mischa may have cheated on her husband to be with Tal, but that didn't make him doubt her, or her feelings for him. It sounded stupid, but she just wasn't that kind of person. At least, not when she was with Tal. He just knew that, he trusted that. He trusted her. If she said she wouldn't sleep with her husband, then Tal believed her.
But that didn't mean Mr. Rapaport wouldn't try, and that's where the “punch a mother fucker in the head” part came in to play.
He knew it was probably a bad idea, but he headed towards her hotel. He wouldn't go confront them while they were dealing with their shit, or even if they weren't dealing with their shit – Tal wasn't that type of guy. But he wanted to be close by for when she called.
A half an hour came and went. He called her cell phone again, got sent straight to voicemail again. He took a deep breath and called her hotel room. Prepared himself for a man to answer.
“I'm sorry,” a woman's voice picked up, “the guest you're trying to reach appears to be unavailable. Would you like to leave a message?”
“Uh, no. Thanks.”
Tal got to her hotel, then wandered down the street and sat at a cafe. Waited another half an hour, then called again.
“I'm sorry, the guest you're trying to reach …,”
Tal didn't wait for the whole speech, just hung up.
Something felt wrong. It was one o'clock. Surely they had come back. Maybe she'd wimped out and they were having lunch. Or hanging out. Or … playing scrabble. Or … something else …
She wouldn't do that, you trust her. She trusts you. This is real. You're perilously close to ruining everything for her, giving up everything for her. It has to be real.
When there was no answer by one-thirty, Tal couldn't take it anymore. It was time for some recon. He headed back to her hotel. He still wasn't going to interrupt them. He was just going to investigate.
He didn't learn anything by prowling around the lounge and lobby. He finally went outside and headed to the pool area. Her balcony jutted out right over it, and he hoped to get a view into the room. But when he came around the corner of the building, he was a little stunned by what he saw.
There were clothes strewn everywhere. Floating in the pool, draped on top of umbrellas, caught in hedges. A couple gardeners and housekeepers were scurrying about, trying to clean up the mess. A maid rushed past him and he grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop.
“What happened here?” he asked, but she shook her head. He switched to Italian and asked the same question.
“Crazy guest, threw all these clothes off a balcony!” she exclaimed. Tal looked into her arms while she talked. She was holding a few items, but the one that stood out was a black sundress.
He had done very dirty things to that dress.
The elevator was taking too long, so Tal took the stairs. He practically lunged up them, taking them three at a time, yanking himself up using the railing. He slowed down before her floor, and composed himself before he went through the door. He just wanted to make sure everything was okay, he wasn't going to burst in like a jealous … lover.
I'm such a jackass.
He slowly walked down the hall, acting casual. He wished he had brought his gear, then listening through the wall wouldn't be an issue. As it was, he'd have to press his ear to the bottom of the door. Or maybe they'd be yelling. That would be handy.
Nobody was yelling when he got to the room. No one was even talking. He could tell because the door was wide open.
Fuck this.
He crept into the room, calling out in Italian. He could play it off as a concerned guest if he had to. But no one answered. He walked full into the living room and stopped at a pile of clothing. Misch's clothing. There were a couple items strewn about, laying in a trail towards the balcony.