Part of the reason I let Quincy walk away from me that night was because I was too much of a coward to have the real conversation. The one that would end with her moving out, deleting my number from her phone and never speaking to me again. I was trying to honor her wishes for space, but in truth I was acting like a fucking coward because that conversation had been long overdue.
I can’t honor anything for Ella, because I don’t know what she wants now that they all know.
I don’t know if she’s imagining I’ve abandoned her, or that I slept with her and never looked back. I don’t know a damn thing and that’s also un-fucking-acceptable.
What kind of man would I be if I went back to the motel and left it at that? If I let men who aren’t part of our relationship decide it was over because of my professional obligations? What kind of coward would I be?
I jerk the wheel to the right at the next intersection, my mind racing. My blood pumps hard in my veins. This isn’t that night with Quincy. This is a different morning. A far more complicated relationship. I didn’t know what I wanted with Quincy. I have to be with Ella. That is the only thing I know right now.
That’s the truth. The one truth that keeps me sane.
In the rearview mirror, I watch Damon’s car come after mine, his tires squealing. He’s swearing in the front seat, his expression pissed, and that anger won’t leave once he finds out what I intend to do. What I have to do.
If Ella doesn’t have feelings for me or if she doesn’t see any need for me at all, then I’ll leave her be. I’ll let her go on with her life. I’ll step back and allow her the space to get well. I’ll never bother her again.
But I’m not going to take anyone else’s word for it or allow them to make that decision for her. My heart slams against my rib cage over and over and over. Her manager and the rest of The Firm can claim she doesn’t want to see me all they want. I’ll believe it when she tells me and not a moment before.
They’ll have taken her to one of the properties The Firm hires out in conjunction with every client. We always have a backup safe location in case the need arises. It’s typically nondescript. Meant to keep from drawing attention. We still followed this protocol even though Ella is a custodial client and not someone needing strictly personal protection services.
It’s a few miles from here. Not far although I’ve driven a good distance in the opposite direction.
Another sharp right and I’m heading in the right direction. Damon honks behind me. He’ll know where I’m going. He doesn’t have any choice in the matter unless he decides to crash his car into mine. That’s the only way I’ll stop.
Ella
This sinking feeling in my chest is one I haven’t felt for a long time. A very long time. I’m not unfamiliar with the sickening churn in my gut or the heaviness that presses down on my shoulders, begging me to cave to it and make myself small.
After the last year and a half, I’m quite used to its abuse and the screaming that accompanies it in the back of my mind. This particular feeling, though, is one that used to come often as a child. I imagine so many people feel it. All of us, really. The gut instinct that warns a child they’re in trouble. That they’ve done something very wrong and disappointed the ones they love.
The memory of my father’s dark eyes narrowing as I stood there, my fingertips fiddling with the hem of my shirt or my sleeve, forces me to swallow although my throat is dry.
The men surrounding me aren’t my father, but they have authority over me and it’s not until now that I feel both immense regret in this decision and an anxiousness as I question the consequences of my impulsive actions. It’s all too much.
The expression on each of the men who sit across from me tells me disappointment is only one of several emotions. Anger, betrayal … Concern. Kamden’s fidgeting, and his readjusting in the simple black mesh office chair next to me makes me even more uncomfortable.
He’s barely looked at me. None of the men have since I sat down. It’s eerily quiet and the squeak of the wheels rolling as Silas takes a seat next to Cade marks the first noise I’ve heard apart from someone clearing their throat.
I woke up expecting to find Zander, but his shift had ended and instead Silas waited for me downstairs. He was polite but firm that I should dress quickly. Silas was my driver to this less than appealing meeting.
He’s been vague and his tone far less pleasant than it typically is.
My heart may be rampaging, beating against the cage that contains it, but I endeavor to keep my shoulders squared and my expression emotionless, neither positive nor negative. Even if every man in this room wears a stone-cold expression to match the dark gray of their power suits.
I could have worn black for mourning and to reflect this deep-seated emotion that brews inside of me, but that’s uninspiring so I opted for a dark red silk blouse and high-waisted skinny jeans. Red is a color of confidence.
“What’s this about?” I question and my gaze is drawn to Cade’s throat, the cords of it tightening before my eyes travel back up and he offers me a tight smile.
“It’s about your relationship with Zander.” Kamden’s voice is low, cautious even. There’s a ping that runs through me. It’s sharp, like swallowing a thorn, and keeps me from answering immediately. That churning in my gut intensifies as I meet Kamden’s gaze and then Cade’s. It’s a horrid feeling that, in this particular moment, can fuck right off.
“What of it?” I reply in a harsher tone than I’d have liked. I’ve never desired to be a “bitch” so to speak, although I hate that word. I might not be a fighter and I might hate confrontation, but that doesn’t mean for one second that I can’t defend myself. A side of me that I haven’t felt for years returns.
In the silence, I question again, “What of it?” Cade recovers quickly, but I don’t miss the shock in his dilated pupils.
The man himself looks worn thin. Bags under his eyes match those of Kamden’s, if I’m honest. Silas focuses on his clasped hands in front of him, not reacting at all to anything. If I could read minds, I’d wager a bet he’d rather be anywhere other than here.
With a heat simmering along my shoulders, I wait for any of them to speak. Kamden repositions in his seat yet again and then places his hand over mine. I don’t react to the contact; instead I stare at a dull painting of black and gray smears that’s hung on the wall behind Cade as Kamden speaks. It’s a modern piece that would fade into any room. Surely it’s only meant to take up space.
Clearing his throat, it’s obvious that Kamden is the one who will initiate this conversation. “Mr. Thompson crossed a line,” Kamden starts and that brief sentence grants him my full attention.
My expression hardens and I can’t help it. I’m quick to rip my hand away from under his. My bottom lip trembles as betrayal overrides every other emotion. I desperately wish I could control myself more in this moment and not allow the shock and despair to show at all because I know emotion doesn’t work with men. In this room, I’m the one who lacks any power at all. My guardians and conservator have all the power they want over me, yet I can’t help but scoff, “He crossed a line?” In that instant, under Kamden’s unwavering expression of concern, I consider, for a moment, that Zander’s done with me.