“You need to go home, Cecelia.”
I huff, gathering my jacket from the ground and sliding it on. “You should know that’s the last thing I’ll do.”
“You never could make things easy.”
“So, we are blaming me?” I take a step toward him, and his nostrils flare as though the mere scent of me is repulsive. I take that hit to the chest, knowing I may never get more than this.
“I should have been the one to die that night,” I press, “do you hate me because I didn’t?”
“I don’t blame anyone but Dominic for his decision.”
“I don’t think you mean that.”
“I do. It’s not your fault. But I say a lot of things I don’t mean when you’re around me. That stops the second you see yourself out.”
To be so close to him now without touching him is devastating. In a matter of minutes, the longing I’ve felt for years intensifies ten-fold as I linger in my own manicured shell, holding onto the high for the split second he allows us in close proximity. He feels it too. I know he does. I lost my heart the minute we connected on a molecular level. Somewhere between the games we played and the love I gave him, I lost a lot more.
One mistake, one night, it cost us all.
It’s clear he doesn’t trust me. Maybe he thinks I have an agenda.
And to a point, I do.
But it’s obvious now that agenda was the same pathetic attempt to liberate myself from his hold. And all of that hope disappears the longer he glares at me, the more I become swept up in his volatile depths. He taught me everything I know. And together, he and his brothers taught me love in every degree.
But this man hosts the hottest fire.
I’ll love him my whole life, and I’ll despise him too for what he took away, for the way he discarded me, shunned me, cast me out. And I allowed it because of the price he paid, but I’ve been paying too, and it’s time he knows it. I turn and face him fully.
“I loved him.”
He drops his gaze. “I know.”
“But not the way I loved you.”
His eyes snap to mine. I know it’s not the time, but I have no idea if I’ll ever get the chance again. I never told him, not once, but I’m now in the business of truth. I have absolutely nothing left to lose.
“And whether that matters or not, I deserve to grieve him. And I deserve answers from you.”
“I don’t want you here.”
“Have you ever?”
He averts his gaze, and I catch his eyes. “How about we blame the fucking secrets. Because those seem to have done the most damage.”
He turns on his wingtips and crashes through the gate, and I follow hot on his heels. “You denied me all of it! All of it! I deserve this damn conversation, Tobias! And I’m not leav—”
He closes the door to his newer model Jaguar, and in seconds he’s tearing out of the parking lot. I race after him, scrambling to start my Audi. When I gun it out of the parking lot, I swear I feel the presence of a cool dark cloud envelop me. Tobias shoots down the road, trying to outrun the past, our mistakes, me, and I stay on his tail before I gun past him over double yellow lines, and my lips lift in victory.
“Should have bought an Audi,” I snark, speeding well past his view and gaining good ground. Banking on him following on the straightaway, I go wide, giving myself great lengths before I slow bank on the shoulder and pull the emergency brake, correcting the wheel, so we’re head to head. In seconds he’s racing into view and slams on his brakes coming feet from killing us both. He gapes at me through the windshield, his eyes wide with surprise.
“Like that? Little brother taught me that hat trick. Your move.”
He glares at me for another second before pulling onto the shoulder and flying out of his car. The minute I’m out of my door, his hands shoot out, and he grips my upper arm, anger rolling off of him. “Are you out of your fucking mind? You could have killed us both!”
“Well then, I’d guess I’d be putting us both out of our misery,” I retort.
“Whatever you’re thinking about, forget it.” He’s so close that I can feel the fabric of his jacket. His smell invades my nose, and nostalgia hits like a lightning bolt, but I remain defiant.
“I can’t forget it.”
“You need to go back to your life.”
“Just talk to me, that’s all I want.”
“I’m going to say this once. That was then. There is no now.”
He releases me as if touching me burns him.
“You’re still the same smug, obnoxious, overbearing bastard you always were.”
“No,” his tone is acidic. “I’m much worse, and I always get my way. You might remember a lot, but you seem to have forgotten that.”
He turns on his Italian leathers and walks back toward his car.
“You lured me here with that offer. You knew I would eventually want to rid myself of the burden when you didn’t make good on taking it from him. Why didn’t you go after him?”
He pauses his walk and turns to me. “What does it matter? It’s mine now.”
“God, you’re ridiculous. You must hate the fact that I’ve grown up, and I won’t be manipulated by you ever again.”
“I got what I wanted. So, your point is moot.”
“Not entirely,” I taunt. “I’m holding you up to your end until you give me the answers I deserve. I’ve lived in the dark long enough.”
We face off just feet apart, and I know he sees the resignation in my face. “Just go home, Cecelia.” He ducks into his car, slamming his door before he speeds off.
I lift from the duvet covered in sweat, my limbs aching as an agonized cry leaves my lips. I’d chased Sean through the trees all night, begging him to stop, but he just kept running, and he refused to look back.
“Damnit!” I hurl my water bottle across my room, and it smacks the wall before landing on the carpet just in front of my moonlit French door, the remaining water steadily leaking out.
It’s my subconscious I’m constantly battling. Waking hours are far easier, but every night or every other, in some way, I grieve one or all of them.
And it’s pathetic because they’re almost always dreams of rejection.
I beg, I plead with them not to leave me, to love me back, to forgive me. Just for once in these dreams, I want to be angry, to tell then that they’re liars, that they never deserved me, or my loyalty, my devotion, my ever-faithful heart. Still, it’s always them I’m chasing after, begging their forgiveness, begging for absolution, begging for my feelings to be returned.
Even with the strength I display on the outside during my waking hours bringing grown men to their knees in my business dealings, in my dreams, I’m forever weak. And my mind won’t relent in making me remember that, it won’t reason its way back into the truth of today, not yesterday. Unable to keep the effects from trickling in, I dial the number and pray she picks up.
“Talk to me,” Christy says in a sleepy voice.
“I’m only getting worse. This place is only making it worse.”
“I’m here.”
“I’m sorry,” I sigh, eyeing the clock. “I know it’s late.”