by Lynda Aicher
“Then why did you?” The flatness of her voice told him how bad the situation was. He’d expected a stream of tears or an angry tirade, but her measured emotions meant she’d either locked the others down or was already beyond them. And that gave him nothing to respond to or counter.
“I don’t know,” he exclaimed on a frustrated burst. He squeezed his eyes closed, grimaced. He had no right to be angry—except at himself. “Sorry. Shit.” He released a sigh. He owed her something, at least what he had, even if it sucked. “I didn’t think you’d want to know about the app in the beginning. And I wasn’t sure if you’d be a one-time attendee. We don’t give it out to the occasional participant.”
There was a beat of silence before she asked, “And after the first time? Why not then?”
Why not then? Did he tell her the whole truth? “Because I was afraid you’d react just like this.” Yup. There it was.
Her sharp inhalation shot through the line to confirm his unintended hit. He rubbed his eyes, desperate for a solution. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt her more.
“You were—are—so worried about what others will think of you,” he said quietly. Maybe it was the exhaustion from worrying about her all day or just the utter defeat plowing through him, but the truth continued to pour out. “And I didn’t want you to stop playing.” He inhaled, released it. “I was afraid you’d withdraw, and I didn’t want that. I lo—” watching you. Feeling you. He had no right to use that word now. “You were so stunning to watch,” he said instead. “And I wanted to keep watching as you grew into your passion and owned it.”
“So it was just about the sex.”
“No,” he insisted before correcting himself. “Maybe at first, but not even then. Not truly.”
“Then what was it about?”
He chuckled at her dogged persistence. She could’ve stayed away and simply not spoken to him. But not her. Not Avery.
“You,” he answered simply. “It was about you. You were full of surprises. Strong. Funny. Tender. Compassionate. Wicked. Sexy. Beautiful. I couldn’t get you out of my head. And I didn’t want to share you. I couldn’t stand the thought of you playing without me.” And he’d become a possessive asshole with that one admission.
“You don’t own me,” she whispered.
“I know.”
Another long beat of silence held before she said, “I wouldn’t have.” She choked back a laugh that had him cringing yet again. “Would it have been so hard for you to just tell me that? I didn’t want to play without you.” She sucked in a breath, and he clung to that admission. “But you thought it was better to lie to me instead of trusting me.”
Was that true? No. Not completely. “And you would’ve continued with the Boardroom if you’d known about Gregory and Trevor?”
No reply came, which was answer enough. She wouldn’t have. But he still shouldn’t have made that decision for her. He closed his eyes as the silence stretched. His pulse was steady, his emotions frozen in a state of suspended wait. His regrets mounted, yet he couldn’t change what he’d already done.
“I need you to go,” she said on a low, steady note.
He sat up. “What?” His breath stuck in his lungs, thoughts scattering at the implications. Was this it then?
“I want to go home, and I’m not ready to see you. Not yet.”
His mind raced, rejecting and accepting the reality at once. She didn’t want to see him. “Can I call you?”
“No.” No hesitation. No indecision. “I need some space.”
His head fell forward pushed by a wave of...grief. That was it. A huge dose of loss and regret balled in his chest to add to the guilt that still choked him. “Will you be okay?” he managed to ask.
Her brittle laughter was far from joyous. “I’ll be fine. I always am.”
And that wasn’t a real answer. Not the one he was seeking. “I’ve been fine for years,” he said, throwing everything out there. “But I wasn’t really good until you.”
“Carson.” A breathy plea carried in her voice. “Please.”
Please what? Leave her alone? Tell her more? “Will you call me when you’re ready?”
His stomach churned with a sick acceptance the longer she didn’t answer. So this was it. He had only himself to blame.
“Okay,” he finally said. “I understand.”
The walls started to go back up, one side at a time, around the emotions he’d let free. This was why he kept his distance. Why he never got involved. Love didn’t last, and it hurt so fucking much when it ended. He’d stopped relying on it long ago and this proved he’d been right to do so.
“I trusted you.” The words were spoken so softly, he almost missed them. But he didn’t. He heard the ache and pain in them too. Her own loss.
He’d caused that.
“I know.” She’d given him that gift over and over again, and he’d abused it. Or was it that he hadn’t believed in it enough? Trusted it? “I’m sorry I broke it.”
“You did.” The accusation was missing from her tone, and that hurt even more. This was a simple statement he couldn’t deny. “And now you have to trust me. You owe me that.”
Fuck. There went the damn walls. They toppled beneath the truth of her words. He did owe her that—and so much more. “You’re right.” Again. “And I do trust you, but not because I owe you.” No. He believed in the goodness within her and that damn moral code that he both cursed and adored. It hummed within him, shoving out the past to expose what he’d been missing in the present.
“I’ll talk to you when I’m ready.”
When she was ready, not if.
And there was the relief again. It sank through him only to bottom out in the pit of his stomach to churn with the disappointment. She could still walk away completely, and he wouldn’t blame her. But he really didn’t want her to.
“Okay.” He had to give her the space she needed. “I’ll stay away.” Even if it killed him. He’d figure something out at work too. Wait... “Are you coming back to work?”
A brief pause followed before she said, “I don’t know.”
Fuck. Gregory would drag him through the shitter, and rightly so. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hunting for options that didn’t exist. “They don’t think less of you,” he said, kicking himself for his inability to shift her perceptions on that. “No one does. No one ever will. Not within the Boardroom.”
“And out of it?”
“Not there either.” How did he get her to understand that? Could he? “There is nothing wrong with what you want. Nothing. Some would like you to think so, but they’re wrong. That’s why Trevor created the group.”
“Trevor?” She took another deep breath. “He created the Boardroom?”
Why had he said that? “Yes. He did,” Carson admitted after a beat. It was out now and not necessarily a secret. “Trevor created a safe place for people who have a lot to lose if their sexual desires are exposed. It’s contained, free from exposure and the fucking judgments society likes to place on sex.”
“And that’s just one of the things I didn’t need to know about him,” she mumbled before a sharp bark of laughter cut through the line. “And now I’m the hypocrite. Wow.”
“Are you judging him?” Her silence gave him his answer once again. “Don’t. Because I can assure you, he’s not judging you. Not for anything you did in the Boardroom.”
“But he is for something else?”
“No.” Carson winced, glad she couldn’t see him. “Unless you do something malicious to harm the company.”
She didn’t respond right away, which had him concerned all over again. There was so much he couldn’t change. Not the past or Trevor’s priorities. And apparently, not her mind.
Darkness was closing in, and he scanned the street in the off chance of seeing her nearby. There was a couple hurryi
ng down the sidewalk about a block down, and an older woman pulling her little rolling cart behind her, the basket filled with reusable grocery bags. But no Avery.
“I’ll go. But can you promise me something?” He had no right to ask, but he did anyway.
“What?”
“That you won’t judge yourself too harshly.”
Her scoff cut through him along with her bitter laugh. “Too late. I’ve already tried and persecuted myself.”
“Don’t. Please.” Grief swelled within him until he swallowed back the bile wrath burning his throat. “Judge me. Condemn me for what I did. But please, don’t put that on yourself. You’re too smart for that.”
She gave a soft humph. “Apparently, smartness doesn’t have a say over emotions.”
He snorted lightly. “Too true.” Too damn true. He heaved a sigh, already regretting his next words. “I’m leaving now.” He started the engine, the low purr barely audible. “And I’ll stay away. But we’re not done.” They couldn’t be done. There was too much good between them.
“Thank you, Carson.” She sniffed, and he thought she was going to say more, but there was only silence. The distinctive click of the call being disconnected had him pulling the phone from his ear to verify it.
His heart contracted with the loss when he confirmed their call had ended. It was done.
He set his phone in the cup holder as a vague numbness settled into him. There was nothing more he could do. Nothing he could say or change. Not right now anyway.
But he refused to accept that this was the end. He couldn’t.
Not when he could finally admit that he loved Avery.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The scent of ground coffee and baked goods hit Avery as she entered the little coffee shop. She glanced around, palms sweaty. Six days later, and she was still nervous about meeting Tam.
Six days since she’d seen anyone related to work. She’d called in sick for the rest of the week, and Gregory hadn’t balked at her sudden absence. But she couldn’t continue to avoid her job, not if she wanted to keep it.
And she did.
The train ride down to Burlingame had been quiet, the Sunday crowd thin. The predictable rock and sway of the train car had soothed her. People had gotten on and off, focused on their own lives and destination. Once again, she’d been just one of many.
She ordered an iced coffee and found a table in the shade on the outside patio. A rock song played over the sound system, and a tall hedge provided a barrier from the street.
She glanced at her phone, noting the time. Her foot tapped a nervous beat, but she crossed her legs to quell it. Her shorts and V-neck shirt were comfortably casual, not that she was worried about making an impression.
That had clearly already been done.
A mocking snort snuck out. She shook her head, smiling at her hypocrisy. Hours of analysis aided by a few bottles of wine and Karen’s wisdom had brought her to this point. One where she could not only see but accept her own judgments. And she wasn’t so squeaky clean.
“Hey,” Tam said as she stepped through the doorway to the patio. Her smile was bright, expression warm. Her sunglasses were perched on the top of her head, her hair styled to its normal sleek bob. Tam dropped into the chair across from Avery, her smile softening as she took her in. “I’ve been worried about you.” The truth rang from her voice and eyes.
Avery shrugged, unsure how to respond. “I’m fine,” she finally said. At least she was getting closer to that point. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“Of course.” Tam winced, a hint of guilt creeping into her expression. “I really am sorry about last week.” She reached out to grasp Avery’s forearm in a comforting grip. “I didn’t know I was stumbling into a bad topic. I honestly just wanted to be there for you.” She squeezed her arm. “I still do.”
Her chest contracted just a bit, her heart pinching with Tam’s concern. “I know.” She did. “None of this is your fault.”
“But I feel like it is.” She withdrew her hand and took a sip of her coffee. Her sigh was filled with appreciation. “I never thought I’d miss the buzz of a good espresso.” She closed her eyes, inhaled before reopening them. “Sorry. I’ve digressed.” She waved off her last comment. “So what can I do for you?”
Avery sat back, smiling. This was why she’d loved Tam almost instantly. Her quirky but direct approach to life reminded her of Karen, and both of them were so different from herself. “Thank you for taking time out of your Sunday. I—”
“Are you kidding me?” Tam cut in. “This is heaven.” She slumped back, face lifted to the sun. “Do you hear that?” She turned her head to listen. “There’s no crying. None.” Her smile was infectious when she looked back to Avery. “Gregory can deal with it for a while.”
Avery laughed along with her. An image of her boss attempting to comfort two cranky babies filled her head. He’d be okay. Maybe frazzled a little, but she admired that he pulled his weight in the parenting department.
She took a drink of her coffee, thoughts shifting to why she’d texted Tam for this meeting. “I have some questions for you, if your offer to talk about the Boardroom is still open.” She glanced around, reassured that no one was listening into their conversation.
“Of course.” Tam sat forward and crossed her arms on the table. “Shoot.” She was completely focused on Avery now, maybe too much.
She shifted in her seat, uncrossed and recrossed her legs. Her stomach fluttered with a nervous energy she had no hopes of squelching. She drew in a deep breath and called up the strength that’d gotten her to California and over every hurdle in her life.
Meet it. Face it. And then figure out how to move on. There was no going back.
“I don’t know where to start,” she finally said, being honest. The corner of her mouth quirked up in an abbreviated shrug. “I—” She clamped her lips tight, head shaking with her grimace. “Sorry. I’m still a little embarrassed by it all.”
Tam tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “About what part, specifically?” Her open inquiry instead of a quick dismissal of Avery’s feelings encouraged her to go on. The tightness in her chest eased and she sat back, a little more relaxed.
She fiddled with her cup, playing with the condensation that’d accumulated on the outside. “The everyone-knows part.” That was the crux of it. People she knew had knowledge of her sexual activities. Her non-normal ones.
Tam frowned, her lips twisting in thought. “I can understand that.”
Avery’s brows winged up, surprised at the admission.
Tam shrugged. “I had some of those same anxieties when I first joined the Boardroom.” She sat back, bringing her coffee cup with her.
“You did?” She had a hard time imagining this confident, self-assured woman with any anxieties.
“Of course.” Tam gave another shrug before taking a drink of her coffee. She licked her lips, lifted a brow. “What? It’s not like society has harsh stereotypes about women and sex or anything, right?” Sarcasm dripped from her words and matched her expression.
Avery couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled out. “Right?”
“What?” Tam covered her mouth with her hand, eyes wide in fake surprise. “You mean women can enjoy sex?” She rolled her eyes, hand falling away. “And heaven forbid if we actually seek it out or deviate from the ‘norm.’” She added finger quotes to the last word.
The tightness that’d been holding within Avery for days finally started to unwind. Her shoulders fell, the knots in her neck releasing.
Tam shooed her words away with a flick of her wrist. “It’s garbage and we know it. But it’s still hard to overcome, especially when it’s been ingrained in our psyches since we were born.”
Avery stared at her, a wave of gratitude stretching out to wrap Tam in an invisible hug. “Thank you for saying that.” Karen had l
istened and done her best to comfort her, but she didn’t fully understand the mass of incriminations and shame huddled within her.
Tam shrugged. “It’s true.” Her scowl said what she thought about it, in case Avery had missed it earlier. “It sucks, but there’s no getting around it. We—” she motioned to the two of them “—are supposed to be prudes until we get into our husbands’ bedrooms. Then it’s okay for us to be wild, passionate sex goddesses. But only there. And all those women who openly engage in sex or dress in a way that draws attention to their assets? They’re great to ogle and fuck, but not to marry. What a joke.”
Avery blinked, her smile growing from the core of truth opening within her. She knew all of that. She’d repeated those sentiments many times in her own head, but somehow, they rang stronger, clearer, when they came from Tam.
“It’s just one of many double standards women face every day.” Tam shook off her annoyance and sighed. “And one I forced myself to face when I got tired of berating myself for being who I am.”
The simplicity of her statement diminished the complexity of the task. But it rang loud and true within Avery. She’d been berating herself since she’d first walked into the shocking scene in the Boardroom. For liking what she saw. For wanting to see more. For actually doing it and enjoying it. For every damn desire and want that’d sprung up since then.
And she was so damn tired of questioning that part of herself.
“It’s not wrong,” she said. “Is it?”
“What?” Tam frowned. “Us liking sex? No,” she scoffed. “And it’s not wrong to engage in it. Or watch it. Or have it with multiple people. Or outside of marriage. Or in an open relationship. Or any damn way you want it. So no, it’s never wrong if it’s what you want.”
“And I know that.” Avery pointed to her temple. “Up here. But it’s really hard to apply that knowledge to here.” She pressed on her chest, wincing.
“It is,” Tam sympathized. “I get it. I really do.” She made another exaggerated roll of her eyes. “I beat myself up for quite a while over the sexual things I wanted.”
