by Serena Grey
“Fuck. You. For. Leaving.” He bites out the words, his chest heaving, his eyes darkening almost to black. My head falls back as pleasure spreads through me in a warm tsunami. I cry out and my body tightens, bowing off the door. I slide against him as my body contracts over and over, my climax rocking me almost to oblivion.
I hear him grunt, feel him stiffen, feel his hands tighten around my thighs as he enters me so deep his balls press against me. Warmth explodes deep inside me as he comes.
We are both silent. Both breathing deeply, chests rising and falling, our hoarse breaths the only sounds in the room.
Then I hear my name escape his lips in a soft sigh.
“Liz.”
We stay motionless for a while, his body pressed against mine. I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in the crook of his neck. He smells of skin, sweat, sex, and faint cologne. I breathe deeply, taking him in. My nipples rub on the soft cotton of his shirt. My belly is pressed against the hard board of his, and his muscled thighs remain between my legs.
It’s perfect.
I kiss his neck and feel his chest rise. He turns his face to mine and slowly slides out of me. I smile languidly, pleasure still coursing through me.
“Hey,” I say softly.
“Hey.” He releases me, letting me slide to my feet. He holds me steady, which helps because my legs are still too shaky to stand on their own. I’m naked, but in no particular hurry to get dressed.
I watch him fix his pants, then his eyes return to my face. I wish he would say something, anything to make me feel like we are going somewhere from here, that we’ve moved past the animosity and into a place where we can work on us.
The silence continues.
What now, Aidan? my heart screams.
“You should get dressed,” he says without emotion. His eyes are on my breasts, and he makes no move to step out of the way so I can find the items of clothing he peeled off me earlier.
I pull in a breath. “I should, probably.”
He nods and lifts one finger to trace a line around my nipple. My eyes close.
What now?
“If I let you go, I am lost,” he murmurs, then cocks his head to one side. “Not quite accurate in our case, is it? If I let you in, I am lost.”
I shake my head, almost pleading. “I was lost when I let you go.”
He swallows visibly, then turns abruptly, picking up my top and my bra and handing them to me. “Here.”
I reach for them. What now?
“I wanted to leave,” I admit in a low voice. “Hollywood promised everything I wanted. Bigger, brighter, the kind of stardom I thought I deserved. I wanted it so badly, at least I thought I did, at the time.”
He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t say anything, so I continue. “But I didn’t want to leave you. It was confusing, how willing I was to give up dreams I’d had my whole life just to be with you. I knew if you tried to convince me to stay, or if we tried to make it work and the distance got between us, I’d choose you, and it scared me.”
“I couldn’t tell you the truth, Aidan. You’d have convinced me we could make it work. You’d have offered to uproot your whole life and move to L.A. with me, so I left. I broke your heart intentionally, because I thought if I hurt you enough and you had no choice but to move on, then maybe I’d move on too.”
Silence follows my words. Aidan is standing as still as a statue. That’s the only indication that he heard me.
“Aidan…”
He shakes his head, stopping me. “One day you were the love of my life, and the next you were gone.” His eyes search my face and I can see the pain in their depths. “I couldn’t reach you, and the next time I saw you your pictures were splashed all over the news with your new co-star who was suddenly the love of your life...”
“You are the love of my life.” I place my hands on his chest. “I already told you, that relationship was all for the studios…and to say the truth, I agreed because…I thought maybe it would help you move on…”
His voice is still accusing. “You almost married him.”
I almost did. I try to remember the craziness of my Hollywood engagement, the eager fans who wanted to believe the relationship I had with my co-star on screen was real, the ache for Aidan that never went away. “That was almost three years later. I was unhappy. So unhappy. I missed you like crazy. Work was crazy. I knew you wanted nothing to do with me. I was lonely, and Devlin was lonely too. We were prisoners in the same fishbowl… and I found out…” I stop.
Aidan gives me a sharp glance. “You found out what?”
“I found out you were dating again. I cared more than I should have. I was miserable, and Devlin was there, but I never moved on. He’s just a friend. A good one.”
“So that too was my fault.” Aidan chuckles bitterly and pushes my hands away from his chest. “You know what? This is who you’ve always been. I just didn’t see it before. You do something unforgivable and you think just because you want forgiveness, you should get it. It’s still all about you. You’re still the same selfish Liz.”
“It’s not about what I want. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care about what you want.”
“And you think I want you?” His laugh is cruel. “I want to hate you. I want to hate you so much that hurting you would give me pleasure.”
“But you can’t.”
He sighs. “Get dressed,” he says again. “You should go.”
I reach for him. “No.”
He gives me a warning look. “Nothing has changed. We fucked, and that’s it. It was just sex. This wasn’t a reconciliation. It was just two people making use of each other’s bodies.”
I almost stamp my foot. “Stop lying to yourself.”
He abandons me by the door and goes to his desk, lowering himself into the seat behind it. “Go home, Liz.”
“Come with me,” I offer, desperate again. “Let’s go to my place. Let’s talk about this.”
He ignores me.
I approach his desk. “I hate what I did to you. I’m so sorry I can’t find the words to explain how sorry I am. I regret that we are not together, but what I regret the most is turning you into someone willing to punish himself, just so he can make me suffer.”
“You’re right,” he replies, spearing me with his eyes. “I’d give anything to make you suffer just as I did, and it still wouldn’t be enough.”
“You’d give anything…even the chance to be together?”
He is silent.
“I already suffered, Aidan. Just like you did.”
He makes a frustrated sound. “This was a mistake,” he mutters. “Working with you was a mistake. This…” He gestures at me. “Us... It was a mistake.” His chest rises. “You need to accept that there won’t be a happy ending to our story. We will never work. The sooner you accept that and go back to your life, the better for both of us.”
I hold his gaze. “Can you look me in my eyes and tell me you don’t love me anymore?”
He rises suddenly and rounds the desk, coming to take my face in his hands. He gazes down into my eyes. His chest rises, and he starts to speak, then stops.
“Aidan…”
“Liz,” he says slowly and firmly. “I don’t give a fuck what you want. Just leave me alone.”
He walks out of the office, leaving me to nurse my pain alone. I fix my clothes and returned to my dressing room. I’ve tried. I’ve done everything I can think of. Maybe it’s finally time to give up on Aidan.
The thought fills me with agony and an image of a lifetime of loneliness stretches before me. No, I don’t want to forget about him. I don’t want to resign myself to a life without him.
In my dressing room, the first thing I hear is my phone ringing in my drawer.
Panic sets in when I see that the call is from Gertie.
My dad is fine.
My dad is fine.
My dad is fine.
“What’s happened?” I ask as soon as I connect the call. A w
eight of foreboding settles on my shoulders. “Is it Dad?”
“Liz.” I’ve never heard Gertie cry, but she’s crying now, and suddenly, I don’t need her to tell me what’s happened. Grief seizes me like a demon. “Oh Liz,” Gertie sobs. “It’s your father.”
Chapter Twenty Seven
Aidan
Since she wouldn’t leave, I left her in there. That’s what I should have done from the start. I should have left the production, stayed as far away from her as possible.
Now I have the taste of her mouth on my lips. The weight of her breasts is a vivid memory in my hands. I can still feel myself buried inside her silken heat. I can still hear her moans, her abandoned cries as she exploded from my touch.
All mine.
In my head, I’m already a slave to her. My body aches for her. She conquered my heart a long time ago. She owns me totally…but I can’t give in.
Giving in would be setting myself up for the kind of pain I know I won’t survive.
Outside the theater, I see a black tinted SUV pull up near the stage door and idle for a few minutes. After a while, Liz emerges from the building wearing a huge jacket, with massive black shades covering her eyes. She doesn’t see me on the sidewalk, and I keep walking, lengthening my strides to put as much space between us as I can.
I head to the gym and train for about two hours. I run, do weights, then do an impromptu session with one of the martial arts trainers. I end up with a few bruises, but I don’t care. Nothing on the outside compares with the pain I’m feeling on the inside.
Don’t think of what could be if you let her into your heart again.
Empty your mind.
Feel nothing.
If only.
Even in my exhaustion, I can’t stop thinking of what would have been if I’d taken her up on her offer to go to her place, to talk. Except we wouldn’t talk, not at first. I’d be making love to her again right now…making up for seven years of wanting with seven years of taking…and giving.
Liz.
She knows me, inside out.
She knew how much she meant to me.
And she left.
So why can’t I stop thinking of what could have been? Why can’t I stop imagining love, happiness, a future with her…
At my apartment, I pour myself a drink and go out to the balcony. It’s cold and windy, and I let the chill seep into my bones. The physical suffering can only help to distract me from the turmoil of my chaotic emotions.
Only, it doesn’t work. My head is filled with Liz’s smile, her scent, her taste, her moans.
“Fuck me,” I mutter. “And fuck you Liz.”
Once, she’d knocked my legs out from under me, and now I’m supposed to believe that she’d done it for me, because in her own way, she cared too much about me? Loved me so much she wanted me to forget about her and move on?
Fuck her lies.
Back inside, I switch on the TV, then settle on the couch and flick through the channels, not really interested in the images on the screen.
Then I see something that makes me pause.
A news anchor is talking about international politics, but the Chyron visible across the bottom of the screen leaves me reeling in shock.
Dennis McKay dead of a heart attack.
Fuck.
The news switches to two entertainment correspondents.
“Sad news from here in New York, Dennis Mckay, the renowned Broadway producer, best known for many successful productions has died earlier tonight of a heart attack. He has been battling cancer for a year and according to sources, seemed to be on the road to recovery. His daughter is actress Liz McKay who is in the city and was with him when he passed. We understand she will release a statement soon.
“Sad news,” the co-anchor intones. “Dennis McKay fought a valiant battle with cancer, and the sickness took a toll on him, leaving him vulnerable to this attack.”
There’s a sober silence. “Sad as Broadway loses a legend. We will bring you the statement from McKay’s family as soon as it’s available.”
I put my head in my hands.
When was the last time I saw Dennis? More than a year ago at a charity function.
After Liz. After that play, I’d never worked with him again, not because I didn’t respect him, but because he was a reminder of what I’d lost.
I hadn’t known that he was sick.
Even when Natalia took over his company.
Poor Natalia…
And Liz.
Jesus! Liz.
I recall her face as she walked past me, hurrying into the SUV. Had she known then? Probably. She’d been hurrying to be with her father in his final moments.
To deal with losing him after having to deal with my cruelty.
I’m already walking out of the apartment. I have to go to her, and I don’t care if she doesn’t want to see me. After the things I said to her, I deserve for the door to be shut in my face, but I’ll try. I’ll be there for her.
If she’ll still have me.
Chapter Twenty Eight
Liz
Only two days, and now I have to say goodbye forever.
My hands are shaking. It’s quiet in my dad’s room, and his bed stares back at me, mocking me with its emptiness. I’m desperate to close my eyes, open them again and see him lying there, or walking around, healthy, the way he used to be.
Guilt racks me. I’d spent so little time with him since I left to pursue my career. I’d missed so much, but I assumed there’d be time, after the next movie, after the next…whatever…and now he’s gone forever.
“Dad.”
The only answer is silence.
I grip his blanket, and when I blink, tears splash down my cheeks. “Dad, how am I supposed to survive with you gone?”
There’s no reassuring voice to tell me everything will be all right.
Concerning arrangements, I don’t have much to do. Dad took care of everything.
The funeral service is taking place in a few hours. After that he’ll be laid to rest in the cemetery right next to my mother. The memorial service is tomorrow. That one I’ll find harder to face, because all the people who knew and admired him will be there and I’ll have to listen to them remind me of my grief.
There’s a knock on the door and Gertie opens it and steps inside the room. “We should leave in about thirty minutes,” she says softly.
I nod. “I’m ready.” Though I’m not. I’ll never be ready.
She sighs. “He’s here again.”
I pull in a painful breath.
Aidan.
“You have to see him sometime,” Gertie urges. “He’s been here every day since your father passed. You can’t keep sending him away.”
Why not? I don’t have the strength to face him, to remember that while I’d been reeling from his rejection. I’d lost my father.
I wipe my eyes. “I’m coming,” I tell Gertie. “He can wait in the study.”
After she leaves, I rise from the chair and smooth my clothes. My plain black dress is a metaphor for my mood, dour, dark and bereft.
In the study, Aidan is standing in front of the shelf of plaques and pictures, wearing a dark suit to fit the occasion, and looking down at the picture of us with my father at the opening night of the Edge of Madness. As I watch, he reaches up a hand to the frame, only the glass stopping him from touching my face from seven years ago.
I step into the room and he turns to face me. As our gazes lock, I pull in an aching breath. His hair is neatly combed and laying almost smooth on his head, and on his face, there’s so much compassion I almost start crying again.
It takes all my strength to resist the urge to run into his arms, bury myself in him and let him take away my pain, because I know he would. I can see it in his eyes.
“Come here.” He holds out his arms to me, his voice so gentle I could cry.
I walk into his outstretched arms, and he wraps them around me. He smells like comfort and peace. Like love.
>
“I’m so sorry, Liz.”
I step back from his embrace, breathing deeply. Being so close to him puts me in danger of losing myself, of forgetting how much he despises me, and how his presence here is nothing more than pity. “He’d been sick for a while.” I smile wanly. “I was trying to spend as much time with him as possible without letting the world know how bad he was.”
“The play.” There is a sudden realization in the blue depths of his eyes. “That why you wanted...”
“Yes…to an extent.”
He exhales. “How are you Liz?”
Miserable, despondent. Desperate to come back into your arms and cry if you’d let me.
I shrug. “I’m holding on, I guess. I’m sorry I couldn’t see you earlier.”
“I understand.” His eyes bore into mine, vivid and searching. “After the things I said. I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again.”
I blink back tears. “The funeral is today.”
“I know.” He gestures at his suit. “I was hoping to come with you, if you’d let me.”
Why? I want to ask. Why are you offering your support now? When will you take it away again? When will you remember how much you hate me for breaking your heart?
“Are you sure?” I say instead.
He nods.
Holding out one hand to him, I try to smile. “Okay.”
Outside the funeral home, there’s a crowd of photographers waiting for me. I ignore them, cringing at some of the questions they shout over each other.
Is it true you were only in New York to be with your father?
Will you be returning to L.A. now?
Without a sick father keeping you here, when are you going back to do your movie?
Didn’t you think your fans deserved to know why you were really in New York?
Aidan is holding my hand, and he squeezes it as we both hurry to the door.
“Are you two dating now?” Someone screams just before we enter the funeral home and the door closes behind us.
Natalia and Fiona are waiting inside. Natalia’s eyes are red-rimmed. She’s grieving too. She puts her arms around me and hugs me for a long minute. “How are you holding up?”
