by Megan Hart
Tonight, she poured herself a generous glass of a new brand that had rapidly become a favorite. Apothic Inferno, aged in whiskey barrels. The red blend had the smoky, rich taste of whiskey as an undertone, and she could handle no more than a single glass of it. Well, unless she wanted to become intoxicated, and Madeline rarely ever allowed herself that indulgence. She didn’t like the loss of control that came along with drunkenness, no surprise there. For now, she sipped at the wine as she settled into her rocking chair by the window.
Rain tick-ticked against the glass, and she lifted her head to the far-off rumble of thunder. A faint flash of lightning lit the window a minute or so later. The storm had been threatening all day. It sounded as though it were moving closer. Well, that was all right. What could be better than a stormy night, a glass of wine, and a good book?
Someone to share them all with, Madeline thought. She was alone, and she felt it. Unexpectedly, for the first time since long before she’d finally given in to dear Alex’s persistent nattering about moving here, she was lonely, and that was entirely different than being alone.
Madeline closed her eyes and allowed her head to fall back against the chair. Her feet nudged the floor, setting the chair to rocking gently. Without opening her eyes, she sipped the wine, letting the smoky flavor linger on her tongue before swallowing the liquid. She tried, although not very hard, not to think about Eric.
She had not been looking for him, but he was the one she’d found.
He would have an explanation for his behavior, of course. Perhaps an apology she might be able to accept. It wouldn’t change how terrible it had been to go from sweet lovemaking to being ignored, made of so little importance that he couldn’t even tell her what he was doing or where he was going. He could say he was sorry, he could even mean it, but it had tipped the balance of their burgeoning relationship, and she wasn’t getting over it as easily as she wished she could.
It might be over before it began, she thought, and tried to tell herself that would be all right.
With a sigh, Madeline sipped again and opened her eyes to stare out into the night’s storm. More flashing lightning. More rolling thunder. The window glass shimmered from the rain, and unable to sit any longer, Madeline got to her feet so she could stare outside. Storms had always left her excited, but tonight she felt more melancholy than aroused.
Outside on the sidewalk in front of her house, a dark figure stood staring up at her window. She blinked and immediately shrank back, too aware that with the lights on behind her and the dark outside that she would be clearly visible. She laughed at herself. Paranoid. Certainly whatever fool was standing in the storm would be moving on at once, not looking for her. She peeked out again. The figure was still there.
“Oh,” she breathed after a moment.
It was Eric.
She fumbled with the window latch, spilling her wine. She thought certainly he would start off running again, or at the very least he’d get out of the weather by going onto her front porch. No, he stood looking up as she sloshed more wine over the back of her hand. Disgruntled with her clumsiness, Madeline put the glass on the bookcase next to the window and used both hands to unlatch the window and shove it upward. Immediately, wind and rain blew in, the air cold enough to send a shudder all through her.
“What are you doing?” she cried.
The wind took her words, whisked them away. The rain tasted like tears. She swallowed the bitterness and leaned out with both her hands gripping the sill. He wore a hooded sweatshirt, his hands shoved into the pockets. His face was in shadow, but she caught the glint of his eyes.
“Get in here out of the rain! Are you mad?” When he neither answered nor moved, she growled under her breath and shut the window.
Was he making some sort of grand romantic gesture?
Would she let him, if he was?
Five minutes later she flung open the front door and went onto the front porch to find him there. Dripping. Shivering. He’d pushed back the hood and his dark hair clung to his forehead in wet strands.
“You’re soaked,” she scolded. “What on earth are you thinking?”
“I don’t want to think about anything. That’s why I was running.”
Madeline had no words, but she discovered she needed none. She simply opened her arms and he went into them, pulling her close against his sopping clothes. The feverish heat of him warmed her even through the chill dampness. He put his arms around her, tight. She hugged him back, even harder, but only for a few seconds before stepping away from his embrace to take him by the hand.
“Inside, now. You’re going to catch your death. Come, now. Come inside with me, sweetheart.” The endearment that slipped from her lips felt as natural as breathing.
He followed obediently. Madeline closed the door behind him. The soft patter of water dripping from his clothes onto her hardwood floor sounded very loud in the house’s silence.
“Upstairs,” she told him. “I’ll draw you a hot bath.”
In her bathroom, she bent to start the water running in the clawfoot tub that had been a huge part of the reason she’d bought this old house. When she stood and turned to find him still dressed, his teeth now chattering, she stripped him efficiently and urged him into the water. Eric sank into it with a hiss, perhaps at the heat. His long legs filled almost the entire length of the tub, and he drew up his knees. Bent his head and wrapped his arms around them.
Madeline ran her hand over his hair, finger-combing the tangles. She knelt, grateful for the soft mat cushioning her knees. She took up the washcloth and dipped it into the hot water over and over, running it down his back to warm him.
Eric turned his face toward her. “I’m sorry.”
It was instinctive to tell him he didn’t have to be, but she bit back those words. He did need to be sorry. What he’d done was not all right. She did not, however mean to withhold her forgiveness from him.
“Eric, when we decided we were going to try and see what this might become, that meant being there for each other when something bad happens. I want to help you. To be there for you, whatever it is,” she told him.
He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. “I should have thought about that. About you. I just…it’s complicated.”
“Most things are, when emotions are involved.” She dipped more hot water and warmed him with it. His shivering had eased.
Minutes passed in silence. She didn’t press him to explain. That would come later, or perhaps it would not. Right now, she was going to make sure he was taken care of. Later, she could scold or discipline him, depending on what seemed necessary. Later, they could work this out, maybe even with shouts and accusations and another apology she would feel compelled to accept even if she was no longer sure she could trust him.
“Come to bed,” she told him.
Seventeen
The entire story poured out of him once they were both tucked into Madeline’s crisp, clean sheets. How he and Harriett had met. What she had meant to him. How she had helped him grow. Her illness. The quarrels with Karen. Finally, his fears of losing her.
“We haven’t been together in a long time, and really, it wasn’t…we had a great relationship, but it wasn’t all that sexual,” Eric said quietly.
“But you loved her.”
“Yes. I did. We loved each other,” he said. “And she’s going to die.”
Madeline pulled his head to her breast and stroked her fingers through his hair, over and over. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It must be terrible.”
“I should have told you sooner,” Eric said.
Her body tensed. Relaxed. Her fingers paused in their combing for a moment before starting again. “You told me when you were ready. But don’t do that again. Make me feel as though I’m not important, that I don’t matter unless I’m handling your cock.”
“Oh. No. Jesus.” Horrified, he sat to face her. “No, no, I would never. I’m sorry if you thought that.”
She’d been leaning against the
headboard, and now drew her knees up. “It’s happened before.”
He pulled her close to kiss her mouth. He took her face in his hands, disgusted with himself to see the glitter of tears in her eyes. “Madeline…please. I never meant to make you feel that way. You mean so much more to me than that.”
The dominant women he’d been with in the past had never seemed too vulnerable to him. It was part of the reason why seeing Harriett so sick was such a difficult thing for him to stand — she’d always been in charge, never once weak or soft, really. He had loved her for that consistent strength as he’d admired and respected and sort of sometimes feared, a little, the few other women to whom he’d submitted.
He had never felt about any of them the way he felt about Madeline.
The idea that anything he might have done could have made her cry broke him. “I’m sorry.”
She swiped away the tears and buried her face against his neck. They twisted and tangled their limbs together and made themselves a knot. Eric wasn’t sure what else to say to her, so he held her, instead.
“I forgive you,” she said at last in a quiet voice. “But I won’t lie, I’m feeling a bit wary about this again, and this time it’s not because I’m afraid I’ll be the one to hurt you. Which I did not want, and would have tried quite hard not to do. This made me see clearly, Eric, how possible it is now for you to hurt me, and to be quite honest, I’m not sure I’m ready for it.”
“I understand.” It was all he could say. He couldn’t plead with her to change her mind about it. Sometimes, it was the small things that fucked it all up in the biggest way. “Do you want me to leave?”
Madeline didn’t reply at first, and he had the hope she would say no, that she wanted him to stay. When she kissed his mouth, he knew she was going to ask him to go. The kiss was sweet, but he could feel her holding back.
“I’ll call you,” she told him.
Eighteen
One missed call.
Madeline stared at her phone screen. She’d promised Eric she would call him when she was ready to see him, and it had been less than twenty-four hours since he’d left her house. She wasn’t holding back out of a need to punish him. She knew he was at work, and she didn’t intend to call him when he would be unable to speak, or when a conversation might be stressful and interfere with his job.
This call, the one saluting her with the single red digit notification, had not come from Eric. Seeing it did not surprise her. She’d poked the beehive, and just because she was no longer looking for the honey didn’t mean she was exempt from the stings.
She should have sold the business long ago. The money scarcely mattered. The real gain would’ve been never having to speak to Hiro again, even through their lawyers, as she’d insisted upon. She’d held onto it out of some misplaced sentimentality, but it was time to let it go.
To let him go.
He must have called her as soon as he got the message from her lawyer. Hiro didn’t need to speak to her personally about anything. She had put a stop to that more than three years ago, making sure to hold firm to her boundaries. If he needed anything from her, all of his requests were to go through her lawyer first. She knew it frustrated him. Infuriated, even, that he should be denied easy and constant access to her. Until now, she’d been able to stop herself from giving in, no matter what messages he left, how sweet the bait. Nor had she ever given him the satisfaction of balking any of his requests for the business — she’d signed off on every single business decision, even the ones she knew were a detriment to the club. If Hiro wanted to spite himself as a way to get at her, she was always willing to let him. Anyway, The Veil and Crown was the tiniest piece of Hiro’s business holdings. It could fail without causing him worry.
She’d sometimes wondered if he’d been hanging onto it for the same reasons she had. She’d hoped so. That the club in which they shared ownership was a link he wasn’t willing to break. That it meant…something. She knew better, but still had hoped.
That hope had been what kept her from simply blocking his number. Even if she never answered him, Madeline wanted to know if he was still trying to contact her, and if he was blocked she’d have no way of knowing. She’d convinced herself, too, that by keeping his name and contact information in her phone, she could be prepared to ignore his messages and calls, but if she deleted it, she could possibly be blindsided by a call coming in that she didn’t recognize and might answer by mistake. She’d never worried that he would change his number as a way of getting to her. He’d had the same phone number for the past ten years, and he wouldn’t give it up. Hiro liked to hold onto things he believed were his.
Once, that had included her.
But no more, she reminded herself as she swiped at the phone to bring up her list of recent calls. And not for a long, long time, either. In the last second before deleting the notice that he’d called, she stopped herself. She called back.
Hiro answered within the first couple rings, and if her return call had surprised him, his voice gave no indication of it. “Madeline.”
“What do you want?” She made no preamble. No softness in her tone. Too many times she’d let him back in, and too many times she’d regretted that choice.
“What do I always want?”
She closed her eyes. The phone pressed to her ear had been cool when she started, but now her face flushed so hot that the metal, plastic and glass felt ice-cold. She thought she would have to force her voice to stay calm, but when she spoke, not so much as the hint of a tremor marred her smooth response.
“Surely you should know by now that you’re never going to get it,” she said.
“I’m flying into New York to handle some business. I thought we could meet.”
She laughed. “You are relentless, aren’t you?”
“Always,” Hiro said. After a moment, his voice dropped lower. Silky and deep, she had no trouble remembering how that voice and his commands had turned her upside down and inside out. “See me.”
“I’m not in New York,” she said.
Another pause. She’d surprised him. “Malcolm said you were at the Manhattan apartment.”
Bless her lawyer, who’d never had a problem being her shield. He’d have assumed she wasn’t going to respond to any contact from Hiro. She hadn’t owned the Manhattan apartment in nearly a year, but Hiro wouldn’t know that.
“I’m not,” was all she said.
Hiro made a soft noise. “Where are you? Never mind. I know you won’t tell me. You don’t have to. I know.”
“What do you want?” she asked again.
“She left me.”
“I…” She cut herself off before she could say she was sorry to hear it. She wasn’t. She wasn’t sure exactly when Hiro had married the woman he couldn’t even be bothered to name for the sake of this conversation, but Madeline was not surprised she was leaving him. “So. She leaves, and you call me?”
“I call you regularly, Madeline. You simply never answer me.”
She laughed at that, because it was the truth.
“I could ask you why you returned the call this time, after so many others,” he said. “I suppose it’s too much to believe that it’s because you heard about it, somehow? That you missed me?”
Oh, she had missed him. Longed for him. Yearned. Ached.
“I called you back to tell you that I don’t want you to call me anymore,” she replied crisply. “Although you already know that. But listen to me, Hiro, and please, this time, try to hear me. I don’t want you to call me anymore. Please have your people get back to Malcolm with your agreement to the buyout terms.”
“You want to buy me out of The Veil and Crown?”
Typical, she thought. He hadn’t even read the terms before he’d called her. For a second or so, she allowed herself to imagine how surprised he must have been when she returned his call. How he might have been hoping she was going to agree to see him.
How disappointed he had to be at her refusal.
“No. I want you to buy me out,” she said and pushed away all of those thoughts. “I want to be done with it.”
Silence.
“What’s his name?” Hiro asked.
Madeline closed her eyes again and took the phone from her ear. She thought of simply swiping to disconnect the call, but did not. “You don’t need to know it.”
“But there is a him.”
“Yes, Hiro. There is.”
Another silence, longer this time.
“I’m happy for you,” said the love of her life.
“I don’t need you to be happy for me, Hiro.”
“You deserve to be happy, Madeline.”
The tears threatened, then. Scalding. Bitter. She fought them, keeping her voice from shaking.
“Yes. I do. I am happy,” she added firmly. At least, she had been, maybe only briefly. She and Eric would talk more about what had happened, and nothing was guaranteed to work out for them, but at least she was starting from a place where she wanted to see what could be possible with him. “I’m going to keep being happy. So, I need you to buy me out of the club. I need to have no more connections to you at all. Ever. I need you to never call me again, Hiro. Please.”
Her voice broke at last, but her chin lifted. She swallowed hard. She had wept in front of him too many times. She would not do it now.
“Madeline….”
“If you ever loved me, I need you to do this for me. I need you act like you don’t and never did.” She waited for him to deny it, to say he did love her, to at least give her that, but of course Hiro did not.
“I will have my lawyer draw something up and send it to yours. I won’t contact you again.”
