But the entire conversation—this moment—felt like a betrayal at the highest level.
It was one thing to be his employee, but for him not to care even a little bit that I was leaving? On top of that, for him to let this asshole talk about me? About my freaking looks of all things? I’d never shown up to work a sloppy mess. My straight, auburn hair was usually fine because I didn’t do much with it other than let it loose around my shoulders. I put makeup on and put some effort into my clothes. I wasn’t gorgeous, but I wasn’t ugly—at least I didn’t think so. And sure, I wasn’t a size zero or a three or a five, but was Trevor fucking kidding me? Me? A goddamn dinner roll?
I was hit on every once in a while. If I wanted a boyfriend, I could have a boyfriend, and he wouldn’t look like Shrek either, damn it.
Fucking asshole. Who did he think he was? He wasn’t exactly Keanu Reeves to begin with.
I managed to count to two before thinking “fuck it” and letting myself get mad.
What was I doing here? It had been weeks since I told them I was quitting. Aiden had been bossier and moodier than usual. Colder. I couldn’t completely blame it on his injury at this point either.
And here I’d been stressing out about keeping his house clean, putting chocolates on his pillow, and delaying my dreams because I felt bad leaving him, and he couldn’t even tell Trevor not to talk about me.
I swallowed and blinked once. Only once. I met Zac’s eyes and found his jaw clenched. Biting the inside of my cheek, I thought about what I told myself out on the curb with the trashcan. I’d begun going for walks that day. I’d even done a little jogging. I’d gotten paid last week.
This was my life, and I was the one to choose how to spend it, didn’t I? Hadn’t I done enough? Put up with enough? Sucked it up enough?
If I didn’t put up with people who should have mattered, why the hell was I putting up with people who didn’t? Life was what you made out of it, at least that was what those Chicken Soup books my foster father thrust on me when I was a teenager imprinted on me. When life gives you lemons, you get to choose what you make out of them; it doesn’t always have to be lemonade.
With a mental slap to my own butt, I nodded at the only loyal person in this house. “I’m out of here.”
“Van—” he started to say, shaking his head. His long face was tight.
“Don’t worry about it. They’re not worth it.”
Zac scrubbed at the side of his jaw before tilting his head in the direction of the stairs. “Get outta here before I try to go kick both their asses.”
That had me sucking in a watery snort. Try to kick both of their asses. “Give me a call or a text every once in a while. All right?”
“Nothin’ would stop me from doin’ it,” he assured me, putting his fist out.
Thinking of my psychopath older sisters, I filled my veins with every inch of hard-earned resolve I had within me, and fist bumped him. We looked at each other for a moment before hugging, just a second, not a good-bye but an ‘I’ll see you later.’
Down the stairs, I ignored the bare walls I’d be looking at for the last time. The sound of voices in the living room almost had me glancing over, but I didn’t care enough to waste the energy.
I was over this.
In the kitchen, I pulled my work phone out of my bag, fished my keys out of my purse, and pulled Aiden’s house, mailbox, and PO Box key off the ring. Setting those four items on the kitchen island, I rubbed at my eyebrow with the back of my hand, adjusted my purple-framed glasses, and tried to make sure I hadn’t left anything lying around. Then again, if I left something, Zac could grab it for me.
I rubbed my pants with the palms of my hands and slung my purse over my shoulder, nervous anticipation flooding my stomach. I was doing this. I was fucking doing it.
“Could you go out and grab me something to eat?” Trevor asked, suddenly standing in the kitchen when I turned around to leave.
While I knew I was supposed to kill even this dipshit with kindness, I couldn’t dig deep enough inside of me to be an adult. This was the last time I’d have to put up with his crap; I’d never have to see him again, deal with him again. Amen and thank you, Jesus.
“No,” I replied with a little smirk on my face. “Dinner Roll is leaving now. Please make sure to tell Aiden later on when no one else is around that I said he can eat shit.”
Trevor’s mouth gaped. “What?”
Going out in a mini blaze of glory, I wiggled my fingers at him over my shoulder as I walked out of the kitchen. Just as I reached for the door, I turned to peek in the living room to find Aiden on one couch talking to the reporter. For a brief split second, those brown eyes met mine across the room, and I’d swear on my life a crease formed between his eyebrows.
Just as I opened the door, and before I could talk myself out of it, I mouthed, “I deserve better, asshole,” making sure he read my lips as I did it. Then I raised my middle finger up at him and waved good-bye with it.
I hope they both got syphilis.
Chapter Five
One week turned into two, then three, and finally four.
In the days that followed me walking out of Aiden’s house, and subsequently quitting my job, I thought about Aiden a lot more than I would have ever expected when I wasn’t busy working. Most of those times didn’t even revolve around me wanting to kill him either.
After I walked out of his house, my foot couldn’t hit the gas pedal fast enough to get me home. The first thing I did was start on a new project, more determined than ever to succeed at what I loved doing. I was ready and willing to bust my ass to make things work, no matter the cost.
The ties had been cut as far as I was concerned.
Aiden had been a fucking jackass, when I had never accused him of being anything other than practical and determined. I could relate to that, but I couldn’t connect with him being such a traitor. I was no Trevor or Rob. I didn’t make extra money off the choices he made, and if anything, things were better for me when he was happier. Hadn’t I tried to do what was best for him? Hadn’t I tried to do things that made him happy?
Yet he’d let that asswipe talk about me when I’d spent last Christmas in Dallas, instead of going to see my little brother, because he still hadn’t been able to move around much at that point.
Unfortunately, I thought about Aiden first thing in the morning for days after I walked out. My body wasn’t used to sleeping in until eight; even on my days off, I was usually up and about by six. I thought about him as I made my breakfast and chomped on breakfast sausage. Then I thought about him again at lunchtime and dinner, so used to making his meals and eating part of them.
Each day for those first two weeks of freedom, I thought about him often. You couldn’t work with someone five, six, or even sometimes seven days a week for two years without getting into a routine. I knew I couldn’t just erase him from my life like he’d been drawn in with a pencil.
Much less erase that moment when I realized I’d been holding on to a job with a man who wouldn’t come to my funeral, even if it fell on a day he was supposed to rest. The fact I had family members who wouldn’t go to my funeral didn’t really help ease the sting of it enough.
After a few days, my anger abated, but that feeling of betrayal that had seared my lungs didn’t exactly go away completely. Something had been going on with him; that much had been obvious. Maybe under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have acted like such a massive prick.
But he had crossed the thin little line I’d drawn in the imaginary sand. And I did what felt right.
So it was done.
I kept living my life as my own boss, which was exactly what I’d planned on doing anyway.
And I didn’t look back at what I’d done.
* * *
I was speed-walking toward my apartment one night after a visit to the gym, finalizing the last brainstorming touches I wanted to add to a paperback design I was aiming to finish before I went to bed, when I spotted a fi
gure sitting at the bottom of the stairs. Patting the pepper spray I always kept within reach, especially when I was in my complex, I narrowed my eyes and wondered who the hell would be sitting there right then.
It was nine o’clock at night. Only drug dealers hung around outside at our complex after dark. Everyone else knew better. Plus, who liked sitting outside with the summer heat and mosquitos?
With that in mind, I walked a little faster, conscious that my knee ached only a little after my two-mile run. Two miles! It had only taken me half a month of jogging four times a week to work up to a steady one-mile distance, and then I’d added another mile, going just a bit faster. It was something, and I was proud of myself. The plan was to up another mile this week.
My hand was still on my pepper spray as I kept a wary eye on the… man; it was definitely a man sitting at the foot of the steps. I squinted. My keys were in my free hand, ready to get put to good use, either to open my door or to stab somebody in the eye if it came down to it.
I had just started pulling my spray out when a male voice spoke up.
“Vanessa?”
For one split second, I froze at the sound of the rumbling, raspy tone, more than slightly caught off guard at the fact that this stranger sitting on the stairs knew my name.
Then it hit me. Recognition.
I stopped in place just as the not-a-stranger stood up, and I blinked.
“Hey.” My ex-boss straightened to his impressive full height, confirming it was him. Aiden. It was Aiden. Here.
Crouched down, he could have been any guy who worked out, especially when he had his arms tucked into his sides, hiding the girth of muscles that made him famous. The possibility that this was the first time he’d ever used the ‘H’ word with me was the first thought that ran through my head before I blurted out, “What are you doing here?”
I was definitely frowning. My forehead was creasing and scrunching up as I took him in, in his T-shirt and shorts, for the first time in a month.
His face was that same immovable mask as always. Those brown eyes I’d seen hundreds of times in the past bore down on me, his eyes going over the bright ruby red I’d let Diana color my hair two weeks ago. He didn’t comment on it. “You live here?” His question cut the air between us abruptly. His gaze dropped to the hand I had on my pepper spray and the set of keys clutched between my fingers.
I thought about my neighbors, the crappy building, the number of cars parked in the lot that were always in some sort of disrepair, and the cracked sidewalk with a dying lawn straddling it. I rarely had people over, so it wasn’t like I had any reason to care about where I lived. All I’d needed was a roof over my head. Plus, it could be worse. Things could always be worse. I tried to never forget that.
Then I thought of the beautiful, gated community Aiden lived in, and the awesome kitchen I’d cooked in so many times before… and finally, I envisioned the stained carpet in my apartment and the peeling vinyl countertops with only a slight cringe.
I wasn’t going to be ashamed that I didn’t live in an upscale condo. It was the first place I’d ever had all to myself, and it had done what I needed it to do: give me a place to sleep and work in peace.
So I nodded slowly, surprised—okay, I was shocked as hell—to see him. I’d talked to Zac a few times since I quit and had gone to eat with him twice, but except for once, he hadn’t brought up Aiden in any of the conversations we’d had. The extent of what he’d told me about my ex-boss was that they’d been working out together. That had been more than enough.
Aiden’s gaze didn’t waver for a moment. His remote, clean facial expression didn’t change at all either. “I want to talk to you,” he demanded more than said.
I wanted to know how he found out where I lived, but the question was trapped in my throat. The one syllable word I knew I needed to tell him had taken a stroll down the block… and then I remembered: dinner roll.
That fucker Trevor had called me a dinner roll of all things, and this man had said nothing.
I couldn’t help but squeeze the loose side of my shorts. I’d lost almost ten pounds over the last five weeks, and it had taken its toll on most of my clothes. But thinking about Trevor’s comment only made me angry and more resolved.
“No.” There, I said it. Easy. It was so easy to say it. “I don’t have time. I have a lot of work to do.”
Guilt nipped at my head for being so rude, but I squashed it. I didn’t owe him a single thing, not a moment of time or a single extra thought.
That stubborn, strong chin tipped up, that full, masculine mouth flattening, and he blinked. “You don’t have a few minutes for me?”
I swallowed hard and fought the urge to fidget under his gaze. “No. I have a lot of work to do,” I repeated, looking at that familiar face evenly.
The lines that came over his forehead settled the emotion he’d been fighting with a second ago. Shock. He was shocked for what was more than likely the first time in his life, and that gave me a boost of strength and confidence not to waver under his glare.
“We need to talk,” he brushed off my comment in typical Aiden-fashion.
What the hell did we need to talk about? Everything that needed to be said between us had been said. He’d been an asshole, and I was done. What more was there?
“Look, I really am busy.”
I was just about to make up some other excuse when one of the doors in the building in front of mine closed with a loud snap. I didn’t want to find out what could possibly happen if anyone in my complex found out who was standing in the stairwell to my building. I’d been home enough Sunday evenings to know there were football fans everywhere.
With a sigh and a promise to myself that he wasn’t going to get whatever he came here for, I waved him toward the door. “I don’t think there’s anything for us to talk about,” was the only thing I managed to respond with. Did I want to stand outside my apartment? No. Did I want to go inside? No. But I definitely didn’t want my neighbors finding out a semi-famous millionaire was standing right outside my door. “But you can come inside for a little bit before anyone sees you,” I said in more of a mumble than anything, turning back to unlock the door. “I guess,” I added just because the sight of him made me pretty bitchy.
You should have told him to beat it, Van, my brain said. And it was the truth.
I held the door open for him, watching out of my peripheral vision as he squeezed inside. Once the door was locked, I flipped on the lights as the big defensive end took a few hesitant steps inside. I could see his head turning one way and then the other, looking at the pieces of stretched canvas art I had on the wall—not that he knew they were my work unless he looked closely at the initials in the corners. He didn’t make a comment and neither did I. He’d never asked what I did when I wasn’t at his house or with him, and I’d never mentioned it either.
Which was funny when I thought about it, because there were players on his team who knew exactly what I did. Players who had sought me out to redo their website banners, two of the guys I’d actually done tattoo designs for—and here was this guy. This guy that I had twice said to, “I was thinking your promo shots could be a little simpler. The font they used for your name doesn’t look very clear and the placement looks weird. Do you want me to change it for you?” and what had he done in return each time?
He’d said, “Don’t bother.”
He’d brushed me off. It had taken me weeks to get the nerve to make that suggestion to him, and I would have done it for free. But it was fine. It was his career and his branding, not mine.
He planted himself on the love seat in my living room, and I spun my desk chair around to face him, looking at him as evenly and unattached as I possibly could. The room was pretty small. The entire apartment was sized for one person. The only furniture that fit, cramped, was the two-seater couch, my desk, chair, and a bookshelf that doubled as a TV stand. Nerves didn’t pound through me as I watched him practically consume the space.
I was over this thing with him, and I just didn’t have the faintest urge to try and be friendly. I didn’t feel like joking with him or making it seem like there weren’t any hard feelings. If anything, I was annoyed he was at my apartment.
I had nothing left to lose, and he wasn’t in charge of my paychecks any more. I hadn’t even stressed when I realized I wouldn’t get paid for the last few days I was with him because there was no way I was contacting Aiden or Trevor. Walking out the way I had and flipping him off in the process, had been worth every penny lost.
“Why are you here, Aiden?” I finally broke the silence when a minute or two had passed after we’d sat down.
Aiden had his hands on his lap, his face was as remote as it was before a game; even his shoulders were as tight as ever, his spine eternally straight. I didn’t think, even when he was at home, that I’d ever really seen him at ease. His hair was freshly buzzed, and he looked fine and healthy. Like he always had. As if a month hadn’t passed since the last time we’d been in each other’s presence.
He leveled his dark gaze on me and said, “I want you to come back.”
I was dreaming. That probably wasn’t the best word to use. Nightmaring? Delusional, maybe?
“Excuse me?” I breathed as I took in the whites around his eyes to make sure they weren’t bloodshot. Then I took a brief sniff to make sure he didn’t smell like a skunk. He didn’t, but apparently anything was possible. “Are you… are you on drugs right now?”
Aiden gave me one hard, slow blink. His short but incredibly thick lashes went to rest for a brief second. “Excuse me?” His tone was subdued, guarded.
“Are you on drugs?” I repeated myself because there was no way he’d be here asking me this sober.
Right?
He stared at me with his unflinching eyes and hard, no-nonsense mouth. “I’m not on drugs,” he said, clearly insulted.
I eyed him like I didn’t believe him, because I didn’t. What the hell would give him the idea that I’d go back to work for him?
The Wall of Winnipeg and Me Page 7
