Worse, as a condition of my bail, I was restricted to staying in Reno, where I have my office, and Carson City, where I now live. Originally, it was a vacation place, but since the divorce, it served as my full-time humble abode. No more weekend trips to Santa Monica or Vegas for entertainment or stress relief.
I’d had to let go the private investigator who’d worked for me for years, so I no longer had his weekly report. That was my own freaking doing. Two fucking weeks, and no updates on her other than my own nighttime stalking, which had proven unfruitful.
I was crawling out of my skin from lack of information, but I couldn’t risk keeping official tabs on her for all these years seeping into this, or any of my other legal affairs. If questioned, the investigator would be bound by law to admit that I hired him to look after the love of my life, so I cut ties. The less I had to do with him, the better.
Just thinking about all of it made me laugh out loud—again.
I’d been tethered to this stupid town since I came back the summer of my senior year. Yeah, I’d left again to go to business school, but guilt and family politics brought me back to a place I’d come to despise. Now I was really stuck here, and the only thing that actually made it all worthwhile . . . well, I had to let go of that too.
You’d think it would finally be time for me to get what I deserved, but it wasn’t working out that way.
Who the fuck is importing drugs through my company?
I leaned back in my chair, propping my feet up on the desk, and made a mental list of my enemies. I didn’t think I had many.
Milly, maybe? But she was a stay-at-home-mom, not a drug lord.
After wasting most of Friday afternoon thinking and plotting what I’d do when I found out who used my warehouse for their illegal operations, I went home and poured myself a whiskey on the rocks.
The house felt emptier than usual. I should have relished the quiet, but it ate away at my soul, nibbling at every cell in my body.
As I watched the ice melt and condensation drip from my tumbler onto the couch, melancholy set in. Typically, I’d tamp those feelings down with a young woman and a long night.
Not tonight, though.
Tonight, I cuddled up with my good friend, Jack.
Sometime in the middle of the night, I’d taken myself up to bed.
The next morning, I woke up, naked and twisted in the sheets, a burning pain in my chest and an even bigger ache in between my legs. My morning wood throbbing, I stumbled into the bathroom. Desperately trying to keep my dick in line with the toilet, I held my length in one hand and braced the other on the wall in front of me.
Neither a shower nor a double shot of espresso brought me out of my funk.
For fuck’s sake, I was an innocent man until proven guilty . . . that’s how I got dressed and ready for the day.
With one foot in front of the other, I made my way to the garage and into my SUV. It was time to go to war, and I needed a tank, not a sports car.
I didn’t need to put my destination in the GPS; I knew exactly where I was headed. It had been my preferred spot to wallow for days now.
Years, actually.
Reversing out of my driveway and onto the narrow street that sliced through my development, I pointed the truck toward the main road and went back toward Reno.
With the window rolled down, the dry desert air funneled inside the truck. Drying my damp hair was about all it was accomplishing. It certainly wasn’t cooling my emotions.
Parked out front of Bexley’s house, I shut the car door quietly. Finally where I wanted to be, there was no need to make a grand entrance. I would just sit with my back to the door and my ass on the concrete like I’d been doing.
At least, that’s what I told myself right up until I reached the front door and started banging on it like a tiger at mealtime at the zoo. If the surface in front of me were mirrored, I was pretty sure I’d see claws and teeth in my reflection.
No one came to the door, so I pounded again. The idea of her kids being home didn’t even bother me. Nothing did. Not when it had been two freaking weeks since I’d last met with the investigator.
I needed a fix, and for some reason, after waiting so long, I’d convinced myself that nothing other than face-to-face contact would satisfy the urge.
Lucky for me, I knew those newspaper people didn’t like to work weekends unless they were being paid overtime, or they’d be camped outside my house when I left and probably would have followed me here.
My fist met with the wood again, and for a fleeting moment, I thought about leaving. This was risky. Why would I gamble dragging Bexley into this equation when I’d hidden my dealings from the investigator?
The urge was too fucking strong. I couldn’t leave. I’d wait. Now that I knew she’d tossed out her sorry sack of an excuse for a husband.
And I’d keep waiting.
More pounding in my head. And on the door.
“What?”
The door flung open, and my eyes first met with her bare feet.
“No . . . no . . . absolutely not,” or something of the sort came out of her mouth as my gaze roamed up her body.
Tight yoga pants hugged Bexley’s legs—capris, because I could see her bare calves. They were just as muscular and tanned as back then. She had on a sheer pale blue tank and some lacy thing underneath, the straps sticking out from the tank. Her golden hair was drying in wavy lengths around her face. She looked how I remembered, but better. Way fucking better.
“Shh,” I whispered as I studied her face up close. It was the first chance I’d had in fourteen years, other than grainy photos and the very rare run-in.
A few fine lines radiated from her eyes as her brow furrowed. She wore no makeup, other than on her lips. They were glossy and smelled like cherries.
Old habits died hard, I guessed. Obviously, since I was standing at Bexley Rivers’ front door with my words stuck in my throat and my heart thundering in my chest. My confidence was long gone, my mouth dry, and my mind a frazzled mess.
“Aston,” she said, her voice raw.
“Can I come in?”
I stood on ceremony at the threshold, waiting for her to invite me in. I certainly didn’t think our little reunion was meant for broad daylight.
“I don’t know.”
Leaning in close, I asked, “Are your kids here? Your family?”
She shook her head. “I have to hold on to something. I feel kinda faint,” she said as she pressed her hand to the doorjamb.
“Let me come in. We’ll sit down. You’ll feel better.” That familiar confidence surged back in my veins.
“Why are you here?” She kept her gaze on my shoes.
Immediately, I wanted to shove off the designer loafers. They were a visible reminder of the divide that ultimately separated us.
“Why?” she said again.
“I needed to see you.”
“After all these years? Or because you’re in trouble and you need something. Am I a last resort, a last-ditch effort?” She stood there, her body vibrating with anger, refusing to let me in. There was a time when she wouldn’t have let me leave.
“Please, just let me in.” I hovered close, the cherry of her lip balm burning my nostrils and making my dick hard.
This wasn’t the time for that, though. My hand itched to run its fingers through her silky hair. It was longer and thicker. Her breasts rounder, fuller.
“Aston . . . I don’t know. I’ve spent the last two weeks agonizing over the news, but now that you’re here, I’m speechless. Honestly, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
I’d had enough and decided to make a move, slipping by her narrow frame and through the door. “I’m coming in,” I said with my hands in the air, an all-too-familiar gesture lately. “I can’t stand outside your house and have a private conversation with you.”
Giving in, she closed the door behind me. “Did Mike tell you where I live?”
“Yeah.” I lied, pretty sure that now was
n’t the time to tell her I’d employed a private investigator since Mike and Milly’s wedding, whose main responsibility was keeping tabs on her.
My dad thought my PI was being paid to keep an eye on untrustworthy employees and shady sales reps. I’d thought those half-assed jerks were a rarity. Clearly not, in light of my current predicament.
“Let’s sit,” I said with a wink.
“Not now, Aston. It’s been a long time . . . years of nothingness. You abandoned me. You can’t just barge back in here and act like we’re back on the seventeenth hole, winking and flirting.”
She started walking toward the back of the house, a small Craftsman-style house. A starter home, by any definition, and nothing like any of the houses I’d lived in lately. To Bexley, it was probably a palace. It looked comfy, lived in by her and her kids. A pair of socks was balled up in the corner, and remotes were scattered on the coffee table.
“So, would now be an inappropriate time to ask if you have underwear on underneath those pants?”
She spun around and glared. “Don’t be crass, Aston. It’s beneath you, especially considering you’re the one with a criminal indictment. Your confidence and flirting may have worked on me when I was eighteen, but I’m a grown woman now.”
What did she expect? I’m a man staring at the woman of his fantasies, all lush and improved since the last time I laid eyes on her—in person.
Impatient, I forced myself to wait to speak.
“Yes,” she finally spit out.
“Yes, now would be inappropriate? Or yes, you’re wearing panties?”
“Aston, seriously, what do you want?” She leaned a butt cheek on the arm of her couch and crossed her arms over her chest.
Bad move on her part.
I chose to behave and not point that out. Instead, I skirted around her and sat down.
“Sit,” I said.
For some reason, she actually listened. She sat there, hands in her lap, dutifully on the other end of the couch.
“I’m in trouble.”
“I’ve seen.”
“I didn’t do it.”
She waved her hand back and forth. “I don’t want to know about any of that. I don’t want to get mixed up in this. Does your father know you’re here? How about your wife?”
I shook my head. “That would be a negative. And she’s my ex-wife.”
That got a reaction. Bexley’s shaky hand rose to shove her hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Really?” I raised my left eyebrow . . . a move that used to make her wild, but she sat there unaffected, still and silent.
“You have kids, right?”
“Yes,” I said. “A girl and a boy. Honestly, they’re better off. It was never happy at home. I was never happy, and now when they see me, I’m at least halfway happy.”
“I guess it’s just sad when any home breaks up.”
“You? Are you happy?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Seth and I split over a year ago.”
“That’s too bad.” Lies spilled from my mouth like it was nothing.
“Honestly, it’s fine. For the best. I haven’t been happy in a long time.”
My hand physically hurt from me holding it back, keeping it from reaching out to her. A lifetime of feelings—most of them sadly negative and harsh—swirled around us, but I yearned to reach for the good stuff.
“I always wanted you to be happy, Bex.”
Bexley
“I always wanted you to be happy.”
God, the nerve of the man, sitting in my family room spewing lies.
“Don’t,” I said, interrupting him. “It’s not necessary to say that garbage. Meaningless words you know you don’t mean, just because you want to fill up the space between us. What do you really want? Why are you here?”
He inched closer until his thigh grazed mine, making me feel as if we were young lovers again. But we were a long way from that. Butterflies swarmed my belly and a cold sweat lined my neck. None of this could lead to anything good.
“I can’t explain it, Bex. I needed to see you. My life’s pretty much in the shitter, although I guess it always has been. Before you, it was, and definitely after. You were the only person who made me feel like . . . I wanted to get my shit together. Like my life could be better. As though I could leave my dad and all the doom and destruction he left in his wake. I didn’t, though. I had to get the business. Shitty excuse, I know, but—”
“But you didn’t . . . or couldn’t. Whatever you want to call it. Instead, you left your own path of destruction trailing behind you, starting and ending with me.”
When I looked closely, Aston seemed tired, as though he’d aged a few years in a couple of weeks. My hand trembled to smooth his hair back, to tuck a longer strand behind his ear. His curls were longer than usual, and there was a cowlick begging to be patted down.
“Please, Bex. I can’t go through this now. I need you. That’s all I know.”
“It’s been a long time, Aston. I’m not that person anymore. Not going to listen to your gripes and make them all better. I’m not the one, the one you idealized as being strong and capable. I’m no longer that woman. Haven’t been for a long time.”
I tried to form full sentences, but it wasn’t happening. My brain was overwhelmed, firing with fractured memories and thoughts. My mouth spewed whatever it could get out as self-defense mechanisms kicked in. I had to protect my heart, and my kids.
I didn’t confess how much time I’d spent over the years devoted to thinking about him, and what could have been or should have been. I didn’t say a word about the knots in my belly when he was arraigned. How I’d been trying not to obsess over the case . . . and failing. Horribly.
Obviously, I left out the part about how his memory broke up my marriage. Aston didn’t know how much Seth hated him, or at least the ghost he’d left behind.
I went on, standing up for myself, quite possibly for the first time when it came to Aston. “You can’t use me like that anymore, as your person. It was one thing when I was eighteen, and you were a slave to your mom’s ambitions and your dad’s disinterest, and well, we thought we were in love.”
“Not thought. We were in love,” he said stubbornly, and I rolled my eyes.
Shutting him down, I said, “Let’s not argue over it, ’kay? It’s in the past. Like us.”
Every therapist I’d seen over the years pointed one thing out to me. Beneath Aston Prescott’s hard and overly confident exterior shell, he was a hurt little boy, confused about what his parents really thought of him and expected from him. He was looking for acceptance.
To diminish his feelings was like dragging a rake over his already scuffed heart, but I had to worry about myself.
Unable to move, I watched Aston’s hand cover mine in slow motion, as if I weren’t inside my body anymore. With one tiny statement—let’s not argue—I’d let him in. Completely in.
Maybe it was the alcohol from the night before. Or maybe it was Aston being here in my living room. But I felt like a fly on the ceiling, watching his fingers close over mine. I needed to stop him, but I couldn’t.
More than anything, I wanted to pull away. Even more, I wanted to lean into his chest.
His eyes drew me in, the warmth of his palm smoothing over my trembling hand was a burning fire I couldn’t escape. I had an overwhelming desire to give in, an idea as crazy as wanting to run straight into a burning building. All of it was too much.
“Bex, I don’t want to use you. I never meant to make you feel used back then. For me, it was always you, only you, and . . . it’s still you. The situation was so fucked up, but—”
“But what? All of it was fucked up.” I yanked my hand back and stood up. Pacing the floor, I refused to look at anything but the gray shag carpet—which probably looked cheap to him.
He stood and clasped each of my biceps, steadying my frantic steps and forcing me to look at him. “Slow down. I’m not here to hurt you. I’
m here to make things right. I was going to say, ‘Back then, my dad hung everything over my head, and I wasn’t smart enough or strong enough to tell him to go fuck himself.’ But now I am.”
My gaze dropped to the carpet again. I couldn’t get lost in him, especially after those words. Even though they made my heart beat a furious pace, my head needed clarification, and my body required space. “You’re what now?”
“Strong enough. I know what I want, and I’m going to get it.”
Somehow, I managed to meet his eyes. “And this isn’t about your legal troubles? Maybe you don’t have anyone else in your corner. Are you looking for a shoulder to cry on or a character witness? Or maybe since your marriage fell apart, I’m the likely replacement? By the way, your divorce is old news. It’s been going around town like Shirl Betts getting knocked up the summer we met.”
“Neither. I’m innocent, so I don’t need a shoulder to cry on, and I don’t need a replacement wife. I only want you, the one woman I’ve ever loved,” he said, his voice confident and strong.
“I promise you, I’m not going to soothe your aching heart over a broken marriage.”
He nodded, that cocky, arrogant, full-of-himself nod.
“Did you do it?” I blurted, unable to help myself. “I’ve been walking around here for two weeks thinking, could you do it? Why would you do it? And stupidly worrying if you were okay if you did it.”
“I thought you didn’t want to get mixed up in it?”
“Stop. Don’t play games with me.”
“I didn’t do it.” His breath tickled my cheek as he held me tighter in place. His fingers dug into my biceps, his gaze serious and soulful all at once.
“Then why are they saying you did?”
“I don’t have a goddamn clue. That’s what I’m going to figure out.”
“Don’t you think you should be doing that instead of wasting time here? I mean, it’s a little late. Four kids between the two of us, two broken marriages, and let’s not forget the elephant in the room—your dad. By the way, how is the old guy?”
Love Disregarded Page 5
