It's Not Over

by Grahame Claire

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  It’s Not Over

  Grahame Claire

  It’s Not Over (Paths To Love, Book One) Grahame Claire

  Copyright © 2018 Grahame Claire

  Thank you for reading and reviewing this book. It is illegal to distribute or sell this copy in any form. All rights reserved. No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written permission of the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Angela Houle.

  Cover by Hang Le .

  ISBN: 978-0-9974728-0-6

  For those who dare to dream.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue

  Enjoy This Book?

  Bonus Scene

  Book Stuff

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Grahame Claire

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Daniel

  Present

  Time. An elusive motherfucker of a concept. It deceives us with the illusion that it’s never-ending, when the reality is that our allotment of this most precious commodity is limited. It goes on forever, while we do not.

  I’d always been aware of the proverbial ticking clock, each sweep of the hand a not-so-subtle reminder that time was not on my side. And for nearly eight years, I had locked that away, managed to embrace the here and now as opposed to slashing off the minutes with acute consciousness of their finite number. I’d pay for that soon enough, but I would never regret it. The risk had been worth it, though the magnitude of the fallout, once I pressed the detonator and blew up the world as I knew it, remained to be seen.

  This particular day came far sooner than I had anticipated. No, I wasn’t going to die. Not today anyway. But I faced something that could no longer be avoided, and might well be much worse.

  My bet had been called, and I already knew I’d lost. That’s what eventually happened to selfish pricks like me. I hadn’t grown up to be a good man. I’d done what was best for me at the expense of others, and I didn’t have a conscience. At almost forty-two years old, it was too late for me to form one. That was an inherited trait passed down by dear old Dad. As much as I’d done everything in my power to avoid ending up like him, it’s what had happened anyway. The fucker .

  Even from the grave, that son of a bitch was determined to make my life a living hell. Good always prevails over evil, my ass. I shoved the file I’d been looking at away and plowed a hand through my hair.

  For the second time in my life, I wished for a different path than the one I’d been destined to take. The first time had proved futile; this would be no different. I’d known I wouldn’t be able to hold on to the best thing in my life, so why the hell did I feel like my heart was about to beat out of my chest?

  Preparation was the key to every success I’d had, and today was no different. Despite being in the middle of desperate ground, I was prepared, and I intended to win. I also had the element of surprise going in my favor, but even that felt hollow. Victory would in essence be defeat.

  There were two women in my life that were more important to me than anything. They had wormed their way inside me, made me feel as if I actually had a heart. One of them had come to me after years of surviving on my own. She’d forced me out of solitude, been the only person who truly needed me. The other owned me completely. Without the first, I never would have had the second. Both of them had shown me the true meaning of family. Of unconditional love. Of what it meant to be a part of something bigger than myself.

  What I had to do would hurt them, wreck them really, but in the end, I was saving them both from the misery that lay ahead. I would do what was best for them, even though it might kill me.

  The red light on the security system panel lit up, alerting me that the front door had opened. I rolled my shoulders back, inhaled a lungful of air and released it, and then pretended to focus on what was on the desk. This would not go well.

  The familiar sound of heels clicking on the hardwood floors didn’t bring the sense of comfort I’d grown used to. Today, it was more like the final seconds clicking off the countdown clock in my head.

  Time’s up.

  Chapter Two

  Vivian

  Present

  “Catch ya later, Paul.”

  The doorman of my Warren Street apartment building tipped his hat.

  “The wife’s baking cookies tonight,” he said as the elevator doors threatened to cut off our conversation.

  I thrust out my hand from inside the car to stop them. “The fudge ones? With icing in the middle?”

  “That’s the ones.” He pointed at me, and I grinned.

  “Don’t give mine away before I come down.”

  “You got it.”

  The elevator doors closed, and I rested my head on the mirrored back wall, tempted to slip the stilettos off my aching feet. Today had been good. The new shelter for abused women and children had finally come to fruition after two years of planning. It was beautiful and practical. I’d made certain we’d been fiscally responsible, the result being that we’d come in on time and under budget.

  I was encouraged for the future of the women I’d grown to care for. Paths of Purpose had become important to me over the years, giving me a real sense of purpose.

  The elevator doors opened on the thirty-second floor, directly into the marbled private lobby of our apartment. I used the front door to prop up my tote and dug through the chaos for keys. Once inside, I tossed the keys onto the console table, and stopped short, hand frozen in mid-air.

  There, in the usually immaculate foyer, were trunks and suitcases and bags, stacked as if ready for removal.

  I forged on toward the bedroom, needing to get more comfortable before beginning an investigation into the mess by the front door.

  As I passed the study, a spectacular grin broke out across my face at the sight of my beautiful boyfriend. He was regally positioned at the desk, Tribeca and the Hudson River spread out in the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him. I paused in the doorway, admir
ing one of my favorite rooms and the man in it. Two leather chairs the color of a worn saddle were positioned in front of the desk, framed nicely by the dark wood paneling of the walls. A matching sofa faced the fireplace. But it was the man behind the desk who made the space.

  His broad frame filled out my favorite three-piece black suit, the black tie knotted around his neck as fresh as when I’d tied it for him this morning. I ran my eyes over his face. Even after nearly eight years together, the sight of him still made my heart beat faster. There was simply no getting used to Daniel Elliott.

  "What are you doing home so early?" He’d flown to Washington, DC this morning to meet with one of the sitting senators. I hadn’t asked the purpose, because most of the time I trusted his judgment that the less I knew about his business, the better. His early arrival home meant one of two things: it had gone extremely well, or it hadn’t.

  I hurried across the room to give him a kiss, my lips already tingling in anticipation, but I only made it to the edge of the desk before he gruffly ordered me to sit.

  The glow I felt quickly faded. He knew better than to take that tone with me, but I let it go for the moment. "What's with all the bags in the hallway? Are you going somewhere?" I said lightly, still smiling despite my nerves. When he didn’t respond right away, didn’t even glance up from what he was doing, I obeyed, for once, sinking into a seat with the desk a barrier between us.

  He snapped the file in front of him shut. I flinched. His knuckles were white as he clenched the edge of the folder and stuffed it into the cabinet under his desk. The lock clicked in place with a decisive turn of the key, the sound setting me on edge.

  "No. Those are your belongings." He gazed at me stoically, his onyx eyes cold and distant.

  "Mine?" I asked dumbly.

  "It's over."

  Two little words sent the world crashing down on me. This had to be a joke. Not two minutes earlier, I’d been excited to be home, couldn’t wait to see Daniel to tell him about my day. His generosity had made so much of it possible.

  I fought to keep the hot tears pooling in my eyes at bay, the man I loved a blurry vision sitting across from me like a stranger.

  "I've secured an apartment for you and deposited a generous sum of money into your account. You can keep your credit cards. It's not fair for me to turn you out with nothing." His lips were moving. I heard bits and pieces, but none of it registered. All I could do was stare blankly at him. "If the money isn't enough, I'll take care of it."

  Each word was like a slap, stinging my heart instead of my cheeks. I tried to take a deep breath but came up short.

  "No." It was all I could manage under the circumstances, and it felt like quite an accomplishment.

  "No?" he repeated incredulously, eyes flaring, sparking my senses to life.

  “No,” I reiterated, this time with some backbone.

  “Don’t make this difficult.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Did you think I would make it easy?” I growled, clenching my jaw.

  “Have you ever.” It wasn’t a question, the acid in his tone burning my gut. That was one of the things he’d liked best about me. I didn’t do anything the easy way.

  “How about we rewind, Daniel. Because I’m having a hard time catching up.” I took in a deep breath to steady my temper and adjusted my attitude in hopes of figuring out just what the hell was happening.

  “No, you aren’t. You simply don’t like what I’m telling you.”

  “Damn straight about that,” I confirmed with a nod. “Why don’t you fill in the gap between what happened this morning and now? Because when you made love to me last night, leaving me didn’t seem to be—” I stopped abruptly, thinking about the way he had woken me at two a.m.

  Oh. I deflated. I hadn’t seen it then, but now it was clear. He’d been saying goodbye.

  One dark brow lifted. He knew I’d put at least one piece of the puzzle together.

  “What happened?” I whispered. I searched his face for a sign of something—anything —and came up short. I didn’t know this man staring at me. This was the one who went on lockdown, who refused to let anyone inside the vault with him. Except didn’t he realize I was already there?

  “We’ve run our course,” he said indifferently.

  I shot to my feet and came around the desk until I was beside him. He didn’t turn, so I swiveled his chair, forcing him to face me. I shoved between his thighs and cupped his cheeks. “You can’t just cut out your heart and throw it away. It doesn’t work like that.” A tear slipped down my cheek, and Daniel tensed against me, the only tangible sign that he was uncomfortable.

  There wasn’t just steel around him, but a wall of ice too. “The time has come.”

  “Liar,” I whispered, bringing my mouth closer until it hovered above his.

  “I’ve never lied to you,” he promised. And he wasn’t lying now. I could see it in his eyes.

  “Then tell me when I stopped being your everything,” I challenged, keeping our faces mere millimeters apart. For a fraction of a second, he stopped breathing. A short burst of heat hit my mouth when he spoke.

  “This is the way it has to be. It’s the way it’s always had to be.”

  “You can’t do it. You can’t tell me,” I taunted, hope taking root inside my heart that this was Daniel being stubborn because he’d made up his mind about how he wanted to do things. Without explanation. Because God forbid he ever be forthcoming without me having to fight for every answer.

  He rolled his chair backward, increasing the distance between us, like he couldn’t stand to be near me a second longer. As if he’d pushed me, I stumbled, reaching for the desk, needing its support. I struggled to stay on my feet as tears clouded my vision.

  “This is wrong,” I choked out, not bothering to swipe away the moisture on my cheeks.

  The chair moved a hair’s breadth toward me before reversing course.

  “This is what’s best for you,” he said hoarsely, his mouth contorting downward, those strong hands that knew every inch of me gripping his thighs.

  “When did I stop getting a say in that?” I asked, throat raw.

  “Please.” I didn’t know what he was asking me for, but there was pain in the word. “Don’t cry. One day you’ll see I’m right.” His fingers twitched, and I held my breath. For a fleeting second, I thought he would touch me. But he didn’t.

  “You already know you’re wrong,” I countered.

  “The time for us has come to an end,” Daniel replied resolutely. “Focus on what’s ahead of you. I hope someday this moment won’t taint your memories, and you’ll think of what we had together fondly.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Fondly? Are you kidding me? At least have the decency not to treat me like I’m a goddamned stranger. And don’t insult me with such a blasé word for what we had . Fuck fond,” I spat, gripping the edge of the desk until my joints almost cracked.

  He leaned back and crossed one leg so his ankle rested on his knee. Casual. Indifferent. Done. “It’s over.”

  “You already said that,” I shot back.

  He sighed heavily, as if I were a nuisance and not the woman at the center of his world. If he’d wanted me to believe otherwise, he should have done a better job over the years of proving I wasn’t. Until this moment, I had never doubted his feelings for me. Even though verbal expression was rare, I knew he loved me. His actions up to this point had never wavered, always showing me that was true even if he couldn’t say it.

  “This isn’t up for discussion.”

  I was tempted to sink to the floor, make him physically remove me. My heart screamed at him to stop this nonsense. Daniel had decided our fate. I knew when he could be moved and when he couldn’t. His mind was made up. I wouldn’t get anywhere by continuing to go round and round with him.

  "You'll give me a week to find somewhere else to go," I said. "I'm not taking the apar
tment. And you can withdraw whatever you've deposited."

  "This isn't a negotiation."

  I sniffed, still seething. “You’ve made that abundantly clear.”

  "A car is waiting for you downstairs to take you to your new apartment." He folded his hands around his knee, and despite his I-don’t-give-a-fuck-anymore demeanor, his knuckles were white.

  “One week. That’s not asking too much.”

  "There's no need to drag this out."

  "We're not dragging anything out. You won't even know I'm here. I'm going to go through the stuff in the hallway and dig out what I came here with. The rest you can keep."

  "Those things are yours. I bought them for you." He sounded offended—so help me God, if he was pulling that now…I was the one fucking offended.

  "I don't want it. None of it means anything without you."

  "Don't be absurd. You came here with nothing,” he said, affronted.

  "I'm leaving with a lot less than that."

  I straightened, the anger that had fueled me evaporating. We stared at one another, those eyes that had consumed me now dull and empty. I couldn’t resist moving back in front him until my legs pressed into his. I touched his soft hair and closed my eyes, cursing all the times I’d taken for granted doing this very thing. When I opened them, I saw a wary expression on his face.