by Ivy Layne
We fell asleep there, me half on my side, Lucas draped over me, our legs entwined, his arm firmly around me, my back against his chest, my head tucked beneath his chin.
I'd never felt so connected. So safe.
Seven hours later, I woke to see Lucas at his dresser, stuffing clothing in a bag. I blinked, washing the sleep from my eyes as my brain tried to process what he was doing.
He was dressed in cargo pants and a black t-shirt, his gun in a shoulder holster, boots already laced on his feet.
Lucas had been up for a while. My duffel bag sat beside his bedroom door, a plastic bag stuffed with toiletries sitting on top.
This was it. It was over. I closed my eyes, feigning sleep. I'd known something was off the night before. He'd been a little distant all day, but after he'd dragged me from the benefit he'd gone cold and silent.
He'd made love to me—and it had been making love, not fucking. Not that last time. He'd been drawing it out, trying to make it last.
Okay. Fine. If he wanted this to be over, I couldn't stop him. I couldn't hold him if he didn't want me. At the thought, my chest clenched in pain.
Later. I'd think about it later.
I was not going to cry in front of Lucas Jackson. Not again. Not when it was over.
If I thought I could change his mind, could bare my heart and convince him to stay, I'd do it in a second.
I suspected Lucas already knew how I felt. And he was leaving me anyway.
Lucas wasn't afraid of my love. He just didn't want it.
I dug my fingers into my palms and bit my lip, using my two best tricks to fight back tears. When I was sure I could hold it together. I opened my eyes and sat up.
Lucas turned to face me, his eyes on the wall behind my head.
"You're awake."
"Are you leaving?" I asked, pulling the sheet up to cover my nudity.
"Uh, yeah. I got a call for a job early this morning. Since your situation is under control, I need to get back to work."
"Okay."
Was I wrong? Was he just going out of town for a while? I got out of bed, taking the sheet with me. My ball gown was carefully folded beside my duffel, the sparkle of the crystals flickering like tiny flames against the creamy satin and filmy tulle.
I'd never be able to wear it again without thinking of Lucas.
"I have to head out, but you can take your time. I can lock the place remotely." His eyes skimmed across my body, coming nowhere near my face. Tilting his head toward my duffel, he said, "I got your stuff together."
"Okay." I didn't know what else to say. Lucas wouldn't look at me.
Keeping his eyes on the bag he was zipping shut, he said, "I'll see you when I get back."
"How long will you be gone?" I asked, watching him for some kind of sign. He gave me nothing. When he finally met my eyes, his were flat and blank.
"Don't know. But I'll see you around."
"You'll see me when you get back, or you'll see me around?"
Breaking eye contact, Lucas slung his bag over his shoulder and turned for the door.
"I'll see you around."
"Okay," I whispered, mostly to myself. His feet echoed across the hardwood floor. The front door opened and closed. The engine of his truck rumbled.
He was gone.
Moving stiffly, every step careful and controlled, I dropped the sheet, peeled off the stockings I was still wearing, and got in the shower. Numb, I barely registered the hot water. I ignored the shampoo and bottle of body wash. The last thing I needed was to smell like Lucas all day. Instead, I scrubbed at my skin with my hands, then at my scalp with my fingertips, rubbing so hard it hurt.
When I felt clean, I turned off the water, roughly dried off, and found clothes in my duffel. Lucas had packed everything in neat piles, careful and precise. My eyes prickled. I blinked hard.
No, not yet.
Hefting the bag on one arm, I picked up my ballgown and the bag of toiletries. I could have used the contents in the shower or to brush my teeth. I didn't care. My brain felt wrapped in a blanket, my thoughts sluggish. I just wanted to go home.
Not the house next door. Home. Picking up my tiny purse from the night before, I left, shutting the door behind me. I tossed my stuff in the passenger seat of my truck and got in. Before I left, I texted Lucas.
I'm out.
He wouldn't text back. I knew he wouldn't. Still, I kept looking at my phone in my lap as I drove, the dark screen a reminder that Lucas wasn't coming back. Not really. Not for me.
Aiden opened the door while I was still on the front steps. He took one look at my face and said, "I have something for you."
I followed him to his office.
"Sit." He pointed to the long leather couch beneath the window. I sat.
Aiden poured a healthy slosh of whiskey into the remaining glass from his Macallan set and carried it to me.
"Are you planning to return the decanter and the other glass?" he asked. I took the whiskey and gave him a blank look. The decanter? "Please tell me you didn't smash it in a fit of rage. It cost as much as the whiskey."
"I didn't smash it," I said in a thick, low voice. "I'll give it back."
"Sweetheart," Aiden said in a whisper, sitting down beside me. He took the glass from my hand, helped himself, and handed it back. "Drink."
I took a single sip.
"Drink it all."
I did, my throat burning, the smoky taste tickling my nose and bringing tears to my eyes. When the glass was empty, Aiden took it and set it on the side table.
"Tell me," he ordered.
I shook my head.
I couldn't. I couldn't tell him. If I opened my mouth and admitted what had happened, it would be real. I wasn't ready for it to be real.
Aiden's arm came around me and he tugged me into his side. My head hit his chest. I tried to breathe, but my lungs were too tight. I heard a low wail and realized it was coming from me.
"Oh, Charlie. My sweet girl." Aiden rested his cheek on the top of my head. "Is this about Jackson?"
I nodded into his shirt.
"Did you break up?" Aiden asked in a gentle voice.
I nodded again. My cheeks were wet. I realized I was crying. I'd cried more in the last month than I had in the last decade.
I wanted everything to go back to how it was before. My body shook in Aiden's arms as great, wracking sobs took me.
I wanted my job back, wanted to work until I was exhausted and forget about dating, about sex. About Lucas. I wanted my boring, stress-filled life to go back to what it was before.
Before I'd bought that house.
Before I'd ever seen Lucas Jackson mowing the lawn with his shirt off.
Before I'd fallen hopelessly in love with him.
Before he'd broken my heart.
Aiden let me cry all over him, his strong arms holding me safe. I'd felt safe with Lucas, but that safety had been a lie. Lucas had torn it away when he was done with me.
"I was so stupid," I stuttered out, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand. "We said it was just for fun. I wasn't going to get attached."
"You can't choose who you love," Aiden said. "Sometimes it happens when you don't see it coming."
"I didn't think . . . I just . . . he was hot. And—"
"I don't need any details," Aiden cut in, smothering a laugh. My chest hitched somewhere between a giggle and a sob.
"I wasn't going to give you any," I said. "I was just going to say that it started like that, but then it changed. I liked being with him." I let out a gusty sigh, wiping at my cheeks again. "I just liked being with him. He's a good man. Smart. Gentle. He made me feel safe. And happy. I was happy with him."
"What happened?" Aiden asked in a soft voice.
"I don't know," I wailed into Aiden's shirt. "I think it was that stupid benefit. I didn't ask him, and then he said he'd go but I don't think he wanted to. And then he was weird when we were there. Quiet. Harrison asked me to dance, and while I was gone—"
> "What the fuck did Harrison want?" Aiden growled.
"He wants to get back together."
"I'll fucking kill him."
I couldn't help a little giggle. "You'd better watch your own back, big brother. Elizabeth was with Lucas while I danced with Harrison. She said she'd keep quiet about who Lucas was if I didn't get in the way of you two being together."
"She said what?"
This time I didn't giggle. I laughed full out. If I'd had a tiny, secret worry that Aiden would fall for Elizabeth's tricks, it was extinguished. His irritated outrage was genuine.
"She thinks that you're vulnerable now that I've moved out."
"Right. Like your living here was the big obstacle keeping us from getting back together."
"You mean instead of her being evil?"
"Yeah. God, she's a bitch." Aiden's arm tightened, and he laid a kiss on the top of my head. "I'm sorry about Elizabeth. I never should have married her. I thought you needed a mom, and it was time for me to find a wife. I fucked up."
"Aiden," I said. He brushed my hair back off my face.
"No, don't. Don't make excuses for me. I fucked up. She made us both miserable and I'm sorry."
"I forgive you," I said immediately. As far as I was concerned, Aiden didn't need my forgiveness, but I'd give it in a heartbeat if it would make him feel better.
"Did Jackson say anything to her?" Aiden asked.
"No. He dragged me out right when I was about to punch her. Then he said my friends were a pit of vipers. We got home and he, um, we went to sleep. When I woke up, he was packing to leave. He already had my stuff by the door. He said he'd see me around."
My breath caught and I started crying again, burrowing into my big brother, borrowing his strength. Mine had carried me home, deserting me now that Aiden was here to hold me together.
My voice a raw whisper, I said, "Why am I so bad at this, Aid? Why can't I find someone? I thought . . . I thought he felt it too."
My breath flooded out in a long, defeated sigh, leaving me feeling empty, compressed, my heart flat and dark.
"It's not you, sweetheart. I promise, it's not you. And if he doesn't feel it, it's him missing out. He's missing out on the best woman I know. And he's not nearly as smart as I thought he was."
"Do you think if Mom was still alive it would be better? I wonder sometimes . . ." I trailed off. Aiden let out a sigh of his own.
"I don't know, Charlie. I wonder that about Dad all the time. Would I have made the same mistakes? Or different ones? Would he be proud of me?"
"You know he would, Aiden. How could he not?"
"I haven't done the best job holding us together," Aiden said. "Annalise is gone, roaming the world, too scared to come home. We almost lost Vance. Gage is missing—"
Aiden's voice choked in his throat and he stopped talking. I wrapped my arm around his broad chest and squeezed. He and Gage had been two peas in a pod growing up, inseparable, their dark heads always together, plotting and planning.
Aiden missed him, and now he felt guilty that Gage might never come home. I got up and grabbed the empty whiskey glass from the side table, filling it from the bottle on Aiden's small wet bar.
"Drink," I said, handing him the glass.
"It's a little early for that," he said, taking it.
"Just drink it." I sat back down beside him, leaning into his side, my head on his shoulder. "You know you're not responsible for all of us, right?"
He finished the drink and set the empty glass down. Shaking his head at me, he said, "Of course I am."
"But this stuff isn't your fault. None of it. You did your best after everything. You made us all go to counseling. You were only twenty, Aiden. What else were you supposed to do? And Gage left you. He should have stayed. I've been so angry with him for leaving us. And now he might not come home."
Tears welled again and I swiped them away. Aiden exhaled in a gust.
"Me too, Charlie. And now I feel like shit about it. I got it. Got why he left. But it still hurt. I have to believe he's coming home."
"He will," I said, but it felt like a lie. Aiden was silent for a long moment, staring at nothing across the room.
"Did I tell you I like your hair?" he asked, reaching over to tuck a strand behind my ear.
"No. Do you really?"
"I do. You look beautiful. Younger. And I love your new house. Even if it means you're not living here where I can keep an eye on you."
"Hmph." I made a frustrated sound in the back of my throat. "I might not go back."
"Sure you will. But stay here for a day or two. Aunt Amelia and the new nurse are moving in next week. Mrs. Williamson could use your help getting them settled."
"I'll stay for a day or two," I agreed. "If it'll help."
"It would. I'll ask Mrs. Williamson to order us a big breakfast to soak up the whiskey and we can go over the logistics, figure out where we should put them and what we need. I could use a hand."
Aiden pulled out his phone and sent a quick message to Mrs. Williamson about breakfast. Back in the day, the house had a complex system of internal phones and bells.
Now we just texted Mrs. W.
So much easier.
Sliding his phone back into his pocket, he started thinking out loud, running through bedroom options for Aunt Amelia and Sophie.
He was distracting me. Aiden and Mrs. W could have handled an invading army without help. They didn't need me for this.
I was grateful for the excuse to avoid my place for a few days. With Lucas out of my life, I didn't think I could face my empty house, knowing that while he'd be back in Atlanta eventually, he was never coming back to me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
LUCAS
I lay on my hotel bed staring at the ceiling. It was the middle of the night and I needed to sleep. I was ready to wrap this job up sooner than I'd expected. Especially considering that I was a fucking mess.
I hadn't slept more than a few hours at a time since I'd left Atlanta.
Since I'd left Charlie.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that fucking look on her face when I told her I'd see her around.
At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing.
I did.
It was harsh, yeah. Breakups were best done fast, like ripping off a bandage. Dragging it out never made it any better. I'd learned that from experience.
What I'd never done was break up with a woman and regret it later.
And I regretted leaving Charlie. It was a fucking ache in my chest, like a rotten tooth, the agony of it blooming with every heartbeat.
I couldn't escape it, even in sleep. I closed my eyes and I saw Charlie, the shocked pain in her blue eyes when I left.
In the brief snatches of sleep I managed, I dreamed of her. Her laugh and the way her skin felt against mine. The silk of her hair.
We weren't supposed to get attached. But we did. I knew goddamn well she had feelings for me. I thought she might even be in love with me, or think she was.
I knew I was in love with her.
It was a fucking disaster. The first time in my life I fall in love, and it's with Charlotte fucking Winters. There was no place for me in her world. That benefit was the nail in the coffin, but I already knew.
I was a rough guy who grew up in a rusted-out trailer. Yeah, I was smart and I could fake it with the best of them. That was part of my job. But the things I'd done . . . where I came from. I'd never fit in.
I didn't give a shit what those people thought of me. I don't need the approval of a bunch of rich people to be happy. But I knew what would happen if Charlie and I hooked up for real.
She'd spend the rest of her life defending me to snobs like Elizabeth, to people who would try to use me to drag her down. And eventually, one day, she'd look at me and all she'd see was a liability.
I couldn't do that to her. I wouldn't. I kept telling myself I wasn't the only guy out there who could make her happy.
Charlie, my Charli
e, was perfect. Smart, and feisty, and fucking gorgeous. There were a ton of men, good men, who would kill for a woman like her. Men who would slide into the fabric of her life seamlessly.
That should've been the end of it. I'd walked away, as good as told her it was finished. She'd move on. I'd move on. Done.
Except that I couldn't sleep, and deep inside, I knew that none of those good men could ever love Charlie like I did.
They'd never be able to protect her like I could, to let her fly but always give her somewhere to land safely. She needed the freedom to be herself. To follow her dreams.
What if the next guy was like Harrison, who cheated on her and wanted her to change for him?
I needed to let her go, but every day we were apart, I missed her more.
Her security system was still connected to the app on my phone. I didn't spy on her. I'm not a creeper. I did get proximity alerts, and I knew when the system was activated and deactivated.
I also had access to the GPS on her panic button, so I knew she'd spent most of the last week at Winters House. The day before, she'd gone home.
I wished she'd stayed with her brother. I didn't like her being on her own, even with the security system and the panic button. Marissa Archer was safely locked away, but something about her didn't ring true for the stalker.
I had no doubt she was the one who'd been delivering the pictures. That part fit perfectly. And she could've been the stalker. There were some interesting transfers going out of her account.
She could easily have paid off the kid who left the note and the one who'd vandalized Charlie's house. She could've paid whoever attacked her, could even have been the attacker herself. She was older, but she was wiry and she had the right build.
The whole thing should've been neatly wrapped up. When I'd left, I'd been ninety-five percent sure Charlie was in the clear. I wouldn't have gone otherwise.
After too many nights of lying in bed, searching for sleep, the whole sequence of events rolled over and over in my mind and with every day that passed, I felt less certain that Charlie was safe.
Maybe I was making excuses.
It would be so easy to go back, convince her she needed me to watch over her, and get one more taste of Charlie. Just a little more time when I could pretend that she was mine.
