by HELEN HARDT
Pain.
Pain that seemed insurmountable sometimes. Pain that was, at its root, cloaked in self-absorption.
At least mine was.
Marjorie wasn’t even close to self-absorbed. She’d stayed on at the house to help Talon and Jade with the boys when their housekeeper left.
The boys. She’d stayed with the boys, and she took care of them. And I couldn’t take care of my own son.
Self-absorption versus selflessness had never been so clear.
And I’d never felt so low.
Marj had been determined to stay…until now.
Now she was going to Paris.
Was it self-absorbed to do something you wanted?
No. It was not.
She did want this. But she was also running.
From me.
This all had something to do with me.
Or did it? I shook off the self-absorption. This was about Marjorie, not about me. Something new rose within me—something I hadn’t felt in a long time. I embraced it.
“Tell me,” I said. “Tell me why you did this to yourself.”
“Did what? I told you. It’s a scratch. I can be clumsy sometimes.”
I edged toward her and touched the smooth silk of her cheek. “Tell me, sweetheart. Please.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Marjorie
My insides went frigid. All the heat Bryce had invoked in my body, the intensity between my legs, vanished as if it had never been.
Tell me, sweetheart.
Such innocuous words, but to me they spoke of endless danger. Only one person, Melanie, knew my secret.
My weakness.
My most cowardly thing.
Yet the thought of opening up to Bryce, of truly letting him see all that I was, felt…good.
What a strange idea—to let the man I loved more than anything actually see me.
It was a scary proposition, but it also gave me hope. Hope I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
Would he still want to be with me?
I held back a scoff. He didn’t want to be with me now. Oh, we had an intense chemistry and attraction. That much was apparent. But he’d written me that note of poison, telling me that nothing had happened between us.
And every time we were together, he made it clear in no uncertain terms that it could never, never happen again.
“It’s nothing,” I finally said.
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to believe me. You just have to accept my answer.”
“Fine.” He stood. “I guess we’re done here.”
He’d lost his erection, and he quickly zipped and snapped his jeans.
“I think we were done before we started,” I said. Yeah, I could sling the shit too. It was about time I started doing it. Bryce wasn’t the only one who could be purposely hurtful.
Hurting him gave me no pleasure, though. In fact, it made me feel worse. Did it do the same to him?
Why not ask?
“Did it feel good to write me that note, Bryce?”
“What?”
“You know very well what I’m talking about.”
He looked away, and as he did, I took advantage of the time to put my clothes back on.
When he finally turned back to look at me, his eyes were heavy-lidded and almost…broken. “How can you even ask that?”
“How can I not? You wrote it, not me.”
“I hated writing it,” he finally said, his voice low. “It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”
“Then why, Bryce? Why did you do it?”
“I had to.”
I scoffed. “I get it. Someone was holding a gun to your head and said either those words or your brains would be on that piece of paper.”
He shook his head slowly. “Be serious.”
“I am being serious. You said you had to write it. I’m telling you that you didn’t have to, that it was your choice. No one but you made you do it.”
He said nothing. Not that I expected him to. My logic had no argument.
After what seemed like an hour—but was only a few minutes—had passed, he said, “Don’t go to Paris.”
“Sorry.”
“At least not now. Stay. Please. Jade needs you. I can’t be responsible for your leaving.”
“Who said you were responsible?”
“Marj…”
The look on his handsome face was one of so much sadness and pain, I had to choke back a sob. He was hurting too, and I hadn’t let myself see that.
“It hurt you to write me that note,” I said.
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A statement of truth.
He nodded. “More than anything.”
“Then why did you do it? And don’t tell me you had to. Tell me the truth. The fucking truth. Why don’t you want to be with me?”
“None of this has anything to do with what I want.”
“So you want me. That much is obvious. No matter what you say, you can’t stay away from me. I get it. I’m in the same predicament. The only difference is that I’m open to exploring, and you’re not. Why, Bryce? For the love of God, tell me why.”
He sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to him. “You want the truth?”
I joined him. “Of course I want the truth.”
“Are you sure? The truth can be dark, Marjorie. You’re so beautiful and full of light. I don’t want to change that.”
I was full of light? Me? The one who couldn’t stop cutting herself open to relieve her emotional pain? Boy, there was a lot Bryce Simpson didn’t know.
“I’m sure.”
“Okay, here’s the truth. I can’t be with you because I’m a mess, Marj. I’m a big fucking mess, and I can’t be with anyone. Especially you.”
“Why especially me?”
“Because you’re…fucking perfect. I’ll screw you up.”
“Bryce, come on.”
“I’m serious. You’re everything that’s right in this world. You’re giving everything to two little boys you just met, things I can’t give to my own son right now.”
“Bryce…”
He held up his hand. “No. Let me finish. You do everything for others. You’re putting your life on hold—”
I interrupted him with a huff. “I’m not. I’m leaving.”
“Would you let me finish?” He shook his head. “You’re perfect, Marjorie. Absolutely perfect. Plus, you’re Joe’s baby sister. He’d never forgive me if I hurt you. Worse, I’d never forgive myself.”
He’d already hurt me, but now wasn’t the time to bring that up. He knew. It was written all over his face.
“This isn’t making any sense. If this is about your fa—”
“I’d be lying if I said that’s not a big part of it. But it’s more. I have responsibilities to my mom and to Henry.”
“I love Henry and your mom. You know that.”
“That’s not the issue. I’ve already let them down, and I feel like shit for it. I can’t let you down as well.”
“You haven’t let your mom and Henry down.”
He shook his head. “There are things you don’t know. Things I can’t tell you because of promises I’ve made.”
“You just swore you’d tell me the truth.”
“And I have. But I can’t breach a confidence.”
Chills spiked the back of my neck. “Exactly what is going on here?”
“Marjorie, I can’t be with you because I’m an empty shell. I feel like the Tin Man.”
“You don’t have a heart?”
He sighed. “My heart is fine. I feel, Marjorie. I…”
“What?”
“I…” He shoveled his fingers through his mass of dark-blond hair. “I love you, damn it. I love you so fucking much.”
My heart leaped, and warmth surged into me, filling the holes. “I love you too.”
“I know. You said it once.”
“I did?”
�
�The last time at the guesthouse. You were having a lot of orgasms.”
Try as I might, I couldn’t make myself embarrassed over the words during a climax. “Well, I meant it then, and I mean it now.”
“I mean it too.”
“Then what’s the problem? When two people love each other, everything can be worked out.”
“Not when one of them is the Tin Man.”
“Stop it with that reference, already. Your heart is fine. You just said you love me.”
He touched my cheek then, caressed it carefully as if it were made of porcelain. “It’s not my heart that’s the problem, sweetheart. It’s my soul.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bryce
My soul.
Yeah, my heart was fine. I wasn’t lying. I loved my mother and I loved my son as much as I always had. And I loved the woman before me. So damned much.
But where my soul once was lay only a black hole. I felt used up, empty, as if my physical body no longer housed something full of light. Now, only blackness lived inside me. The blackness of my father and the guilt he’d left me.
Marjorie took my hand, entwining her fingers with mine. Her flesh was warm and inviting. Loving.
Marjorie had a soul, a beautiful soul full of love and light. I couldn’t tarnish her. I just couldn’t.
“You’re being way too hard on yourself. You have a soul. You know you have a soul.”
“It’s an illusion,” I said.
“Maybe all souls are illusions. Maybe it’s something we’re taught so we can believe something continues to exist after our bodies die. No one knows, Bryce.”
“Semantics don’t matter, Marj. Whatever I once had inside me that made me feel full and happy—it’s gone now.”
“You’re feeling guilt,” she said. “That’s all.”
“Oh, yeah. I feel guilt. But this goes beyond guilt. It’s these memories of my father. They torture me. All the damned time.”
“What memories?”
“From my childhood. All that time, he was doing horrible, awful things to innocent people. Young people, Marjorie. And at the same time, he was teaching me things.”
“What things?”
“Things a father teaches a son. Things I’ll teach Henry someday. How to camp, fish, shoot a gun. How to be a man.” I raked my fingers through my hair. “I learned how to be a man from a monster.”
Finally, my guilt poured out of me and into this lovely woman. She’d walk away for sure.
Hell, I wouldn’t blame her if she ran away screaming bloody murder.
I was a fucked-up mess.
“That’s not your fault,” she said.
“But…he was a good father. To me. And at that same time…”
“Hey, it’s okay.”
“God. None of this is okay. Not even a tiny bit.”
“Your father was a monster. You’ll get no argument from anyone.”
“How can I have happy memories of him? It feels wrong.”
“You need to talk to someone.”
“I’m talking to you.”
“And I’m happy to listen, but I don’t have any training in any of this. Melanie can—”
“She’s too close. She’s Joe’s wife.”
“She’s also about ready to pop a kid. If you’d stop interrupting me, you’d know I was going to say that Melanie can recommend someone.”
Of course. Not like I hadn’t already thought of that. Problem was, a therapist couldn’t help me with the new development Joe and I were dealing with.
No one could help me with that.
As much as I wanted to share everything with Marjorie at that moment, I owed Joe my confidence. He wasn’t telling his wife, so I could hardly tell his sister.
“I’m just saying think about it,” she said.
“I will.”
It wasn’t a lie. I’d already thought seriously about it. And I’d do it…after Joe and I took care of the Justin Valente situation.
Marjorie snuggled into my shoulder, and I kissed the top of her sweet-smelling head.
“You still going to Paris?” I asked.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“A lot of things. Are you willing to stop pushing me away?”
“I’m not ready for a relationship,” I said. “That won’t change.”
“What if I like you the way you are?”
“Then you’re nuts.”
She chuckled. “Maybe I am.”
“I was honest with you, as much as I could be without breaking a confidence.”
“I’d never ask you to break a confidence. I hope you know that.”
“I do now. So will you be honest with me?”
She sighed. “I’ll try.”
“All right, then. Tell me about that cut on your thigh.”
She pulled away from me. “I did tell you. I scratched it.”
“Sweetheart…please.”
“It’s nothing. It’s under control.”
“It’s a new wound. It’s scabbed over.”
She rose from the bed and paced over the area rug covering the hardwood floor of the small bedroom. “This is hard, Bryce.”
“I know.”
“It’s just that—” She lost her footing and tumbled to the floor.
I stood quickly and grabbed her. “Baby, are you okay?”
“Yeah, just clumsy. Seems to happen a lot when I’m trying to get away from you.” She moved the corner of the rug out of the way. “Wait. What’s this?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Marjorie
Our eyes had long since adjusted to the darkness. One of the floorboards was loose, leaving a slight bump under the rug. That must have been what had caught on my foot and made me trip. Bryce threw the rug out of the way and knelt on the floor.
“What the hell?”
“It’s loose,” I said.
“I can see that.” He tugged but couldn’t pull the board up. “I’m going to need some tools.”
“Are there any here?”
“There used to be. I’ll be right back.”
While he was gone, I looked around the room for anything we could use to jimmy up the floorboard. Nothing, and all I had in my purse was a nail file. That would hardly be strong enough.
Bryce returned with a small crowbar.
“Where’d you find that?”
“Out back. My dad kept some tools back there.” Then he stopped.
“What?”
“What if I don’t want to know what’s under here? What if…”
Oh, no. He couldn’t be thinking… “Babe, no. There’d be a smell.”
“Not if it’s been a long time.”
“Then let’s not look, okay? We can get someone else out here to—”
“I have to know,” he said. “I have to know.” The second time more to himself than to me. He stuck the crowbar between the seams of the wood.
Within minutes, the board had loosened and Bryce pulled it up.
“What is it?” I asked.
He picked up some manila folders. “Looks like documents.”
“We’ll need more light,” I said.
“Yeah, definitely. I’m just going to grab everything out of here, and then we’ll take it… Shit. Where can we take it?”
“The guesthouse? You said your mom and Henry are leaving for Florida tomorrow.”
“I suppose. I’d prefer a safer place.”
“Then maybe we leave them here. If no one’s found them by now, they’re not looking. Plus, these could be nothing.”
“Marj, things hidden underneath floorboards aren’t usually nothing.”
He had a valid point. “Anything else down there?”
“Yeah, hold on. It’s like a box or something. I may need to remove another board.” He jammed the crowbar back into a seam to remove the hidden staples, and soon another board sat next to the first one on the floor. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“Do you h
ave a handkerchief or something?”
“I’ve never carried a handkerchief in my life, Bryce.”
“A tissue. Anything.”
I grabbed my purse and pulled out a small package of tissues. “Here.”
He removed one and then pulled a gun out of the floor. “I don’t want my prints on anything here,” he said. Then he pulled out another gun. And another.
“Three?” I gasped.
“That I’ve found so far.” He pulled out a metal box secured with a combination lock. “I’m guessing there are more in here.”
“Is that all?”
“Joe and I used to sleep in this room.” His voice sounded like an echo.
“I know. It’s okay.”
“All this time…”
“We don’t know what’s in those files, what’s in that box.”
“We sure as hell know these are guns.”
I said nothing. I certainly couldn’t dispute him. “That’s not really anything, though, right? You and Joe used to shoot with your dad.”
“Yeah. But we didn’t hide our guns under floorboards.”
I exhaled slowly. “If you don’t think the stuff is safe at the guesthouse, we can still leave it here.”
“And risk someone getting in here and taking it?” He shook his head. “No way.”
“Bryce, the case is closed. Your father and the other two are dead. The compound in the Caribbean is shut down. The victims were freed. It’s over. If they were looking at this cabin, they’d have already found this stuff.”
He looked above me, as if staring into some distance that wasn’t actually there in this small room.
“Bryce?”
“It’s not over, Marjorie. Not by a long shot.”
“If you’re talking about Colin and Ted Morse—”
“I’m not talking about them. At least not just about them.”
I gulped. “What are you talking about, then?”
“I can’t say any more.”
“You can’t just—”
“I made a promise. You have no idea how much I want to be able to talk to you. To anyone. But I can’t.”
“Is this why Henry and your mom are leaving?”
“We need to get out of here. I’m going to put this stuff in the trunk of my car until I figure out what to do with all of it.”
