by Lucy King
Especially the decision she’d made last night.
She might have determined she was going to tell Seb she was in love with him while drunk as a skunk, but she’d checked that repeatedly throughout the day and it still seemed like a very good idea.
And OK, so she’d probably been a bit optimistic when she’d thought he’d be pleased she’d taken it upon herself to help him but they could work through that, just as they could work through the many other obstacles that no doubt lay in their way. If Seb was willing, if she was willing – which she was – it would all be good.
Picking up her phone and looking at the incoming call information, Mercy felt an unstoppable grin spread across her face.
“Hello,” she said, her heart leaping about all over the place no matter how much she tried to stop it.
“Hi.”
“How are you?”
A pause. Then, “Fine.”
Just the sound of Seb’s voice made her go warm all over and her stomach flip. Dios, she hoped he didn’t run a mile when she told him how she felt about him. She’d be c) devastated if he did. “Want to know where I am?” she said, not allowing herself to entertain that possibility.
“Mercy.”
He sounded tense. Stressed. As turned on as she was, maybe. “I’m in the bath,” she said, lowering her voice to the seductive level he’d never been able to resist. “Wearing nothing but bubbles and feeling kind of hot. Want to come over?” she asked and held her breath because this was departure from their usual routine; this was a gamble.
Which was met with silence.
“It’s Friday,” he said.
“I know that.”
Another silence. “Mercy, we need to talk.”
Yes, they did, she thought, buzzing with love. She had so much to tell him she was nearly bursting with it. But there was no way was she going to do it over the phone. She wanted to see his face when she told him she was in love with him.
Maybe he wanted to talk because he’d reached the same conclusion as her, that this wasn’t just sex. Or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he wanted to tell her he was going away on business or something. Whatever. She could wait.
“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” she said, ignoring a faint feeling of foreboding because there wasn’t anything wrong. Of course there wasn’t. What on earth could be wrong? “But seeing as you’re such a stickler for the rules, what time do you want to meet up tomorrow?”
There was a pause. A sigh. Harsh. Resolute. Unforgiving. That sense of foreboding grew and now she was thinking maybe something was wrong. “Seb?” she said, a trickle of alarm winding through her. “What’s the matter?”
“Look, there’s no easy way to say this, Mercedes, so I’ll just come out and say it.”
Her blood ran cold and her heart gave a lurch. “Say what?”
“I want out.”
The words hit her brain and for a moment she froze. She couldn’t think what to say. Couldn’t believe she’d heard correctly because, what? “I’m sorry?” she said, her voice sounding all weird.
“This arrangement has been…good…but it’s over.”
Her vision blurred. Her brain stumbled. Her tongue felt thick. “But why?”
“It’s run its course.”
What? How? How could he say that? It hadn’t run its course. Not by a mile. How could this be?
“For me, at least,” he was saying. “And if you remember, our original agreement stipulated that if either of us wanted to end things then they could. I’m exercising my right to do just that.”
Feeling as though the bottom was falling out of her stomach, Mercy swallowed hard. “Is there anything I can do to persuade you to change your mind?”
“No,” he said, and the word was so clipped, so final, that what he was telling her hit her suddenly, with the force of a blow to the head, and sank in.
This was it. This really was it. She’d been gearing up to tell him she loved him and he’d been gearing up to tell her it was over.
She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what to say. She could hardly tell him she loved him now, could she? And she could hardly complain about the condition she’d agreed to. Nor was she going to beg because it would only compound her pain when he told her to stop. But she had to say something. He was waiting for a response.
“I understand,” she said, even though she didn’t understand at all.
“Great,” he said, and, horribly, she thought he sounded relieved. “So no hard feelings?”
“No hard feelings,’ she said automatically. And it was true. It really was. She couldn’t feel anything at all.
“See you around, Mercy.”
“Goodbye, Seb.”
*
Outside it had begun to snow. Through the bathroom window Mercy could see the flakes drifting down in the night. Inside it was dark, the candles having burned out long ago, and the bathwater was cold. Her hands and feet were shrivelled, the skin of her fingertips like prunes, and she could feel herself shivering but she just couldn’t summon the energy to get out.
Seb had been right about the way he could hurt her, she thought dully, staring at her feet lying just below the surface of the water. She’d dismissed it at the time, because of course he wouldn’t hurt her, she’d thought. Look at how happy he’d made Zelda. He might not want to admit it but he’d changed.
Now though, she knew differently. He could decimate her. With a two minute phone call.
She ached all over. Her head throbbed. Her throat was tight. Her eyes stung. And her heart felt as if it had been slashed to ribbons.
If she’d been in any doubt about the way she felt about Seb it was gone now. Only last night, when Dawn had revealed the truth to her, it had felt like something just out of reach, something she sort of knew but couldn’t really get a hold of. Now she held it and it was cleaving her apart and leaving her to bleed.
Faith.
Faith would still be up.
And suddenly she wanted – no, needed – to hear her voice. A friendly voice. A loyal voice. A voice to replace the one that had just shattered her hopes, her dreams, her heart.
With effort that seemed to require every drop of strength she had, she lifted her hand and with shaking fingers she dialled the number.
“Hello?” said Faith and Mercy could hear the clink of glasses in the background.
“Faith,” she whispered.
The clinking stopped. “Mercy?” said Faith, her voice filled with concern. “Are you all right? What’s the matter?”
“It’s over.”
“What is?”
“Seb and me,” she said, her throat so tight she could barely get the words out.
“Why? What happened?”
“He finished it.” Actually saying it made it somehow feel more real and as her heart seized up Mercy wondered whether she’d ever be warm again.
“Oh, honey.”
“It’s not his fault,” she said, the truth of that making her stumble over the words. “It’s entirely mine. I pushed him. Too far. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have fallen in love with him.”
“It’s not your fault,” said Faith gently. “It can’t be.”
But Faith didn’t know about Sunday morning. “I think it is,” said Mercy, her heart breaking all over again. “I tried to fix him. He didn’t want to be fixed.”
“Did you tell him you love him?”
“No. I didn’t get a chance. At least I have that. At least I was sort of dignified. He told me he’d see me around.” Which she didn’t think she could bear.
“I’ll call the girls. We’ll figure out what to do.”
Mercy felt her eyes fill and blinked to keep the tears at bay. “No, please don’t,” she said. “I don’t think I can talk about it. Not this time.” It was too deep. Too raw. Too much.
“How can I help, Mercy?” said Faith.
“You can’t,” she said wretchedly. “I wish you could.”
“What are you going to do?
”
She didn’t know. But she needed time. Space. A place to lick her wounds and get over what could never have been and she should never have considered. Maybe the December heat of Mendoza could make her warm again. At least she’d be in no danger of bumping into Seb down there. “Term’s over,” she said, feeling a glimmer of something good spark in the ravaged remains of her heart. “I have four weeks off. I think I might go home.”
Chapter Eleven
‡
“Well, aren’t you the prize jackass?”
At the sound of the voice right in front of him and coming from somewhere above him, Seb jerked and snapped his head up to find Zelda standing in his office, just the other side of his desk.
Her hands were on her hips. Her face was thunderous, her color high. Her eyes flashed and her voice fairly bubbled with outraged anger.
Seb narrowed his eyes as he looked at her, his mind churning. What was Zel doing here? She never visited the Madison Building. Why now? Why hadn’t he been warned she was on her way up? How long had she been standing there? Why hadn’t he even noticed her arrival? Why had he been staring at the same page of the report lying on his desk for over an hour? And above all, what the bloody hell was wrong with him these days?
Nothing seemed to be going right lately. Nothing. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. His mood was so filthy he’d started scaring the staff. Something was off. Something was definitely off.
“Hi, Zel,” he said coolly, sitting back slowly and linking his hands as if everything was absolutely fine. “How was Russia?”
“Wonderful.”
“Ty?”
“Even more wonderful.”
“And the jet lag?”
“It’s a bitch.” She flung herself into a chair, all languid grace and long limbs, despite the fiery indignation. “And you’re a bastard.”
As well as a prize jackass? Inwardly Seb tensed, but kept his expression neutral. “All this just because I cancelled dinner?”
Sure it had been short notice, like half a day’s, but he really hadn’t felt like it. He hadn’t felt like anything recently, but the thought of spending an evening watching a deliriously happy Zel snuggling up to an equally besotted Ty Sullivan on his sofa really had been too much to stomach.
“This has nothing to do with dinner,” said Zelda brusquely. “This is about Mercy.”
The mere mention of her name slammed into Seb with the force of a blow to the stomach.
Great.
It had been a week since he’d spoken to Mercy and he’d been doing so well at not thinking about her. So well at not missing her. Not anymore.
“Soda?” he muttered, jerking to his feet, suddenly keen to get away from the desk that held too many memories. “Water? Anything?”
Zel’s blue eyes flashed. “No, thank you.”
“Mind if I have one?”
“Go ahead.”
Wishing he had that unfinished bottle of whisky to hand although he’d hardly drink it in front of Zel, Seb stalked to the bar, yanked open the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. “Na zdorovie,” he muttered in Zel’s direction, cracking it open and downing it.
“Whatever,” she said, and he was aware of her watching him as he threw himself onto the couch and then shuffling her chair round to face him. “So. Mercy.”
“What about her?” he said flatly.
“Watch out, Seb. You’re reverting to form.”
He arched an eyebrow. “So?”
“You’ve been doing so well. Don’t ruin it now.”
“I’ll endeavor not to.”
“How do you think she is?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her.” And he didn’t care how she was, he wanted to add, but for some reason, couldn’t.
“Of course you haven’t. Because you ditched her, didn’t you? Over the phone.”
He bristled at the censure in her voice. “And?”
“Let’s take the shittiness of that as given. What I want to know is, why?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“I’m making it my business. She’s my friend. You’ve hurt her.”
Exactly as he’d predicted he would. Something deep inside him clenched. “She’ll get over it.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
“It was never anything serious anyway.” Liar.
“Are you certain of that?”
“Of course,” he said, shutting down the annoyingly persistent voice in his head.
“Do you realize she loves you?”
Seb went still, every cell of his body feeling weirdly tight and primed, as if on the brink of something momentous, although why that should be he had no idea. “No, I didn’t realize that,” he said, forcing himself to relax. “But you’re wrong. She doesn’t love me.” She couldn’t love him. Why would she? That hadn’t been part of the deal. And he was damaged, broken and a bastard – hardly good enough for someone like her.
“Yes, she does.”
“Then it’s even more for the best that I ended it,” he said, doing his utmost to convey utter indifference because he didn’t understand why it should even matter how she felt about him or why it should hurt that he wasn’t good enough for her.
“What happened, Seb?” said Zel, moving to sit on the couch opposite his and leaning forward. “Did she get too close?” she asked, her gaze so damn probing Seb could feel right in the center of him. “Did you get bored?”
Seb stared at her, stunned into speechlessness for a moment. Bored? Bored? God, he’d been so far from bored he’d have laughed his head off if he’d been in any mood for humor.
“Or are you simply terrified?”
What? No. That was even more wrong than ‘bored’. “What would I have to be terrified of?” he said, the challenge clear in his voice.
“You still think you’re bad news, don’t you?”
“I am bad news, Zel. I end up destroying everyone I care about. You know that first hand. I won’t have it happen to Mercy.”
Zel’s gaze sharpened. “So you do care about her?”
Seb felt his jaw clench. “I’m talking hypothetically.”
“Bullshit.”
He shrugged and got up. “Whatever,” he said and strode over to open the sliding doors for much needed fresh air.
“Don’t you run away from me, Sebastian Madison,” said his sister. “You won’t get away with that. Not anymore.”
“Where do you see me going?”
“Emotionally you’re all over the place.”
“I’m fine,” said Seb, digging his hands in the pockets of his pants and gritting his teeth as a blast of cold air hit him. “And I don’t do emotion.”
“You’re a mess. And you don’t do emotion? Really?”
His jaw set. “You don’t have a clue, Zel.”
“I have more of a clue than you think, Seb. How many conversations have we had over the last couple of months? Tens? Hundreds? You wonder what would happen if you screwed up again, don’t you? You worry that Mercy, like me, won’t be able to handle it, and maybe, unlike me, she won’t recover. You don’t want to risk it. You don’t want it on your conscience. But the thing is, you wouldn’t screw up. I know you wouldn’t. Things are different now. You’ve changed. And Mercy is stronger than you think. She wouldn’t let you screw up. Neither would I. So let go of the guilt, Seb. Just let it go.”
If only he could. “Easy for you to say, Zel.”
“Not easy for me to say, actually. It’s been bloody hard for me to work through my hang-ups – and God knows I’ve had a few – but if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that the effort is worth it, it really is.”
“Ty?”
Zel nodded. “Among other things. And you could have Mercy. You could have peace. You could have a life.”
He wanted that, he thought, his head suddenly spinning with the strength of the realization. God, he wanted that. But could he? Could he really? Was he willing to try it? And put Mercy at ri
sk?
“Do you want to be on your own forever?” he heard his sister say and it hit him like a blow to the head that he didn’t. He really didn’t. He was so lonely, so damn tired of being on his own. He’d always told himself that he was fine with it, that it was what he deserved, but he wasn’t fine with it and maybe it wasn’t what he deserved.
As the foundations of his long-held convictions began to shake, thoughts he’d never allowed himself to entertain cascaded into his head.
Maybe it was time he started listening to the people who’d always insisted that the accident had been just that, an accident. Maybe he ought to take a leaf out of Zel’s book and move on. She’d come such a long way, and where was he? Still hovering around the starting line. And what was he going to do? Stay there for ever? That didn’t sound much like progress. That sounded faintly like self-indulgence, especially when Zel had told him many times that she understood his behavior towards her and had forgiven him. It sounded even more faintly like cowardice.
So wasn’t it about time he forgave himself, manned up and started living the life his parents would have wanted him to live?
“No,” he said, his voice thick and his throat tight. “I don’t want to be on my own forever.”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“Find Mercy.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m nuts about her,” he said, the remaining walls surrounding his heart crumbling and revealing the truth he must have known for weeks.
“Of course you are,” said Zel but Seb hardly heard, he was so busy reeling with the realization he was head over heels in love with Mercy.
He adored everything about her, he thought, his stomach in free-fall as every bewildering thing about their relationship suddenly slipped into place. And the emotions, God, the emotions – the hurt, the disappointment and the despair she’d made him feel – suddenly all made sense.
Why would he have felt any of that if he hadn’t cared? Why would her opinion of him have mattered? Why had he wanted her approval and for her to look at him with the pride and admiration he’d dismissed mere weeks ago? And that hold she had over him? If it bound her to him, then he wanted it.
