Inseparable

by Siobhan Davis

  My eyes narrow as I spot the three grocery bags on the far counter. “What the heck is this? You don’t get to barge in here unannounced and buy me groceries and mention my mother and …” A rush of pain so extreme jumps up and waylays me. I try not to think of my mother, because it hurts too much. “Oh God.” I drop my head, hiding my face so he can’t see the tears brimming in my eyes.

  “Ange, babe.” He sweeps hair back off my face, and I flinch.

  “Don’t touch me! I’m not yours to touch.”

  He takes a couple of steps back. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to help.”

  “I don’t need your help,” I spit out, latching on to my anger, using it to dry my tears. “I’ve survived without you this far. I’m sure I’ll manage to get through the rest of the day.” I’m acting like a bitch, but I have no choice. I can’t let him get to me. I can’t let him back in. As it is, looking up at his sad, sorrowful face is doing a number on my fragile, vulnerable heart. I need some distance. “I’m going to take a shower, and you better be gone by the time I get out.”

  Of course, he’s still here when I reappear in the kitchen a half hour later. If I’m being honest with myself, I knew he would be. Devin’s always been a stubborn motherfucker, and he’s never liked anyone telling him what to do. My hair is damp, falling in loose waves down my back. I’ve put some makeup on, managing to conceal the hideous bruising on my face. I’d like to say I feel more human, but I still feel like death warmed up. I’m wearing skinny jeans and a baggy T-shirt belonging to Scott. It was the only clean top I could find, but, watching the scowl deepen on Devin’s face as he notices the shirt, I’m glad I had no other options.

  My stomach rumbles at the delicious smells filtering through the air. “Sit and eat,” he demands in a gruff voice, setting a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast down on the clean kitchen table. My brows climb up to my hairline as I scan the kitchen. Every surface is clean and tidy, the glass debris has been swept up, and two bags of trash are knotted and resting by the front door. I’m reluctantly impressed, not that you’d know it by my face.

  My mouth waters as I debate throwing the plate in his face. Hunger wins out, and I tuck in, shoveling the food in my mouth like I haven’t eaten in a year.

  “Take it easy, baby doll. You don’t want to make yourself sick.”

  I slam my knife and fork down, chewing ferociously until my mouth is empty. “You don’t like people telling you what to do and neither do I, so quit it with the motherly routine. And don’t call me that.”

  “Why not, baby doll?” His trademark smug grin makes an appearance, and I want to ram my fist in his mouth.

  “Because I never liked being counted as one of your whores.”

  He leans forward, his eyes blazing with fire. “Firstly, I never slept with whores. I hooked up with some girls in high school, but my rap sheet is a lot less full than most gave me credit for. And, secondly, the only person I have ever called baby doll is you.”

  “Well, good for you Mr. Squeaky Clean Detective.”

  He plops into the seat beside me, crossing one delectable leg over his knee as he silently fumes. I shovel food in my mouth, smirking. He watches me eat, making me hugely uncomfortable. His presence seems to crowd my tiny kitchen, and I’m acutely conscious of his broad chest and the way his jeans hug his body in all the right places. His scent swirls around me, bringing me back in time, making me wish things were different. Wish I was different. That I’d been strong enough at the time to do the right thing. That we were in a different place right now.

  But we’re not.

  And I can’t lose sight of the facts.

  I’m a noose around Devin’s neck. I thought by leaving I was setting him free. The knowledge he hasn’t given up on me has muddled my brain so bad. I wish it was enough.

  Love.

  But it’s not. Love can’t undo my past. Can’t wash me free of sin. The only thing I can do is make him hate me. And hope that this time he will finally be free of me to live his life.

  Because I don’t want him fixated on the past.

  I do enough of that for the both of us.

  He should have a ring on his finger like Danny. He should have a happy smile on his face instead of a look full of regret.

  And he can’t stay here much longer, because I’ve never been able to deny him anything, and if he continues to look at me with so much longing and so much love, I’m terrified I’ll cave.

  And that just can’t happen.

  I push my half-eaten plate away, appetite vanquished. “There. I’ve eaten. Now you can go.”

  He props his elbows on the table, and rests his chin in his hands, probing my face with a familiar deep, intense, penetrating lens. A few strands of his hair fall over his forehead into his eyes, and my fingers twitch as the craving to touch him starts building momentum inside me. I sit on my hands, and he notices, his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

  “If you don’t leave, I’m calling the police,” I blurt, desperate to get rid of him.

  “I am the police.” He grins, extracting his cell from his pocket. “Call them, and then I’ll page them and let them know I’m already here.” His smile widens until he’s gracing me with that annoying cocky grin of his again.

  “You have no jurisdiction around here,” I hiss, taking his cell and making a point of stabbing the buttons.

  “I do now,” he replies smugly.

  “What?” I’m sure my face has turned a sickly green color, and it’s not from my hangover.

  “I’ve transferred to the local station on temporary loan.”

  My mouth hangs open. “For how long?”

  “For as long as it takes you to come to your senses.”

  I jump up, biting on the corner of a nail. “That’s a long ass time, Dev, because hell will freeze before I’ll do whatever it is you’re waiting for me to do.” I refuse to confirm the “come to my senses” statement. This is a fucking nightmare.

  “I’ve waited a long time to find you, and I have infinite patience.”

  “You can’t do this,” I shriek. “I’ll leave town!”

  “And I’ll follow you.” He crosses his arms over his chest, pinning me with a solemn look. He damned well means it too.

  “I’ll have you arrested for stalking!”

  “You can try, but I doubt they’d take your word over one of the youngest decorated homicide detectives, but feel free to give it your best shot.”

  I launch myself at him, pounding my fists against his chest. “You can’t do this to me! I won’t let you!”

  He restrains me effortlessly, holding my wrists up. His expression softens, and his voice is quietly determined as he speaks. “I’ve lost you a couple of times already, Ange. I’ve learned how to live broken, but I refuse to do that anymore. I’m not making the same mistakes again. This time I’m not letting you out of my sight. I’m back in your life, baby doll. The sooner you surrender, the easier it will be.”

  “I’m not your baby or your baby doll or your anything! I have a life here. I have a job and a boyfriend, and you don’t get to stroll in here and try to take over!”

  “If I had shown up here, and you were happy and healthy and in a good place, I would’ve left you alone if you told me that’s what you genuinely wanted. But that is not the fucking case.” He clenches his jaw. “You’re a drunk, working tables by day and stripping at night, and that loser you call a boyfriend is an alcoholic junkie who can in no way take care of you. How am I doing so far?”

  I try to wrest my wrists away, so I can hit him, but his hold is too strong. Using the only other weapon at my disposal, I scream—purely to distract him—and raise my knee, burying it in his groin. He goes down like a lead balloon, his eyes watering as he cups his junk. He struggles to breathe, curling into a fetal position on the floor, cradling his manhood with his hands.

  “How
dare you show up here and cast judgment on my life. I’ve told you several times that I don’t want you back in my life and I mean it. That alcoholic junkie also happens to be pretty skillful with his hands, and he’s got a nasty temper, so you really don’t want me setting him on you, but I’ll do it—I’ll tell him if you don’t ... Leave. Me. The. Fuck. Alone.” I scream those last few words, hammering my point home.

  Awkwardly, he pulls himself to his feet, still holding his groin. His face contorts in anguish, and I want to look away because I know I’m responsible for putting it there. An extra layer of hatred washes over me. “Why do you hate me so much, Ange? What did I do to you to make you hate me like this?”

  “You loved me, and I hate you for that.”

  He shakes his head. “You know who I hate?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for me to respond. “I hate Ayden. This is all his fucking fault.”

  I take a step back, reeling. “You can’t say that! You can’t hate him. You need to hate me!”

  He starts hobbling toward the door. “I could never hate you, Ange.” Stopping in the doorway, he straightens up a little, grimacing as he removes his hands from his groin. “Never. You can hurl your hateful words at me. You can threaten me. You can scream and shout and push me all you like, but it won’t make the slightest bit of difference. I love you. I’ve always loved you, and I always will. And I’m going nowhere, baby doll.” His eyes glisten with resolve. “The only possible way you’ll get rid of me is if you kill me.”

  And with those parting words, he walks out, slamming the door shut behind him as I sink to the floor in a flurry of tears. I wish I did hate Devin, because it would make this so much easier. But I love him to bits. As much as I always have. Maybe more so thanks to that declaration.

  He can stay here and try to fight for me.

  But he’s missed sight of the most important thing.

  This isn’t about him winning back my heart. You can’t win something you already own, and my heart has always belonged to him.

  But if he realized how blackened my heart is, how corrupt and mangled and twisted it’s become, he’d give it back. He’d throw it in my face and run a million miles away from here.

  He’d stop fighting for the dead girl with the dead heart.

  He’d finally realize what I’ve known these last five years: that I’m not worth fighting for. I never have been.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Devin

  I don’t attempt to talk to her again, but I’m not taking any chances either—I can’t lose her again. Now, my days consist of following her around town. Parked outside the diner where she works, I watch as she moves between tables, chatting and flirting with customers, scowling every time she looks out the window and notices me. I salute her, and she flips me the bird. It’s almost comical at this stage. I follow her a few nights to a couple of sleazy joints where she performs her routines for guys older than my dad. Hiding in the shadows, it takes every scrap of willpower I possess not to drag her ass out of there. I didn’t quite lie when I told her I was working for local law enforcement—I just bent the truth a little. I’ve taken an extended leave of absence from my unit, and I’m consulting on a couple of cases for the local guys, but, essentially, I’m a free agent.

  I’ve taken minimal vacation time since joining the force, so the captain knew he had little grounds for declining my request. He knows I’m a damn fine detective and that I’m independently wealthy thanks to the share allocation in my dad’s business. I don’t have to work, but I do because I love it. However, there’s no competition between work and the love of my life.

  In any such battle, Ange wins, hands down.

  So, now I’ve ample time to trail her around town. She may have no regard for her own welfare, but I sure as shit do. She’s trying her best to ignore me, but she’s close to blowing a gasket.

  I’m getting to her, and that can only be a good thing. I just need to remind her of the things she left behind.

  The things she has to return home to.

  There is nothing holding her here. The thin file my PI Nate produced confirmed everything I’ve surmised about her. She’s lived here since she fled, only once briefly leaving the state of Oregon. She didn’t work for the first few years, existing on her trust fund and limitless supplies of vodka, according to her financial records. Then she got her job at the diner, and she started stripping on the side last year. That asshole she’s shacked up with is a good for nothing loser who’s clearly sponging off her. Apart from a few brushes with the law, she’s done a very good job of keeping on the down low.

  She has a few friends in town, and she owns the piece-of-shit apartment she’s living in.

  But those are the only ties.

  Nothing that can’t be cut.

  But I can’t push her on this. She won’t even speak to me, for fuck’s sake. So, I’ve got to play smart and ease my way back into her life nice and slow.

  For now, I’ll bide my time, and channel inner patience. Something which is becoming increasingly challenging because it’s so hard being this close to her and not being an active part of her life. I still don’t understand why she left. I know she blames herself for Ayden’s suicide, but why she felt she needed to change her identity and hide from everyone she knew still perplexes me.

  I want to sit her down and ply her with questions until I understand it.

  But that wouldn’t go down well, and my priority at this time is keeping her safe. The answers I desperately seek will have to wait.

  It’s my third Friday in town, and I’m parked outside Ange’s place in the dark, drinking copious amounts of coffee and listening to the radio to try to stave off boredom. Usually, she goes out with that asshole she calls her boyfriend on a Friday night. It’s basically the only time in the week when they spend time together. I’m questioning if he’s even her boyfriend at all. If he isn’t some friend she’s just roped in to fuck with my head.

  Twenty minutes later, I have the answer to at least one of my questions.

  Light blooms to life in Ange’s second floor apartment as the living room curtains are opened. The wide window offers an excellent view into her small apartment as I bring the binoculars to my eyes. Her head is angled in the direction of my car, and she’s staring right at me. I don’t make any secret of my presence so there’s nothing surprising about that. What is surprising is the fact she doesn’t appear to have told the knucklehead about me. And he hasn’t noticed me hanging around outside his place these last few weeks either, which doesn’t instill any confidence in his ability to protect her.

  He appears in the room, and she says something to him over her shoulder. He takes off his jacket and tie, approaching her with a smug expression. When she stands up, all the blood in my body rushes south. She’s topless, standing in black lace panties with a garter belt holding her fishnet stockings in place. Her legs are long and slender in the black high heels, invoking old memories which aren’t helping with the growing bulge in my pants. Grabbing him, she spins him around so his back is flattened against the window, and I sense where she’s going with this.

  I should put the binoculars down and get the fuck out of here, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

  She strips his pants and boxers down and turns him to the side a little, making sure I can see. Then she takes his cock in her mouth, proceeding to suck him off. She makes a meal of it, dragging it out for my benefit, no doubt. I’m caught between arousal and anger and envy—wanting to whip my cock out of my jeans and stroke myself to release and wanting to charge up the stairs, rip her away from him, and pummel his face into next week.

  When she’s done, she stands up, staring out the window, licking her lips, and teasing her nipples between her thumb and her forefinger. Jerk face grabs her tits from behind, slipping his hand in the front of her panties in full view of the street below. A couple walking their dog along the sidewal
k stare up at them, open-mouthed, struggling to believe their eyes.

  Bile floods my mouth, and I’ve reached my limit. I put the binoculars down and send a text to Nate, asking him to take over for me. Nate is the PI who’s worked for me for years. As soon as I found Ange here, I called him up, offered double his fee, and he got on a plane straightaway. He usually takes the night shift while I follow Ange during the day.

  He pulls up twenty minutes later, and I take off, stopping outside the next liquor store I come across, frantically trying to talk myself off the ledge. I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol since high school, but there’ve been plenty of occasions where I’ve been tempted. Most all of them were Ange-related, but this is the worst episode yet. If I close my eyes, I can still smell it, still taste the pungent sharpness of JD swirling on my tongue and sliding down my throat. Images of Ange sucking that asshole off refuse to empty from my mind, and I get out of the car. Staring at the store, I grab fistfuls of my hair, kicking the tires on my SUV. I start pacing, praying for strength that’s in limited supply. She fucking pushed my buttons tonight, and if she keeps this up, I know I’m going to crack and do something I’ll regret.

  Right now, I’m so fucking tempted to just kidnap her cranky ass, tie her up, and not let her go until she expunges the guilt and the grief from her soul. While I don’t have all the answers I seek, I know this is related to Ayden’s death. I can’t believe she’s still blaming herself for it.

  And I meant what I said to her.

  I fucking hate my former best friend.

  His suicide was the most fucking selfish thing he ever did. He may as well have taken us with him. It wasn’t just one life, one family, that was ruined that day.

  His death was the catalyst that destroyed the girl we both loved.

  And she still hasn’t recovered from it.

  Has she done this deliberately as some form of self-punishment? It’s really the only thing that makes sense, but how long does she intend to keep this up? Was she ever planning on coming back home? Natalie’s heart is broken. There isn’t a day goes by when she doesn’t miss her daughter. I hate that I’m keeping my newfound knowledge from Ange’s mom, especially when I promised her she’d be the first to know, but she can’t see Ange like this.