Forsaking Gray (The Colloway Brothers Book 1) (28 page)

It’s Monday morning and I haven’t heard from Gray since we got into an argument and he hung up on me Saturday night. I tried calling him several times yesterday, but my calls went to voice mail and my texts went unanswered. I considered taking the train into the city, showing up unannounced at his apartment but decided against it. And frankly, I was being a chicken because I knew if I showed up at his place, I wouldn’t be able to avoid it any longer. But I also know I
can’t
wait any longer before telling him every despicable detail. My stomach is twisted into a million knots that I have no hope of unwinding at the thought of him knowing my deepest shame.

My fairytale is at its end, only in this final chapter, I’m no longer the princess that the prince will woo, and we won’t ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after. No. I’m the witch, the sorceress, the bad guy. And I’ll single-handedly deliver the poison straight to the prince’s heart. The poison which will effectively kill his love for me. In this sad and imperfect ending, no one survives unscathed.

Knowing what fate has in store for me, in between bouts of throwing up yesterday, I cried. I sobbed. I ached. Addy comforted me, not knowing what was wrong. She never once asked, never cajoled. She was just there for me. And when I asked her why, she simply said because she’s my friend and that’s what friends do.

I’m still not feeling much better this morning, but managed to drag my ass into work. It’s now eight-thirty and I haven’t heard from Gray. He’s already missed two meetings and I’ve called him twice. I’m starting to get a very bad feeling that I may have waited too long or pushed him too far. No matter how upset he is with me, Gray not showing up to work is not like him. He’s dedicated and devoted to his company. I’m getting very worried, so I do the only thing I can.

He answers on the second ring. “Asher, it’s Livia.”

“Yes?” It sounds like I’m the last person he wants to talk to. Well, guess what? Right now, the feeling’s mutual because I know in about two seconds, I’ll feel his hatred for me like a switchblade to the gut.

I take a deep breath. “I can’t reach Gray and he’s already missed two meetings this morning. I’m worried.”

A string of low curses flows fluently under his breath. “What did you do?”

It hurts, but I deserve that. “We got into an argument on Saturday night and I haven’t heard from him since.”

“Fuck! Jesus, Livia. I knew things between you two would end this way,” he hissed.

Me too
. “Please, just make sure he’s okay and let me know what I should do with his calendar.”

“I’ll call you back as soon as I know something.”

Not knowing what else to do, I go ahead and cancel his meetings for the morning, but all the while I’m thinking the same thing I thought to myself weeks ago when he moved me into this position. This was a bad idea. We are too intertwined with each other’s lives and when that cord severs, which I knew was inevitable, it will be that much harder to deal with the shit pile we’ll both be left with. And not only will I have lost Gray for a second time, I’ll also be out of a job. But I let him do it without barely a protest. I needed to feel that connection with him again and, I too, wanted to spend every single second of every single day with him.

To keep my mind busy, I go through Gray’s emails and find the invoices that need his signature. I print off two that came in over the weekend. I enter them into the system but am missing the tax ID number on a new vendor, so I call them.

“Townley Consulting,” a young voice cheerfully answers. I wish I could answer the phones this morning with half as much enthusiasm. As it is, I can barely muster a mumbled hello.

“Yes, I have an invoice for thirty thousand dollars sent to Mr. Gray Colloway over the weekend, and I need a couple pieces of information before I can process it.”

“Certainly. What do you need?”

I look over my form to make sure that I get everything I need because I don’t want to have to call her back again. The first time I did this, I had to call the vendor back three times. “Umm, tax ID and…type of services rendered. I need a description.”

She puts me on hold for a couple of minutes and returns with the information. “Okay, the tax ID is…” she rattles off a series of numbers quickly. “And the type of service is a background check.”

Background check?
Oh my God.
Pieces are clicking together so fast I can actually hear them. My hands shake and my lungs feel like I can’t get enough air. “Can you be more specific,” I ask, trying for nonchalant, but failing miserably.

“I’m sorry, but it’s confidential. I can’t give you any more information than that.”

“Yes, of course. Thanks,” I mutter before hanging up. Just as I disconnect, the phone rings again.

Asher
.

“He’s fine. He’s working out of his New York condo for the week. He said he’d take his meetings by phone.”

The final piece falls into place. Suddenly this bad feeling I’ve had in the pit of my stomach since yesterday solidifies into a solid, hard mass. Thick, heavy and suffocating. It’s threatening to choke the life out of me.

Gray knows. That’s why he’s been avoiding me.

“Did…” I had to clear my throat before I continued. “Did he say why?”

“He just said he had some shit to sort through.”

“Okay. Thanks, Asher,” I manage to strangle out. I hang up and sit there staring into space for the longest time, dumbfounded.

The betrayal I feel at his actions is white hot. He told me I could trust him. He had me believing I could tell him
anything
and he would understand. I was finally beginning to think it was true. That it may actually be possible to break open this deep wound that was nearly healed, bare my stained soul to him and that he may possibly understand. Accept me. And still love me, regardless.

But it was all lies. This entire time he had someone checking into my past. A past that was supposed to be buried so deep no one would be able to find it. That’s what Grant had said. Yet, somehow he had. And he didn’t even have the balls to confront me to hear my side of the story.

It makes me angry, even if it is unfounded. Even though I know that I’m the one that dug this fucking crater that we’ve both fallen helplessly into, but it doesn’t stop the sharp sting of his duplicity.

I wonder what he knows. I
have
to know what he knows. I have to get him to talk to me.

Me: why did you run away?

Several minutes go by and, once again, I don’t think he’s going to answer, but when he does, his caustic words shatter my fragile heart.

Gray: that’s rich, coming from a woman who probably holds the world record in that sport

Me: gray, what’s going on? please come home. i’m ready to talk

Gray: it’s a little too late for that livia. i know

My blood freezes and my heart sinks. So it’s true. He does know. He went behind my back, digging into my private life. And he paid a lot of fucking money to do it. Oh my God, I can hardly breathe. My fingers tremble. The keypad is blurry through my watery eyes as I type my response. Even though I was dreading it, I was going to tell him on
my
terms, in
my
own way. Eventually.

Me: u know what exactly?

Gray: everything

Nonononononononono.

Me: meaning?

Gray: u did what u swore u wouldn’t. u annihilated me

My hands fly to my mouth and my cell drops to the carpeted floor. It lands face up, and even feet away, his words mock me. He knows the truth. He knows I left him for another man, even though I didn’t want to. Does he know why? Does he know I was raped, tortured, beaten? Does he know about the baby? I lean over the garbage can and dry heave. I couldn’t keep anything down before and now my stomach churns like a wild carnival ride. A ride that I want off of, but I can’t find the exit.

______________

The next few days pass by in a blur. I barely function. I come to work, answer the phone, but I couldn’t tell you what I do from eight to five. I’m like a robot, set on autopilot. I don’t remember walking to and from the train station. I can’t sleep, but when I do manage a couple of hours, they aren’t filled with hauntings from my past anymore. They are filled with glimpses of a future that I will never have.

The one that troubled me most and sent me into a near tailspin was a vivid dream of Gray and I having a baby. We had a boy and he was tiny and pink and perfect. We named him Jax. After I had awoke in hysterics, Addy had to sleep with me that night, holding me like a child. She begged me to call Dr. Howard and make an appointment, but I don’t think I can possibly transform my pain into words that will make any sense.

None of what happened makes sense. I’m in the worst kind of depression and I don’t know how to pull myself back out. The only reason I keep going to work is that I hope Gray will come to his senses and come back to the office so I can see him. Convince him to listen. Hear my side of the story.

The world is now colorless and drab, a spiteful, mocking mixture of nothing but swirling and muted greys. Without him, I’m launched back into that dark, lonely place that I was before, only now it seems so much gloomier, lonelier. More despairing. I feel dead inside and I know my life will never be the same.

I can’t keep anything down. I’ve lost several pounds and my new clothes now hang on me. I stopped wearing makeup because it won’t stay on longer than fifteen minutes. Crying jags tend to do that. And like a crazy stalker, I have texted and called Gray repeatedly, but he doesn’t answer.

I tell him I’m sorry, I tell him how much I love him, I beg him to let me explain. He never responds. I don’t know when he’s coming home. I get so desperate I even call Asher and Conn and beg them to convince Gray to talk to me. Asher said he wasn’t getting involved and Conn told me he’d see what he could do. I don’t hold out much hope.

This feeling of debilitating agony right here? This is exactly why I ran away from Gray at the fundraiser. This is the reason I didn’t tell him whenever he demanded answers. This is why I stayed away from him when I escaped my prison. I knew he would never understand the decision I made. He could never accept that I’d been with someone else, even if it wasn’t of my own free will. He would see me as the damaged goods that I am.

I’m gutted. Destroyed.

My worst fears have come true and the pain this time is far, far worse than I could have possibly imagined.

Chapter 40

I swirl the dark liquor in my glass until it forms a little funnel in the middle. I watch it go around and around, threatening to suck anything down to the bottom that has the unfortunate luck of getting stuck in its vortex. How apt, given that’s exactly how I feel. I’m stuck in a dizzying maelstrom of despair and depression that is threatening to suck me to a bottomless, black pit, destroying me once again.

I take another swig of the pungent alcohol and stare into the nothingness. My apartment is dark, except for the moonlight that shines through the open blinds, and even the moonlight makes me ache. The beams remind me of the brightness of Livvy’s eyes when I make her come. The shadows that play on the walls from the cumulous clouds passing high overhead remind me of the candlelight dancing over her naked flesh when she was laid out on my dining room table like a sacrifice.

Fuck.

Another swallow. I can’t feel the warmth of the alcohol coursing through my bloodstream anymore because my body is numb. But my mind isn’t. Why can’t I forget about her? Why have I had to fight the nearly overwhelming urge this entire week to hop the next plane home and bury myself inside her, forgetting everything I’ve learned. I’m disgusted that my thoughts keep drifting back to the way her expression transforms in the throes of pleasure when my face is buried in her pussy, or the sheer tranquility I feel at the simple act of just holding her in my arms.

Almost a week later I can still smell her, taste her, feel her body against mine. I let my heavy head fall back against the couch and stare at the ceiling, barely blinking. Blinking is overrated. Apparently I haven’t had near enough alcohol to make me forget yet, but I know that’s not true. I’ve already finished almost three-fourths of a bottle of one-hundred-thirty-proof bourbon. I’m three sheets to the wind or just plain lost in the wind, but I can’t get my fucking mind to shut off. I can’t stop thinking about
her,
and mourning a future that has once again been violently ripped away from me.