Playing Dirty (17 page)

“Because it wouldn’t be right.”

“Because of Avery.” He didn’t question. He accused.
 

“I’m going to see him tomorrow,” she said. “Until I resolve my issues with him,
we
go no further.”

Anger and frustration made him edgy. He needed space, and he needed it now before he said something he’d later regret. He spun around to leave.

“I’ll take Phoebe over to Dad’s in the morning. I should be home before supper.”

With his hand on the door, he stopped and looked over his shoulder. The uncertainty in her eyes, as if she wasn’t sure she was making the right choice, hurt like hell. And pissed him off...big time.
 

“My daughter stays here. With me.”

“I don’t think—”

“Right now, I don’t give a rat’s ass what you think,” he said coldly. “My daughter is staying home with her father. You can think about that when you’re with Avery tomorrow.”

Ten

MATTIE SAT BEHIND the wheel of her Edge, parked in the visitor parking area of Trenton’s downtown, high-rise condominium complex, summoning the nerve to face him. He’d sent her numerous texts throughout the day yesterday, but her responses had been short and noncommittal. Out of guilt, she’d turned off her cell phone and dodged his late night calls. She had sent him a text early this morning, however, telling him she was sorry to have missed his calls and would see him later. When he’d sent a text back asking if everything was all right, she’d lacked the courage to respond.
 

Nothing was all right. How was that even possible when her dreams, her prayers had finally been answered? Yet, despite the pain she was about to cause Trenton, she knew in her heart her future was with Ford. When her dad had reminded her that Ford hadn’t left her, hadn’t stopped loving her, suddenly her decision had been so simple. For the past five years, Ford had fought and found a way to escape, knowing he had a wife and child waiting for him.

And what had she done while he was fighting to come home? She’d moved on with her life and took a chance with Trenton. She loved Trenton, but he wasn’t Ford. He was his own man and she’d never once looked at him as a substitute to her dead husband. What she and Trenton had shared had been solid. Real.
 

Until two days ago.

Her cell phone buzzed, signaling the arrival of a text message. She looked down at the screen. Griffen.
 

thinking of you. call me when you can.
She was tempted to call Griffen now for a much needed you-can-do-this pep talk, but she couldn’t put off her meeting with Trenton. She’d sent her sister a text message last night after her argument with Ford, letting Griffen know she wasn’t pregnant and about her plans.

will do
, she sent back. She turned off her cell phone and slipped it into her purse before she stepped out of the car. The air was thick with humidity and stifling, as if she were breathing through a wet rag. She hurried from the raging heat of the parking garage into the cool, air-conditioned lobby where she headed straight for the elevators that would take her to Trenton’s condo. Mr. Godwin, the daytime lobby attendant, waved at her as if there were nothing at all unusual about seeing her there in the middle of the day.
 

God, she hated what she was about to do. She’d never been the kind of person who’d intentionally hurt another. She’d never been a bully, or a mean girl. When she gave her word, it meant something. What was she supposed to say to take back the past eighteen months?
 

As she pressed the button for the elevator, dread filled her belly. Maybe that was the problem. She couldn’t take back the past because she valued each and every moment spent with Trenton. Every night she’d spent in his arms had been important to her. She’d loved him with what she’d believed had been her whole heart.

Except now she knew that wasn’t quite the truth. She’d never been able to give him all of her because she’d secretly held onto her love for Ford and the useless hope he was somehow alive.

The elevator car arrived. She stepped inside and pressed the button for the twenty-third floor. One by one, the bell dinged for each floor as she passed. In what seemed like seconds later, the elevator stopped and the doors parted. For a minute, she thought she might puke.

The doors started to close, but she thrust her hand out to stop them. She’d like nothing more than to return to her car and drive away, but she knew she couldn’t. Trenton was a good man. He deserved to hear the truth from her. Face to face.
 

Even if it killed her.

She left the elevator, turned right and headed down the long corridor to the last door on the left. For a moment, she considered using her key, but then decided to ring the bell instead.
 

Like a stranger.

Trenton opened the door, looking cool and stiff. The neatly pressed, khaki trousers and the crisp, button-down shirt did little to dispel the notion. She knew this man well, could feel the tension radiating from him in icy waves. Saw the evidence in the lines bracketing his eyes. Even his smile came off forced and unnatural. The only honest emotion was the hurt and worry evident in the softness of his eyes, and it shredded her heart.

His gaze immediately shot to her left hand. “You’re still wearing my ring.” He frowned and shook his head. “Sorry. Forget I said that.”
 

How could she forget? He’d put the words out there, and now they hung between them in a bizarre combination of hope and accusation.

“I...uh...ordered lunch,” he said as he closed the door.

“You didn’t have to go to any trouble.”

“Just a couple of pastramis from Kaplan’s. No big deal. Can I get you something to drink?”
 

God, she hated the forced cordiality, the civility. “Whatever you’re having is fine.”
 

“Coke?”

“Sure.” She set her purse next to the black leather club chair, then walked to the wall of windows overlooking the busy city streets below. For most of the night and during her drive to Dallas this morning, she’d thought about what she’d say to him. Unfortunately, she hadn’t come close to finding the right words.
 

How did you tell someone you’ve loved, and still loved, that the relationship was over? That all the hours spent together, that the big fancy wedding where she’d promised to love, honor and cherish him before three hundred witnesses was nothing but a big fat lie? How could she intentionally break this man’s heart all because she had chosen to do the right thing by another?
 

She let out a sigh and looked down at the gorgeous ring still on her left hand. So many memories. Beautiful memories of their time together flitted through her mind. His patience and understanding, the tenderness he’d shown her, how he’d respected the difficulty she had in moving on with her life. Of how he’d loved and cared for Phoebe as if she’d been his own daughter. For that alone she’d always be grateful to him.
 

Except she knew Trenton and he wouldn’t want her gratitude. He’d want her to choose him. He would be angry. He would be hurt. But she couldn’t stay with him. Not when the man who’d been the center of her existence was alive. She’d been given a second chance, and she had to honor that.

Trenton would understand...eventually. At least she hoped he would.

His reflection showed in the window as he neared, glass of Coke in his hand. She turned, took the soda he offered and managed a thin smile. “Thanks,” she said, without looking at him. She took a drink, but the cool liquid was about as refreshing as hot lava.

She moved away from the window and toward a club chair. Trenton’s condominium had always reminded her of corporate housing in its perfectly accurate portrayal of what the living space of a young urban professional should be. Not that there weren’t Trenton’s personal touches scattered throughout, but for her, the condo had never reflected his warmth. Yes, he was a hot shot attorney, a brilliant litigator, but he was also a kind man with a subtle sense of humor who cared deeply and honestly.
 

And she needed to tell him good-bye.

She sat on the edge of the chair and drew in a deep breath, gathering her courage. “Trenton—”

“Don’t,” he said sharply. “Don’t say it.”

Her hand trembled as she set her glass on the end table. “What do you want me to say?”

“That you chose me.”

Moisture blurred her vision as she struggled to say the words he didn’t want to hear. “I can’t,” she whispered, her throat raw as she struggled in vain to hold her emotions in check. “I’m so sorry.”

Trenton turned away from Mattie the second the first tear slid down her cheek. Dammit, he’d known. He’d known from the minute he’d walked into that house two days ago and found Grayson with his hands on Mattie that she would leave him and run back into the bastard’s arms. He’d
known
, had tried to prepare himself for the inevitable, but that knowledge had done squat to stop his heart from being ripped out of his chest.
 

He stalked to the bar, then decided against the bottle of tequila he wanted to guzzle in the hope that an alcoholic haze would stop the pain from tearing him apart. Instead, he carefully set his glass of Coke on the countertop, then braced his hands against the cold, pristine quartz.
 

“Did you fuck him?” He knew he was being a bastard. Lashing out at Mattie wasn’t going to alleviate his pain, but he couldn’t help himself. He hurt and he wanted her to suffer right along with him. “How long did it take before you spread your legs for him?”

She gasped. “How could you ask me that? I expected better from you.”

The hurt in her voice had him tightening his grip on the edge of the countertop. He looked away. If he saw the hurt mirrored in her eyes, he’d cave. He needed to be pissed off. He needed to fucking survive losing her.
 

“These are simple questions, Mattie. Was it the first night?”

“Knock it off.”

He pushed off the counter and stalked around the bar to stand in front of her. The anger in her eyes as she glared at him nearly stopped him, but he was too ticked off, hurting too deeply, to give a shit. “How about last night? Is that why you didn’t answer my calls? You were too busy fucking your dead husband?”

“Oh, that’s mature.” She stood and grabbed her purse. “I’m not having this conversation.”

“But he tried, didn’t he?”

She pressed her lips together.

He took hold of her upper arms and hauled her against him. “Did you suck his dick?”

She struggled to get away from him, but he tightened his grip. “Fuck you.”

He smiled coldly. “Is that an invitation?”

Her eyes glittered with fury. “Let go of me, Trenton,” she said, the warning in her voice loud and clear. “Now.”

“Fuck you back,” he said, then kissed her. Hard. Punishing. There was nothing kind or loving about the way his mouth clamped down on hers, but he was beyond caring. He wanted her to feel the same gut clenching agony, to know the pain losing her was causing him.

She shoved him. Reluctantly, he let her go and put some desperately needed distance between them.
 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded. She lifted a trembling hand to sift it through her hair. “Damn it, Trenton. I don’t want us to—”

“Don’t want us to what? To end things badly?” He laughed, the sound rough, callous. “Baby, there’s only one way this is going to end, and it’s badly.”
 

“I know this is awkward.”

“Farting in an elevator is awkward. Watching my wife run back into her dead husband’s arms? That’s a fucking nightmare.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what else I’m supposed to say.”

“Say you want me, damn it.” He dragged his hand down his face. “Say you’ll stay with me,” he said in a more civil tone. “Say it’s me you can’t live without.”

Instead, she remained silent.
 

He had his answer. Grayson was the one she couldn’t live without.
 

He kept his distance. What else could he do? Anything else would be far too agonizing. He walked back to the bar, poured some tequila into a glass and downed it.

Eventually, he looked at her. She looked wounded and angry. Damn if he didn’t want to console her. He poured himself another shot of Patrón.
 

“I never meant to hurt you.”

He knew that, but it didn’t change the fact that she’d cut him wide open and left him lying in his own blood, his heart an obliterated mass of wounded tissue. The hurt went so deep, he didn’t think he’d ever heal.

“Whatever,” he muttered, then downed the shot. He really wanted to smash his fist into a wall. A year and a half of his life that he’d never get back, wasted. Their plans for the future, shot to hell. “Guess this means you’re not knocked up.”

“No,” she said. “I’m not pregnant.”

“How fucking convenient.”
 

He contemplated another drink, but the way his mood was souring, thought better of it. “What have you told Phoebe?” he asked her. Mattie wasn’t the only one he was losing. He’d been a part of Phoebe’s life, too.