Rose (18 page)

“This is hard for me to admit,” he says while studying the table. “But I couldn’t handle the pressure of you cutting yourself. I was scared shitless that my actions would drive you to it. Then I moved on to being paranoid that you’d kill yourself over something I did or didn’t do. I didn’t know how to be what you needed.” He looks shamefaced. “When Mercedes pursued me, I was flattered but not interested. I wasn’t lying when I said that I love you. I always have, almost to the point of obsession. But it was so complicated—and she wasn’t. I didn’t have to worry about what I said or did around her because her balls are probably bigger than mine,” he jokes weakly.

The urge to feel sorry for him is there again. Then I remember how it felt when his girlfriend made fun of me in the bathroom, and the anger is back, surging through me until I’m ready to explode. “You had options, Jake,” I hiss. “Why not just be a man and break up with me? And you certainly could have made the choice
NOT
to tell Mercedes about my scars.” I sneer at him. “How could you do that? You damn well knew that I’d never told anyone about that. But you and your girlfriend laughed at me like I was some kind of hideous joke.” My voice echoes through the room, and probably down the hallway as well, but I’m too far gone to care.

“I never laughed at you!” He pounds a fist on the table. “I was literally crying in my fucking beer over you one night and I said more than I should have. She was acting the part of the concerned friend, and I told her how much I missed you. Then she asked why I slept with her if I still wanted you … and it just came out. Swear to God, though, we never joked about it. Actually, it wasn’t brought up again. She was lying about that.” He sounds almost hopeful when he says, “I’m breaking up with her today. I can’t be with someone like that. She isn’t who I thought she was—she’s not you.”

I need to defuse this situation now. Unless I’m wrong, Jake wants more than to apologize. I get to my feet and he does the same. I step back to keep distance between us. I don’t need his proclamation of love now. I needed it a long time ago. But not now. I need nothing from him now. “Thank you for coming to talk to me. I know it couldn’t have been easy.” I can give him that much. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive him for everything that’s happened, but I do feel better knowing that he wasn’t tearing me down to others. That hurt me as bad or worse than the infidelity. I try not to think about how many people Mercedes has likely told about my situation. I’m slowly trying to accept that I can’t be responsible for the actions of others—only my own.

He bridges the distance and puts a hand on my arm. “Could I take you to dinner—to let you know how sorry I am? If you’ll let me know where you’re staying now, I can pick you up tonight. Did you move back in with your parents? I called there but kept getting their machine.”

“Jake, that’s not happening. I appreciate you taking the time to see me today, but I’m involved with someone else. Actually, I’m living with him.” As I’m not looking directly at Jake when I tell him, I can’t see his expression. But by the quick intake of air and lowering of the head, followed by his telltale stroke of the back of his neck, I can sense he wasn’t expecting that answer.

Taking me by surprise, he says, “You always deserved better than me. I hope you’ve found it now.” I’m still speechless as he drops a kiss on my cheek and leaves the room.

I feel as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. My past is slowly making way for my future, and the fear I’ve lived with for so long is losing its grip on me. I’m still in control.
Accept the anxiety. Don’t try to fight it.
I’m still in control. Joanna will be proud. Bring on the next bombshell. I’ve got this.

How I’ll regret even thinking that in the days to come because fate took it a little too literally.

I
’m shaking
my ass and doing a terrible job singing along to Flo Rida’s “Going Down for Real” as I wash the breakfast dishes from this morning. Max and I had been running late—for a very good reason—and we’d piled them in the sink before we left. He has what is no doubt an expensive dishwasher, but this little piece of domesticity feels good.
Maybe I’ll wash his underwear next; that might bring me back down to earth.

No sooner has that thought occurred, I hear the doorbell ringing. I swear to God, if it’s the Girl Scouts selling those evil Lemonades again, I won’t be responsible for my actions.
All right, maybe I’ll buy another damn box and eat them all in one sitting. Shit, I need to throw that last empty box away before Max finds it.

I look through the peephole and feel my heart plummet—what is my father doing here? Yeah, I’ve been brought back down with a screeching halt. My father is an expert at that. I ponder not opening the door, but then I’ll just have to worry about him showing up at my office tomorrow. After Jake, I think I’ve had enough unexpected visitors there for the week. I take a deep breath and skip the part about pulling my pants up. I learned my lesson on that one earlier. Holy crap, he’s literally laying on the doorbell now.
Ask not for whom the bell tolls…

I wrench the door open just as his finger hovers over the small circle, ready to push it again. “Go ahead, I don’t think the neighbors heard you the first ten times,” I say sarcastically.

His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline as if he’s amazed I would speak to him that way. I have to remember that he has no sense of humor whatsoever, whereas Max or even Lucian would laugh over that line. He straightens the jacket of his suit and grumbles, “What took you so long? I’ve got better things to do with my time that stand here all day.”

I roll my eyes and bite my tongue. I’d love nothing better than to remind him that no one invited him, but I don’t. He pushes by me and walks into the foyer. I wave my hand out, saying, “Do come in.” He completely misses the slight jab, simply waiting for me to close the door and join him.

I’ve been trained to be the perfect hostess for years, so I find myself reluctantly asking, “Would you like to sit down? The living room is just around the corner.”

“Hardly,” he huffs out. “What I’d like is for you to go pack your things. It’s time for this silly little tantrum of yours to end. You’ve had your fun and managed to humiliate your mother and me in the process.” He looks down at his watch before barking out, “Now, hurry along. We’re having the Bearden’s over for cocktails tonight, and it is rude to keep them waiting.”

I’m standing in the bedroom before it hits me: I’m following his orders like a trained dog. I feel sick to my stomach realizing how easily I just bowed to his command.
What am I doing?
There is no way I’m going home. I’m not even sure that I can call it that.
Home.
A penal facility would be more accurate, and the man in the entryway waiting impatiently for me to obey is my warden. I slowly retrace my steps, and he looks confused that I have nothing in my hands. “First of all,” I begin quietly, “you saw to it that I had nothing but the clothes on my back when you cleaned out my apartment.”

He looks me up and down before saying contemptuously, “Well, if what you’re wearing is any indication, you don’t need to bother bringing anything with you. You’re dressed like a cheap harlot.”

I inhale sharply, literally choking on air as I stare at him aghast. He just called me a whore. This is a new low, even for him. The urge to run and change into something he’ll find presentable is so strong; it’s suffocating me with its intensity.

“You … need to leave,” I manage to get out. My hands shake at my sides.

He has his phone in his hand, typing on it as if I don’t deserve a moment of his undivided attention. “And we shall. Hurry. Up.” He walks toward the door, and then glances back when he realizes I’m not following him.

Squaring my shoulders, I say evenly, “I said you need to leave. I won’t be going with you. This is my home—at least for now.”

He’s baffled at first as he darts a glance at his watch before raising his eyebrows in irritation. Then, at last, my meaning becomes clear, and he’s pissed. I can see the vein throbbing on his forehead as his face takes on a molten-red color. “You’ve lost your mind! You’re playing house with someone you hardly know and making a fool of yourself in the process. What opinion could he have of a girl who gives herself over so freely? You’re an embarrassment to the Madden name. Your mother and I have been forced to cover for you, but that can’t continue.” Pointing to my clothing once again, he shouts, “Sooner or later one of them will see you looking like
that
and it’ll be over. We’ll be the laughing stock of the club.”

“Get out,” I whisper as he continues to rant. “Get out. Get out,” I chant before bellowing at the top of my lungs, “GET OUT!”

He jerks as if a bullet entered his body. Right now, he’d better be glad I don’t have a gun in my well-trained hand.

“Now, listen—”

“Get the hell out of my house and don’t come back,” I say in a voice so deadly calm that it makes him look uneasy. I’ve now moved around him and thrown open the door.

The glare he gives as he stalks past is something I’ve never seen before. It looks like disdain. Not indifference. Disregard. There’s … contempt. The door slams so hard behind him that a nearby picture crashes to the ground. I stare at it as if not comprehending how it got there.
Broken. Broken glass.

I’m broken. Broken glass.

The only thing on my mind is escape, and I know how to do it.

God help me because I’m not sure I can stop myself this time.

I
t’s almost seven
by the time I make it home. I had a late meeting to review a potential acquisition for Quinn Software that I’d been putting off for a few weeks since it wasn’t a pressing matter. But both Rose and I had to return to our normal schedules sometime, and this week has seen me catching up on mine. When I pull into the garage, I smile when I see the company car that Lucian loaned Rose on one side. It feels better than I imagined coming home to someone again.

Going through the motions of retrieving the mail is even more interesting.
Weird, Decker.
I’m whistling under my breath and thumbing through circulars as I open the door and walk into the kitchen. I toss the pile onto the table and am almost in the hallway when something makes me turn and do a quick check of the surrounding area.

Then I see her. “Shit,” I hiss under my breath.

Wedged in the corner beside the stove. Even from a distance, I can see her body shaking and her teeth chattering. But it’s the glint of the light reflected off the object in her hands that has my heart stuttering.
Be calm; don’t startle her,
I think, as I slowly make my way over to her. I’ve seen this expression on her face before. She’s staring straight ahead as if in some kind of trace. I visually inspect her, looking for any signs of blood, but see nothing.
Thank fuck.
Her hand tightens and loosens upon the handle of the blade she’s holding, and I fight the urge to wrestle it away from her. I can’t risk her hurting herself in the process. I need to be very careful here.

I crouch, bringing myself down to her level. I see no reaction from her to indicate that she’s aware of my presence yet. “Hey baby, I’m home. I see you’ve been in the silverware drawer again.” I wince, thinking this might not be one of those times to make light of things. Her expression is still blank, so I settle onto the floor next to her, trying to fit my large frame into the small space. “So what do you feel like for dinner? How about some Chinese?” Giving a forced chuckle, I add, “I’d say pasta, but somehow, you manage to burn it every time.” As if my words are getting through to her, the hand that was clenching the knife pauses. Her eyes are still unfocused, so I continue rambling. “Guess what, sweetheart? Cindy and Sam made it official today. Can you believe that? I mean, it’s not as if we didn’t already know that they were an item, but they have still insisted on keeping it secret at the office. Of course, I guess it has to come out since they’re engaged now.” I put a hand on her knee, squeezing it lightly. “She came in wearing the ring this morning, and she’d probably shown it to half the building in the first hour alone. Luc looked a little green when I teased Sam about the honeymoon.” I laugh. “He said it’s too much like discussing his parents having sex.”

“Max?” I freeze when she says my name, then feel like I can take the first proper breath since finding her, as some of the fear begins to unwind within me.

I struggle to keep my voice level as I reply. “Yeah, it’s me, baby.”

She looks confused as if she has no idea why we’re both sitting on the floor. Then I see the moment her eyes fall on the knife in her hand. Her face goes deathly pale as she looks down at her lap, obviously searching for signs of injury just as I had. “I didn’t do it, Max,” she wheezes out. “I wanted to so badly that I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to hold out.”

I take the blade from her trembling hand and set it to the side. The sound of the metal hitting the tiled floor seems unusually loud. I get to my feet, then lean back down and pull her into my arms. She wraps her arms around my neck and her legs encircle my waist. I walk slowly to the bedroom and manage to maneuver us both onto to bed. I prop my back against the headboard and she releases her legs from my waist to lie on top of me. My arms go around her. One hand strokes her hair while the other caresses her back. “Well done, baby. You didn’t cut. What happened, sweetheart?” I ask as I kiss the top of her head. She has been doing so well lately, that I’m thrown by what has happened. This could have been so much worse.

“Jake came to see me today at work,” she begins softly. I feel myself stiffen under her as jealousy rips through me. As if she feels the change in me, she rubs my side reassuringly. “That’s not what upset me tonight, but I wanted to tell you about it. Lia ran into him while she was getting lunch and told him about what his girlfriend said at Leo’s that night.”

I sigh, tightening my grip on her. “Shit.”

“I wasn’t too happy at first,” she admits. “I didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt me again. But in the end, it was a good thing. We managed to clear the air of some things I’d wondered about. I’m not saying we’ll ever be friends again, but at least I don’t think he’s quite the bastard I thought he was. In the end, he wasn’t strong enough to deal with what I’m battling, and I’d be a bitch not to understand that.” With a helpless laugh, she adds, “I’m not doing too well handling it either, am I?”

I ignore her question for now and ask instead, “What happened to upset you?”

Her breath quickens against my chest, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her to forget it for now. “My father came over. It was ugly, Max, and when he left, I wanted nothing more than to find an outlet for all the pain. I needed the release that cutting gives me. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a knife from the drawer.” She lifts her head and looks at me, her eyes searching for something, and then appearing satisfied when she sees it. “Then I thought of you. These past two weeks here have been the happiest of my life. And I didn’t want to lose them. I was at war with myself. I wanted that sharp tip to penetrate my skin more than I wanted my next breath. But at the same time, I couldn’t stomach how it would make you feel to find me like that again. And what if I went too far?” A tear drips from her face and onto me as she confesses, “I love you, Max, and that’s the one thing that makes me want to fight. I never had a reason before because no one cared whether I lived or died. You may not love me, but I know that you feel something. It’s evident every time we’re together. I matter to you, don’t I?”

She looks so uncertain yet hopeful that it shatters my heart. “Oh baby,” I murmur brokenly. I take her face in my hands and wipe the tears with my thumbs. “I love you, too, beautiful girl. I can’t fight it anymore. I never thought I’d feel this way again. Hell, I never wanted to, but you own me, Rose Madden, heart and soul.”

Our lips lock in a kiss so tender, it shakes my very foundation. There is nothing sexual about it. Quite simply, it’s the non-verbal expression of our love for each other.

“Who was she? The woman you loved before me?” I tense. I don’t detect any note of jealousy or insecurity in her voice. There is curiosity there and something that sounds like compassion, as if she knows that my first love ended in tragedy.

I’ve never opened up about Melly before, and it’s incredibly difficult. But Rose deserves to know about the person who shaped so much of who I am. I reach to the side and pull the blanket over us as I get my thoughts in order. She seems content to let me go at my own pace. Finally, I clear my throat and begin. “I met Melanie on the first day of college. Actually, we were both running late for class and plowed into each other. I was drenched in her coffee and cursing up a storm. She began laughing hysterically as if seeing me dripping wet with the hot liquid was the funniest thing ever. I should have been pissed, but that was the thing about Melly. It was impossible to be angry around her. She found humor in even the worst situations.”