“Nothing, Em. Just forget I said anything.”
“I can’t just forget that! You don’t sit here and say all of that to me and just say, ‘Oops, just kidding! Forget I finally opened my mouth!’” I stand back from my seat at the desk and march into his space, taking the trash and throwing it on the floor. “What did I ever do to make you hate me so much?”
“What does it matter? I used to think that I could have changed my future. I used to think that I could manipulate those around me into not caring so that, in return, I didn’t harm them. And then you came into my life and there was no changing you. So, yeah, Emmy . . . I used to think that I could have changed my path in life, but now, I know that I’ve just been playing the game of fate and there isn’t shit I can do to make it any better. I am what I am, and all that is me will do nothing but pull you under a riptide you’ll never survive.”
“I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“So don’t say anything,” he says with sadness.
“I wish you could see yourself how I see you. Or maybe if you would let me in, open up to me, I would understand a little better why you continue to break my heart. At this point, Mad, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to put it back together again.”
His eyes darken and his lips part when he sucks in a deep breath.
He steps out shortly after to make some calls. I don’t ask. I just curl up into the covers and pray that sleep takes me away from the harshness of reality.
CHAPTER 12
Maddox
One night. I spend one night between her thighs and suddenly my walls are crumbling down. Mentally, I’m frantically trying to repair their damage. Attempting to reinforce them against the tempting allure of her love. It would be so easy to fall at her feet and beg her for everything she’s ever offered me. I want to; God, I want to. But right now, what’s important is getting her the hell out of here and doing what I need to do to fix whatever is going on in her pretty head. I have no doubt that she is suffering greatly at his loss, but now, after hearing how she grew up, I fear that her issues might go deeper.
Regardless of what is going on around us, I feel unsettled with the hope that’s building within. The hope that maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to let her in. I don’t know what to do with that feeling. I’ve spent so long refusing to believe in it that it’s terrifying.
I woke up before the sun and started making plans and getting the ball rolling. I rented us a place about an hour from home—a cabin that one of our contacts owns. He is going to be overseas for the next couple of months and needs someone to keep an eye on his place. In reality, I could have just as easily passed this job to someone more local to him, but this is just what Emmy needs. Somewhere neutral. Not back home, where our friends care too much to give her the time she needs, and damn sure not in this hellhole I found her in.
I take a moment after returning to our room to watch her sleep. She doesn’t look sad when she’s sleeping. I hate the part I’ve played in her sadness. This time away—together—will be good for us. If I really am going to forget everything that’s been integrated into my life since birth, then I need to make sure she can handle this baggage she is so willing to help me carry.
If there really is a future with us, then this is the time to find out.
Letting her sleep, I go about cleaning up the mess in the room and carry the few belongings we had with us down to my Charger before settling into the chair in the corner and watching my angel. I sit there in the shadows of the room and let myself feel, something I rarely do and never do when someone can see me. I let the future that could be us play out in my mind, feeling that flicker of hope grow a little larger when I can’t see anything but her love for me . . . and mine for her.
*
We’ve been on the road for a few hours now and she remains silent. I know she’s still fuming that I followed through with my promise that she wouldn’t be going back to Syn. We went by her hotel room, and as she stood pissed in the middle of the room, I packed her belongings into her suitcases. Five minutes later, we were back in the car and on our way to Georgia.
I keep my mouth shut. There really isn’t anything for me to gain by allowing her to pick a fight. She wants to feel like she’s in control of her life, and by me swooping in and taking over, she’s free-falling. It’s not that I’m trying to do that. I just want to make sure she’s where she belongs and not dancing for a room full of assholes while being at the hands of that motherfucker . . . Now that is not where she belongs.
One day, maybe she will see where I’m coming from, but if I have to get nothing but her anger in return for her safety, then I’m okay with that.