Releasing him, I turn around and stomp out the back, pulling the cigarette from behind my ear. Because he has no fucking idea.
Evan follows me out, offers me his lighter.
I light up, draw in the smoke, then let it out, trying to release my anger with it. It’s irrational anger, and I know it. That young guy did nothing wrong when he tried to get Octavia for himself.
But she’s mine.
It’s all sorts of wrong and fucked up, especially when I’ve decided to keep away from her for her own good, when I’ve almost convinced myself I mean nothing to her anyway, and when I can’t…
Can’t stop thinking about her, wanting her so much my blood sings and my fucking soul aches.
“You don’t like him, huh?” Evan mutters, but he isn’t smirking, doesn’t seem to be in a teasing mood. “Ross said the same.”
“You’re testing your luck, you know that, right? Mentioning Ross.”
“Yeah, you wanna beat someone up today, don’t you?” He opens his arms, smoking cig in one hand, the son of a bitch, and stares hard at me. “Have a go at it. See if it makes you feel better.”
“Asshole.” I step away from him so that I won’t be tempted.
Without missing a beat, he slaps my shoulder and steps right beside me again. “Look, I know Ross is a dick. And I know you think he posted those messages on your door and harassed Octavia.” At my dark look, he shrugs. “News travels fast here. All I’m saying is… Ross has a big mouth on him, and a small brain in his head. He’s a bully all right. But he was never the kid who pulled the wings off butterflies and kicked puppies.”
“So I guess that proves he’s innocent, huh?” I let the sarcasm drip off my voice.
“No, it doesn’t prove jack. I’m only saying.”
And I’m listening. But what’s the use? Ross isn’t at work today, his daddy neither, and what is his connection to Alina Solokov anyway?
If this unholy tension headache ever gave way, I might be able to think, make the connection somehow. As it is, nothing comes to me. Nothing to link Ross with my past.
A past I thought interested no one, until now. A past I had never spared a thought for, a girl I’ve never felt anything for.
A tragedy I never foresaw.
But you never foresee that shit. It strikes out of nowhere, without warning. Just when you think the storm is over and you can breathe again, life grabs you and rattles you until your teeth shake loose.
Disease, accidents, death.
Love.
You never see it coming.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Octavia
Relapse.
That’s what they call it when you’ve take a step forward and two steps back, right? Backsliding.
Matt is backsliding. He’s turning back into the distant, brooding guy I met when I first knocked on his door. His gaze is wild and bloodshot, his hair a snarled mess, his powerful shoulders tense, his words clipped.
He’s pushing me away again. It’s as if the attack on me hit him harder than it did me. Which makes no sense.
Except… He lost his wife. And this stalker is leaving threatening messages on his doorstep and then attacking me. He’s probably worried about his kids.
Still.
It’s been two days since the attack, and he looks the worse for wear, his eyes ringed with black, his scent carrying that faint chemical tang it had when I first met him.
What is he taking?
I’ve arrived twenty minutes early because I was too restless and woke up at the crack of dawn. I barely slept a wink, in fact, because Merc went out last night, and although he sent a text message not to wait up, I was worried.
And now I’m worried again because I’ve rung the doorbell three times, but no reply.
I ring again, and the moment the door opens, I know something is seriously off.
Matt stares at me as if he can’t remember who I am. It makes me want to cry. Makes me want to pummel my fists on his muscular chest that’s bare and spectacular, the dark tattoos winding over powerful muscles, over his defined pecs and strong ribcage and the bulging biceps in his arms.
Makes me want to hug him.
But he only mutters something I can’t make out under his breath and steps aside, letting me in.
We have to talk. He has to tell me what’s on his mind. I have a feeling he’s holding himself responsible for what happened to me, and I can’t let him do that. The psycho who grabbed me isn’t Matt’s responsibility. He doesn’t need another cross to bear.
And I need to know if this is what it is, this distance between us, or if he’s changed his mind. If he decided this was it between us, some sex, some intense moments, and then nothing.
No good morning, no how are you today? No smile for me, and no emotion in his dark eyes.
It’s unbelievable how much it hurts. How much it scares me—even more than the attack. The attack was like a natural disaster, it hit me and was gone, but this… This will leave a scar.
“Matt.” He’s already walking away from me, toward the kitchen, and I follow his hulking form, adjusting the strap of my purse on my shoulder, my heart hammering. “Wait.”
He’s banging through cupboards, obviously looking for something.
He stops, slams his fist on the counter, and I flinch. Jesus, this guy’s strong. The counter creaks under his hand. “What?”
I ignore the way my eyes sting at his tone, ignore the voice that keeps whispering at the back of my mind that it’s as I feared, that he changed his mind, if he ever wanted it, which isn’t a given… that like Jasper he banged me and wants nothing more to do with me, that his show of protectiveness and affection was an illusion, a momentary thing, there and then gone.
I ignore it all, and step closer. “Are you all right?”
A shiver goes through his big frame. He braces his hands on the edge of the counter, hangs his head, dark hair falling in his eyes. “Leave it, Tay.”
But I can’t. Not when he calls me that, when his voice almost breaks on the sound. He can’t hide from me. Can’t hide the pain radiating from his stance, his voice, the tight curl of his muscles.
Even if it has nothing to do with me.
“Talk to me,” I whisper, swallowing hard. “I’m here. I’m right here, Matt.”
“Not forever,” he mutters, a quiet rumble, and the crack in his voice, in him, is more obvious than ever.
“But now is what matters. Don’t waste it.”
He glances at me from under the tumble of his dark hair, and where his gaze had seemed empty and void of emotion before, it’s burning. “What do you know—? Christ, Tay. That asshole grabbed you, he fucking hurt you.”
“I’m fine. Just a scratch.”
“Because of me. You should… you should find another job, Tay.”
“Are you firing me?” I stare at him, open-mouthed.
“Fuck, I don’t know what I’m doing.” He shakes his head. “I just need you to be safe. I’m fucking tired of dreaming I got you killed.”
So that’s what it is.