Sure, Phoebe thanked me in the moment… but she probably hates me, now that she’s had a few months to reflect on what happened. I may’ve gotten her out of that basement, but then I abandoned her. Walked away. I might as well have left her for dead on that corner.
I don’t want Parker to look at me like I’m a monster. I don’t want him to see that I’m not the girl he thinks I am. And even if by some chance he doesn’t think I’m terrible, telling him about my connection to Phoebe will just make this thing between us — whatever it is — even more complicated.
And then, a small voice whispers. When he sails his giant yacht off into the sunset in a few days or weeks or months… you’ll still be here. Alone. Empty. And, quite possibly, brokenhearted.
No. I can’t tell him. Can’t let him in any more than I’ve already done. Look what’s happened in the span of a single afternoon — he’s gotten me to strip out of more than just my clothes. He’s stripped away my defenses. Obliterated every barrier I’ve built around my heart.
So… a week with him? A month? A year?
He’ll take everything.
And I’ve spent far too long building myself up from nothing to let a guy walk into my life and reduce me back to rubble.
“Zoe?” Parker prompts, a pleading note in his voice.
I stay silent.
It’s for the best, I assure myself. This pain, right now, is nothing compared to what you’ll feel if you let yourself fall in love with this man.
Parker scoffs. “Know what, Zoe? Keep your secrets. Keep your walls up.” He shoots me a look that’s so disappointed, it breaks my heart. “I just hope you know, this life you’re living — it’s not worth shit if you live it alone. You call me a playboy, a man-child… maybe that’s true. But at least I live. At least I grab life by the throat and take it for all it’s worth. Can you say the same?”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer; he just turns and walks toward his bedroom.
“You got what you wanted,” he calls over one shoulder. “You can see yourself out.”
The sound of his door clicking closed cuts through me like a knife wound to the stomach. Ignoring the tears filling my eyes, I reach out and grab the flash drive off the table. Collecting my bag from the couch, I’m up the ladder and off the boat before I have a chance to do something stupid.
Like follow him into his bedroom and beg him to change his mind about me.
* * *
I spend a week moping around my apartment, tying up loose ends on a few freelance programming (read: hacking) jobs I’ve been working on the side for cash. Luca calls several times; I never answer.
Parker doesn’t call.
He doesn’t have my number, so it’s not like he could even if he wanted to.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway.
Still, there’s an ache of disappointment as I walk around my loft, staring out the windows at the snowflakes drifting down and feeling even emptier than usual.
When we were teenagers, still living at the group home some nights, sleeping in Luca’s car others, we often spent holidays at a local church. They’d always give out candy on Easter and Halloween and Christmas but I never ate any. At first, Luca just shoved my portion in his mouth without question, happy to have double. Eventually, though, he asked me why never ate my share.
I don’t want to know what I’m missing, I always told him. I don’t want to taste something once, see how good it is, and then spend the rest of my life wishing I could have it again. I’d rather stay in the dark.
That’s how it feels with Parker.
He’s chocolate, the most delectable candy, the most forbidden of desserts. And once I sampled him — not just kissed him, not just felt his hands on my skin… but experienced the way he made me feel, the freedom he inspired, the reckless hope he instilled inside my heart in the space of a single afternoon…
I crave more.
And it damn near kills me to know I’ll never get it.
I bury myself in work, praying the Lancaster Consolidated case will distract me from memories of his hot mouth, his big, callused hands, his thick, messy hair. It doesn’t — not remotely. But at least I have something to do instead of mope and eat all the chocolate peanut butter cups in my pantry.
After all the damn work I went through to get it back, it chafes to find there’s almost nothing of value on the flash drive. The only files of potential use are so heavily encrypted, even I can’t decode them. And that’s saying something.