The Finish Line

by Stewart , Kate

  The agony of that truth has me seething as Sean steps up to me, his eyes a mix of rage and the same type of ruin. “Why?”

  “You know why. You’re right there with me! But I’m not fucking sharing her, not with you, not with my brother, not with a goddamn soul! That’s where you fucked up, Sean, and you know it. Her place is with me. End of.”

  “You think so?” His condescending smirk has my blood boiling. “I wouldn’t be so fucking sure. I know what I saw today, and maybe I can’t fight a lost cause, and that’s my cross to bear. But I also know what you laid witness to as well back in that yard. I saw the fear in your eyes. Fear for the parts of her you’ll never have. The part that belongs to me, the other to your brother. Claim her all you want, mark her, piss all around her, but you’ll never have her fully. Not. Fucking. Ever. You’ll always be sharing her with us, no matter what you fucking do. You’ll never possess her the way your thief’s soul needs to own her. And you get to live with that. We all get to live with that.” He shoves his way past me, and I slam my fist down at the hood of the truck.

  “Sean!” I swallow hard, the burn making my voice raw and unrecognizable to me. It’s agony knowing it’s true, but I push through it for what’s important. “For her. For her. Not for me. I’m asking for this. She comes first.”

  “Jesus, man,” he scoffs, “the fact that you still need assurances is pathetic. Using her as an in was the excuse I came up with for you mere days after I met her. This has always been about her.”

  Seconds pass, the howl of the wind outside shakes the bay doors. “Why didn’t you claim her?”

  His eyes slice. “Because none of us were worthy of doing so with the lies floating between us. And those lies existed because we had your back. Because we believed in you and our cause. And until she knew the whole truth…” He shakes his head. “Doesn’t fucking matter now, does it?”

  “None of us deserve her,” I state honestly. “None of us.”

  “You least of all, you selfish fucking prick.” I feel the slam of the door behind him down to the marrow in my bones.

  Retrieving a bottle from Dom’s trunk, sweat pouring from my forehead after my midnight run, I forgo the house, walking around to the back porch to collapse in the lounger, my heart cracking from the memory I re-live daily.

  Staring at the bottle, I know cracking it open won’t erase a single word we exchanged that night or make the heartache any less intense.

  It’s the definition of insanity.

  Even after an exhausting day of fighting and make-up fucking with Cecelia, even with the knowledge I’ve reclaimed her heart, even with the closeness between us I’ve longed for since returning has sealed some of the hole that’s been there over half a decade—I can’t shake this.

  And I knew it would happen.

  I knew that no matter how happy I got here with her, that this haunt wasn’t leaving me. The contentment ripped from me because of my long, cruel memory. Thoughts of our fallout the night before Dom died plagued me nonstop tonight, making sleep impossible. I stared up at the ceiling for hours after Cecelia drifted off, sprawled naked over my chest, her thigh hooked around my torso while she dreamed. I let her sleep, no matter how badly I needed the distraction of her body to try and ward the ache away. But it’s not on her to wrestle my demons.

  This battle I fight daily, and I’ve never won once.

  But I’m still weak with need to go to her now. To rouse her, fuck her, and lose myself in her, basking in the safety of her love, her arms, my sanctuary. I stare at the blue bottle of Bombay, knowing it’s a shitty fucking alternative.

  Tonight, all I feel is restless.

  Maybe it’s because of the battle I lost today, but even in losing that, I’m a little relieved. I never wanted to leave her, but I didn’t have any other game plan.

  Not even the fresh blueprint I managed to conjure up after I lay in bed with her hours later, before shooting off a text to Tyler, brings me any peace.

  The night air begins to cool the sweat on my skin and my breaths even just as the back door bursts open and Beau dashes out, licking my knee and darting off a second before Cecelia’s red-rimmed eyes find mine. It’s then I realize just how badly I fucked up.

  “I didn’t leave a note.”

  A tear slips down her cheek as a sob bursts from her lips, and the sight of it kills me. Reaching out, I grip her hand and pull her into my lap, the relief in her so apparent, it only breaks my heart further.

  I press my face into her neck, inhaling her scent. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” For the first time since I got here, she needs consoling due to fear—fear I instilled in her, and it’s on me.

  I cup her face as she shakes in my hold, more tears gliding down her cheeks. Stilling her quivering lips with the long press of my own, I use my thumb to stroke away her tears. As strong as she’s become, I managed to scare her in an unforgivable way by being too immersed in my own shit.

  I trace the tiny divot in her chin with my thumb. “I’ve lied and broken promises to you one too many fucking times for you to believe me. But I wish you would believe I could never do that to you again. That’s why you won, Trésor. I surrender. My white flag is yours.”

  “I f-f-f-ucking…h-h-ate you, King,” she says through another hitched breath.

  “You should. I’m sorry, Trésor. I’m not leaving. This I promise you above all others.”

  She blows out an exasperated breath, and I wait until her body relaxes against mine. No words I can say right now are good enough. Over time, I’ll prove myself. I press my face into the side of her neck and inhale. “I’m sorry I can’t stop this. This is my shit. I will get better for you.”

  Drinking in her juniper scent, I eye the bottle I discarded on the table. Maybe she’s all I need. She seems to read my thoughts.

  “Don’t.” Deep blue eyes plead with mine, “Talk to me instead.”

  “It’s not a problem. I won’t let it be. I won’t waste my life like that. This I know about myself.”

  She regards me with tear-soaked eyes. “Well, you may not need one, but thanks to your late-night run, I do.” She lifts the bottle from the table and unscrews it, taking a long drink before dipping to kiss me. I savor the taste of the alcohol, sucking on her tongue and earning a moan until she breaks the kiss. “Please talk to me. Tell me what hurts you so much.”

  I nod, scraping my lips with my teeth.

  “After I left you in that yard—the day Dom and Sean discovered us—I gave them a few hours to cool off a little before I went to them. A lot of hours, actually. I came back and paced your back yard. I heard you playing “Father Figure,” for me. It stung so fucking bad. I knew how hurt you were. I ended up going back to them before I came to you, and you know I never made it.”

  “Why?”

  “For the same reason I’m surrendering. I’ve made one too many bad decisions that put the people I love at risk. It’s made me paranoid, and sometimes I don’t know when my instincts are right, or it’s the paranoia. It’s getting harder to distinguish which. I really needed this fucking vacation.”

  She nods and runs her fingers through my hair, waiting patiently for me to speak. I want to give this to her, and more than once, I’ve torn pages out of my journal recalling that night, but I could never get through it. I take another long pull of gin and set the bottle down, giving her my full attention as I relay every detail I can remember about that night, save the call from Antoine. She listens attentively, drawing closer to me with each word, her grip on me growing tighter, her eyes shining with empathy when I finish.

  After a bout of silence, she situates herself on my lap so she’s fully facing me before she speaks. “You know a judge passes a sentence for crimes committed in order of the severity of the degree of the crime. How much time do you plan on serving, Tobias?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “No, it’s not, but do you think he would want you to live the rest of your life a slave
to your guilt? Guilt for actions you regret with your whole heart and being? You know the answer. As hard as he was, that’s not Dominic’s heart. That’s not who he was at all. He was the same impenetrable man operating on love, a mirror image of you.” I bite my lip as she palms my jaw, forcing my eyes to hers.

  “I’ve never felt like I just lost my brother, and I know that may seem weird. But I feel like…”

  “You lost a son,” she whispers. “It’s not weird. You took on that role. You were both.”

  I nod. “I know that love, Cecelia,” I confess, “a father’s love. For the most part, I was Dominic’s father, despite my title.” I shake my head, unable to see her now through my pain. “And the day before he died, I took the one thing he wanted most in the world away from him. He died in love with you. I thieved from him and broke his heart, his trust. What reason did he have not to step in front of those bullets?”

  Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head furiously. “You can’t possibly think that. I know you can’t think that.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  “You’re lying to yourself, Tobias.” Her navy eyes demand mine. “Frères pour toujours.” Always brothers.

  She repeats Dom’s last words to me, and she might as well have taken a sledgehammer to my chest. “You were the reason he took those bullets. He saved us both by saving you first.”

  “Don’t,” I begin to come undone, the rawness in my chest burning my throat. When I lift the bottle, she takes it from me.

  “Don’t do this to me,” I shake my head, “please.”

  “‘I’ve never seen him light up like that with any woman.’ That’s what he said to me that night. That’s what you wanted to know when you were sober.”

  I avert my gaze, but she presses in.

  “He smiled when he said it, Tobias. I wish you could have seen that smile because if you had been there—if you had seen it—you would know without a doubt that he wanted you to be happy, even if that meant losing me. What we had was beautiful, but you’re placing too much importance on the wrong relationship, and I can see in your eyes, you know it’s the truth, but admitting it means admitting he died for you. And he did saving you, Tobias.”

  “Cecelia,” I beg the burn in my throat causing me to choke.

  “He loved you just as fiercely and unconditionally as you did him. He was angry but just as protective of you and your happiness, and that’s why he saved you.”

  “Goddamnit!” I snap, and she pins me where I sit, steadfast and pressing in further.

  “The truth is, he pushed you out of the way that night before he caught any bullet to shield me. He gave his life for yours. You refuse to accept that, and that’s what’s hurting you most.” She pulls me into her chest as I begin to tremble as grunts pour out of me. She wraps around me, refusing to let me free as she whispers the truth, a truth I would do anything to forget. “It’s past time you face it and accept it. I’m not the only one he saved that night, Tobias. You have to accept his sacrifice. Even if you’re angry about it, you have to accept that his love for you was just as strong, and you have to accept that he forgave you and loved you enough to want you to be happy. You have to unshackle yourself from this guilt, or you’ll never be able to accept the rest of the gift he gave you.”

  I press my face into her chest and shudder with the onslaught of the truth I’ve been avoiding since the life left his eyes. From the time I held him as a baby in my arms, knowing he belonged to me, to the day he looked up at me and faded away, he was mine.

  “Je suis désolé, Je suis désolé, je suis vraiment désolé, Je suis vraiment désolé.” I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.

  “You have to thank him by living,” she murmurs as I exhaust myself while soul-deep remorse rolls through me. It doesn’t feel like punishment. It’s rawer than that. It’s bloodletting, implosion, and at the same time, a strange sort of release. I don’t want that so much, because if it happens, if I forget one single detail of any memory, I won’t get it back.

  Falling apart in her arms, she murmurs to me, running her fingers all over my skin, through my hair, smoothing her hand down my back. I’m unsure of how long we stay in that chair when I finally come to, her murmurs constant, her tears pelting my skin as I come back into myself, into my present, exhausted but far from empty. It’s not a flood of relief, but it’s the cusp of a little release.

  Shaken by what just transpired, I bury my face into her neck and inhale, her scent calming me to the point I can take full breaths. Lifting my eyes to hers, she shakes her head as I open my mouth to speak, so fucking raw from emotions I can barely manage.

  “Don’t you dare apologize to me,” she says softly.

  “I don’t know if I’m the man you fell for,” I confess. “I don’t know if I ever will be again.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ve never been a king, Cecelia.”

  “That’s where we disagree. You don’t see what I see. Maybe you never have. All you seem to see are your mistakes, and I’m determined to change that. But to me, you’re everything.”

  The uncomfortable feeling threatens, but I ignore it, knowing I’m completely exposed. But with her, I always have been, whether it be the unchecked desire she draws from me, my darkest thoughts, my truest truths, or my unrelenting need for her. She’s always managed to peel me apart, layer by layer, cracking my foundation to get deeper than any other has ever gone.

  From the little girl with mischievous eyes to a woman with nothing but fire in her heart—she stole me first, and that’s the truest truth of this thief’s heart.

  We sit for several moments just listening to the noises of the night, the sweat drying on my skin as I breathe in her scent again and lift my eyes to her.

  “Juniper,” I grin, my eyes half-mast from exhaustion. “You are aware, Trésor, that gin is made of juniper berries, right?

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Frenchman, that’s pure coincidence. I’ve been wearing it since I was sixteen.”

  “It’s not a coincidence,” I run my hand down her wings, her eyes hooding a little more with each caress. “Nothing about us is a coincidence. You should know that by now. Life may have a fucked-up sense of humor for pairing us together, and all outside forces may have deserted us, but if there was ever evidence of two people fucking fated to be together, star-crossed or not, it’s us.”

  We stay silent for several minutes on the verge of sleep until the crunch of gravel sounds from the driveway. Cecelia spikes to life, and I tighten my arms around her to keep her from springing from my lap.

  “It’s okay. We’re expecting company.”

  “It’s close to three in the morning. Who is it?”

  I nip at her lips as she pushes at my chest, impatient for an answer.

  “Our ride.”

  Tobias slides into a freshly tailored Tom Ford that arrived sometime after I slept by way of bird messenger, no doubt for this very reason. He tugs the cuff of the shirt to button it, his eyes catching mine in the mirror before a smirk graces his face. I’m turned on beyond comprehension as he surveys me in nothing but my black lacy bra and panties while I run a hot iron through my hair. I’m indecisive at the moment on whether to fuck him or kill him, but I’m pretty sure this will be the norm as long as we’re together.

  But the reason for my fraying nerves at this moment is because I’m readying myself to travel to D.C. to meet. The. President.

  He played me, yet again with his plotting and scheming, making more plans I wasn’t aware of, and disguised it as a ‘surprise.’

  “This isn’t deception,” he assures me, his voice even. “This is my plan B, my Hail Mary.”

  “It feels a lot like manipulation. And you have yet to tell me what’s going on.”

  “You locked the door on me,” he says, gathering his cufflinks, “so I’m opening a window.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You’ll know soon enough.” My eyes drift down to his fingers as he secures
his cufflinks and lifts a brow. “Is your hair supposed to be smoking?”

  I pull out my hot iron and am relieved to see my hair didn’t come with it.

  “Stop distracting me,” I snap.

  His lips twitch. “Trésor is cranky when she hasn’t gotten her full eight hours.”

  “Don’t blame it on sleep deprivation, Frenchman, I haven’t had a full night in weeks.”

  “Those were moans that kept you awake, not objections.”

  “You smug bastard.”

  “Ton salaud.” Your bastard. He moves toward me, the fit of the suit enough to have me salivating. Though he’s denied it, he’s still every bit the arrogant King I fell in love with. The buzz in my veins no longer exists due to gin or the endless orgasms from hours earlier.

  It’s him.

  This buzz is all him, us.

  He reaches me in two confident strides and slowly lifts the form-fitting dress I chose from the hanger, unzipping it for me to step in. I do before he pulls it up and lifts my hair to press a kiss to the nape of my neck.

  “This is just a house call. Don’t think too much. I’ll explain on the ride in.” He turns me in his arms and backs me into the dresser, his eyes dipping.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I warn.

  “Against this dresser or in the back of that limo, your choice.”

  “Dream on, pal, back in the doghouse you go.”

  “It’s a surprise,” he reminds me as I grab my purse. He follows me out of my bedroom, tipping his chin at the raven charged with housesitting Beau. There’s a spring in his step, and if I’m honest, in mine too, but I refuse to let him see my elation because once again, I have no idea what his plans are.

  After locking the front door, I turn with Tobias at my back to head toward the limo, and he stops me, blocking me, his eyes intense.

  “You locked it.”