Wicked Knight

by Sawyer Bennett

  Hannah steps around me with a frown to see the paper. She smiles, as if there’s not a care in the world. “It’s just a routine follow-up. Nothing big.”

  “Follow-up for what?” I ask, my voice clipped and filled with tension. I can’t quite explain the feeling of dread inside of me, but it’s starting to overwhelm me.

  The smile drops off Hannah’s face when she realizes I’m upset. She softens her tone, as if it will ease the weight of her news. “I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma three years ago. It was the earliest stage and very treatable.”

  My teeth involuntarily grind together. It’s a visible sign of upset to Hannah so she tries to soothe me. “I’m completely fine now. My prognosis is excellent. I feel the best I’ve ever felt.”

  “Except your immune system is a little shot,” I accuse.

  Brow furrowing, she’s hesitant in her response. “Yes. I told you that.”

  “But you didn’t tell me why, did you Hannah?” I clip out. “How come you never told me this?”

  “It didn’t come up,” she says defensively.

  “It’s cancer for God’s sake,” I snap. “It should have been brought up. By you.”

  Hannah flushes red. Narrowing her eyes, she steps into me, speaking in a low, cold tone. “Listen, Asher. For four weeks, all we did was fuck and I cleaned your house. I was your paid whore. You took me on our first date last week, and we talked for three hours. I’m sorry, but that’s just not enough time to cover my entire life. It never came up. I didn’t think it was important enough to bring up as I’m in remission and I’m doing fine. I don’t get why this is such a big problem.”

  “How can you minimize this?” I ask, astounded.

  “Maybe because it was never a big deal,” she snarls, keeping her voice low. “I had a small child and a husband who didn’t seem to care I had a disease. I drove myself, with Hope in tow no less, for chemo for four months. I had a family back home I didn’t want to worry, so I didn’t let them know I was doing it all on my own. I went through it with only Hope for comfort, so maybe you might understand a little why I don’t share. It’s something I’ve had to minimize in my mind so I could get through it.”

  She’s breathing hard, her eyes flaming with anger and righteous indignation.

  “Christ, you married a douche,” is all I can think to say as I step back from her and scrub my fingers through my hair in agitation.

  “Agreed,” she clips out. “But I can’t seem to figure out why you’re mad at me about this?”

  I shake my head, disgruntled and off kilter. “I’m not.”

  “You clearly are,” she retorts.

  “You should have told me.” It’s the only thing I can seem to pinpoint right now as the source of my fury. “You kept it secret.”

  “Again,” she says with a hefty dose of sarcasm. “I was just a fuck to you for most of our time together. Why would I share?”

  “You were not just a fuck, and you goddamn well know it,” I growl.

  “Do I?” she asks, and I can hear the near hysteria in her voice. She’s really worked up, and I’m just… feeling betrayed.

  Because Michelle betrayed me by not letting me know what was going on with her. She held something so deep and secretive she never gave me the opportunity to help her. She denied me my right to worry, and she demeaned my right as a husband to try to save her.

  It appears to my psyche that Hannah is no different. She certainly had no problems handling the cancer on her own.

  She’s a secret keeper, too.

  She doesn’t need me or anyone it seems.

  “Look,” I say, the lack of strength in my voice showing I’m exhausted of this conversation. “If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to head out. I can come back tomorrow and help finish up.”

  “No, that’s okay,” Hannah says, crossing her arms over her chest and raising her chin. “I can manage on my own.”

  “You’re good at that apparently,” I can’t help but remind her. I soften the sting of my words by leaning in and kissing her on the cheek. “Call me tomorrow if you want me to come help some more.”

  “Sure,” she says, sounding as equally defeated as I am right now. She pats me on the chest before stepping back.

  I let myself out. I don’t look back at Hannah to see if she’s watching me, but I think I can feel the weight of her stare.

  It’s accusing, and I feel wretched about it all.

  But in the end, the only thing I can take with me as I make my way down the stairs to the parking lot is that Hannah confirmed a long-held belief of mine since Michelle died.

  People can never truly know someone because it’s dependent on that person to actually give the truth. And most people never do—at least not all of it.

  CHAPTER 26

  Hannah

  Desperation doesn’t look good on me, and I know this. Yet, I find myself wanting to pathetically claw at Asher, because he’s definitely slipping away.

  It’s been four days since I’ve seen him. As I walk out of the offices of Knight Investment Group, which is in the Symphony District of Las Vegas, I can’t help the sense of foreboding that washes through me.

  Asher was upset when he left my apartment Saturday night. While he offered to come back on Sunday to help with unpacking, his offer was lukewarm. I didn’t ask him to come, and he was silent all day. It was lame, but I was waiting—hoping—he would just show up and everything would be okay.

  Monday, I started my new job with his company. It’s all right. I mean, I’m being paid a ridiculous amount of money to sit in a secretarial pool, but right now, it’s the only choice I’ve got to pay the bills.

  I’m not sure what I expected when it came to working for Asher’s company. I’d realized it wouldn’t be directly for him, or even remotely near him. As it turns out, his office is on the top floor of the three-story building he occupies, and I’m on the bottom. I haven’t “bumped” into him once, but I haven’t been trying either.

  Sad to say, during the last three days, I’ve constantly poked my head over the cubicle I sat in, hoping to see him striding through the secretarial pool, intent on finding me.

  Never happened.

  It didn’t mean things were radio silent. He texted me on Monday evening, said he’d gotten caught up in work, and wanted to know if I had gotten settled in at the new apartment. I texted back I had and thanked him for checking.

  It was polite, standoffish, and calculated to see what he’d do.

  His reply text was, I’m glad.

  I wanted to throat punch him, but I also gave him the benefit of the doubt. I knew my brush with cancer freaked him out, but I still had hope he’d come around and realize it wasn’t that big of a deal. Especially not with how well I’ve been doing.

  With me now working a job away from Asher’s apartment and having Hope almost full time, I knew our time together would be limited. But I truly expected more.

  More contact, texts, calls, flowers… just something.

  I reached out yesterday morning—Tuesday—with a text. I opted for light and sexy. Any chance an employee could have lunch with the sexiest boss around?

  His text back felt like a sharp rebuke. Sorry. Meetings all day.

  It was unlike the Asher I’d come to know. I have no doubt he had meetings all day, but the man I’ve been intimate with the last several weeks would have said something sexy in return. He would have told me a dirty fantasy or even offered another day we could see each other for lunch.

  The writing was on the wall.

  Except it’s Wednesday and I still haven’t fully accepted it.

  When I reach my car, I put my purse on the hood and fish out my phone. I haven’t heard from him at all today, and I just need to know where I stand. It’s killing me and occupying way too many of my thoughts, this weird limbo he’s put me in.

  I type out a quick text, knowing he’ll see it because his phone is always near him and he doesn’t ignore it. Whether he’ll reply is anoth
er matter.

  Any interest in dinner tonight? I can arrange a babysitter for Hope.

  I lean back against my car, staring at the phone with my stomach churning. To my surprise, the answer comes quickly, causing a jolt of excitement followed by a plummeting of my heart. Can’t. Have business dinner to attend.

  Pinpricks hit my eyes, and I blink stubbornly against them as I text back, No worries.

  I hit send and then, because I need to know, I text again. One last, vain desperate attempt to know if we have a future together. I’ve got to get a dress this week for the gala. Any interest in taking some time to help me pick one out?

  As I hit send, a wave of shame hits me over how pathetic I’m being. I should just come right out and ask him if we’re over. Instead, I poke along the edges, terrified of the answer.

  It doesn’t come as quickly. In fact, it takes several minutes. I’m almost ready to give up and get in my car, knowing I’ll have a date tonight with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s at the least, when my phone chimes with his return text.

  I forgot to tell Christina I was bringing a date, and now all the tables are full. I won’t be able to take you. I’m sorry.

  There was the slap in the face I’d been waiting for. The actual breakup he was too chicken shit to just come out and say.

  It was over.

  I’ve had tough times in my past. An upbringing rooted in poverty, a cheating husband, having cancer, a nasty divorce, and losing custody of Hope. Every fucking time, I raised my chin and chose to be stoic. I decided I was one tough bitch, and I could make it through. I’d watched my mom work her ass off and struggle to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies, and I’d been confident I could do anything if I put my mind to it.

  Now… I can choose to do the same. I can let this experience with Asher be one of learning to compound my wisdom. Could decide to rejoice in the good times and be grateful for what I had.

  Except right now, as the tears start to well up, I don’t feel like being strong. Don’t want to be tough and accepting. I don’t want to change my life to cope with the letdown.

  I want to fucking cry.

  So I do.

  For the first time that I can remember, I just decide to let my vulnerability have its moment in the spotlight and I let my emotions go.

  Huddling down beside my car—with my arms wrapped hard around me because it hurts too much—I start to sob. No gentle lead up. No trying to hold it back. I let the dam burst, hoping it purges my pain with the saltiness licking down my face.

  I moan, actually in physical pain, as I cry a river for a man who could have been my everything.

  “Hannah?” I hear from above me. Through a haze of tears, I see my immediate supervisor, Kyla Wroth. She manages the secretarial pool and has been with Knight Investment Group for almost two decades. “Are you okay?”

  She lowers herself in front of me, putting a hand on my knee with a worried expression on her face. “What happened?”

  I dash the tears away with the back of my hand, sucking in a huge breath as I stand up. She follows along with me.

  “I’m fine,” I say in a quivery voice, shoving my phone back in my purse. “Just got some bad news.”

  “Is it something I can help you with?” she asks. While I’ve only known her for three days, I’m touched with her motherly concern. She has been brisk and polite at work, clearly not wanting to ever blur the lines between superior and subordinate. But right now, she looks like she just wants to grab me into a hard hug.

  I finally lift my chin and put on a brave smile, once again wiping at my cheeks to catch a few stray tears. I’m proud at the strength behind my words. “No, really. I’m totally fine. Nothing like a good cry to make you feel better, right?”

  She’s not convinced. Her brow furrows, and she studies me carefully.

  “Seriously,” I assure her as I reach for my car door. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m really okay.”

  “Okay,” she says hesitantly, but clearly not believing a word I just said. “If you need anything, I can give you my home phone number. You can call me if you’d like to talk.”

  “That’s very sweet,” I say. “But I’m good. I’ll see you at work tomorrow, okay?”

  “Sure,” she says with a nod and a halfhearted smile.

  I wait until she turns away from me before getting in my car. I turn it on, but don’t leave right away. Instead, I pull my phone back out of my purse and I call my mom.

  She answers right away. “Hey, honey.”

  “Hi, Mom,” I say, and then my strength starts to crumble a little. I have to suck in a silent breath, then let it out just as quietly to get control of myself. “Um… I was thinking that Hope and I could maybe come visit for Thanksgiving next week.”

  “Oh, Hannah… that would be wonderful. Your brothers will be so excited, too.”

  “Awesome,” I say in an overly bright voice. “I’ll make the reservations tonight. I’ve got Thursday and Friday off. I think I’ll try to find a flight out Wednesday night. Think someone can pick us up from the airport?”

  We’d have to fly into Columbia, which was the closest airport to my hometown.

  “Of course. We’ll work it out. I’m just so thrilled. I can’t remember the last time we all had Thanksgiving together.”

  “It will be great.” And very much needed. I’m feeling so homesick right now.

  We chat for a few more minutes, her basically wanting to know how the new job is going. She’s been so thrilled over how my life has changed the last few weeks with Hope returning to me. While I’ve never let her directly in on just how hard things have been for me this past year, I know she still worries.

  After I hang up, I take another deep breath and start the car. After I pick up Hope, we’ll go out to dinner. I don’t feel like cooking.

  Or eating, to be honest. But I’ll treat Hope to her favorite pizza.

  Then, more than just making flight reservations, I need to figure out what to do with my life. I have what I think is a good idea—something that has always been on my radar of desires—and I’m hoping a few days back home next week and a lot of conversation with my mom will help put things into perspective. I still have a good chunk of the fifteen thousand Asher had given me weeks ago, so I have some breathing room if I decide to make a big change in my life.

  CHAPTER 27

  Asher

  Leaning back in my office chair, resting my elbows on the arms with my fingers steepled in contemplation, I stare out the window at the traffic below. I sent out an email about thirty minutes ago telling the employees their Thanksgiving holiday was starting early. I do it every year, so they were expecting it. It’s a tradition my dad started, and I carried it on. Although we generally only give Thursday and Friday off for the holiday, we’ve always closed via “surprise” email to the company at noon on Wednesday.

  Several of the executives and higher-level staff have stopped by my office. Poking their head in my open door and wishing me a happy Thanksgiving.

  Fucking fat chance of that.

  I suppose I could spend it at The Wicked Horse, but even I know that’s not going to happen. Haven’t been able to step foot in there since the last time Hannah and I went together as a couple.

  Feeling brave, I went there Saturday night. I was supposed to be at the charity gala, but I chose not to go. Christina said she understood, but how could she really? She had no clue I hadn’t gone because Hannah wasn’t with me, nor that the whole fucked-up truth was that she wasn’t with me was because I canceled the date. If Christina had known, she’d have thought I’d gone off the deep end.

  So instead of getting into a tux for the gala, I put on a pair of faded jeans and a lightweight cashmere sweater and headed to the club.

  I have no clue how long I stayed in my private parking spot in the garage. Eventually, there was a knock on my passenger window. It was Jerico bending over to look inside at me. I rolled the window down and lifted my chin. “What’s up?�
�

  Leaning his forearms on the door through the open window, he smirked. “What’s up with me? What’s up with you? You were sitting in your car when I got here almost two hours ago, and you’re still sitting here now that I’m on my way out. Aren’t you going in?”

  I’d stared past him to the building that housed the Wicked Horse. Bringing my gaze back to Jerico, I lied to him. “Soon.”

  A hint of worry flashed in his eyes, but he knows me fairly well. I’d never share something personal with him, so he just nodded. “Have fun.”

  After I watched him leave, I put my car in reverse and backed out. I headed home and went to bed with nothing but my memories of me and Hannah at The Wicked Horse. It didn’t even get me aroused; it just made me melancholy as hell. I didn’t try to chase it away, though. I welcomed the suffering because it’s what I deserve after the way things ended with Hannah.

  At least, I think they’re ended. Neither of us has come out and said it, but the mere fact we’ve not spoken to each other by voice or text since I canceled our date for the gala is a good sign it’s over.

  My VP of marketing sticks her head in the door. “Have a great holiday, Asher.”

  “You, too, Vicki,” I say with a smile.

  When she leaves, I turn my gaze back out the window, letting my thoughts drift to Hannah again. She’s really all I think about, and I’ve struggled to get through my workdays. I thought time and distance would make things easier, but they’re getting worse.

  I know Hannah thinks I’m upset because she held back information from me, and I’ll admit I was a little perturbed when I learned she’d had cancer. But the truth is that I’m the world’s biggest pussy because I pushed Hannah out of my life because she terrifies me now.

  I see her as perhaps the best thing to ever happen to me in my life. If I were to fully embrace that, I predict catastrophic pain for me down the road if the cancer were to return and she died.