by Jordyn White
I sit up and look at Aaron, wiping my cheeks. “Is there a job?”
“I’d rather talk to you about it later, when you’re more calm.”
Pierce looks annoyed, like he’d really rather tell me.
“Please. If it’ll give me any hope at all, I want to hear about it now.” I need something good to hang on to.
“I really don’t think you’re in the right frame of mind.”
“Why? What is it?”
But Aaron doesn’t answer, clearly determined not to change his mind.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Pierce says, looking at me directly. “It’s teaching ballet at an arts academy for high school kids. It’s good money and the job’s in the bag if you want it. It wouldn’t start until second semester when their current teacher moves back to Maryland or whatever the fuck, but I think you should suck it up and take it. No one’s going to expect you to be a rail when you’re teaching a bunch of high school kids.”
I blink at him.
My body is calm and still. In fact, this is the most calm I’ve felt all night. “Okay.”
They glance at one another in disbelief. “Okay what?” Pierce asks.
“If they want to hire me, I’ll take it.”
He straightens and raises his eyebrows. Aaron turns to gape at me. Well, what do they want? They’re right, and besides, I’m in no position to be picky.
Not to mention that one itty, bity thing I will never confess, given the circumstances. Ever since I danced for Rayce, all the resistance I’ve had toward dancing professionally is gone.
Just... gone.
That deep core of my soul woke up that night. That night when I opened my deepest heart for him to see. That night when I really looked at myself for the first time since leaving dance and felt no fear of what such scrutiny might make me do.
It was the same night we both said we loved each other and I thought it was real.
I do think I could handle a teaching job—hell, it even sounds appealing—and that never would’ve happened without that night.
The unfortunate truth is this: if I’m able to go back to dance, I’ll have Rayce to thank for it.
“That lying bastard,” I say, popping off the couch and storming toward the bathroom.
“Where are you going?” Aaron asks.
“Taking a shower.” I manage not to slam the door but now that I’m alone I want to throw or smash everything in sight. Good. I fucking hate the crying stage. I’d rather rage so I can move through whatever the fuck all the grief stages are and get on with my life.
I grip the edge of the sink and stare down my own reflection.
My hair’s a mess. It looks like it hasn’t seen a brush all day and there’s a big clump sticking up in the back. My eyes are bloodshot and I have puffy bags under my eyes.
“You are done crying over that man.” I hold my own gaze a minute longer, because I need to mean it.
It’s long past time I get my shit together.
Chapter 44
Rayce
Since she stormed out of my office yesterday, I’ve sent Emma enough texts and tried to call her enough times that if I do it any more it’s bordering on harassment. I need to come up with some other plan, but I’m too tired to figure out what because I’m running on so little sleep.
I came into work on time, even though I was too tired to be effective. I pretty much stayed in my office anyway. I’m not interested in subjecting myself to the questioning looks and speculative glances of my employees. I’m keeping my head high and saying little about it until we hear back from Taylor’s lawyer. At least, that’s what George Hollister told me to do.
We both agreed I should try to keep things looking normal for the sake of the staff, but by two I’d had enough and told Lizzy I was leaving early. She’s being cordial, if a little cool, but at least she’s speaking to me. When I asked if she was ready to talk about things she said, “Not yet,” and I didn’t push. I’m not ready yet either. All I can think about is Emma anyway.
As I’m driving through my neighborhood, heading home, the gloomy clouds that have been darkening the sky all day still can’t seem to make up their minds about things. Little pinpricks of rain are tentatively dotting the windshield of my car.
As I get closer to the house, my pulse starts to race because there’s a car pulling into my driveway. A light blue Acura; the car I bought for Emma. And yes. Sure enough. That’s her behind the wheel.
“Thank god.”
But when I pull in behind her, she spots me in the rearview mirror and appears to curse.
Okay. Maybe she wasn’t coming to see me after all. Then like an idiot, I realize exactly what she’s doing.
We get out of our respective vehicles at the same time, and I walk toward her. She pushes the button on the key ring and the car lets out a soft honk, indicating it’s locked.
“Emma, we need to talk.” The rain is coming. Cool drops hit the top of my head and forehead, and start to dot the white concrete of the drive.
“I’m not interested in talking.” She drops the keys in my hand. “Here’s your car back. Thank you for letting me borrow it.”
Then she circles around me, heading for the street. I’m right behind her. “Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“If you won’t come inside, at least let me give you a ride.”
“Not necessary. I’ll get an Uber.” Yeah, because she needs that kind of expense when she’s out of a job again. Which is completely my fault.
“I can take you home,” I say, gesturing to my car as we walk right by it.
“Don’t bother.”
The rain starts coming down harder. I blink against a drop that hits my lashes. Neither one of us slows. “It’s not a bother, Emma. I want to talk to you.”
“I know you do.”
I’ve had enough.
I stop walking. “Emma,” I say in a stern voice.
She stops automatically, and hovers there for a moment. She slowly looks over her shoulder at me. The rain is coming down in sporadic, fat drops, working itself up to something bigger. “That’s not going to work.”
But she stays where she’s at.
Her eyes reflect that familiar mix of longing and restraint I saw so often before we finally got together, but this time there’s something else in those eyes, too: a deep well of pain.
She’s trying to guard herself, I see that. I can’t blame her for being angry or hurt or distrusting. This is all my fault. I should’ve told her long before now. And she definitely should’ve heard it from me.
“Emma,” I say softer, approaching her gently so she doesn’t bolt again. I know her default panic mode is to run.
She watches me warily as I go around until I’m standing in front of her. Her floral scent mixes with the heavy scent of an approaching storm. I thought she was beautiful the first moment I saw her, but that was before I knew the beauty of her heart or the magnificence of her love. I am overwhelmed by this woman’s soul.
I want to reach out and caress her soft cheek, embrace her lips with a sweet kiss until the hurt I see in her eyes disappears. Instead, I keep just enough distance to show I understand that she needs it.
“It’s my fault this is fucked up. That’s not on you. But if we meant anything at all to you, at least listen to my side of the story before you decide what it means about us.”
Her expression softens for a moment, and my heart pinches with desperate hope. Then her eyes darken and her mouth hardens into a frown. A veil drops over her, like she’s closing herself off to me and has no intention of coming back.
But I refuse to accept that this is over.
“One conversation,” I say.
She doesn’t answer.
Praying she follows me, I walk around to the passenger door and pull it open. I look back at her, two steps from the street. She’s folded her arms, but she’s watching me. The rain is clacking on the roof of the car.
Arms still folded, she shrugs
and starts coming over. “Fine.” Thank god. “I’ll let you say what you need to say.” She comes up right in front of me and gives me a firm look. “But then we’re done.”
Then she slides into the car and closes the door herself.
Chapter 45
Emma
If someone looked up the word “fool” in the dictionary, they’d see my name right next to it. Because all I have to do is look at his face and hear his voice and I want to give in. I’ve been hurting without him every minute since I stormed out of his office. It doesn’t matter that he’s just another asshole player. My chest aches with longing for him all the time.
That’s why I cannot budge an inch. Because if I do, he will reel me in all over again and I’ll become one of those women other people shake their heads about.
I can’t keep making the same mistake over and over again. I can’t. I have to put my life back together, and for real this time. I have to remember that womanizing men are just what Pierce says they are: master manipulators.
Never mind that my heart wants to be manipulated by him. Never mind that I long to believe the beautiful lie that is Mr. Rayce Rivers.
I’m shutting all that down. He wants to talk and feed me some bullshit story? Fine. I’ll let him. But I won’t listen.
I’m throwing up a wall, because that’s the only way to protect myself from this man.
And my own foolishness.
Chapter 46
Rayce
By the time I get into the driver’s seat, she’s buckled herself up. Her gaze is locked forward, and she’s hugging her crossed arms tightly to her body in that universal, “I don’t want to talk to you or listen to a word that comes out of your mouth” gesture.
Now that I finally have her attention, such as it is, I don’t know how to approach it. I start the car, turn on the windshield wipers, and back out of the drive, trying to gather my thoughts. This isn’t how I thought things would be when I finally told her. It’s so much worse.
“Emma, I’m really sorry this is how you found out about those affairs. I really was going to tell you.”
“Yeah, since you’re getting sued.”
“No. She’d sent a few weird emails so I knew something could be up, but I didn’t think she was going to sue and didn’t know anything about it until I saw the column.” I explain how things went down in Guido’s but it seems she doesn’t believe a word of it. Who can blame her?
“Right. The paper knew about it before you did.” She doesn’t say this like she’s mad, or even invested at all. She says this with as much passion as a person would have reading the ingredients label on a cereal box.
“Maybe Taylor tipped her off. I don’t know. I don’t really care about Taylor right now.”
“Or ever, probably,” she says flatly.
I exhale, pressing my fingertips to my temple. I don’t think there’s a thing she could say to get me mad at her. I deserve whatever she wants to throw at me. But the blood is pumping so hard in my head I feel like I’m going to bust a vein. How am I going to explain this to her?
There’s probably no good way to do it, so I just dive in. I tell her who they were, when they were, how long they went on.
The whole time, she just sits there with her arms folded, eyes forward, as if she couldn’t care less about any of it. This distance is more disturbing than her anger was. Am I already too late? Have I already lost her?
“So,” she says, like nothing I say will matter and she’s just entertaining the conversation until she can get out of the car, “did you wisk them away on your little out-of-town getaways, too? Hole up in your house for days so you could have your fun without anyone knowing?”
“Hell, no.” A getaway with Taylor Norrell? I damn near cringe at the thought. “Jesus. I don’t do getaways, and I certainly wasn’t going to do that with any of them. Or have them in my house. We weren’t even dating it was just...”
I stop. I do not want to say what it was.
“Cheap, meaningless sex?” Emma offers flatly.
“Yes.”
She doesn’t answer. The sound of the pounding rain and the thumping of the windshield wipers fills the space between us until it feels like a mile.
“I’m not proud of this, Emma. I don’t see anything wrong with casual dating or one-night stands if everyone involved is on board, but that’s not what these were and I think you know that. No, I didn’t coerce anyone. Yes, it was mutual. But it was dark and toxic because that’s exactly what I needed it to be.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her slowly look at me for the first time since getting in the car. I look over and hold her eyes for a moment, my chest aching with the desperate hope that she might be willing to listen to my side. She pulls her gaze away.
I merge onto Hill Avenue, the street busy and wet.
“I just needed to feel something other than pain and guilt. It was either that or drink myself into oblivion every night, which was really fucking tempting, if I’m putting it all out there. It was out of control and a big, fucking mess, but it was the only distraction powerful enough to push away everything I was trying to avoid.”
She looks out the window, a thoughtful expression on her face. Please God, let me finally be reaching her.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I should’ve. I wish to hell I would’ve. And I’m not trying to excuse what happened. I only want you to understand it so you can see that’s not what’s happening with us.”
Still looking away, she frowns. She’s still, like she’s afraid to move or concede anything.
“I was afraid I’d lose you. What I told you before was the truth, Emma. You are different. This is different than what happened with your old boss, and it’s different than what happened with me. There was nothing cheap or meaningless about us. Not for me.”
I’ve been watching her face, and I can’t read it. Her arms are still crossed, she still won’t look at me, but her jaw seems to have softened.
She swallows thickly, then says quietly. “How do I know you’re not just saying what you think I want to hear? How am I supposed to trust any of this?”
I sigh, watching the road and waiting for a good answer to that. Fuck. What can I say? I lean my elbow on the windowsill. Have I broken our trust beyond all repair? What am I supposed to do about that? I can’t make her trust me if she doesn’t.
Rubbing my forehead with my fingers, I say, “I don’t know, Emma. I don’t know how I can prove it to you and I can’t blame you for doubting me either. I guess all you can do is... trust your own heart.”
Her eyes fly to mine.
“Trust my heart?” she repeats quietly, like she’s saying it to herself and the very idea of trusting herself is a revelation. But I don’t really know what she’s thinking because her expression is a carefully constructed mask designed to keep me out.
My phone starts to ring, the tone echoing through the car. I don’t register it at first. I’m just looking between the road and her, trying to decipher what I see on her face and wondering how I can get her to let me in again.
Give me another chance. Please.
Then I realize.
My phone’s ringing.
I look at the Caller ID on the screen: Connor. I look back at Emma. The wipers swipe across the windshield and the rain pelts the car even harder.
I don’t want to take this call. I want Emma to tell me what she’s thinking. But my blood pressure rises as it goes from the second ring to the third.
My little brother is calling.
I glance between her and the screen, not knowing what to do.
Her face softens. “Just take it,” she says, without malice.
“I’ll be just a second.”
She nods but goes back to looking out the window, her expression giving me no clues to what she’s thinking.
I answer, ready to get Connor off the phone quickly. Only it isn’t Connor. It’s Whitney. “Rayce?”
Only a few times in my life have I h
eard this sort of heightened panic in a person’s voice. My heart jumps into my throat, my entire body pounding. “Whitney?”
There’s all kinds of noise in the background. I can barely hear her. “Whitney?”
Nothing but noise and shit reception. Emma and I exchange glances, the wall between us momentarily gone. She’s as worried as I am.
“They’re rock climbing today.”
Her face morphs into dread.
I call again. “Whitney!”
“Rayce? Can you hear me?”
“Yes. What’s wrong?”
“It’s Connor,” she says and her voice breaks.
No.
I clutch the steering wheel so hard I could rip it off. I’ve identified the sounds in the background of the call. “Are you in a helicopter?”
She continues in a trembling voice thick with fear. “There was an accident. They had to lift us out. We’re on our way to the hospital.”
My blood turns to ice and the edges of my vision darken. Emma’s hands fly to her mouth.
“You need to come,” Whitney says.
Not to say goodbye. Don’t you dare tell me I need to come say goodbye.
“What kind of accident?” I manage to say steadily. I’m not even sure how I’m staying on the road. “What happened?”
“We were climbing a ridge and this big boulder came loose above us and...” her voice breaks again. “And it hit him and his line broke and he fell.”
My body is surging with adrenaline. No. This can’t happen again. Not to Connor. No, please no.
The hospital’s in the other direction. I make three rapid lane changes, then spot an opening just big enough to maneuver us through a tight U-turn.
Emma grabs my thigh. “Rayce,” she says in a warning tone.
But my senses are laser focused on both the conditions of the road and my call with Whitney. She tells us that he fell approximately twenty-five feet, with the boulder landing partly on top of him, tearing up the left side of his torso. He’s losing blood, has a collapsed lung, and whether or not he broke his back is unknown. He’s not conscious, and I don’t know if that’s good or bad, given the amount of pain he’d probably be in if he were awake.