The Man Who Has No Love (Soulless Book 3)

Home > Other > The Man Who Has No Love (Soulless Book 3) > Page 19
The Man Who Has No Love (Soulless Book 3) Page 19

by Victoria Quinn


  “I do too,” he whispered. “Someday.”

  Nineteen

  Deacon

  We got into the back seat of the car. “Tell Jerry the address.”

  She sat beside me, visibly uncertain at the command. “Deacon, I really don’t mind—”

  “Why are you arguing with me?” I wasn’t the kind of man that always needed to get his way, but this was nonnegotiable. Even when she was just my assistant, I didn’t like the idea of her walking home alone, even in a safe area. Now, she was everything to me, and I wasn’t going to go home and hop in the shower while she took the subway all the way to Brooklyn by herself—at nearly ten in the evening. I wouldn’t be able to relax, not until I got that text from her that she was okay.

  She turned quiet, her mouth closing as she turned her gaze away. Then she gave the driver the address.

  We pulled onto the road and began the drive. Since there was no traffic at this time of night, it only took twenty minutes. But in commuter traffic, that time would at least double.

  She kept her gaze out the window, silent.

  I didn’t apologize for snapping at her. Her request was unrealistic, and she knew it, especially since I always took her home. Whether she lived in Brooklyn or fucking New Jersey, I would get her there.

  We arrived in Brooklyn and headed down a couple streets I didn’t like. I assumed we were just passing through, but the driver pulled up to a curb where some shady characters sat together on a park bench. A car alarm was going off farther down the road, and a guy with his hood up walked on the other side of the street, swaying his shoulders in an attempt to look menacing.

  I inhaled a deep breath, pissed off. Not at her—but myself.

  This was entirely my fucking fault.

  If I had just pulled my head out of my ass, I would have known the events of her life, and I could have stopped this from happening. I could have talked to Boris right after she was fired. I could have paid her bills until her next paycheck came in.

  But no, I was a selfish asshole who still didn’t understand how other people’s feelings, points of view, and validations worked. I pulled away from her when she needed me, when she loved me and I loved her.

  I had a few regrets in life—and now I’d just added another to list.

  She cleared her throat then opened the door, not making eye contact with me.

  Now I knew why she was so combative. She didn’t want me to see where she lived. She said she liked her apartment, but that was bullshit. It got dark much earlier now, so she walked down this street by herself after work? A beautiful woman with a rocking ass and no one to protect her? She didn’t want me to know about this because she knew it would hurt me.

  She was right.

  I got out of the car and walked her to her door.

  She didn’t argue because they would be wasted words.

  We entered a run-down building with loud music coming from one apartment, like a rave was happening on a Tuesday night, and then moved past another apartment where a domestic fight was occurring, dishes breaking, a woman screaming.

  Cleo reached her apartment and unlocked the door. “Thank you for dinner—”

  I entered her apartment and shut the door behind me. I wasn’t having any conversation with her in that hallway. When I was inside, I realized it was just a room. Her bedroom was a bed against the wall with the TV at the other end. Her clothes hung in the open closet, and the kitchen was just a corner with a single-burner stove and a microwave. A closed door led to a bathroom, I assumed.

  There were cracks in the wall, it smelled musty, the carpet was stained like it hadn’t been changed in twenty years. I never judged people for living a different life from my own. I never thought I was better than anyone else, even if I was a self-made billionaire.

  But this shithole was unacceptable.

  I wanted to cringe at the sight, knowing she’d been here for at least a month, while I slept in a fucking luxury condo like a goddamn king. She was used to the finer things too. Her apartment had been luxurious and in a great neighborhood. This was a major step down for her, and she must have been sick to her stomach when she had to leave Tribeca to come here. When she told me she lived in Brooklyn, I assumed it was still a decent neighborhood.

  Fuck, was I wrong.

  I circled and came back to her, nauseated by her living conditions. She was like a pig in a sty, all her shit stuffed into a single room. She didn’t have a couch or a coffee table, not even a dining table. There was barely enough room for the bed. I wanted to walk away to have some space, but there was literally nowhere to go.

  Her features were tight, like she dreaded whatever I would say. “It’s not that bad—”

  “Pack your things.” Her apartment wasn’t the worst part. It was the shady characters around it, the ones knew she lived there alone, that she came home every night by herself and never had company. She was an easy target for robbery…or worse.

  “Deacon—”

  “Fuck, I am not in the mood.” I spoke through a clenched jaw, my fists tight. “Just do as I say.” I would never sleep again if I knew she was here. If she refused to come with me, then I would have to sleep here too, because I wasn’t leaving my girl alone in this place.

  She didn’t make a move for her bag. “It’s not forever. I’m waiting for an apartment to open up. Something will pop up.”

  “What about your old place?”

  “It’s already taken.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ve been searching the area, but nothing is available. I could find a place farther outside the area, but I need something closer, and I don’t want to move twice.”

  Staying here was not a solution.

  “Deacon, I’m fine. Really. I’m a big girl—”

  “You could be the strongest woman in the world, and it wouldn’t make a difference. You could have a gun, and it wouldn’t make a difference. You could have an alarm, and it wouldn’t make a difference. You’re packing a bag, and you’re coming with me. Now.”

  She smiled ruefully. “I appreciate it, but I don’t need you to take care of me. This is not your fault, and don’t feel guilty—”

  “It is my fault. But even if it weren’t, it doesn’t change anything.”

  “Deacon, I was fired because I broke the rules—”

  “Shut up.”

  She closed her mouth, but her eyes simmered with rage.

  “I love you. You’re my responsibility because of that fact. It’s my job to take care of you. I went to Boris and leveraged against him to get your job back, because together or apart, I will always look after you.”

  Her eyes softened.

  “So, don’t say that shit about taking care of yourself and that you aren’t my problem. I will always protect you. I will always take care of you. I’m not letting the love of my life, my future wife, stay here alone. Don’t make me ask again. Pack your fucking bag, and let’s go.” I turned away, so angry that I couldn’t control myself. I had to look away, take a moment to calm the fuck down.

  “Deacon…you said you wanted to take it slow. Staying with you—”

  “Cleo.” I didn’t raise my voice. I just gave her that tone, the tone I gave Derek, the one that warned there would be fucking hell to pay if she didn’t obey.

  This time, she listened.

  We didn’t speak a word on the drive home.

  I was so fucking pissed off.

  She’d been living there all that fucking time.

  I wanted to punch myself in the face and break my own fucking nose.

  We left the car, and I carried a few of her bags, while she carried the rest. The lobby was deserted because it was so late, so no one saw us enter the elevator and head to my floor, her belongings in my arms.

  Not that we had to keep it a secret anyway.

  I unlocked the door, and we stepped inside.

  She set her bags on the couch because they were heavy for her and she was still in heels. She sat beside everything and placed her
hand on the large trash bag, because she didn’t own any luggage. She was like a foster kid going from home to home.

  It was late and I had work in the morning, but I’d probably go in a few hours late because there was no point in trying to focus when I hadn’t rested enough. My brain wasn’t nearly as efficient.

  She wouldn’t look at me. “Well…thank you.”

  I didn’t even do it for her—just for myself. “You can stay in one of the spare bedrooms.”

  She didn’t look disappointed, as if she hadn’t been expecting to stay in the master with me.

  I had no idea how long she’d be there with me, and I didn’t want to jump into that level of intimacy right off the bat. A few months ago, I wouldn’t have cared about her moving in with me…and never moving out. But that was too much, too fast for right now.

  She got to her feet again and carried her belongings into the other hallway, picking the bedroom across from Derek’s. It had its own bathroom, so she wouldn’t have to share when Derek was there. She set her trash bags on top of the dresser.

  I came in behind her and placed her things in the empty closet.

  The bedroom was bigger than the whole of her Brooklyn apartment. It was clean, safe.

  She looked at it, her eyes devoid of thoughts and emotions. She didn’t seem to feel anything at all. She slipped off her heels and left them on the floor before she turned to me. “It’s beautiful…”

  I could tell something was wrong. I could feel her energy, detect some kind of deviation from her usual self. But I didn’t understand what had happened, why her mood had abruptly changed. Was she mad at me that I’d forced her to come? Was she grateful? I really couldn’t tell. “What is it?” I could just ask her what I wanted to know, and she would give me a response.

  She looked away, her arms across her chest. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  That was an answer I’d never heard before. “Why?”

  She shrugged. “It’s late. You should go to bed.” She turned to her bag and pulled the supplies she needed to get ready for bed, like her toothbrush and toothpaste.

  I couldn’t leave, not without this answer. “Cleo.”

  She turned back around, her eyes guarded like she was embarrassed. “I just… I’ve been on my own for a long time. Ever since my parents died, I’ve always been the only person I could count on. I don’t have someone I can call when I get into trouble. I’m always taking care of other people…and no one ever takes care of me.” Her eyes watered a little. “I didn’t realize how much that bothered me until now. I have you…and it’s so nice to have that person…who will always be there for you.”

  When I woke up the next morning, she was gone.

  There was no sign she’d been there. She didn’t even make herself a cup of coffee.

  I got ready and went to work, last night a terrible memory I wanted to forget. We’d had a great time at dinner, reconnected instantly, but going to her Brooklyn apartment was like a stab in the gut.

  I felt like a piece of shit for allowing that to happen.

  What kind of man was I?

  I had a short day at the office because I went in so late, and I tried to make up for the lost time by hustling and staying later than I normally would. On the car ride back, Tucker texted me. Did you talk to her?

  I was annoyed with the question because it was none of his business, but I knew he had my best interest at heart. Yes.

  And?

  We’re together.

  Thank fucking god. Jesus, that took waaaaay longer than it should have. Why are you so smart but so slow at the same time?

  If you still want to use my beach house, I suggest you tread carefully.

  LOL. Why don’t you two come with us? It’ll be fun.

  That is a terrible idea. We’re taking it slow.

  Meaning?

  Meaning, we’re taking it slow.

  So, you aren’t fucking???

  I ignored the question.

  You haven’t gotten laid in two months, and you’re just gonna remain celibate?

  I missed sex, especially when I saw Cleo in that tight black dress, her tits incredible. I’d definitely felt the urge come over me during the last two months, but since my mood was so sour, I didn’t have the same sexual appetite I had before. Before Cleo and I broke it off, I couldn’t get enough of it, wanting it all the time. But once she was gone, I dried up, lost interest. Women made passes at me, but I didn’t have the carnal urge to fuck them like I used to…because there was only one woman I wanted. It’ll happen when it’s meant to happen.

  Man, you could be a Tibetan monk with that kind of restraint.

  I didn’t bother explaining my feelings to him, especially over text message.

  I’m happy for you, man. Cleo is right for you.

  I’d missed her so much, and now that she was in my life again, I felt better instantly. It wasn’t perfect, especially after the Brooklyn incident, but it was a dramatic improvement over my former lonely existence. I knew I’d hurt her as much as she’d hurt me…and we were both broken because of it.

  But we would fix each other.

  When I came home, Cleo wasn’t there.

  I checked her bedroom and saw its vacancy.

  I hadn’t gotten home until seven, so I was surprised she still wasn’t there. I showered then got dinner started, making a meal for two. I left her food in the pan so it would stay warm and sat at the dining table so I could continue work on my laptop.

  When it was eight thirty, I got worried. I texted her. Are you downstairs?

  Yeah. I’m at my desk.

  I have dinner ready if you’re hungry.

  I’ll be up later.

  I could tell something was weird, but it was hard to decipher complex situations through text, so I left it alone.

  She came home after nine. “Hey.” Her big purse was under her arm, full of her laptop.

  “Hey.”

  She walked down the hallway and disappeared.

  I went into the kitchen and reheated her food and put it on a plate for her.

  But she never came out.

  I went to her bedroom door and knocked.

  “It’s open.”

  I opened the door and saw her sitting on the couch, a half-eaten granola bar beside her. Her legs were crossed, and she was going over her paperwork, like she was preparing for the following day.

  I’d told her I made dinner, so I didn’t know why she was eating processed, chemically enhanced garbage. “I told you I made dinner.”

  “I know, Deacon. But I’m fine. Really.”

  I stared at her, completely bewildered. “I don’t understand what’s happening here.”

  “You don’t need to cook me dinner or include me in your lifestyle.” She didn’t raise her gaze from the papers and kept working.

  I stared her down, growing annoyed.

  She finally looked at me. “I just want to stay out of your way. I don’t want you to even know I’m here.”

  I cocked an eyebrow.

  “You said you wanted to take it slow, and now we’re living together. I just want to give you space, not overwhelm you, not turn this into a serious relationship when we haven’t seen each other in months.”

  “So, you’re going to sneak around like a mouse?” I asked incredulously.

  She sighed quietly.

  I moved to sit on the couch, threw the granola bar on the floor, and rested my elbows on my thighs as I looked straight ahead. “Cleo, I want you to feel welcome here. Make yourself coffee, have dinner with me, come home when you’re ready to come home. When I said take it slow, I just meant I didn’t want to jump back to what we used to be when we aren’t there yet. That’s all. I didn’t mean I wanted space from you. I’ve had plenty of space from you—I don’t want any more.”

  She breathed quietly beside me.

  When a minute passed, I straightened and turned in her direction.

  Her gaze was down on her hands as they rested together on h
er folder. “I just got you back. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize it…”

  “There’s nothing you could do.” My hand went to hers, and I interlocked our fingers. “I could easily afford to put you in a nice hotel if I wanted to. But I want you here—with me.” After seeing her place in Brooklyn, I wanted her close, somewhere I could keep an eye on her. It’d been a really difficult couple of months, more for her than for me, and I just wanted her to relax. I wanted her to feel safe, not to stress about money, not to worry about provoking me.

  She finally turned to me, her eyes vulnerable and clear, like words on a page. She looked at my lips before she raised her gaze and looked in my eyes. “I don’t want space either. I miss you…” She squeezed my hand.

  I missed her more than I could ever put into words. It was hard for me to diagnose the pain I’d felt for the last few months, to understand what was going on. I was a professional at collecting data and interpreting those results, but when it came to my own emotions, they were just random data points on a graph—with no correlation whatsoever. All I knew was that I was sad without her, consistently, and even when I had the right to be with other people, I didn’t want it. Wasn’t even tempted. That was love…at least, that was my best guess. “Then join me at the dining table. And have a real meal.”

  “I do miss your cooking.”

  I pulled the folder off her lap and set it on the other end of the couch before I stood up. I extended my hand to her. “And I miss cooking for you.”

  I walked down the hallway, moving slowly because my nose was buried in paperwork. I’d walk a couple feet, stop to read, and then walk again.

  “Hey, Deacon.”

  I looked up and saw Dr. Hawthorne approaching me, going in the opposite direction. “I’m just going over the titrations I did this morning.”

  “And?”

  I lowered the papers and sighed. “Inconclusive.”

  “Well, you’ll have better luck next time.”

 

‹ Prev